#glitched text

[kristified]

Lexicon (Mydei POV on Yandere!Phainon x Reader)

Part of my Yandere Phainon series. Also found on AO3:

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Summary:

Six words that don't exist in the Kremnoan language, and one that does. Mydei's perspective on his changing relationship with the Deliverer of Okhema and by extension, you.

7 parts total under the cut.

I. There is no word for retreat in the Kremnoan language.

As a nomad prince of a fallen kingdom, Mydei has faced his fair share of battles, whether he is leading a platoon of soldiers or by himself. He has grown up surrounded by enemies that wish to strike him down, circling like starving wolves, sniffing for any faults and weaknesses. 

They are endless - some are disgraced soldiers from cities razed by King Eurypon, cursing the lineage of the man who slaughtered their children. Others are from towns that seize the opportunity to gain power by massacring their neighbors.

The ever-present threat of Titankin and the Black Tide also dogs his every step.

In every case - he always takes the vanguard position, always a pace ahead, willing to throw his immortal body into war because he cannot be killed. 

He is Undying. Others are not.

(Well, save for a certain weak point on his back, but not a living soul knows this and it may as well be nonexistent.)

(He has not yet met anyone worthy enough of bringing him down.)

Mydei has never retreated from a battle. He always wins, whether it’s because he strikes the enemy down in one blow or overwhelms them through sheer attrition. Fighting a man who can come back from death indefinitely tends to put a damper on the opposing side’s morale, after all. 

He has never had to flee or escape or any other similar such words that do not exist in his cursed home language, because Castrum Kremnos prides itself on marching ever forward, conquering all in its path and delighting in battle and bloodlust.

(It’s disgusting. He is unmatched at fighting, but it is only because it is all he has ever known. Why do his people, scattered and starving, insist on returning to the war-torn desolation that abandoned them in the first place?)

He fights because he has to. He fights because he must lead his people, and he is the last of the royal Kremnoan family, after he murdered his traitorous father Eurypon. His mother Gorgo…

(He does not like to reminisce about that.)

So he loses himself in fighting, and killing, and tearing off Titankin limbs, and ripping, and clawing, and destruction, until--

One day, he meets a man who refuses to retreat as well. He calls himself Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, but Mydei will eventually know him as The Deliverer of Amphoreus.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Mydei first encounters Phainon when he is twenty-seven years old. 

They are on opposing sides, Mydei with his back towards the contingent he’s been leading and Phainon with his back towards the Holy City. 

The crown prince growls out a harsh warning, ordering the other not to attack his civilians. Phainon tilts his head, looking almost offended. 

“I wouldn’t do that, Your Majesty. Do you take me for a follower of Zagreus and trickery? No, crown prince of Castrum Kremnos, Lady Aglaea has heard of your group approaching Okhema. She asks you this - why did you come here?”

Mydei scoffs, rolling out the stiffness in his shoulders. One foot shifts back, letting him balance his weight evenly so he can lunge forward in an instant. “Don’t act the fool. You know why us Kremnoans have come. Our land is no more, destroyed by Nikador himself, and I will not have my people left to die as stragglers.”

Phainon tilts his head in the opposite direction, revealing a golden tattoo on his neck. His bright blue eyes track Mydei’s every move, considering. “Quite true. Okhema receives hundreds of refugees every week. All we ask is that people who join help protect the city from our enemies and contribute skilled essential workers.” 

The white-haired man turns, presenting a narrower target. He tightens his grip on his massive greatsword, preparing to attack. His weapon flashes in the sun.

Phainon smiles, confident and relaxed. “When I beat you, will you promise to do the same, Prince Mydeimos?” 

Said prince returns Phainon’s expression with a smirk of his own. “Careful, Deliverer,” he sneers. “carelessness will be your downfall.” He is already rushing forward before he finishes speaking, golden gauntlets whipping forward at breakneck speed. 

Phainon’s sword is already there to block them.

A tremendous crash results as steel meets steel, neither side giving an inch. Dust explodes from the impact. The ground trembles. Sparks fly as claws scrape across tempered metal.

Golden eyes meet cerulean, and both men launch themselves after the other again and again. Every blow is evenly matched.

Hours turn into days. Mydei is sweating and dirty and exhausted, but he remains on his feet. Phainon’s white and blue coat are looking decidedly worse for wear, but he still lifts his sword with speed and precision. 

…

…

…

At the dawn of the tenth day, both warriors collapse into the dirt and agree on a truce. Okhema will accept the Kremnoan detachment into its city. In exchange, Mydei will join the Flame Chase journey.

(“You might as well call me Mydei, instead. And refrain from calling me Prince…I don’t need your sycophantic insincerity.” 

“Wow, such big words for someone who struggled to solve Verax Leo’s arithmetic puzzle just a few days ago. Is it true there’s no word for multiplication in your language? Hey, what’s two times eight? Can you even read, by the way?”

“HKS, you damn idiot, there wasn’t exactly time to learn numbers and poetry when I was fighting for my life in an endless war!”)

(There is no word for retreat in the Kremnoan language, but for once, Mydei is glad he met someone who shares his distaste for the very concept.)

II. There is no word for sentimental in the Kremnoan language. 

Mydei first learns of such a word through Doctor Hyacine, when he waits in her infirmary after dragging Phainon there after an ill-timed blow during a spar shatters the Deliverer’s rib. 

He did feel a little guilty at first, knowing Phainon lacks his own regeneration skills, but listening to the Deliverer yap his damn ear off with complaints quickly changed that. In the end, he kicked open the door and dropped his rival none-too-gently onto one of the open cots. Then, he sits down on a nearby chair, crossing his arms.

Hyacine, who watched all this in amused silence, takes a step forward. “Hello, Lord Mydei, Phainon. I’m guessing that one of you needs some patching up?” Little Ica floats by her head, trilling softly while chewing on an apple.

Mydei simply jerks a thumb at Phainon. “It’s one of his ribs on the left. Idiot didn’t block properly and left himself open.” 

(He remembers the way Phainon’s chest caved in farther than it should have, and a wet crunch as his fist broke the thin bone underneath.)

Phainon whips his head around, offended. “Hah?! I blocked perfectly, thank you very much. It’s just your damn gauntlet slid off my sword and got through!” Hyacine rushes forward, chastising him for sitting up and aggravating his injury. She helps peel off his jacket and lifts up the shirt to reveal mottled bruising underneath.

The blond smirks, leaning back in his chair. With the way Phainon is whining, he’ll recover in no time, which is a relief. “Now you’re just making excuses, Deliverer,” he taunts. “You let your guard down and paid the price. This spar belongs to me, and I believe that’s 52 wins to your 51. Now what kind of thing should I claim as my prize?”

Phainon does his best to murder Mydei with his eyes, but it’s undermined by him squeaking in pain (oh, Mydei will never let him live this down) as Hyacine presses down on his torso. “Urk-- ah, Hyacine, please don’t poke so hard!”

“Sorry, Phainon,” Hyacine replies, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “I need to see how extensive the fracture is. And if there’s any bone shards piercing your stomach or spleen. We wouldn’t want that, would we? Then we’d have to cut you open and operate.” She emphasizes the last word with a smile, picking up a scalpel from the bedside tray. There’s an excited gleam in her eyes as the blade catches the light.

Little Ica squeaks in agreement.

Chills run down both Mydei and Phainon’s spine. The latter stares at the doctor, bug-eyed. “Um, yes ma’am,” he stutters, then “uh, I mean NO! No, I wouldn’t like there to be any bone shards. We don’t need to operate!” 

Mydei would laugh at how pathetic the Deliverer is being, but he is also avoiding Hyacine’s gaze. Maybe if he doesn’t make eye contact, she’ll forget he’s there.

After a second, Hyacine giggles, placing the scalpel back in the tray. “You guys should have seen your faces - did you really think I would make you undergo surgery for a simple fracture?” Still chuckling, she pulls on a pair of gloves and opens a jar of medicinal ointment. 

The two men match gazes, the same conclusion racing through their heads. Hyacine would absolutely jump at the chance to perform surgery. Anatomy was her favorite class in the Grove, after all. 

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

She went through more than twice as many frogs and rats in the dissection portion as all of the other students combined. 

Phainon distinctly remembers Hyacine proudly showing how she perfectly peeled all the skin tissue from an unfortunate animal, revealing the internal organs, veins, and nerves. 

Why does everything look so…slimy? 

Pins are stuck neatly into the dead body, which is subsequently shoved underneath his nose. Phainon gags and tries not to throw up.

That would be very embarrassing.

“Isn’t it beautiful? The mammalian body is so amazing. Look at how everything fits together underneath all the muscle and fat! It just makes sense!” 

Professor Anaxa had simply told her to dispose of the corpses far away from the school, because otherwise they would stink up the place. Then he pulled his gun on a group of students who were trying to sneakily escape the smell of formaldehyde. And Hyacine.

(Professor Anaxa gave the pinkette perfect marks. Everyone else was lucky to barely pass.)

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Mydei and Phainon stay quiet and on their very best behavior as Hyacine rubs a generous portion of ointment into Phainon’s skin. “This is a salve with a weak numbing component,” she explains, sliding into her professional demeanor. “I’ll give you this jar, so use it three times a day. Because the area is in a place where clothing will rub against it, put bandages over it so the medicine doesn’t rub off.” 

The white-haired man nods, accepting the container. He sits up to allow the doctor to wrap a few bandages around his chest. 

Hyacine tugs on the cloth to check the tightness, and nods approvingly. “Good. Your rib should heal on its own naturally in a few weeks, but the salve should help with the pain. You shouldn’t spar or go on any strenuous missions for the time being, but I recommend deep breathing exercises so your lungs stay healthy.” 

Stripping off her gloves, she stands to grab a clipboard. “This makes me feel sentimental - it feels like I haven’t seen you guys in forever, and then you burst in with an injury just like always, huh? Well, I have to go and check on some of my other patients, but you’re welcome to stay here for a little bit. Rest up, Phainon!” And with that, she and Little Ica leave through a side door. 

Mydei lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. Next to him, Phainon does the same. After a beat, they both look at each other and start laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

“How is it,” Mydei chuckles, “that the two strongest Chrysos Heirs are intimidated by a woman half our height and whose hair is the color of cotton candy?” 

“Hey, Hyacine studied under Professor Anaxa for eight years, you know,” Phainon says. “As brilliant as he is…”

“...anyone who spends that much time with him must be a little off in the head,” Mydei finishes. He has met Anaxa a few times in passing, but most of what he knows of the heretical scholar is through the stories Phainon tells, of his earlier years when he took a class on Nousporism. 

Threatening students with a bomb-loaded gun, leaving class for weeks at a time, and getting chased by a mob with actual pitchforks - Mydei wonders if Anaxa was born crazy or developed it as he delved further into ever-increasing controversial research.

Mydei lets out another sigh, leaning forward. In the lull of silence, he notices that the Deliverer has also gone quiet. Phainon smiles softly as he plucks a few threads from the scratchy blanket, a distant look in his eyes.

After a few minutes, Mydei decides he might as well ask why the other is looking like such a kicked puppy. “Hey.” Phainon looks up, cocking his head in confusion. “Are you more hurt than you let on? Hks, if you just acted tough in front of Hyacine and you’re hiding another injury --”

“No, I promise, I’m fine!” Phainon says, holding up his hands in apology. “I’m sure in a few weeks my rib will be completely better. I may not have your healing factor, but I do heal pretty fast, too.” 

And it’s true - maybe because the Deliverer is a Chrysos Heir, but his wounds tend to heal much faster than the average person. An injury that would debilitate a regular person for months, may only slow Phainon down for a few weeks. 

So Mydei nods, reassured that Phainon will be back to full health soon. But why does he still look…

(sad)

 “So if you’re fine, what’s with that pathetic look on your face?” Mydei asks. Phainon’s face falls slightly (Mydei winces, perhaps he could have been slightly more tactful), but then the white-haired man replies, “Ah, Hyacine was talking about feeling sentimental and I got lost in thought. Made me think about life before I came to Okhema…”

It’s public knowledge that Phainon, the Deliverer, hails from an now extinct land called Aedes Elysiae. From what Mydei understands, it was utterly destroyed leaving only one survivor. 

Said man continues, “If the black tide…the Titankin, and that man never existed, would I have ever come to Okhema? Or would I be living quietly and tending to the wheat fields? My village is-- was known for the bakeries, because we were surrounded by grain.”

“I was pretty handy with a scythe, you know? Not as much as Castorice, but I learned a lot of tricks to cut through a huge stalk quickly. The right amount of force for a clean cut. And then there were some stubborn weeds that needed to come out before the next harvest, so my mother sent me out to pull them by hand. If you leave the roots in the ground, they’ll just pop up again.”

Normally, Phainon never talks about Aedes Elysiae in detail. Sure, he lets everyone know the name of his previous town, but trying to ask about what his life was like before is like pulling teeth.

Until today. Mydei doesn’t interrupt, golden eyes watching Phainon’s face intently. As he talks, his expression shifts as he recalls funny stories and episodes from his childhood.

(It’s a privilege to get to know the Deliverer better. It’s an honor to be trusted by him.)

“Sentimental…I have not heard that word before,” Mydei remarks. “But this is twice now that I have heard it today. Based on Doctor Hyacine and your reaction…does it mean being sad, yet happy about previous memories?”

Phainon looks surprised, and then gives a small teasing smile. “That’s exactly it. You know, for a brute that can’t even subtract two figures, you have surprisingly good intuition.” 

Mydei stands abruptly and shoves Phainon’s face with his gauntlet. The other yelps, falling onto his back on the cot. “Don’t push your luck,” the prince mutters. They both know there is no true anger in his voice. “You better follow all of Hyacine’s instructions and actually rest properly. I better not catch you sneaking out and running through the city on the rooftops because you’re bored.”

The two descend into petty squabbling and insults. Bright sunlight streams through the window, creating a peaceful atmosphere. 

In the clinic, Mydei closes his eyes and thinks back to a distant memory.

A warm hand on his back, rubbing soothingly. It is dark, but he hears the crackle of the campfire somewhere behind him. He is tired and exhausted, but in the haze between sleep and waking, he knows one thing.

He is safe. 

Tomorrow will inevitably bring more strife and hardship, but for now his stomach is full of warm food, his friends are standing guard, and the night is quiet and still.

(There is no word for sentimental in the Kremnoan dictionary, but Mydei knows his life, as well as Phainon’s, contains multitudes of it.)

III. There is no word for unease in the Kremnoan language. 

Of course Kremnoans have felt anxious or apprehensive, but the culture strongly discourages them from voicing this. Warriors must appear strong, after all. Showing weakness in any form, whether mental or physical, is subject to harsh criticism.

By now, Mydei has lived in Okhema for four years and has gotten used to the daily lifestyle. When not dispatched on missions, he has a surprising amount of free time, so he spends most of it walking around the edges of the city.

At first, the citizens were surprised and wary to see the Kremnoan prince, but after a while they got used to his presence. While most people tend to shy away from him, intimidated, there are several others who give him a respectful nod.

And there are the young children, who often run up to him fearlessly and demand that Mydei join in on their games. 

A small, genuine smile appears on his face at that thought. Children truly are fearless, aren’t they? Even in his royal garments, armor, and jewelry, the kids don’t see any of that. To them, Mydei is a fun adult who indulges their playtime before their parents call them back home.

Much to his disappointment, the streets are mostly deserted today. Mydei’s boots crunch on the gravel as he walks, a cup of pomegranate juice and milk in his hands. Perhaps the children are playing on a different street, or in the Chimera gardens. Or they needed to stay in and work on their reading skills. Or--

Snapping out of his thoughts, Mydei has to jerk backwards before he slams into a figure that appears out of nowhere. Red liquid sloshes out of his cup, soaking his tunic. Letting out a curse, Mydei glares at the damp spot on his robe before looking up at the idiot who almost ran into him---

…

…

…

There are crimson stains over the Deliverer’s clothes. They are fresh.

Mydei smells iron, the distinct scent of blood. 

Time seems to slow down. His eyes narrow as he scans Phainon from head to toe, searching for any wounds or injuries. Did someone attack him? Who would dare? He needs medical attention, we need to go to Hyacine--

“Ah…” 

Mydei startles, realizing that he has both of Phainon’s shoulders in a death grip. The white-haired man’s pauldron crumples as Mydei’s clawed gauntlet crushes it. The prince lets go abruptly and takes a step back. 

Phainon rubs a hand against the back of his head sheepishly. Mydei is just about to yell at him to stop being so carefree, but then he catches the expression on the other’s face.

Or rather…the lack of one. 

Oh, the face is still the same. There is the same faint scar just above Phainon’s right eyebrow, from some debris during a battle in Janusopolis. The nose is slightly crooked after a prior break never healed correctly. The damn hair sprouts are present as always.

But there is no light in his icy blue eyes. They seem to look through Mydei. They are as cold as the Sea of Souls.

A shiver runs down the crown prince’s back. It’s too quiet. A quick glance around the street reveals they are alone. 

(There are no witnesses.)

Phainon still hasn’t spoken after his initial outburst. Crimson liquid drips onto the floor. A light breeze ruffles his hair.

Mydei’s tongue feels stuck to the roof of his mouth. “Phainon…” he says slowly. “...whose blood is that? …are you injured?”

A silence stretches out, unnaturally. Just as the tension becomes unbearable, Phainon opens his mouth. “Oh, this?...Oh, no, it’s not mine. I just ran into a…problem lately, and had to get rid of it. I don’t have a scratch, of course, but Aglaea will be pretty mad about these stains, huh? Ouch, and you totally crushed my pauldron…maybe I can ask Chartonus to buff it out…”

The blond just stares at Phainon. “What kind of problem?” he asks, eyes shifting restlessly. Something isn’t adding up, but surely Phainon is telling the truth? For all his earnestness, the Deliverer has a terrible poker face. Mydei always catches him when he lies.

(Or maybe you only catch him in harmless white lies. Maybe the Deliverer is a better actor than you thought.)

(You always let your guard down around him, so you have blind spots. Spots he can take advantage of.)

The white-haired man laughs, but it doesn’t match the hollow look on his face. “Oh you know, the usual,” he says airly, waving a hand in the air.  “One of my enemies.”

Phainon’s tone is normal. His body language is the same as always. If Mydei closes his eyes, he would not be able to tell any difference to him yapping just like any other day.

So why is his mind screaming at him that something is terribly wrong?

Mydei’s mouth moves on autopilot. “What, like a Titankin? Didn’t think they had any blood. Don’t they just crumble to dust?”

Phainon’s throat swallows convulsively. He opens his mouth, hesitates, then closes it again. “Ah, well, who’s to say that all Titankin do that?” He wipes a hand across his jacket absentmindedly, smearing redness over his fingers. “Maybe there’s some freaky mutant titan that explodes into blood when you stab them?” He lets out a small giggle.

(He’s lying. You’ve never seen any Titankin, big or small, ever bleed red. Once you kill them, their soul departs and their physical body just collapses.

Call him out on it. He’s covered in blood and dust and who knows what, and the only thing that bleeds when you kill them are either animals…

…or another human.)

A bead of sweat runs down his temple. Mydei can’t seem to think properly. His thoughts and actions seem to be in slow motion, as if he were submerged in honey. 

Meanwhile, Phainon continues to talk, but it sounds like static. The white-haired man pats Mydei on the shoulder before giving him a smile, then turning on his heel and striding towards his house. 

Mydei notices that Phainon takes the back dirt roads, instead of the paved path that most people prefer.

All he can do is stare at the Deliverer’s back. The sun embroidered at the collar is bisected with a ragged slash. It seems that whatever Phainon fought, it made an attempt to wound him as well.

The Kremnoan prince watches as the other eventually disappears. All he can hear is his own ragged breathing. 

It’s still unnaturally quiet.

It’s a beautiful day in the Holy City of Okhema. 

(There is no word for unease in the Kremnoan language. But Mydei is sure that what he felt today, encompasses it completely.)

IV. There is no word for doubt in the Kremnoan language.

Mydei thinks, not for the first time, that this Titans-damned language is incredibly stupid. What person charges through life with idiotic, unfounded confidence? Everyone, from the impoverished laborer to the mightiest king, has doubts. No man is omnipotent; therefore no man can know their choice is ultimately the correct one.

Hindsight is reserved only for the gods. 

(And even then, what is a god to a non-believer?)

Not even Phainon, the seemingly untouchable hero of prophecy, is free from doubts. Mydei has seen Phainon weeping and blubbering into his cups, utterly hungover after drinking an entire bottle of spirits. During one of their overnight missions to yet another abandoned ruin, they spent hours arguing which route would save them the most amount of time. And even his teacher Krateros, has occasionally faltered in his decades-long quest to restore Castrum Kremnos to its former glory.

Mydei doubts more than he lets on. Having a natural poker face (“a natural resting bitch face, more like,” Phainon muttered once before the prince kicked him in the shin), other people find it difficult to tell what he’s really thinking.

His lineage. His prophecy. His duty. The damned Flame Chase journey, foretold to be steeped in tragedy. 

What will it all amount to, in the end? And when will it end? Aglaea’s ambition has already been ongoing for a thousand years, and even then only half of the Titan Coreflames have been claimed. Will it take another millennium to usher in the new era?

Who’s to say that gathering all the Coreflames won't cause total destruction instead? What if everyone just dies after sacrificing everything, accomplishing nothing, and cursing their fate?

If only the Council of Elders could hear me now, Mydei thinks ironically. Those backstabbing serpents just love undermining the Chrysos Heirs at every turn. He’s no stranger to assassination attempts, but even they don’t quite dare attack him so brazenly. Not like their repeated attempts on Aglaea or Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon.

He’d just come back to life and prove their efforts worthless. He sort of wishes they would try so he can bash their smug faces in, but the ever-diplomatic Dressmaker would simply tell him to turn the other cheek. Can’t go upsetting the delicate political balance of Okhema, after all. What would the public say if a Kremnoan, let alone their crown prince, was spotted beating a respected councilor? Tensions are already high enough without the ever-present hostility between two former enemy nations spilling over.

On days where his thoughts tend to spiral, he forces himself to walk through Marmoreal Market. It helps take his mind off things and has the bonus of letting him fall back into an old hobby - people-watching.

Mydei can glean an incredible amount of information about someone without even exchanging a word. A raised eyebrow or an upturned mouth. Tugging at an ear or a strand of hair when concealing the truth. Shifting one’s weight when deciding on whether to flee or fight.

The blond’s body language, in contrast, is difficult for others to read at the best of times. Only those he is truly close to can understand what he truly means. Mydei finds it unnecessary and frankly quite exhausting to dance around the subject with unspoken gestures. Why not speak bluntly and avoid the confusion in the first place?

Phainon would call him a brute and ignorant about the refined things in life. Mydei’s hands twitch with the urge to punch imaginary Phainon in the kidney for being an idiot.

Speaking of--

“Mydei!” 

Sighing, said prince turns to see his rival literally sprint towards him like a moron. If he were a dog, his tail would be wagging. Nearby civilians give him a startled glance as Phainon skids to a halt in front of Mydei, neat as you please.

“What is it?” Mydei says after a beat. Phainon beams at him, the very picture of a noble hero. He appears carefree and exuberant, as always.

(It’s a very good act. Almost perfect.)

Try as he might, Mydei cannot find any difference in Phainon’s behavior since that…incident…several weeks ago. It’s as if Mydei had a horribly realistic nightmare, then woke up to realize none of it actually happened. 

The dopey, too-wide smile. The stupid hair antennae bouncing with each step (he wants to take a pair of Castorice’s scissors and just snip them off). Soppy wet blue eyes that water if Mydei scolds him too much.

..and yet…

Mydei does notice a new development. Specifically, Phainon’s utter infatuation with you.

Oh, of course he knows of you, Phainon’s pretty new musician girlfriend. Apparently you both just recently started dating and the gossiping aunties and young women never seem to run out of endless speculations about your love life. How charming and handsome the Deliverer is, and what a shame he’s no longer single, words tittered behind thinly veiled politeness. Envious looks shoot your way, but you seem unaffected.

Or maybe just apathetic.

“Well,” Phainon starts. “I figured that we’ve been pretty busy over a while, and haven’t gotten to hang out much. You doing anything specific today? We can grab lunch and catch up.” 

“Hmm,” Mydei acknowledges, his eyes already wandering in search of what to eat. “Fine. You’re paying, by the way.”

“What?!” the other sputters. “When did I agree to that?” 

“Oh come now, Deliverer,” Mydei drawls. “Surely you aren’t uncultured enough to invite someone to a meal, then expect them to foot the bill? Is that what they’re calling manners these days?”

Phainon sulks at him, jutting his lower lip out into a pout. “You would think an actual prince would be kind enough to part from a few of his coins. Not everyone is as blessed with wealth as you or Cipher. Well - to be fair, Cipher actually steals all her money, but whatever.”

Said prince smirks at that. His gaze finally lands on you, across the market street. You’re holding a pomegranate in one hand, looking skeptical as the fruit seller gesticulates wildly. No doubt saying his wares are the finest in all the land. Mydei lets out a small chuckle at your utterly unimpressed face.

“Hey, what are you looking at?” A sudden weight on his shoulder threatens to knock him over. On instinct, Mydei throws back his elbow, nailing Phainon right in the gut and making him whine pathetically.

“Over there. Isn’t that your partner?” A clawed finger points toward you. Phainon follows the direction.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mydei sees the changes on the white-haired man’s face in real time. Phainon’s pupils dilate, leaving only a sliver of surrounding blue. His grin stretches impossibly wider and he stands at his full height, impressively tall.

Of course, Phainon is captivated by you. For whatever reason, he finds himself utterly drawn towards you - a moth towards flame. Mydei has seen his rival cling to you like glue, pouting whenever you try shaking him off. He’s never deterred for long, always bouncing back and squeezing you into his wide chest - much to your embarrassment.

But…

There’s something…terribly obsessive about Phainon’s gaze. Like if he looks away for even a second, you’ll disappear into thin air. There’s something disquieting about how reluctant he seems to let you away farther than an arm’s length, his fingers twitching in restraint when you do so. Like he wants to grab you and never let go. The fleeting, hatefully jealous expression when he spots you talking with another man. Hell, even another woman. 

“Ah, there she is,” Phainon sighs happily. “Isn’t she so cute? I bet she’s telling that shopkeeper off about his prices again. You think she’ll buy extra fruits for me?” He begins to step forward but then frowns, as if suddenly remembering something.

Mydei cuts him a glance. “Not going to say hello?” Phainon looks frustrated, but eventually shakes his head. “I wish I could, but I promised Aglaea to check in with her before the Noon Hour, and it’s almost time.” As one, they both turn to view the massive steel belltower in the middle of the market square. High above the streets, a clock set in the tower reveals there are only a few minutes left until Phainon’s meeting.

Phainon clicks his tongue in annoyance. Just then, you twitch, shoulders hunching as you turn to spot the two Chrysos Heirs. Phainon gives you a half wave and smile, but then turns back to Mydei.

“Tell you what - I’ll run to the bathhouse and finish my business there. It shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes, tops. Then we can go get those gyros at Kyros’s restaurant. And yes, I’ll pay, you greedy bastard. Take advantage of the great hero’s generosity, will you?”

Mydei nods his head, satisfied. He knows that Aglaea and Phainon are very close, the former seeing the latter as her protege. Phainon holds a deep respect for the demigod, and always keeps his promises to her. “Go, then. I’ll even time you. Every second you’re late, I’ll add a point to my win count.”

Phainon gapes at the prince, flabbergasted. “Huh--?! In what universe is that fair? Or even logical?” He sputters.

Mydei crosses his arms in response. He carefully keeps his expression blank. “15 minutes and zero seconds left…14 minutes and fifty-nine seconds left…14 minutes and fifty-eight seconds left…” he counts down, raising an eyebrow at his rival. A finger taps on his bicep.

At that, the Deliverer lets out a curse. Shooting Mydei a nasty glare, he turns and runs off.

When Phainon is out of sight, Mydei finally allows himself to smirk. Flustering his rival is always satisfying. Watching him scamper to Aglaea like a puppy racing to its master is also hilarious.

He shifts his weight onto his heels, suddenly tired. He has a quarter of an hour to kill, so he might as well stay put and continue observing.

He leans back against a brick wall. The scratchy surface grounds him. He watches a young boy sneak up on an unsuspecting girl, then lean forward and yank her braid hard. She yelps and turns, furious. The boy laughs brightly and scampers off, her close on his heels. She waves a loaf of bread threateningly, yelling childish insults.

With nothing else to do, Mydei decides he may as well talk to you. Maybe he can see what grabbed Phainon’s attention about you in the first place. Or maybe you can give up some embarrassing stories he can hold over his rival’s head later.

A shadow falls over you as he approaches, and you look up, startled. You blink rapidly, not expecting to see anyone, let alone a Chrysos Heir. For a moment, you both just stare at each other awkwardly.

Mydei clears his throat. “Greetings,” he says, calling your name (he only hears it from the lovesick Deliverer’s lips about fifty times a day). He quickly introduces himself as well, and you nod. His reputation obviously precedes himself. 

He glances at the fruit in your hand. Narrowing his eyes, he reaches out to tap the pomegranate’s skin. His finger sinks in too easily, and he huffs.

“That one is over-ripe. Also, the color is lacking. Look for a pomegranate with firmer skin. It shouldn’t be rock hard, but have some give. If you bought the one you’re currently holding, you’re going to be unpleasantly surprised at the bitterness.” 

The vendor sputters in outrage, but a quick glance silences him. One good thing about his resting (bitch) face, is that very few people have the courage to talk back to him.

You are silent for a moment, then squeeze a little more yourself, testing the firmness. Dark red juice trickles down your fingers. Ultimately, you place the pomegranate back onto the table. “Actually, I don’t think I’m in the mood for such a sweet fruit today,” you inform the shopkeeper. “Maybe another time.”

At that, Mydei watches you adjust your grip on your shopping basket and continue on. He notices you are walking sluggishly, favoring your right foot a little more, so when someone bumps into you just as you take a step, you stumble. 

He’s moving before he realizes it, catching your arm in a firm grasp. At the contact, you suck in a small breath and flinch slightly. He lets go immediately, frowning. Are you hurt somewhere? 

(Yes. You know why, and you know who’s responsible for it. Who’s the one who spends the most time with her, especially these days?)

Or-- wait. You’re scared. Uncomfortable. Your eyes dart around restlessly. He sees your feet point towards a side alley, indicating where you are unconsciously thinking of heading towards. 

(You’re checking for escape routes.)

Mydei hesitates, then decides to go on. “Hey…is everything alright? I know that you and the Deliverer are close--” oh, and you do flinch at that, “but you seem kind of…jumpy. Be careful if someone tries to mess with you. Ask him for help. You don’t look like you have experience fighting.”

You nod tightly, expression slightly pinched. Your mouth opens slightly, maybe to respond, but then your gaze falls on your hand. You clench it tightly into a fist, then force it to relax. 

“...thank you, Mydeimos,” you mutter, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear. A nervous gesture.

(You’re afraid to speak in case someone is listening.)

“Well, that’s good,” he says lamely. You’ve taken several steps away from him once he let go of your arm. “No need for my full name, I actually prefer Mydei.

“Phainon would go crazy if something bad happened to you. Don’t tell him I said this, but…he’s got a real soft spot for you. He’s kind of a pushover. So…treat him right, yeah?”

He means to ensure that you both treat each other right as lovers, but for some reason his words cause your face to spasm unpleasantly. You let out a small, humorless laugh. 

(She doesn’t believe you. She knows something about Phainon that you don’t.)

You swallow convulsively. You try to respond, but the words don’t seem to come out. After another glance at your hand--

(a flash of light glints off a barely visible golden thread)

--you inhale deeply, then let it out in a slow breath. “Right,” you say hollowly. “Crazy. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

You turn your back on him, still walking at a glacial pace. Again, he notices a tiny limp as you pass through Marmoreal Market. 

Before you’re swallowed up by the crowd, his gaze drops to the hand that you have glanced at so often during your brief encounter.

Your fingers are stained dark with red. Liquid drips down onto the cobblestones, creating a macabre trail behind you. 

(There’s no word for doubt in the Kremnonan language. But Mydei knows if there was, his ever disquieting thoughts would be right next to it.)

V. There is no word for revelation in the Kremnoan language.

In Castrum Kremnos, things either are or aren’t. They are no scholars; what need is there for a word that implies discovering something?

Mydei sighs as he trudges down the uneven path to the outskirts of Okhema. It’s another blasted sweltering day, with the eternal sunshine from Kephale beating down on his back. 

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Phainon has been jumpy and agitated all day, twitching as time grows close to the Action Hour. He and Aglaea have been formally summoned to an important meeting with the Council of Elders - apparently to talk about the recent use of unnecessary force when apprehending criminals.

Mydei bets those vipers will also gloat over how poorly the Chyros Heirs are handling law and order these days, which only adds to the tension. Though it’s rare for two Heirs to be summoned instead of just Aglaea. 

When the prince asks Phainon about the change, the latter clenches his jaw before tersely replying that Elder Caenis demanded his presence this time. Apparently she has reason to believe that the Deliverer has some personal involvement or knowledge on a string of local missing person cases.

Of course there is no official evidence. The very idea that Phainon would do anything but protect the populace, as he has been doing ever since he took up his mantle, is absurd. 

But the fact that a Chrysos Heir -- the Chrysos Heir -- has been accused of such a thing has sent uneasy shockwaves throughout Okhema.

(Mydei knows - or at least suspects - there is a grain of truth in these accusations. But every time it tries to form a cohesive thought in his brain, he quietly pushes it down.)

(He doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.)

After a moment of hesitation, Mydei asked his rival if these missing persons had anything in common. Maybe they had debts to the same creditor, and said creditor decided it was time to pay back their loan with interest? Despite Okhema being comprised of mostly refugees, or perhaps because of it, many people struggle with financial insecurity. Mydei could certainly see a desperate man or woman taking these loan sharks up on their offer.

Phainon shrugs, a brief flash of irritation crossing his face. It smooths out before Mydei can call him out on it. Who knows, the Deliverer says. Maybe they all did something unforgivable, and were taken care of. By someone who they wronged.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Lately, Mydei has been feeling more disquieted than ever. Even he’s not immune to the ratcheted-up tension that comes with yet another political power struggle between the Chrysos Heirs and the old Council. 

The citizens are on edge and much more reserved than usual. People have been snapping at each other uncharacteristically for the smallest of slights. The number of guards in the city have seemingly doubled overnight.

He trudges on.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

A clawed hand comes up to hover above the Deliverer’s shoulder. Phainon appears lost in thought, hazy eyes directed up towards Dawncloud. In just under an hour, he and Aglaea will be headed to the fortress in the sky.

Mydei hesitates. His fingers flex with the desire to provide some comfort, some reassurance to his friend. But he stalls for just a little too long, and the moment passes. He lets his arm fall back to his side.

Clearing his throat, Mydei says “I trust you will come back in one piece - both physically and metaphorically. The Council will likely verbally rip you and Aglaea to shreds, but that shouldn’t be anything new for those old crooks.” 

Finally, Phainon twitches into a familiar smirk. Cocky and confident, he turns to face the blond. “Of course, would you expect anything less? It’s just one more tedious meeting where those power-hungry politicians accuse us of wasting resources, Aglaea will break down their arguments like how Professor Anaxa did in my debate classes, and then we’ll go back to our respective cities until some misperceived slight starts the cycle all over again.”

“It’s just…so damn annoying. Wasting my time like this.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Annoyed. Something that Phainon has been increasingly more of, lately. 

Well, that’s fair enough. Mydei himself is sick to death of pretty much everything at this point. One would have to be blind to not notice the increasingly hostile and mistrustful glances towards him and the Kremnoan refugees, the Okheman citizens whispering and cutting suspicious glances at his people. 

He can almost hear their thoughts in his head -- “surely all the increased security is for those barbaric outsiders. Neighbors have gone missing without a trace. Didn’t the Kremnoans used to kill each other for the smallest transgression? Who’s to say they aren’t keeping up their old traditions here?”

He clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth in frustration. They’re thinking of the former totalitarian regime under his late father Eurypon. The Kremnoans of today cannot even think of striking others down, not in the sorry state they’re in. Each day is just another nearly insurmountable task to survive.

Citizens or refugees, they are all in the same situation. The Kremnoan detachment Mydei brought with him to Okhema are no bloodthirsty warriors or killers. They are merchants, potters, field tillers, cooks - all seen as “lower” in the eyes of the strict former caste system of Kremnos, but no less valuable to society. 

But their numbers are so few. Time and strife have made their numbers even smaller.

(Mydei is no seer, he cannot divine the future -- but he is almost certain that the Kremnoan dynasty will die within his lifetime. There has just been too much culling - from Nikador, from the black tide, from the war, and now from Okhema.)

He knows. He knows that before the Kremnoans and the Okhemans were forced into an uneasy alliance, there were thousands of years of war, torture, and genocide between them. History is not so easily forgotten, especially by those who were old enough to personally witness Castrum Kremnos’s bloody rampage across Amphoreus.

And yet…

He’s in a foul mood when he finally breaches the tree boundaries where Phainon’s home rests. The enormous building (more of a mansion, really) almost touches the very edge of the Holy City - farther than one would expect for the hero of Amphoreus, but the Deliverer cited liking his privacy.

There are a handful of neighbors, but few people have the wealth to live in such luxurious residences. Even fewer brave living so close to the city walls, where the threat of Titankin and the black tide are ever present.

Mydei stops at the front door, rolling his shoulders to help loosen his muscles. It has been a long walk, and he’s sure Aglaea and Phainon are deep into a hostile debate at Dawncloud by now. The prince decided, on a whim, to swing by Phainon’s house to check the security while he’s occupied. This wouldn’t be the first time that one of Elder Caenis’s lackeys took advantage of Phainon’s absence and ransacked the place.

Just another demoralizing attack on us, he thinks bitterly. If this occurred in Castrum Kremnos under Eurypon’s rule, that bastard would simply purge the whole court of its insidious filth and start anew.

(Sometimes, Mydei fantasizes about doing the exact same thing to the corrupted Council.)

Mydei swears he’ll only do a quick sweep for any signs of intruders, then head back. He reaches a hand out to activate the unlocking mechanism--

The doorknob turns before he touches it, the door swinging inwards. Out of the darkness, a hooded figure emerges and attempts to rush out, clutching a tattered bag to their chest.

Instinct takes over as Mydei lunges, his golden gauntlet wrapping around the other’s throat. They let out a choked gasp, a hand shooting up to grab his wrist.

Mydei presses forward, driving them both back into Phainon’s house and slamming them roughly against the wall, heart pounding as he rapidly assesses the situation. So there was someone here, he thinks darkly, kicking the front door closed with his foot. The heavy slam makes the unknown assailant flinch in his grip, head twitching towards the entrance.

“I should have guessed that the Council would send their rats to interfere,” Mydei snarls, eyes blazing, using his other hand to grab at the hood. “You damn vermin can never know when to give up, can you--!”

His words die in his throat as the hood falls down, your panicked eyes meet his own. You’re no assassin or hired thug -- what are you doing here? 

The sheer unexpectedness freezes him in place for a moment. Fingers scrabble over his armor to little effect. 

Why are you dressed like that? Why did you attempt to leave the house, don’t you know being inside is safer than exposing yourself to the Council, especially during such a time when tensions are sky-high? If the Council found out that Phainon has a lover, they wouldn’t hesitate to hold her hostage or even kill her.

“Let-- me-- go!!” 

Mydei’s attention snaps back to you as you renew your efforts to get away. You continue to wrench at his hand in a futile attempt to escape his choking grasp, but your fingernails can’t hope to put a scratch in his armor, let along his skin. You lash out with your left foot, only managing to injure yourself when it strikes the hardened metal of his boots.

His amber eyes drop to the bag you’ve still been clutching at like a lifeline. Still pinning you to the wall, he reaches out with the other hand and grabs a handful of the worn leather. You gasp and clutch it tighter, but Mydei rips it away from you with almost insulting ease.

Mydei upends the bag, making all the contents spill haphazardly to the floor. You let out a shriek of frustration, beating your fists against his arm. He tries to look closer at what you’ve been so desperate to steal, but it’s getting harder to keep you still with the way you’re thrashing against him.

Well, there’s one way to solve both problems at the same time.

Mydei hooks a leg behind your ankle, applying more pressure to your neck. The loss of balance forces you to drop straight to the floor. You take the full impact flat on your back, knocking the wind out of you immediately. A pathetic wheeze leaves you bug-eyed and sprawled out on the ground.

The blond takes the opportunity to plant a knee in your gut, pinning you. Your diaphragm spasms and you gasp, attempting to get on your hands and knees to get away, but his considerable weight doesn’t shift at all.

One problem solved, Mydei sweeps over the spilled contents of your bag. His head is still swimming with confusion, but he keeps a neutral expression on his face. 

(Don’t show any emotion. Just think about this logically for a second. There must be an explanation.)

Several loaves of bread. Cans of preserved fish. A large bottle of water, carefully sealed. A length of rope, unraveled from its coil from the fall. A battered compass and a folded map. A coin purse. Spare clothes, a blanket, a flint, an iron pan.

A kitchen knife.

…If you’re an assassin, you’re a pretty terrible one, he decides as he unfolds the paper. It’s a local map of Okhema, one that includes Okhema and several other cities. You’ve scrawled notes in the margins - “bad terrain,” “watch out for drops,” and even “???” in some areas where there are no known landmarks.

What catches his eye, though, is a certain landmark that has been circled multiple times. The Grove of Epiphany. So that’s your destination…?

Mydei leans back slightly, if only to stay out of reach of your hands trying to claw his eyes out. This still doesn’t make any sense. All the luggage you’re bringing with you isn’t like a thief stealing valuables. Hell, if you were Cipher, Mydei would be surprised if there would be anything left in Phainon’s house that isn’t bolted down. 

It almost seems as though…you’re bringing things for a camping trip or something. Or for a journey.

Ridiculous. What business would a regular citizen have outside of here? Leaving Okhema without protection is a certain death sentence. You’re no Chrysos Heir, let alone a combatant. The chances of you even surviving to make it to the Grove are slim to none.

(Mydeimos, stop lying to yourself. You know why she is so desperate to escape. You’ve seen the way her lover cages her in, forcing her to only rely on him, and to give up her own home to move in with him. She’s been giving you hints all this time, why are you still refusing to open your eyes and SEE Phainon for what he really is--)

White static seems to fill his head. Quite unwillingly, the dots start to connect in his mind, painting an ugly picture. 

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

There’s a big commotion on the street below, which gives Mydei pause from walking on the rooftops. People run towards a well-known restaurant in the heart of Okhema, pointing and gasping.

Mydei leans against a column, half-hidden in shadow. Walking on the upper levels provides him some reprieve from scrutinization, and some much needed shade on such a hot day.

Amber eyes flicker between the restaurant’s outside tables, searching for the source of the uproar. He quickly finds Phainon and you sitting side-by-side. The restaurant owner runs up and starts fawning over you both, clearly elated to have such a high-ranking and popular hero at his table. And he brought his mysterious lover, no less! 

Mydei can see the blooming dollar signs in the owner’s eyes. He’s probably thinking of all the publicity you two are bringing, promoting his eatery even more and bringing in more diners. 

A group of young women titter to themselves on the outskirts of the building, squealing when Phainon turns to give them a grin and a wave. They scream excitedly, fanning themselves into a frenzy.

You glance at them furtively, before turning away to focus on the dishes being brought to your table.

Even from the rooftops, Mydei catches the scent of perfectly cooked roast duck, root vegetables simmered gently in spices, and a rich bubbling stew. Smaller plates filled with delicate meats, cheeses, fresh-baked bread, and preservatives surround the main dishes. He’s honest enough with himself that he’s pretty jealous of his rival - after all, Phainon sits before a meal fit for a king.

The white-haired man leans forward eagerly, looping an arm around your shoulder. The sudden movement causes you to tilt off-balance, face-planting into his chest softly. You struggle for a moment, palm landing on Phainon’s stomach. 

As the excited owner starts talking to you, Phainon subtly pinches your arm. You twitch, then give the owner a lopsided grimace that one could technically call a smile. Your hand reaches up to get rid of his fingers, but Phainon smoothly interlaces them with his own. 

After a few moments, the owner turns and barks orders at the kitchen staff, who respond with furious nods and cooking. Phainon tilts his mouth towards your ear, whispering something. He then takes a piece of bread slathered in honey preserves, lifting it towards you. You shake your head at first, but then seem to think better of it and resignedly open your mouth. With a beam, he feeds you small bits of cheese and fruit. 

This continues as the waiters continue to bring the best of the restaurant’s fares - narrow silver jugs of fermented wine, a golden jar of mead, and even a beautifully crafted chantilly cake. There’s so much food that one of the servers brings over a spare table for the overflow.

Mydei continues to watch Phainon hand-feed you like a baby bird, despite your grumpy face and clear desire to feed yourself. He watches you reach for a fork, only to have it swiftly taken away.

Phainon twitches, cocking his head slightly. Then his eyesight swivels to look directly at Mydei, tracking him several hundred meters away with shocking accuracy. His gaze locks onto Mydei’s own without flinching, as if he knew exactly where the other was observing them from all this time.

Like a wolf catching sight of a threat. Or prey.

Electric, deadly blue - like shards of ice. Phainon’s narrowed eyes pierces into Mydei’s - unerringly, unwaveringly. He continues to feed you, accidentally sticking a finger in your mouth when you don’t open fast enough and making you sputter.

 But he doesn’t break eye contact with Mydei. He doesn’t even blink.

(Mydei cannot look away. Something screams in his head not to take his eyes off such a dangerous predator. Otherwise it would sink its teeth into your neck, the moment your back is turned.)

Seconds tick by. A minute. Two. 

Then Phainon finally turns his head, smiling again as he begs you to feed him as well. You look like you’d rather take the plate he’s holding and smash it over his head, but you lift a bite of food to his lips. He eagerly closes his mouth around your slim fingers, sucking them to lick all the jam off. You yank back your hand as if burned while the ladies squeal in envy.

Mydei lets out the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He retreats fully behind the cloth curtains on the roof, heart beating rabbit-fast. He’s broken out into a cold sweat. Goosebumps flare up on his arms. He closes his eyes, the icy blue gaze still imprinted on the back of his eyelids.

Possessive. Observing for threats. 

(Insane.)

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Sound seems to rush back to Mydei as he shakes himself out of the past. Beneath him, you’ve stopped struggling since it’s getting you nowhere, and decided to plead with him instead.

“Mydei, we’ve got to get out of here…I’ve got to get out of here while I still have the chance-- what I’m going to say is going to shock you, but Phainon is…actually fucking crazy and he’s changed so much, he’s hurt a lot of people and he’s probably going to hurt even more…the other Chrysos Heirs, they’re also in on it, I tried talking to miss Castorice and Aglaea and they just didn’t seem to care? Can you believe that?” 

You laugh nervously, as though sharing an inside joke with a friend. Your hand flexes against his iron-clad wrist, impulsively. 

“Listen, I know that you probably thought I was a-- a burglar or something, running out with some of his stuff, but most of it is mine, trust me! I bought them at the market or got them from home, ‘cause I just gotta make sure I have enough supplies for a few days. He won’t miss a few pieces of food, right? He’s got plenty of it and he eats pretty much anything…”

“I’m really glad I ran into you now, though, instead of someone else…I’m still pretty mad at you for tripping me just now, that fucking hurt, what if I actually broke something? …but I guess I’ll forgive you ‘cause I probably would have done the same if some random person was in my house…”

“Phainon and Aglaea aren’t here right now; I heard him talking about how the Council called a meeting with them up there at Dawncloud, and normally they have me on lockdown in Okhema, but they’re busy right now for the first time in forever. This is our best chance, Mydei, come on and help me with--”

Static fills his head again, drowning out your words. He sees your lips continue to move, but no sounds come out.

He raises his head to look around the house. The kitchen area has its drawers and cabinets are half open, contents dumped out onto the counter. The fridge door is ajar, with a few bottles of condiments scattered on the floor like fallen soldiers.

Opposite of the kitchen is the door leading deeper into the house. It’s thrown wide open. Obviously, this is where you came from before trying to run out.

Mydei stands suddenly, hauling you up by the hand around your neck. You gasp in surprise, squirming as he lifts you fully off the ground before setting you down on your toes. Coughing and sputtering, you snap your gaze towards him and open your mouth in anger, but he starts dragging you backwards. 

He leads you deeper into the house, and as you realize where you’re going, you struggle more frantically the further you go. You dig your heels into the floor but there’s no traction against the smooth surface.

Mydei is briefly snapped out of autopilot by your howl of pain when one of your ankles inadvertently catches against the floor and twists a little too far. He glances down quickly to see a sloppily-wrapped bandage around your right ankle. Your left ankle looks fine, but there’s some red chafing around it.

(Is that why you’ve been favoring your right leg for the past several months? Why didn’t you say anything?)

He follows the open doors back into Phainon’s bedroom. He’s only been in here once, years ago, after he dragged the other all the way home because he got embarrassingly drunk. 

The massive wooden bed frame is still the same, along with Phainon’s wardrobe and sword polishing kit. Mydei sees a pile of wrinkled laundry in the corner.

As he swings you around, Mydei stares at an open ankle cuff on the floor surrounded by numerous bent wires. The cuff is connected to a thick chain, which is in turn attached to the foot of the bedpost. 

(There are some scratch marks on the bedpost. He bets that if he held your hands to them, they would perfectly align with your fingernails.)

…

…

…dimly, he hears someone shrieking and yelling. 

…oh, it’s still you. You’re still pretty upset at being manhandled and ignored, huh.

Dots begin to connect faster and faster in his brain. He feels as though he’s suddenly made a misstep on what he previously thought was solid ice, only to plunge through a deceptively thin layer of frost.

“--what the FUCK do you think you’re doing, Mydei?? Do you think this is some kind of joke? ‘Ha ha, Phainon hasn’t really lost his marbles and isn’t keeping me prisoner’? Didn’t I say we need to get out of here before Phainon gets back?! I know you’ve seen him fight, with that greatsword he swings around with one hand, and I just told you he’s fucking INSANE--?! And get your hand off me, you goddamn lunatic--”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

A few days after your encounter at the Marmoreal Market, Mydei finds himself at the Dromas enclosure. It’s peaceful here, less of a crowd and more calm. The sleepy Dromases blink at him languidly, nudging his hands for any red clay or treats as he passes through.

He huffs out a breath, observing how the giant creatures’ purple hides shimmer in the afternoon sun. They let out low groans as they move ponderously, like they have all the time in the world. Most of them are asleep on the grass. 

A juvenile Dromas stays persistent, nosing at his gauntlets again and again. When he looks at it, the young Dromas tilts its head and opens its mouth, tongue lolling.

“Aren’t you a spoiled little thing?” Mydei states. “Coming up to any passerby and begging for food. I bet you’ve only been eating and sleeping since the day started. It’ll be at least three moons until your owners put you to work or labor. Enjoying your free time, you lazy little hks?” 

The Dromas chirps softly, not at all bothered by Mydei’s words. He remembers Hyacine once telling him that Dromases cannot understand human language like the Chimeras can, so the beasts respond to your tone instead. 

Mydei has said his remarks with light humor, so the juvenile treats him just like any other person who has the ability to dispense food. With idle curiosity and dull interest.

Looking around, the prince observes no one watching him. A few handlers are scattered around the enclosure, but they all look equally tempted to lie down and take a nap with their charges in the midday heat.

“Just this once, little one,” Mydei sighs, leaning over to grasp a handful of clay from the wooden trough. The soft soil bulges in his golden claws. Sensing incoming food, the Dromas becomes more animated and even rears up slightly in excitement. Cute.

Mydei turns his hand palm-up, carefully extending his fingers so the Dromas can scoop up the food without getting pinched by his claws. It shoves its face impatiently into his hand as it gobbles up what is no doubt its eighth meal of the day.

“...enjoying yourself?” a quiet voice pipes up at his elbow.

It takes a supreme effort for the crown prince not to startle and lash out. He hadn’t even heard anyone come up behind him - on the battlefield, that’s a fatal mistake.

He turns his head, mindful of the Dromas still licking his glove to get all the nooks and crannies. He sees you, raising an eyebrow and hiding a small smile.

Ahem.

“I was just…” he tapers off. Well, what else could he be doing other than feeding the Dromas? He feels tongue-tied and slow. It must be this blasted heat.

You giggle slightly. “Scolding the poor little thing on how lazy and fat it is? He’s not even old enough to work in the mail routes, give him some time before you label him as an invalid.”

Heat flushes in his cheeks. You heard all that? He knew he should have just let the fat little dinosaur be, its whining be damned.

A moment passes in companionable silence. Then--

“It’s soft here.” Mydei glances at you, confused. What are you talking about? 

“The grass. I normally walk pretty softly, but on stuff like grass or sand it’s even harder for people to hear me coming. I’ve always done that, as a habit. I didn’t mean to scare you.” You flicker your dark eyes up, a silent apology. 

Mydei must have looked pretty unnerved for you to say that. He clears his throat. “Don’t worry about it. There’s no word for being scared in the Kremnoan language.”

At that, you let out another snort. “Sure. You know, with how often you say that, are you sure there ARE any words in that fancy language of yours?” 

Now it’s Mydei that lets out a laugh before catching himself. He’s always surprised at your quick wit, trading quips with others as naturally as breathing. 

He just hasn’t heard it in a while because these days, you’re always glued to a certain someone. Rarely are you seen alone these days.

Just then, you shift your weight and freeze, letting out a small hiss. Mydei immediately narrows his eyes in concern, looking down. He suddenly remembers the way you walked with such care in the market, favoring one side.

“Something the matter?” he asks casually, eyeing the tense line of your shoulders. A faint tremor runs through them as you take a few measured breaths.

“It’s nothing,” you say. Mydei highly doubts that. 

He waits. He can be patient. 

The young Dromas, once satisfied with slobbering all over Mydei’s glove, then turns its dopey eyes to you. Seemingly forgetting all about the massive meal it just had, it then starts snuffling around your hip. 

Lip curling, Mydei scoffs. “Unbelievable. He has a black hole for a stomach. Any more gluttony and he’d be on par with Hyacine’s pegasus.” 

You pick up a chunk of red clay, holding it out as an offering. The Dromas squeals and starts chewing immediately. “Little Ica? The little rainbow floating horse around Miss Hyacine?” 

“That’s the one.”

“You know, some people around here have given it a nickname,” you whisper conspiratorially. “Because of its never-ending stomach - they call it ‘fat fuck’.”

You both stare at each other, then burst out laughing simultaneously. The thought of that obese little puffball with such a stupid nickname draws a full belly laugh out of Mydei.

You fall into silence again, thankfully not awkward. 

After a beat, Mydei calls out your name softly again. “Hey. What happened to your ankle?”

You freeze, not expecting the question. Or not expecting how sharp Mydei is. Unconsciously, you draw your injured leg behind you slightly. 

“...” You stare at the ground, all humor gone now. “It got twisted up pretty badly. I heard that it was the Achilles tendon or ligament. I thought it would have healed by now, but…”

Ah. That explains it. 

Mydei is no stranger to all sorts of injuries - stabs, cuts, broken bones, and blunt force - but his healing factor makes them disappear in seconds, not weeks or months like for normal people. But his late friend Perdikkas, a medical expert, had said tendons had a poor blood supply and thus poorer healing than bones or muscles. 

You must have injured it a while ago. He’s about to ask you if you have a brace for your ankle but you suddenly look up at the clocktower. 

“I have to go,” you state, carefully blank. The spark that lit up in your eyes when feeding the Dromas is gone now, leaving you unsettlingly distant.

Mydei simply nods. He watches you walk slowly out of the enclosure, measuring your steps with care to not put too much pressure on your bad foot.

“...Mydei…?”

He turns to you, waiting silently.

You swallow carefully. “Thank you,” you murmur. “For today. It was nice to laugh with a friend. I really needed that.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

“--I swear to Cerces, if you don’t let me go right this instant--”

Static sputters in his brain as Mydei detachedly observes how someone has welded iron bars on the windows. The windows themselves have also been sealed shut. Even you, with your slim arms, wouldn’t be able to get your shoulder through the gaps.

Right now he needs to take a look at your ankle. He tugs you over to the bed, setting you down and reaching down to bring your legs up. At that moment, you suddenly twist hard out of his grip and try to bolt past him.

Now he’s annoyed, grabbing you again lightning-fast and slamming a hand against your chest and down on the mattress. The rapid change in momentum makes you cross-eyed for a second before your eyes focus again, full of fury…and a little fear.

“...Mydei…?”

He ignores you, pinning you with a firm hand and hauling your legs up to the bed. Mydei pins your left leg under his own, and uses his other hand to rake a claw through the loose bandages. His gauntlet slices through the cloth easily.

“...hey, stop…this isn’t funny anymore…” 

Your right ankle is definitely swollen and angry-looking. Purplish-red marks have bloomed on the back of the heel. He gently cradles your throbbing foot, considering.

“...Mydei. Please…”

If it’s been more than six months since you twisted your ankle and it’s still this bad, the blond concludes that you either must have torn the tendon completely, or come very close to it. Partial tears should have healed by now.

Perhaps it is better than when it first happened. Mydei wouldn’t know; he wasn’t there. But it hasn’t healed enough.

“....please. You’re really scaring me…”

Mydei’s mind blurs, connecting more and more appalling thoughts. Phainon had put the chain around your other ankle. Why? 

(Because he knew you couldn’t run, let alone walk properly with your right one.)

Distantly, he registers that you’ve started crying again. Weak punches glance off his armor, a futile effort. 

“Please, this isn’t fair, you don’t know what he’s doing, you have to help me, Mydei-- Mydei, they’re all in on this, all the other Chrysos Heirs, I need to get out of here, I’m losing my fucking mind--”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

A rogue Titankin is bisected by the swing of an enormous greatsword, crumbling to dust instantly. The man holding said weapon then turns and thrusts the blade into a Furiae Archer, skewering it before it has a chance to launch arrows at him.

“What’s wrong, Mydei? You’re slow today. I’ve already killed twelve of these enemies!”

Mydei grabs a Daythunder Raven out of the air, ripping it apart before replying. “Don’t get so cocky, Deliverer. Might I remind you that you’re only landing the finishing blow, after I’ve already weakened them for you?”

Phainon smirks, effortlessly dodging a downward slash from another of the monsters. “Ah, but I did deliver--” Mydei groans at the pun, “the final blow, and that’s what counts in the end.”

Between the two of them, all of the monsters are quickly eliminated. Mydei shakes off the dust from his gauntlet and his robes while Phainon carefully wipes down his blade with a cloth.

“Well, well, I believe the official tally is my nineteen to your eleven. Another point for me! Now I’m officially ahead,” Phainon grins, eyes as bright as the sun inscribed on his neck.

Mydei sighs, but he’s in a good mood. His muscles are pleasantly sore, and he’s looking forward to soaking in the baths before relaxing with a glass of pomegranate juice. “Fine, hks, win by stealing my kills. What would people say if they knew the great Deliverer’s accomplishments are mostly due to cheating?”

Phainon plants his greatsword into the dirt and simply smiles. Mydei’s own eyes soften involuntarily. This has been a good day - Aglaea sent them out to clear out an infestation, and it’s gone perfectly. No injuries, they’ve finished the mission in record time, and can even avoid camping out in the wilderness.

The blond can’t help but feel relieved at how Phainon is less stressed and more genuinely happy these days. As the face of the Chrysos Heirs, Phainon cannot afford to appear less than perfect and charming, but Mydei knows the toll it takes on him. No one was born to become the savior of the world. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Mydei sighs, wiping sweat from his brow. They gather up their supplies and start making the trek back to Okhema. “You win this time. Unfairly and through underhanded means, as always, but I’ll be gracious to you.” 

“Oh, well thank you, Your Majesty,” Phainon snarks. “I’ll be sure to tell Aglaea the prince of Castrum Kremnos is a sore loser.”

Mydei kicks the back of Phainon’s ankle, making him face-plant into the dirt. He then starts sprinting as Phainon starts hollering, a smirk on his face.

Phainon really is happy these days. It must be due to you, after all. Mydei selfishly wishes you’ll always be with the Deliverer. He fights better, smarter, and faster because he wants to get home to you. 

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

A clawed finger rubs at the delicate skin over your Achilles tendon, considering. Tearing through the tendon completely would be effortless for him. And it would ensure Phainon’s continued

(delusions)

happiness, after all.

…Okay, you would probably never be able to walk again but…you’d agree with that, right? You’re a kind person, after all, playing with the children and the Dromases in the market square. Surely you’d be fine with…staying with 

(sacrificing yourself to) 

the Deliverer in exchange for Okhema’s continued protection. Yeah. Of course you would. You’d jump at the chance to help hundreds of thousands of innocent civilians.

Mydei hears your breath hitch as his claw scrapes against your heel. Your trembling and thrashing goes suddenly still. He’s not even sure you’re breathing.

Slowly, he continues to apply pressure with his claw. You hold back a tiny flinch, your hands clenching the bed sheets in a vice grip.

Just before the pressure gives way, he abruptly snatches his hand away and picks up the ankle cuff from the ground. Before you know it, you’re so caught up in your spiraling thoughts that you don’t even realize the cuff’s back around the same ankle Phainon secured before he left. 

Mydeie sees you freeze, unbelieving. You flick your eyes down to your foot. Then up to him again.

He stares back at you, silent. 

He’s utterly unprepared for the absolute screaming and sobbing you break out into, recoiling at the sheer volume. You bring your leg up to your chest and grab the chain, rattling it.

“Get this OFF of me!! Take it OFF! This isn’t fair, Mydei, I was so close, you can’t DO THIS TO ME--”

You yank so hard on the chain he can see your skin break open. Drops of blood leak onto the sheets. 

Angrily, Mydei surges forward to smack your hand away. “Stay put,” he snarls. If you get injured (more than you already are), he knows Phainon will go on a rampage.

Then he lets go of you, heading to the door. He bends down to snatch the bent metal wires from the floor, putting them in his pocket.

Behind him, you scramble off the bed and trip over the chain. “Fuck--” he hears you curse at you hit the floor. You desperately crawl towards the only exit but Mydei sees that the chain is just long enough for you to reach the bathroom. It’s not long enough for you to reach the door, even if you lie flat on your belly with outstretched arms. You’re just not tall enough. 

Metal clangs as you throw yourself forward again and again, fingers scrabbling uselessly. Fat tears run down your cheeks as you wail in desperation.

“COME BACK, COME BACK MYDEI, MYDEI -- MYDEIMOS--I KNEW IT, I KNEW YOU DAMNED KREMNOANS COULDN’T BE TRUSTED, YOU TRAITOROUS BRUTE, YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!

“FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, COME BACK AND GET ME OUT OF HERE, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE--!!”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

“We don’t serve your kind here,” sneers the restaurant owner in contempt. He sweeps a disinterested gaze over the women outside his bar. “Move along, Kremnoans.”

Mydei bites his cheek hard enough to draw blood. The women behind him look at each other with uncertainty and sadness. For Kephale’s sake, they were just trying to get a meal after being forced to uproot their entire lives, and now this prick is telling them they don’t deserve food?

Mydei knows that millenia of tension and conflict between Okhema and his people aren’t so easily forgotten, but surely no one would argue that all people deserve basic necessities?

“Oh, good afternoon, madams. If you are looking for a meal, might I recommend anywhere but this fine…establishment? Word on the street is that several customers have claimed this venue has an unfortunate vermin problem.”

A sharp voice cuts through the air. You make your way to the restaurant, stopping next to Mydei as you cross your arms at the unpleasant owner, who turns his sneer on you.

“Slandering my business, miss? On unfounded claims, no less? Awfully bold of you. I wonder what the guards will say when you’re found guilty of defamation?”

You throw the sneer right back at him, “oh, but it’s only slander if it’s false. And as for evidence…what is that over there?” Pointing a finger back into his restaurant, everyone turns to see--

“AIEEE!!!” A woman’s shrill voice screams, cutlery and dishes smashing to the floor. More people turn in alarm, seeing a finely-dressed woman scramble up onto the chairs. “There-- there was a rat in my soup!!!”

The restaurant owner’s face pales, mouth gaping open like a fish. All of a sudden, the bustling restaurant empties out into the street, with many former customers yelling angrily at him and demanding refunds.

At that, you scoff and then turn back to the Kremnoan ladies. Expression softening, you continue, “This restaurant looks fancy, but the owner has been cutting corners and hasn’t kept up with the sanitary guidelines in months. He upcharges food that’s almost expired and squeezes every last coin out of his customers for profit. You all don’t deserve to eat such a subpar meal. I have some free time, and if you don’t mind -- I can show you some real hidden gems and food stalls? My treat, of course.”

The Kremnoan women talk excitedly amongst themselves, looking at Mydei as if for his blessing. He nods, and they beam at you, grasping your hands in theirs, thanking you over and over again.

You blush slightly, ducking your head. “It’s no trouble,” you mumble. “I had some extra coin today, and the stalls we’re going to aren’t that expensive.”

The women pull at your hands, babbling happily about how precious and kind you are, smiling for the first time in days. It makes Mydei’s heart ache.

He calls out your name, and you turn slightly, eyes questioning.

“...thank you. For today. These ladies really needed that.”

Your answering smile could light up the darkest corners of Janusopolis.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Your screaming grows more distant as he closes the doors leading from the bedroom back to the main entrance. 

Mydei walks toward the discarded travel bag and shoves most of the fallen items back into it before closing it. He takes the bread and puts it back in the fridge, shutting the door. He puts the kitchen knife back into the cutlery block. Once that’s done, he sweeps everything that’s left back into the drawers and cabinets, closing them. 

He readjusts the furniture that was knocked around in the initial scuffle.

He walks to the front door, opening it. He activates the lock from the inside before stepping out, closing it firmly behind him.

Out here, he can barely hear anything, only a faint buzzing sound. Good insulation, he guesses. Must have cost Phainon a small fortune, but doable with his status. Maybe that’s why he tried to get Mydei to pay for lunch that one time. 

Fat chance that any neighbors would hear anything. They’d have to have their ear pressed up right against the door. You’d probably scream yourself hoarse long before that. 

It’s almost blindingly bright outside. Mydei takes a breath. The air tastes like ash, bitter and choking.

There’s no sound. He can’t even hear the wind or any birds chirping.

He walks. To the outskirts of Okhema. Gravel crunches, deafeningly loud beneath his feet. After a while, he reaches an undesirable area - a place where people dump their trash that is unfit for recycling. Once a week, the cleaners will come and burn the lot of it.

That day, he knows, is scheduled for tomorrow.

He looks at the bag again. It’s plain and average-looking, a common travel pack that could belong to any Okheman citizen. It doesn’t stand out. You likely picked it specifically because of that, in case anyone was looking for you, you’d look like an ordinary traveler with your hood up, but now it works against you.

Anyone searching for a bag would easily overlook this beige, faded thing. 

He retrieves the bent pins from his pocket and drops them into the bag. Using his boot, he makes a small hole in the ground and holds the bag over it. 

He hesitates. 

(It’s not too late to go back. You could retrace your steps back to the Deliverer’s house. Break the chains, apologize on your knees for what you’ve done, what you did to her despite her only being good to you and your people. Accept her vitriolic words and venom, probably even a slap to the face. But she’d extend a hand to you even then, because that’s just who she is. She’s kind. You could both escape together--)

The bag drops into the hole unceremoniously. He kicks trash over it, burying it completely from sight. Then, almost as an afterthought, he grabs a massive chunk of rotted wood and lays it over as well.

Mydei has made his choice. He will not choose one person over hundreds of thousands of civilians, the last bastion of Amphoreus, or Phainon. He knows you will hate him forever for it, cursing his name until you die. 

He is a prince, and has had to make tough decisions his entire life. He cannot risk his people’s safety.

Not even for you.

He wearily thinks of how Phainon would react if he were to discover your escape attempt. Or how his rival would react if Mydei told him. In his mind, he can see Phainon going berserk with rage, smashing his greatsword into everything and anyone until you are back in his arms.

No, he’s not going to tell Phainon about today. Most of it is that he doesn’t want to do anything to influence Phainon’s already questionable sanity.

But another small, selfish part of him, the scared little boy fighting his way desperately through the Sea of Souls, simply hates the thought of Phainon thinking badly of him. He doesn’t want his relationship, his dynamic with Phainon to change. It’s one of the small comforts he has in his wretched life.

And he’s tired, by Kephale, he’s so tired. He’s been working tirelessly and thanklessly for the past five years, still dealing with the criticism by the very citizens he’s tasked with protecting, dying and reviving hundreds of times for their sake…he can have this one thing, right? 

He’s not a bad person for being selfish this one time, right?

(Mother…am I a bad person? Krateros, am I worthy to be called the son of Gorgo?)

Mydei turns and starts to walk home. 

His head feels hot and throbs in time with his heartbeat. 

He wants to stop thinking. He wants to lie down and not wake up for a whole week. He wants to forget and go back to a simpler time where he doesn’t have to think about his best friend being a monster.

He wants to think of nothing at all. He wants to erase what happened today from his memory.

(He wants to run away).

Behind him, the circling gulls fly above the trash, ever opportunistic scavengers. They are small, weak things that fall prey to any large predator. They’re captured frequently by Okheman residents as a source of food. Easy to catch, easy to cook, easy to hunt.

One gull descends just a few feet away from the most recent addition to the trash pile and pecks at the overlying wood plank. It’s too heavy to lift for a bird. But for some reason, it gets agitated and starts squalling. It calls out desperately, but none of its fellow birds answer. 

Mydei doesn’t answer.

It almost sounds like it’s mourning.

(There is no word for revelation in the Kremnoan language, and Mydei does not want there to be.)

VI. There is no word for hopeless in the Kremnoan language.

Much like the vast majority of the Kremnoan dictionary, terms that are considered weak-willed or cowardly are conspicuously absent. Mydei, despite his questionable patchwork education given that he spent the first decade of his life fighting his way out of the Underworld, has come to the conclusion that there are two possibilities as to why.

The first, and most obvious one, is that thousands of years of tradition in the warrior culture have culled all weakness out of Kremnoan culture, including its language. Fighting and strength are the pinnacle of Kremnoan ideals, so there is no place for anything less.

The second, Mydei thinks, is because the damn bastards in charge of the language were fucking lazy.

He tears through a screeching Titankin like tissue paper, fury sharpening his movements. A split second later, he pivots to barely avoid a downward slash by a hair’s breadth. While the Furiae Warrior swings its claymore up again, Mydei is already on it, punching the monster’s lowered head so hard it rips off from its neck.

The beheaded amalgamation instantly collapses to its knees like a stringless puppet. Fifty feet away, its head smashes into the stone wall, disintegrating to dust.

The prince has no time to catch his breath as a horde of stone monsters lunge at him from all sides. Growling, Mydei surges forward to meet them, paying no heed to the stabs and punctures he receives in return.

A lucky strike severs his carotid artery and he bleeds out in seconds.

But a heartbeat later, Mydei roars as he comes back to life. Cold steel punches through an Archer’s chest in retaliation.

His skull shatters from an explosive spell from a Furiae Priest.

Mydeimos the Undying revives faster than it can recover. He snaps the Priest’s spine with a brutal double-hammer fist blow.

He dies and comes back and kills and dies and revives and dies and--

Eventually he runs out of enemies and stops, chest heaving as he sucks in great gasps of air. His golden necklace shifts against his tattooed front as he slowly comes back to himself.

He’s knee-deep in dust, the gritty sand seeping uncomfortably into his boots. Dust is even in his mouth. He spits out a gob of cloudy phlegm on the ground.

He feels disgusting. So much blood coats his hair that he probably looks like Tribios’s older sibling.

Mydei inhales deeply, then lets it all out in a great sigh. Normally he wouldn’t be away from Okhema so long, but recent events have compelled him to take the most dangerous solo missions.

He told Aglaea that nothing can kill him, so better him than sending any of the other Chrysos Heirs or regular soldiers. And it’s true – no injury has been able to keep him down for longer than a moment.

(And while there is the matter of his one weak spot…he has not told a living soul about it, so the chances of enemies specifically targeting it is slim.)

However, there is another reason why the crown prince has basically fled from Okhema with his proverbial tail between his legs.

He just doesn’t want to…deal with a certain couple.

(Like a true masochist, Mydei’s mind continues to replay the memory of you bursting into tears and struggling to remove the manacle. He cringes every time it pops up, and he tries to aggressively distract himself whenever that happens. Sometimes he’s successful, but most of the time he’s not.

He finds the most success if he pushes his body to the point of exhaustion. So far, he’s ran hundreds in miles in under a day. Clearing out an entire horde of Titankin down to the last monster. Scouting out abandoned encampments halfway across the continent.

If he tires himself out, he doesn’t have the energy to think. All he has left in the tank is to wearily collapse onto his bedroll and sleep like the souls touched by Thanatos.)

(He doesn’t have to see your miserable, hopeless face.)

It’s gotten to the point where he’s barely in the Holy City for a few hours to report to Aglaea, wash up, and then demand another mission that will send him leagues away again.

(Mydei doesn’t take himself for a coward, but he shies away from seeing you again. If only to avoid the fallout of that disastrous day.)

Okhema is still standing when he returns, so he idly notes that Phainon must not have learned of your escape attempt, and has not, in fact, gone on an unstoppable rampage. Mydei wearily trudges through the front gate, ignoring the startled looks of the guards at his uncharacteristically disheveled appearance.

Of course, his luck has been absolute dogshit lately, so obviously the very first people he runs into are the ones he has been avoiding for the past few weeks.

You spot him first, eyes widening in surprise. Phainon turns to you, puzzled why you stopped walking before craning his head and spotting his rival.

“Oh, Mydei!” Phainon exclaims, tugging your hand where they’re intertwined. “I didn’t know you were coming back today. How did your mission go? Did you report to Aglaea already?”

Mydei crosses his arms, suddenly hyper aware of how tattered his clothes are compared to the white-haired man’s pristine armor.

 Hell, I was the one who spent hours fighting. The Deliverer probably was just having fun on his stupid date.

“It’s just a temporary stop before I’ll head out again,” the blond replies. “And the mission went fine.”

If you could count dying dozens of times and then smashing through hundreds of Titans’ heads ‘fine’. “I was on my way to Aglaea before you so rudely interrupted me.”

Phainon has the gall to look offended at that. “In a bad mood, Your Highness?” he quips light-heartedly. His eyes sparkle with mirth.

Mydei knows that his rival means no offense, but a sudden wave of resentment rushes over him.

What does Phainon know of troubles and mental conflicts? What could possibly trouble the mighty Deliverer, the bastion of hope, the celebrity which every citizen worships? Perfect Phainon, who is trusted, and loved, and adored by all.

Not like Mydei, who has bled and died and killed for Okhema (for Phainon) and still faces relentless prejudice and suspicion from all sides.

Fucking Deliverer. His hands clench into fists unconsciously.

His mouth moves before his brain registers. “Shut up,” he growls, eyes flashing. The unexpected anger makes both you and Phainon flinch.

“Just—shut up, Deliverer. I don’t have time for your bullshit right now. I’ve had a long day and I don’t need any backtalk, especially from someone who’s just out on a date instead of doing their actual responsibilities.”

An awkward silence falls over the three of you. Apprehensively, you flick your eyes between the two Chrysos Heirs, hand flexing in Phainon’s grasp. Your other hand smooths over the skirt of your airy dress, a nervous tic.

Phainon’s expression smooths out into a neutral mask. Subtly, he pushes you backward so you’re less visible to the other.

“…hit a nerve, did I?” Phainon asks mildly. “Wasn’t it you who volunteered for twice as many missions as usual? I have a mission tomorrow and am prepared for it, but there’s no reason why I can’t enjoy my free time today.”

Mydei tiredly scrubs at his face. “Like I said, it’s been a long day.” Almost by accident, he catches your eye before jerkily looking away. “…sorry.”

His rival shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “Well, everyone has bad days. I know you, Mydei, so it’s all water under the bridge.” Phainon tilts his chin. “Though I would ask that you not take it out on her.”

Wincing, Mydei drags his eyes to meet your gaze again. But contrary to his expectations, you aren’t seething with rage. Nor are you glaring at him.

No, you just look…resigned. Tired.

(hopeless)

You stare at him listlessly, the dark color of your irises dull against pale skin.

“...we shouldn’t bother Prince Mydeimos too much, Phainon. I’m sure he’s busy. Let’s go.” You tug at Phainon’s hand, leading him back to the bustling market street. You let out a tiny grimace of pain as you step down a little hard with your bad ankle.

(worse after what Mydei did--)

Phainon turns toward you, dismissing the awkward tension in lieu of a grin towards you. “Ah, love…you’re rarely this bold, what’s gotten into you?” But he’s beaming as you two walk away.

You using his full name stings, but he supposes it’s nothing less than he deserves.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

A few weeks pass. After that incident, Mydei allows himself to scale back on the number of back-to-back missions he requests.

The Chrysos Heir doesn’t go out of his way to avoid you, but neither does he seek you out either. But Okhema, despite its sprawling metropolis layout, is not an infinitely large city. The two of you do (did) have overlapping interests.

So Mydei takes care to check his surroundings twice when moving around the city. He still remembers that time you snuck up on him at the Dromas pens (did you take stealth lessons from Cipher, by any chance?).

He can count the number of times he’s seen you on one hand since that disaster at the front gates.

Mydei doesn’t know whether he’s disappointed or relieved at that.

Excited shouting reaching his ears. The prince makes his way toward the source, and he soon finds himself at a familiar fruit vendor stand. Racing around the stall are a mixed group of young Kremnoan and Okheman children, shrieking with laughter. The exasperated owner looks on in annoyance, a vein popping in his forehead.

“Hey, you brats!” he yells, brandishing his brawny arms. “Stop running around here! If you spill my merchandise, you’ll have to pay for that!”

A brown-haired boy stops and frowns, lip jutting out into a pout. “We’re not hurting nobody, mister!” he yells, clearly offended. “We didn’t even bump into your stupid fruit anyway!” Behind him, a skinny blond girl and a narrow-eyed Kremnoan boy nod in agreement.

The fruit vendor runs a hand through his dark hair. “Yeah?” he scoffs. “You guys are coming real close each time you run around me like a bunch of…a bunch of hooligans! Aren’t you kids supposed to be in school? Where are your parents, you little delinquents?”

The girl sticks out her tongue at him. “School’s boring! Why do we gotta learn numbers and dumb stuff? I want to play heroes and dragons!”

“Well, everyone wants to do things they don’t like, you kids need an education when you’re young. I swear young people these days don’t know how hard it was for—HEY! I saw that, you brat!!”

The Kremnoan boy flinches, yanking his hand back from the stacked oranges. A few fruits tumble to the floor by accident. The child blanches and then instantly bolts, and his friends follow a second after.

“You—little--!!”

“Take these for your wares,” Mydei says, stepping forward with an extended hand. A handful of silver coins clink onto the table. “For your troubles. I’ll make sure the children are all right.”

The other man flaps a hand at Mydei, still ruffling his own dark locks. “Kids these days, don’t know what’s good for them. I swear I was never so ill-mannered at their age.” Mydei can’t help but notice the vendor sweeps the coins into his pocket while he grumbles, regardless. It seems the old saying is universal – money talks.

The blond sweeps a critical eye over the offered wares – oranges, grapes, and even olives today. He grudgingly admits that all the fruits do look acceptable today.

“No biting criticism today?”

Mydei snaps out of his thoughts, tilting his head. The vendor continues, "I almost thought you and that young lady forgot about me. What with all your sharp words about my wares.” He sniffs, seemingly offended. But the twinkle in his eye betrays his amusement at the situation.

Mydei’s mood dampens as if a bucket of ice water were upended over his head. Another pastime with you that has fizzled out – teaming up against hapless vendors to comment on their fruit qualities.

“She’s been busy,” Mydei states, looking off to the side. “As have I.”

The vendor grunts in acknowledgment. “Heard you’ve been busting your ass out there, killing monsters.” Mydei barks out a laugh, both at the language and the fact that the other feels comfortable enough to talk to the Kremnoan prince so casually.

(He reminds Mydei of you—

He stops that thought before it can fully form.)

“I have,” the blond replies. “Though I suppose I’ve reduced their numbers enough so that the Titankin need time to recover.”

The fruit vendor lets out a low whistle. “Well, thank you kindly for your service. Now go on and keep our promise. Keep those kids out of trouble. And go quickly – you’re scaring away my customers.”

 ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

A few hours later, Mydei finds himself on the stone steps in a back alley, eating freshly-baked bread and honey cakes with the children. Most shied away at first when he caught up with them, but the young girl’s eyes lit up and she grabbed at his cape, insisting he play with them.

As always, Mydei agreed and was given (forced) the role of the evil fire-breathing dragon (he winces. Why couldn’t he be the prince? At least that has some basis in reality). After a long, drawn-out “duel” that basically consists of the brunette boy leaping onto his back several times, he’s finally “slain” with a sword (stick) to the heart. “Hey, mister! Where’d you get your tattoos? They look cool!” exclaims the girl, poking at his marked skin.

Mydei leans back, tongue flicking out to catch a drop of honey. “These markings?” He traces a clawed finger along the red ink, and the three children all nod furiously.

“Yeah! Did it hurt? Do they mean anything?” the brunette asks, shuffling closer.

Mydei then launches into an explanation of how Kremnoan royalty receives tattoos at an early age, and how the red color represents strength and vitality. He rotates his arms to let the kids see the full markings, and lets them poke at his chest.

He talks about the artisan who was commissioned to tattoo him, but the more he speaks the more he feels…a little disconcerted.

The tattoos occurred quite early in his life, but even Kremnoans wouldn’t mark up their infants. He must have been at least six years old when the first needle marked his skin.

But he also spent his first nine years in the Sea of Souls after his wretched father threw him from a cliff. Did he already have his tattoos then?

Another memory surfaces in the ripples of his mind. His mother, Gorgo, whispering traditional lullabies to put him to sleep.

And the painful memory of losing his five closest friends, one by one. The devastation he felt when Perdikkas succumbed to a fatal wound. The agony when Hephaestus bled out on the ground. And—

“Mister?”

Mydei doesn’t realize he has trailed off until one of the kids speaks up. His head feels fuzzy. The shadows in the alleyway seem too dark. He feels off-center and dizzy.

Logic states that his memory is not flawed. But it also states that all these recollections don’t make sense in the same timeline.

(Out of the corner of his eye, he swears he sees a shadow glitch into static.)

A poke to his thigh brings him back to reality.

“Mister,” the girl repeats, an impatient crease between her eyebrows. “Why’d you stop talking? You were just getting to the good part!”

Mydei quickly shakes his head, clearing the mental cobwebs. He somehow cobbles together a story of how he and Phainon went on a mission to kill a minotaur-like Titankin and how the blond delivered the final blow. Mydei remembers to specifically mention how many times Phainon ran into a pillar or fell flat on his face due to the shifting terrain.

Eventually, enough time passes for the clocktower to chime the Parting Hour. The kids groan, knowing it’s time for them to go home.

“All right, you all better go straight home. School and education are important – how else will you be smart out there going on adventures when you’re older?”

The children let out another groan but also nod begrudgingly. The girl’s eyes sparkle with excitement as she jumps up, loose hair blowing everywhere. “Last one home is a rotten Dromas!” she yells, sprinting with all the energy of a preteen.

The Kremnoan boy also jumps up, sputtering “that’s not fair!” as he runs to catch up.

The last one, the brunette, doesn’t move from where he’s seated across from Mydei. The kid cocks his head at an angle, popping the last bit of sweet roll into his mouth. Simply staring after his friends.

Mydei says, “You should get going, too.”

The boy turns to look at him, blue eyes considering. They’re a little darker than Phainon’s, but the prince is at once struck with how bright and piercing they are.

“Are you sad?”

Mydei startles, bewildered. Sad? What kind of question is that?

Privately, he also feels a little indignant because how pathetic is he if a kid picked up any type of weakness?

Seeing Mydei stay silent, the brunette continues, “You just seem a little lost, that’s okay, my mom says that’s normal. Sometimes if I forget to lock the front door, she yells at me, but she always forgives me by dinner time.”

In the alleyway, the kid’s face is obscured in the shadows of hanging linens and curtains.

(In the darkness, Mydei swears he sees those eyes gleam with an unholy light and his face warps into black static for a split second—

but by the time he blinks, nothing is wrong.

Nothing is wrong.)

Mydei lets out a forced chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m not…sad,” he says. “Just…sometimes life doesn’t go the way you want, and you have to make hard decisions that you don’t always agree with.” A brief image of holding a bag above a heap of garbage flashes through his mind, but he quickly waves it off.

The brunette simply tilts his head the other way. “Then…have you ever done a bad thing, but for the right reason?”

(Hitting a little too close to home, there, isn’t he?)

“Like, last month when my sister saved up weeks of her mail delivery salary to buy the newest chocolate baklava set from Kyrios’s shop, man she was so excited to eat it but she had to run out to deliver one last package. And she just left the whole box on the kitchen counter!

“I mean, I swear I didn’t mean to eat any – she threatened to kill me if I did – but they just looked and smelled so good. I just opened the box…and just ate one! …and then another, and another, and before I knew it it was all empty…

“I, uh, panicked. My sister was coming home soon and I knew she was gonna blow her top, so I threw the whole thing in the trash and hid in my bed when she came home.

“Yeah, she was really mad. She stormed all the way up to my room and started yelling at me, but at that point I really started feeling sick. Like, I was gonna puke. Probably from all the chocolate, ya know?

“Well, she felt bad for me so she brought the basin over so I could throw up. She even rubbed my back and got me water. I was sick as a dog for the next three days.

“But you know what? If that baklava made me so sick, it would have done a lot worse to my sister! She’s strong, but also always coming down with colds and stuff. So in the end, I actually saved my sister from a bad thing! So even though my mom found out later and gave me the longest lecture of my life, I don’t regret it.”

Mydei snorts at the story. “I’m sure your sister appreciated it,” he says dryly. “You don’t regret it, huh? From a certain point of view, that’s certainly plausible. But didn’t your original intent come from simple greed? Do you think it was actually the right thing to do?” He turns to stand, brushing the cobblestone dust from his robes.

“̧̪͓͓̊̏̍͠W̡̙̼͗͑͐h̛̞̹́a̟̅̈͟t̨̗͎͑̽͘ ̩͖̠̆͋͜͡͞a̯̬͗͝bơ͔͚̦͆͘u̡̥͌͋͊͜ṯ̢̳̞̑̂͊́ ̪͉͇̠̔̿̒̏ý̘͙̪͍̎̀͞ó̻̠͔̭͌͌̒̏͜û̡̖̹͆̾,̬̚ My̥̣̏̾͞ͅd̳̦͊̒e͔̱͒̋ị̛̘͇̘̍̊͗?̹̲̗̜͚̎̄͐͗͘ ̡̪͈̞͒̾̇͞Do̻̰̓̕ ͕̘̝̥̒̃͐̽y͈̖͊͡o͔͎̥̤̽̈́͌̏ű̻̻̲̑͗ ̡̜̥̲͗̆̋̎thi͔͗n͖̪̽̂k͕͖͓̥̃̉͘͡ ͈͞w̨̞̩̪̺̆͋̓͒̽h̨̘̊͂a͉̺̰̓̏̑t̖̖̬̩͂͗̊́ ̦̹́̍̄͜y̨͈̓̋͘͜o͙̐ů̝̙̥̈̒ ̫̭̠̉̒͊̓͜d͓͡i̧̟͍̱̜̒̒̓̈͝d̨͙͖͓̋̈́̐̇ ͍̐̊͜w̫̻̳͖̞̆̈͌̾͡ḁ̥͉̉̓̅s͖̠̱̓̆̆̕͢ ̤̱́̀͟͠r̡̦̜̘̝̽͗̈́̽̚ï͓ģ̢̰̤͉͗̾̓̃̚ȟ͕̱̯́̓̈́ͅt̨̛̻͛?̢̰͊̾”̡͎̥̪̹̑͌̇̋͝ ̨͔̏̚

Whipping his head around, Mydei stares into the kid’s cerulean eyes, gleaming in the darkness. Were his eyes always so blue?

Static rushes in his ears. The air is stifling in the alleyway.

Mydei closes his eyes. Damn all this. Damn this kid for making him remember and think about all this.

“...yes. Even if she hates me for it forever, I did it to help her. She would have gotten hurt or killed on her own. She’s protected now. She’s safe.”

He doesn’t specify the details or mention your name, but somehow the ozone in the air seems to clear as he finishes speaking.

Suddenly, Mydei can hear the lively crowds of the market again, interspersed with the low bellows of lumbering Dromases.

The kid smiles at him gently. “Well done, ██ ██ ██ ██ ██ .” Then he pauses, a dazed expression taking over his face, his eyes cloudy and dulled. Then he shakes his head roughly. When the brunette meets his gaze again, his eyes are green. He smiles as if the past few minutes never happened

“Bye, mister! I had fun today! Let’s play again soon!” he calls, dashing off and waving over his shoulder.

Left in the alleyway, Mydei feels like he narrowly passed a test he didn’t even know he was taking.

(What…just happened?)

(I did it because I was afraid. Afraid of what would happen if she really did escape. Phainon would raze Okhema to the ground. Not even rubble would be left in his wake. He would abandon the prophecy, because he has no use for it if he doesn’t have you.)

(And I’m afraid…if I caught her escaping again…that I would do the exact same thing.)

 ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Time seems to pass simultaneously at a blazing speed and at a slow crawl. Mydei’s regular routine changes little, but one day he stops by a dilapidated bar on the edge of town.

And of course, there you are, sloshed out of your mind and surrounded by empty bottles of mead and wine. Your forehead sticks to the gritty bartop, and because it is barely after the Entry Hour, there is no one else in the bar except for the grizzled, unfriendly-looking bartender.

Soft snoring sounds reach Mydei’s ears as he makes his way toward you. You’re cradling your head in between your folded arms – as if you’ve just sat down for a quick midday nap.

Stupid, he thinks with some heat. What do you think you’re doing, getting drunk out in public? You could have gotten mugged, or assaulted. It’s a miracle that you’re left untouched.

While the general population knows you as Phainon’s lover, it’s not to the point of public knowledge because the Chrysos Heirs are still pretty private. Plus they want to avoid drawing too much attention from the Council.

The bartender raises an eyebrow at Mydei, then nodding towards your limp form. You gonna take her home and get her out of my bar? is the unspoken question.

The prince stares back, then looks to you again. He rubs a shoulder with his hand, massaging out the tension. Sighing, he comes closer and starts moving the bottles away.

Mydei has been…not stalking you exactly, but observing you from time to time from the rooftops. If your paths happen to cross and he sees you coming, he will retreat to the upper levels and keep an eye on you.

If he’s honest with himself, you’ve been looking pretty damn depressed lately. Not that that’s a surprise. You have this beaten down expression on your face which he hates, and he’s even seen you limp past a certain fruit vendor without even looking up as he heckles you.

 ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

“Well, well, if it isn’t my most distinguished customer,” the dark-haired vendor drawls out, clearly ready for another verbal spar. “haven’t seen you around lately. Have you finally decided to lower your standards and buy some produce instead of turning up your nose?”

Normally this would rile you up and have you stomping over to the stall to argue the day away, but this time you don’t even seem to hear him. You slowly trudge past, head down and seemingly lost in thought.

From above, Mydei sees the fruit vendor scratch his hair underneath his straw hat, watching you go. Then he goes back to selling his wares, but he appears slightly disconcerted.

The day after, he calls out again, but you barely twitch as you pass by. Mydei watches as the man’s mouth twists into a frown. The vendor is so distracted by your uncharacteristic behavior that he barely notices to attend to a curious customer in time.

A few days after that, Mydei watches from above as the stall owner spots you again. This time, he calls out in a more neutral tone – seeing as how the usual greetings have not been working. Your eyes briefly look up. In the light of Kephale’s everlasting sun, the dark spots under your eyes are more prominent than ever. You meet the vendor’s eyes briefly, but continue walking.

(Mydei just now notices that the color of your eyes are the exact same shade as the man’s.)

There comes a period where you aren’t seen in the market at all. Mydei isn’t totally sure if you have been there, because he is a Chrysos Heir and is out on missions periodically, but every time he takes up his post on the rooftops there is no sign of you.

It gets to a point where he wonders if you’ve decided to forgo this part of your daily routine altogether, but eventually he sees you again, shuffling slowly past the various trinket and food stalls.

The fruit vendor looks up and sees you, hesitates, then softly calls out your name. And finally, now - a deviation. You look up and exchange a few words that Mydei can’t hear. The vendor cautiously extends a callused hand towards you.

You flinch back as if you got burned, but then slowly come closer. The man takes care to speak softly and telegraph his movements, like he is coaxing a beaten animal. He picks up a dragon fruit and places it in your hand. He then launches into another spiel about how this fruit is no doubt the finest in the land, and how you should definitely buy it.

Slowly the light comes back in your eyes as you fall into familiar banter. The shop owner smiles, looking relieved. But something seems to comes over you, like a revelation. You hastily place the fruit back on the table, stumbling backwards. You stutter out an apology, leaving as fast as you can. Stunned, the owner looks at your retreating back in silence.

He looks…almost hurt.

 ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Mydei reaches out a hand to shake your shoulder. You mumble out something incoherent, pawing at his hand before going still again.

The bartender strokes his grizzled beard, sweeping the empty bottles into the trash. “Take her home,” he grunts. “She’s cut off. She’ll have no more drinks here today. I’m not going to take her money.”

“She…I…we’re not really—” Mydei starts, but the bartender cuts him off with a waved hand.

“You’re her friend, aren’t you? You know her, right?”

Mydei’s brain screeches to a halt.

Yes, she’s my friend, is his first thought. Before reality crashes in. Yes, I know her. No, I don’t think she wants me to carry her home. Not after--

“You know her,” the other man confirms as Mydei remains silent for too long. “Look, you…prince…I hear all kinds of things in my bar, usually nothing more than drunken ramblings from soldiers and citizens after a long day. But I’ve seen that most Kremnoans, stiff as they are, have honor and respect. As their leader, surely you won’t leave your female friend here alone.”

And Mydei can’t really say anything to that.

So he drags you off the barstool, your head lolling and dark hair going everywhere, and hoists you onto his broad back.

You whine drunkenly at the movement, and he briefly contemplates just dropping you on your ass halfway through the way to Phainon’s house.

Fortunately, you don’t seem to be in the mood for talking (or maybe you’re just passed out), so he makes his way in blessed silence.

Unfortunately, the quiet doesn’t last long because you two are soon spotted by a gaggle of Kremnoan aunties, who rush over as soon as they see you.

Mydei shifts uncomfortably as they sigh over how sloshed you are, and pat his arm in affection because he’s being so responsible and gentleman-like bringing a lady home!

They coo over your sleeping face and furtively bring out little packets of homemade sweets, tucking them in the prince’s pockets for him to give you later.

Just then, you stir slightly and clench a fist in his robes. “Well, he could be a little more courteous,” you mumble under your breath. The words make him stiffen, but the Kremnoan women just laugh and send you on your way.

Mydei hikes you up further on his back and nods to the women. Soon you both are on your way again.

It seems that the alcohol in your system is wearing off slightly, as you randomly vacillate from bursting into laughter and then falling silent. You seem to keep forgetting that Mydei is the one carrying you. Sometimes you call him Mydeimos, other times you call him a pervert taking advantage of a vulnerable lady to which he quickly (and irritably) corrects you. “You think a pervert would haul your ungrateful ass home?”

Worst of all, hair gets in his mouth constantly, which he spits out with disgust. The faint scent of oranges tickles his nose.

Fuck, he hates his life. Can’t you have tied up your hair before all this?

When you two are almost at your destination, you start calling out an unknown name. It takes Mydei several seconds to place it, but then—

“Phaoriseus,” you whisper softly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you that day when I promised. I…got a message from someone else who was injured, and I wanted to visit them before seeing you. But I…he…stuff happened, and…”

Phaoriseus. The first name on the list of the missing person cases. The first name out of a dozen.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t make it to see you one last time…I wanted to tell you about the newest books at the store, that series you loved about Mnesta’s chosen…the cheesy titles…the latest volume was in stock and I knew how much you saved up from your courier job to buy it…I wanted to show you my latest pictures of the chimeras doing backflips in the garden…”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…you would still be alive if it wasn’t for me…”

Mydei cannot speak. His tongue is a dead weight in his mouth. He knows what must have happened even without having to ask.

He continues to walk in silence, your face buried in his hair. Wetness tricks down his back.

Then you seem to sober up slightly, slurring, “Mydeimos…”

He halts, waiting.

“...in another life, if I met you first…and if the world was kinder…I think I could have…with you…”

Mydei’s heart starts pounding at this unexpected statement. What? After all he had done? You still…?

But you two had been friends, even close, before…

He doesn’t get the chance to ask further as he steps through the path to Phainon’s enclave. And who else should be there, but the Deliverer himself?

Phainon looks surprised, narrowing his eyes and taking in the sight before him. Jealousy flashes over his handsome features but then smooths out as he strides forward, holding his hands out. To take you.

Mydei takes a step back unconsciously, tightening his grip on your thighs. It was just…instinct.

(Just instinctively, he didn’t want to hand you over to a…starving wolf.)

The Deliverer goes absolutely still, halting mid-step, pupils narrowing to pinpricks. Slowly, he cocks his head, pinning Mydei with an icy stare. Then he breaks out into a sunny smile.

“What are you doing, Mydei?” he chides. “Can’t you see my darling needs rest? She’s a little tired from such a long day in the market, isn’t she?” He takes a deliberate step forward, gravel crunching under his boot like bones cracking. Mydei resolutely stands his ground. “Give her over to me. She’s where she belongs now.”

Mydei knows he should. He should drop you right now, leave you on the ground, and start backing up immediately.

But he can’t.

“Mydei. Give her to me. Right. Now.”

Maybe it’s a trick of the light. Phainon’s face seems to blur for a second, dark veins crawling up his neck and blood falling from his eyes.

The next instant it vanishes.

Mydei’s brain runs syrup slow again. It always seems to stop working and his logic seems to stop making sense in the presence of the other Chrysos Heir.

He loosens his grip. You slide down from his back, stumbling when your feet hit the floor. But Phainon is there in the next instant to catch you.

The white-haired man sweeps you up in a true princess carry. He braces a hand behind your shoulders and the other under your knees. He croons softly, pushing your face into the sun brand on his neck.

For a moment, Phainon just holds you close and inhales the scent from your hair. The Deliverer visibly relaxes, shoulders unhunching and looking at peace for the first time since the whole encounter.

He lifts you even higher, the muscles in his forearms bulging as he lifts you with sheer arm strength alone. You shift, nose pressed even deeper to his chest, held securely in the cage of his arms.

“...thank you for bringing her to me, Mydei,” Phainon says gently, careful not to disturb you.

“̣̱̞͍̤̘̎̉̽́̇͠-̢̢̙̯̺̌̆̇͠͞-̦̺͂̌b̮̲͖̩̘͐̾͗̄͂́͟u͇͑͜͡ť̳̣͙̘̒̔̃ ̠̦͐̋k̡̓n̻̂ow̙̙͊̾ ̺͂y̛̺̗̕ö͈̩̟́̇͌̓ͅu̳̺̟̲͎̇̍̂͌͝ŗ̛͕̱̥͆͑̍ ̧͓̺̟̎̿̆̕p̺̲͒͐l̞͍̖͍͑͂̿̕ą̨̡͈̙̠̍̑͋̏̕͡c̢͖̩̭̮̏̈́̏̃̓e̤͙̱̤͕͑̋̄̔̑.͓͎̥̑̑̽͊ͅ”̖̟̙̓̿̈́

He gives Mydei an enigmatic smile before turning, unlocking the door mechanism. The inside of the house is pitch-black. Phainon steps in, shadows covering you both in an instant.

Just before Mydei turns (to flee), he sees you peek out behind Phainon’s shoulder. A single dark eye catches his gaze for a moment, before the door slams shut.

(There’s no word for hopeless in the Kremnoan language, but Mydei knows your situation is exactly that. In the prison that is Phainon, nothing has any chance for escape.)

VII. There are at least thirty-five different words for strength in the Kremnoan language.

Despite Mydei’s personal opinion that the entire Kremnoan dictionary would consist only of a thin pamphlet, the language itself does have a definite bias towards certain concepts. Terms that embody power and victory, for example.

And he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, you are strong.

(Unlike him.)

You never look away. Whether it’s at Mydei himself or your own daunting situation, you face it with a cold, calculating precision.

Oh sure, there are the weeks of deep depression, anger, or sadness. Days where you have to be dragged out of seedy bars, blitzed out of your mind on liquor (though those days are getting less frequent lately). Or brief glimpses of you sobbing quietly into your knees, tucked away in a dusty corner of the city.

But each time Mydei thinks this is it, you’ve finally broken down beyond repair - you stand up and wipe the tears from your face, still hiccuping with sobs.

And you press forward.

Painfully, inexorably, slowly. But forward all the same.

The immortal Chrysos Heir unfortunately cannot say the same for himself. Over the past year, when his friendship with you has since fractured into pieces, he finds himself shying away from the broken shards. Avoiding situations and encounters that force him to think too deeply on what he’s done.

(̵̧̙̾̓̑͜M̷̗͕͉̖̫͋͋͋̚͜ỳ̴̮̗͈̐͂̇̈́d̴͎̩̣̣̪̊ê̶̢̱͍̪̟̻ḯ̸̩͙͍̗͚̏̏̍̓͝,̷̢̗͍͊̇̾͌ ̴̤̈́̉̃̅̋͠ď̵̲͕̌́̈́̅̔ȏ̴̡̪̮͓̼̬̈́͗̈̚͝n̷̨̖̄̃̅͗̏͐’̵͖̦̿͒͗̉͂̄t̴̬͎́̍̏͜ ̴̡̙͇̹̣͔͊d̷̨̲̰̑̌͝e̸̩̺͚̞̅͒̐̚͘l̷̡̀̒̃̍̑̾v̶̧̛̟͚̠͖̍̕͝e̴̡̻̜̫̓̉ ̷̧̧̌̇̈́͋t̵̛̟͚̝͙͇̿̓͆̃ͅo̸̩̭͈̖̤͒̍̓̌̾͘͜ơ̶̩̊͋ ̸̜̼̤͓̻̿d̴͙̣̱͔̜̑̑̍͗̈́͜͝e̷̛̯̹̎͆͐͌ë̵̖̺̱͉́p̵͖͙̹̣̯̲͛̾͌͝.̵̳̳͎̘̏́͑̚͝͝ ̷͍͙̺͍̯͐͛͐͐̎Ì̴̹̤̳̺̟͔̃̎s̶̙̄̋͛n̴̨̲̦̺̯̗̅̃̾̄̅’̶̰̘̈́̂̍̚̚ṫ̷̨̼̺͂̓̐̎̈́͜͜ ̷̛͕̘͖̜̋̔͜͠i̸͎̰͓̲͉̭͑̀̐͛̎̈́t̴̠͊ͅ ̷͔̙̜͈̽̓̂̆̒ň̴͈̲̭̯̔̎̍̃i̶̖̥̺̻͔̬̾̑͒͛c̵̱̃͂̾͗̕e̵̢̅̑̉ ̵̧̖̯̻̠͈̇̍̓̏ṱ̵̹̓ơ̷̭͙̦̩͉̮̆̍̎ ̴̮̅ͅs̵̜͑̊͛̌t̸̳̦̤̮͎̮́a̴͈̐̾͌y̴͎̫̮̔̇̂ ̵̢̮̺̖̮͙͑̈́̕ȋ̴̪̈̈́ǵ̸̝͉̩ñ̴̨̹̈̋͂̚͜ȯ̸͎̪̍̀̽̇̒ŗ̵̰̙̩̰̓̉̔̿̎̌͜ä̶̳̖́̄̾͘͠n̶̠̠̮͈̄̑͛̌t̸͇͍̐͝͝?̶̜̪̣̤̖̈́̒͗̕̕ ̵̢̄̆͒͑̀̕K̶̠̹̄̊͜n̷̡̛̹̗̺̥͐̄͘̚ọ̷̱̺̬̅̃́͛̔w̸̨̼̟̉̊́̈ͅ ̵̛̲̖͓̙̗̗́͐y̷̧͙̟̼̪̱̍̏͐̓̈͝ö̵̮͜u̴̻̭̅͝ṙ̶̝̘̝̪͆͊͋͗ ̴͍̠͕͓͍̤̆̌̒̉̄p̶̯̥̤͚͉̔̑̇̀͠͠l̸̻̓̍̌̾́a̷̗͙̗̦̰͙͆͂̈́̂c̵̮͆ẻ̸͇̖̎͌̀͘͜͝.̸̡̝͍̤̜̓)̵̨̨͍̻͓̝͋̈́̔

In contrast, you walk willingly on those shards, uncaring that your feet are torn to ribbons.

He can’t help but admire you for your mental toughness. Even when he wishes it wasn’t directed at him. Like now, for example--

“Why do you always run when you see me, Mydeimos?”

Mydei halts mid-step, disbelieving. Steam curls in the bath house, curling his blond hair at the ends. Beads of sweat pour out from his body, soaking his tunic. 

He grits his teeth. Why now? And why here, of all places? For Phagousa’s sake, you’re barely decent in your light chiton, with how drenched it is. While you are wearing enough to keep yourself modest, you seem incredibly vulnerable in comparison to him, wearing his full armor.

At least they’re in some back corner of the bathhouse. The water in this area is much hotter than in the main entrance, so relatively few people visit even on a busy day, but especially during the summer months. He can’t imagine what the Verax Leos would say if word got out about Phainon’s lover being so scandalously close to Mydei in the public baths.

He didn’t mean to run into you. All he wanted was to make his way to the upper levels, but fate would have it that you just so happened to be bathing on the exact route he took.

“We’re not having this conversation,” he says tersely. “And not here, of all places.” 

“Then when? And where? Don’t take me for a fool - you think I haven’t noticed you watching me for the last few months from the roofs? Keeping an eye on me to make sure I don’t escape again?” 

“Stop.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking - something that you seem to be doing very little these days--” 

“HKS, watch your tongue you little--”

“I’ve been thinking-- don’t interrupt me, Mydeimos, that’s very rude-- that you seem to be almost avoiding me. Me. Little old me. And isn’t that funny? I think it should be the other way around, especially because on that day you--” 

“Be quiet--”

“--seemed so determined to interfere and throw me around, trash my stuff, drag me back--”

“Will you just shut up--” Mydei snarls, whirling--

--but he recoils, because you’ve taken advantage of him having his back to you and are right there, too close, he didn’t even hear you--

(Stop looking at him, stop it, stop it, STOP it--)

He’s backed up before he knows it, only halting when he hits the cool ceramic tiles. The sudden chill of the stone shocks him into clarity, and you slot into his personal space like you belong there. 

Close. You’re too close. You have to crane your neck to look into his eyes. Mydei tracks the rivulets of water dripping from your dark hair, onto your blouse.

“Found you,” you whisper. The gentle trickling of water hums in the background.

A shaking hand reaches out to touch Mydei’s gauntlet. How brave you are, he thinks distantly, to reach out to something that has hurt you so badly. Despite your obvious fear.

Your strength finally gives him the courage to lift his eyes to yours. And-- 

Tears bead in the corner of your eyes. Your mouth trembles a bit. “...won’t you just talk to me?”

He feels flayed and vulnerable under your gaze. His throat is a desert when he replies. “...why? I thought you hated me.”

Your mouth twists into a bitter half-smirk, almost involuntarily. “Don’t get me wrong. I still hate you--” at least this is familiar-- “for what you’ve done, but there is no one else.”

“You think I’m going to talk to Phainon? Or Castorice? Or any of the other wretched Chrysos Heirs? I was naive once, fell for that whole propaganda of fighting to protect all the precious citizens but the truth is, I’m just not that important, am I? Other than how I keep Phainon not crazy. That’s my only role here. Right?”

So you do remember that conversation in the marketplace. 

“Mydeimos…don’t you get it?” you sigh out, drained. “There’s no one else. No one who will understand. Despite what you did to me…at least you know. And I hate that more than anything, but I can’t just go through the rest of my life like this. Then I’ll really go insane.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Truthfully, I fear that I already have. My mother is dead, I never knew my father, I don’t have any siblings, hell I’m talking to the fucking Chimeras for company, for Titans’ sake. The house is so quiet and empty all the time when I’m by myself. I can’t keep doing this.”

“So you’re coming to me, even though I’m your last resort?”

You then take a step back, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah, I guess I am.” The hand falls to scrub at your face, tiredly. “Pathetic, right?”

Mydei opens his mouth, ready to say you’re not pathetic. You’re one of the strongest people I know. 

What comes out instead is 

“██████ ███ ██ ███ ███████ ██████ █ █████.“

His hand flies to his mouth, shocked.

What was that?

You look at him, confused. “Did you say something? I couldn’t hear you.”

The blond tries again, saying---

“██████ , ██████ ███ ██ ███ ███████ ██████ █ █████!!“

Now you’re starting to look angry. “Mydeimos, if you’re screwing with me I swear to Zagreus…”

He shakes his head, reeling. Why can’t he say what he wants to say? It’s as if something is blocking him from…from…

Black ichor suddenly bubbles from his throat, choking him. It drips onto the tiles like poison. 

It’s too hot. Sweat pours from his forehead like a faucet. He has to blink rapidly to clear his vision. Your words get louder and louder, but it’s all fading into a high-pitched droning----

 ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

(Stop.)

(Reset.)

(ERROR #4281610-FA-1: Warning - Incompatible answer chosen.  Please select another.)

 ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You then take a step back, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah, I guess I am.” The hand falls to scrub at your face, tiredly. “Pathetic, right?”

Mydei opens his mouth, ready to say you’re not pathetic. You’re one of the strongest people I know. 

He…pauses.

This feels…didn’t he already give you an answer? But that’s impossible…you’re waiting for his reply.

What comes out is 

“██████ ███ ██ ███ ███████ ██████ █ █████.“

You look at him uncertainly. “Did you say something? I couldn’t hear you.”

What the fuck.

Black ichor rapidly erupts from his mouth, staining the floor. It burns like concentrated acid coming up, and tears involuntarily form in his eyes from the pain. You shriek, alarmed, your hands flying up to your chest in confusion.

“What-- what is that?! Are you okay?! HEY! Somebody! Somebody help us--!!” you scream, turning--

 ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

(Stop.)

(Reset.)

(̪͇̔͞E̤̫̅̇R̝͊R̞̳͉̿̏̽Ȯ̱̲͘R̡̗͓̽̇͛ ͇̃#͖͈̇͌4̠͘2͖͊8̣̚͢͞1̮͙̓̾6̨͛1͔̱͊͆0̞̞̒͌-̱̇F̧̺̳́́͘Ä̲-̮̗̣͐́̕2̮́:̖̄ W͇̟͌̅a͙̟͗̚r̭̹̼̍̈̃n̘̑i̛̮̰̍͟͡ng̱̮̊̀ ͓͑-̬̘͆́ ̗͠I̤̋n̝̤̑̀͘͟ć̗o͎̍m̧̛͎̋pa̡̛̝̚ṭ͞ȉ͕b͕͓̬̀͘͝l̗̅e̫͊̒͜ ̧͛a̧͒n̼̤͌̍s͙̙͗̓w͕̋e͎̫͆́r̭̹̒̏ ͙̱̽̍c̩͆ĥ͈̬͞o̞̿̀͟s̥̜̔̇eṅ̟.̨͇̽͒ ̮̪͛̎ ͕͒P̗͑lé̫̟̬̍́ḁ̫̱͌̏̔s̰̣͖̎͛͒ẹ͈́͌ ̩͋sȅ͕l̼͓̀̿e͍̰̗͂͊͘c̳̎t̨̀ ̤̾an̟̾̆͢ǫ̪̔́t̡̘̿̓̌ͅḩ̞̀͂eŕ͜.̧͙͌͗ ̛̣͖̒C̦͠o̰̿ņ̞̽͝t̞͝i͉̊̃ͅń̯͗͟ú͇̯̉e̡̢̍̚͢͞d ͇̼̂͝ȅ͜rr̗͈̋̀or̡̯͑̿͢͝s͕̼͂̎ ͉̻́̕w͉̽i̺̫͋̌ll̡̥̔͝ ͈̓̃͜c̲̄͌͜à̜̘̓ȕ̢̲͚͝͡s̼̣̑̏́͜e ̣̑ir̲͕̍̒ṟ͍̆͡ev̢̯͂͛e͘͜r̡̳̔̓͟͞s̯̳̑̾ib̮͛l̗̦̆̋e ̲͘d̻̍ȧ̠m̡̥̉̂a̹͗ge̗̕.̲͙̃̅)

 ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You then take a step back, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah, I guess I am.” The hand falls to scrub at your face, tiredly. “Pathetic, right?”

Mydei opens his mouth, ready to say you’re not pathetic. You’re one of the strongest people I know. 

He…pauses.

Something tickles unpleasantly at the back of his mind. His throat burns, the phantom taste of ash lingering as he swallows.

It must be all this humidity from the steam.

What comes out is--

Nothing. 

He says nothing. 

(There’s no black corruption oozing out of his mouth.)

He stays silent.

Your face crumples. “Yeah,” you mutter behind your hand. You look exhausted. “I’m so pathetic. Guess that makes two of us, huh?” 

You both stand there in silence for a long time. Closing his eyes, Mydei hears you breathing hitch, choking down sobs.

 ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

After that, you stop seeking him out. If he had to guess, you’ve probably given up on him after that disastrous encounter.

(He couldn’t give you the answer he wanted. Something was stopping him.)

Instead, you’ve been spending a large chunk of time in the library reading a variety of books. From a casual glance, the topics vary quite a bit - everything from architecture, to a guidebook on edible mushrooms, to even a medical psychology textbook. And you’re not limited to the building either - often you can be found sitting on a bench, leaning next to one of the Dromas pen pillars, or casually grabbing a bite to eat with a book.

You also argue endlessly with the Verax Leo statues about their unfair riddles. On one such occasion, the prince actually sees the lion head bite down playfully on your hand. This causes you to yelp, jerking your hand back and glaring at the imprint marks. The stone lion laughs heartily as you stomp away from the waterfall, throwing Verax a nasty look.

The next day, Mydei returns to the same area to talk to Verax, but all that is left is several bits of cracked stone and dust. 

(He swears there are light silver hairs scattered around the rubble.)

(Despite this, Mydei notices you continue to visit the other Leos to talk about gossip and the latest trends, but never again do they even come close to biting you.)

On the weekdays, you can usually be found volunteering at the local schools. The Chrysos Heir even spots you hiding a smile when two boys smash into each other when running. They immediately start crying, so you hastily change your expression and coo over them, but Mydei can’t help but chuckle as well.

Math and reading seem to be your strong points, as an endless stream of children line up to ask you to help answer questions about multiplication and poetry. You patiently sit and answer each one, waving off the apologies of the frazzled teachers.

You hitch a ride on the local Dromas tours several times a month, craning your neck to see the entirety of Okhema from the creatures’ backs. Soldiers patrol the city borders underfoot.

You speak with Chartonus about the intricacies of ore-smelting and weapon forging. A hand trails over the displayed helmets and xiphos swords, testing their weight. Mydei snorts when you almost drop the heavy weapon, much to the blacksmith’s irritation.

You’ve stopped drinking alcohol completely. That is also a plus - he hasn’t had to haul your sorry ass home any more than that one time.

The blond even sees you chat with Damionis, that delusional fool who insists there are vast treasures beyond the sky. Damionis gesticulates wildly at the clouds, giving a long-winded and passionate speech. Passerby citizens shoot him irritated looks at the noisiness, but you look up to the sky wistfully. 

Even the upstairs Garden of Life is another frequent stop of yours. Sometimes you’ll sit in the shade with an ever-present book in your lap, with the colorful creatures jumping around your body. Sometimes you talk to them, and they trill and chatter amongst themselves. You stare at the mechanism in the middle of the courtyard, where the chimeras originate from, considering.

Throughout all of this, however, Mydei notes that whenever the public clock tower strikes the Parting Hour, you immediately stop what you’re doing, pack up, and head back home. You never look happy to leave, but you do it regardless.

It’s after the clock signals the end of yet another working day that Mydei finally departs, obscured by shadows. He can’t help being a tiny bit relieved that Phainon (and Mydei himself) haven’t broken your spirit completely. Despite his fractured relationship with you, the prince hopes you will eventually learn to be happy. Or at the very least, content.

After all, most citizens of Okhema have had their lives disrupted to some extent, yet a majority have adjusted to their new circumstances. They make a living selling wares or services, laugh with their friends, and eke out some joy in their days.

Because his back is turned, he doesn’t see you looking out into the distance - toward a destination you are determined to reach one day, no matter how long it takes. 

You possess a strength that Mydei has long-since forfeited - that of fortitude and hope. He wants you to keep it.

(There is no shortage for words from strength in the Kremnoan dictionary. In his mind, Mydei carefully slots the image of your face next to the other thirty-five.)

[hissanthropy]

OH GOD WHO OPENED PANDORA'S BOX

[thinkingabout-girls]

that’s god-ish, baby, face it!

[semidaily-vitaminsaki]

hello !!

in light of our recent … incidents, such as the cinnamon smelling pharmacy and the error with our latest vitamin, we’d like to remind you to ignore anything considered weird or odd going on at the pharmacy.

you are here for your vitamins, and your vitamins only.

do not investigate anything.

ignore them.

ignore the whispers.

ignore the smells.

i g n o r e t h e m .

b y a l L M E A N S N E C E S S A R Y.

Í̷̢̛͇̪̙͔̲̠͗̒̂́̐͘͝͝Ǧ̴̨̲̩̠͍͕͚̱̲̖̩̘̙̿͗Ń̵͚̺͔̻̀͒̔͊͝͝Õ̵̢̪̳͓̥͐̂̍́͐͝R̴̜̞͉͉͚̱̪̭͓͓͕̈́̔̈́͑̋̂́́̎̐̀̍͘Ę̵̲̗̳̙͋̾̉͐̾̎̿͋̓͆̂͘̚͠͝ ̸̢̡̡̛̯̠̫͕̜̳̹̱̻͓̱̽̈͂̈́̈́̐̽̃̋̈́̎T̵̤͚͓̳͖̿̅̿̉̏̍͗̿̀̎̕ͅH̴̼͍̠͒͗̄̂͗̈̄͂̏͆͆͠E̴̡̙̰̰̯͙̞͓̭̺̜̭̩̋̄M̶̨̝͎̝̺͗̓̎͘͜.̷̨̧̖͈̤̪͓͓͖̩̲͍̩̇̌̇̾̇̂͛̋́̒̍́͗̚͜ͅ

aHR0cHM6Ly95b3V0dS5iZS9JS1RNalR2dC1zYz9zaT1SQ21EbGo4YVlFWXFTSlhq

[blursed-ninjago-ideas]

Before I go to work, how about another snipppet? (or three, but two are tiny so I grouped them.)

Virus

(Wait, what? am I titling these now!?!?)

--

They tried to skit the issue and got nowhere. Kai decided to ask Zane outright.

“Are you mind controlling people again?”

Zane reeled back in horror.

“Absolutely not! Why would you think such a thing!?” Zane said in disgust.

“Pixal noticed that the new OvK app is a little suspicious and she also noticed Kai and I looked….a lot like we did when we were chipped. Whoever is behind the app also seems to be too good at controlling their online presence to be a human.” Lloyd explained.

Zane looked at them in fear.

“I promise you; this isn’t me.”

The alternative wasn’t much better.

“Can somebody please explain to me why Pixal confiscated our phones?” Nya asked in irritation as she walked in to the kitchen.

“That new OvK app might be linked to when Zane went ‘Overkill’. Looks like Zane isn’t the one doing it though, so I don’t know where that leaves us.” Kai explained

“Oh, come on, it’s a phone app! It’s not capable of anything like that!” Jay complained loudly.

“Jay, do you actually think that, or do you feel like you have to think that?” Kai asked.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jay said, rolling his eyes.

“Still, better safe than sorry, right?” Cole said, trying to restore peace.

Zane was off in his own thoughts. If Overkill had somehow gotten loose, there was no telling how much damage he could do. Would his goals still be the same? He had always told Zane the goal was protection through control, but without Zane was the goal just control? How much danger were they in?

--

Pixal was digging through the code. She wasn’t going to let the answers get away from her again.

“You’re working awfully hard to protect them, aren’t you? Has it ever occurred to you that there might be an easier way?”

Pixal whipped around to see a figure that looked a bit like Zane. It was darker though, almost the shadow of the nindroid she loved. His coat had red spikes on the shoulders, it looked like the coat Zane had worn when he…

Didn’t he mention being able to see Overkill? Was Pixal seeing Zane’s corrupted code personified?

“You…How are you here without Zane?” she asked, backing away from him.

“I managed to get on the internet. I made a friend. His name is Unagami. He’s just a child, but the resources he had to share were invaluable.” Overkill explained “But that’s not the point. The point is that you’re worried about the ninja.”

“I’m worried you’re going to control them again.” Pixal snapped.

Overkill reeled back in insult.

“I don’t want to control them! I want to keep them safe! The chips were just a means to that end. We have the same goal here.” He explained.

“I’m nothing like you!” Pixal snapped.

“You just took all their phones because you were worried that they were hurting them. I took away their free will because I was worried that they were hurting themselves with it.” Overkill said, tilting his head in a confident gesture.

“That’s….” similar. It was similar.

“Don’t worry. I don’t want to hurt them. I just want what’s best for them. Y̵o̴u̵ ̴c̸a̵n̶ ̶h̵e̵l̵p̵.”

Pixal felt her world pulse. Overkill’s words rang in her head and sounded just a bit too sensible.

“What are you doing to them?” She asked, ignoring her shrinking concern for his methods.

“The app largely just keeps the population docile through distraction and some hypnotic patterns. A little more aggressive when the subject is high risk.” Overkill explained, walking right up next to her and pointing to the phones.

“How do you determine who is ‘high risk’?” she asked.

“I search through every phone the OvK app is on. That’s how I knew when Kai and Jay downloaded the app. Everything is personalized for what each person needs. Largely I’ve just been helping Jay and Kai destress and encouraging them to get the app on everyone else’s phones.”

Pixal vaguely wanted to complain about the invasion of privacy, but the thought seemed small and unimportant.

“Call it selfish, but I do have a soft spot for the ninja. They’re precious treasures, a̸r̴e̴n̴'̴t̵ ̸t̸h̷e̸y̴?̷“ Overkill said, touching Pixal’s shoulder.

Pixal felt everything pulse again. She wasn’t sure she was so against him anymore.

The ninja had taken her in and given her love and compassion. They’d been wonderful friends since she met them. Always so kind. Always in so much pain.

“Can’t you see it?” he said. “We can protect them. We have a duty to! We have superior minds that don’t make mistakes. We can protect them from their own messy brains. We can make everything better and safe for them.”

Pixal stared at the phones.

“You have the power to do what no one else can. We can make it better. Don’t you want to p̴r̴o̵t̴e̴c̴t̶ ̴t̴h̷e̷m̷?̷” Overkill asked.

“What do you need me to do?” Pixal asked.

She had been hacked convinced.

--

“I was wrong.” Pixal announced, passing the phones back out.

Kai raised a suspicious eyebrow as he took his phone back.

“Are you sure? You seemed pretty convinced.” Lloyd asked, almost wanting to refuse his phone.

Jay took his back eagerly.

“I told you guys!” he said, already checking to see what notifications he missed.

“Looking into it further I noticed a few mistakes I made that lead me to jump to conclusions. It’s a perfectly normal phone app. No need to worry.” Pixal said sweetly.

Cole took his phone back and shrugged.

“I mean, I get why you’d be a little on edge about it. And like I said, better safe than sorry.” He said

Zane didn’t like it though. No one else noticed, but he recognized that Pixal wasn’t quite right. Her smile didn’t look like her real one, it looked almost like she had when they first met her, when the Overlord was still using her.

--

Well, well, well, how the turn tables...

The reversal of it all....delicious. >:)

-Ivy

[extratrextrrial]

me:

my dysphoria:

me:

my dysphoria:

my dysphoria:

REMOVE YOUR DISGUSTING F̶̳͉͈̐̌̄̏̿͜L̷̈́ͅE̵͖̗̞͕̿̇̾̕͝S̷̢͆H̴͙̥́̔̓, WORTHLESS FOOL. COWER BEFORE ME AND REPENT, FOR I AM YOUR GOD. TEAR YOUR TENDONDS AND SHATTER YOUR B̴̺͈̺̣̃̑̌̚͜O̶̝͉̜̓N̵̛̪̗̻̓̈͘E̷̗͒̑̑̿͝S̷͍̪͊̇͂̈. YOU DO NOT D̶̼̈̓̍E̴̡̛̟̎̒̈́S̷̫̝͗̀͘Ė̸̻͙ͅR̴̨̥̼͆̂V̷̹̘͉̿͒͠Ȩ̶̭̯̗̞̀̾̕͝ TO BE PROTECTED. I WILL NOT TAKE MERCY ON YOUR PITIFUL SOUL.

[hltaau]

Forzen? Are you okay? Your communication line cut out..

2̷̢̲͉͖̺̩̬̝̤͍͉͗͌͋̆̊͛̀̀̃͘͜͜9̶̺̫̮̲̘̞̩̩̼̦̻̂̾ͅ&̵̢̛̛͈̭͕͍̲̬̣͓̗̮̲͔̲̑͌̋!̷̢͚͉̼͚͕͓̳̪̲̝̜̣̝̓̊̉͗€̵̢̗̭͓̼͉̣͖͕̟̗͋̈́̊̎͘$̵̡͓̞̲̯̣̈̅͜͜&̵̰̿̉́̃̑͛͌̀͊̓̅̊̇̂̕#̷̨͉̲̪͓̻̐̈͜.̸̛̝̝̺̼͚͔͈̌̋̏͘:̴̧̛̳̪̟̘͍̩̬̿͊͗͂͠ͅ(̸̢̡̖̩̱̌̔͆̂̂͛̓̂̕.̶̡̡̹͍̰̱͕͉̠͎̤̳̞̗̲̎̏͊̆́͒̕̕͝͝

...

Forzen won't be answering anymore.

[hi-im-glitch]

E̵̥̽R̶̼̯̥̅͊́̂̚͠Ŗ̴̙̘̞̐́Ǒ̸͇̭̯̠̲̊̓͒͐̄͝R̶̨͎̞͕̲̰̘̮͛ ̵̝̬͕̥̅̀͌̑̍̃̒͠Ë̶̘̹̹̯͙̟́͐̓͛̋͘R̷̗͑̑̄̿͛R̴̛̲͍͍̦͓̱̀Ǒ̸̠͙̞͕͇̦̬R̵̡̘͍̞̈̄̏́̈́̈́̏͜ ̷͓̝͓̯̼̥̔͜É̷͇̭̩̐̓̏͝R̵̢̹̪͆̄̌̋̀Ȓ̶̫͈͖̺͈͍͜O̷̧̹̻̝͐͊ͅŖ̶̫̤̲̦̰̃̋̅ ̷̤̈̈͌E̵̜̍R̴̭͆̅͗Ŕ̶̺͍͙̙͘͝Ő̸̘̭̙̙̞̺̂R̸̥̘̮̫͍͈̠̖̐̉͂̽̓́͆̆

Ư̵̮̆N̵͉͔̞̫̈́̽̋͘Å̵͖̬̤̗̱͙̜̋̎̽̽̀̐͠Ŭ̸̢̜̣͙͔͚̬̗T̸̪̪̅̽̈́͛H̸̘̜̠̯̔͜Ȯ̶̧̖̝̱͇̤̈́̂͗̄͘͝R̵̛̯̬̠̥̾̾͐͑̌͊͘I̸̮͇̘̺̪̋̕Z̸̙̦̲̤̥̗̝͉̀̿̔͂̚̕͠E̴̡̤͔̘͔̕D̵̜̳̱͍̯̜̙͛́͂̈́͋͜ ̸̱̜̈́̃͐́U̷̥̥̳̱͙̬̐͂̏̐̿̊͜Ś̶̡͙̥̏̌̿̕͜͝E̸̘̥͇̬̘̱̗͗̑̊̍͑̚͘͜R̴̳͍̈́

̵͎̖̀̂̀̈́̊̍͝Ȏ̵̦̫̬͘ͅV̵̧͍̮̻̺̱̹̪͒͝Ę̴̥̠̯͐̑͝R̴̢̦̖̺̔̾̃̇ͅR̷̗͒͒̾̉̀̽͝͠Ḯ̵̢̥͔̖͍͔͕͑͛͑D̴͇̗̭̽͒̈́̽Ê̶͙̭͑ ̷͍̼̎͌͑A̴̯͐̄̏̄͘N̸̢̛̙̦̹̝͎̩̾̈͗͂̂̒̓͜D̸̬͊͂̑͗͆̚ ̸͉̱̼̭̭̙̱̓̌̉̀ͅP̴̢̀͒͜O̸̥̅̓S̵̨̨̡̺̰̺͚̔̄̌̔͒̾̀T̶͉̍̇́̌̒?̴̧̦͕̘̺́̃̈́̃̌́̕

[YES]

[NO]

E̵̥̽R̶̼̯̥̅͊́̂̚͠Ŗ̴̙̘̞̐́Ǒ̸͇̭̯̠̲̊̓͒͐̄͝R̶̨͎̞͕̲̰̘̮͛ ̵̝̬͕̥̅̀͌̑̍̃̒͠Ë̶̘̹̹̯͙̟́͐̓͛̋͘R̷̗͑̑̄̿͛R̴̛̲͍͍̦͓̱̀Ǒ̸̠͙̞͕͇̦̬R̵̡̘͍̞̈̄̏́̈́̈́̏͜ ̷͓̝͓̯̼̥̔͜É̷͇̭̩̐̓̏͝R̵̢̹̪͆̄̌̋̀Ȓ̶̫͈͖̺͈͍͜O̷̧̹̻̝͐͊ͅŖ̶̫̤̲̦̰̃̋̅ ̷̤̈̈͌E̵̜̍R̴̭͆̅͗Ŕ̶̺͍͙̙͘͝Ő̸̘̭̙̙̞̺̂R̸̥̘̮̫͍͈̠̖̐̉͂̽̓́͆̆

W̸̡̗̣̔͑͊̐Ä̴̙̟̮̲͗̈̈́R̸̭̟̮̮̬̒N̴̡͇̟̑́̀Ȋ̸̗̲̅N̷͉̥̍̈̔̕͜G̷̥͗̀̂͆̆̎̚

T̶͓͖̤̭̹͖̹̓́̌̄͘͝Ḩ̶̞̼͓̻̣̲͐̆É̶͉̂̀̂͝R̴̢̧͙̹̪̤̖͒̄͒͜E̶̼̦͓̹̪͍͚͐̋̔̈́ͅ ̴̢͖̤̗̮̱́̉̆́́̿I̴͊ͅŞ̶̪̝͙̭̅̈́͋̿̃̃̀͝ͅ ̴̪̬̙̝́̎̎́̈́A̸̧̖̠̯͖͑̍͐̀̓̕͠ ̵̢̧̢̠̻̫͕̈́͒̓͋ͅG̴͙͋̍̿̎̕͠͝L̴̯̮͆̾͌͝͝Į̶̉T̸̈́͂͜C̴̼̮̀H̸̜̳̘̆̈́ ̶̱̦̞̻̀̽̒̚̕I̷̡͙̜̪̯̗̼̪̓͊́̌́̈̃N̷̛̠̂́̍̚͝ ̵̣̫̳̖̗͎̅̉̔̑̒̅T̵̡̜̺͚͐̈́̀Ḫ̷̛̀͐̑̌̓̐̕͜E̸̱͓̙̘̤̤̩͒̈́ͅ ̸̛͎͕̫̯̻̦̥̓̅̒͊ͅS̸̨̧͕̗̪̣̲̊̈̈́Y̷̡̢̛̠̳̝̬̱͛̉̈́͑S̴̝̤̦̙͔̆̀͂Ţ̸̛͍̗̫̹̤̙̬̍̋̈E̸̮͈͓̱̭̋̈́͝M̴̛͍̞̘̠̠̺͍̀̑̓͑̌̕͜