Chapter Text
If there was one thing Phainon knew for sure, it was this: his phone hated him.
He stared down at the third dead device of the semester, the screen still sizzling faintly in his hand like it had been struck by lightning. Again.
“I didn’t even do anything this time,” he muttered, shaking the poor phone like that would bring it back to life. “I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t—ugh.”
The world really gave him the finger and yelled, LMAO, DUMBASS from above, eh?
The sky outside the campus café was bright and clear, not a single storm cloud in sight. Not that it mattered. Storms seemed to follow him like debt collectors. Or weird birds. Or that one dude with bull horns he saw in the quad last week who hissed at him in Ancient Greek and then vanished into the bushes.
Phainon blinked. “…That was probably a red flag.”
He shoved the phone into his bag next to a half-finished calc notebook and the world’s worst granola bar, standing up from the patio table.
The wind kicked up out of nowhere, ruffling his hair and almost snatching his hoodie from his shoulders.
Great.
That was when the clouds did start rolling in—fast and dark and wrong. Like something was moving under them. Toward him.
Phainon turned slowly.
That’s when he saw it.
A figure at the end of the student parking lot. It wasn’t even a Denny’s. Nor 3 AM. Seven feet tall, easy. Bull horns curled like charred branches from its head, and its eyes glowed like coals.
Phainon blinked. “Oh. It’s you again.”
Damn, this guy had a super realistic costume. Where'd he even get it?
The monster hissed. This time in English. “Son of Kephale.”
Phainon froze.
“Sorry,” he said, taking a cautious step back. “Son of who now?”
The monster charged.
Phainon panicked. His hand went instinctively to the inside of his jacket, where he always kept his cheap little ballpoint pen—a weird habit he’d never been able to explain. The pen slipped into his fingers like it wanted to be there.
“Okay,” he muttered, heart pounding. “You wanna fight a pen? Cool. I’m gonna die with a D in econ but that’s fine—”
Then the pen clicked.
And exploded into a sword.
A real sword—long and gleaming and etched with lightning bolts down the blade. It weighed nothing in his hand.
Phainon stared at it. Stared at the monster. Then back at the sword.
“Oh,” he said, as the wind began to howl around him, the clouds cracking with the promise of thunder.
“I hate Tuesdays.”
The monster lunged. It did not care about Tuesday's.
Phainon did not have a plan. Unless "screaming internally" counted as strategy.
But his body moved—faster than he thought it could. The sword whipped up between them with a crackle of lightning, and sparks exploded where blade met claw.
He stumbled back, heart trying to escape his ribcage. The thing let out a snarl that sounded like a tree being ripped in half and swung again.
Phainon ducked, rolled, and came up swinging with a wild, untrained overhead arc that somehow—somehow—connected.
The monster shrieked.
Phainon staggered back again, breathing hard, eyes wide. His hands were tingling, like electricity was humming in his bones. The air around him was buzzing. His hoodie stuck to him with static. Wind circled his ankles like a coiled animal, waiting.
“What is happening,” he gasped. “Who even makes pens like this?!”
The monster didn’t answer. It charged again, faster this time, claws raised and teeth too big for its face bared in a grin.
Phainon lifted the sword—and this time, when he shouted, “BACK OFF!”—
—the sky obeyed.
A streak of lightning cracked from the storm above and slammed into the ground between them, blinding white and ear-splitting loud. Wind erupted outward like a shockwave, lifting the monster off its feet and hurling it into a tree across the quad.
Everything went silent.
Even the monster seemed dazed, half-embedded in splintered bark.
Phainon stood in the eye of a newborn whirlwind, his breath ragged, the sword still sparking faintly in his hand.
And that’s when it really hit him.
“…I think I’m a magician,” he whispered.
The monster groaned.
He squared up, sword raised again with zero technique but plenty of “I will absolutely swing this again if I have to” energy.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on,” Phainon said, “or do I have to call in another lightning strike, because frankly I’m not sure how I did it and I’d really prefer not to die before lunch. I love lunch. I already paid for my meal plan!”
The monster hissed. “You will die, child of Kephale. The prophecy cannot be fulfilled.”
“Okay, well, that’s ominous and incredibly unhelpful,” Phainon muttered.
Then the wind behind him shifted.
And someone else stepped into the clearing.
Phainon turned, sword still up, heart racing. His lungs hadn’t caught up yet.
Someone was walking through the storm like it wasn’t even there. Tall. Lean. Half-shirtless, red... ceremonial robes(?) revealing most of his chest and stomach and armed to the teeth. A long bow slung over one shoulder. Stormlight glinted off his armor like it was meant to catch it.
Wow. Nice pecs, dude.
The stranger stopped at the edge of the quad, took one look at the monster trying to stand back up, and groaned.
“Seriously?” he muttered, reaching for the bow. “Another unclaimed child? Gods, this is getting exhausting.”
Phainon bristled. “Uh. Excuse me—”
Before he could finish that sentence, the guy moved.
It was clean and fast. A single arrow notched, drawn, loosed.
Thunk.
The monster roared—staggered—then another flash of silver: a dagger now, pulled from his hip in a blink and slammed down into the beast’s chest with zero hesitation.
It shrieked—one last awful sound—and then it disintegrated into dust like it had never been real at all.
Phainon stood there. Mouth open. Still holding a sparking sword. Covered in wind-swept leaves and monster grime. Probably blinking like an idiot.
The guy—who had zero right to be that good-looking while stabbing things—dusted off his hands with a sigh.
Then turned to face Phainon fully.
Blonde hair. Golden eyes that pierced through him. A scowl like it had been carved into marble. And—
Oh no, Phainon thought.
He’s so hot.
The guy–his pecs that could go on a marble statue in a museum, by the way—raised an eyebrow. “You gonna put the sword down or pass out holding it?”
Phainon blinked. “...Hi.”
Way to be sophisticated. Focus, Phainon. He mentally facepalmed.
The boy squinted. “You’re lucky I was nearby. That one nearly got you.”
“Yeah,” Phainon said, trying to sound normal. “I think I just got… uh. Jumped by a deer demon.”
“Minotaurus,” the stranger muttered, like obviously. “Drawn to divine blood.”
There was a pause.
Phainon’s brain finally rebooted. “Okay wait. Who even are you?”
The boy gave him a look. The kind that said I have no time for this but somehow still managed to be stupidly pretty.
“Mydei,” he said. “Son of Nikador. You?”
...Okay. First a deer demon attacked him. Next his pen turned into a sword. Then he summoned a whole storm. And now there was this super cute and sexy and hot scowling guy that claimed he was the son of an ancient Greek titan.
Phainon opened his mouth. Closed it. “I… think my pen is magic.”
Mydei just sighed.
“You’re coming with me.”
Phainon stared at the rapidly dissipating pile of monster ash, then back at the boy—Mydei, Son of Nikador, apparently—like he wasn’t entirely sure if he was dreaming or suffering from heatstroke. Probably both.
“…Where are we going, exactly?” he asked, still gripping the sword. “Because if this is the part where you stab me too, I feel like that’s really counterproductive.”
“To a place where you won’t get attacked by rampaging bulls all day,” Mydei said flatly, already fishing around in his belt pouch.
Phainon blinked. “Cool, cool. That sounds great. But I’ve got, like… three midterms this week? And a project due? So—"
“You can worry about that later,” Mydei interrupted. “Aglaea will deal with it.”
“Who now?”
“Someone with a lot of connections,” Mydei said, tone sharp. “Now stop complaining and come with me.”
Phainon was about to protest again—but then Mydei pulled out a small silver coin and held it between two fingers. It was shaped like a cat. A winking cat.
Tuesdays were really normal, weren't they?
“Cipher, Cipher,” Mydei said, scowling, flipping it into the air, “...you are the best in the world.”
The coin caught the light—glinted—and then reality cracked around them.
Phainon gasped as the world twisted, turned inside out, and reassembled in the blink of an eye. One moment they were standing in a half-destroyed campus quad, and the next—
They were surrounded by strawberries.
Fields of them. Rolling, sun-drenched, and so overwhelmingly mouth-watering that it made Phainon instinctively suspicious.
“Uh…” he said, squinting at the neat rows of plants. “Is this… your camp?”
Mydei groaned like the mere question hurt him on a spiritual level.
“I hate children of Zagreus,” he muttered. “Always planting things. So smug about their little coin transportation, for what?"
Phainon opened his mouth to ask so many questions, but Mydei had already grabbed his wrist.
“Come on.”
And just like that—hand wrapped around Phainon’s with surprising warmth—Mydei led him toward the edge of the fields, where a line of trees stood impossibly tall and dark.
Mydei's hand was really warm.
But the moment they stepped into the treeline—
The forest vanished.
One blink and suddenly they were somewhere else entirely.
Tents, cabins, and ancient columns sprawled out before them in a wide crescent, brimming with movement. Kids sparring in armor, satyrs herding glowing sheep, a banner with shifting symbols rippling above a long dining pavilion. The scent of campfire smoke and lemon balm filled the air.
Hooray. Glowing sheep.
He felt like that idiot Iason from history class who suddenly got yeeted on a ship to look for a golden fleece. Do protagonists dream of hot golden guys?
Phainon blinked. “Oh. Uh. Okay. This is…”
“The camp for demigods to live safely,” Mydei muttered, releasing his hand like it was burning. “Welcome to Okhema.”
Phainon’s voice came out a little dazed. “Do all camps smell this much like strawberries?”
Mydei ignored him.
Phainon also noticed Mydei had red-dyed tips at the ends of his hair.
...Did he smell like strawberries too?
They passed under a massive archway carved from dark stone, where silver letters spelled out:
OKHEMA
The name shimmered faintly as they crossed beneath it. Immediately, the sounds of camp crashed into Phainon like a wave.
Clashing swords, laughter, actual goats yelling, and someone shouting, “STOP SETTING THE TARGETS ON FIRE, DUDE!”
Everywhere Phainon looked, something new was happening. A pair of twins—one with glowing vines in her hair, the other juggling flaming knives—raced past them. A huge serpent coiled around a marble column, its tail being painted bright pink by a bunch of cackling younger campers. Satyrs played music in a corner, and someone was levitating three golden apples in the air like stress balls.
Phainon stared. “This place is insane.”
Mydei didn’t even slow down. “Welcome to camp.”
A nearby camper spotted them and immediately waved. “Hey, Mydeimos! Who’s the new guy?”
Mydei barely turned his head. “Child of Kephale.”
That was all it took.
People started shouting.
“Oh gods, another child of the big three?”
“Did he break the sky yet?”
“Is he the storm from this morning?!”
“Does he have the lightning eyes?!”
"Aye, why were you two holding hands?"
Phainon laughed nervously and waved at no one in particular. “Hi?”
A tall, tattooed boy near the forge snorted. “Great. First we have a child of Nikador who doesn’t smile, now we’ve got a child of Kephale who can short-circuit our power grid.”
Mydei rubbed his temples.
“Can we not turn this into an event,” he muttered, speeding up.
But people kept following. Like a parade.
“Wait wait wait,” someone shouted from the arena, “he’s kinda cute, though?”
“Right?? Look at his hair!”
"Y'all ain't gonna be so happy with him when he blows the power," someone else grumbled.
“Oh no,” Mydei muttered.
Phainon couldn't keep up anymore.
“So you guys have, like… shirts with the camp name? Also where’s the dining hall? Also how many monsters show up per week on average? Asking for trauma reasons.”
Mydei stopped, turned to him slowly, and said, “Do not encourage them.”
Phainon just grinned. “What, afraid I’ll be more popular than you?”
Mydei gave him the deepest, most burdened sigh in history. It made him seem five years older, though Phainon could bet the last five dollars he had in his wallet that Mydei was, if not younger than him, at least the same age as him. "Shut up. Before I make you."
They hadn’t even made it halfway down the camp path when a tall woman with shimmering white robes and a Laurel wreath stepped directly into their way.
Phainon blinked. She moved like she was floating. Her hair shimmered like gold, and she had a longsword that looked more decorative than useful. Her eyes were green, with a strange sheen on them that made them unreadable.
“Mydei,” she greeted coolly.
Mydei inclined his head. “Aglaea. I brought another child.”
“I see.”
“He’s a child of Kephale.”
Her expression immediately shifted.
The warmth drained from her face, replaced by something... cautious. Measured. Like she'd just heard the distant rumble of a storm and was calculating exactly where it might strike.
“Let him get used to the life here first,” she said quietly. “Then we shall bring him in.”
“Bring me where?” Phainon asked, glancing between them. “Also, no offense, but like... can she see? Is this an aesthetic thing or is she magic?”
Aglaea smiled faintly. “I see in many ways.”
“That doesn’t answer the question,” he whispered to Mydei.
“Don’t push it,” Mydei muttered, already turning away. “Come on. I’ll show you your cabin.”
Phainon followed, slightly dazed, waving back at Aglaea who definitely didn’t wave back.
The cabin rows were lined with marble columns and strange inscriptions, each one built in a different style—some overgrown with vines, others covered in obsidian and metal. They stopped at the very end of the row.
Mydei pointed. “That one’s yours.”
Phainon looked up at it. The building was shaped like a miniature temple, carved with symbols of wind and stars and storm clouds. It hummed faintly with static.
“You’re the only one in here,” Mydei added, nodding toward the neighboring cabin. “I’m over there.”
Phainon squinted. “Why am I the only one?”
Mydei shifted. “Uh… it’s hard to explain out here. Without attracting a crowd.”
“Why would we attract—”
Too late.
Whispers started drifting from a nearby group of campers pretending to play cards.
“I don’t think children of other Titans should be going inside someone else’s cabin…”
“Are they dating??”
“Did Mydeimos bring home a boyfriend??”
Mydei stiffened like someone had slapped him. His ears were a similar shade of red like those strawberries earlier.
He whirled around. “I can hear you!”
The group only snickered louder.
Phainon grinned, leaning in. “So do you bring home a lot of guys with swords or am I special?”
Ahem. He may as well try and score himself a hot date if he was going to be stuck here from now on.
Mydei growled under his breath. “You are the worst. Inside. Now.”
Mydei shoved open the cabin door, dragging Phainon in before someone could yell something else like, "Name the baby after me!"
The moment the door shut behind them, the noise from outside dimmed into a hush.
Phainon looked around, eyes wide.
The interior of the cabin felt… charged. Like the air before a thunderstorm. The walls were etched with storm patterns and constellations.
He turned to Mydei, who had folded his arms and was staring at the ground, like he was building up to something.
“Okay,” Phainon said cautiously, “so... are we gonna talk about the prophecy thing, or the creepy eye lady, or the fact that my pen is now apparently a sword?”
Mydei sighed, very deeply. “Sit down.”
Phainon plopped onto a cushioned bench, still holding the sword in his lap like it might explode again.
“The Big Three,” Mydei began, pacing slowly, “are the eldest and most powerful among the Titans—Nikador, Kephale, and Thanatos. War, Sky, and Death.”
Phainon raised a hand. “Wait, Titans? I thought you were a demigod, not a child of—”
“Don’t interrupt.”
“Okay! Sorry. Continue.”
Mydei gave him a glare, then kept going.
“Since ages ago—literal ages—it’s been an unspoken rule among the Titans that none of the Big Three would have children with mortals again. It’s too dangerous. The balance is too fragile. Their blood makes us too powerful.”
Phainon blinked. “...And yet. Here we are.”
“Exactly.” Mydei stopped pacing. “Children of Nikador, Kephale, and Thanatos… aren’t supposed to exist. And when they do, it never ends quietly." A pause.
"Also, another reason was because Kephale and Nikador's children always fought. Like, always. Wars broke out over the children of the two, causing destruction.”
There was a long silence, and then Phainon asked, quieter, “So… what about us? Are we gonna break the world fighting each other for ten days and nights or something?”
Mydei looked at him, solemn. “You’d never touched a sword before today, and you held your own against a monster longer than most trained warriors. That’s not nothing. You’re already starting to tap into your divine power. Whether you like it or not, you’re dangerous.”
Phainon swallowed.
“…Cool. What about you?”
Mydei paused. “That’s a story for another time.”
“And the reason Aglaea looked like she was about to eat monster meat when I told her who your parent was,” Mydei added, “is because of a prophecy.”
“You guys have someone who’s an oracle?”
“Stop interrupting me.”
“Okay, okay, okay.”
Mydei gave him a withering look and sat down across from him, the firelight casting sharp shadows on his cheekbones.
“The oracle issued a prophecy a few years ago. One we’ve kept quiet about. It was vague, like most prophecies, but the core of it was clear: a child of Kephale would be the tipping point in a coming war. They would decide the fate of all divine offspring.”
Phainon blinked rapidly. “Okay, that’s… dramatic.”
So there was an incoming war. Wow. Tuesdays.
“And now you’re here,” Mydei said, voice soft but guarded. “So. You can imagine the camp is going to be a little on edge.”
Phainon nodded slowly. “Will I be able to, like… read the prophecy myself?”
“Eventually,” Mydei said. “But first, we need to do something else. Something more important.”
Phainon tilted his head. “Like what?”
“We need to try and communicate with your divine parent.”
Phainon blinked. “Like… call them? Text them? Should I stand outside in a thunderstorm and wave?”
“No,” Mydei deadpanned. “But it would be hilarious if you got struck by lightning in the process.”
"You wound me."
A few hours later, Phainon stood at the center of a stone circle deep in the forest, surrounded by ancient pillars and flickering torches that somehow didn’t burn the trees.
Mydei stood beside him, arms crossed, expression tight with effort and annoyance—equal parts emotionally constipated and used to handling the dramatic nonsense of divine rituals.
“So,” Phainon muttered, “we’re summoning my dad?”
“Technically, inviting him to communicate,” Mydei said. “But yes. Usually divine parents only speak to their children when they feel like it. Or when things get dire.”
“Cool. No pressure or anything.”
Mydei didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled a silver disc from the pouch at his belt—a coin etched with Kephale’s sigil: a spiraling gust of wind surrounding a bolt of lightning. He handed it to Phainon.
“Stand in the middle. Hold the coin. Focus on the sky.”
Phainon took a breath. “Anything else I should—”
Mydei grabbed his hand.
Phainon blinked. “...What’re you doing?”
“Helping you not get fried if this goes wrong,” Mydei muttered. “Focus. Otherwise we're both going to get fried.”
Cool. So, don't let hot guy get fried. But hey, the handholding was helpful for his morale.
Above them, clouds began to swirl into a spiral. The torches flared. The silver coin in Phainon’s palm heated up until it glowed faintly blue.
Lightning cracked in the distance, rumbling through the trees.
Phainon’s grip tightened. “Uh—Mydei—”
“Don’t let go,” Mydei said through gritted teeth.
Wind whipped through the clearing, spiraling up from the ground like a vortex around Phainon’s legs. His hair lifted with it, and electricity danced across his skin.
And then—
BOOM.
A bolt of lightning struck the center of the circle, blindingly bright. Phainon staggered but Mydei held fast.
A voice filled the clearing.
It wasn’t loud, but it pressed against Phainon’s bones—echoing with the weight of thunderclouds and open skies.
“My... child.”
Phainon’s breath caught in his throat.
“You... must fulfill... the prophecy...”
Silence.
The wind stopped.
The lightning disappeared.
Phainon stood frozen, his hand still clutched in Mydei’s, who looked equally stunned—but did his best to mask it with indifference.
“…That’s it?” Phainon croaked. “No hey, how’ve you been, sorry for the whole absentee god thing?”
Mydei rolled his eyes and dropped Phainon’s hand like a hot potato. “The titans aren't known for being warm. Or present.”
“Yeah, but like… that was ominous. What does that even mean? Fulfill what prophecy? What does it entail? Will I die? Should I be training? Can I not be the chosen one?”
“You’re already talking too much for someone who just channeled lightning through their body,” Mydei said, already walking away.
Phainon jogged after him, still holding the coin. “Wait—I did what now?”
Mydei paused, glancing back at him.
“Now?” He sighed. “Now we go talk to the oracle.”
"...That's not what I asked, but alright."
They walked in near silence, the kind that wasn’t exactly uncomfortable but felt charged somehow. The camp’s winding forest path dappled them in patches of light, the air still sharp with the remnants of storm energy.
Phainon kept glancing sideways, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
“So,” he said finally, “you said my dad and your dad… don’t get along?”
Mydei didn’t look at him. “That’s putting it mildly.”
“Right,” Phainon said. “So, like, ancient grudge level drama?”
“Near-end-of-the-world level stuff.”
“Oh. Cool.” A beat. “That’s not going to be, like, a problem for us, is it?”
Mydei glanced at him then. “I mean, I didn’t try to stab you the moment you showed up, so… I’d say we’re doing alright for now.”
For now. Yay. Could still be improved upon, unlike his econ grade.
Phainon huffed a soft laugh, more from nerves than amusement. “Right. Thanks for not stabbing me.”
“You’re welcome.”
Another beat passed.
“…So, do you always bring unclaimed demigods to camp personally, or am I just special?”
Mydei’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Almost. “I’m usually assigned. But sometimes Aglaea says I have a ‘knack’ for handling chaos.”
Phainon snorted. “That’s flattering.”
“She meant it as an insult.”
“Oh.”
They walked a few more paces. The trees began to thin, and a warm breeze stirred the branches above.
Phainon hesitated. “You didn’t seem thrilled when I showed up.”
Mydei gave him a look. “You’re a child of Kephale. You summoned a storm and nearly got both of us killed before you even knew what you were doing. Of course I wasn’t thrilled.”
“Fair.”
“But…” Mydei’s voice softened slightly. “You held your own. That’s… impressive.”
Phainon blinked. “Oh. Uh. Thanks.”
He wasn’t sure what to do with that. His ears felt hot.
Mydei looked away quickly, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Too late,” Phainon muttered, and Mydei let out a quiet exhale that might’ve been a laugh if he hadn’t been so busy trying to look like he didn’t care.
They crested the hill, and the grove came into view: ancient tree roots twisted around a low stone structure, humming faintly with energy.
“The oracle lives here?” Phainon asked, his voice low.
Mydei nodded. “Sort of. It's hard to explain. Don’t ask too many questions when we’re inside. Just… listen.”
Phainon paused, then looked at him. “Thanks. For, uh… not letting me die. And not treating me like a walking time bomb.”
Mydei shrugged, but didn’t meet his gaze. “Well. You kind of are. But I guess I’ve met worse.” Then he turned away, muttering, “Come on. The Oracle’s waiting.”
Phainon followed.
The grove was quiet, with an old kind of silence—like even the wind knew not to speak too loudly here. The moss covered stone shrine sat nestled beneath the roots of the massive tree, glowing faintly with pale runes and sigils carved long ago.
Mydei stepped forward. "We need an offering."
Phainon blinked. "Like what?"
"Food, usually. Or something meaningful. Do you have anything?"
Phainon patted his pockets, then awkwardly dug into his jacket. "...Uh... Do half-eaten granola bars count?"
Mydei gave him a look. "What kind?"
"Almond and dark chocolate?"
There was a pause. Then a sigh. "Let's hope the oracle isn't allergic to almonds."
He took the bar from Phainon, unwrapped it fully, and placed it gently on the center of the stone. "Alright," he said, stepping back. "Place your hand here." He gestured to a groove in the stone.
Phainon hesitated, then laid his palm against the cool surface.
"Now say, 'O Oracle, heed my call.'"
Phainon raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"
"Usually we call the oracle when some monster is about to destroy the world, kind of like calling 911. We had to simplify it. Now say it."
"O Oracle, heed my call."
For a second, nothing happened. Then—
The world tilted.
Wind rushed through the grove, though the trees didn't move. No, it was as if... Phainon was in a whole new dimension. The runes beneath his hand lit up, pale gold and flickering. Then, like a breath against his ear, Phainon heard it—soft, ancient, and chillingly close:
"World bearing wrath... Strife's first blade... Where peace once frayed... Storm shall wake... Silence shall come to end it all.."
And it stopped. Phainon staggered back, eyes wide. The voice disappeared as suddenly as it came.
"What the—" he breathed.
Mydei was watching him carefully, jaw clenched. "Did you hear it?"
Phainon nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."
He didn't say it aloud, but the words kept echoing in his head.
World bearing wrath. Strife's first blade.
He looked at Mydei.
"...That's you, isn't it?"
Mydei didn't answer right away.
"Guess we'll find out."
The sun had dipped below the treeline by the time they left the Oracle's Grove, the forest bathed in soft purple shadows and golden flickers from nearby torch posts. The camp had quieted down just slightly—enough to make Phainon realize how exhausted he felt after a long day of action and hearing spooky-whisper prophecies.
They reached the main clearing, where long tables were already filling with campers. Platters of roasted meat, fresh bread, bowls of fruit and chalices of ambrosia were being passed down with practiced ease by the nymphs, the scent of magic and summer heavy in the air.
Mydei lingered near the edge, watching the bustle, then glanced at Phainon. "You hungry?"
"Starving," Phainon admitted. "That prophecy stuff took it out of me."
"...Wanna sit at my table?"
Phainon blinked. "Oh. Sure, yeah. I mean. I don't—don't you have people you usually sit with? I'm not trying to intrude or anything."
Mydei looked away briefly, voice low. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't have many friends."
There was a small silence. Phainon awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "...Oh, really?"
Mydei shrugged, already walking. "People tend to steer clear of prophecy-adjacent children of war titans."
Phainon huffed a soft laugh, falling into step beside him. "Maybe it's because you glare a lot."
"I don't glare. I squint with intensity."
"Right. Yep. Very different."
Mydei shot him a dry look, but there was a faint flicker of amusement behind it. "Anyway. If you want to sit somewhere quiet... Well."
Phainon smiled a little. "Yeah. It'd be nice to sit with you."
And maybe it was the stars starting to come out, or maybe it was Phainon's hallucinations of Mydei's ears turning the slightest bit pink as he turned away—but it felt like something subtle had shifted. Like they were more comfortable with each other.
The Nikador cabin table was near the far end of the dining area, a little more spaced out than the others—whether out of respect or caution, Phainon couldn't tell. Mydei slid onto the bench while Phainon sat across from him, still glancing around like someone expecting to wake up from a weird dream.
A glowing platter of grilled meats and roasted vegetables appeared in front of them with a shimmer of golden light. Phainon stared at it.
“…Okay. That’s new.”
“Offerings,” Mydei said around a bite of meat. “You say a prayer, the gods get a portion, and you get fed. Win-win.”
At least the titans were paying child support. Sorta. Phainon awkwardly mimicked what Mydei did, muttering a quick thank-you to Kephale before digging in. “So, uh… this place. Camp. How long have you been here?”
Mydei chewed, swallowed, then leaned back. “Since I was ten. I was found in the Sea of Souls. Aglaea brought me in herself.”
“Wait, that sounds like– y’know, down under.” Phainon murmured, pointing downwards with his index finger while still holding his fork, gravy dripping from it.
“Mm.” Touché.
“Do you like it here?”
There was a pause. “I tolerate it.”
Phainon raised an eyebrow.
“It’s not bad,” Mydei admitted. “Safe, structured, full of people who understand what it means to have blood that glows and instincts that don’t always feel… human. But it’s also pressure. Everyone expects a lot from the child of Nikador. Especially when they're one of the Big Three.”
Phainon looked down at his plate. “Guess I should get used to that, huh?”
“You will,” Mydei said. “And you’ll have help. Aglaea doesn’t throw people to the wolves. Not right away, anyway.”
Phainon blinked. “That’s… great. Very comforting.”
Mydei smirked. “You’ll start training tomorrow. Weapons, combat forms, magical control. They’ll tailor it once they see what you’re good at.”
Phainon frowned. “Training? For what, exactly?”
Mydei’s expression sobered. “Demigods get assigned to missions. Some easy, some… not. Recon, retrieval, monster containment, escorting magical artifacts. The usual.”
“Oh,” Phainon said, quietly. “So… like, actual danger.”
“We’re born into it,” Mydei said simply. “We don’t get to be normal.”
Phainon poked at his food. “…Guess I’ll need better shoes.”
Mydei’s mouth twitched like he was suppressing a laugh. “Yeah."
Another beat. Phainon glanced up at him. "Thanks. For... helping me earlier. And for, you know. Not leaving me confused."
Mydei looked at him for a long time. Longer than usual. "...Don't mention it."
There was a small silence between them, filled only by the chatter of other campers and the soft clatter of cutlery. Phainon caught himself glancing at Mydei again. His expression was unreadable, as usual—but now that Phainon was sitting across from him, he noticed how long his eyelashes were. That his hair had a little braid with flowers in it. That his scowl was kind of unfairly attractive.
Focus.
“So,” Phainon tried again—“do you… always sit alone?”
Mydei tilted his head slightly. “Usually.”
“Don’t people like… try to talk to you?”
“They used to. They stopped after a while.”
“…Right. Of course they did.” Phainon paused. "Um, not to say you're mean or anything. Like—um. Sorry."
Wow, real smooth, Phainon. Real smooth.
But it earned him the smallest hint of a smile from Mydei. It was fleeting, but it was there. Before Phainon could say something else—
“Mydeimos,” came a calm, firm voice.
They both turned. Aglaea stood just beside the table, white robes flowing like water, her clouded eyes somehow still piercing right through him.
“Apologies for the sudden intrusion, but I must speak with you.”
Mydei stood immediately. “Understood. Phainon—stay here. I’ll be back.”
Phainon blinked. “Uh—sure.”
He watched them disappear toward the shadowed edges of the dining area, hushed voices disappearing into the dark. The moment they were gone, Phainon let out a breath and sagged into the bench.
…Right. Cool. Totally normal. Definitely not developing a crush on the first guy I met in the middle of a monster attack. That would be insane. It's literally day one.
He glanced down at his plate. He’s just… he’s really competent. And tall. And he has this whole ‘I’ll kill you but also maybe braid your hair’ vibe—ugh.
Mydei—in essence—was super fucking hot.
Before he could spiral further, Mydei returned, calm as ever.
“I’m going to be training you,” he said bluntly, sliding back onto the bench like nothing whatsoever had happened.
Phainon straightened. “Wait, seriously?”
“Yeah.” Mydei sighed like it was mildly inconvenient but also inevitable. “Aglaea thinks it’s best. And we’ve been assigned a mission together.”
Phainon blinked. “A what now?”
“Debrief is tomorrow morning,” Mydei continued, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “At the Grove. You’ll meet me there.”
Phainon just stared. “…I was in chem lab yesterday.”
Mydei gave him a look. “Welcome to the real world, Phainon.”
Phainon covered his face with both hands. “This is insane.”
“You’ll get used to it.” A pause. “Eventually. If you don't die first.”
Wow. Real nice.
"Thanks for the comfort," Phainon muttered.