Chapter Text
Mydei has lost count of how long he has been on the training grounds, brandishing a sword through the air, irritation pulsing steadily at his temples.
What the hell is taking Phainon so long to get here?
The day before, both men agreed to yet another sparring match, this time on the condition that they were to use weapons they weren't entirely familiar with.
In the flame-chasing journey, one couldn’t always rely on the integrity of their weapon of choice, the unpredictability of the battlefield made it so they had to be ready for anything. At the time, Mydei was impressed the idea came from Phainon of all people, though in retrospect he shouldn’t have been.
For all his teasing, nagging, and keen ability to get under Mydei’s skin, the Deliverer is a highly intelligent and skilled warrior.
So why. Mydei lands a harsh hit against a lone training dummy, sending strands of hay flying into the air. Why isn’t he here?
It’s hours past the designated time of their meeting and he did not receive even a single message from the other man.
At first Mydei didn’t think anything of it. It wasn't uncommon for Phainon to get caught up in some trouble, conversing with citizens along the way, helping lost children, sometimes even getting distracted by some antique that caught his eye. But always, whenever he realized he would be late, he made sure to let Mydei know ahead of time.
With a quiet grunt, Mydei lowers his weapon. He's tired of waiting any longer, and as if in agreement with his frustrations, his stomach gives a low growl.
Rolling his shoulders, he exhales sharply, turning on his heel to put the sword away. At the very least he managed to get some practice in, even if it was without a sparring partner.
As he places the blade down, his teleslate pings with a notification. Mydei grabs it, his brow twitching as he does, already mentally chewing Phainon out.
He stops once he realizes it isn’t a message from the white haired man, but one from Aglaea instead. Huh. Tapping a finger on the screen, he opens it.
Aglaea
Mydeimos, Good evening.
Have you seen Phainon today by any chance?
With a sharp scoff, he writes a curt reply, pressing the send button with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, the numerous scratches on his device serving as proof.
No, I have not seen your precious Deliverer.
Why? Did he also abandon his duties with you?
A speech bubble comes up after a second and disappears just as fast. This causes Mydei to arch an eyebrow in confusion. It's unlike Aglaea to hesitate.
A few minutes pass before she actually replies.
Aglaea
It would seem so.
Would you check his house for me? I can sense his presence in his quarters with the help of my threads, although he is not responding to any of my messages.
Thank you, Mydeimos.
This person is now offline.
“Tch.” Typical.
Well, no matter. He spares a glance to his gauntlets still lying amidst the scattered training arsenal and decides against picking them up. It’s not like he has any missions today, so there’s no issue. He will go check on Phainon, make lunch for the both of them if he’s feeling nice and maybe drag the Deliverer here.
Turning on his heel, he makes the familiar route toward Phainon’s living quarters.
On the outside, Phainon’s accommodation isn’t much different from the other houses in Okhema. The only thing that sets it apart are the small trinkets and baubles decorating it and a few potted flowers that surround the entrance. They look a little wilted.
Mydei pounds on the front door, the wood groaning beneath his fist. “Deliverer, open this door, now!”
Only silence answers him.
He glances at his brief exchange with Aglaea again. She assured him that Phainon was here, and her threads never lie. But why does this silence feel almost suffocating? His hand instinctively reaches for the door handle.
Mydei had only meant to rattle it in order to make a commotion. Surely Phainon would come running if he believed someone was attempting to break in.
What he doesn’t expect is for the door to swing open.
Mydei stumbles, caught off guard by the momentum, and almost ends up losing his footing in his surprise. He stares for a moment, blinking up at the interior of what appears to be Phainon’s living room.
What the hell?!
Whipping around, he slams the door shut and locks it behind him. Is the Deliverer actually insane? Has he forgotten the council of elders very much despises the Chrysos Heirs? Forgotten how many they’ve already killed?
Mydei exhales sharply through his nose, trying to reel in his frustration as his footsteps echo through the quiet space.
He casts a glance around. He’s been here before. Once. Though, he will admit to not remembering much.
It was months ago, when Phainon challenged him to a drinking competition – see who could withstand a particular sweet brand of wine. Their challenge attracted a few others, though none could match the competitive streak of the two warriors.
In the end, they couldn’t even remember why they started drinking in the first place. They left the tavern stumbling, faces flushed and giggling, holding onto each other as to not fall face-first on the empty streets. And, since Phainon’s house was closer, that was where their addled brains took them.
Mydei made it to the couch. Phainon didn’t.
He curled up on the floor like a dog, whining and mumbling that Mydei had cruelly abandoned him, when in reality, they were mere feet away from each other. At least the prince was kind enough to cover Phainon with his cape before passing out.
Looking now, Mydei notices the couch has been nudged a little closer to the entrance.
Focus.
A quick search confirms that Phainon isn’t in the living room, kitchen, nor at the small study he keeps. The entire place is surprisingly neat and put together, if you ignore the odd antique decorations here and there.
That leaves one place.
His bedroom.
A flicker of unease twists in Mydei’s gut.
He hasn’t exactly tried to be quiet – what with all the stomping he did around the house – and yet, there hasn’t been a peep, no acknowledgment, not even a hint of that familiar voice.
His earlier irritation fades, and now, more than anything, he just wishes to see Phainon.
“I know you’re in here, Deliverer.” Mydei calls out while approaching the door. There still isn’t any reply. He reaches for the handle with a frown. “Don’t tell me you actually fell asleep and forgot our-”
He steps into the room.
And promptly freezes in place.
Phainon lies sprawled across his bed, half-buried in a twisted mess of sheets and pillows. His outer clothes are gone and he is only wearing his black fitted shirt and everyday pants.
But Mydei doesn’t register any of that.
His heart stutters violently in his chest, eyes wide in alarm as his gaze falls to Phainon’s arm.
More specifically, to the deep, ragged gashes running from Phainon’s wrist all the way up to his elbow. Blood has soaked through the bedding under him, staining everything a dark, sickening shade.
Mydei must have made some kind of noise in the back of his throat because Phainon shifts, gingerly turning his head to the side.
“Oh…” He offers a sluggish blink, as if his mind is slowly catching up to the sight of the person before him. Horrifyingly, once his eyes do light up in recognition, he smiles. “Mydei… you’re here.”
Mydei stands frozen, glued to that spot on the ground. His hand grips the door so tightly it almost creaks under his palm. How did- what happened? Did someone attack him?
He abruptly turns his head, scanning the room for any sign of intruders. No broken window, no sign of a scuffle aside from the wounds on Phainon’s arm- Before he can run to inspect the rest of the house again, this time with a clear goal in mind, Phainon laughs.
The sound is frighteningly hollow, so unlike the Phainon he knows that Mydei jerks his head back just to assure himself it is indeed the same man lying on that bed.
“Don’t worry, no one… no one did this.” Phainon looks down at his arm, moving it just enough to curl his fingers. It only causes the wound to bleed more.
Letting out a curse, Mydei storms to the bed. He yanks a corner of the bedsheet still untouched by blood and presses the cloth hard against the wound. A quiet hiss escapes Phinon’s lips, but aside from that, he merely stares down at Mydei’s hand.
There are a million questions running through his head. Why isn’t Phainon saying anything? Was he hurt anywhere else? Doesn’t seem like it, but… If he wasn’t attacked then–
He supposes he might start by the most pressing matter. “Who did this?”
“I already told you, no-”
“Phainon!” Mydei tightens his hold on that pale wrist, twisting the cloth again. It already feels damp under his fingers.
“...”
Silence.
Phainon slumps back against the pillows without meeting Mydei’s eyes. He looks tired, unnervingly so, in a way Mydei has never seen before. The shadows under his eyes are accentuated, his skin dull and far too pale. It scares Mydei to dwell on why.
“I did it.”
Mydei’s free hand reaches for Phainon’s almost instinctively. Holding, taking in the coldness of his fingertips. Belatedly, he realizes he’s shaking. Phainon still doesn’t react.
“...What?”
He must’ve misheard. Because if Phainon meant what he just said, then–
“I did this.” Phainon giggles again and the sound stabs directly into Mydei’s heart. “Mydei… I realized some time ago.” He tilts his head up, facing the ceiling. “I can’t die.”
Mydei doesn’t know when he climbed up Phainon’s bed, doesn’t feel his knees sink into the mattress or the way he presses against Phainon’s side. Ice seeps into his limbs and he can barely understand the thoughts running through his head, but he needs… needs to see Phainon’s eyes, needs to see he’s still…
“What are you saying?”
Those icy blue eyes lock with his, and oh.
Mydei’s voice wavers, sounding raw and unrecognizable even to his own ears. “...Phainon.”
“Maybe it’s the Prophecy… I don’t know the reason.” At this, he gives Mydei’s hand a weak squeeze. “For a long time now, whenever I’ve found myself closer to Thanatos’ grasp I just. Wake up.”
Swallowing hard, Mydei offers a weak shake of his head. “I don’t understand.”
“On the battlefield... It always feels as though I’m barely brushing against the edge of that river, just about to be enveloped in a cold, soothing embrace. But then- I wake up. Being cared for, bandaged. Alive. As if-” Phainon lifts his free hand, a quiet laugh rumbling in his chest as he rubs at his clammy face. “As if I didn’t just see my bones sticking out of my skin.”
Mydei’s thoughts swirl, a deep sense of wrong clawing at him. What is Phainon talking about? Saying that he can’t die… the admission that he raised a blade against himself.
And the worst part is, Phainon seems to believe it.
Believes he’s somehow bound to keep living through all of this. That no matter how many times he bleeds, how many times his body breaks or his heart shatters, he’ll always wake up.
Not because he wants to–but because he has to.
For the flame-chasing journey.
“One time, Castorice found me like this, and she-” He stops abruptly, allowing his hand to softly drop to his chest.
Pressing harder against the injury, Mydei is startled by how wet his hand feels. The cover he has been using to staunch the blood flow is entirely soaked through, some of it even getting on his pants.
There is a terrifying still moment where Mydei realizes: he has no idea how long Phainon has been bleeding for before he found him.
“...Phainon. I need you to tell me. Where do you keep your bandages?” He asks slowly, the words clumsily tumbling out of his mouth.
There is no reply. Phainon’s eyelids flutter in the same way they do when he's about to fall asleep in the middle of the Chrysos Heirs meetings. He’s looking at the way his blood spreads into the white linen.
“Phainon, please! I…” Mydei presses his forehead to Phainon’s knuckles, trembling like a newborn fawn. His mind flashes with the last moments of his fallen comrades, the last gasps, cold touches. He squeezes his eyes shut.
“Tell me where they are so I can dress your wounds, please…” His voice cracks at the last plea.
For a moment, it seems as if Phainon intends to remain silent – or perhaps he’s too weak to respond – and Mydei steels himself, prepared to either tear the house apart in search of it, or to drag Phainon to a healer.
Thankfully, none of those will come to pass.
“...Under my bed. There's a white box… you'll see it.”
Mydei drops to the floor, moving on instinct alone, and immediately spots the box Phainon mentioned. His throat closes up at the sight of a bloodied dagger on the floor, just a few feet away. It appears to have tumbled off the other side of the bed after Phainon… injured himself.
He picks up the box and stands.
The contents aren't anything special. Antiseptic, rolls of bandages, gauze and a few unlabeled bottles. His heart settles at the knowledge that it is enough to ensure Phainon's well-being for now.
As for the deeper repercussions of his actions…
Closing his eyes, Mydei allows himself a second to feel, his back turned to Phainon.
Aglaea probably knows- knew. As for why she sent him here… Mydei is too frayed to think about it right now. He’s heard talk of a therapist that works at the Grove, perhaps…
He sucks in a deep breath, grabbing one of the thicker gauze before turning around.
Phainon is looking up at him, his expression hard to describe.
There will be time to tackle all that later. For now, he gets to work.