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A warm hand cards through his hair, gentle in its caresses as fingers slowly make their way through golden strands.
Phainon— no, Khaslana—
Kephale.
Kephale.
Kephale.
His name is Kephale now.
Kephale snuggles further into the warmth of the body beside him, wrapping his arms around a small waist, allowing a tiny smile to come to his lips at the melodic hum.
“Are you awake now?” That velvety smooth voice caresses his ears in the gentlest brush. “You seemed to be in quite the slumber just minutes earlier.”
The Worldbearing Titan hums himself, not giving a real response and choosing to bury his face in the other’s torso with a content sigh.
The light of the Dawn Device shining down upon them, held up by his divine body even as a part of him descends down to mingle with his beloved. The streets of Okhema below, bustling with life and people milling about, going around and performing their every day tasks. The summit of Dawncloud, hushed, quiet, sacred, as though even the air refrained from breathing in fear of breaking such a moment.
And his beloved, beside him, carding his hand through his hair in a way that made Kephale yearn to feel it for all of eternity.
He glances up at Anaxagoras—
Anaxa—
Cerces.
Cerces.
Cerces.
His beloved’s name is Cerces now.
Cerces gazes down at his face, not a smile on his lips, but the tenderness in his fuchsia eyes says everything. And the warmth radiating from his body makes Kephale raise a hand to gently cup his cheek, his thumb brushing just underneath the skin of his eye. His smile— barely there, barely perceived— grows the slightest bit wider when Cerces leans into his touch.
“What would our lives have been like, had we been born with mortal shells?” Kephale murmurs, rising up from where his head lay on Cerces’ lap, but keeping his hand on Cerces’ cheek.
It’s a question that’s been nagging at him for a while now, when he watches the children of Amphoreus come into the world, grow into adulthood, and die peacefully surrounded by family and by love. For the Titans— for them— was such a paradise possible? Could they find each other, grow old, and die together like those humans who worship them?
Perhaps he should be more thankful for his immortality, as it rids him of the grief of losing a loved one— he doesn’t know what he would do if he ever lost his beloved, but it still makes Kephale wonder, sometimes. Would the grief be softened by the memories of love that they shared?
Would he be able to bear the weight of losing Cerces, just as he bears the weight of the world?
Would he even—
”Would I still be able to find you?”
The Reason Titan tilts his head just a little bit, an indication that he was thinking, before a smile comes to his face.
A rare sight.
And Kephale stares.
”You will.”
Cerces says it with such confidence, with such certainty, that Kephale finds himself unable to do anything but believe his words.
“If we were to be born as mortals… I believe I would be a professor at my dear Grove.”
Kephale blinks.
”And I would be your student.”
He would be transferred into Cerces’ class, not expecting much, until he finds his professor standing in front of him in all his breathtaking beauty. He would stare at him as he walked through the classroom, commanding it with an authority that was both powerful and gentle. He would reach for him, only for his hands to fall just short of brushing his professor’s sleeve.
He would spend years in the Grove, submitting blank paper after blank paper, all so that he could preserve their moments together just a little bit longer.
Those endless gazes would become shared. Those reaches would finally grasp his professor’s wrist. Those feelings would finally be realized.
And just like now—
They would find each other.
(Every time. In every loop.
In
Every
Cycle.)
”Not too different from how we are now, is it?” Anaxa Cerces Anaxa Cerces chuckles, “I would still scold you for your loose tongue, and you would still challenge my teachings.”
Phainon Kephale Khaslana Kephale permits another grin at that, another rare show of emotion, an even rarer display of amusement hinting at the edges of his mouth.
He pulls Cerces into his lap, his smile growing the slightest bit more smug at the inelegant yelp his Reason gives out.
”Well,” Kephale encircles his arms around Cerces’ waist again, “This would have to be made much more private.”
He adores the flush that comes to Cerces’ face, dusting his pale skin pink. He adores the way that Cerces’ mouth falls open at his words. He adores the way Cerces’ eyes glance away from him in embarrassment and a hint of something else that has Kephale chuckling.
”Don’t be so brazen,” Cerces mutters, “I would not date my own student.”
“Then what about after he graduates?” Kephale hums, burying his face in Cerces’ hair, mindful of the branches, “When we are no longer bound by the titles of professor and student.”
Cerces pretends to consider it for a bit, watching as Kephale’s expression remains impassive for the first few moments, before a sliver of impatience hinges at the edges of the Worldbearing Titan’s gaze.
”I’ll have to think about it then.”
Kephale huffs.
”At least the opportunity still remains.”
A roll of the eyes.
”Only because you make it seem like there is one.”
A slight pause, heavier than the last as Kephale’s stare becomes more serious— serious enough that it even makes Cerces fall into patient silence, waiting for what he has to say.
(As he always has.)
”…Well I, for one,” Kephale’s hand raises to brush aside the stray hairs on Cerces’ face, “know that I would always find an opportunity to be with my beloved once more.”
He tucks a strand of mint hair behind Cerces’ ear.
”Because I will always love you.”
No matter what.
No matter how many times—
No matter how many times I’ve lost you.
No matter how many times I must kill you.
No matter how many times I must rewind the clock, again and again, until I find you once more.
And Cerces—
Cerces stares at him.
”And I will always love you…”
…
…
…
”Khaslana.”
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
Kephale Khaslana opens his eyes to find nothing but the unending night sky above him.
”Are you awake now?” The voice tickles in his ear. Teasing. Haunting.
Words that will never be said echoing in his mind.
He huffs, staring down at his hands stained black.
Hands that once cradled a soft face with all the care known to man, speaking unsaid words of an undying love to the man he has always held in his heart.
Hands that once drove the blade straight through that man.
Hands that burned everything to ashes.
Khaslana sighs, running that accursed hand through his hair, grimacing as his skin fractures, a piece falling to the ground like broken porcelain.
Even in his dreams, the world decides to be cruel to him.
Even in his dreams, the world decides to remind him…
…of a tomorrow that will never arrive.