Chapter Text
Mydei always woke up to familiar cold stone, devoid from any form of warmth. His bedroom was a little more than a cramped loft tucked into the walls of Kremnos, a fortress city where strife and combat were the daily bread. The restaurant he worked in operated in the lower levels below.
Sunlight struggled through the narrow, iron-grated window, casting bars of shadow across the floorboards. Beneath him, the bustling sounds of the kitchens had already begun.
It was a hard albeit peaceful mortal life, but it just didn’t belong to Mydei.
Mydei laid still on the narrow bed, his chest heaving as he waited for the phantom sensations to fade because they always seemed to take their time, but lately, they were getting worse.
A year ago, it was just the vague warmth of a smile, the ghost of a touch of a hand resting possessively on the curve of his hip. Last night, it was the vivid, agonizing memory of dying on a battlefield while a man screamed for him. Mydei squeezed his eyes shut, twenty-four years of a mortal life fighting a losing battle against a millennium of divine muscle memory.
Mydei knew what the rest of the world knew. Thousands of years ago, the monstrous swarms of the apocalyptic Black Tide had nearly swallowed the earth. It was stopped only by Khaslana, the mortal who had ascended to godhood, and his companion, a fellow god named Cyrene. Today, the entire planet of Amphoreus owed its sprawling, peaceful centuries to them.
But the world also knew the tragic footnote to that victory for Khaslana’s husband, Mydeimos, had perished in the battle.
Mydei pushed himself up from his bed, rubbing a hand roughly over his face, coaxing the lingering ghosts of his sleep to leave now that morning had arrived. Mydei then got up to walk over to the slotted window and pushed the heavy iron shutters open.
Kremnos was an imposing place, a sprawling and brutal monument to constant strife. But to Mydei, it felt like a cage. Okhema, the capital of Amphoreus that was said to be closest civilization to the abode of the twelve, formerly thirteen, gods of Amphoreus known as the Chrysos Heirs, was an impossibly distant city Mydei had never seen with his mortal eyes.
But that was the true nature of what had been haunting Mydei his entire life. Even surrounded by a city that worshipped another patron deity, Mydei’s mind was inextricably tethered to another one sitting halfway across the world.
Since Mydei was a young boy, the orphanage matrons had told him that he was named after the personification of strength and unwavering loyalty. They said his deceased parents had named him “Mydei” in honor of the fallen god, hoping that he would grow up to embody Mydeimos' legendary devotion to not just Amphoreus but also his beloved Khaslana.
Mydei leaned his forearms against the cold stone sill, staring out past the battlements and watchtowers, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon where Okhema supposedly lay. Mydei wanted to believe that his parents had been wrong and that it wasn't just a namesake. One couldn't simply name a child after a legend and accidentally saddle him with the memory of how Khaslana felt beneath the sheets.
There was no way that Mydei would inherit the exact, suffocating weight of a husband's grief through the virtue of being named the same. Mydei didn’t believe that he simply shared the same name as Mydeimos. Mydei believed he was him.
And looking out at the horizon, Mydei knew he couldn't spend another day pretending to be a twenty-four-year-old orphan chopping vegetables while the god he loved sat alone without him.
The tranquility of morning eventually gave way when the restaurant opened for breakfast service, unleashing the chaos of clattering plates and the overlapping chatter of early patrons.
Mydei wove through the crowded tables with the practiced ease of someone who had spent half his life here. He found Krateros in the back kitchens, the old man looking tired as he always did, wiping down a counter. Krateros had taken Mydei in when he had aged out of the orphanage, trading food and lodging in the fortress walls for a job serving the city's mercenaries in the restaurant.
Mydei didn't bother with a gentle prelude this time, opting to be direct instead. He simply untied his apron and laid it flat on the counter.
"I'm going to Okhema. I'm quitting," Mydei announced boldly.
Krateros didn't immediately look up. His hands just stopped moving over the wooden top before letting out a long and weary sigh that seemed to have originated from the deepest pits of his disappointment. Krateros was weary from years of having variations of this exact, exhausting argument.
"Again with the stone men," Krateros muttered, finally looking up. His eyes were entirely devoid of surprise, but laced with pity, "Mydei, you're a grown man now. I thought we were finally done with these delusions. It’s driven you to the point where you don't sleep. You just stay up sometimes and stare into black space. You're letting this delusion eat you alive from the inside out. "
"They aren't delusions. I know who I am and I know he's there," Mydei kept his voice even, a testament to his certainty.
Krateros threw the rag onto the countertop, his patience finally cracking. He walked around the counter, pointing a flour-stained finger at Mydei's chest, "He is a myth! Who even knows if Khaslana is still alive? It's been thousands of years and the world has moved on. Gods do not wait around for orphans who happen to share a dead man's name."
It was a harsh thing to say, but Mydei didn't flinch because he knew Krateros meant it as a lifeline. The old man was trying to tether him to reality before he wandered off to the capital and got himself arrested for blasphemy, or worse, executed for it. But Krateros couldn't understand that the mortal tether was exactly what was suffocating Mydei.
"He is alive and he is living among mortals. I can feel it. I have to go!" Mydei retorted, the phantom memory of Khaslana's voice in his dreams and visions still echoing in the back of his mind.
Krateros stared at the stubborn Mydei, as the fight slowly drained out of him, realizing that Mydei was no longer a rebellious teenager but a man who had entirely given himself over to his own madness.
With a reluctant, pained shake of his head, Krateros turned back to the counter. He reached underneath and pulled out a small, worn leather pouch of coins, dropping it heavily onto the counter next to the discarded apron.
"When Okhema chews you up, the room upstairs is still yours. Don't starve on the road," Krateros said, resigned with ache.
~
The journey to Okhema took two weeks on foot, but finally crossing the city’s threshold felt like stepping across a thousand years for Mydei.
Okhema was both the center of Amphoreus and a monument. The streets were paved in gleaming white stone, and every plaza, every intersection, was dominated by the towering, pristine statues of the Chrysos Heirs. Where, they stood like silent sentinels over the mortals. But it was the massive triumphal arch at the heart of the plaza that made Mydei stop dead in his tracks.
It was a breathtaking piece of architecture, designed to hold the pantheon of the gods who watched over Okhema. Mydei’s eyes tracked across the colossal marble pedestals. One by one, he recognized the faces he had seen in his fragmented dreams. Then, his gaze hit the end of the arch.
There were thirteen pedestals but only twelve statues. The final pedestal hadn't just been left empty on purpose, the marble was brutally smashed to rubble, the stone violently scarred by chisels. Whatever name or inscription had once rested there had been gouged out with a hatred so deep it felt palpable. It was an open secret to everyone alive in Okhema and even Mydei himself knew who exactly it belonged to.
Looking at that deliberate and violent blank space, Mydei felt a sudden ache bloom in his chest as cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck, upon realizing that Mydeimos was deliberately erased.
Mydei tore his eyes away from the rubble and kept walking, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders. The city was beautiful, but the air felt heavy and suffocating under a thick blanket of unspoken rules.
He wandered toward the edge of the market district, seeking a cheap inn or a place to rest. The crowds thinned near the older, cobblestone alleyways. It was here, in the shadow of an overhanging balcony, that Mydei saw them.
A weary-looking mother was kneeling on the stones with her young daughter. The child was holding an unglazed clay bowl filled to the brim with clean and clear water. With trembling hands, the mother guided the girl to set it down gently at the edge of the street.
"Leave it for the Unnamed Heir who held back the Tide. May he find rest," the mother spoke softly, her voice barely carrying over the wind.
Mydei’s breath hitched as a strange and overwhelming warmth rushed to his throat that was somewhat affirming and comforting. Mydei took a half-step forward, opening his mouth to speak.
"Back away from that!" a voice cracked through the air as heavy armored boots slammed against the cobblestones. A city guard, clad in armor, marched into the alleyway, looking angry.
Before the mother could even scramble to her feet, the guard swung his boot and violently kicked the clay bowl. The bowl shattered against the stone wall, the water staining the dry earth dark. The little girl shrieked and hid her face in her mother's long skirt.
"Heresy!" the guard spat, his grip on the handle of his spear tightening as he loomed over the terrified women, "You know the law! There are twelve Heirs and twelve Heirs only! The next time I catch you leaving offerings for ghosts, you'll spend a few days in the jail! Do you understand me!?"
The woman nodded frantically, grabbing her crying child and fleeing into the market crowd without looking back. The guard kicked the remaining shards of clay into the gutter with a look of pure disgust and then turned and marched back toward his patrol route.
Mydei stood frozen in the alley, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. Khaslana’s own guards, men acting in the name of the Heir of Worldbearing, were violently enforcing the erasure of the very man Khaslana had supposedly loved.
Mydei absolutely needed to find Khaslana now. He needed to look Khaslana in the eye and demand to know why.
Mydei hurried out of the alley, his heart pounding as he approached a fruit merchant packing up his cart for the evening.
"Excuse me. I need to find Khaslana. Where is his temple? Where does he hold his court?" Mydei asked rapidly.
"You're not from around here, are you?" the merchant chuckled, shaking his head, "You don't just 'find' the gods. The Chrysos Heirs don't live in the dirt with us mortals, they dwell in the heavens above."
Mydei felt his heart sink to his stomach, struggling with the words, "But the temples—the guards—"
"Monuments and men," the merchant interrupted, arranging the fruits in his cart, "Khaslana is alive, aye, but he only descends to the mortal realm when he wishes to. And he hasn't wished to in a long, long time. Unless you plan on growing wings, you aren't talking to him today."
The merchant pushed his cart away, leaving Mydei standing alone in the fading light of the plaza that was slowly becoming deserted as merchants and customers packed up to leave for the day.
Mydei looked up at the sky, the sinking sun casting long and dark shadows from the twelve towering statues. He was exhausted, he had no money, and the god he had crossed the world to find was locked away behind a barrier of clouds and stone.
With the merchant’s dismissal ringing in his ears, Mydei wandered aimlessly away from the plaza. He didn’t know this city and he had no idea where he wanted to or could go.
The wider boulevards gave way to narrower, twisting alleys that the setting sun couldn't reach. Mydei was too lost in his own exhausted thoughts to notice the footsteps tracking him until he turned into a blind corner and found his path blocked.
Two figures stepped out from behind a stack of wooden crates while another two more dropped down from a low overhang behind him, cutting off his exit. The faint moonlight caught the dull glint of rusted iron, a serrated knife held by a trembling hand.
"Don't make a sound. Drop the bag and your boots," a voice hissed from the dark.
Instinct flared from old time past and Mydei’s stance immediately widened, dropping into a defensive crouch as his hands balled into fists. Mydei was a head taller than the tallest of them, his shoulders broad and thick from years of hauling flour sacks and breaking up tavern brawls for Krateros in a city built for war.
If Mydei was rushed, he knew with certainty exactly how to break the wrist holding the knife and put the others on the ground in under ten seconds. The combat math was already done in his head before he even took a breath.
But then the clouds shifted, the moonlight illuminated the alley and Mydei froze.
The "gang" wasn't a group of hardened Okhema thugs. The one holding the knife couldn't have been older than fifteen, his eyes wide and terrified. The others were even younger, their clothes little more than oversized rags hanging off protruding collarbones and hollow cheeks. They were shaking and Mydei deduced that it was not from adrenaline but with the chill of starvation. They were the exact kind of orphans Mydei used to be.
The aggressive combat instinct in Mydei’s chest instantly dissipated, replaced by a familiar ache.
The boy with the knife took a jerky step forward, trying to look menacing, "I said drop it! We'll cut you!"
Mydei let out a slow and tired breath. He slowly uncurled his fists, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. Without saying a word, Mydei reached into his pockets, moving agonizingly slow so he wouldn't spook them, and pulled out the leather pouch Krateros had given him. Mydei tossed the pouch onto the cobblestones at the boys’ feet where it hit the ground, clinking from the sounds of the coins it held.
The kids stared at the pouch, then looked up at Mydei in utter shock. They had expected a fight and they certainly weren’t expecting that a man twice their size to just hand over enough his goods.
"Take it, buy something warm," Mydei said softly, his voice devoid of any anger.
The boys didn't hesitate. One of them snatched the pouch from the dirt before bolting off. The others scrambled after him, melting back into the shadows of the alley, leaving Mydei entirely alone in the dark.
Mydei stood there for a moment, the cold wind biting even through his clothes. He was completely broke now with no food and nowhere to go.
But as he looked up past the rooftops, Mydei’s eyes caught the distant, towering silhouette of a temple sitting high on the central hill, bathed in starlight. He didn’t know which of the Chrysos Heirs the monument belonged to, but temples meant massive stone archways, and archways meant a place to hide from the freezing wind.
A stubborn resolve settled over Mydei as he began the punishing and grueling hike upward.
The grand, sweeping marble steps were designed for processions, not for an exhausted mortal at the end of a long journey. By the time Mydei reached the summit, his legs were shaking, and his lungs burned from the thin, cold air.
Mydei stepped into the deserted temple courtyard and stopped dead in his tracks. It was an architectural marvel, vast and dominated by a colossal, beautifully carved statue looking out over the city. The stone face was rigid and emotionless. It was Khaslana.
Of all the temples in the capital, Mydei’s exhausted feet had carried him directly there. Mydei let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh that quickly faded into a shivering sigh. He walked slowly across the smooth marble floor until he reached the base of the statue.
There was a long, polished stone bench tucked beneath the shadow of the god's carved robes. It was hard, and it was freezing, but it was sheltered from the wind.
Mydei sank down onto the stone, finally able to rest his body from keeping himself up all day, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his cloak tightly around himself. Mydei tilted his head back, resting it against the cold marble pedestal, and looked up into the stone face of the man he had never met but loved.
"I made it," Mydei whispered into the empty, silent courtyard, trusting the lingering scent of ancient magic in the stone to lull him to sleep, "If you won't come down to me... then I'll just sleep on your doorstep."
The marble was freezing, but it wasn't the cold that woke Mydei, but rather the smell of fresh, warm bread.
Mydei opened his eyes, squinting against the harsh and pale light of the Okhema dawn. His muscles screamed in protest, absolutely sore, as he shifted on the stone bench.
"You are either very brave or very foolish to seek rest at the feet of the Worldbearer.” The voice was smooth, carrying authority through resonance that made the hairs on the back of Mydei's neck stand up.
Mydei pushed himself up into a sitting position, the hood of his cloak falling back onto his head, obscuring his face. Sitting on the opposite end of the stone bench was a man wearing white and blue. Mydei initially assumed he was a clergyman of the temple but there was nothing subservient about his posture. He had striking, snow-white hair that caught the morning light, and light blue eyes.
Resting on the stone between them was a small, cloth-wrapped bundle of warm bread and a leather waterskin.
"I am Phainon, the guardian of Okhema. We do not normally permit vagrants to defile the courtyard but the night was exceptionally bitter so I will excuse you this instance. Eat, and then you must move on," the man said, his tone perfectly measured, offering a practiced smile.
Mydei didn't look at the food, despite how starved he was, but rather the man who called himself Phainon.
The hair was different, less golden than in the dreams, eyes completely blue instead. But the cadence of his voice, the posture in which he sat and the faint and inescapable scent told Mydei that was clearly him. The thousand-year ache in Mydei’s chest dissipated, instead expanding into overwhelming relief.
Mydei turned fully toward Phainon and the cloak covering his head slid off, the morning sun finally catching the angles of Mydei’s face, illuminating his eyes and the exact definition of his appearance. Phainon was reaching to hand over the waterskin and then his hand stopped in mid-air.
The welcoming smile on Phainon’s face immediately shattered. His breath left him suddenly hissing as the waterskin slipped through his grip, hitting the marble with a dull slapping sound. Water pooled over the pristine white stone but Phainon didn’t notice. He was staring at Mydei with an expression of disbelief.
Mydei froze, stunned by the expression displayed on Phainon’s face. Phainon’s light blue eyes were wide, blown dark as he stared at Mydei's face, searching it as if looking for a ghost.
Mydei’s heart began to race wildly in his chest. Suddenly, the borrowed memories and unexplained dreams of a different life flared into an inexplicable pull toward this stranger who called himself Phainon. Shifting his weight on the cold stone bench, Mydei leaned forward and instinctively reached out a hand.
“You can call me Mydei, by the way. My parents named me after Mydeimos, the Heir of Strife,” Mydei said, attempting to be friendly.
"Do not call his name here!" Phainon’s voice came out choked, but the words carried an authority with it that weighed enough to pin Mydei exactly where he sat, freezing him mid-reach.
Phainon surged to his feet, his movement so abrupt that it instantly put distance between them. Phainon pressed a hand flat against his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt like a vice as his breathing turned harsh and shallow.
"I apologize," Phainon said, his voice completely stripped of its former smoothness as he forced a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes in sincerity, "You startled me. That name is forbidden in this city so don’t ever tell people your namesake. Please, take the charity and go. It isn't safe to continuously linger here."
Mydei slowly lowered his hand, choosing to reserve a reaction, despite the confusion. Mydei’s gaze turned to the spilled water and then back up at Phainon standing rigidly before him.
Mydei knew what normal pity looked like and he knew what disdain looked like, but this was neither of them. A simple temple guardian wouldn't be standing there gripping his own chest, using courtesy as a weapon while looking at a mortal stranger as if holding back the end of the world.
"You're looking at me like an apparition," Mydei noted, observant and unyielding.
Phainon’s forced smile didn't falter, even if his jaw clenched so tight to the point that he was visibly straining, realizing that polite deflection wasn't working on Mydei.
"I am merely telling you to move along. Before the morning patrol arrives, you should leave," Phainon commanded, his voice dropping lower, an angrier edge bleeding through the courteous façade.
Phainon didn't wait for an answer, nor did he wait to see if Mydei would obey. He gave a single, stiff nod that demanded compliance and then turned on his heel. Phainon strode away across the courtyard, his posture rigid as he retreated toward the archway that led back outside.
The moment Phainon turned his back, Mydei pushed himself to his feet. The sheer exhaustion of his journey was completely eclipsed by a sudden certainty in his mind that he believed to be absolutely true.
"Phainon!" Mydei called out.
Phainon stopped mid-stride when he heard Mydei calling out for him but he didn't turn around, leading Mydei to close the distance by skipping several steps. Mydei’s footsteps were steady on the marble, until he stopped just a few paces behind the rigid Phainon.
"I don't know who you really are," Mydei said softly, his voice steady despite the chaotic urge he was feeling coursing through his veins, "But you know, don't you? You recognize the soul I'm carrying."
Phainon slowly turned his head, just enough to look at Mydei over his shoulder. The sheer and audacious certainty radiating from Mydei was a weapon, pointed directly at the most fragile, broken part of Phainon's sanity.
Phainon’s pragmatic mind could not accept it. So, Phainon deployed the only defense he had left, that being crushing authority. "You hit your head hard on the marble. There are no wandering souls in this city. The dead all get sent to the underworld until they are rebirthed, so you should seek a healer before this delusion gets you executed for heresy."
Without another word, Phainon continued heading toward the grand stairs leading down into the awakening city, seeking the refuge of the morning crowds.
The descent was punishing for Mydei to drag down his still exhausted body, barely recovering from the poor sleep and long travel. Every step down the massive, steep flight sent a jarring ache through his shaking knees, but anchored by a millennium of stubborn devotion, Mydei simply gritted his teeth, ignored his screaming muscles, and followed Phainon.
For the rest of the day, Phainon moved through Okhema like someone trying to evade a following presence, but Mydei did not falter and successfully shadowed his every step. It quickly became apparent that Phainon was not a simple temple attendant but was deeply entrenched in the law and enforcement of the capital.
Phainon acted as a high-ranking enforcer, a sharp-tongued arbiter who settled bitter merchant disputes with diplomacy and directed the city guard with unquestioned authority. He didn’t seem to be employed by anyone or any authoritative body but every soul in Okhema treated him with respect, like it was mandated by divinity.
Criminals cowered when Phainon approached and citizens bowed their heads but Mydei did neither. Mydei simply trailed a few paces behind, leaning against stone walls when Phainon interrogated a thief, and patiently waited outside when Phainon entered the magistrate's hall.
Phainon tried everything to shake Mydei off. He walked impossibly fast, he shot Mydei glares that would have brought a lesser mortal to their knees. But Mydei remained entirely unfazed, an immovable ghost tethered to Phainon’s shadow.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the white city in shades of purple, the chase had reached its limit. At the edge of the residential district, Phainon finally spun around, halting suddenly.
Mydei stopped right behind him, shivering slightly in the evening chill, but looking at Phainon with that same, unwavering devotion.
"This game is over. Give me a street name. Where can I send you home?" Phainon snapped, the elegant veneer of his courtesy finally cracking under the built tension of the day.
Mydei didn't look away even with the sharp look Phainon had directed at him. The hopeful energy of the morning had given way to a bone-deep weariness. Nonetheless, Mydei met Phainon’s glare unapologetically. Mydei had crossed the world for this and he was not giving up anytime soon.
"I don't have one," Mydei stated flatly.
Silence fell over the alleyway as Phainon stared down Mydei standing in the cold of the setting sun. Logic demanded he call the guard and the law demanded he arrest the vagrant for harassment. At the very least, basic self-preservation required Phainon to turn his back and walk away from this cruel, cosmic coincidence before it unraveled him completely.
So, Phainon turned and commanded his body to take a step, but his body simply refused.
Phainon froze in the center of the alley. He tried to force his foot forward, but the instinct to protect—an ancient, deeply buried reflex tied entirely to the face of the man behind him—acted like iron manacles around his ankles. Phainon could not leave Mydei in the freezing dark. He physically could not do it.
Phainon squeezed his eyes shut, his shoulders slumping as bitter defeat washed over him.
"You are coming with me," Phainon ordered, not turning around to look at Mydei, instead speaking to the empty air in front of him, forcing his voice to sound strict and entirely unsympathetic. "You will sleep where I can keep an eye on you, so you do not spread this heresy of carrying a dead man’s soul to the rest of the city."
Without checking to see if Mydei was following, Phainon resumed walking, his pace stiff and entirely devoid of its earlier grace.
Phainon’s apartment was surprisingly warm, filled with thick rugs and furniture. But as Mydei stepped inside, he noticed the strangeness of it. The comfort felt entirely cosmetic.
There was no clutter; no books left open on a table, no cloaks draped over chairs and certainly no stray items that were out of place. It appeared to be a space kept in a state of rigid and unbroken perfection, completely devoid of the mess of an actual life.
Phainon pointed Mydei toward a pristine guest room, provided with heavy linens and a fresh change of clothes that were far too fine for a traveler just off the road.
There were no words of comfort or any well wishes to get good rest. Phainon simply stood in the doorway, his silhouette tall and imposing, "The law in Okhema can be very rigid and unforgiving. For your own safety, I strongly suggest that you stay within these walls."
Once Phainon left him alone, Mydei immediately collapsed onto the mattress, his body impaired with exhaustion. Sleep came fast but it offered no sanctuary from the tiredness of the days. Mydei was quickly pulled under by the familiar and reoccurring dreams that were violent and excruciating memories of a battlefield consumed by the apocalyptic forces of the Black Tide.
The dreams were horrifying enough to jolt Mydei awake with a harshly inhaled gasp, leaving his chest heaving.
Mydei was used to his bad dreams scaring him awake but it wasn’t just the dreams rousing him that night, the room was uncomfortably freezing too. It didn’t feel like the natural chill of the night air but rather something darker and more sinister. The metallic tang of blood and burning earth was thick in the air, overwhelming his senses. Immediately sensing that something was amiss, Mydei practically launched himself out of the bed.
Mydei pushed the bedroom door open to find that the hallway was gone. The carefully curated illusion of the apartment had completely collapsed, torn apart by a living memory that refused to stay buried.
The living room had transformed into a terrifying manifestation of the past; of a swirling, gravity-defying void, cracking and bleeding red. It was the apocalyptic battlefield from a millennium ago and in the center of the roaring dark storm stood Khaslana, his divine presence suffocating and formidable.
Khaslana was caught in a hellish and violent loop of his own failure. He was frantically fighting, swinging his sword against shadows that weren't there, his voice bellowing as he tried to command a past that wouldn't listen.
"Hold the line!" Khaslana roared at the empty air, his hands trembling as golden light fractured around him. "Do not step forward! I command you to stay behind me!"
Khaslana lunged forward, grabbing at the void, his voice tearing at the seams, "Stay with me! That is an order!"
Anyone in their right mind witnessing such an event would have made the run for it but Mydei didn’t. Mydei could tell that he was dealing with something ancient here but it didn't terrify him. Instead, it made the familiar ache in his chest flare into clarity and recognition.
Mydei stepped right through the suffocating storm, somehow finding the strength to do so deep within himself, even when the past few days had drained him from all his strength.
Because Khaslana was drowning in the delusion of his own making, he didn't just see some young mortal man he had taken in for the night. On the contrary, Khaslana saw the exact face of his beloved that he had failed to save a thousand years ago.
Mydei walked directly into the center of the frantic Khaslana’s collapsing wards. He reached out and firmly grabbed Khaslana’s glowing wrists, attempting to anchor him to reality with a physical touch.
"I'm right here," Mydei said, his voice steady and grounded, despite the chaos of the hallucination.
The moment mortal flesh clamped over divine wrists, reality violently snapped back and the hallucination immediately shattered like glass. The roaring wind stopped and the unnatural pressure vanished as the sterile darkness of the apartment crashed down around them. Everything was proper and in place, almost as if nothing had ever happened, despite all the reality warping illusions Mydei had witnessed.
Phainon was on his knees on the rug in the living room, looking like his human self once more, gasping for air, in horror at Mydei holding his hands.
For a split second, the persona of a god vanished, replaced by the naked grief of a man—a husband— who had waited a thousand years for a touch he believed was lost forever. But the vulnerability disappeared as soon as it had arrived.
Phainon wrenched his wrists out of Mydei’s grip and surged to his feet, immediately putting distance between them. His chest heaved heavily as his eyes were blown wide in paranoid panic. He had just exposed his deepest, most humiliating trauma to a stranger who wore the face of a dead man.
Phainon hissed, “You have no idea what this city does to people who claim to carry returning souls. They could have you executed for heresy before you even finish a sentence. If you speak a word of what you just saw, or if you claim to carry a dead man's soul outside these walls, I will bind your tongue myself to keep you from the pyre."
It was less of a threat and more of something born of a desperate, hyper-vigilant need to keep Mydei hidden. Phainon wasn’t intent on being a warden to a prisoner, instead he was a man building a fortress around a face he couldn't bear to watch die a second time.
Mydei sat back on his heels, letting the burden of what had just happened to wash over him. He was a ward now, tucked away in an apartment with a god who was losing his grip on reality.
But as Mydei looked at Phainon desperately trying to hide his trembling hands behind his back, he didn't feel afraid but rather a renewed, stubborn resolve. Mydei had no idea how to be a god, and he knew that he hadn't earned him the right to call himself Khaslana's dearest love. Nonetheless, the haunting memories in his head that didn’t quite feel like his own felt entirely real to him.
If Phainon was determined to trap them both in this fortress of denial, then Mydei would simply have to prove he could be Mydeimos. He would stay, he would endure the rules and he would try hard enough to make Phainon finally wake up and accept what Mydei so desperately believed was the truth.
Mydei clung to the blinding and all-consuming conviction that if he just played the part perfectly, if he just tried hard enough, he could get Phainon—Khaslana— to love him again.