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“…non…”
There’s a warmth trickling onto his face, his hands, something soft and familiar brushing along his palm with the smell of home and mint surrounding him. He wants to bathe in it a little longer, relish the peace as it slowly, gradually pulls him away from the bloodshed and the chaos that was once roaring in his mind.
”…Phai…”
No, he can’t be hasty about it. He has to assimilate himself into this new tranquility, let himself be eased into this new normal. Otherwise the screams from earlier might drag him back if he’s too quick about it…
”Phainon.”
A light tap on his arm, warm, familiar, and Phainon lets his eyes flutter open, only wincing minutely when the blaze of the sun burns down directly into them. So much for trying to be gradual about waking up, but the view of Anaxa’s face staring down at his own in the midst of Aedes Elysiae’s golden fields makes up for the (hardly) rude awakening.
Even if said face looks a little more than slightly annoyed.
“Did you seriously fall asleep while I was talking?” Anaxa pokes at his forehead a couple of times, each one more insistent than the last, only stopping when Phainon catches his hand in his own with a sleepy grin.
”…M’sorry,” he murmurs, looking anything but apologetic, “Your voice is just so calming to listen to…could fall asleep to it any day.”
Anaxa’s face visibly wrinkles up at that, “How can you say that kind of stuff with a straight face?”
”How come you always react like that? Every time,” Phainon fires back, bursting into laughter when Anaxa shoves his arm.
”Because it’s embarrassing .”
He says that, but Phainon can see the way the edges of his lips quirk up in an almost smile. It fills him with pride, every time, the way that he can make Anaxa almost smile when no one else can. Well, no one besides Zenais, but Phainon would argue that it’s just because she has the privilege of being the older sister.
”Anyways,” Anaxa rises to get up, dusting the dirt from his robes, “Shouldn’t we be going to Cyrene about now? I thought she was going to do her oracle reading for us today.”
Phainon shoots up at that, no trace of sleep left on his face, and he nearly knocks Anaxa off balance with how abruptly he jumps to his feet, “Right! Shall we go then?”
He doesn’t even wait for Anaxa’s response before Phainon eagerly grabs his hand, tugging him in the direction of the swing that they know Cyrene’s likely dozing off on.
”Oh, hey you two!” A familiar voice calls from the community garden, and Phainon turns his head to see a head of mint wave at them with a bright grin, “Off to see Cyrene again?”
Phainon can sense the way Anaxa immediately perks up, “Sis!”
”Hi Zenais!” Phainon enthusiastically waves back, “We’re getting our oracle readings today!”
Anaxa’s older sister chuckles, her smile becoming knowing, “You guys are just inseparable, aren’t you? Especially you two.”
Anaxa huffs, “Of course we are, I mean—“
Phainon throws his arm around Anaxa’s shoulders, pressing their cheeks together, “We’re the bestest of friends!”
“Don't interrupt me!” His proclaimed best fried hisses at him, struggling to get away from his grasp.
Zenais shakes her head fondly at their antics, and Phainon can feel her gaze on the side of his neck and on Anaxa’s wrist. But, when she sees that he’s caught her staring, she simply throws another smile.
“Got it, then I won’t keep you two any longer,” she ruffles both of their hairs, Anaxa leaning into the touch while Phainon yelps in surprise, “Say hello to Cyrene for me!”
The two of them glance at each other before giggling, running off with a final wave to Zenais as they rush towards the swing on the edge of the village.
Zenais smiles again, watching their rapidly retreating backs with a hand placed on her hip. She and Anaxa hadn’t known much beyond Aedes Elysiae, too young to remember ever coming to such a safe haven, but she knew that they weren’t born in the village like the rest of the children— like Phainon— were.
So to say she was worried about her little brother would be an understatement, especially since she knows first thing about his prickly personality and love for books rather than for fun swordplay.
But seeing him be able to get along so easily with Phainon and Cyrene is a relief. She misses it a little bit, his constant presence in her shadow while he rambled on and on about a new book he found at the bookstore, but she was glad for his growing independence and newfound friendships.
Grow well, Naxa. Grow well and strong.
“Cyrene! We’re here!” Phainon shouts once they see the swing, the pink-haired oracle idly dozing off on it without a care in the world.
Well, she was , until his abrupt outburst rudely snaps her out of her reverie.
”Gosh, Phainon,” she winces, rubbing at her ear, “Can’t a girl get her beauty sleep in peace?”
Phainon laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Sorry ‘bout that… Guess I was too excited.”
”How do you manage to stay upright on the swing while you’re nodding off?” Anaxa tugs his hand out of Phainon’s grasp, opting to lean against the tree instead. “I’m surprised you haven’t fallen over.”
”Aw, didn’t you know, Anaxa?” Cyrene throws her signature smile his way, “Cute girls have perfect balance, so of course I’ll never fall to the ground.”
She’s met with a roll of the eyes in lieu of a response, which she promptly ignores. For such a pretty face, Anaxa really has no sense of self-care or how to maintain his looks.
”Um, pretty sure we’re here for a reading, right?” Phainon raises his hand as though he were in class.
Well, that gets the little scholar to perk up, and Cyrene sighs without any real exasperation, “Right, right, let me just get my cards…”
…
…
…
”The Scholar, huh? How fitting.”
Cyrene giggles as she holds up Anaxa’s card to his face, her laughter growing when his expression scrunches up.
”It definitely matches someone like you.”
”Am I supposed to be taking that as a compliment?”
”Of course you are!”
”And I got…” Phainon frowns at his card, “The Deliverer?”
He holds it up to the sunlight, as though it would give him any more answers as to what it means— especially when he can’t hear the same whispers he heard for the other cards.
Cyrene wordlessly holds her hand out for him to place the card in, “It’s for someone who’s…perfect. A shining light in a world full of darkness.”
”Like the heroes that you tell stories about?” Anaxa tilts his head on his knees from where he was sitting. “Phainon sure does dream about being a hero a lot.”
Phainon gasps with an affronted expression, ”Who doesn’t?”
”Me.”
”Oh. Right.”
The oracle hums thoughtfully as she fiddles with the card in her fingers, “Yeah, they’re…like a hero. Selfless, carrying the weight of everyone’s wishes, that kind of thing.”
”Sounds like an important responsibility,” Phainon murmurs at the same time as Anaxa who says:
”Sounds like a heavy burden.”
A pause settles over their conversation, Cyrene blinking between the two of them before she smiles— and yet her smile looks more strained than the usual sunny ones she throws at everyone.
”Maybe,” to which statement she’s saying ‘maybe’ to, they didn’t know, only that she looks a little… pained at the sight of Phainon holding the Deliverer card.
Silence blankets the three of them once more, two of them not exactly sure what to say to keep the conversation going, the third not sure if she wants the conversation to keep going. Not in the direction it would inevitably head towards.
Cyrene clears her throat, replacing her earlier expression with ease, “Say, why don’t I tell you guys about a legend?”
The other two look up with no small amount of curiosity in their gazes, eager to leap to a new topic.
”A legend?” Phainon props his hand on his palm, “Is it going to be an epic tale?”
”Or one about the Titans?” Anaxa leans in just the slightest bit closer, “I want to see if they’re really as great as people make them out to be.”
”It still surprises me just how easily you’re able to say those kinds of things,” Cyrene shakes her head, “But you’re closer than Phainon’s guess. Here, let me tell you a story about Mnestia, the Titan of Romance…”
It’s not a tale with grand battles, or heart wrenching losses, but it’s still one that’s as old as time itself. It’s the story of Mnestia and her blessing to humans. Or her curse, as some would interpret, but who’s to say what’s the real truth?
Mnestia was well known for their passionate love, their affections flaring as bright and blazing as the sun itself. But just like the sun, so too does their love painfully burn sometimes.
And such was the case when they were observing humans one day, atop the branches of the Grove where they lay in Cerces’ lap, watching people confess their undying love for one another.
Some of them found happiness with those simple words, a bond forged for eternity.
Others were left to pick up the pieces of their heart from where it shattered in front of the object of their affections.
“My love, why are humans so vulnerable?” Mnestia murmured to Cerces, their own heart wilting at the sight of every rejection as it slowly overwhelmed the joy of a love realized and reciprocated.
Cerces hummed at their side, “What do you mean?”
Mnestia pointed at a young man courageously stepping before a beautiful woman, a bouquet of flowers hanging on his arms and his expression betraying none of his emotions, “They’re so…open. And such openness hurts them.”
Their point was only proven when the beautiful woman turns away from the man, walking away from fallen flowers and a face full of despair.
”They recognize their own fragility, but they still demand to test their limits. Why is that?”
Their fingers drew mindless patterns on the edge of Cerces’ skirt.
”Is their love not strong enough? Does it need to be as strong as ours?”
Cerces chuckled, “Perhaps it's through such fragility that they manage to find a union as resilient as ours, my love.”
And yet Mnestia wasn’t pleased with that answer, believing that putting one’s emotions on the line was not worth the heartbreak. Love was an arduous ordeal, to be sure, and make no mistake that Mnestia knew of that fact all too well. But they found it somewhat melancholic, that humans would risk their heart in such a way, that they would take the gamble towards everlasting happiness or unending despair.
They had an idea, then, a spark of inspiration striking them as they shot up from Cerces’ lap.
”Then let everyone have another half, another to complete them— another to share their burden of existence, so that they may not need to take such risks any longer.”
With that came the splitting of souls, Mnestia cutting each and every human’s essence in twain, placing one half in one body and the other half in another. Cerces had simply watched this affair, interest in their ever-reasonable gaze.
How would Kephale react to such modifications of their creations? Cerces wondered, but kept silent.
”Let them find them with ease, a sign right there in front of them that their other half is near. That they will be completed soon.”
And with that came the markings. Symbols that promised the reunion of the soul, that reassured lost halves that their other was searching for them as ardently as they were yearning. Reminders that they were never truly alone in this lonely world.
”And what of those who lose their other halves?” Cerces reasoned, watching once again as Mnestia fashioned a myriad of symbols, “What then?”
Mnestia had paused then, their butterflies halting around them as they thought about Cerces’ inquiry. Perhaps they hadn’t thought that far, or perhaps they held onto their idealistic thinking that everyone would find each other.
Perhaps it was their naivety that thought that all souls would come back together eventually.
Although, can one really call it naivety when it's a known fact that all souls reunite at the end of the west wind? Perhaps Mnestia was aware of this fact, and perhaps that was why they said:
”Then they will be left to wander the world, incomplete, until they reach the Sea of Flowers and find their other half.”
“…And that’s why we all have these marks on us,” Cyrene finishes, grabbing Anaxa’s left hand— despite his yelp of indignation— to show the crescent moon on the inside of his wrist. “So that we can find our other half.”
Phainon stares at the mark on Anaxa’s wrist, rubbing his own mark on the side of his neck.
”But if everyone’s mark is different, how are we supposed to tell?”
Cyrene looks contemplative at that, her brow furrowing as if that wasn’t a question she’s really thought all that much about.
”Maybe it’s…a gut feeling?”
”…A gut feeling,” Anaxa deadpans.
”Maybe.”
“So we’re still taking a gamble, even with Mnestia’s…blessing-curse-thing,” the young scholar’s face looks even less impressed when he crosses his arms, “So much for the safety net.”
”Oh, come on Anaxa, you have to live a little for romance!”
Cyrene looks between the two of them with a pout on her lips, and the comparison between her expression and Anaxa’s lack of one is enough to send Phainon in a fit of laughter, making the two of them whip their heads towards him. Anaxa raises an eyebrow in a silent question while Cyrene lets out a disbelieving huff.
”Does Anaxa’s distaste for the romantics really amuse you that much?”
”I’m not sure what’s so funny about all this, Phainon.”
But Phainon isn’t able to give the two of them a proper answer, too busy in his own laughter to formulate a coherent response. Not that he feels like he could really tell them his true thoughts anyways.
He doesn’t think he could tell them how relieved he feels sometimes, seeing the two of them banter happily in fields of gold; a vastly different sight from the ones in his dreams, where they would be bleeding out on the ground in pools of the same color, flames of crimson blazing all around them. He can’t tell them about any of that, not when he’s not sure what they are to begin with.
Prophecies? But he can’t be an oracle, that’s Cyrene’s job. Memories? But he’s never lived through such a time before, and he hopes he’ll never have to.
Dreams? But they feel too real to just be that.
Regardless, they’re times that have never passed, and moments that never will. Not if he has any say in the matter.
But for right now, all he can say is:
”I just wish that moments like these will last forever.”
Just the three of them, underneath the tree with the swing, surrounded by the golden wheat fields of Aedes Elysiae. With the wind on their backs and sunlight filtering on their faces. With Cyrene telling her stories and Anaxa telling his mock-lectures and Phainon just listening to the two of them like they had all the time in the world.
Just the three of them, and home .
Of course the Titans of fate would have other things in mind.
Of course this sense of peace wouldn’t be allowed to last.
Of course Phainon wouldn’t get to have his wish granted, not when he’s the Deliverer, meant to carry the wishes of others and sideline his own.
The flames lick at his feet as he stares at what was once beautiful Aedes Elysiae, a white ribbon stained with gold clenched tightly in his hand. The golden blood stains his fingertips as he can recall with perfect clarity the obsidian blade that tore through his friend’s body without mercy. He can remember the mournful smile on her face as she fell to the ground, while he was ruthlessly left behind to shoulder the aftermath of her death.
Cyrene is gone.
He walks past the bodies of the monsters of the black tide— no, his own people who were consumed by it. People who he could put a face and name to without any hesitation. People he’s known all his life. People whose lives he had to end with his own hand.
” Aren’t we…best friends…Phainon? ”
Livia is gone. Miss Pythias is gone.
Mother is gone.
Father is gone.
Everyone.
Is.
Gone .
His feet stop at the community gardens, now ruined by the rubble that crushed all the plants they had poured their heart and soul into growing. A hand sticks out from underneath the fallen building, familiar mint green hair peeking out from the rocks. It tears at something in Phainon’s throat, watching crimson red stain everything that was once green, pooling underneath all the destruction and fire.
Zenais is gone.
Zenais is gone, and how will Anaxa ever bear to hear the news?
He’s gone off to the Grove of Epiphany, sent off by them as they allocated all their funds just to be able to afford his journey. He left with a bittersweet smile, not wanting to leave them but yearning for the teachings of the Grove. Left with a sad wave behind him as he rode off in the carriage.
Anaxa would never know of what befell Aedes Elysiae just a day after his departure.
(Phainon doesn’t know. He doesn’t know of the fact that, later, another head of mint hair had returned at the mention of the black tide encroaching upon what he always called home. Phainon doesn’t know that he had reached the golden fields, saw golden stained pink hair, and nearly crumpled to the ground with the weight of realization.
He doesn’t know that Anaxa had kneeled at this very spot, in front of his only family, praying and screaming for the gods he never believed in to answer his plea.
He doesn’t know that proud, proud Anaxa begged the Titans to tell him that Phainon was safe, that he wasn’t swept up by the tide like everyone else he’s known. That when all he got was silence, the despair threatened to tear him apart into a thousand shards.)
Phainon crouches down, cradling Zenais’ limp hand between his own, not caring for the cold that seeps into his bones.
”…I promise you,” he whispers to the wind, wondering if she’ll be able to hear it if it reaches the end, “I swear to you that I will protect Anaxa— I’ll shield him with all my life.”
Not just because he’s her little brother, but because he’s all Phainon has left. He’s the only person that can ever remind him of the golden wheat fields of Aedes Elysiae, of Cyrene’s naps on the swing beneath the tree, of Zenais taking care of the dromases who would pass by the village. He’s the only friend who can remind him of simpler times, when the weight of the world threatens to suffocate him with its fate.
On that day, Phainon had lost everything.
(On that day, Anaxa had lost everything.)
And on that day, a new flame blazed its way into Phainon’s heart, a determination that overtook his senses in a way that it never had before, not when he thought he had all the time in the world. A resolve that burned itself into his soul as he screamed to the sky amidst the fire and ruin.
(And on that day, a small flicker etched itself into Anaxa’s heart, a sense of hope that he hung onto despite always saying that he would rather believe in facts. A hope he forced himself to carry in the flames of his very soul, lest he truly crumble to the ground and never rise again.)
“A teacher from the Grove?”
Aglaea, though she was the one who initially suggested it, looks like she wants to do anything but send them to the Grove— the twist of her lips said everything.
”Yes, he and his assistant are just over at Dawncloud should you wish to meet with him first. I believe it would be a fruitful endeavor for the two of you to hone yourselves in your duties for the Flame Chase,” she mutters under her breath something about ‘though I would prefer that it not be through his tutelage’.
Phainon and Castorice glance at each other, a little bit unsure as to why they were being sent off to school when they’re perfectly functional adults who know more than a thing or two. They thought they knew perfectly well what their duties entailed in the Flame Chase journey— or, well, probably Phainon more than Castorice, but still.
But Phainon can’t really deny it: he has been wanting to visit the Grove for a while, and to be taught under the prestigious professors there was a small dream of his. Rather than take up the blade, he wanted to take up the pen; rather than defeat his enemies through battle, he wanted to defeat them through words. Truly, desires unbefitting of a Deliverer, so he always kept them close to his heart.
After all, even though it’s been a couple of years, he still remembers. He still remembers his best friend’s lectures, how his friend would walk around the tree and explain in great detail how the world functioned.
He still remembers what it felt like to learn back then, and how much he enjoyed it.
And, more than anything, he’s been wanting to go to the Grove to confirm something. Just to make sure that he’s there. Alive. Well.
”We’ll head to Dawncloud then,” Phainon nods and Aglaea hums in approval, “May we know the name of our to-be professor?”
”I’m sure you’ve likely heard his name on occasion— he does not typically shy away from the news, after all,” the Goldweaver said it all almost with a scoff in her tone, “But the one you are looking for is—“
Phainon’s world stops.
Tilts on its axis.
Falls just out of orbit.
And then he’s rushing out of Marmoreal Palace, Castorice on his heels with unfiltered surprise on her face. He ignores her shouts of confusion, asking him what was wrong, why he suddenly took off, does he know the professor already?
Does he know him? Phainon wants to laugh. By the gods, does he know him?
He disregards the disapproving stares of the elderly as the two of them sprint through the sanctioned halls of Dawncloud, making far too much noise for such a sacred space. Frankly, he doesn’t really care all that much, not when he’s too busy looking for that shade of mint green hair, not when he’s straining his ears to catch a whisper of that familiar cadence he knows all too well.
Not in that hall. Not in that room. Not—
There.
His feet abruptly halt, almost making Castorice yelp with how sharply she too has to stop before she accidentally slams into his back.
But Phainon isn’t paying attention to that, doesn’t even say sorry. Not that he can, not when his breath is stolen out of his lungs as he takes in the person in front of him.
His hair is longer now, Phainon notes distantly. And one of his eyes is gone. He looks thinner, even smaller than what Phainon remembers during simpler times. He looks older, his limbs longer—
He’s alive.
”Anaxa,” the name barely leaves his lips beyond a whisper, but somehow Anaxa’s able to catch even just that, his head turning to regard their newcomers.
Phainon can pinpoint the exact point in which Anaxa, too, stills in his movement, can see the exact moment when Anaxa realizes just who it was who called out to him.
Something pricks at the back of Phainon’s eyes, threatening to spill over when he takes that first step. It really does trickle down his face when he takes the next one, fully streaming down by the time his small steps become rushed, feet pounding against the ground as he throws his arms around his last hope.
He can feel the way Anaxa freezes in his hold, as though his intelligent mind is still trying to comprehend if this was real or not, but it’s only a momentary pause before hands desperately grasp at the back of his coat. And when he does, Phainon can feel the ever so slight tremble in his hands, barely perceptible to outsiders, but for someone who’s known Anaxa since they were children, he feels it as though Anaxa were fully shaking in his arms.
”You’re alive,” Anaxa’s voice is faint, no hint of its usual sharpness, just a breath that somehow forms words. His hands grip tighter at Phainon’s coat, “You’re truly alive.”
”And you’re here,” Phainon murmurs into Anaxa’s shoulder in reverence, fully aware of how his tears were probably staining his friend’s shoulder. “You’re really here .”
Here, with him, Phainon doesn’t say, but he’s sure that Anaxa hears it nonetheless. He was always able to.
The world feels like it melts away around them, permitting them this one moment after denying it for years now. Almost as though it’s apologizing to them for all the hardships it’s placed on their shoulders. As though it were asking for forgiveness for leaving them to wander and writhe alone in uncertainty for years now. And Phainon accepts its apology— really, how couldn’t he? When all what was left of his world is right in his arms again?
Holding him like this, Phainon can feel just how thin Anaxa’s become, and it almost sends him hurtling towards another round of tears. He wanted to see Anaxa alive and well; Anaxa was always scrawny when they were little, but Phainon thought that, after being sent to the Grove, that he would be able to eat better there. But somehow, somehow , Anaxa’s managed to get even thinner than before, his wiry arms just able to wrap around the entirety of Phainon’s back.
But he’s alive, and perhaps that’s the most important thing of all.
Phainon inhales deeply, taking in the scent of mint that he’s missed all these years. At least, after all this time, there’s one thing that hasn’t changed. It still grounds him, still reminds him of what’s real and what’s present. And especially now, it tells him that this is real , Anaxa is here , that this isn’t one of those dreams of his— those nightmares filled with bloodshed and loss.
Rather than holding a cold corpse, Anaxa’s in his arms, warm and breathing, no trace of golden blood spilling. He’s with Phainon.
And Phainon doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to let go of him again.
“Are you still not eating well?” He still ends up commenting on it, worry nagging at his brain at how he can encircle his entire hand around Anaxa’s forearm.
Anaxa chuckles, a breathy thing, and Phainon hangs onto it like a lifeline, “You sound just like Hyacine.”
Just like that, the moment is broken and the two of them remember that they still have a world to return to. And two people, who were simply standing to the side, to acknowledge.
Anaxa breaks away first, his face impassive as he clears his throat. If he were embarrassed that they stood like that for so long, especially while in company, then he doesn’t let it show in the slightest.
”So, are you two the new students sent to me by that woman?” He immediately takes on the role of a professor with such ease that even Phainon is left reeling a little bit from the quietly vulnerable Anaxa he held just a few moments earlier.
”Oh— um, yes,” Castorice speaks up for Phainon, who’s still left staring at Anaxa, his finger lightly curled around Anaxa’s, as though he were never going to truly let go of the professor beside him. “My name is Castorice, Professor Anaxa.”
”Anaxagoras,” Anaxa clicks his tongue, but there’s no actual bite behind it. “Let us lay down some rules before all else. Firstly, you will refer to me as Professor or Professor Anaxagoras. None of this Anaxa nonsense.”
Phainon barely stops himself from blurting out that Anaxa never had a problem with him or Cyrene calling him Anaxa. Maybe it was their insistence that his name was too long that he finally relented.
“Secondly, do not interrupt me—“
Ah, Phainon knows this rule all too well.
”—After all, silence is golden. Isn’t that right, Anaxa?” He really can’t stay his tongue this time around, but he doesn’t waver in the slightest at the glare Anaxa throws his way.
”You’re lucky you’re not enrolled in the Grove yet,” Anaxa’s eye narrows, “Otherwise I might have had to deduct points.”
Phainon grins cheekily, still riding on the high of their reunion, “You wouldn’t do that to me.”
”As a professor, I would,” Anaxa doesn’t even miss a beat.
”Oh, how harsh you’ve become.”
“And you’ve become even more shameless. I never thought it possible.”
The pink-haired girl next to Anaxa glances between the two of them, a smile on her face, “Do you two perhaps already know each other? I don’t believe I’ve seen Professor Anaxa this happy before.”
“It’s Anaxagoras, Hyacinthia.”
“Of course, Professor Anaxa.”
Phainon wraps his finger just a little bit tighter around Anaxa’s, “Yes, we’re from the same village and grew up together. That…won’t be a problem in the Grove, would it?”
He knows that sometimes teachers would refrain from teaching those they already know outside of school, mostly due to the apprehension towards potential favoritism.
The girl’s— Hyacinthia, Phainon’s learned— smile widens a little bit, “Typically we don’t permit professors to educate those they already knew beforehand, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem with Professor Anaxa.”
Anaxa hums beside him, “You will be treated just as all my other students.”
”Aw, so no childhood friend benefits?”
”Absolutely not,” Anaxa gives him a long look, “Especially not when you were always dozing off during my lectures.”
Phainon chuckles, “Shouldn’t that mean that you should give me more attention then?”
“No.”
A soft giggle reaches their ears, making them turn their heads towards Castorice. How rare, for the Holy Maiden of Aidonia to smile so easily in just a few moments of meeting Anaxa. Phainon could count on one hand the number of times he’s seen her grin without any anxiety.
And what a shame to see it go away so quickly once she feels their eyes on her, “Oh— I-I’m sorry, it’s just…”
A small chuckle escapes her lips, another whisper of a smile.
”Well, you two seem close.”
Phainon and Anaxa glance at each other, Phainon’s grin widening as he throws his arm around Anaxa’s shoulders just like when they were children.
”Of course we are!” He beams, tugging Anaxa a little bit closer so their shoulders press against each other, “We’re the best of friends!”
It almost hits him, the familiarity of the words, despite them being said to a different recipient. It almost chips away at his heart, at his words, the pain clawing at his soul as he remembers he can never say those same words to the same person ever again.
And when he looks to the side at Anaxa’s expression, he sees how his face nearly twists, eye glancing downwards for just the briefest moment. As though he knew.
…
Ah, so he’s found out.
Phainon buries the pain underneath another bright smile.
”Still, I never thought that you would become my teacher,” he effortlessly switches the topic, “Only a year or two older than me, and all of a sudden you’re my superior? I feel a little behind now.”
”Professor Anaxa is the youngest Sage and professor at the Grove,” Hyacinthia notes, “He’s worked pretty hard, even as a genius, to get to his position in such a short amount of time.”
Castorice has a look of awe on her face, “That’s incredible… It’s an honor to be under your tutelage, Professor.”
”I’m not that surprised,” Phainon feels a swell of pride in his chest, hearing his friend’s achievements, “You were always the smartest one in Aedes Elysiae.”
”Spare me the flattery,” Anaxa frowns, though Phainon can see the way his ears become dusted in red, “It matters not how old I am or what age I attained my titles. I am still a scholar like the three of you.”
He says all that as he begins walking away, inevitably breaking out of Phainon’s hold. Phainon almost reaches out for him again, his fingers aching to, but he holds back.
”Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an experiment to tend to.”
”Ah, Professor, you still need to eat lunch!”
Anaxa’s feet pause when Hyacinthia’s words reach him, a long suffering sigh escaping his lips, “Awfully persistent, aren’t you, Hyacine?”
”It’s only natural as a healer,” his assistant chuckles as she catches up with him, before throwing a look at the two students, “Cassie, Phainon, you’re free to join us if you wish!”
Castorice seems a little bit surprised, maybe a little touched, at the gesture, “If you don’t mind…”
Phainon grins, already making his way towards the Grove pair and he stares at Anaxa’s back that was already heading towards the direction of Marmoreal Market.
Zenais, are you watching?
Your brother has grown up into a scholar of the Grove, just like he had dreamed of when we were children. He’s a little bit thin now, but he has someone looking out for him already— someone who was already there when I couldn’t be. But he’s alive, and he looks alright. His smile isn’t as bright as before, but it’s still there.
I will uphold my promise to you.
And Cyrene, do you see?
I think we’re doing okay. You might not physically be here anymore with us, but I think we still feel your presence all the same. We miss your stories, how you would talk about legends, how you would give us your oracle readings every week. But I believe that, maybe, you’ll enjoy the stories we have to tell you by the end of the west wind.
So please, rest well, both of you.
The four of them are in Anaxa’s office when Castorice points it out.
”Is that your soulmate mark, Phainon?” She gestures to the blazing sun on the side of his neck, curiosity completely unfiltered on her face.
Phainon rubs his neck out of habit, “This? Yeah— it’s such an obvious place to put it, isn’t it?”
”That just means that it’ll be even easier for your soulmate to find you, doesn’t it?” Hyacine leans forward on her chair, peering over the stack of papers she has to grade. “At least it’s not like mine— mine’s right in between my shoulder blades.”
”You would think that’s the case,” Phainon chuckles a bit wearily, “But I still haven’t found them yet.”
And it’s not like it could be anyone from Aedes Elysiae, otherwise he probably would’ve felt something. A part of his soul going missing, perhaps, and wouldn’t that be a painful experience? Besides, his mark is still there— Cyrene always said that if someone were to lose their soulmate, then their mark would go away, and his was still there, the bright sun still etched indelibly into his skin.
”Lots of people tend to say that their soulmate usually came from the same hometown as them,” Hyacine remarks, and Phainon wonders if she was reading his thoughts, “And the only other one here who’s from Aedes Elysiae is…”
Phainon tilts his head, not really sure where Hyacine was going with this, but his eyes travel to Anaxa anyways.
The two girls turn both of their heads to Anaxa, who hadn’t even looked up from his students’ papers during the entirety of the conversation. Sensing their gazes on him, though, and likely from the sudden silence, he lifts his gaze.
Anaxa lifts an eyebrow, ”What is it?”
“Professor, where’s your mark?” Castorice shyly speaks up.
His other eyebrow raises, “Seems like the topic of soulmates is quite popular amongst the students.”
”…That makes you sound like an old man, Anaxa, and not someone close in age to said students.”
Anaxa hums, not commenting on Phainon’s lack of formality when referring to him. The professor holds up his arm, taking off his glove and rolling up his sleeve to show the crescent moon emblazoned on the inside of his wrist. A sight Phainon’s seen multiple times, but a novelty to Castorice and even Hyacine.
The latter of the two girls looks between the moon on Anaxa’s wrist and the sun on Phainon’s neck. Phainon feels the need to rub it again.
”A sun and a moon…” Hyacine murmurs thoughtfully, “You two sure you’re not each other’s?”
The pair go still in their seats, staring at Hyacine with a mixture of surprise and incredulity in their eyes. She meets their gazes head on, with that smile on her face that she usually wore when she saw something no one else seemed to catch, or when she knew something that others liked to overlook.
She typically threw that sort of look towards other professors who tried to undermine Anaxa’s achievements and his teachings, fools who tried to claim that Anaxa was only being contradictory— that the sole purpose of his research was simply to go against pre-established beliefs rather than try to find more knowledge. Her smile was a sort of calm before the storm meant to make them think that she would simply nod along— before she recounted, in great detail, how each of them had at least half of their papers be plagiarized, despite none of them breathing a word to anybody about such a matter. Or how each of them only followed along with the tide, rather than try to create their own waves. Were they, the ones who surfed along the achievements of others, true scholars of the Grove? Or was Anaxa, who created his own formulae in search for the truth rather than in search for recognition?
It was almost a dangerous smile. One that said ‘nothing escapes me’.
So, having that sort of look be directed towards the two of them was…a little off-putting, to be honest. What did Hyacine see that they couldn’t?
Still, her logic was sound. While it wasn’t completely unheard of for soulmates to come from widely different hometowns, more often than not, they usually originated from the same space. Probably another part of Mnestia’s blessing, to let them find each other that much easier.
And though Anaxa was technically born in a different village, he lived in Aedes Elysiae for long enough to pretty much call it his home.
Phainon never really had the time to think about romance over the past couple years, ever since the fall of Aedes Elysiae, too busy being torn between his duties as the Deliverer of the Flame Chase Journey and his worry over Anaxa’s safety. But, in the tranquility of the Grove, he’s had more time on his hands. More time to stare at the sun on his neck. More time to stare at the mark on Anaxa’s wrist that he always covers up. More time to think, to dream, to wonder— wonder about if the moon and the sun meant anything. To think about what he really felt for Anaxa.
Phainon feels something grow in his throat the more he turns the idea over in his head.
Could we really be…?
…
…
…
”What do you think?” Phainon leans against the bookshelf once the other two had left to go back to their dorms, probably to turn in for the night. It is getting late, after all, the hands on the clock on the wall approaching midnight.
Anaxa’s hand pauses from where it was writing a note in the margins of the student’s paper.
“I don’t really think much of it at all, really,” he says, after a long moment of silence, “You know as much as I do how much I hate predestined things.”
Phainon hums in response; he can’t really argue against that point. Even before, Anaxa always found ways to walk the third path, choosing to carve out his own destiny rather than leave it to the whims of fate of the Titans who were said to govern it. He supposes that even with such concrete proof, with the moon on his wrist, Anaxa still would rather choose his own partner.
It leaves him with mixed feelings.
Would he choose me? Would he choose someone else?
Regardless of fate, the thought of Anaxa with someone else, encased in someone else’s arms… it leaves Phainon with a bitter taste in his mouth.
But he tamps those feelings down.
“If we were each other’s, though…” he pushes off the shelf, resting a hand on the back of Anaxa’s chair, just barely leaning into his space, “…what would you think then?”
Anaxa raises his head, meeting Phainon’s gaze unwaveringly. The steadiness of his stare almost makes Phainon falter.
Then a smirk grows on Anaxa’s lips.
”Then I would choose you— not because of these markings, but because I wanted to, so then it is still ultimately my decision.”
He turns back towards the paper, returning to his grading in such a seamless way that Phainon is left to gape at his earlier words.
He barks out a disbelieving laugh, burying his face in the back of Anaxa’s chair.
That’s such an Anaxa-like answer to give .
Playing along into destiny’s hand, not because he was meant to, but rather because he chose to dance along the threads of fate when he wanted to. Broke away from them when he wanted to.
And…
That wasn’t a rejection.
His time at the Grove felt too short, truth be told. Even though he did have to stay an extra few years, always held back by his papers that would have determined his graduation.
Whether it was truly because he couldn’t answer the single question, every single time, without fail, on every final exam for every year, or if it was because of more personal reasons, who’s to say. Not that Phainon would ever admit to either one of those beliefs that’s been circulating around the student body.
But alas, all good things must come to an end, and for his time at the Grove, it’s his graduation.
And for the second time in his life, Phainon has to say goodbye to Anaxa.
He weaves through the crowd with an effortless smile on his face, congratulating familiar faces, laughing sheepishly at the jokes thrown his way about “how long it took senior Phainon to get to this point”. But he isn’t really listening to their words, not really taking in their expressions of joy at finally having made it to the end of their academic career.
Instead, he searches for green. He looks for that familiar back turned towards him in the hallways, that piercing stare that sometimes met his own gaze during long lectures.
Hyacine meets him first, excitement bubbling on her face as she eagerly congratulates him. He laughs with her, joking that he’s finally leaving while she’s staying in the nest. She lightly pushes his shoulder, replying that she’ll keep a close eye on their professor for him, don’t worry.
And then her smile grows knowing.
”He’s over there on the balcony,” she whispers to him with a playful wink, not even bothering to clarify who it is or how she knows that Phainon’s been looking for him.
Well, maybe it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise, considering how often he wears his thoughts on his face and his heart on his sleeve.
So Phainon doesn’t comment on it as he lets his feet guide him towards the balcony she was just pointing at, breath caught in his throat as he eases open the doors.
There, standing under the eternal stars of the Grove, is Anaxa. Anaxa, who slowly turns to him as though he already knew that Phainon would come eventually.
They stand there like that, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, nothing but the stars keeping them company as muffled chatter filtered through the door. Phainon wordlessly curls his finger around Anaxa’s, not quite fully holding on to his hand, but enough for him to ground his presence.
”I graduated,” Phainon murmurs, not really sure how else to start the conversation.
”You did,” Anaxa nods, “Took you long enough.”
Phainon gives a breathy chuckle at that, “I’ll make sure to visit occasionally.”
I won’t make you have to wait for years in uncertainty again, is what he doesn’t say. But, as always, Anaxa hears it anyway. As he always will.
”Good, because I won’t be visiting Okhema,” the scholar scoffs, “And we still have much to talk about.”
”…We do.”
Years of separation, of not knowing whether the other was safe, if they were alive , or not. Years of meeting new people, making new friends, all while hanging on to the last thread of their past.
Years of living without each other.
It’s a long time spent in solitude, and Phainon finds himself smiling at the thought of telling Anaxa about his travels, how he wandered all the way from the burnt ruins of Aedes Elysiae to Okhema on foot. How he met Aglaea, Tribbie, Trianne and Trinnon. How he met and competed with Mydei, helped Chartonus in his forge, chased Cipher around the streets when she stole another relic of his.
And he has no doubt that Anaxa has his own stories to tell, about how he became a Sage, how he lost his eye, how he met Hyacine.
Phainon wraps another of his fingers around Anaxa, slowly but surely intertwining their fingers.
And they still have to talk about this , about the markings engraved into their skin, about unspoken feelings and moments that felt like they were something more .
But that would be for another time. Hopefully, a time when the black tide no longer ravaged their world, where they could smile and laugh without worrying about whether it would be their last. Where Phainon could once again feel like they have all the time in the world.
”I’ll see you around, Anaxa?” Phainon breathes, leaning just a little more to the side to rest his head on top of Anaxa’s.
”Of course you will,” Anaxa huffs, but Phainon can hear the smile in his tone, “I’ll always be here.”
When Anaxa leans against Phainon, something he normally never reciprocates, that’s when Phainon knows. That’s when he’s sure of it.
The sun and the moon do mean something.
…
…
…
A year later, Phainon wakes up to a pain prickling on his neck. It’s slow at first, a minor itch, but then it hits him full on.
And.
It.
Burns.
It sears itself into his flesh like a hot iron branding something onto his neck. It carves itself into his skin as though it’s trying to take a chunk of him out.
It feels like his head is about to be severed from his neck, it feels like a claw is raking across his skin over and over again until all that remains there would be the bone of his throat. He scratches at it repeatedly, anything to try and get the burning sensation off get out of his skin make the pain stop make it stop make it stop make it stop—
Phainon stumbles towards the dresser, black dots lining his vision from all the agony, his hands searching blindly for any sort of pain medication he might have stored away. Any sort of healing salve that Mydei or Hyacine might have given him. He doesn’t know if it’d even help, but it hurts . Just— anything to get the pain to stop, anything to get rid of that searing burn and the feeling like his soul is being torn apart—
He looks up at his reflection.
Peeking through the gaps of his fingertips, he sees it.
The blazing sun.
Fading away.
And his heart plummets.
”No,” he whispers.
No.
No, no, no.
No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no nonononononononononononononononononono—
No!
He can feel his chest start to cave in on itself, the air getting punched from his lungs as his hands scramble towards the mark. His fingernails rake across where the mark was fading, trying to retrace it into his skin, trying to keep it from completely disappearing. Maybe if he recarved it, if he redrew the mark again, if he just copied it right where it was it would—
Sweat builds up in his palms as he keeps scratching at it, desperation overwhelming his rationale.
Draw it again.
Draw it again.
Draw it again!
Carve it, carve it, carve it carve it carve it carve it carve it carve it carve it carve it—
Don’t let it fade away—
Dammit, don’t you dare let it fade away—!
The dagger— when did he grab a dagger— clatters to the ground because of how sweaty his palms had become. Phainon stares down blankly at it, barely registering how the blade lay not even a centimeter away from impaling his foot. He slowly turns his head up.
It’s gone.
The mark is gone.
Everything that spoke about it once being there is gone.
And all that remains are the angry red scratches on his skin, golden blood beginning to leak down from where he broke skin and it stains his shirt.
Something claws at his throat, rips along its walls in a way it had never done before. Not even when Aedes Elysiae fell.
Something strangled escapes his mouth as his fingernails dig into the side of his neck, even more blood pooling to the surface and coloring his fingertips gold. His knees crumple to the ground as he cradles his neck.
Emptiness begins to creep into his heart. A sense of hopelessness that he’s felt before, but never this much.
He already knows what the fading mark means.
What the searing pain means.
What the feeling like his soul was just cleaved in two means.
What it means for Anaxa.
Anaxa is—
Don’t finish that sentence , his mind tells him. You’ll shatter if you complete it.
Phainon doesn’t register the drops that fall from his face as he blankly stares down at the tile, hands still pressed against the side of his neck as though that would be enough to bring the mark back.
To bring Anaxa back.
But—
His eyes screw shut.
His hands tangle themselves into his hair, and he doesn’t care that his fingers stain his white hair gold. He doesn’t care that he’s gripping his hair too tightly, the strands straining at his scalp. Let him feel the pain.
Let him remember what the pain felt like, when his mark faded away.
When Anaxa—
He needs to go back to the Grove. He hasn’t, ever since graduating, and the regret makes the weight on his shoulders all the more heavy. He can come up with all the excuses he wants, none of it would matter now that Anaxa’s—
He needs to go back. He needs to see it with his own eyes, needs to make sure that this is a dream. It’s not real, none of this is real. It’s just a dream, a long nightmare he hasn’t woken himself up from just yet. He won’t believe that it’s real until he sees Anaxa’s body and until he finds out who murdered him—
There’s another sensation on his neck, right where the blinding agony was. But it’s warmer this time, more gentle. Almost like an apology.
Phainon chuckles without mirth, ”Anaxa, if that’s you apologizing for leaving before I got the chance to say anything then I—“
His breath cuts itself off as his vision blurs even more.
But he feels another sensation. And that makes him pause.
His soul.
He can feel it be reattached together.
Slowly, Phainon rises from his knees. He doesn’t look in the mirror again. Not yet. Not when he’s not sure about what he’ll see, when he’s not sure about how he’ll react if it’s not what he wants to see.
Instead, he focuses on the feeling of his soul, somehow, some way, feeling as though it was being knit together again. It’s a surprisingly gentle thing, nothing like the torture of it being forcibly torn apart. It’s like the world is apologizing to him again, for putting him through such a thing.
And so hesitantly, slowly, still deathly afraid of what he might find, Phainon looks back up at the mirror.
There.
His neck is still rubbed raw and bloody, scratches still marring the surface of his skin.
But it’s there .
The blazing sun.
His mark.
And Phainon can’t make heads or tails of it, can’t come up with any logical explanation for it besides the fact that he knows .
Anaxa is alive.
Some way, somehow. But Phainon can’t find it in himself to really care about the details, the relief flooding his senses and overpowering the confusion. Because Anaxa is alive. He’s alive again.
Phainon hasn’t lost him.
His footsteps pound against the tile of Marmoreal Palace, echoing across the halls as he dodges passersby.
He gets a few questions, teasing ones asking where he’s going in such a rush, but he can’t find it in him to answer as he swiftly navigates the corridors and makes it outside.
And when he sees it, when he sees him , Phainon’s heart stutters in his chest as he immediately wraps his arms around Anaxa’s waist, pulling him tightly against his chest and ignoring the small ‘oomph’ from his friend.
”You have got to stop greeting me with this every time we’re separated for more than a week,” Anaxa wheezes against him, his hands coming up to push Phainon away.
But Phainon hangs on tighter, buries his face in Anaxa’s shoulder. The mint scent is still there, mixed with a little bit of sage, but it’s there and it grounds him and that’s all that matters. Anaxa, sensing his distress, relaxes his shoulders and gives a small sigh, wrapping his arms around Phainon’s shoulders like he did all those years ago when they found each other again at Dawncloud.
“I told you, didn’t I? I’ll always be here,” Anaxa murmurs into his shoulder, his hand rhythmically patting Phainon’s back.
”You weren’t, for a moment,” Phainon whispers, “I could feel it, you know.”
That stops Anaxa’s hand, and he pulls back— slightly, Phainon doesn’t let him go too far— to gauge Phainon’s expression. His lone eye scans back and forth, searching for something in Phainon’s own eyes, before Anaxa gives another sigh. Fonder, this time.
His hand comes up to cup Phainon’s cheek, “And it was only for a moment. I’m here now.”
And Phainon—
Phainon can’t take it anymore.
”I love you, Anaxa.”
The words leave his lips before he has any idea that they’ve even formed in his mouth. And yet, despite that, he can’t find it in himself to take them back. He doesn’t want to take them back. They’ve gone far too long, lived far too many years, with nothing concrete spoken between them beyond the small touches here and there. Beyond the small moments where Phainon wondered if Anaxa felt the same or if he was just indulging him. Beyond the marks that tied their souls together that they said they would talk about, only to be left in silence until it was nearly too late.
Anaxa’s eye widens at Phainon’s confession, before his eyebrows knit together with a complicated expression on his face.
“And it’s not because of these,” Phainon cradles Anaxa’s wrist, placing his lips right where Anaxa’s mark would be. “It’s not because you happen to be my other half.”
It’s because of the smile that Anaxa used to give when they were little, bright, unabashed grins that lit up Phainon’s world; smiles that might be lost now, but the warmth still remains. It’s because of Anaxa’s calming voice, grounding him when he needed it most, back then, even now. It’s because of the way that Anaxa was so damn selfless , hidden under the guise of selfishness that others seemed to perceive more. It’s because of the small moments: time spent learning together in the fields of Aedes Elysiae, hours spent reading quietly together in the silence of Anaxa’s study, brushes of hands against each other when Anaxa noticed that Phainon was beginning to crumple under the weight of the world.
It’s because—
“You see me for who I am,” not as the Deliverer, not as the savior of Amphoreus, just as Phainon. “And so I will always choose you, every time, in every life.”
He knows he’s bleeding his heart out like the humans Mnestia watched from Cerces’ lap. He’s taking a gamble, one that they had tried so hard to avoid for the future generations. But for Anaxa, who didn’t believe in the Titans or their legends, it’s a gamble that Phainon was willing to take.
So he braces himself, steels himself for whatever response Anaxa might have to give.
And yet it’s still not enough to prepare him for when Anaxa’s hand cups his own mark, thumb gliding over the sun on his skin with a look so tender that Phainon almost melts under it.
“Let me tell you something first,” Anaxa brushes his thumb over Phainon’s mark again, his fingertips so cold that Phainon almost shivers under them.
Anaxa’s face turns contemplative for a second, debating whether or not he really should tell Phainon whatever that ‘something’ was. But it’s not long before a determined look eclipses it, and his eye meets Phainon’s waiting gaze.
”I don’t have much longer left to live,” he says, plain and simple— the bare truth, laid out before Phainon, “Only a mere 15 days.”
His other thumb that’s still cradled to Phainon’s cheek caresses the skin just underneath his eye.
”Will you be alright with that?”
Phainon—
He doesn’t crumble nearly as much as he thought he would have, to be perfectly honest. A knife still twists itself in his gut, and he can still feel undeniable pain at the revelation, but he doesn’t feel as though the world is collapsing around him right at this moment.
Maybe it’s because he already kind of knew.
He had a feeling, when he had embraced Anaxa and couldn’t find any semblance of a heartbeat or pulse from his friend. When Anaxa’s fingertips were too frigid to belong to a living man. When Anaxa’s face had fallen ever so slightly when Phainon professed his love, not because he didn’t reciprocate his feelings, but because he thought they wouldn’t have enough time.
And yet, despite all that:
”Then 15 days it is for me to show you all my love,” Phainon’s own hand brushes aside the stray hairs on Anaxa’s face.
Anaxa smiles at that, reminiscent of the ones he used to wear when he was younger, but it’s quieter this time. Less like the sun, more like the gentle moon. And yet, still no less sincere.
Almost hesitantly, Anaxa leans up, and presses his lips to the swell of Phainon’s cheek. There is no choir singing in his mind, no butterflies of Mnestia swirling around in his vision. Nothing in the romantic stories Cyrene used to tell happens, and yet Phainon still feels as though the world is lighter all the same. Just a little brighter, a little more colorful, and he can’t help but feel giddy at the feeling, his earlier worry and agony melting away in favor of this newer, warmer emotion.
“Let that be my answer, then,” Anaxa’s face remains as unreadable as ever, but Phainon sees the red in his ears again, and he smiles at the sight, leaning in to press a kiss to Anaxa’s temple.
He chuckles when Anaxa hums in approval, placing another kiss on Anaxa’s cheek.
“And you already know this, but—” Anaxa starts again, his breath stuttering when Phainon peppers kisses all over his face, “Are you even listening?”
”Mhm,” Phainon smiles with his face buried in the crown of Anaxa’s head.
Anaxa huffs, but continues nonetheless, “Know that I, too, am not acting on the whims of Mnestia’s blessing, but because I decided to choose you. Just as I will choose you in every lifetime.”
Phainon can feel his smile grow wider as he presses their foreheads together.
”I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
And when the time comes, when 15 days have passed like a whisper along the wind, Phainon braces himself again.
The stars of the Vortex of Genesis seem to blink down on them as Anaxa stands in the center, letting Phainon reach for his hands and intertwine their fingers. He lets Phainon press their foreheads together like he did when they vowed to choose each other, always.
”Anaxa, I swear to you,” Phainon murmurs against his lips, “I swear to you that we will be reunited in the new world.”
And in that world, I will protect you. I will not let you shatter yourself as you have done in this one. I will protect you, and I will make you the happiest man alive. It is not only a promise I made to your sister, but also one I have reforged for myself.
“I trust you to do that, so don’t let me down,” Anaxa smiles softly, “Find me, Phainon, in the new dawn.”
Phainon chuckles, ignoring the way that it comes off a little watery, and he lifts Anaxa’s hand to his lips, pressing a reverent kiss to the inside of his wrist, right where the moon lay.
”Of course I will. I always will.”
Because they are two halves of the same whole. Because they own the sun and the moon on their skin. Because they are Phainon and Anaxagoras, an inseparable pair from the golden wheat fields of Aedes Elysiae, where one is never found without the other.
And with that vow etched into his soul, Phainon looks away. He looks away from Anaxa’s laugh of freedom, away from Anaxa’s disintegrating body, away from the way Anaxa glanced back at him with that same tender smile on his face. He looks away from the way Anaxa’s lips mouth that name he thought he would have long forgotten.
And he ignores the familiar, searing feeling of the mark on his neck fading, setting like the sun on this world. It’s painful— it’s unbearably painful , the second time not any easier than the first, but he presses his lips together and bears it, bears through the agony.
Because he holds on to that flicker of hope, that small flame that almost grows into a blaze in his heart. The hope that, in the near future, they will be reunited; he will find Anaxa again, just as he’s always done in this life when fate constantly tore them apart.
In golden wheat fields, he’ll find that flash of green— that color of hope, just as he’s promised he would.
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
Why…is there nothing left…?
”Do you wish to start over?”
Start over? But what about Era Nova?
What about my promise to Anaxa?
”Era Nova won’t have what you’re looking for.”
”But you knew that, didn’t you?”
…
I had a feeling.
”Come on, let’s go back to the start.”
Back…to the beginning.
”Yes, just as we’ve done…”
” All those times before. ”
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
“…non…”
There’s a warmth trickling onto his face, his hands, something soft and familiar brushing along his palm with the smell of home and mint surrounding him. He wants to bathe in it a little longer, relish the peace as it slowly, gradually pulls him away from the bloodshed and the chaos that was once roaring in his mind.
”…Phai…”
He can’t be hasty about it, he can’t rush into this new tranquility without a second thought. Otherwise the screams from earlier might drag him back if he’s too quick about it…
”Phainon.”
A light tap on his arm, warm, familiar, and Phainon lets his eyes flutter open, only wincing minutely when the blaze of the sun burns down directly into them. He steels himself for the screams to resurface in his mind, for any sign that he’d be dragged back to the bloodshed and ruin. But nothing shrieks at him, nothing greets him besides the view of younger Anaxa’s face staring down at his own in the midst of Aedes Elysiae’s golden fields. And that makes up for…everything.
Even if said face looks a little more than slightly annoyed.
“Did you seriously fall asleep while I was talking?” Anaxa pokes at his forehead a couple of times, each one more insistent than the last, only stopping when Phainon catches his hand in his own, an unreadable expression on his face as he stares at the crescent moon etched into Anaxa’s skin.
He can feel his friend’s stare on him, Anaxa’s eyes widening when he notices something.
”Phainon?”
Something trickles down his cheek.
Oh.
“…M’sorry,” Phainon mumbles a bit dazedly, wiping the stray tear away with the heel of his palm. He stares at his hand, a little more than confused, before a small laugh leaves his lips, “It’s nothing, I promise.”
He gingerly intertwines his and Anaxa’s fingers, his eyes crinkling with a bright smile.
”I just feel like I woke up from a really long dream.”