ㅤㅤㅤㅤ♱𝅼 𝔮uietly

Phainon was one of the first friends Y/n made when he joined the grove. Y/n was friendly but more withdrawn than the blue-eyed boy. Seeing he was all alone, Phainon walked right up to him and offered his hand.

"Hello there! I'm Phainon! I saw you sitting all alone. You don't have to be, you know."

Y/n blinked a few times before taking his hand and shaking it. Phainon's smile grew wide before pulling the boy up. Y/n stammered, but allowed it to happen. "Come on! Let me show you around! Oh, let me show you my favorite toys!"

And three years later, you two were still quite close. You were the bane of your teacher's existence, always causing harmless trouble during class hours. But it kept your classroom lively. They couldn't deny that the laughter it brought was more than welcome.

Most of the students were orphans or displaced from their homes due to the black tide. More often than not, a new broken child was being introduced, and constant tears were coming from someone. Phainon took it upon himself to be the class clown; he was okay with that. If it meant making people smile, it was more than worth it to him.

And Y/n entertained it, sometimes joining in on his antics. They never truly got in trouble, only scolded. They never technically did anything bad, just disrupted their classes.

So when another boy was introduced to the school—their class, nonetheless—of course, y/n took it upon himself to try and make him feel welcome. The same way Phainon did for him.

Y/n walked over to the boy, playing with his hands. "Hello, you're new here, right?" When he got no response, Y/n frowned. "I'm Y/n—“

"I don't care who you are, go away," the boy growled, shooting him a piercing glare.

Startled, Y/n stumbled back a few steps. "Oh, I'm sorry..."

"Are you deaf or stupid? I said go away."

The boy stood up and clenched his fists. His face held a myriad of emotions, but anger and sadness showed through the most. Phainon seemed to realize what was happening and ran over, grabbing Y/ns hand and dragging him back.

"That's enough." Y/n was startled even more by Phainon's tone of voice. Rarely did he hear him so serious and stern. "We're leaving, you can back off." He practically hissed out.

He didn't allow Y/n to say anything and dragged him away. Y/n was the more emotional of the two. So it did hurt his feelings to try and be kind, only to be bitten. He couldn't help but cry, which aggravated the situation more. To say Phainon didn't like the boy would be an understatement.

It didn't take either of them long to learn that he's the Kremnoin prince, who was supposed to have been murdered by his very own father. Phainon said something about "no wonder he's horrible", but Y/n couldn't help but feel sympathy for his situation.

Phainon would pull y/n away from the boy—Mydei—anytime he got too close. He didn't want there to be another confrontation. That, though, only caused Mydei to be more isolated.

"It's not fair to him, Phai, he didn't mean to hurt me," Y/n mumbled, crossing his arms.

"He made you cry Y/n! And never even apologized for it!"

"You haven't allowed him to. You keep pulling me away!"

Phainon huffed and sat next to him. He knew he was right, but he was just trying to protect his best friend. As misguided as it was.

As if manifesting him into being, the very boy you were talking about was walking over. In his arms were three goblets. Phainon was about to get up again, but Y/n placed his arm over him and held him down.

Mydei grabbed one of the goblets and handed it to Y/n. Y/n hesitated before taking it. The drink inside looked pink and smelled very good. He hesitantly took a sip before smiling. It tasted like pomegranates and milk. Y/n looked over at Phainon and nodded. Mydei then handed a goblet to Phainon, who reluctantly took it.

"I'm... sorry. I was mean to you, I made you cry. I... didn't mean to." Mydei eventually said, his eyes staying on Y/n. "People aren't kind to me."

Y/n looked over to Phainon and then back to Mydei before standing up. He offered his hand and gave him a kind smile. "I forgive you."

Mydei briefly stared at Y/ns' hands before firmly taking it in his free hand. Y/n smiled widely and carefully pulled Mydei to sit with them. A single glance in Phainon's direction told him that the boy was okay with it. He could tell Mydeis' apology was genuine, and since you forgave him, he was going to as well.

"This drink is amazing, what is it?" Y/n asked curiously before drinking more down.

"Pomegranate juice with milk, my mom used to love this drink," Mydei responded almost bitterly.

Y/n took that moment to learn Mydei, realizing his bitterness wasn't directed at them but his memories. He made an "oooh" sound and nodded, while Phainon looked a bit puzzled at the combination, but seemed to enjoy it nonetheless.

"Thank you, Mydeimos," Phainon added before drinking the rest of his cup.

Y/n grinned, looking between the two boys. His oldest friend, and his newest one. He hoped maybe now they'd get along. He could feel it in his bones; they were meant to be friends.

To avoid spending too much money, you decide to confess instead of having it remove through surgery. The chance for him to reprocriate is low but never zero, so you gamble.

Does it work? No, you’re unlucky.

Phainon try to reprocriate your feeling to save you. It was out of obligation and you knew very well that’s not going to work since he’s trying to force himself to like you.

You don’t blame him for trying. Knowing how kind hearted he is, if you die, he’ll likely feel guilty and blame himself for that.

So, you make peace with your feeling. Thinking your feeling will die down but no, it linger and become an inconvenient for your daily life. You’re not going anywhere without coughing up every 10 minutes.

Dinner? You’re coughing petals and almost choked on it. Have a relaxing bath? Say goodbye to your gossip buddies in the public bath, you’re getting noise complaint from others now.

Then after many months later, you finally take the surgery and said goodbye to the inconvenience for good.

Later, Phainon come up to you, all smiley and calling you by your first name in a way you deem as too friendly when both of you never get out of that stranger phase yet. Then suddenly he confess that he finally have feeling for you.

Fortunately, he didn’t catch that disease like you which mean he didn’t fell for you completely. So, you told him you already had the surgery and apologize for troubling him. Indirectly, rejecting him.

Don’t take it wrong, you feel bad rejecting him but it was a decision made after a careful consideration within minutes. You’re not a fool, you know the power struggle happening between the Chrysos Heirs and the Council of Elders. If you were to associate yourself further with him, you might as well say goodbye to your peace.

until phainon.

at first, you thought him a fool. those bright blue eyes, that easy grin that never seemed to leave his face—you couldn’t understand how someone so carefree could protect anyone, let alone a princess. you’d even considered dismissing him before the week was over.

but then came the day you decided to wander beyond the palace walls, to gather berries in the nearby woods. your gown shimmered in the light, your crown glinted with jewels, and to passing eyes, you looked like treasure waiting to be claimed.

the thugs came fast—faces rough, voices thick with greed, blades dull but deadly. they saw gold and weakness and thought it an easy prize.

phainon moved before you could even call his name. it wasn’t thought, it wasn’t duty—it was instinct. in less than two minutes, the men were on the ground, groaning and bruised, their weapons scattered in the dirt. he stood over them, breathing steady, the sunlight glinting off his blade.

when the guards arrived to drag the would-be thieves away, phainon turned to you, that same small smile still on his lips—only now, it looked different. softer. sure.

you couldn’t find words. you only stood there, your breath caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. and in that moment, deep down, you knew—you had finally found your perfect knight.

it didn’t take you long to get used to him. phainon, after all, was impossible not to grow fond of. he had that kind of warmth that filled every room he entered, a friendliness that never faltered. he waved at everyone who crossed his path, grinning wide enough to make strangers smile back, though that grin always disappeared the second you shot him a glare. you’d catch him helping the baker’s son chase after a runaway loaf of bread, or retrieving a cat stuck on a rooftop, or mending a child’s broken toy with that same gentle patience. yet, no matter how distracted he seemed, his attention was always, unfailingly, fixed on you.

it didn’t matter what kind of conversation or bargain he got caught up in—he always knew when something was wrong. it was uncanny, almost unnerving. one look at your face, and he could tell if you were uncomfortable, anxious, or upset. it was as if those bright blue eyes of his could see right through you, peeling away the layers of practiced poise and grace until only your true feelings remained. sometimes you wondered if he’d been trained for that—if the king had told him to study you like an open book. but other times, when you met his gaze and saw the quiet concern there, you realized it wasn’t duty that made him see you so clearly. it was care.

“my princess,” phainon said one afternoon, kneeling before you in the palace garden. the sun filtered through the pear trees, catching on the silver of his hair. he had one arm folded neatly behind his back, the other reaching for your hand. his gloved fingers brushed your skin as he bowed his head, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. his voice, soft and reverent, broke the silence. “i’ve brought something for you.”

you tilted your head, lips curling into a faint, curious smile. “what is it, phainon?” you asked, your tone airy, teasing.

he rose to his feet, and that familiar smile of his—warm, foolish, radiant—found its way back to his lips. from behind his back, he revealed a bouquet, carefully arranged and bound with silk ribbon. peonies—pink, white, and soft as clouds.

“peonies, my lady,” he said, his voice almost bashful now. “you mentioned once that you adored them.”

you blinked, stunned for a moment that he had remembered something so small, so insignificant. you took the bouquet from him, brushing your fingertips against the petals, and the faintest warmth spread through your chest.

“you remember far too much, sir knight,” you murmured.

he grinned, tilting his head just slightly, as if to hide the faint blush that crept across his cheeks. “it’s my duty to remember what makes my princess smile.”

and for the first time in a long while, you did.

“oh, phainon…” you breathed out his name like it was a secret, before practically throwing yourself into his arms. the bouquet was crushed between you for half a second before he laughed, shifting it out of the way.

“hey, hey—careful with the flowers!” he chuckled, his voice soft with amusement. one hand held the bouquet away from you, the other instinctively finding the small of your back, steadying you as though you were something fragile, something sacred.

you didn’t notice the way his breath caught. didn’t see the quiet war behind his eyes.

phainon knew it was wrong—knew that a knight’s heart wasn’t meant to belong to the one he served—but gods, how could he not love you? you were everything he wasn’t. gentle where he was hardened, bright where he was scarred. in his eyes, you were something divine—an angel made flesh, a goddess who somehow laughed and stumbled and called his name like it meant something.

and every passing day made it worse. unbearable, even. every time you tugged at his arm and dragged him through the palace halls; every time you laughed at something trivial, that soft sound melting into the air; every time you leaned a little too close, or smiled just for him—his heart would stutter, and his resolve would crumble a little more.

“phainon! phainon! look at these!”

your voice—bright, excited, alive—pulled him from his thoughts. before he could answer, you were already tugging him through the crowd, weaving between merchants and villagers until you stopped in front of a small trinket stand.

“which, my lady?” he asked, pretending he hadn’t nearly tripped over his own boots trying to keep up with you.

“here!” you pointed at a small wooden carving—two shapes entwined: a sun and a moon. your eyes gleamed as you picked it up. “it fits us, doesn’t it? i’ll be the moon to your sun!” you clapped your hands, nearly bouncing in place, your joy radiant and unrestrained.

phainon couldn’t help it. he smiled, that soft, helpless kind of smile he only ever wore around you. “we’re in public, my lady…” he murmured, leaning closer, his tone meant to sound stern. but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him completely.

still, he paid for the trinket without hesitation. you took the little sun charm and clasped it to the side of his armor, right above the hilt of his sword.

“so you’ll never forget me, phainon.” your voice dropped into something softer, almost shy, though your eyes still sparkled when they met his.

he looked down at you—at the moonlight glow of your smile—and something in his chest ached so deeply he almost forgot how to breathe.

“as if i ever could,” he murmured, too quiet for you to hear.

the streets of okhema bustled with life around you: laughter, songs, merchants shouting their wares, children chasing after ribbons in the wind. to everyone else, it was the beauty of the kingdom that shone that day.

but to phainon, the beauty of okhema wasn’t in its golden towers or its blooming gardens. it was you—laughing, unguarded, your hand still holding his.

one night, when the moon hung low over okhema and the crickets were humming softly in the royal garden, you called for him.

“phainon,” your voice carried through the quiet, delicate as a whisper.

he arrived quickly, as he always did—boots pressing into the damp grass, armor glinting faintly in the moonlight. he looked almost otherworldly like that, his blue eyes reflecting the stars, his expression alert yet softened at the sight of you. he was always at your service—day or night, no matter the hour or reason.

“take a seat, please.” you patted the spot beside you, your hand brushing over the cool blades of grass.

for a moment, he hesitated—then obeyed, lowering himself beside you. the faint clink of his armor filled the silence before it faded into the sound of the wind passing through the trees.

“phainon,” you began again, your voice quieter now, more fragile. your gaze remained fixed on the garden ahead—on the roses that gleamed faintly silver in the moonlight. “do you ever wish that i was a simple citizen?”

the question caught him off guard. his head turned toward you, confusion and something softer flashing in his eyes. he blinked, let out a short, nervous laugh, as if to hide the unease stirring in his chest.

“why would you ask me that, my lady?” he tried to sound casual, but the words stumbled out too quickly.

you looked at him then, and his heart stilled. there was something in your expression that tore at him—your lips trembling, your lashes heavy with unshed tears.

“oh, phainon…” your voice cracked, the sound barely reaching him before you looked away, eyes on the stars instead of him. “i wish i wasn’t just a thing you protect.”

you drew in a shaky breath, fingers curling in the grass. “i want to live a simple life—one where i wouldn’t have to fear for my own. one where i could walk through the streets of okhema without guards at my side, without whispers following me.”

phainon didn’t speak. he couldn’t. the ache in his chest was too heavy, too consuming. he wanted to tell you that you weren’t a thing to him—that you never had been. he wanted to tell you that in his eyes, you were the heart of the kingdom itself.

but knights weren’t meant to speak such truths.

so he sat there, beside you in the moonlight, silent and still, listening as the princess he loved quietly dreamed of a life she could never have.

“the people love you, my lady.”

phainon’s voice was steady, but his heart wavered beneath the words. he wanted to say more—to tell you that it wasn’t just the people who adored you. that their devotion, their songs, their cheers, were nothing compared to the quiet, aching love he carried for you. but knights were not meant to love their princesses, and so the words stayed buried, where only the stars could hear them.

you gave a faint smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “and what difference does that make, my knight? it’s enough for one to act upon their hatred, and it’s all gone.”

your voice was soft, heartbreakingly soft, yet the weight of your words pressed against him like a blade to the chest.

phainon’s breath caught. he looked up at the sky, as if the stars might whisper the right thing to say. but the stars were silent—cold witnesses to a love he could never name. they only glimmered faintly, distant and untouchable, though none of their light could rival the warmth he felt for you.

before he could think twice, phainon turned to you, falling to one knee. the motion was sudden, almost desperate, the sound of his armor brushing against the grass breaking the stillness of the night.

“i swear i’ll protect you with all i have, my lady!” his voice trembled, filled with sincerity, his head bowed, one hand pressed firmly against his chest. if he could, he thought, he would rip out his heart and place it in your palms—because it already belonged to you.

you blinked in surprise, then a soft laugh escaped your lips, light and pure as the sound of bells. “oh, phainon…”

you leaned closer, your hand brushing through his hair, the soft strands catching the moonlight. he closed his eyes at the touch, his entire being stilling under your gentle fingers.

“you don’t have to swear.”

your hand moved, tracing the side of his face, your thumb brushing the curve of his cheek as you tilted his head up until his gaze met yours. your eyes glowed faintly in the pale light, calm and warm and kind.

“i believe you will,” you whispered.

and for a moment—just one fleeting moment—phainon allowed himself to believe that his vow, and the love behind it, were enough to keep you safe forever.

but gentle moments like these don’t last forever.

perhaps phainon should have known that. he was a knight, after all—sworn to protect, trained to fight, built to face loss. yet, no oath or armor could have ever prepared him for this.

your words from that night in the garden—“it’s enough for one to act upon their hatred, and it’s all gone”—echoed through his mind like a prophecy he’d failed to stop. they rang in his ears the same moment he saw the blood, the crowd, the stillness that hung over the square.

he was too late.

“shit!” the word ripped from his throat before he even realized he’d said it. his body moved on instinct—pushing through the crowd, shoving past the guards who were too slow, too stunned to react. his heart thundered in his chest, each beat heavier than the last.

then he saw you.

the princess of okhema—the one he had sworn his life to, the one whose laughter had filled his soul with light—lay sprawled across the cold stone street. your white gown, the one embroidered with silver threads that shimmered under sunlight, was now ruined—soaked through with blood that painted the cobblestones beneath you.

his breath caught. for a second, the world tilted and time fractured. everything—every sound, every motion—fell away until there was only you.

“princess!” his voice cracked, desperate, disbelieving. he stumbled forward, fell to his knees beside you, gathering your frail, trembling body into his arms. his hands shook as he brushed the blood from your face, his touch trembling with panic. “no, no, no… please—please, i’m here,” he murmured, the words tumbling out, broken and helpless.

you stirred faintly, your lips parting. “oh, phainon…”

your voice was weak, fragile—barely there, yet enough to tear through every wall he’d ever built. he pressed his forehead to the crown of your head, his arms tightening around you as though his embrace alone could shield you from death itself.

“you’re going to be fine,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “we’ll get you to a doctor, we’ll—” his words faltered as he realized how much blood there was, how cold your hands felt in his. “please… stay with me longer,” he begged, rocking you gently.

the crowd had gathered closer, their whispers rising like wind through leaves, but phainon didn’t hear them. he saw only you. his world began and ended in your fading eyes.

your hand, trembling and slick with blood, lifted weakly toward his face. he caught it instantly, cradling it against his cheek, as if the warmth of your skin could still be saved.

“phainon…” your voice was a whisper on the wind. “do you still have the charm?”

his chest broke open at the sound. his throat burned with grief, but he nodded, tears spilling freely, streaking down his dirt-stained cheeks. “i do, my lady,” he said, his voice raw, cracking. “i do. i keep it with me, always.”

a faint smile curved your lips—a shadow of the radiant one he loved so dearly. “i’m glad…” you whispered.

and then, the light left your eyes.

it happened so quietly that for a moment, phainon refused to believe it. he waited—waited for a breath, a blink, a twitch of your fingers—but there was nothing. the world stopped moving, the air froze, and in that stillness, reality finally struck.

“no…” the word broke from him, hollow, strangled. “no, please—”

he pulled you closer, pressing your head against his chest, as though his heartbeat might convince yours to return. “wake up,” he begged under his breath, voice trembling between sobs. “please, just… wake up.”

but your body was limp. the warmth was fading.

his tears fell onto your dress, mixing with the blood already staining the silk. he rocked you gently, the way he’d once seen you cradle an injured bird in your hands.

the crowd stayed silent now—some crying quietly, others watching with sorrowful eyes. the guards lowered their weapons, their heads bowed. even the wind seemed to still, carrying only the faint rustle of your hair against phainon’s trembling hand.

“you can’t leave me,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “you can’t… not you.”

but the night gave him no answer.

the moon hung cold and indifferent above, the same moon that had once watched the two of you share laughter beneath its light. now it looked cruel—too bright, too alive—mocking the emptiness spreading through him.

and as he held you tighter, all that remained was the weight of your body in his arms, the ghost of your last smile, and the charm you had given him—a small carving of the sun and moon, now stained with both your blood.

phainon pressed it to his heart and wept until his voice was gone.

and in the quiet that followed, okhema lost not only its princess—but its brightest light.

the days that followed were nothing short of hollow.

phainon didn’t remember much of them. the hours bled together—morning into night, night into morning—each one stretching endlessly, like time itself refused to move forward without you.

they buried you beneath the grand oak in the royal gardens, the one you used to sit under every afternoon, laughing about the shapes the clouds made. you’d once said it was your favorite spot in all of okhema—“because it’s the only place that always feels alive.”

now it felt like the loneliest place in the world.

phainon stood by your grave long after everyone else had gone. the king, silent and broken; the courtiers, whispering prayers; the people, weeping in disbelief. they all left. but he stayed. armor still stained with your blood, sword still sheathed at his side, hands trembling as he traced your name carved into the marble stone.

the beloved princess of okhema.

he thought the words were wrong. they didn’t capture what you were—how your laughter made flowers bloom, how you smiled at every soul, how your presence alone could make a place feel like home.

“you were more than that,” phainon whispered, voice raw. “you were everything.”

his hands clenched around the little wooden charm—the one you’d bought for him at the market, the one that had once gleamed against the metal of his armor. now the carving of the sun was darkened, dulled, and sticky where your blood had dried on it. still, he couldn’t let it go.

he pressed it to his heart, just as he had the day you died, and sank to his knees before your grave.

the earth was soft, the grass still damp from morning dew. he didn’t care that it soaked through his clothes, didn’t care that his voice cracked when he spoke again.

“you told me not to swear, remember?” phainon murmured, a bitter smile twitching at his lips. “you said you believed i would protect you. and i—” his words broke apart, the grief clawing up his throat until he couldn’t breathe. “i failed you, my lady.”

his shoulders shook. the tears came again, unstoppable, soaking into the soil beneath him.

he stayed there through the night, through the rain that came softly at first, then harder, until the garden was shrouded in mist. thunder rolled in the distance, and still, he didn’t move.

every flash of lightning illuminated the gold of his armor, dulled now, heavy with mud and grief. his lips moved, whispering your name again and again, as if saying it could summon you back.

but the silence never answered.

by dawn, the rain had eased, leaving the air cold and heavy. phainon was still kneeling, soaked to the bone, his hair plastered to his forehead. his eyes were red, hollow.

he reached forward one last time, his fingers brushing over the stone that marked your resting place. “i would have given my life for yours,” he whispered, the words barely audible. “gladly. without a second thought.”

a small breeze stirred the leaves above, and for a heartbeat, he could almost believe it was you—laughing softly, like before.

but when he opened his eyes again, there was only the garden, quiet and gray.

from that day on, phainon was never the same. he still wore the royal crest, still carried his sword—but the light in him had gone out.

wherever he walked, the people would whisper of him—the golden knight whose heart had died with the princess of okhema.

and at night, when the city slept, he would return to the oak tree, sit beside your grave, and speak to you as though you could hear him.

telling you about the stars. about how the kingdom missed you. about how he wished he could trade places.

and always, before he left, he’d place the little sun-and-moon charm on the ground, whispering, “so i’ll never forget you.”

then he’d pick it back up—because forgetting you was the one thing he could never do.

── .✦