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Series summary: the meaning of freedom becomes none when you’re of descending wealth. And the value of freedom becomes all when you get forced into an unwanted marriage, shackled to a man against your will.
Or, in other words: upon witnessing a prophetic dream, you decide to rip your honor back by force — killing some beast, after all, cannot be that difficult. Your own betrothed agrees to help.
Series warnings: fem!reader, yandere!Phainon, NSFW elements, MDNI, oral sex + fingering (fem receiving), dubious consent (both of them are drunk during the scene), slight asphyxiation, non-canonical setting, Phainon is reader’s fiancé, arranged marriage, power imbalance, jealousy, manipulation, possessive behaviors, toxicity, misogyny (not described in detail), brief mentions of animal hunting, mentions of death; descriptions of injury, blood and puking; alcohol consumption, physical violence, please do check tags for more || wc: 19.5k
II. IT’S FINGERS ON YOUR THROAT, IT’S PAIN THAT ALL THINGS KNOW
On the ninth day marking the start of your journey, you and Phainon finally reached the southern village, a place that seemed forgotten by time, at least in some sort of way. A little community, living at a high altitude and separated from the fast-paced city of Okhema below, acting as if the people living at the foot of this mountain didn’t exist, weren’t of any importance, and perhaps you understood that mindset very well, for you’d ignore such pompous affairs too if you had the chance to ever live there. Maybe you will, you thought distantly, maybe one day you’ll return to this mountain, free and unburdened, shackled to no one, and then you’ll live here without any man or woman telling you how to lead your own life.
The houses here were made out of dark pine, and so was the inn that you decided to stop at for a rest, your foot needing a bit of a longer reprieve. The inn in question was dimly lit, the last of daylight barely reaching past the doorway before lessening into none, late afternoon turning into dusk, twilight’s pale, waning light unable to brighten up the dark space; the air inside the inn was warm but it’d be a stretch to say that the smell was equally pleasant.
Several lanterns were set across the walls, their glow amber-like, subdued and uneven, spreading out into tall shadows. A handful of passing travelers of your ilk, perhaps, occupied separate corners of the inn, their conversations so low that you could not gather what they might be possibly speaking of, voices hushed and secretive, as if those talks were of things far more terrifying and grand than just the rising prices of alcohol.
Everything around you seemed darkened with age, the deep-brown wood appearing even black in some places. Cobwebs, dust gathered here and there, tracks of mud. Your eyes trailed after the unclean path of dirt that someone must’ve carried inside, and Phainon’s arm squeezed around yours near playfully. “What a cozy little place they’ve got there. Perhaps we should leave and instead ask one of the locals to let us stay the night?” The man asked quietly as he leaned down to your level, lips already stretching into a blithe smile.
“Perhaps not.” You answered just as quietly, squeezing his arm back, your bodies pressed close enough to make others send you somewhat intrigued, maybe even intrusive looks. It’s not like you had much choice, your injury was still aching and putting too much pressure on it caused you a considerable amount of pain, which more-or-less forced you to rely on Phainon. Being guided was definitely better than getting carried anyway, and he always insisted on aiding you very, very fiercely, assuring that your foot would only get worse if you continued to walk by yourself for too long, which you had no reason to doubt. “We’re already here, so let’s not change our plans so suddenly.”
Phainon shrugged, “whatever you wish for,” he said, sounding like he’d be fine either way.
Then you were getting led to the wooden counter, Phainon’s forearm winding quite tightly around yours, making you think that any more pressure and he’d suffocate you or break a few bones. Not like the inn itself had many guests in it, so why the sudden paranoia? It did appear safe, but your naïveté could be clouding your judgment, so you did not speak against Phainon’s wariness and his need to keep you overly close.
Following Phainon obediently, you finally stopped in front of the counter, assessing the woman behind it. She was young, surely, a crown of pale locks framing her delicate face, and you thought the woman’s apparition was particularly gentle, cheeks wan and eyes doe-like; a thick, loose braid of lavender rested over her shoulder, equally violet irises already assessing you back.
The intensity of her gaze was curious, you were near beckoned to speak by yourself and greet the innkeeper, though Phainon spoke first. “We’d like a room for two,” he said, tone not unkind but reserved.
“Just for one night?” The woman asked, reaching below the counter and opening some drawer, plucking a singular key of rusty color.
“Yes,” Phainon confirmed, briefly adjusting his hold on you before grabbing several coins from the travel bag and placing them on the wooden surface politely. “At least we suspect so.”
“It is quite a short time, especially if you’d like to show your wife the sights this village has to offer,” her gaze was no longer on you, instead downcast, counting the payment.
A strangled sound left you, eyes shooting wide as you looked between Phainon’s half-bemused, half-enthralled expression and the girl’s elegant, utterly innocent face, still oblivious to what she just suggested. “Excuse me but—”
The innkeeper finally lifted her big eyes, then blinked at Phainon in abashment, previously pale cheeks turning rosy. “Is she not…?” The woman trailed off, voice cracking a bit with sudden nervousness. “My apologies, I did not mean to come off as presumptive…”
“Oh, but it is all right,” Phainon waved his hand dismissively, grabbing the key that was passed into his hold, “you were not far off, miss.”
Again, you sent him a scornful glare, but the man did not react, checking the number attached to the key and starting to guide you towards the staircase — the fact that Phainon didn’t really try denying the fact of your possible marriage irked you, same goes for him saying that this innkeeper wasn’t exactly wrong to assume you as a couple. You were not a couple, not by any means.
Once away from people’s earshot, you looked up at Phainon. “What was that?” You hissed, feeling blood come rushing to your face.
“What was what, [Name]?” Phainon asked dumbly, long eyelashes fluttering down at you with all the guiltlessness of a little ewe.
“Well, for starters, you are acting as though we are— hard to say, married, still in a betrothal?” The tone of your voice wasn’t chastising, no, it sounded far too subtle for your liking, but then again, you’ve always been soft when it came to Phainon.
The door of your temporary room opened, Phainon herding you inside gently, your eyes fixed on the ground as you began to take off your shoes. “Theoretically speaking, you are my betrothed,” he said, lacking fault.
You clicked your tongue, scoffing, lips already parting to tell him that you were done with the nettling for today, that you were tired and his poor humor no longer amused you, but the sight inside the room caused you to momentarily falter. Instead of two separate beds, there was only one, the mattress big enough to fit two people yet lacking in space to lie comfortably without any accidental touches. Oh, that doe-eyed innkeeper, did she do so to spite you? No, certainly not, for she looked far too genuine to indulge in such nonsensical jests. Still, her mistake was clear as day.
“Gods above, I’ll tell her to give us a different room.” With a sigh, you turned on your heel, leaving Phainon’s support and starting to head back towards the outer corridor.
Before you could depart, he grabbed you by the wrist, causing you to stop with an inelegant stumble. “No, it’s fine. It is just for one night, [Name], let us spare that girl trouble. She already looked quite frustrated when we spoke to her.”
“Very well,” resigned, you shifted to face Phainon again, knowing that he was right and it was you who acted rashly. It really was just one night, the two of you slept side by side many times before.
He sent you a benign smile, one which you reciprocated, carefully walking past him, making sure not to put too much pressure on your foot. Then you sat down on the bed, sighing in relief, grateful for the finally subsiding pain — your calves were giving you a hellish time lately, so being able to finally rest on a soft mattress was like a godsend, whole body immediately relaxing as you leaned back, supporting yourself on your elbow.
Phainon followed after you, taking a seat by your legs, pulling them over his lap and briefly examining that injured foot of yours. “How is it?” He asked, tone light.
“Could have been worse,” you admitted in a quiet, somewhat doleful voice, watching as he started to press the pads of his thumbs into the arch of your foot, the sensation simultaneously alleviating the pain and somehow making it more prominent.
Still continuing the massage, Phainon hummed, sight rising to focus on your face. “Even if it’s late, I could still try to go out, see if they have any herbs in the village. Maybe something to lessen the pain or put you to sleep faster.” The man offered, now kneading the ball of your foot.
A small laugh escaped you, lips curling into a smile. “What does it matter to you? I don’t think the beast is far, we’re already in the southern territory — all you’ll need to do is drag me there and be done with it.”
Appearing incredulous, Phainon blinked at you, leaning forward till you had to bend your leg in order to accommodate his weight. “But you must have hit your head somewhere along the way, [Name], what are you even implying? I do it because I care, I care about you.”
Seeing the surprisingly sincere distress in his eyes, you huffed out a giggle, feeling like the man before you wasn’t the fiancé you wanted out of your life but a good friend, a companion, something in-between all the things you did not wish to voice. “Hm, is that so?” Still, you mused, indulging this play even if it later on turns out to be a horrible idea, hands reaching to cup Phainon’s slightly pouty cheeks. “First you call me sensitive, then you act childish. What am I going to do with you, Phainon?”
He leaned into your touch without any sort of hesitation, head tilting so that the side of his face pressed snugly against your palm, eyes half-closed and lips smiling in a way that reminded you of a satiated puppy, docile and harmless, gentle-tempered thing. Your right hand moved to card through the lilac-white locks, earning a sigh from Phainon, and you thought yourself cruel. Despite being used as a way of getting your ticket to freedom and being well aware of it, he remained loyally by your side, helping and caring for you, lending his strength whenever you needed it, extending such hilarious amounts of fidelity toward you that it seemed near absurd; and still, what did he receive in exchange?
A risk that he might not return home, even if in your eyes Phainon was powerful, and the prospects of him losing the fight with the beast were slim. That must’ve been cruel, knowing all of it yet letting him go. Your expression probably twisted in a forlorn way, because Phainon soon pulled back slightly, taking hold of your hands.
“You look cheerless,” he said. “I’ll ask where to wash the clothes later, for now we should come down and eat. And I’ll buy you whatever meal you wish to have today, [Name], all right? You haven’t been eating well lately, which worries me too…”
“It is because of my injury, I’m afraid. The pain renders my appetite gone.” You admitted, feeling bad to complain so much.
Yet Phainon merely nodded in solemn understanding, letting go of your hands and helping you get up. Then you put on your shoes and were finally guided outside, both of you leaving the room, heading downstairs and passing a few persons on the way, which unsurprisingly made Phainon press you closer into his side, a habit you deemed endearing and concerning at the same time.
The adjacent common room smelled, perhaps, even worse than the main one, though you did not whine about that. The hour wasn’t too late, so travelers were still gathered on the long benches, and you were honestly shocked to see so many of them, nearly all of the places occupied to the brim, men and women alike squeezing together by the dark-wood tables while drinking alcohol and dining — there was even a boy playing some cheery tune on a flute in the corner, but hearing his melody clearly was impossible with the ongoing clamor.
By miracle, you managed to find an empty seat, just enough space to fit two people, even if you’d have to be squeezed together. So you sat, watching over your shoulder as Phainon went to order you food. The choice wasn’t vast, but you asked for a meat dish, missing the taste, already fed up with constantly eating berries and the dried rations that you took from your homes. It took some time and you were starting to sweat a bit, overheating from so many people gathered in just one place, the fireplace bursting in angry flames even if it was summer and the weather was rather hot, all the voices surrounding you suddenly becoming grating, very hard to make out.
But Phainon did eventually return, two plates in his hands, steaming meat that had your mouth watering. “There you go.” He placed the food in front of you with a smile, sitting down.
He was only partially on the bench, body taking up too much space, and you chuckled at the sight of Phainon nearly hanging off, trying to move a little to the side but finding that you couldn’t. “Gods, you’ll fall at this rate.” You said, shaking your head in amusement as you took the utensils, some worn knife and fork. “Move closer.”
Phainon did so without much convincing, making you feel unfortunately hotter, sandwiched between him and some granny sitting at your left. Just to shut yourself up, you took a bite. The meat didn’t taste bad, but it was somewhat charred, too salty and rough on your palate, yet you still continued to eat.
The man at your side was saying something, but you didn’t hear, sending him a questioning look. “Does it taste good?” Phainon repeated, leaning into your space. “We can switch if you dislike yours.”
You assessed his portion, it seemed less burnt. Perhaps leeching on Phainon’s kindness so much was bad but you still nodded without any sense of hesitation, swapping your plates and immediately tasting the other meal, thinking it was moderately better, a decent amount of seasonings coating the meat. Phainon observed you in a way that could only be described as some weird self-satisfaction, then he started to eat the charred food.
A few beats of silence passed when neither of you spoke. The dish was enough to keep your mouth occupied, so instead of trying to strike another conversation with your friend, you watched the people around you, seeing them get up and leave, then come again, some even bringing spare chairs to sit on when the benches got too stuffy. You wondered what sort of inn this must be for so many to come here — not like you saw any travelers on the way to the southern mountain. It may be that they simply lived here, paying a feeble sum for the rooms monthly.
“We should ask about that field from my prophetic dream,” you eventually began, nudging Phainon to get his attention. “Those people seem to be travelers, seasoned ones at that, they might just know where it is located,”
“Right now?” He mused, swallowing the half-burnt meat from his mouth. “No, we can do that in the morning. See, everyone’s already busy with merrymaking, no one will give you a concrete answer.”
A scoff. “But they’ll go to work in the morning, or get on the move, travel. Do you wish to bother them all before that?”
Phainon shrugged, “perhaps you’re right. Still, talking to drunks while sober is quite impossible, in my opinion.” He looked over his shoulder, your gaze immediately following, locking on the arrangement of barrels behind the long counter, filled with most likely strong wine, considering the state of people around you. It didn’t take long for Phainon to look back at you, already smirking. “What do you say, [Name]? A few won’t hurt.”
A few would most certainly hurt, reducing your clarity of mind to none, making you slower and more likely to abandon the objective task altogether. Still, you were weak to his smiles and offers. “I can’t understand why you’re doing all of this, Phainon, shouldn’t we focus on different things…?” You sighed, folding your hands on the table with predictable defeat. “So be it, bring us the alcohol.”
With a triumphant chuckle, Phainon got up from his seat, saying, “I do it because I want you to enjoy yourself, truly. You’ve been through a lot.” Then he rubbed your shoulder and strolled away, leaving you alone.
Enjoying yourself assuredly wasn’t your priority here. With so many things to do and see, with so much constant trouble tugging at the edges of your mind and inclining your instincts to focus majorly on survival instead of dwelling on the further future, you often seemed to forget your goal. Slay the beast, return home, be recognized as a warrior, and free yourself from the betrothal before your marriage. That’s what you should be doing, that’s what should be occupying you all the time; yet instead of worrying about your tentative freedom, the things you’ll have to do to achieve it, you still got lost in such fickle activities as drinking, eating, sitting in an overcrowded tavern while the clock ticked mercilessly above your head. And that ticking reminded you of the passing time, of how you’re wasting it, indulging Phainon and your own self.
Though you started to feel anxious with urgency, you still smiled when Phainon returned, placing the two mugs down, their contents dark with the blood-red wine inside, so much of it that it nearly spilled over. You looked into the mug, seeing your own distorted reflection gleaming along with the passing light and the shadow. It might’ve been that the wine’s surface twisted how you look, but you could swear that you appeared more tired than usual, eyelids heavy and the circles beneath your eyes prominent, lip split and corners tilted downwards, the deep bruises around your eye still there. Your foot continued to ache. Sleep came harder as of late.
“Let’s make a toast.” Phainon said, scooting closer, his mug already lifted and eyes crinkling in the corners.
A humorless laugh left you as you also lifted your mug. “To what? We haven’t achieved anything,” you answered, voice barely audible over the commotion of a dozen people conversing all at once, voices only getting louder and louder to talk over each other.
Phainon’s lips moved, a singular syllable, one that you did not catch — then his mug knocked against yours, spilling just a bit of wine over your knuckles. You watched him take a swig and instead of asking to repeat what you were exactly toasting for, you simply mirrored the action, feeling the bitter-sweet taste of the alcohol, wincing just slightly which earned a melodic laugh from your companion.
And so, you drank. Then drank some more. Telling how much time passed was impossible with no windows in the common room, the only source of light being the big chandelier above your heads and the couple of lanterns hanging in the corners, casting warm light along with the hearth’s fire. You have had three mugs in front of you, though you swear that you had more earlier. Phainon was downing his fourth one beside you, cheeks deeply flushed, eyes heavy-lidded with the alcohol running through his veins. The sight was almost delightful in a way that made you reach out to tousle his hair, endeared by the contrast of his white locks and the reddened face, and he merely laughed at your action, the sound of his joy suddenly so unguarded.
The noise in the common room had risen, though you don’t know when that happened, a shift of tone without a clear moment of change. Voices stacking over one another, laughter breaking out so loudly that it would’ve irritated you in normal circumstances, and then dissolving just as quickly into something lower — mugs thudded and slammed against the tables, an uneven rhythm, a cacophony of sounds. You were drunk, so inebriated that any thoughts of getting the information that you needed, that you came here for, suddenly evaporated.
Someone was talking by the door and you heard it, a meaningless —said it was closed, I heard him—, followed by that’s not what… no, you weren’t even there, and the words blurred so much that they hardly made any sense. Then laughter took up again, resounding through the inn.
At the table beside you, a man leaned far too back in his chair that you watched him bring in earlier, balancing it on just two legs, and another person took the empty mugs from you, arms brushing against your neck. It was a stranger touching you, but just for a small second, you let them take the mugs and asked for more wine, though you’re unsure whether they’ve heard your request.
After a second, your eyes fell on the man on the chair again, something curious about his face drawing you in like a magnetic force. “Didn’t see you come in,” he said, gaze focused not on you but on a different woman. No one answered. “Shame,” he added after a moment, gaze sliding somewhere then stopping, and you felt your head getting particularly heavy now, “would’ve remembered that.”
Something clattered behind you, ceramic, maybe. You didn’t jerk in fright, body and mind reacting too slow, thoughts rolling in so belatedly to the point where nothing really startled you anymore. A faceless voice behind you swore, making you look over your shoulder to gauge what was happening — true enough, someone dropped their plate piled with food so tall that it felt like a tremendous waste, yet everyone laughed, and so did you, chortling at the poor person’s misfortune.
Suddenly, someone was touching you again, a hand pressed up against your waist. Your head whipped in agitation, only to realize it was just Phainon, his familiarity and harmless intentions. Perhaps he wished to get your attention back. With a swiveling vision, you looked up into the blue irises, seeing four then six instead of the usual two; that earned a chuckle from you, Phainon reciprocating it as you hugged up to him, muscles too heavy with the alcohol’s poison to stay fully upright.
The stranger man leaned forward, body angling in the direction of your table, chair dropping back on all fours with a dull sound you barely caught. “You traveling far, lovebirds?” He asked, eyes boring into your form. You wondered how old he was, for he did not seem too young even to your drunken self, maybe twice your age or so. “Or just passing through.”
There was a pause, your expression twitching between amusement and consternation. “Not that it matters,” the chair-man went on, waving a hand vaguely, “I just don’t see…” he stopped, as if losing his thought only halfway through, then picking it up again, “…people like that often, is all.”
“What is he talking about?” You asked Phainon, still tilting into his space way too heavily, your voice slurring and quiet but laced with undeniable amusement.
Some other chair scraped across the floor. Phainon sent you a look before his hand settled on you more firmly, more surely, palm splaying across the curve of your hip, which obviously made you chortle again, because why was he acting so clingy?
“You’re staring,” came the response, flat and maybe less slurry than yours, Phainon’s tone still level. It was impressive, you thought, having so much sway over your own speech after drinking several mugs of wine.
The chair-man blinked owlishly. “Am I?” He said, clicking his tongue in condescension. “Didn’t realize it was forbidden.”
The atmosphere was tense yet you did not feel its weight, still so curious about that stranger who, despite having a mean smile on his face and a few scars stretching across the bridge of his nose, appeared so intriguing to you. Like an antique painting, hanging in one of the long halls, slightly dusty and crooked but very appealing to your interest.
“Stop,” Phainon said, tone turning hostile.
Around you, the noise didn’t subside, it picked up in volume if anything. The boy playing on the flute had apparently very spacious lungs, for he continued to blow and blow, the tune getting chaotic and more disorderly, only two people dancing before him. Some travelers went to sleep by now, yet what remained seemed to be an especially rowdy group, their shouting mixing with laughter, a few hands slamming against the tabletops hard enough to rattle the mugs and plates, a cacophony of sounds and smells and the overwhelming warmth that had you feeling ill.
“Relax,” said the chair-man, laughing under his breath, eyes flitting around Phainon’s face mockingly before setting on yours, “wasn’t talking to you.”
Leaning against Phainon, you could feel his muscles tense, though you had no energy or even will to gauge his expression. “I said stop, didn’t I?” He hissed, quite aggressively.
Phainon’s rising form jostled you, though his unpredictable zeal to fight was snuffed out instantly, a woman of blond locks that curled beautifully at the ends and a very strong, broad silhouette approaching the chair-man and starting to speak to him about something, gesticulating rather fiercely. She reminded you of Mydei, this woman, obviously temperamental and of equally delightful looks.
“Oh, what is wrong with you?” Huffing and with your eyebrows knit together, you also attempted to stand, putting too much pressure on your foot by accident and wobbling then, grabbing Phainon’s bicep to support yourself before you could topple over.
It was expected that he caught you, strong arms winding around your middle before sending the last glare toward that stranger. Then the eyes of blue were already back on you, penitent and big. “[Name], let’s just— just go back to our room,” Phainon stammered, words starting to turn slurred as well, syllables melting into something clumsy. His earlier bravado must’ve been a little for show, then, for his expression morphed into a very pitiful one, lower lip jutting out, cheeks still coated in blush.
Knowing that Phainon was prone to causing scenes now, you nodded, gracing him with a sympathetic rub on the arm. “So be it, let’s retire for the night now,” you decided, barely keeping yourself upright. Maybe it was stupid to let two people, both of them highly inebriated and one partially unable to walk by herself, go freely on their own, but there was obviously no one to stop you, so you simply allowed yourself to be guided forth by the man.
The route was challenging, at least when you reached the stairs. Him and you stumbled and staggered like newborn fawns, his arm barely holding you upright as you somehow dragged your bodies towards your shared room, tripping over each other’s legs and snickering, probably too loudly for the sector that’s meant for reprieve.
Hastily, you began to kick off your shoes, Phainon mimicking your action. The room was completely dark now, the only source of light being the waning crescent moon outside, and your eyes briefly fell on the glinting steel leaned against the wall’s corner, thinking it was fortunate that Phainon left it behind, for his anger seemed to get the better of him back at the common room.
“I feel like I’m going to fall asleep while standing up…” you mumbled, dragging your heavy limbs to the bed, movements still uncoordinated and sluggish. At least your foot no longer hurt so bad, the pain gone for as long as you didn’t put any weight on it, and with so much alcohol in your body, it was very likely that you’d be knocked out almost instantly, troubles with sleep no longer of your concern.
You collapsed atop the bed, groaning in relief, eyes already closed. The soft mattress was truly a blessing, your joints relaxing as you finally rested in safety instead of struggling through wilderness, and you could easily ignore the fact that your head was spinning like a wild swing. Just as you thought to finally snuggle into the sheets and drift off, a sudden weight beside you made the mattress dip, and that’s when you remembered that Phainon still, in fact, does exist. He kicked the duvet up, dragging it over your bodies, tucking you in blindly. You let him do so, only pausing when you rolled on your side and felt that heavy arm curling around your upper torso, a coil sitting tightly on your shoulders, rendering you somewhat immobilized.
Sighing softly, you reached to feel at the limb slung over your form. “You’re clinging, Phainon…” you slurred out, voice muffled against the pillow, quiet and slightly unintelligible. “You’ve always been overly affectionate, but— but now this is getting a little ridiculous…”
“So what?” Phainon huffed, his breath summery against your nape, body shifting closer and closer until he was pressed up against your back, legs slotting together like puzzle pieces, the back of your thighs glued to his lap.
“So you should perhaps ask Cyrene about that doeling of hers once we return, get yourself a goat to coddle,” you snorted, a brittle laugh slipping past your lips.
A puff of hot air tickled you at the back of your neck again, half-laugh and half-scoff. “But will that really be necessary…?” Phainon drawled, voice dropping low, speech articulated in a way that only seemed to punctuate his obvious drunkenness. His arm tightened around your shoulders.
“If you continue being such a child, then yes,” you grumbled in response, a hint of reluctant amusement resounding beneath the feigned gruffness. The grip he had on you was uncomfortable, overly snug.
Phainon whined, then, a pathetic sound that somehow didn’t surprise you. “You’re so cruel, [Name].”
You only chuckled in response, feeling too drunk and too weak to do anything, sleepiness already overtaking your mind, making you accept the fact that Phainon was hugging you this whole time, pressed up against your back like a very insistent leech that yearned for a human’s warmth. The man didn’t say anything more, merely grabbed onto your bicep more firmly and hushed down for good.
Predictably, sleep took you soon — but when you awoke, it was still dark, the moon having shifted only a bit during your brief rest. Because of Phainon’s body folding around yours, you were quite literally sweltering, the duvet, as thin as it was, not doing much to alleviate the unbearable heat, sweat dripping down your chest and back practically in buckets. His arm was still hooked around your shoulders, one leg now swung across your own legs as if to pin you to place, like you were a dead dragonfly, waiting to be fixed forever-still by those long needles people use when they secure their oddities in frames, an odd trophy of sorts.
Unfortunately, you were being smothered, struggling to catch breath from how hard Phainon was gripping you. That led to another reaction, which was an overwhelming nausea, stomach flipping around and making your throat clench, if only to stop the food from escaping, which honestly wasn’t working; heart starting to beat faster with urgency, you disentangled yourself from the heap of limbs that you and Phainon created, like godsdamned hibernating snakes, then hopped off the bed. Your vision kept swimming, body devoid of any balance, but you still had enough wits to put the majority of weight on your good foot.
Then, in a moment of curiosity, you glanced over your shoulder, catching the sight of Phainon’s face. He seemed so very peaceful. It was hard to discern the exact details of his contours, though you noticed his arms curling around nothing and feeling rather sympathetic, you placed a spare pillow against his breast, making him immediately cuddle to the thing. Both of you were still equally drunk — if you managed to stay quiet, Phainon wouldn’t even guess that you ever left in the first place.
Another wave of nausea hit you straight in the guts, so you finally turned around, heading for the door. Your gait was incredibly clumsy, your bad foot dragging behind you awkwardly, yet you somehow managed to descend downstairs without any aid, without even falling or tripping too much. The lanterns in the main room were still surprisingly lit, and so were the lanterns in the common room where you got so inebriated just a few hours ago, their amber glow illuminating the spaces dimly.
Not thinking too much of it, you grabbed one of the nearby lanterns by the metallic handle, heading outside. Pushing past the doors, you looked around for privy, finally spotting the small, wooden shed, rushing towards it and practically hurling yourself inside when you felt your mouth begin to water, barely-digested meat traveling up your throat and making you gag.
Violently puking your insides out certainly wasn’t the best experience, but that’s what you get for drinking irresponsibly. After a few minutes, you got up from your knees, leaving the privy and grabbing the lantern that you abandoned outside in your haste, frowning at the swarm of moths that managed to gather around. Such foolish creatures, you thought, wishing for the distant moon and mistaking any sort of light for it. What fickle lives they must lead.
Your eyes remained focused on the moths for a few seconds more before you finally grabbed the lantern, making them all scatter in different directions, some even hitting your face as they flew, startled, unsure of what to do. Then you were dragging yourself back inside, wincing at the ache in your foot and the swimming vision that had you stumbling at the threshold, shoulder knocking against the doorframe roughly — in your mouth, the distinct, acrid taste of vomit still lingered, clinging to your palate and tongue, making you near sick again.
Miraculously managing to utter a logical thought, you put the lantern down, turning towards the common room. Water, you needed water, stomach still tight and throat irritated. You walked inside, mildly surprised by the sight of the innkeeper already there, her waif frame only partially illuminated, hands busy sweeping the tabletops with a cloth.
The woman’s doe-eyes rose, fixing on your frame with great curiosity. “Miss, did you need something?” She asked, voice polite and soft, settling the cloth down and approaching you in an elegant way, her alabaster-colored skirts swaying with each step.
A cough ripped from your lungs before you could answer, eyes watering. You nodded, feeling rather weak and still so very drunk, falling heavily on the now completely empty bench. “A glass of water would be nice, if that’s alright.”
The innkeeper nodded in understanding, swiftly walking behind the long counter and pouring you water, then getting back at your side. She passed you the glass, and you took it with a grateful, albeit faint smile. “Thank you, miss…?”
“Castorice,” she said, reciprocating the smile in a very cordial manner.
“I’m [Name].” You introduced yourself without much apprehension, for this girl obviously was of pure heart, making you trust her almost instantly.
Castorice sat beside you in a tentative manner, folding her hands on her lap. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, miss [Name]. Though, I simply must ask: are you feeling ill?”
Genuinely surprised at her careworn tone, you blinked a few times, letting out an incredulous chuckle, because you did feel ill, head pounding and hands still shaking from how hard you vomited back at the privy. “No, I’m…” you paused, taking a generous sip, “I’m quite fine. But we overdid it with alcohol.”
“You mean you and that man?” She queried, and you thought she must be really shy, considering the quietness of her voice.
“Yes,” you answered simply.
“I saw you two leave.”
“I guess we let loose,” you paused yet again, fingers drumming against the now half-empty glass, struggling to remember what you and Phainon were even doing earlier on. “Unfortunately.”
Castorice nodded slowly. “Miss [Name], I do not mean to come off as nosy, but who is he to you?” The look in her eyes shifted, both a subtle and noticeable change, something solemn passing through the violet irises. “I took you for a married couple earlier, and he did not seem particularly moved. If anything, I’d say he was happy with the misunderstanding.”
You didn’t know why this woman was asking you such intrusive questions but it’s not like you minded in the first place, surprisingly feeling no offense. Maybe it was, in some sort of way, pleasant to get these things off your chest. “It’s— it’s fine. Uh, he’s…” you stammered, “we’re engaged.”
“You are?” Castorice mused. “I suppose that makes sense.”
There was a moment of silence between you where you didn’t know how to answer, shifting tensely on the long bench, fiddling with your joints. Castorice’s fingers clenched around her skirts, she seemed uncomfortable too, apparently sensing that something was wrong but unable to put her finger on it, a distinct sense of unease.
“Though…” the girl continued, “you do not appear thrilled, miss [Name]…”
A half-hearted scoff. “Well, considering my circumstances, it’s hard to be.”
“You weren’t glad when I mistook you for his wife.” She whispered, suddenly so small, her shoulders curling inwards as if in abashment. You almost felt bad, wishing you could hold her hands and tell her that it wasn’t her who you were agitated by, that it was all right, but you held your urges back, knowing your action would be far too daring and certainly not appreciated.
“Miss Castorice, do you wish to know why I’m here?” The question fell easy, alcohol running through your system, making you bolder, more open and careless, longing to tell somebody — anybody — about your own plight. She nodded, saying sure, so you continued: “I am not of this place — I live at the foot of the mountain, in Okhema. The thing is, I had to embark on this harsh journey, I had to, for this… this might be my only chance at regaining freedom,” the confession spilled from your mouth like a waterfall, too much all at once, and your voice cracked at the end, a brittle sound.
Castorice’s fingers twitched against her lap, eyes widened in concern. “Regaining freedom… So you did lose it once?”
“Yes,” you said, expression tight, “it’s… it’s about that man.” It felt like talking about a stranger instead of Phainon, the sweet Phainon that you knew, that you managed to grow so fond of, that you never truly minded.
“I mean no offense, miss [Name], but do you not wish to marry your fiancé?”
“I do not, no.”
“Then is he cruel to you?” Her gaze briefly brushed over the bruises around your eye and you nearly laughed, thinking how different the true story was from whatever Castorice’s mind must’ve conjured up in that moment of uncertainty.
“Quite the opposite.” A sigh, long and heavy. “My, uh,” you paused, swallowing thickly, the word feeling like a broken bone lodged inside your throat, choking, choking, “betrothed is incredibly kind and caring, and he’s an excellent leader. He’s the type of man that every woman dreams of marrying.”
“Oh… there must be another that your heart longs for, surely?”
That made you pause, teeth grinding together for a short second, jaw working. Such an innocent question, yet you already felt your whole chest caving in bitterly. “Perhaps once, there was someone. But not anymore.”
Castorice must’ve noticed your stress, for she immediately faltered again, posture slouching. “I understand.”
“I was forced into this betrothal, that’s what happened. Everything in my life goes against my will, and just this once, I wish to be finally in control.” You felt yourself getting emotional, not to mention in front of a girl that you practically didn’t know, pouring out your woes to someone whose name was still a mystery to you just a few minutes earlier. Isn’t that pathetic? And yet, you couldn’t help the utter helplessness promising to swallow you whole, suddenly so vast, a deep-seated fear you harbored.
The woman beside you shifted, eyes falling on her lap. “But you must have a plan, then, any sort of an escape route…”
“I do. I had a prophetic dream.” You said, making Castorice’s gaze rise once more. “In order to break free, I need to kill the beast of this mountain.”
“The beast?” She echoed, a bit perplexed.
It was awful, knowing that no matter who you opened up to, probably would not believe you anyway. Against your poor experiences, you continued, “yes. I have seen it in that prophetic dream of mine and it spoke to me in riddles, though I understood enough to know what it wanted to communicate.”
“The gods must really favor you, miss [Name], if they sent you such a vision.” Her voice betrayed nothing.
“They hardly do.” What use these visions had if no one believed you anyway, most likely not even Castorice, who seemed so kind and understanding. Well, at least Phainon put faith in you. “But I believe it is true that killing this wretched fiend will bring me glory, despite everything.”
“I have lived on this mountain for the majority of my life, yet I haven’t heard even a word about that beast.” The girl hummed, tethering her fingers together and putting her hands on her lap, donning an expression of deep contemplation, as if your words genuinely made her wonder. “Still, do you know where it may be?”
“It was hiding in a vast field of beargrass, that’s all I know.”
Recognition flashed in Castorice’s eyes suddenly, back straightening out. “With ponds and caves?”
“Y-yes,” you stuttered, a rush of hope surging through your veins, almost enough to subdue the feeling of drunkenness that still appeared to be overwhelming your whole body, “do you happen to recognize that place?”
“I think I do.” Castorice responded, something akin to a delitescent smile of happiness blossoming on her face, as if she was starting to feel hopeful for you, too. “My sister and I were shepherdesses long ago, and that place… I can still see it so clearly in my memory, as if we were herding sheep there just yesterday. Our now late mother always scolded us for getting home late, saying those fields were probably an imaginary place that me and my sister conjured up… ah, but I digress, don’t I?” A small, weak chuckle slipped past her lips, a forlorn look passing through the violet irises. “Trust me, miss [Name], we have explored many fields, yet that one has always been special. Beargrass doesn’t grow anywhere else, surprisingly, at least not in such amounts.”
You felt your cheeks turning hot with anticipation, body edging closer to Castorice, as if she was an all-knowing and all-saving saint. “And how do I get here?”
“All you need to do is take the southern route from our village,” she said. “The paths are already sparse as they are, only branching off in four directions. You’ll have no trouble finding your destination, no, you’ll know exactly when you get there. Oh, those fields… how I wish I could visit just one more time, with my sister by my side…”
“I don’t know how to thank you enough, miss Castorice, I’m— I’m forever indebted to you.” Near tearing up, you gave her a shaky smile, thinking how fortunate you were that this angel crossed your way, that she was here all along, in this inn. But then you spotted the lingering sadness that her gaze still held, and you felt your great enthusiasm waver, for you have seen that look countless of times before, you’ve known it better than anyone else, meeting it every single day in the mirror. Utter loneliness. “But, about your sister, perhaps you two could go there? Once the beast is slain and those fields are safe again, you’ll be able to take her and…”
Feeling like you’ve suddenly made some sort of a misstep, you paused, studying Castorice’s face, the somber set of her lips and knitted eyebrows. “My sister,” she began, voice so unsure and so little, “is no more. She passed away five years ago.”
Now you lost your footing completely, blindsided by the woman’s depressing confession, and so you blinked a few times, feeling so incredibly bad for her, because this was a person that you really did not know yet could sympathize with, because a cherished member of your family died too, and that left you feeling more alone than ever. You did understand Castorice, her pain and sorrows — perhaps it was bold to think so, but you could clearly see how much in common you had. This girl and you, weren’t you like two sides of a broken pendulum? Swaying, swinging, all done at nearly equal rhythm, hope and all that you ever held dear going away with the wind, like a flock of wild birds, like daisy’s petals.
“I’m so sorry to hear that. I am,” you murmured, feeling the edges of your eyes burning but fighting the despondency back. “I— I know this is really not much, but perhaps you’d like to talk about her? Tell me about your sister, miss Castorice, tell me anything.”
She did appear apprehensive at first, yet that initial impression seemed to pass just as quickly, for recognizing people of the same clay comes easily to anyone. A small sigh left her lips before she began, eyes falling on the ground, “her name was Polyxia. We… We used to live in Aidonia, though our father insisted that we move here. This inn that we are in belonged to our grandfather, and after his passing, we had no choice but to take over the business. Before we were old enough to help out at the inn, people of this village asked us to herd sheep. It was… truly a carefree time.
“But, you see, my sister has always been quite sickly. Not even her love nor dear heart could save her from death… It came upon us, a late afternoon during the month of Reaping, and all I remember is how sweltering hot it was. I can’t— I can’t recall Polyxia’s face, not even the sound of her voice at that very last moment.
“We’ve always been together, me and Polyxia. It was so incredibly hard to come to terms with her passing. I… I genuinely think she was a better person than me. More patient, more caring, kinder, and possessing much more wit. Unfortunately, time cannot be turned back, right?” Castorice’s voice was weighed down by grief, yet you couldn’t see a hint of tears in her eyes, as though she cried and cried so much in the past that no tears wanted to fall down now. “I can only hope that she’s finally resting in a peaceful place, free from pain and any worldly suffering. That… that she’s running free in an endless field of flowers, unburdened, unlike how she was during her life. But that’s all I can do.”
Unable to hold yourself back any longer, you finally reached for Castorice’s hands, squeezing them between yours. The girl gasped in surprise softly, though she didn’t tear her limbs free, merely looking up at you with something between disbelief and deep-rooted heartache painted all over her face. “Miss Castorice, I know how it feels to lose a loved one. I, despite what it may seem, know loneliness. And you’re right — the only thing we can do is hope that everyone we held close to our heart is now resting in a place free from any sorrows or fears. But I know for a fact that wherever your sister may be, she’s watching over you. She’ll always be.” You squeezed the woman’s frail hands harder. “You said that you were inseparable once, right? Then such love must transcend anything, even the realms separating you.”
Castorice was still looking at you with those surprised, woeful eyes, but she did smile eventually, blinking away some unshed tears before they could roll down her pale cheeks. “Miss [Name], you needn’t comfort me now… I know you’re probably still feeling unwell and worn, and I am selfishly keeping you there to—”
“Selfishly? Oh, what nonsense,” you cut in sharply, inching just a bit closer, “I wanted to hear about Polyxia, and I don’t regret doing so. My own tiredness does not matter.”
A chuckle left Castorice, quiet and a little wet, “is that so? I am glad, then.” The corners of her big, sad eyes crinkled, a barely-there blush of happiness gently coloring her face. “You said you experienced the same thing as me… I guess that makes the two of us.”
“Yes.” You said, smiling wider, the hold you had on her hands finally loosening. “It does.”
The girl sighed before you could add anything else, her fingers twitching against yours, as if she was uncertain whether she should take them away or let your contact linger. “In any case… you’ve got important things to do. Your dear freedom to regain, a new life to live. I mustn’t hold you back any longer, it is quite late already.” She finally untangled her joints from yours, folding them across her lap, even if she did so with obvious reluctance. “I wish you victory.”
Your eyes searched out Castorice, then you glanced around yourself, and you said, “I’d love to return here, to this village. If— if that’s fine. I see myself starting over here, I don’t know why, but I truly do.”
“Oh?” She intoned softly, long eyelashes fluttering in sudden interest. “You… you really would like to do that?”
“Of course.” You nodded, full of enthusiasm.
“Then…” Castorice started, the corners of her lips still curved so gently. “Maybe I know a good place for you to stay at, miss [Name]. This inn has particularly cheap rooms to rent, an even more reasonable price to friends. Many people of Okhema leave in order to stay here forever and it’s not unheard of, so…”
Immediately understanding what she was getting at, you almost squealed in glee, a beaming grin splitting your face in half. “If that’s the truth, then I’ll surely return here. I see no other place where I could be equally as happy.”
With a more subdued, albeit still cheerful expression, Castorice nodded her head, eyes flitting around the common room, as if she could not yet comprehend what just happened. “That makes me incredibly happy, and I’ll… I’ll be waiting for the day of our reunion to come.” The girl confessed, her vision finally settling on your face before another shift seemed to suddenly overcome her, rendering her precious features tighter, more solemn and firm. “I— I also have something that might help you, but please, kindly stay here. I wouldn’t want you overworking yourself now.”
Just as you were opening your mouth to ask what she was talking about, Castorice got up from the wooden bench that you were both sitting on, her long skirts swaying in rhythm with her steps as she hastily left the common room. Obviously, you did not know where she was hurrying off like that, but you didn’t say anything, waiting patiently for her return. And when she walked back to your side, cradling something to her chest, a thing that certainly was not of a big size but appeared important with the way her fingers slightly trembled around it, thick layers of cloth coating it, you finally let yourself breathe, a tentative smile curling the corners of your lips upwards.
“What is this?” You inquired, pointing at the bundle.
There was some inkling of hesitation on Castorice’s face, but she was quick to stomp it down, instead stepping closer to you but still keeping her distance. “It’s a blade, miss [Name]. One that’ll surely let you defeat the beast — but it is you who must hold onto it, not your fiancé, not anyone else.”
“Uh,” you stammered, unsure. “All right. But what makes it so special? I’m not sure any existing knife could kill that beast, especially not such a little one.”
“It’s an old thing, brought from my homeland, laced with poison only found in Aidonia. A poison so strong that…” Castorice trailed off, oh-so carefully unwrapping the blade; and it was terrifying in its beauty, a sharp glint of silver pointing at you, a handle made out of bronze, adorned in intricate shapes of flowers and butterflies winding all around, cradled in the woman’s delicate hand. “…so strong that it may kill anyone upon just a small scratch, a seemingly insignificant contact. The poison never gets spoiled, you see, it never loses its deadly strength.”
Hearing those words of warning, you suddenly felt apprehensive about handling this weapon — a thought of passing it over to Phainon, who was much more competent, came to you, but you disposed of it fast, remembering Castorice’s plea that you mustn’t let him have it. You didn’t even question the reason why.
“Ah, gods… that really does seem quite capable of slaying that creature.” You said, eyes wide. Then you extended your hand towards the blade, feeling your fingers shake despite previously deeming yourself calm, and you wondered whether it’s wise to let a drunken person handle such a thing. “May I?”
Castorice nodded slowly, wrapping the weapon in cloth again before passing it into your hold, and you, just a wee too frightened to keep your heartbeat steady, saw the grim resolve in her innocent eyes, the heavy seriousness sitting there. “I don’t think death should be cruelly prolonged or painful.” She said, the gentle murmur of her voice contrasting with those severe words. “This blade shall slay your beast near immediately. It’ll not suffer before passing, for death will come and take it the moment it closes its eyes. The pain that comes with taking a life is great, miss [Name], but you must weather it if you wish to regain your freedom.”
Haven’t you heard something similar before?
“Oh, of course. I’m glad that this creature, despite probably being some fiend, will not suffer too greatly.” You smiled tightly, even though you couldn’t comprehend Castorice’s moral compass.
She smiled at you, then, placing her hands on your shoulders, and you stood up, carefully nursing the bundled blade by your breast, feeling frightened to hold something so small and yet so heavy, so inconspicuous and yet so absolutely deadly, but knowing you have no choice anyway. Maybe, against thinking differently at first, you’ll be the one to make the final blow.
“Miss [Name]… you have to promise me that you’ll return. You have to.” Castorice pleaded, her eyes staring into you with such intensity that you felt near shy.
“I will. Of course I will.” You answered, lips curling up, and you reached out to embrace her with your unoccupied arm, pressing the woman into your side and earning a quiet giggle that you reciprocated immediately, both of you joyous at the prospects of what future might hold. “I see no other way for me.”
“Then that’s settled.” She hummed, slowly stepping back, still smiling. “We’ll meet again. And… I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yes.” You nodded, also stepping back, already thinking of how you’ll, perhaps, eat breakfast together; you, Phainon, and her, and how you’ll talk some more. Of how you’ll return here in just a few days, free and ready to start over. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Castorice.”
The walk back to your bedroom was tedious, carefully defeating the stairs without any aid then navigating the long corridor of many rooms in complete darkness only by yourself. You had to make sure to keep your footsteps light. It surely was not easy, considering that you were still somewhat drunk, and drunk people are never exactly quiet, no matter how hard they try — then there was also the aspect of your bad foot, a troublesome thorn in your side, causing you to stumble occasionally, tripping over your own limbs and having you catch on random furniture all around you.
But you did manage, eventually, finally opening the door. You went out barefoot so you didn’t even have to bother with the shoes, eyes already lifting to fix on the bed, eager to crash and sleep some more. The sight there made you pause, though, pulse kicking up wildly with surprised spook.
Phainon was not asleep, that’s for certain. He was half-reclined against the headrest, his silhouette so dark that its contours practically blended in with the inky blackness of the room’s surroundings, only a small halo befalling on the back of his head, the moon’s weak light shining down to outline the mess that his hair was. You quickly hid the bundled blade behind your back, hoping that Phainon did not notice it, and slowly moved forward, eyes never leaving the man.
“Gods above, Phainon, you scared me…” you breathed out, still walking, discreetly trying to locate where your own travel bag was . “Have you been awake for long?”
You saw him shift in the darkness. “No,” he answered simply. “I was just thinking about where my wife disappeared off to.”
The lilt of his voice was humorous, and it must’ve been merely a jest, yes, a reference to the mistake Castorice made earlier, taking you for a married couple; still, your fingers curled tighter around the weapon’s intricate handle, nearly trembling with the effort it took not to lash out. You were so tired, weighed down by the fatigue and absolutely worn.
“I am not your wife.” You retorted, wanting your voice to sound sharp yet failing to obtain the effect.
That earned you a short laugh from Phainon, his keen vision trailing after every single step of yours, like a hawk, like a hunter. “Why, I know that. Do you think me demented, [Name]?”
“With the way you’ve been acting,” you paused for a brief moment, finally dropping the wrapped blade into your travel bag, “it just may be so.”
Upon recognizing the defiant nature of your words, Phainon quieted down. Then he huffed, an indulgent sound, one that you’d make whenever your beloved dogs knocked over the furniture as they rushed to greet you with their licks and cheery barks. “Come here,” he said, neither a plea nor command, something in-between that automatically made your legs move.
Resigned, you fell atop the mattress, the dip there causing you to roll closer to Phainon than you would’ve liked, though you could not complain, not with how heavy your head was starting to feel again, not with the returning ache of your bad foot, the strain that you had to put on your entire body. The man shifted so that he lied down as well, yet this time he didn’t tuck you in, no, he just reached to swipe the hair that fell on your face. You let him, far too distracted to even bat his touch away — not like you’d want to do that in the first place, despite how much chagrin Phainon could evoke within you at times, despite how badly you wanted to close your eyes and go to sleep, skip over to the morning, for you were a weak thing starving for any sort of contact.
“Where have you been?” He asked, palm traveling lower to caress your side, tone still as docile as ever.
The sensation and the familiar, warm voice tamed your earlier anger, unfortunately, rendering it completely gone in a span of just a few seconds. What a terribly simple creature you were. “I’ve felt sick— I needed to go to the privy.” You muttered, tongue moving slowly, not quite keeping up with what you wanted to say.
“Is that right…” Phainon mused under his breath lowly and you sensed just a hint of skepticism hiding beneath his casualness. Then his palm slid even lower, lower. “But you weren’t talking to anyone, were you?”
You frowned, eyelids already fluttering closed. “Why would I be talking to anyone?” The lie fell far too easily from your lips.
“Oh, I don’t know. You tend to do silly things when you obviously know it’s unsafe.” He said, sounding rather lighthearted, voice conversational as if you were talking only about the weather — and you eventually felt that heavy joint resting somewhere where it never truly was before, where it theoretically wasn’t ever supposed to be, fingers digging into the meat of your backside.
“I’m— that’s—” you exhaled through your nose, surprisingly not bothered by the touch. Even though the both of you were still somewhat inebriated. Even though it was unwise.
If you wished to do so, you could simply slap Phainon’s hand away, tell him to go sleep on the floor or the benches downstairs if he couldn’t act properly, but you felt no need, no want to admonish him for the obviously impure action. It was foolish. And it was to be expected, considering the conclusion that you came to not so long ago, about your lacking intellect. Letting a man, who happened to be your unwanted betrothed, quite literally paw at your behind, must’ve been incredibly stupid yet you did not shy away from the contact, you did not push him away like you probably should have.
Phainon didn’t move his hand and you shifted minutely closer to him, taking a breath to try and calm yourself down, which only resulted in another wave of longing, covet that would not go away. His scent invaded your nostrils, your mouth, spreading over your palate, and it wasn’t unpleasant like the smell that emanated from everyone back at the common room, no, it was already embedded in your mind as an indicator of safeness, of security, masculinity tinged with something akin to peppermint lying underneath. That was enough to have your stomach coiling in knots.
Almost subconsciously, you reached to feel at Phainon’s breast, his heart thundering below your palm before you moved your hand up, blindly touching the column of his neck, the pulse there drumming with equal force. Still keeping your eyes closed, you remembered the morning, how you found a river to bathe in before stopping at the southern village. Phainon always respectfully averted his eyes and so did you, yet there was a moment where you accidentally lifted your gaze, seeing his bare form just a few meters beside you; water lapping at his strong thighs, the width of his muscular back dappled in the sunlight, arms moving languidly as he spread what little soap he cut off for himself. It caused your mouth to go dry, then, as you continued to gawk at his form. The man usually dressed modestly, even more so than you, therefore you could never fully gauge the physique hidden underneath those chitons reaching to his ankles, nor the size of his arms covered by chalmyses that he loved to wear. And it wasn’t quite like the statues that you saw in the gardens, of perfectly chiseled gods, nor was it like the men with plenty additional padding that worked in the countryside. Maybe a mixture of both. A combination which, unfortunately, caused you to fancy Phainon in the physical sense, an inevitable pull you felt whenever he did as much as looking your way.
Apparently sensing your eagerness to continue this folly, Phainon brought you closer to himself before rolling you both over, suddenly looming above your form, making you blink your eyes open in surprise. You could not see much due to the darkness, though it was clear that he was smiling, the moon giving enough pale light to brighten up the contours of his face. Perhaps Phainon was even enthralled, the corners of his lips stretching just a bit too wide for comfort.
“But don’t worry.” He said, leaning down to nose and sniff at your neck like a pedigreed blood-hound. “I know you wouldn’t lie to me. Not you, [Name].”
The weight atop your body, pressing you into the mattress so heavily, was too much for you to feel any actual guilt about lying to Phainon — because yes, what you said was untrue and he, despite his ever-present wariness, seemed to trust you a bit too blindly, his own naïveté showing through.
“Of course I would not…” you only assured him further, which earned you a nuzzle, hands already sliding up and down your sides.
Then Phainon, completely unexpectedly, moved his hips against yours, humping you once then twice, panting harshly against your skin, and you thought he might simply take you there like an ordinary man without bigger inspirations. For whatever reason accepting it came very easily, mind too set on the prospect of finally having your own need fulfilled. Except he did no such thing, soon pulling away, examining your form for a brief moment.
“I’m hungry,” he stated, announcing it in the same way people announce their hunger after a long day of work in the wheat fields, in the same way anyone would say it after walking the cows back home.
What, was he going to cannibalize you?
A bit stupefied, you blinked up at Phainon, lips already opening to ask what he was talking about. Except he beat you to it, flipping the skirts of your chiton and exposing your bare skin to the slightly cold air, bunching it up just around your ribs, eyes already fixed downward. You couldn’t say that you had much experience, yet you did not shy away, probably assured by the darkness surrounding you.
Phainon shifted just slightly, one hand reaching for your knee. “May I?” He rasped out, surprisingly affected, and you actually regretted not being able to see his face fully, only the blurry outline of his lips and eyes and nose, the sharp chin and tousled locks curling just slightly where they framed his cheeks.
“Yes,” you replied, a bit awkward, a bit puzzled about how you should act.
Still, the man didn’t seem to mind. “[Name], you have no clue how long and how much I’ve been thinking about this moment.” He practically simpered, fingers dragging the waistband of your underwear down, down, until you felt it sliding over your ankles. Only then did you start to become a little nervous, but Phainon was already lowering himself, grabbing you by the legs. “It must sound near absurd, I know, but the mere thought of it kept me awake each night. Do you know what you do to me?”
Without thinking too much about Phainon’s words, chalking them down to simple drunken babbling, you let him spread your thighs wider. “Are you even hearing yourself…” you chuckled quietly, slowly starting to get affected too, heat traveling over to your cheeks.
Phainon hummed under his breath, a bit dismissive. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to believe me. You don’t need to do anything, in fact.” He manhandled one of your legs to hook it over his shoulder, pushing the other one to the side to make some space for himself, hot breaths flushing against your underbelly fast, signifying his own excitement.
You clenched your teeth, afraid of making any sounds as he began to mouth at your abdomen, one hand cosseting the bare skin of your thigh. Phainon’s ministrations seemed uncoordinated, sloppy, almost overzealous in their nature, lips trying to cover every single inch of you as though he was no longer driven by simple drunkenness but something more sweltering, more intense, like a parched man that just crawled to oasis and couldn’t get enough. You were nearly surprised by such covetous behavior coming from him, but you did not voice your thoughts, already too bothered by the sting of cooling saliva on your stomach, your inner thighs and groin, head swimming from the attack of sensations.
His hands slid beneath your hips, then, lifting you effortlessly toward his mouth with the reverence of a bowing saint, with the fervor of a starving animal. “I’ll make you feel good.” Phainon near groaned, kissing that heavily innervated place that had your hips bucking in surprise. “I’ll make you feel so good that you’ll forget about anything else.” He repeated the action, making one of your feet kick out, dismissing the almost demented sound of his voice, the sheer ecstasy running through every single syllable.
The first lick was deliberate in its slowness, as if to make you feel every inch of his tongue — and you did, gods, you did. An involuntary sound slipped past your lips, something between a gasp and a whimper, which only appeared to spur Phainon on, efforts doubling without a warning. One of the man’s hands gripped your hip tighter, the other one splaying over your stomach, and you’d say that his touch was possessive if not for the nature of your relationship. Because your relationship really meant nothing, nothing, for he was just helping you out temporarily, your betrothal teetering on the edge of breaking forever.
Suddenly feeling too overwhelmed to formulate sensible sentences, you simply reached down, petting Phainon’s head. That earned you a gratified chuckle, the vibrations of his voice not helping at all with your daze, lips latching onto you, sucking, your joints tightening around the white tufts of hair and tugging as you no longer knew what to do.
Phainon briefly pulled back, then, lips and the mouth area all drenched. “I could drown in you, [Name].” He said, eyes heavy-lidded, what little moon there was illuminating the somewhat debauched state of his face, hot breaths puffing against your skin. “I wouldn’t mind.”
You smoothed a hand down his cheek, gathering some of the dampness and trying to wipe it off. “But drowning means dying, does it not?” The breathlessness of your voice was startling.
Instead of answering with words, Phainon merely laughed, as if greatly amused by what you just suggested. Then he dipped his head down again, tongue diving into your heat and laving over the folds there, swallowing several times as he gathered the slick wetness before moving upward, latching back onto you with feverish need that seemed to seep into your own bones too, down to the very marrow, twisting everything into longing.
Barely, you managed to discern the way Phainon looked while settled in-between your thighs so comfortably. Fingers digging into the plush meat of your body, holding you flush to his mouth as if you might dissolve into a simple daydream if he loosens his grip for even a second. The blue gleam of his eyes, the curve of his soaked lips. That’s all you could see through the darkness and you wondered, very distantly, will this beast that you have to kill so-very soon harbor the same look on its nightmarish face? Doesn’t it feel familiar, in a way?
Before your mind could spiral, Phainon’s fingers suddenly prodded at your entrance, earning a yelp of surprise-pleasure from you. Two of them slid inside, the middle and the ring one, causing your walls to flutter wildly, clenching as his long joints curled in a beckoning gesture. That, coupled with his unrelenting tongue and lips still pleasuring you, immediately had you going empty-headed, any sort of thoughts evaporating immediately.
The man’s incandescent vigor terrified you. But at the same time, you terrified yourself, shaken by how easily all of this happened. Both of you must’ve been horrible and the enormity of your desire disgusted you.
Throwing the rest of your wit aside and feeling the impending release starting to loom over you, you impulsively wrapped both legs around Phainon’s neck, bringing him closer, closer, making the man growl as he got pressed deeper into your heat. Each flick of his tongue seemed to be precisely measured to only unravel you further, fingers hooking rhythmically, your thighs clenching around his face, squishing his cheeks hard by accident.
More sounds spilled from your mouth like a true downpour, unrestrained now, that knot in your stomach coiling firmer by the second. Your hand scrambled to hold onto Phainon’s hair more tightly, the other one fisting in the sheets above your head, and when your grip turned desperate, he just laughed again, a dark, elated sound, letting you drag him however deep you liked, tongue coaxing moan after moan from your trembling lips.
“There we go.” Phainon’s voice was muffled as he briefly pulled away, just far enough to speak. “Such pretty sounds from my [Name], gods, aren’t you a sweet thing?” He purred, obviously delighted by the state that his own tongue and fingers put you in, probably smirking with self-satisfaction.
Flustered, you knocked your calf against the back of his head, urging him to continue. Phainon snorted but obliged without any further delay, resuming his ministrations with redoubled efforts, having you keen and whine as the pressure in your underbelly finally snapped like a herd of startled rabbits, body shaking in spastic movements. Your hips canted into Phainon’s mouth, limbs pulling him snugly against you; at that moment, you did not care whether you were smothering him or cutting off oxygen, for he said that he could drown in you, and that must count for something.
Phainon didn’t relent, didn’t pull back, didn’t dare breathe as he continued to wring out every last tremor from your climax. He moaned, then, quite loudly, the fingers of his unoccupied hand gripping onto your flesh hard enough to bruise — while you didn’t understand what provoked such a reaction, you were also too loopy to even endeavor in pondering that. Only when your thighs finally slackened around him did Phainon gentle his tongue, tearing himself off and pulling his fingers out with a great gasp for air.
In that short moment of lull when neither of you spoke, you simply stared at each other, both dazed in their own ways, panting to catch your breaths and attempting to allay the thunderstorm that just broke out beneath your skin. Then Phainon smiled, his entire chin and mouth dripping in your wetness, and despite everything, you smiled back.
Still, there was one aspect budging you, so you said, “and what about your own needs? Surely, you…”
Chuckling quietly, Phainon dragged his body above yours, plastering himself back over your spent form. “My needs? What about them, [Name]?” He queried almost humorously and you felt something, a damp patch of his chiton pressed up against your bare thigh.
Disbelief washed over your expression, eyes going wide as you blinked up at Phainon. Did he really come untouched, just from pleasuring you? It appeared so abstract that one was capable of obtaining such a thing without any sort of physical stimulation, especially since you never saw him humping the mattress or even stroking himself, both hands occupied. Wasn’t it… sort of concerning?
Noticing the disconcerted look you donned, Phainon shrugged before licking his fingers and lips clean, only giving a sound of amusement as if that explained anything. “As I said earlier today, I’ll ask where to wash the clothes in the morning.” The man hummed, grabbing the sheets and carefully attempting to get the mess sticking to your things under control. You felt bad for whoever would be on laundry duty.
“You’re impossible.” You muttered, sending him a half-hearted frown.
Phainon’s face was suddenly near enough for you to see how the corner of his lip curled into a lopsided smirk. “Oh, but I don’t see you cursing me out or telling me to go home.” He chuckled, finally lying down, tugging the duvet over your bodies before hugging up to your side snugly, impossibly close, like a serpent. “You need me, don’t you?”
That made you pause for just a second, eyebrows drawing together. “Perhaps…” you admitted without actual commitment to your words, though it still gained you a delighted noise from Phainon, his strong arm tightening along your ribs.
With a soft sigh, you trailed your gaze over to the window — the sky was finally cloudless, more stars appearing there, and so you looked at all the shimmering points, trying to count them as you felt that post-coital clarity slowly washing over your mind, heart kicking up into an afflicted rhythm. What you just did, not to mention with who, suddenly appeared so overwhelming in its severity.
Maybe you were being too paranoid. Maybe it was the lingering alcohol running through your bloodstream. Or maybe it was entirely your fault for not feeling even remotely regretful, judgement clearer than earlier and yet still devoid of any remorse.
Phainon’s breath already steadied against your skin. You could feel the brush of his eyelashes on your shoulder. “Hey, Phainon,” you began, vision still fixed on the night sky outside. “If you saw a shooting star, what would you wish for?”
There was a pause. Then, he huffed out a small chuckle. “I’d wish for all shooting stars to disappear forever.”
You swallowed thickly, hand slowly caressing his back, and for the first time since that accident in the mountains, your eyesight blurred again.
The next morning, so the tenth day of your journey, started out quite hurriedly. So hurriedly that you could not really gather your bearings before Phainon was already dragging you out of the bed, insisting that you get up just a few seconds after you managed to blink your eyes open, the world still appearing hazy and confusing. You could not comprehend the reason for his sudden haste, nor did you try to question it.
Things only started to irritate you when you finally walked downstairs, Phainon giving the key away. Castorice appeared very content to see you, already sending you a sweet smile, eyes gleaming with some sort of familiarity and still-fragile yet obviously present bond that you had formed the night before, sharing your deep-rooted woes and fears and hopes. Naturally, you smiled back, exchanging a few pleasantries that were purposefully inconspicuous enough to not rouse Phainon’s suspicions or paranoia. Despite wanting to talk with Castorice for a bit longer, you’ve been interrupted by the man who stood beside you all this time and gripped onto your arm just a wee too hard, the corner of his lips curled, eyes narrowed as if in harsh assessment of the completely guiltless girl in front of you.
With firm decisiveness, Phainon said that it’s time to leave. Perplexed, you sent him an incredulous look, but he was already tugging you away, explaining that the laundry can be done later by some river, and that you’ve got enough food so you obviously don’t need to eat the breakfast at the inn. It made no sense. You could not understand why Phainon was suddenly changing all of his decisions so impulsively, so rashly, as though there was some unspoken, invisible threat waiting for you at this inn, that had him panic and go as soon as possible.
Ultimately, you did not have your promised breakfast with Castorice, nor were you able to hold a proper conversation with her. Gods, you didn’t even say goodbye, Phainon dragging you away so fast that once he swiveled you around, you could no longer even glance over your shoulder — the last thing you can recall seeing is Castorice’s unsettled expression, widened twins of violet staring at you while Phainon was too occupied dictating his own terms.
That whole ordeal left you feeling rather bitter and disappointed, though as always, you couldn’t stay mad at Phainon for too long. It was for certain that you’d return to the southern village soon, greet Castorice again and start over as a clean slate, devoid of reputation, people’s opinions, ugly rumors or unflattering words swimming from mouth to mouth. As for now, you had a bigger fish to fry, which was killing the beast.
Phainon walked at a steady pace, one fitting for your injured foot, appearing quite relaxed. “You know, I’ve been wondering which part of the beast we should take to Okhema with us.” You mused, adjusting the strap of your travel bag around your shoulder. Somehow, you were able to convince Phainon to pass it over to you, insisting he needed his full agility and should not be hindered by any additional weight. He, of course, was very reluctant to agree, but he eventually did upon some more persuasion.
The man sent you a sidelong look, humming under his breath in consideration. “And what did you decide?”
“Well, I think taking the whole carcass would be too much, even for you. So we won’t do that.”
“How thoughtful.” Phainon snickered, the summer sky reflecting in his eyes as they crinkled, azure mixing with that unique shade you could never name. “But you’re right, [Name], aiding you while also dragging the whole body behind us would be far too challenging. Even for me.”
“Assuredly.” Reciprocating the man’s smile, you let him shift his hold on your arm, getting more comfortable. “Which is why we’re taking the head. That should send a message, no?”
Phainon laughed at your words, shaking his head, “oh, I love your confidence. And what if that beast catches us off guard and eats us both? What will you do then?”
You snorted, sending him a half-exasperated, half-amused look. “Then we’ll rip its belly open from the inside.”
“Grim.” He said, eyebrows arching. “Still effective, I suppose.”
That caused the two of you to break out into easy laughter, and you were incredibly grateful to have Phainon beside you at this crucial moment; to have him, unchanged, humorous, not an inkling of any awkward air between you. When you were falling asleep the night before, you were quite certain that something would change between you. After all, what you did was, well, a particularly intimate act that usually tilts the whole dynamic or at least some parts of it, demanding the participants to become closer, like a couple, like two lovers. Or maybe you were just naive and innocent, believing that any sort of intercourse should tether people together. Apparently, rules of romantic novels didn’t apply to real life.
“Either way, we’re going to defeat the beast and I’ll be finally free.” You hummed, tone jaunty, and you’d skip forward in your happiness if not for the bad foot that still weighed you down like a very uncomfortable shackle.
Phainon glanced at you, yet he didn’t respond, the curve of his smile faint now. And you didn’t bother him anymore, thinking that he must be perhaps nervous or uncertain, already fretting about the fight with the beast, even though he still seemed at ease, muscles relaxed and sword hidden in its scabbard. But it was fine. Everything would be just fine.
Time passed, maybe an hour, you were unsure since the sun barely moved its position, still beating down on your nape. The path that you were currently treading on finally narrowed, softening as it rose just a bit higher, winding on the uneven mountainside — clusters of flowers littered it, dense patches of pale yellow and muted violets, whites catching the light, colors spreading in beautiful abundance, all shifting faintly with the gentle breeze. The ground seemed less disturbed here, less worn, an obvious indicator that fewer passed this way, a partially abandoned route with no living soul in sight.
Eventually, the incline eased and the path did not end as much as it simply dissolved, losing its firm shape amidst the grasses until it became indistinguishable from the land itself. Beyond it, the terrain opened wider. A vast stretch of beargrass filled the slope, rising in wan, silvery-green tufts. Each cluster stood tall, its long blades bowing with the rising wind, their surfaces catching the sunlight so that the entire field seemed to shift between brightness and shadow. Wide-eyed, you glanced around yourself, assessing the area, heart beginning to hammer with anticipation of what was about to come. You squeezed Phainon’s hand. Wordless, he squeezed it back.
The field spread farther than you initially thought, extending and then dipping slightly in rolling lines. Here and there, the ground filled up with water, small ponds forming in these shallow basins, their surfaces holding the deeply azure firmament above your heads, cloudless and uninterrupted. Among the rises of the land, dark openings broke through the surface, cave mouths, yawning back at you with their narrow blackness. Most little and barely noticeable, others descending into darkness so horrid that you dared not look at them for too long. Closer to the edge of the field, the terrain shifted again, trees outlining it, hugging it all together.
It was a prepossessing sight that had your breath hitching, and suddenly you understood very well why Castorice yearned for this place, you could see why she longed so badly to visit it once more, why her mother thought it nonexistent. Anyone would be enchanted by its beauty, even Phainon appeared speechless, his usual nonchalance stomped down by the charm these fields held.
“We’re… we’re finally here,” you breathed, still in disbelief that you somehow managed to reach this place from your prophetic dream. Ten days of struggle, but you found it.
Phainon nodded slowly, eyes drifting from one place to another. “I find it hard to believe that it truly exists,” he said, sounding rather stunned, almost confused.
You could easily stand there, rooted in place, admiring your surroundings till the sun dipped behind the mountain ridges and shrouded the world in darkness, but you had a goal to obtain. So you tore yourself free from Phainon’s hold, taking a few tentative steps forward. The state of your foot still wasn’t ideal, you had to admit, the irritating ache sometimes rendering you weak and unable to move, though right now you were willing to ignore the pain, ignore any obstacle that stood between you and your freedom.
“Let’s split up and try to localize that beast.” You announced, already heading left, feeling the determination and desperation both mixing within your chest and urging you forward.
“Is it wise?” Phainon questioned, but made no move to stop you.
Glancing over your shoulder, you sent him a reassuring smile. “Certainly not. Still, that is my wish.”
The man relented easily enough, which was near puzzling with how overprotective he could get when it came to your wellbeing — he merely said to call out to him if any wild animal tried to attack you, then started walking right, leaving you to your own devices.
Without thinking too hard, you began to trudge through the beargrass, its white tufts brushing against your bare skin, the sensation almost ticklish. The entire time, you kept your guard up, paranoid of any sound, even simple bird calls making you jump in fright, as if the beast would suddenly lunge at you from behind and rip your vulnerable body to shreds. Fortunately, you had your poisonous blade with you. That gave you enough confidence to push your jitters away, feeling just slightly assured by the weapon that Castorice gifted you with.
You passed over the cave mouths and ponds, looking in each of them, seeking out the beast. Much to your dismay, it was nowhere to be found. Sure, you did spot a few dens, yet each of them was empty, devoid of any signs of this fiend that you needed to slaughter. Then there were some signs of life, all of them seemingly too small and too vague to belong to a larger animal, prints and any other things appearing useless. While you were no hunter, lacking in experience that would let you track the beast, you could easily tell that it just wasn’t here.
Against your earlier assurance, you were starting to waver. Convictions were one thing, but the actual state of how things stood? You straightened out, sighing heavily, eyebrows narrowed as you studied the vast surroundings with your keen gaze. On the far end, you could spot Phainon’s head, his white hair nearly blending in with the beargrass, as if he was one of the stalks too — there were the ponds, the mountains so clear that you could count each tree perched atop its rocky sides, the forest stretching far beyond this field. Everything was just like in your prophetic dream, so that must’ve been the right place.
Shoving your doubts aside, you forced yourself to keep going, dragging your feet to one of the ponds in order to refresh. You knelt in front of it, looking into the crystal-clear water and the little rocks that made the bed, examining your sad-looking reflection for just a second longer than needed. Messy hair that you forgot to brush in the morning, the morose curl of your lips that were still split. Then the bruises covering one side of your face, sitting just beneath your eye, already healing from ugly purple into a more amiable yellow-green. What a great warrior you made. Surely, everyone will believe your story with all these injuries that your visage has to carry.
Leaning down, you dipped your face in the pond’s cool water. That was enough to restore some of your energy, so you followed it up by taking a few generous sips before finally standing up and resuming your search.
More time passed, two hours, if your calculations of the sun’s position shifting were correct. You’ve already made several laps around the beargrass fields and by then, the beast appeared to be some faraway concept that resides on another southern mountain, far from here, hidden away from the steel of your blade. It’s not like hope abandoned you completely, though you were starting to get nervous, anxiety tugging at the edges of your psyche.
The environmental conditions were becoming rather poor, too. Since the current year’s summer was especially humid and hot, a storm began to approach. Previously clear skies of blue now turned an intense indigo, electric and ominous, wind picking up so hard that the trees seemed to bend in half, beargrass swaying from one side to another in a wild dance, disturbed by the strong gusts. Even if your surroundings turned all dark, the sun still pushed through the dense clouds, coloring the grass in vivid yellow. It was both a terrifying and beautiful contrast, one that made you pause to admire it for a short minute in your tiredness.
That’s true, you were exhausted beyond belief. Fatigue had you tripping more frequently, stumbling clumsily over rocks and weeds that your shoe got occasionally tangled in, foot aching more and more. You were absolutely convinced that by now, you’d have already defeated the beast and descended triumphant. And you were wrong.
In the distance, you could see Phainon’s silhouette, his head tilted as he observed the stormy sky. Reluctant to temporarily give up your search, you headed in his direction, trying not to wince too hard whenever you stepped on your bad foot, knowing that if he were to see, he’d probably scold you for overworking yourself and demand that you remain firmly planted to his side.
Hearing the rustle behind him, Phainon soon turned back to face you. His posture was easy, unperturbed, sword still in its scabbard as if he was assured that this beast would not try to attack him, and that made you frown, wondering how he could act so nonchalant while the chance of getting suddenly pounced or even stalked was high.
“The beast’s not here.” You said, hastily brushing the hair that got in your eyes with each gust of wind.
The man shrugged. “I can see that much.”
“Perhaps it just ventured out into the forest to hunt.” Honestly, you didn’t know, but it seemed like the only logical explanation. “We should hide somewhere and wait.”
Phainon’s expression couldn’t be defined as enthusiastic, arms folding over his chest as he measured you. “The storm’s coming, [Name], where would we even hide?”
“Well, do you see any other option?” You retorted, heat of ire rushing to your cheeks.
“We could turn back now and head to the southern village. It’s still not too late.”
“But—” you breathed, agitated and desperate, “but the beast—”
“The beast is not here, you said so yourself.” The tone of his voice was calm when he interrupted you, near indulgent, as though he was talking to a spooked animal. “I don’t know, truthfully. I say we turn back, since neither me or you spotted any signs of that creature being there.”
“What’re you suggesting?” You hissed, affronted. “Phainon, we mustn’t, I swear to every god that this is the place from my prophetic dream, it really is!”
“Yet none of us were able to even confirm where that creature might be hiding.”
“So… what you’re saying is that you’re willing to give up? For good?”
In theory, you could walk back to the village, wait out the storm at the inn and get on the move again; but who knows when the downpour might stop, who knows how long it’ll take. In the worst case, you’d have to wait until tomorrow. And what if tomorrow the storm comes too? What if the scenario repeats itself? You really didn’t have much time to spare, Phainon clearly stated, in the letter you left behind at his house, that you’d be back after three weeks. If you’re not, then what? Would they send a search party after you? Most probably, yes. You simply could not back out, not now, not when everything you fought so hard for suddenly teetered on just one final act.
The man sighed, heavy and long-suffering. “Think logically, [Name].”
“I am!” Your tone rose and cracked with urgency. “It is you who’s spewing nonsense right now, can’t you see? How could we give up after such tremendous efforts?”
Phainon clicked his tongue. “We are not giving up. The beast is simply not here.”
“Not here?” You echoed, feeling something stronger than mere irritation rising in your chest.
“Exactly, not here.”
“And how can you be so sure?”
“I don’t know, but it’s not here, and now you’re just acting stubborn.” He said, obviously dismissive. Like your father. Like everybody else.
With your pride and feelings hurt, you sharply turned away from Phainon, taking a few steps to distance yourself from him, suddenly feeling as if you were no longer speaking to your friend but a stranger donning his skin. How can it be that this ever-supportive, always docile and understanding man turned into whatever was now standing a few paces behind you? Despite trying your hardest, you could not comprehend it. You simply couldn’t.
And you were furious. Panting harshly, trying to get a grip on yourself, you stared into the yellowed grass, letting the wind bat aggressively at your exposed skin, tangling your locks even more, stinging your burning eyes. The truth that you’ve been trying to run away from appeared to catch up to you, grasping at your ankles and rendering you hopeless — for you’ve always been alone. A never-changing factor of your life. Something you could not elude, no matter how much you talked yourself into thinking otherwise.
Did Phainon ever believe you? Or did he only pretend, lying to you all this time? No, no, it couldn’t have been true, because why would he deceive you for such a long time? The dreadful questions without any answers swarmed in your mind, coloring it darker and darker, like locusts, eating away at the remnants of your sanity and leaving nothing behind.
Still on the verge of tears, you turned around to gauge his form, hoping that maybe it was just a sick daydream, a hallucination evoked by your lethargic brain and the heat.
Phainon stood exactly where he was earlier, yet this time his head was turned away from you, eyes locked on the distant line of trees that kept on bowing low to the ground, painted eerie gold by the intense sun. You were unable to tell what reveries were passing through his head at that moment, expression unreadable. The white of his tousled hair contrasted with the indigo sky, same as his fair skin and the ivory-shaded chiton he was clad in, and then you thought that his whole form was light.
(Can you see my snout and the coat of mine, light as day?
The familiar words resounded at the back of your head ominously.)
Almost subconsciously, you reached into your travel bag, fingers curling around the bronze handle of the poisoned blade. You took it out discreetly, slowly, gently unwrapping it from the thick cloth, pressing it to the back of your thigh as you wondered how hard you’d have to shove it in order to pierce through the padding on the beast’s underbelly.
Phainon’s gaze finally fell back on you. The wind continued to beat the short tufts of his locks around, making him appear somehow younger than he really was, a nearly mean smile starting to stretch his lips. A short, disbelieving gasp of air ripped free from your lungs when you looked into his eyes, for how could you ever be so blind to their cornflower shade?
(You’d toss the two cornflowers out, no matter if flowers are meant to be cherished.
The echo of your mind sounded like a tolling bell.)
And then you thought: what really was that beast all along?
Your legs moved instantly, like some greater being pulling at the stings attached to your limbs, dragging you forward even though you did not will yourself to go, still keeping the blade hidden behind your back, fingers tight and trembling around the handle, the intricate ornaments depicting flowers and butterflies, so innocent in their deadliness, digging into your flesh upon your unyielding grip.
Phainon’s smile widened. “Finally admitting I was right?” He threw in your direction, utterly self-satisfied.
Despite wishing that things were different, despite the overwhelming sorrow flooding every single crevice of your heart, you knew what you were going to do. And that hurt. Gods, it hurt so much, despair winding around your ribs and lungs, squeezing till you had no more air to breathe, but your legs just wouldn’t listen, the feverish conviction urging you to go, go, move against all of your instincts begging you to stop.
(I don’t think death should be cruelly prolonged or painful, Castorice said to you, only yesterday.
This blade shall slay your beast near immediately. It’ll not suffer before passing, for death will come and take it the moment it closes its eyes.
The pain that comes with taking a life is great, miss [Name], but you must weather it if you wish to regain your freedom.)
Yes, you thought to yourself, tears already blurring your sight, you were going to kill him. There was no other way.
(The only sound around you was the unrelenting wind, the faraway howl of some animal and the frightened call of birds as they scattered all around, seeking shelter before the upcoming storm. This part of the mountain held no civilization, no human life. No one herded sheep here anymore, no one ventured out into the southern path leading to the beargrass fields. Only the ghosts, only the forgotten laughter of what once was.
The numerous cave openings and ponds were located here for a reason, you realized. Who in their right mind would search through them? Perhaps just the starving animals, yearning to fill their stomachs. Everything was right before your eyes and you were unseeing this entire time, naive in your blind belief in the god who sent you that vision.)
A singular teardrop rolled down your cheek, swept away with the wind as you finally stumbled in front of Phainon, unable to look into his eyes, too cowardly to watch the initial confusion forming into hurt then fright once you made that blow. But you needed to be brave, so many people always told you this, beckoning you to keep your sight straight ahead instead of backing away.
Freedom awaited you just behind that one action.
Gathering courage, you whipped your arm from behind your back, pointing the blade at Phainon’s abdomen and thrusting it forward — except his hand shot out to catch it at the very same moment, grabbing you by the wrist so hard that your bones seemed to creak. The pain instantly caused you to falter, a gasp of shock ripping from your throat as you now grasped the handle with both hands, wrestling to push it forth with all your might.
Both of you struggled for a moment, more tears falling from your eyes as you groaned and cried, trying so hard to either thrust the blade, angle it as to at least somehow slice through the man’s skin, maybe force yourself away from his deadly grip, you didn’t know at that point, panic clouding your judgement.
The blade continued to shake along with the tremble of your hands, the fight that broke out between you. Then again, what would you even do after killing Phainon? You wouldn’t be able to return to Okhema, but starting over at the southern village was out of question, too. And what would his parents go through? Cyrene? Mydei? All of his companions from the army?
Phainon’s other hand finally clasped around your remaining wrist, his bitter laugh grating at your ears as you swallowed around the falling tears, hiccuping. “As much as I adore you, [Name], I’ve always known that you’re mentally unwell, coming up with all these ‘prophetic’ dreams and whatnot,” he huffed, voice strangled somewhere between humorless amusement and anger, “but this is an another level of your foolishness.”
Still gasping for air, you sniffled, Phainon’s frigid words washing over you like cold water. Did he really deem you as ill? Insane in the head? For that entire time, way before you set out on this long journey, you were convinced that Phainon wasn’t like the others, that he didn’t look down on you. That maybe, just maybe, he understood you.
And how terribly wrong you were. Now, as you still struggled with the blade, his bigger hands curling around your wrists and causing pain, you were starting to see that you must’ve been led astray by your own false perception of things. A great misunderstanding conjured up by your overly naive and optimistic mind, one which caused you to brush over all else that should’ve arisen concern.
You remembered how Phainon talked with your father, just eleven days ago. Saying that you seemed ‘out of sorts’, how a pleasant company in the form of a godsdamned goat would surely soothe any of your woes, that even his very own mother suggested he should gift you with one, that Cyrene agreed to his plan without any hesitation, his whole family and circle of friends probably already convinced of how utterly disturbed you were as an individual.
Then there was the ‘therapeutic trip’ excuse. Sure, you eventually agreed that it wasn’t so terrible, but only because Phainon somehow managed to turn the situation around and make himself out to be your accomplice. He wasn’t, not really, not anymore. What else could he have included in that short letter back at his house? What else did he lie about, most likely making you out to be cray, in need of treatment? Was it even an excuse to begin with?
Phainon often made sure to point out how unhappy you were. How sorry you constantly acted, how much you cried in your despondency. Assured of his actions and opinions, he first turned you against Mydei, hammering some fallacies into your head before you could even realize it, convincing you that he understood your sorrows and sensitive nature. But those hand-fed words passed into your mind simply weren’t true and what else could you do now?
With tears in your eyes, you finally forced yourself to look up, gauging Phainon’s expression; brows drawn together, lips tight, twisting into a snarl and something much different, much less angry — almost sad-like. Subtle misery settled there, making him appear rejected, hurt. But it would be hard to notice such a vague detail if not for your own experiences, if not for your own melancholy that dragged behind you every day like an abandoned dog from the nether.
“What…?” You breathed, feeling the adrenaline slowly leaving your body, rendering you more vulnerable. “What are you saying, Phainon…? Why are you acting this way?”
The man didn’t answer at first, letting you struggle until you were finally worn from any strength or fight. You noticed, completely resigned, how close the blade was from sinking into his stomach, just one centimeter away from its goal. One too many.
Then Phainon suddenly twisted your wrist, making you yelp in surprise-pain, more tears flowing as he tore the poisonous blade away from your hold and threw it over his shoulder, making it disappear amidst the tall stalks of beargrass, first thunder finally snapping through the unsettling stillness of your surroundings. It was loud enough to make you recoil, shoulders curling over to your ears in fright.
“Let me turn the question around, [Name].” Phainon began, still holding onto your limbs securely but not as roughly as before. “Why were you trying to stab me here? Why were you trying to kill me when I’ve been nothing but good to you?” The sound of his voice was enough to make you perturbed, unused to hearing him both so furious and miserable.
You yanked yourself backwards, but seeing that it was futile, you simply scowled, saying, “because you are the beast, Phainon. You!”
“Me?” He scoffed, befuddled, eyes going wide as an incredulous smile stretched the corners of his lips. “If I am the beast, then that must make the two of us.”
These words caused you to flinch, eyelids clenching shut together as you sobbed, somewhere deep down knowing it was true, for you just attempted to end someone’s life in order to regain yours. Wasn’t it selfish? It absolutely was, though still, you could not find much guilt left in your heart, not much to give away to Phainon, anyway. You felt like throwing up.
Only a few days ago, you were so grateful for his help that you’d do anything to please him, to make him happy, to make him look upon you with favor. Now it all felt so stupidly useless, like trying to catch snow in your palms and praying it would stay forever. But the snow will melt away like everything else, for such is the inevitable course of life, all things leaving, leaving, never staying as they were. You are still holding the snow now, but it is no longer cold and frozen on your skin, just a mild puddle of water.
Phainon tugged at your wrists to get your attention back, surprisingly gentle, the action causing you to stagger only partially. “I see you still must be confused, with the way you’re acting. But don’t worry, I’ll explain everything, like I always do.” Your eyes finally opened, vision clouded by your tears, seeking out Phainon’s face even now, mind mixing up the source of danger with what it proclaimed as safety. “A few months back, I realized you do not wish to marry me. At least not willingly, that is.”
“Naturally,” he continued, “I inferred that something needs to be done about this unfortunate predicament. Of course I would never want my wife to be unhappy. But, you see, I just didn’t know what. No matter what I did, you seemed to push my advances away, making up all sorts of excuses till I was bereft of your attention for weeks on end.
“It killed me. It genuinely killed me. [Name], if only you knew how much sorrow your absence brought me, then you’d surely rethink your actions.” Phainon chuckled emptily. “In any case, your sudden need to embark into the mountains was like a godsend. Not that I ever believed your little story about all these prophetic dreams and beasts and whatnot…
“But such a long walk is hard, and I thought that you evidently needed to wear yourself out. To finally calm down and stop musing about all these— these silly ideas and concepts that do not exist.” Pausing, he leaned down a little bit to look into your eyes better, suddenly so soft-spoken and docile. “And I must’ve been right, for you’ve been acting quite happy during our entire trek.”
Another thunder rolled somewhere in the distance. You felt the need to retort anyhow, to deny everything Phainon said, yet he pushed on, not letting you speak, “all I had to do was to give you a small push. Something to help you understand that I am willing to take care of you, to protect you, that I can be a good husband.” His lips curved into the familiar, gentle smile, the same one which always lulled you into mellowness. “Against whatever you might think, I am insecure. But after all the things we did together, after you let me have my way with you last night — you must love me. There is no other option.”
Hearing these words, you felt your stomach churn, finally gathering enough strength to tear yourself away and take a few steps back, even though it was obvious that Phainon let you go willingly. You took a shaky breath, brain still failing to grasp what the man just said. Many said your naive nature could doom you sooner or later, that it wasn’t prudent to put so much good faith in people, and yet you did, you did despite everything that you experienced.
And perhaps this is exactly why you were now in such a hopeless situation. Shaken, you found that your tongue went numb from the accumulated betrayal, pain and fear, knees wobbling so hard you nearly fell over. Your mouth opened and closed, yet nothing coherent came out of your struggle. The ache in your foot was getting unbearable.
With tears still rolling down your face, you looked at Phainon who simply stood there and did nothing, distantly reminding you of that one hunting trip you went on with your families, you, Mydei and him. How your parents gathered around the stricken fox, unhurried, knowing the animal would not run away when so severely wounded before someone finished it off.
A single glance over your shoulder told you enough. Even praying to Kephale, the benevolent Sky Father of all, would not be able to help you. Paralyzed, you couldn’t move, legs rooted in the ground.
The violets swaying on the lower path beneath the incline reminded you of Castorice, of how you weren’t even able to say goodbye — how she must be waiting for your return, wishing to see your face again after all those promises that you’ve made. How she’ll continue waiting. Then the vision of Mydei’s face flashed through your mind, the way he looked at you with so much remorse like it was his fault and you were utterly doomed no matter the outcome. Like he knew. Like he hoped that you’d emerge victorious, even if all the stakes were against you from the very beginning. The beautiful amber-gold of his eyes dissipated just as quickly as it arrived.
You missed your mother, too. She passed away so long ago, but you never came to terms with the fact that she won’t be returning anytime soon, sometimes waking up with so many things to tell her before remembering she’s gone. She’d side with you if it ever came to this engagement during her life, coming up with a solution to your problem. And she’d wipe your tears away the same way she always did, saying how you needn’t worry, that everything would be alright.
Even your own awful father, you suddenly longed for the warmth of his embrace, for how he used to be in the past. Long before greed consumed his mind, before he became what he was currently. You’d like to return to how things once were, yet now, standing on this cursed mountain, you came to a conclusion that it is probably impossible.
Finally, your sight rose to focus on Phainon’s face again.
There was a method to his madness, you thought, and no method to how easily you put your trust in him and submitted to his every single whim like a mindless fool.
Phainon eventually shifted, though he did not move forward, merely spreading his arms in something akin to mock-invitation. “[Name], you can run. I won’t stop you, of course, I already told you that I’d respect every choice of yours.” He paused, a knowing look to his eyes. “But I’d advise you to decide wisely.”
Once more, you managed to peek behind yourself, tempted to go and simply sprint down this winding path, yet the ache in your foot was a constant reminder of how futile this attempt would be. There was a chance you might run for two meters, maybe more, but then the man would simply tackle you to the ground.
When you looked back at Phainon, seeing these familiar features, that strained smile with an undercurrent of thinly-veiled dismay, you realized that there’s no way out. It weighed down on your heart so heavily, a thousand boulders crushing you down with helplessness, for even nature itself turned against you, wind picking up rapidly, more deafening thunders cracking through the dark skies. This world was unfair. Your life was unfair.
And in that very moment, you also realized there’s nothing you can do. The first step felt like falling into the abyss, the second one like a simple walk, like a stroll. Phainon’s smile widened, for he knew that in the end, he won. His arms outstretched in your direction, and he said, “that’s right, [Name]. I knew you weren't completely brainless.” The sound of his voice was giddy in a way which made your skin crawl, a barely concealed elation.
Wordless, you let Phainon gather you up into his embrace. Relief immediately washed over you as you leaned against his body, the pain pulsing through your foot finally subsiding, lessening into a dull throb, enough to diminish the dread at the back of your head, screaming at you to stop this folly. Still, you didn’t listen.
“When we return, I’ll give you that goat.” Phainon’s hand reached to stroke along your hair, and all you could do was nod uselessly, too exhausted to even respond. “I’ll give you the horse and whatever it is that you wish for, all of it can be yours.”
“Your desirous father can attend the wedding, I’ll allow that.” Phainon went on, one arm winding around your middle to keep you upright. “But he’s always thought me an imbecile, assured I’d let him take away my wife’s gifts and disrespect her name. Senile old man.” A scoff. “So you’ll move in with me, in the countryside villa back at Aedes Elysiae, that I had rewritten under my possession. I wouldn’t want us to live with my family either, not really, my own father has been such a pain. Do you know how long it took me to convince him that I should marry you instead of some stranger lass I held no interest in? Hah… anyway, I’ll even let you take your dogs. We’ll be alone and happy there, I promise.”
Resigned, you continued to nod your head — and you have betrayed yourself, though the truth seemed to elude your worn mind, as it always did. Beneath your cheek, you could feel Phainon’s erratic heartbeat. It drummed there, thud thud thud, a song of unsettling ecstasy which seemed to run through his entire being, sick devotion turned violent, yet still so heartbreakingly delicate.
The man’s fingers still smoothed up and down your head. His warm, trembling grip both smothered you and alleviated your pain, making you wonder if that’s how you’ll wake up every morning from now on. Maybe there was a chance to avoid this. Surely, there was. You did not take it, though, and that’s where your life of freedom ended.
You’ll see the golden fields, stretching far beyond the reach of eye, their surface rippling just like the sea laid out ahead of all the wheat. You’ll see the grazing cows, the vast pasture, the clear night sky and the olive gardens. The air will still carry the scent of earth and dry grass, warm from the day yet cooling as the evening settles in, but it won’t be as gentle as it used to be. Not anymore.
Phainon’s hand finally paused, instead reaching for your palm, brushing against your ring finger. “I’m sure mother is eager for you to try on the wedding dress she’s been sewing for weeks.”
You looked above, gauging his delirious eyes, the manic curve of his smile. And despite everything, you somehow smiled back.
Series summary: the meaning of freedom becomes none when you’re of descending wealth. And the value of freedom becomes all when you get forced into an unwanted marriage, shackled to a man against your will.
Or, in other words: upon witnessing a prophetic dream, you decide to rip your honor back by force — killing some beast, after all, cannot be that difficult. Your own betrothed agrees to help.
Series warnings: fem!reader, yandere!Phainon, NSFW elements, MDNI, oral sex + fingering (fem receiving), dubious consent (both of them are drunk during the scene), slight asphyxiation, non-canonical setting, Phainon is reader’s fiancé, arranged marriage, power imbalance, jealousy, manipulation, possessive behaviors, toxicity, misogyny (not described in detail), brief mentions of animal hunting, mentions of death; descriptions of injury, blood and puking; alcohol consumption, physical violence, please do check tags for more || wc: 16.5k
I. A WANT IS NOT A NEED RESERVED FOR HUMAN BEINGS
The beast’s eyes fix on you from its den — even when you stand on the soil’s edge, you can still feel the hotness of its breath lapping at your bare ankles. The beast’s hide would make a comely sight, adorning your father’s hearth with its shade, beautiful and silken, for despite being a wretched creature, it is still just as prepossessing.
If you were to take hold of the beast’s head, cut it clean off, slicing through the strings of meat and tendons, forcing the bones to crack and give, then you’d surely be deemed worthy. As worthy as a man can be, worthier than those surrounding you.
You’d toss the two cornflowers out, no matter if flowers are meant to be cherished. Flesh is for the dogs to eat, your loyal companions, the pets that you’re so fond of, to devour. Gnaw at the ivory, lick the marrow out. Perhaps it is not wise. The beast is evil, not even dogs deserve to be fed that. You’d burn it, then, letting its blood char, its fat to sizzle out into nothing.
And once everyone sees the valor that you carry within your breast, you’ll be set free.
The beast looks at you from its den, still, shrouded by darkness, yet so clear. Your fingers itch to curl around the blade sitting at your hip, though you carry no blades, and your legs yearn to push you forward, into the hollow, yawning maw, into peril and its bared snarl. How easy it would be to slay this beast. How simple it would be to sink the knife in and push it through the padding of its underbelly, to watch it perish in spastic movements.
How utterly, awfully effortless it would be to regain lost dignity and the insouciant life that once was yours.
You take one step, then two. The beast doesn’t seem to be frightened. It cannot be, you think distantly, privately, a quiet realization settling at the back of your mind. With such claws that seem to curve sharper than any weapon, with such fangs that must’ve ripped apart more than just god-forsaken does and bucklings, the beast knows no fear. Yet you walk and walk, feeling as if you’ve no choice.
This must be true, girl, the beast whispers to you, can you see my snout and the coat of mine, light as day? Can you see the release waiting for you, if only you’re willing to show courage? To weather the sting of my teeth and the pain that comes with taking a life?
Beasts — animals — are unable to speak. How is it possible for it to articulate its wicked, barbed words so confidently? Your eyes widen and the hands that grip onto the knife tremble, for it must be a god talking to you, an omen, a warning. A divine being communicating with your pitiable self, trying to aid you. You must be incredibly self-assured to believe that. Somehow, you still do.
Even if you do not understand the beast’s words entirely, it continues, head south, seek me there. Away from all, away from those who may see, by the lakes and caves surrounding fields of tall beargrass — you’ll know when, you’ll know, girl, for you are far smarter and wiser than any eye sees.
And when you defeat me, then you’ll taste the lightness and sweetness of freedom again. Not sooner, not later.
By now, you shuffled your sandaled feet close enough to peer into the beast’s den. And it is large, so, so very large. You wonder how it fits there, into this hole, a cavity etched from an inconspicuous hill of dirt and roots. Trepidation clenches around your hammering heart viciously, you’re terrified by the tongue laving over canines. When looking at your own weak limbs, you cannot help but feel hopeless.
There is no other choice for you. Go on and heed my words forever, lest you be doomed, it says, then lunges forward. Not even a yowl of pain manages to escape your lungs when the beast’s jaws snap closed around your wrists, kicking up your pulse into a wild gallop. You do not see anything else.
Predictably, you did not die, nor were you devoured; but when your eyes shot wide open, a breath of horror catching in your throat, you truly felt dead. Just for that brief second.
Soon enough, you calmed your body down enough to hear the chirping of morning birds outside. The sun did not rise from the window of your modest bedroom, yet its brightness was already there — not irritating as it usually was, no, a gentle warmth spreading over your cheeks, the slope of your nose, soothing your troubled mind. When you looked to your side, you could see clear skies with just a few altocumuli clouds. A row of tall poplars, the distant peaks of mountains.
You sat up, kicking the sheets off. Your head hurt. It was pounding like some sort of a stampede, though the fresh air filling up your room helped, if only just a little. That dream… it was unsettling. Perhaps you were foolish to hope this wasn’t another prophecy to weigh down on your shoulders, but you knew better by now. Humans with enough intelligence always learn from their past experiences. They are capable of understanding that things of certain nature, no matter how problematic those may be, are inevitable.
Such was your current case, it would seem. Frustrated, you raked your fingers through your hair, huffing. You knew it’s no use trying to deny what you saw. Gods seem to regard you with either fondness or contempt, for they always send you visions that leave you more confused than before.
Eight years ago, you had foreseen the impending death of your now late mother — no one believed you, so you didn’t believe yourself either. Just a foolish dream made up by the mind of a foolish girl. She passed, of course, but not a single person who dared laugh in your face thought to reconsider their skepticism.
Then seven years ago, you dreamt of your father’s downfall. The man was not very bright or sharp, lacking in wits that your mother had aided him with when she was still alive. Your mother was clever, your father was not, and the fortune of your family began to steadily lessen and lessen till you were regarded as stripped of your old honors. A single man with no lover, having one daughter and no sons. How pitiful. Again, no one listened. No matter how badly you begged and cried to your father, pleading for him to understand that you were not deceiving him, he continued to ignore you.
And three years ago, you had another prophetic revelation. A message shrouded in a thick veil of your dreams, as they all were, yet somehow clearer and more specific than any of them. You were to be engaged with Hieronymus’ son at the age of twenty. And it just so happened that your financial situation worsened exactly five months ago, having Hieronymus and your father making a simple agreement — that you’ll marry into their family. That time, you didn’t even attempt letting anyone in on your visions. It was of no consequence either way.
Why Hieronymus agreed to this, you had no idea, for you were not affluent and had nothing to offer. Still, it wasn’t like this marriage would condemn his son to failure; perhaps it was even beneficial for him, in some sort of sense or form. Not like it concerned you, though.
Just as you were getting up from the bed, swinging your stiff legs over the edge, you heard that characteristic voice resounding through the house. Slightly too loud, with a jaunty lilt, melodic enough to humble even the most skilled nightingales. At such an early morning, it was near vexatious. A quiet groan left your lips as you dragged your feet towards the wardrobe, utterly resigned, tugging out a simple chiton to change into.
Your head was still pounding. The shake of your hands did not help as you dressed yourself. That ominous beast from your dream was still sitting at the back of your mind, somewhere, thoughts marred by the sight of its terrifying mouth and eyes, and you wanted it so badly to go away, but it just wouldn’t. Nothing ever went according to your wishes anyway and trying to chase it off was for none.
Once you gathered your bearings and exited the bedroom, you were quick to search for your father. Upon reaching the courtyard, you had to pause, though. It was to be expected, you heard them having a dialogue, after all, but interrupting the scene before you felt almost like trespassing. Is it possible to trespass in your own house? Probably not, even if you felt like you were doing it constantly — stranger to the four walls that you were brought up within.
“Have I told you, sir?” Phainon’s broad back was facing you, though you could clearly hear the smile in his voice. “My friend’s goat — Cyrene’s, you must remember her — recently kidded, they have a doeling,”
Fido, Argos and Kydos, your beloved hounds of beautiful furs and graceful, strong backs, kept circling Phainon as if he were a piece of shank meat hanging on a stick. The man simply laughed as they nudged him with their snouts, demanding more pets, and Phainon obliged, briefly leaning down to give their long heads a few affectionate strokes, laughing some more when they licked at his fingers. Argos even went as far as sitting between his legs, tail thumping happily.
Your father’s eyebrow rose, a curious-like expression on his face, “and why’re you telling me this, Phainon?”
Kydos whined rather loudly, nosing at Phainon’s palm. He ignored it, instead folding his arms. “My dear mother came up with the idea, actually. [Name] has been so out of sorts recently, hasn’t she? Perhaps a pleasant companion would lift her spirits, the doeling is very lovely, I have seen for myself. Cyrene said that she would not mind giving it away, if it’s meant to be a gift for my own betrothed.”
Fido was starting to feel impatient, slobber dripping down the dog’s muzzle. The offer almost made you snort, because how could a simple goat allay your internal troubles? Not to mention, those regarded the impending marriage, despite what Phainon might’ve thought.
“Is that so?” Your father chortled, mildly incredulous but definitely amused, “I’m afraid [Name]’s hounds would deal with it before she could even lay her eyes on the poor thing.”
Somehow, Phainon didn’t seem offended. “You must be right, then. But cabrito does taste good, sir, and it’s healthy too. [Name] should only eat healthy things…”
Because that’s exactly how your current reality looks like. Phainon, the son of a high-ranking officer, a member of Okhema’s army himself, was the one who you were engaged with; or rather, literally given out to. Like a present. Like a particularly uninteresting, average hare that someone hunted down and deemed a worthy trophy.
This man has been present in your life since you both were summer-sweet children, though you cannot say for sure that you were ever genuinely close.
There’s a distant, half-faded memory that you think about sometimes. Back when you were only seven and Phainon was nine, before everything went to hell, your families decided to go for a hunting trip in Okhema’s vast forests. Another boy’s family went too — Mydeimos is his name, a quiet child who grew up into a great warrior. You weren’t fond of horseback riding, you still aren’t, but you got dragged along.
And you remember Hieronymus attempting to strike down a fox. When he did not succeed, your father tried too, then finally Eurypon put an end to the animal’s misery. You were children, so such activities mattered little. While the adults gathered together to celebrate their fire-red catch, you snuck off, too occupied with your own small lives.
Phainon found the fox’s den, then he hopped down, goading you and Mydei to come with him. You thought he was being inept. Mydei agreed with you, because he always did, but the boy’s soft heart caved when Phainon sent him those jilted eyes of a mistreated dog. He tumbled down by a faulty step, ankle catching in some root, both him and Phainon falling on their backsides upon the inevitable collision. It looked silly — they barely fit there.
That much was enough to make you laugh. The brighter one, Mydei, only grumbled and complained, calling Phainon names that would get him scolded harshly if your parents were to hear. But Phainon seemed uncaring, extending his scraped hands towards you. [Name], why won’t you come down with me?, he asked. The fox is not here, even if it was I’d protect you, Phainon pleaded, fingers finally catching on your skirts.
One pull was enough to throw you off-balance and have you rolling down clumsily, though you did not want to. You really, really did not want to. Then you cried for the rest of the trip, having everyone coddle and comfort you. You also don’t know why you didn’t step back when you still had the chance to — if you did, then Phainon wouldn’t have grabbed you, he wouldn’t have caused you to fall and bruise your knees. There was a very good chance to avoid the accident.
But that doesn’t matter now, does it?
Finally, your betrothed’s eyes landed on your form — previously occupied with talking your father’s ear off, he didn’t notice your presence. “[Name]!” Phainon cheered, genuinely surprised. “I didn’t notice you standing there. Why didn’t you come up to us and say hello? We’ve been—”
“I know what you’ve been conversing about, Phainon.” A weak smile stretched your lips as you sighed, stepping closer. “And while I appreciate your thoughtfulness, I also have no need for the doeling. Spare Cyrene her poor animal, father’s right.”
The man visibly deflated at your straightforward rejection, yet he was quick to spring back, putting his hands together. “Then perhaps a little rabbit? She has those too, they—”
Your father clapped Phainon on the shoulder, successfully cutting his logorrhea off, and naturally, you were grateful — whenever Phainon started to wag his tongue, it felt like willingly giving yourself up to an avalanche. Still, you couldn’t help but frown. The truth was simple, you weren’t overly keen on your father, the mere sight of his face enough to make breathing harder.
Who gave you away to marriage that you didn’t want for? Who belittled and undermined every single word of warning coming from your mouth? Who caused the downfall of your family? Who was it if not precisely him? Your affections towards your own parent faltered as quickly as the wan, morning sky gave way to azure above your heads. If anything, you’d prefer Phainon to be the only one speaking. Even if he can be a bother, that chatterbox.
“Since [Name] is up, why don’t we discuss things of actual importance by the dining table?” He finally said, causing Phainon to nod his head rather enthusiastically. You continued to frown, the corner of your lips curled. There went your easy morning. Most assuredly, you were naive to believe that you could ever have a second of reprieve in this cursed house.
It didn’t take long for the three of you to sit by the table inside, its surface already adorned with a humble breakfast that would be a true luxury, in case that you were emaciated mares, for the servant that your father vehemently refused to let go of was already senile. Privately, you thought it to be funny. Overzealous persons with too much pride and boast will not resign from one single sign of wealth left, even if it means eating sludge for dinner and silt for supper.
Unsurprisingly, Phainon was already loading his cheeks with said abomination. The engagement band around his ring finger was not necessary, yet he continued to wear it, just like you did, most likely out of sheer politeness, to simply avoid misunderstandings and conflicts, you were certain. Your vision zeroed on the piece of silver, watching it catch the pale light and glint as Phainon gesticulated, moving his hands around, talking about something.
With great effort, you eventually forced your eyes to lift, your brain to focus. Phainon was still speaking, saying, “my mother’s almost done with the dress. I would love to describe how it looks, though I am forbidden from seeing it before the wedding,”
The twins of blue were glued on you — your betrothed was talking to you, of course he was, yet you somehow failed to understand that. When you didn’t answer, creating an air of awkwardness, Phainon’s attention returned to your father. He chuckled stiffly, smile tight. You were too deep in the darkness of your own thoughts to even consider feeling bad.
“And Cyrene’s very busy coming up with flower arrangements for the bouquets.” Another laugh, still a bit dry. “I tell her that she’s doing too much, she says I need to go search for some exotic flower that I have not ever heard of. Well, I did. It’s nowhere to be found, though…”
Fine, at this point maybe you were starting to feel a little bad. Your father appeared to be entranced by the sloppy semolina porridge inside his bowl, only answering with uncommitted grunts; you, on the other hand, didn’t endeavor to answer at all. Phainon was having a conversation with himself.
It wasn’t anything to be surprised by, though. During your betrothal, your fathers agreed that this marriage would be for financial benefits. Obviously, that didn’t sit right with you, still. What benefits were there? For your family, yes, but for Phainon’s? Nevertheless, your father always made sure to indulge the younger man at least a little — humoring his fickle whimsies, ideas of gifting you with goats, rabbits or even ponies so that your hypothetical children would have a mount to play with. Tolerating Phainon’s babbling, his constant visits, constant musings and constant requests to spend time with you.
But your father’s patience was always thin, just like the floss of your chiton’s embroidery. “And what about the gifts?” He queried, visibly straining to keep his tone amiable.
Dishonorable man, you thought almost angrily, he’d like to sell the wedding gifts. No, he really is going to do it. There’s no stopping a desperate fool, not when covetousness already overtook his heart and senses, blinding, muddling, making the gormless parasite even more avaricious.
Phainon replied with something, honest and open as always, apparently enough to keep your father at bay, for he merely nodded in satisfaction, an agreeable smile stretching his lips. You didn’t even try to interject. It was your father’s most favored topic to talk about, something he was physically unable to refuse himself indulging in, imagining the money that he’ll get, the wealth that’ll return to the hold of his crooked fingers.
He was literally going to rob newlyweds and you, his own daughter, were the pass. Perhaps you should be more offended by the prospect of your father disrespecting you and your soon-to-be-husband to the point where he’d take the gifts and sell them — but there was a problem of bigger scale tugging at your psyche.
Selfishly, you wished for your freedom to return. Greedily, you wanted to snatch it back. Childishly, you needed Phainon’s radiant, stupidly handsome face to disappear from your life altogether and leave you alone. No other man’s family would be dense enough to agree to marrying you.
But… maybe not all is lost. You tuned out Phainon’s chatter, your father’s grating words. There was hope — and you haven’t got the chance to think of it properly yet, but the beast still lurking at the back of your head seemed to sneer. When you remembered its claws and fangs, the beast turned amused, its dark lips lifting. It did not look like a smile, though. More like a mean smirk, a snarl, a condescending: so you’ve finally decided to stop being cowardly and take what was given?
Killing the beast wouldn't come easy, even if its promises of glory and honor tempted you to take on the task by yourself. This wretched fiend, where could it be hiding? South, you remembered, a field of beargrass with cave openings littered all around, mountains hugging the area. There was someone who could help. Someone capable of wrestling with the beast’s muscular, large body, of besting its strong paws and snapping jaws.
“Excuse me,” you said suddenly, causing both your father and Phainon to pause. “But I am feeling rather ill. A walk in the fresh air will be enough to fix my state, I’m sure,”
“[Name], you’re unwell?” Phainon fired back just as quickly, standing up when you did, eyes already wide with concern. “Then you mustn’t go on the walk alone, what if something happens? The heat is too much today. You’ll only faint or worse.” He walked up to you without sparing a glance at your father, slightly leaning down to examine your face. The amount of genuine worry there nearly made you pause.
You averted your eyes. “I’ll be fine, Phainon. Stay with father or go home.” It was all you managed to say before pushing past the taller man, accidentally knocking your shoulder against his arm. Phainon barely budged. Then he was being ushered back by your father, who obviously didn’t mind the lack of your presence, insisting that they discuss some money-related details more.
Was it wise to take everything for granted? No, but you and your father were of the same blood, and his desperation seemed to rub off on you. This beast, this animal that has no right to exist, you’ll make sure it sees its end soon enough. If, by the gods’ opinion, that much is going to grant you freedom, then you’ll do it, doesn’t matter what it takes — it could gnaw your limbs away and swallow you whole, at least you’ll die knowing you never gave in to fate’s cruel whims.
Reaching Okhema’s training grounds did take long, for it was a completely different area of the city, with a higher density of citizens, and despite what many people thought, ignorant by their prejudice, this piece of Okhema, occupied mainly by warriors and army, was very welcoming. Colorful, full of camaraderie and connection that others seemed to lack. You rarely visited yet you still loved it, feeling soothed by the lively, fierce nature that dominated over this place.
Then you were looking at him. At the mane of blond-red locks that curled at the ends strikingly — at the handsome musculature he always carried with such feline-like grace. Mydeimos.
You watched him settle the javelin down, both hands reaching to wipe the sweat away from his brow and eyes. The corners of your lips lifted. Against what many thought, Mydei didn’t change much from when he was a little boy. Still the same mannerisms, still the same golden heart. It was uplifting to see someone who stuck with their convictions so deeply, so confidently, without any waver. Mydei’s unorthodox approach remained just as unchanged as the way he shook his hair out, reminding you of a little lion cub that tripped into a puddle.
When the man noticed you smirking from across the training grounds, he frowned. “[Name].”
“Yes?” You couldn’t help the amused expression blooming on your face, eyebrows arching.
As you sashayed closer, Mydei finally sighed, a faint smile softening his sharp features — the slight crinkle of his amber-gold eyes made you just a bit more placid. “I see you’ve decided to visit me. Any particular reason?” He mused, once again attempting to wipe his damp face.
“Who do you take me for, Mydei?” You chuckled, fingers gently flicking the small braid resting over his shoulder. The man didn’t even attempt to bat your hand away. “Perhaps I simply wished to see my old friend. You know, despite being busy, I still do miss you.”
Mydei’s arms crossed over his bare chest. “True, you are busy.” A scoff. “Busy planning the wedding with that imbecile, assuredly. Is he causing you trouble?”
You kissed your teeth, smile waning. Somehow, Mydei had this uncanny ability to pinpoint exactly what kept you awake at night, what caused your stomach to drop and your heart to clench. He was perceptive, especially when it came to you.
“Actually…” you trailed off, tentative of how to approach the topic. This situation as a whole was already ridiculous, and Mydei was known for his no-nonsense attitude; always clear-headed, always the rational one.
Seeing your hesitation, Mydei’s expression hardened. “What? Was I right to suspect that Phainon did something to upset you?”
Phainon upsetting you on purpose was definitely a stretch, for that man seemed to dance around your orbit like some kind of a jester, if only to appease you. Still, there was some truth to it. The fact that you’d have to marry Phainon was your main concern, a thorn stuck in the sole of your foot. A constant ache.
And, if you are correct, there is only one way to deal with that. The dice have been already thrown — maybe it was Janus’ benevolence that allowed you to hold a conversation with that beast in the first place. It could have been Oronyx too, their kind nature letting you see. Cerces, perhaps, was a logical possibility as well, extending their divine wisdom towards you like an olive branch. Who knows? Not like it’s of any significance now. The beast must be slain, that message sent to you through your prophetic dream was clear.
“It’s… not like that,” you lowered your eyes, voice faltering, “I apologize for lying earlier. There is a reason why I came to you, Mydei, and we need to talk. Please.”
You heard the man sigh, his feet slowly starting to shuffle back. “Very well,” was all Mydei said, voice leveled. Then he led you away from the scorching sun, stopping once you reached the marble columns that circled the training grounds. You leaned against one, thankful for the shade provided by the roof supported atop them. “Now, [Name]. Whatever it is that you wish to speak of?”
A shallow, nervous laugh escaped your lips. “Mydei, I’ll be straightforward,” you began, looking into his winsome eyes. “Do you think it is possible for someone like me to escape my current situation?”
For whatever reason, Mydei didn’t appear surprised by your question in the slightest, barely a twitch to his stoic expression. “You don’t want to marry Phainon.” It sounded like a statement.
“I don’t.”
“If you came to me, then you must, at the very least, have a vague idea of what you wish to do in this situation.” A pause. “What is it?”
Mydei didn’t ask why, he didn’t try mocking or jeering at you. It felt almost foreign, at least to you, being treated with such seriousness and respect. Normally your word would be immediately undermined and your intellect belittled, reduced to a jest, to a foolish girl that knows no better. The man before you did no such thing.
“To regain one’s dignity, to gain independence and status… there is a way. A few have done it before, Mydei, and you have to tell me.” You took a shaky breath, feeling that desperation kicking up again, reducing your form to a sweaty, restless wreck. “If I were to kill a beast and bring its head home, would I become someone worthy of freedom?”
Everyone knew of people like you, people who were never lucky nor considered particularly valuable — the same people who wrestled against all odds and won. Those who obtained glory through various acts of bravery and courage.
The man hummed, nodding in consideration. “If the beast was truly formidable, yes. You could be recognized as a warrior and resign from your betrothal.” Mydei’s face softened again, a near unnoticeable shift in the set of his brows. “There are people who’d vouch for you.”
A small breath of relief escaped you, chest warming all over. You smiled, then, thinking that this was a half of success; now came the more tricky part, and though you began to feel confident, there was still a risk that Mydei wouldn’t agree.
Because your plan was very simple. That beast you saw in your dream was intimidating, its large body filling up the den completely. You were smart enough to know that defeating it by yourself would be impossible. Trickery could work, but praying to Zagreus and asking for aid was just as risky as jumping straight into the beast’s liar and attempting to strike its heart.
The truth was that: you are not skilled in anything. Therefore, you’d plead Mydei for help. No one would need to know that he was the one to actually make the kill and it seemed like a very logical option, at least in your opinion.
“And if I asked you to lend me your strength in defeating the beast, would you agree?”
“I would.” His answer came so quickly, so easily, that even you got startled. “But you speak of this hypothetical beast as if it already exists, [Name].”
“Because it’s not hypothetical.”
That caused Mydei to pause and blink, long eyelashes fluttering in mild surprise. His mouth opened and closed before he finally asked, “how are you so certain of this? You must have seen it, then.”
Your clammy hands clenched into fists. “I did. I have seen it in my prophetic dream, it truly was there. A large beast, hiding in its den, spoke to me and… and I know where to search for it. I know, because it wasn’t just a dream, you must understand that it wasn’t—”
“So you’ve had a nightmare and deemed it as truth?” Mydei’s eyebrows drew together, sudden skepticism leaking into his previously calm voice.
By then, all hope evaporated from your heart. Of course you knew he wouldn’t believe you — and you couldn’t even blame Mydei for refusing to, because this was genuinely abstract.
Still, you tried again: “it was no nightmare, and it wasn’t me who judged it as real. There’s… gods, Mydei, you are just as religious as me.”
“Though I do not rely on said gods as much as you do, [Name]. I’d wager that I don’t need them at all.”
Right. After Nikador turned their back on their followers, Mydei had stopped praising any deities altogether. That little detail slipped your mind constantly. It was so easy to cling onto that old memory of you and Mydei, praying by the altar together and burning sacrifice. You weren’t children anymore.
“I…” you stammered, fiddling with your fingers nervously. “So you don’t believe me.”
There was a short, yet loaded beat of silence. Mydei shifted on his feet, you watched his expression turn conflicted. “I wish I could believe you.”
A brittle chuckle ripped from your throat as you shook your head. No one ever put any trust in you, what were you even expecting? Mydei was a busy man. He was an important member of the army, had plenty of political influence — even if he went to hunt with you, he’d kill the first wolf or bear in your path and deem the task done. But the prophecy, that god-sent dream you had, spoke of no bears or wolves. It was a specific beast. One that lived far from here, and it hid itself, away from people, away from any civilization. Leaving Okhema for more than a week wouldn’t be beneficial for Mydei. The trip you’d have to embark on would take longer than just seven days.
“It’s all right.” You finally breathed out your reply, struggling to keep eye contact. Mydei looked visibly remorseful. “I know… I know that my request was selfish. And you’re my friend, Mydei.” With a weak smile, you reached to squeeze the man’s shoulder, feeling the tension sitting there. “How cruel of me it would be to force you into following my foolish lead?”
“You know I’d follow you,” Mydei’s voice went quiet, “but our convictions do not align this time. There is a difference between us now, and you already made up your mind.”
“That’s true.” Your rueful smile weakened even more. You let go of his shoulder slowly, stepping back, eager to finally leave and stop humiliating yourself in front of your friend. “Either way, I’m sorry for taking up your time. Please, if you’ll excuse me now…”
Turning around with a downcast gaze, you only stopped for a brief moment when Mydei spoke again. “I hope that you are going to get to the future where everything will have been worth your struggle, [Name].”
You had no answer for that. And you also knew that you had no choice.
Rain caught you before afternoon. Stupidly, you decided to clear your head and take a walk around Okhema, to think of all the preparations and things you’d need to do. A plan, maybe? You pondered on all these aspects of your journey — because you were quite hellbent on going — then the heavy rain chased you down into some tavern.
Sitting there for the rest of the day, huddled with a dozen other people, certainly wasn’t what you wished to do. Still, your options were limited. You were of poor health, and even a gentle drizzle could cause you illness. No surprise Phainon was so distressed earlier. Anyway, you decided to stay in the tavern and wait the rain out, for you were at least clever enough to avoid risking any sicknesses before your… little trip.
By the time you returned home, it was already night. The walk took you long, and half of the roads you had to take were made out of soil instead of cobblestone. This reduced your sandals to a muddy massacre, dirt clinging everywhere. Your feet were wet from the puddle you accidentally stepped in, water sloshing over your bare ankles and calves, the edges of your long chiton equally ruined.
It felt uncomfortable and you were incredibly tired. Before stepping inside the house, you took off your sandals, padding quietly through the corridors. No one was out to greet you. It was for the better anyway — at least you had free reign, without any obstacles getting in your way.
You have decided to do it yourself. It was both a heavy and easy resolution.
Death may await you there; you were not fit or capable, lacking experience needed for such a job. Perhaps you were unwise to storm away from Mydei like that, uselessly sensitive heart urging you to flee before you’d start weeping. At least you could’ve asked him for some weapon or advice.
Yet at the same time, your shoulders felt lighter, mind relieved and sharper. It could have been the fresh air after rain, it could have been the conviction that no matter what comes, doom or release, you’ll be set free on your own terms.
There was no point in trying to put this whole ordeal away. The closer it gets to your wedding, the more futile it would be to try and do anything on your own. Surely, both Phainon’s family and your father would keep you occupied. So instead of waiting for some ‘miraculous moment’, you were going to elope on your hunting trip today.
Keeping your footsteps light, you first searched for a weapon. A crossbow would be useless, same as any sort of sword or lance — after all, you had absolutely no clue how to use them. Your main tactic of survival relied heavily on running and hiding. With that in mind, you picked up a needle-point knife from one of the drawers. Doesn’t offer much, but it would do.
Then you continued to look around the house, gathering any other necessities like a critter preparing for winter. The traveling bag in your hand was starting to get heavier by the second, and you knew that you’d need to eventually stop packing it full of things. Carrying such weight would only make things unnecessarily harder.
You even thought of taking your hounds with you at some point. That idea was quickly rejected, though, for you wouldn’t risk the lives of your innocent pets just for a tentative chance of safety. So instead of waking the dogs, you finally entered your bedroom.
There wasn’t much else to be done. With a sense of finality in your mind, you took a quick glance at the clock — one hour before midnight. The whole house was so, so very silent. You opened the wardrobe, starting to sort through clothes that you’d need. One garment of thick material to keep you warm and one light to help you cool down during the rapidly approaching summer season. That was enough.
“[Name], what are you doing?”
Heart jumping straight into your throat, you jerked, accidentally letting go of the wardrobe’s doors and letting them slam shut. What the hell was he doing here?
You turned on your heel rapidly, gaze falling on the familiar silhouette of a man standing in the threshold. The full moon was enough to illuminate his face, blue eyes blinking in confusion like a puppy that just got denied his favorite treat. You clutched the clothes in your hands, leveling Phainon with a defensive stare.
“Why are you still in my house?” The question came out harsher than you intended it to, but controlling the tremble in your voice seemed near impossible.
Phainon didn’t appear to be particularly moved by your hostile tone. “It was raining,” he said, “that is, if you haven’t noticed. Which I doubt, looking at the state of your chiton.” The man’s vision focused on your muddy, damp attire, a slightly unamused gleam to his eyes.
When you remained silent, chewing on the inside of your cheek, still benighted, Phainon stepped closer. “Your father was kind enough to let me stay. But you…” your betrothed reached for a single strand of your somewhat tangled hair, “where were you for the entire day? I was so worried — first you say you feel ill, then you disappear.”
The genuinely careworn expression on Phainon’s face and that characteristic, benign voice, caused you to waver. “I needed to speak with someone,” you admitted. “Rain caught me later, so I waited till it stopped in a tavern.”
You let Phainon smooth his palms down your locks, getting the mess on your head under control. The touch was careful, not invasive or pushy, just a gentle motion that nearly lulled you into vulnerability. “Who did you talk to, then?” He asked, tone still affable.
“Mydeimos,” came your answer, and you bit the tip of your tongue belatedly.
But Phainon — sweet-tempered and docile — didn’t get angry at you for speaking with another man alone. At least you don’t think he did. His hands stopped, though there was no major change to his expression. “You mean our Mydei? What for?”
“That’s not of any importance.” You finally gathered your bearings, pushing past Phainon, the clothes still clutched against your breast. “I’d be grateful if you left now.”
Despite your request, the man didn’t move. He continued to examine your form, then turned his body fully to face towards bed. Phainon’s twins of blue locked on the travel bag you put there earlier and you felt your pulse jump in trepidation, throat clenching. Gods, why was everything always going against you?
“What is this?” The man asked, reaching for your stuff.
Without thinking too much, you slapped his hands away, a grimace marring your face. “I’ve told you to leave, haven’t I?” You hissed, attempting to shove Phainon out of your bedroom. Predictably, he hardly budged.
Then he was already grabbing the travel bag, causing you to take a hold of it too, both of you starting to wrestle for it quietly. Neither of you caused a ruckus, waking your father would only bring more trouble. Scandalized, you watched Phainon finally rip it away from your grasp, turning the bag over and spilling its contents out atop the bed.
Before even a gasp could escape your lungs, Phainon was already rummaging through the things there. They were very telling, unfortunately. A knife, a long rope, a map, a compass and a lot of dry food, matches, a blanket, whatever herbs you could find along with dressings. Then the clothes still folded against your chest, and the terrified expression on your face.
The man’s eyes lifted, visibly widened. You blanched. “[Name], you were planning to leave.” Somehow, he didn’t appear mad at all. “What happened that made you so angry with me? That you’d be willing to elope so surreptitiously, without even…”
When your betrothed trailed off, sounding quite betrayed, you suddenly felt the need to deflect, turn the situation around, attempt lying straight through your teeth. But the thing is, you were against deceiving people that have never actually done anything to wrong you, it just didn’t align with your nature. Perhaps such an attitude towards life was utterly naive, for others never backed down when it came to saving their own hide. Alas, you were unlike them.
Phainon was never mean or cruel towards you — quite the opposite. He was tender-hearted and treated you with respect. Maybe he wasn’t as perceptive or as tuned-in with your needs as Mydei was, but it was still obvious that Phainon genuinely tried his best. You did not dislike him.
In another world, a kinder place, you’d be glad to marry such a man. But this was no fairytale. Your reality was much more grim and everything that happened so far was caused by your inability to take control over your own life. Understandably, the prospect of marriage that didn’t come out of your good will was dreadful.
Lying to Phainon was out of the picture. Telling him the truth seemed just as stupid. The man was already confused, your explanation would only knock him sideways and have him condemn you as mentally unwell.
Or… maybe that’s exactly what you need? When Phainon hears your story and understands that you are, very obviously, sick in the head, he’ll get scared and break the engagement himself. Who’d be willing to subject themselves to a life with someone like you by their side?
“Phainon, I’m sorry, but I have never wanted to marry you.” A heavy, long sigh. “And you must know that this is not caused by my disdain toward you, nor anything else, for you are an honorable man. I do enjoy your presence, I do not mind us spending time together.
“Yet… you must also know that all of this goes against my wishes. This betrothal, this whole agreement that our fathers made… ah, I’m not sure if you understand what I’m trying to communicate here. Either way, I am not marrying you willingly. Again, I am sorry for that.”
Perhaps you shouldn’t have dropped so much information all at once, because Phainon did look befuddled. Still, you swallowed nervously, pushing on: “and I’m also aware that you would not break our engagement, if you had it your way. Which, well, you do have… but I know how to end this, I know how to break free by myself, Phainon. I have had a prophetic dream.”
Against your expectations, Phainon didn’t start laughing or calling you insane. “What did you see, then, [Name]?” He asked, tone remotely calm, and that was one of the many things to surprise you.
“A beast.”
“A beast?”
“Yes,” you affirmed, tone steadying just a little, “a beast. It said to defeat it — only then I would regain my honor and independence. Be reckoned with. Obtain a warrior’s title, Mydei told me it’s true. And… I am going to do it. No matter if the beast is large, no matter if you all try to stop me—”
“I’ll help you.” Phainon interjected, causing you to drop the clothes from your arms in shock.
What? You blinked a few times, jaw slacking down, hands hanging limply at your sides.
You were sure that you must’ve misheard, but upon seeing your startled state, Phainon repeated: “I’ll help you, [Name].”
That… was the most unexpected thing you have heard so far today. Perhaps in your entire life. Phainon agreed so easily, he was even smiling now, whole posture suddenly relaxed and open, it was as if the thought of rejecting you didn’t cross his mind in the first place.
“So you believe me? And you’re willing to accept it, just like that?” You questioned, eyebrows shooting into your hairline.
Phainon laughed, actually laughed. “Oh, why wouldn’t I believe you? You’re the most honest person I know, trust me when I say this.” His hands reached out for you again, smile widening in a way that had you questioning if your betrothed was even sane to begin with. Phainon’s fingers folded around yours, and he continued, “I’d have believed you, [Name], even if you suggested the existence of other worlds. Hah… I am almost offended that you put so little faith in me.”
You laughed as well, then, a weak and brittle thing. How can it be? No one ever believed you, not even Mydei, who you were sure would at least give you the benefit of doubt instead of outright rejection. Yet here Phainon was, your own fiancé that you just informed about your unwillingness to marry and some prophetic dream sent by gods. Previous visions offered to you were much lighter, more plausible. Death, downfall, engagement. This one was unlike any other — find the beast that has no right to exist, slaughter it and set yourself free. And yet, Phainon still believed.
“But why help me?” You pressed, voice trembling. “There is a difference between believing and helping me. Why? Phainon, you have said, not that long ago, that you do not wish for our betrothal to end. So why?”
Phainon merely tilted his head, humming, the pads of his thumbs running over your knuckles twice. “Because I respect you.”
“Is… that it?” Chuckling faintly, you squeezed his hands. “No. No, you must’ve misunderstood something, for this is…”
Before you could spiral, Phainon let go of your hands, instead starting to pack your bag anew. “This is me taking your own will into consideration, [Name].” The man replied, stuffing everything inside carefully. “You’d have gone by yourself anyway, you stubborn creature. Since that beast of yours is so large, I think it’s wiser for me to accompany you than letting you venture out into peril alone.” The man finally finished re-packing the travel bag, straightening out with a genial smile. “Aren’t I right?”
A half-resigned, half-amused sigh escaped your lungs. “Yes, Phainon. You’re right.”
And you left the same night. Departing from your house surprisingly didn’t come as hard as you thought it would, you didn’t even spare a single glance back. Instead, your eyes locked south. The beast was waiting there — and you were waiting for it, too.
The woods shielding your bodies from one side didn’t do much to block out the bright sunlight that seemed to practically envelop you. Panting, you took a brief glance around yourself. Trees. More trees. Mountains in the distance. Some flowers, moss, rocks. A couple of butterflies dancing between the grass blades, twirling around your aching feet.
It was the first day of your journey and you haven’t stopped for a rest since leaving the house. The trek wasn’t that hard, but you still struggled. Upon mapping out your route, Phainon guided you atop a slope; not a very high one, no, still remotely safe to tread on. A forest stretched from beside you, a long line of trees. Down the slope, you could see a valley, probably once filled up by water, now adorned in big patches of wildflowers, colorful points dotted across its expanse.
On your left, Phainon continued to walk steadily. He never tripped or faltered, even though his body appeared to be generally weighed down. The man offered to take your travel bag, which coupled with his own (because obviously he asked to stop at his house and get his personal stuff) probably weighed a considerable amount. There was also steel at his hip. Phainon took the smaller one with him, leaving the favored great-sword behind. While the great-sword wasn’t heavy, it was still, well, great in size, which would simply take up too much space, and that’d be inconvenient.
“You’re doing okay there?” He asked, sending you a sidelong look. There was a slight breathlessness to his voice, most likely caused by the constant move. “The sun’s very high.”
To be completely honest, you weren’t okay. The heat was unbearable, your legs hurt, your heart continued to hammer from exhaustion, and you felt yourself dripping with sweat. With such straw-like zeal, you even thought of turning back, multiple times at that. How plaintive you must be to consider giving up simply because of a frail body. The whole trip won’t take longer than three weeks — marriage would last you your whole life. Which one is worse? Apparently, enduring the heat and throbbing legs was much more challenging than bidding goodbye to your dignity altogether.
“I’m— I’m fine,” you forced out through clenched teeth, struggling to keep up. Phainon was very tall by nature and it never bothered you... up until now, that is, because you’ve continued to curse out his long legs for the past several hours.
Noticing your plight, Phainon finally slowed down. “Are you sure, [Name]?” His palm stretched back in your direction, fingers splayed wide, beckoning you to grab onto him for support. “You do seem short of breath.”
A frown grew on your face as you pointedly ignored the man’s hand. Phainon genuinely wanted to help, even if he kept jesting about your poor condition ever since you set out; still, you wouldn’t accept his pity that easily, so instead of catching the outstretched palm, you batted it away.
It did look a bit empty without the engagement band, though. You were used to seeing the thin, silver ring, its modest appearance matching with the same one you used to wear. Before leaving your house, you told Phainon that it’d be wise to take off your rings — he initially didn’t agree, saying no one would go after you trying to steal them. Perhaps it was true, but you were close to breaking up the betrothal anyway, and you saw no point in strutting around with that thing on your finger. Phainon ended up agreeing, albeit with slight reluctance.
You asked him why he was so apprehensive and the man looked at you, then, as if the question came from a place of utter incongruity instead of normal curiousness. If you squinted, he might’ve even appeared frustrated. Lips pursing, eyes blinking just a bit too fast, like you were speaking to him in a foreign language. Ultimately, Phainon explained that the rings were valuable. Wishing to solve his inner conflict, you offered to leave them at his place for safety — which you ended up doing, putting the two rings atop a scrap of paper.
On this paper, Phainon wrote a simple explanation for your collective absence. Truthfully, you weren’t sure what the note contained exactly, though he assured everyone of your eventual return. You never bothered reading it.
“[Name], I have been pondering this for quite a while now,” Phainon began, adjusting the straps of the travel bags slung over his broad shoulders, now hunched under the combined pressure on them, “we have set out with an agreement that it is I who’ll defeat the beast from your dream.”
“Correct,” you said, still struggling to catch air.
“Then, once we return to Okhema with… well, whatever trophy it is that you wish for us to take, what explanation will you possibly offer?”
You nearly groaned in complaint, thinking how nice it would be to finally stop and rest, drink water from one of the clear streams winding around here. “What are you getting at?”
“I imagine it’s hardly believable we changed our little therapeutic trip into a hunt, where you just happened to catch this overgrown animal and stab it till death.” The lilt of his voice was blithesome.
Even though you were staring ahead, eyes fixed on the slope’s route slowly shifting into a more steep path, still full of green shrubbery, you could clearly see Phainon’s light tufts of hair in your periphery, the small smile he donned. Then you nearly paused in your step, corner of your lips curling, incredulous. “What did you say? A… a little therapeutic trip? Is that what this is?”
“You told me to make up an excuse as to why we left so suddenly.” Phainon shrugged, “not that it’s very believable. Who in their right mind leaves in the middle of the night?”
Again, you felt the overwhelming need to groan and perhaps grab Phainon by the nape, throw him off the slope down into the valley. “They might just have doctors on the standby when we return,” you said. “I do not know what possessed you to tell both our families that this is a therapeutic trip... Cerces must have left you bereft of their reason.”
Phainon huffed, tilting his head to look at your face, “but what else was I supposed to say? You were acting disconsolate, though I doubt anyone aside from me had noticed.”
Mydei surely had noticed, you wanted to say, Mydei had noticed way before you did. But you did not say anything of the sort, instead pursing your lips in thinly veiled ire, trying to stomach Phainon’s insistent nettling. “So you made me out to be the unwell one, from what I’m understanding so far.”
The man’s expression did something funny, unpredictable, a small twist that you would have missed if you weren’t currently holding eye contact; mouth closing tightly, eyebrows knitting together for just a brief moment as Phainon smirked. Then it was gone, gone before you could begin to overthink it, smoothed over by his usual felicity.
Phainon’s hand reached to rub your shoulder, voice just as light as the trilling of songbirds around you. “At the end of the day, you and I left the house at an ungodly hour without telling anyone, [Name].” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “That must make both of us look quite mental.”
You let yourself sigh, back relaxing. He was right, in a way, yet the excuse that he came up with was still rather unflattering. “Right… and as for the explanation that I am going to offer — I’ll simply say my poor betrothed acted careless and provoked the beast’s wrath.”
“So you’ll make me out to be the fool of this story?” Phainon half-laughed, half-scoffed, feigning offense.
“Not only that,” you continued, a wicked smile growing on your face, “I’ll also say you fell, unable to pick up your blade in the moment of weakness.”
“But that would strip me of any dignity, [Name].”
“I’ll be the one to slay the angered beast and save you, Phainon, while you are lying there, all frightened on the ground.”
“What a vast imagination you’ve got there.” Phainon crossed his arms, one eyebrow cocking amusedly. “And such an artful way of narration. Makes one nearly believe that such a thing really happened.”
“You’ll agree to go with it?” You asked, also on the verge of chuckling, knowing Phainon will simply refuse and move on, for you were merely teasing.
The man hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “All right. I don’t see why not,” he said after a beat, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice.
That caused you to bark out a surprised laugh, brow lifting. “Phainon, have you lost your mind? We’ll come up with a better story, I wouldn’t throw you to the wolves the second we get back.”
Instead of agreeing with you and dropping the topic altogether, Phainon shrugged in dismissal. “As I said, I don’t mind this version.”
At this point you were unsure whether the man was only pulling your leg or being genuine, the tone of his voice sounding far too calm for it to be a jest. It wouldn’t make sense for Phainon to put himself in this position, to willingly subject himself to humiliation. Then again, since he was fine with this version, you won’t try to come up with another one; his approach seemed to be quite casual anyway, not once have you seen him fretting over anything regarding this journey of yours.
Before you could start mulling it over further, Phainon stopped walking, pointing in-between the trees. “There is a stream nearby, [Name], I hear water. We should rest.”
Then he was already guiding you away from the slope, pushing through the shrubbery and making an easier route for you, parting the bramble and thistle with the sharpness of his sword. You followed obediently, grateful for the path, watching small twigs crack and fall under the arcs of Phainon’s blade.
The hum of the water was enough to calm your worn body. There, beneath the thick canopies of hackberries and oaks, you could breathe with more ease again — sun would not force its way through completely, pleasant coolness making your sore muscles relax. Your knees finally hit the soft soil at the stream’s bank, right next to briar. Phainon followed, crouching beside you.
Wordlessly, you leaned down to cup the water in your palms and drink. It was cold, of a different taste than the water you had back home in Okhema. You repeated the action twice, then thrice. Despite continuing to drink, your body still demanded more, urging you to lap up the water greedily, with haste, nose accidentally snorting it up and causing you to cough.
Phainon chortled at your state, evidently amused. “You might want to slow down. The stream’s not going anywhere, you know.” The man mused before bowing in half and dipping his face, making you breathe in surprise.
When Phainon leaned back, his fair hair stuck to his forehead and temples, eyes fluttering open, lashes sticking together with wetness that only seemed to accentuate their length better. Quiet, you watched his cheeks turn rosy with the stinging cool of water, your lips subconsciously stretching into a smile. He looked more youthful like that, more carefree, unburdened.
Upon noticing your curious gaze, Phainon grinned. “Perhaps you should cool down as well. It’s only noon, the sun will remain high in the sky for the next few hours.” His joints plunged through the stream’s surface, flicking a few stray droplets at your face — you scrunched up your nose, making the man snicker. “I do worry about you, [Name].”
“Fine, since you seem to know better…” you obliged with a sigh, folding over the water and dipping your face down. True enough, it did feel pleasant. The insistent thirst appeared to lessen, slight headache caused by the lack of rest and fatigue finally subsiding.
After a few seconds, you straightened out, taking a deep breath. Phainon was already staring at you and he was quiet, the silence stretching between you interrupted only by the cooing of a mourning dove, a soft, distant sound mingling with the happier chirp of a robin.
“Better?”
Smiling awkwardly, you wiped your brow. “Yes.”
“That’s good,” Phainon said, expression no longer a cheery grin but something more taken, more private. Then he was leaning towards the water again, head diving below its coolness, and you followed without much thought.
You opened your eyes for a second, watching the air bubbles exploding all around you — the sensation was ticklish, in a way, soothing too, and you thought that all of this was going to work out in your favor. That, perhaps, the god of fortune will smile in your direction despite everything, and you’ll be finally set free from your sorrows.
When you pushed back, wet, heavy hair clinging to your face, Phainon did the same, both of you taking big breaths of air, laughing meanwhile, letting the coolness of the water drip down your cheeks and lips. Even if the start of your long travel was bumpy, now it seemed to smooth over. Click into place. Without anyone to impose on him, without anyone to impress, Phainon acted naturally. Just like the innocent children that you once were, unbothered by fickle affairs of the adult world, he appeared suddenly normal.
A friend, a companion, someone who you could rely on instead of fretting being close to, fretting the impending wedding day and marriage you never wanted for. Why Phainon decided to help you was abstract. All the reasons why, in your opinion, were quite preposterous in a sense that he never wished to break the betrothal. Phainon once told you about Hieronymus’ insistence and being worn by the never-ending candidates practically shoved into his face; his engagement to you saved him the trouble. You were a familiar face, an old acquaintance, something to grab on.
Still, he was here now and you felt no need to dig deeper into Phainon’s questionable decisions.
“I think we’re ready to go now,” the man said. “We’ll stop in a few hours again to eat and rest.”
Phainon got up from his knees with a satisfied exhale, reaching out a helping hand in your direction. You grabbed it this time, smiling up at him. He smiled back, adjusting the travel bags along with his sword before giving you an encouraging pat on the back — then you were off again, pushing through the thickets to return to the slope’s edge.
The path ahead wound along the mountainside in a long, stretching curve, its edges softened by lush grass that seemed untouched by none, if only by passing travelers that sometimes used this specific route in order to gather herbs; the fields themselves were littered with wildflowers, so many of them, their petals already beginning to close upon slowly approaching night. Below, the land fell away in uneven terraces of green, for you and Phainon did climb higher over this mountainous area within the four days of your trek, meadows interrupted by darker clusters of trees, fir and black cherry.
The sun was lowering behind the line of horizon, even though you couldn’t have seen it fully, the strong peaks of the mountains obscuring it. Its light was not bright anymore, no, more of a dimming thing, spreading wide, turning everything it touched into muted gold — stone, bark, moss clinging to where dampness was highest, even the pale dust of the path. Above, where the light thinned and seemed no longer as intense, it shifted into softer tones. Periwinkle and violet, gentle pink enveloping the deepest parts of the sky.
Despite the waning day, the temperature was still quite easygoing on the body. Not low nor high, a perfect balance between warmth and the soft breeze occasionally cooling you down. It would get colder, but not for now, now the weather was pleasant, maybe a gift from one of the more benevolent gods. Your legs ached from treading the winding mountain paths, shoulders hunched even if you had no weight on them, for it was Phainon who still carried everything, vehemently insisting that he will remain the one to wrestle with the luggage while you can prance about like an untroubled filly.
Though the man insisted that you pass another hundred or so meters before the sun dips below completely, you could clearly see his exhaustion, so instead of letting Phainon drag his feet forward, you grabbed onto his wrist, causing him to stumble just a bit in surprise. “Phainon,” you said, eyes of blue immediately locking on your form with the attentiveness of a loyal hound, “I don’t think it’s wise to continue walking any farther. Let us rest somewhere around here, I am sure there’s a suitable spot nearby.”
Just as you said this, both of you began to look around, gauging the surroundings for a place shrouded enough, safe from thorns or the worst of winds that can, at times, howl through the mountain’s hollows during night. “I think this one is adequate,” Phainon hummed, pointing in the general direction of a few broadleaf trees, their trunks circling together tightly.
Without any sort of preamble, you walked up to the trees, Phainon following in tow. As you began to sit down, he suddenly grabbed you by the elbow, making you look over your shoulder with a questioning tilt of your head. “[Name], don’t sit on the grass like that. There could be a snake there, or worse, and the ground’s too cold. You know you’re of poor health.” He scolded, making you groan as you relented. Such a mother-hen.
Phainon’s been like that since the second you set out; while he teased you relentlessly about your lack of stamina and strength, he also looked out for you fiercely. Whenever you stopped for a longer period, he always made sure that everything was safe and well. You watched Phainon poke his sword around the grass for a bit, then open up one of the traveling bags, tugging out a thick blanket and spreading it out meticulously, kicking away a few rocks and rearranging everything till he deemed it worthy.
He smiled at you proudly, presenting with the nest. “My, such a gentleman.” You huffed out a chipper laugh, shaking your head as you plopped down, patting the empty space beside you.
Phainon still appeared to be a little distracted, though, eyes flitting around the stretching expanses of fields and mountains surrounding you, and so you grabbed him by the hand, pulling down without a warning. This caused Phainon to make a surprised sound, something between a yelp and a whine, knees hitting the blanket clumsily as he nearly toppled over into your side, hands barely managing to bracket him upwards before the sudden collision. He gave you a look of feigned offense, even if he was smirking, mirth dancing in those big eyes.
“Stop daydreaming already, you oaf. Rest.” You said in answer to Phainon’s mock-ire, grabbing the two bags. “I’ll prepare us some food to eat, so that you won’t faint suddenly and have me dragging you by the legs.”
Phainon leaned back against the trunk, legs crossing. “Whatever you say…” he muttered with a blest expression, folding his hands across his stomach and tilting his head to gauge your form, a rather fond look gracing his eyes.
Reciprocating the easygoing smile, you soon turned your attention back towards the traveling bags. Initially, you were convinced that food would be one of your biggest concerns, a major trouble dragging behind and slowing you down, yet you turned out to be wrong. You’ve had enough to survive, even to be comfortable. So you grabbed the loaf of bread, part of it already missing, unwrapping the cloth that shielded it and starting to cut the thing with your needle-point knife. It was quite difficult to do but you ultimately managed, next reaching for the small jar of mulberry jam.
Of course, you never thought to take any jam with yourself. Neither you or Phainon were naive enough to drag such fickle things with you, especially since this journey was, at least in theory, supposed to be treacherous and rough. But these mountains weren’t completely devoid of any civilization. There were small villages scattered all across the mountain, tight communities of highlanders, living away from Okhema’s clamor.
Yesterday, you were serendipitous enough to pass through such a village. The people of the mountain were cordial, open and welcoming, inviting you without much suspicion or fear for the unknown faces. You stayed with some couple and they let you sleep through the night in their attic, then take a bit of their food; kindness seldom came for free, though, so Phainon was asked that he plucks three pheasants and guts them. Naturally, you offered to help him with the task, yet he shooed you away, saying you shouldn’t stain your hands with the birds’ blood. Perhaps he deemed you too delicate, fingers too smooth and graceful, which aggravated you.
Either way, just as Phainon was done dealing with the three pheasants, the couple’s only child, their son, started to get curious with your friend’s sword. You were quite amused when the boy’s parents told Phainon to play with him. By some miracle you didn’t get involved in their silly game, simply watching the frolicsome scene from your safe place on the kitchen bench, Phainon showcasing his steel in careful arcs before letting the boy take hold of it as well, supporting his frail hands when they faltered. It was insouciant, it was lively, and for a second, you seemed to have forgotten where you were headed. To the beast’s liar, its den. A nauseating chill ran down your spine, then, as you took in Phainon’s grinning face, his strong arms that playfully folded around his head once he feigned defeat, sprawling on the floorboards and making the child giggle in contentedness.
You’re practically sending him out to battle the beast, to give you your freedom. While Phainon wouldn’t have ended your betrothal out of his own will, he was very eager to aid you in obtaining a warrior’s title and breaking from the shackles of engagement by yourself, on your terms. But, even in all of his valor and prowess, who said the beast won’t ultimately win?
Sighing heavily, you pushed the unpleasant thoughts away, instead focusing back on the food — once you spread the mulberry jam on the two pieces of bread, you reached into your bag, taking out the fruit you gathered at a slightly lower altitude, apricots and currants wrapped in a wax-coated cloth. Those should go well with the sweet jam.
When you handed Phainon his portion, he was quick to beam in that buoyant way, taking everything gratefully. “How domestic, [Name]. Preparing me tasty food with such care — if I were a lesser man, I’d ask you to marry me again after you finally break our engagement,” the man said, mouth and teeth already closing over the bread.
Even if the jest was good-natured, you still frowned, biting into your own piece. “You better not, unless you enjoy women rejecting you.”
“I most certainly do not mind women rejecting me. In most cases, at least.” Phainon remarked with a somewhat wistful tone, twins of blue drifting away from your face to focus on the surroundings better, examining the ridgeline and the sun slowly hiding behind it.
Silence fell after that, only interrupted by the distant chirping of night birds and rustling leaves. Your eyes fell on Phainon’s profile, tracing the handsome lines of his facial features, the strong yet boyish contours, a lingering softness that never went away even with the passage of years. His locks always reminded you of white lilac, at least in shade, the fair tufts framing his cheekbones in a comely fashion, and the intense blue of his eyes…
Which flower would his eyes be? You pondered it for a while before giving up, thinking that finding a proper comparison would take you far too long. So instead you simply continued to observe Phainon, smiling faintly when he turned for a brief moment and offered you the last apricot before those prepossessing irises fixed back on the faraway mountains. You’ve gotten close over those four days. The constant struggle of pushing through wilderness caused your bond to strengthen, become more intimate in a sense that you trusted Phainon enough to bathe in one river with him, to sleep beneath the same cover, huddled together in order to preserve heat.
The sun was mostly down now, sky paling from its warm hues. Without asking, Phainon dragged out the second blanket that he took with him, a thing made out of thick material, adorned with floral embroidery. You shuffled close enough for your side to press into his, immediately feeling warmed over. There was a longer beat where neither of you spoke, your eyes lifted high, observing the vast expanse of the darkening firmament above you, the stars dotted all across.
Then Phainon began to chuckle out of the blue, making you whip your head to the side. “What’s got you so merry?” The question was lighthearted, as easy as the approaching night. “Maybe Zagreus’ playing tricks on you, making you see things right before sleep.”
“No, I just remembered something,” the man said, still smiling at nothing like a complete lunatic. “A very humorous story.”
“Pray tell which story, exactly, is so very amusing?”
Phainon hummed, “mm, sure. Do you remember the cows, [Name]?”
It took you a good second to understand what Phainon was getting at, but when you did, a gasp of both exasperation and abashment ripped from your throat, hand reaching out to shove at his arm in admonishment. “I do not!”
“Oh, but I think you do,” his chuckling shifted into quiet laughter, “it seems quite impossible for me to forget such an eventful memory.”
You rolled your eyes, arms crossing over your breast. “I don’t remember anything of the sort.”
“Then let me remind you,” Phainon began, clearing his throat, and you already knew that you were doomed, for this man rarely knew when to stop his verbose tongue. “Whenever your family along with sir Eurypon and lady Gorgo came to our countryside villa, me, Mydei and you would go play in the fields. The fields outside Okhema, back at Aedes Elysiae, are quite vast, [Name], remember?
“We always played for so long there… I can recall heading out at sunrise and coming home only when the sky darkened. Our parents always scolded us so! Well, either way, I suppose we were too occupied with each other to even gather that, perhaps, those fields aren’t meant as children’s playgrounds but rather as pastures.
“And,” Phainon had to pause there, struggling to contain his obvious beguilement, “and one day, we set out as usual, except there were cows. Cows occupying our playground, oh, you were so distraught by the revelation that you threw a tantrum.”
A scoff. “I— well, I’d wager that this tantrum wasn’t baseless,” you said, eyebrows knitting and lips curving in reluctant enjoyment of the story.
“I agree, it wasn’t!” Phainon chirped. “Both me and Mydei were also quite displeased by that too, but for whatever reason I seem to remember your reaction best. It is quite uncommon to be so moved by… cows.” That gained him another smack to the arm, received only with a mirthful chortle. “We went to play in the field anyway and one of us thought to approach the grazing cows — they had little calves, though, and apparently your dismayed face was enough to render them furious. Maybe they deemed you a threat, [Name]?”
“I’d be hardly surprised if it was your stupid face that angered the cows, not mine.”
Phainon cleared his throat quite loudly. “The fact remains, it’s you who got chased through the entire pasture, not me or Mydei. The way you ran… and the way you cried later on, gods, you’ve always been such a crybaby, one would think it was Phagousa themselves granting you with such spectacular waterworks,”
Then he dissolved into laughter so full-bodied that it surely chased off any lingering animals, critters unfortunate enough to stumble in Phainon’s vicinity. A groan of indignation left you, though you also laughed a bit, shaking your head as you turned to lie on your side, facing away from Phainon and his hilarity.
“You’re being ludicrous, you know,” you mumbled into the blanket, “how can you even recall it all with such amount of detail?”
But instead of relenting, Phainon pressed further, “or, do you remember meeting behind the winery with Cyrene? She had those dice of hers, she did enjoy playing with them — I always used to think her silly prophecies were true, as if she was a real oracle. Dice divination… it does sound rather believable, at least from a child’s perspective.”
Privately, you still think Cyrene never attempted to fool either of you; yet you didn’t say anything, letting Phainon continue, “there was one divination that I remember particularly vividly. Cyrene told me that I’d become a revered man in my community, with plenty of valor and great swordsmanship. I guess that much is true,” he chuckled, voice turning quieter, “but what did she say for you…? Something about…”
About how little luck you’ll have and how unfortunate your life will be — that’s what Cyrene said, back then, those eleven years ago. You were so shocked by the grim revelation that you suddenly forgot about it being a simple game, a way of passing the time without much meaning or weight. To your younger self, it appeared entirely true. Then Cyrene said that you’ll be met with a certain choice at some point in your life, a choice that you’ll have to make, a choice that’ll decide over your future and whether misfortune will continue to follow in your step.
“I think it was about some sort of a decision? Well, no matter! We can ask Cyrene to foretell our futures again once we return, just for the old time’s sake.” Phainon hummed happily, adjusting the heavy blanket over your shoulders, tugging it higher, tucking you in with enough care to put you in a state of lull, to make you swallow down the unexpected bitterness. “Now she must be rather busy making those flower bouquets for the wedding, I imagine.”
“Then her efforts will be for naught,” you said, tone surprisingly harsh, as if you didn’t care about Cyrene’s good will at all.
Phainon’s hand froze above your frame, nearly making you wince in remorse. “True, that.”
Thinking to lessen the somewhat cumbersome atmosphere, you looked over your shoulder, sending Phainon a sheepish smile. “Sorry to say this, but I’m going to sleep now. You’ll be left alone to your own devices, though I do believe the sight of my unconscious face shall make great entertainment.” You endeavored to jest, knowing that outright apology would only make things more awkward.
The man always stayed up for the majority of the night, keeping watch, making sure no wild animal or potential bandits approached you in your sleep — he assured you that it was alright, that he was fine, that he wouldn’t sleep easy knowing you weren’t properly resting while he was, as he so put it, ‘indulging in selfish slumber’. Phainon said that he didn’t wish for you to stay awake during night, when the surroundings were dark and the shrieking calls of animals could frighten you, only waking you at morn so he’d be able to doze for at least two or three hours.
And you wholeheartedly believed that Phainon would laugh at your poor attempt at humor, yet he merely rubbed your side through the blanket, saying, “I’m not sure, [Name]. I do get quite overwhelmed when I watch you sleep, and I often wonder — where are you going that I can’t follow?”
Slowly, your smile faltered and you shifted to settle fully against the nest, finally facing away from Phainon, eyes staring into the sharp grass blades beside. You had no answer for that.
When thinking about how it came to this, on the sixth day of your journey, you felt quite tentative of all the details and reasons why — perhaps there was no reason why, the rain simply happening as it did most of the time, Aquila’s tears befalling on the land.
The path before you narrowed as it climbed, losing its previous softness. Grass thinned into dry, somewhat scattered patches that left not much to grab onto in case you needed support, giving way to exposed stone that broke through the earth. What was once certain, easy to tread on, now felt like a yawning mouth of peril, so simple to slip down into were any of you to take a wrong step and tumble along with the little rocks. Loose gravel shifted under your feet, sliding slightly, inconspicuously, each step causing it to move before settling again.
The thickets of the forests surrounding you did not disappear entirely, yet they appeared more sparse now, trees standing farther apart, their roots gripping tightly to the mountainside, twisted and partially exposed where the earth had eroded. Water gathered quickly along the slope, slipping between jagged rocks and cutting narrow, shallow paths through the soil; it moved without direction at first, then as if by some cruel force found its way towards you, downward, tracing the incline that crossed the trail unpredictably.
It was bad, you knew. You have been on the go since early morning and though it was barely afternoon, the sky was already dark and shrouded with clouds so thick that the sun couldn’t have pushed even a single ray through their density. Aside from the weather conditions being less than ideal, your body was starting to give up on itself too, lungs clenching uncomfortably with the lack of oxygen that you were, unfortunately, unable to fully take in; your legs trembled with each step, calves and thighs achingly sore, feet struggling to plant stably on the ground as every muscle locked up with the rain’s frigid chill.
“[Name]!” Phainon called over the loud thudding of the rain, looking up to gauge your plight with his squinted eyes, rain rolling down his whole face, dripping from the slope of his nose and chin. “Will you manage to keep going? The path’s getting steeper!”
You panted harshly, raggedly, a rasping noise that sounded more like a dying animal than a person, turning your gaze to look at Phainon’s soaked form, hair sticking to his temples and heavy clothing clinging everywhere. Even craning your neck felt like a lot of effort, eyes fighting to stay locked on the man who happened to be just a meter behind.
“I’ll try, but I don’t know!” You called back, hurriedly wiping your brow and eyes when the water started ruining your vision, making everything blurry and unclear.
Phainon nodded, still aflutter, “the southern village’s near!” He said, probably as a way of comforting you, before resuming the climb upwards.
Gathering any courage left, you pushed your legs to go, not feeling placated by Phainon’s words at all but deciding to move anyway, wrestling with the gravel and rocks and gnarly roots that seemed to be always in your way, making you trip, making you waver. Phainon followed closely behind, though you pleaded earlier that he goes first, that he does not look behind at your pitiful form that only slows you both down.
Another several minutes passed, maybe ten or fifteen or more, rain still heavy and unrelenting. The path ahead was, just as Phainon said, getting only steeper and steeper, causing your feet to tremble with uncertainty as you wondered which rock was safe to step on, which one you could grab on for support without fretting about it breaking in half and sending you rolling to death. The route that you decided to take was faster, yet unsafe, a risk you collectively decided to take with full conscience — now you were starting to regret it, wishing something persuaded you to do the opposite. What’s one or two more additional days? You must be a fool, yes, a complete fool, for even Phainon attempted to subdue your zeal and yet did not succeed in doing so, him out of all people.
One step, two steps, three steps, you felt the ground beneath your feet turning unstable and too soft, too uncertain to tread on safety, fourth step had you faltering and the fifth one was enough to cause you panic, legs wobbling as you suddenly began to slide along with the rolling wetness of rain, leaning forward as if only to grab onto the grass, the rocks, the roots, anything to keep you planted. But that was not enough to save you from your dreadful situation, fingers futilely scrambling and catching on jagged stone, skin slicing from the sharpness and bleeding, red turning pink with the falling rain, wounds caked in dirt and tree needles.
Still sliding down, struggling like a terrified doe with a broken leg and the wolf’s jaw hovering just above its nape, you looked over your shoulder, catching sight of Phainon’s alarmed face. At first he seemed quite unsure of what to do but his arms were quick to reach out, hands trying to catch you. Your descend continued, though, body sliding down the steep mountain even if Phainon grabbed you by your forearm, wet skin against wet skin, your weight already slipping from his grip no matter how hard he was squeezing, expression affrighted, which your own must’ve mirrored with equal intensity.
“Hold onto me!” Phainon yelled to you, lips twisting upon his efforts as he attempted to haul you upwards, your weakened body refusing to cooperate, “[Name], do not let go!”
But even as your knees dug into the gravel, one hand desperately gripping Phainon and the other one holding onto a few feeble weeds that were already starting to get ripped free from the soil, you were still unable to stop yourself from slipping. The man continued to drag you up, up, making your joint feel like it was going to dislocate and pop, skin chafed, scraped raw. Any fortune that you previously had must’ve already been used and evaporated, for your forearm slid from Phainon’s tight hold, hands scrambling to lock together, and the weeds that you were gripping finally snapped beneath the heavy weight of your more-or-less limp body.
“I’m— I can’t!” You forced out, stammering, body rolling on your side awkwardly. Even if Phainon was still wrestling to keep you away from tumbling down the mountainside completely, his fingers that were supporting him against a jutting-out rock were slipping with the wetness, your combined weight making it impossible to remain firmly planted for too long.
Before either of you could exchange any more panicked words, Phainon finally let go — willingly or unwillingly, who knows, both of you letting out a startled noise anyway. Aghast, you felt your body dragged down by the gravitation, watching the sharpness of stone ahead, unforgiving and deadly, and you whimpered in fearfulness, sending a thousand prayers to Georios to lessen the blow of rocks which already cut through your flesh, then to Thanatos, begging them for a quick death.
Despite your fervent prayers, death never came, Phainon’s bigger body folding around yours and shielding from the worst of the pain. He did not even cry in hurt or fright, merely grunting when his cheek got sliced, one arm wound tightly around your frame while the other finally managed to grab onto a pine’s trunk, abruptly stopping your descend as the two of you crashed into the tree, Phainon taking the major blow from the impact.
Panting and gasping for air, heart pounding so hard that you long stopped feeling any pain, you looked around yourself. Against your grim predictions, you were very much alive and kicking. All you suffered, or could feel at that current moment, was some sort of bruising underneath your eye and a split lip. The pine that you landed on creaked quietly under your combined weight, bending just slightly, and you let out a shaky breath, feeling tears of relief gathering in your eyes as you finally were, at least remotely, safe.
Then you looked at Phainon’s face next to yours, the gash running across his cheek. It wasn’t deep, fortunately, a shallow wound that probably wouldn’t even scar visibly, blending in with the shade of his skin. He was breathing harshly as well, labored pants leaving his lungs, and when you looked down at the muscled legs bracketing you partially against the tree, you could notice the bloody chafing there, the skin of his calves worn down as though someone rubbed them raw with sandpaper, the state of his forearms just as bad.
Instead of concerning himself with his own rather worrisome state, Phainon immediately turned his utmost attention towards you, shifting you in his arms so that you sat more fully against the rocky slope. “[Name],” he smiled with obvious relief, even if the situation wasn’t humorous by any means, “I am so glad that you’re fine, gods, what would be of me if I let you injure yourself? No, that… I simply would never forgive myself.” The man laughed nervously, evidently stressed, examining your form with eyes too wide and too frantic.
When Phainon reached to swipe your drenched locks away from your forehead, you grabbed his wrist with your own bloodied palm, wide lacerations running through the tender flesh, the worst of the injury washed away with rain, and you said, “what of you, Phainon? Look at yourself, you’ve suffered too because of my—”
“Though your concern is appreciated, you mustn’t worry,” he interrupted, shutting you up with a tone one octave firmer than usual, “it is me who agreed to this route, even if I knew how treacherous it might be.”
“You’re suggesting that you should take responsibility for the more important decisions?” You couldn’t help scoffing, suddenly a bit affronted. “What sort of logic is that? I, too, knew this path is dangerous, yet I still chose to take it — we both agreed, not just you, who apparently thinks that all fault rests now on his shoulders.”
Frustrated, you continued to measure each other with narrowed eyes before you finally conceded, sighing in defeat. “All right, we shouldn’t fight now…” you murmured, more amiable now, even if you felt as though you were missing some crucial detail, Phainon appearing more confused than vexed by your words.
“Agreed,” Phainon said. Slowly, he began to stand up, supporting himself against the pine, muscles of his legs spasming a bit before they settled down, and you regretted not telling him to wear trousers, instead simply letting Phainon strut through the mountains in just his chiton. Though, you supposed, the trousers would’ve been ripped to shreds anyway. “Can you walk or stand?” The man asked, then, extending his bruised palm towards you, bursted blood vessels making his thenar appear splotched in mauve, a pitiful field of violets.
You shook your head, attempting to get on your feet, “I’m not quite sure…” the adrenaline was already ebbing away and the longer you spent on calming yourself, the worse the pain got. Absolutely worn and still shaken, you grabbed Phainon’s hand as gently as you could, hoisting yourself up. Then you cursed under your breath, a broken sound leaving your lips the second you put pressure on your foot — it didn’t seem to be broken or snapped, no, you could stand on it, though the pain still rendered you trembling, knees wobbling.
“When did this happen…?” Phainon sighed, a flash of fatigue crossing his features, yet he was very fast to recover. “No matter. We’ll find temporary shelter till the rain stops, since you won’t be able to go by yourself for any longer.” He said it with such conviction that your eyebrows drew together and you frowned, quite eager to deny, but Phainon was already crouching in front of you.
The sight of his broad back waiting for you, beckoning to finally lean on him and rest, was too much. “True, it does hurt too much for me to walk,” you muttered, voice coy, barely audible over the all-engulfing sounds of rain. Admitting your weakness came surprisingly easy, a mindless action, just a few fickle words that really didn’t mean as much as the grip that Phainon secured around your knees once you climbed atop him, your arms hugging to his neck, forehead falling against the man’s soaked nape.
He hoisted you up effortlessly, adjusting your slumped body and starting to trudge forward, wordless, still somehow managing to remain calm. Time passed quickly when you kept your eyes closed, body drained from energy, brain detached; you barely noticed yourself being lowered before Phainon was starting to tug off your shoes, pouring the water out of them. Dazed, you watched him work, blinking a few times before realizing you were sitting in some sort of a hollow, rain unable to get inside the rocky cavity, water drizzling down but sliding ahead instead of inside, making it a great place to stop for a rest.
By then, there was no adrenaline in your body, nothing to push you through. Phainon seemed preoccupied with drawing the bandage around your ankle and foot snugly, secure but not tight enough to cut off your circulation, and you felt guilty for being so weak, so frail, tears already starting to sting at your eyes. The first sob that left you was quiet, almost not there, a strangled whimper. Soon, though, you were no longer able to hold back your fatigue mixing with despair and frustration, that helplessness ripping another cry, then another and another.
Through your blurry vision, you thought you saw Phainon smile under his nose, but maybe it wasn’t real. His irises rose, fixing on your face. “Why are you crying, [Name]? Does your ankle really hurt so much?” He asked, tone soft, hand settling on your shin and squeezing to get your attention as you continued to hiccup.
“No,” you answered, sniffling. “No, it doesn’t… I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s just— ah,” reaching to wipe your face, you shied away from Phainon’s gaze, feeling like a silly child, “that’s so stupid, isn’t it? Mydei always told me to stop whining so much, he must be right. The only thing I can really do is cry, for I…”
Before you could fully curl up on yourself, Phainon grabbed you by the wrists, pulling them away from your crying face, as if he genuinely wished to gauge the expression you donned. “Don’t speak of Mydei, he’s not here. Why are you even thinking of him now?” The corner of Phainon’s lips twitched, then he was smiling, eyes crinkling in the corners as he reached to wipe your tears away. “You were always so sensitive, [Name], always so quick to tears.”
You huffed a little, allowing Phainon’s thumbs to swipe gentle arcs across the apples of your cheeks, getting rid of the dampness there, and he continued, “but I do not think it to be something bad. You can weep when next to me, because I am not Mydei and I understand.” The man’s hands finally moved over to your chiton, grabbing the skirts and starting to wring them, rainwater splashing right next to you on the ground. It was cold, so cold. “Unlike the others, I’d rather gouge my eyes out than look at you with condescension. You must know that, [Name].”
Phainon was still smiling and you found yourself slowly starting to smile too, even if his words did make you pause. Mydei did understand you, he did, he was one of your best friends and it’s untrue to say that he perceives you in a condescending way — though after a short while of pondering, you couldn’t help but agree with Phainon. It might be that Mydei often dismissed your heartaches, making you feel lesser, a foolish, oversensitive girl, bereft of any values that could make one a truly respectable individual. How come you never noticed?
“I already know, Phainon.” You sniffled again, but this time the tears already stopped, a crooked smile stretching your lips weakly.
Apparently content with your answer, Phainon sent you a pleased look, then reached into one of the travel bags that he previously deposited on the ground and plucked out your warmer attire. “We should change. I wouldn’t want us freezing to death while we wait for that downpour to stop. Who knows when Aquila will finally settle.” He jested lightly, passing you the clothes.
“Right,” you nodded, a humorless chuckle leaving your mouth, voice still small and devoid of vigor.
So you stood up, having to hunch down a little in this cavity that you took for shelter, shedding your utterly soaked, heavy chiton in exchange for a cloth of warmer, thicker material, draping it over your body with shaky hands. Through the hollow’s stilly air, you could hear Phainon starting to change too. And even though you were now clad in a garment created to preserve warmth, you had no warmth to begin with, which caused your joints to keep shivering, body plopping down stiffly once you were done changing.
Phainon was quick to follow in your step, sitting beside you; you thought to tell him that your clothes needed to be wrung out, dried, that you’d be fine, yet he was already scooting closer, keen eyes judging your state. “Starting the fire might be hard now,” he said, “we foolishly did not predict the rain, and which one of us thought to save any dry wood?” A rueful smirk curved his lips upward.
His bigger hands held yours, starting to rub them, the friction of your skin meeting together enough to warm you up — shivers still wrecked your body, so you pushed yourself closer to Phainon, swallowing down your pride. It wasn’t like you minded being this close, anyway. The man’s eyes, previously locked on your connected hands, finally lifted, a grin splitting his still-damp face in half. Both of you laughed as he began to huff into your cupped hands, summery air heating you up. You leaned against the sturdy, warm frame, causing Phainon to pause. Was he surprised? You hardly believed that.
“I should carry you for the rest of the way,” Phainon mused. He reached for the flower-patterned blanket from his bag, finally tucking it around you both. “And you should agree.”
A hum, “maybe. I don’t know… but, then again, how can I demand this much of you?” Your head lolled to the side, resting against Phainon’s shoulder. He was always so very helpful, looking out for you and acting like you actually mattered instead of being a simple scapegoat that he used to lift his father’s expectations off of his shoulders. What did it matter to Phainon? You’ll break your betrothal soon and everything will be over anyway.
A clear answer never came, for Phainon merely muttered something incomprehensible under his breath, arm tightening around your midriff snugly enough to have you tilt into his orbit, unable to resist the pull.
Perhaps, despite having tried to convince yourself otherwise, you truly were half-witted.
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[Timkon lovesquare au] okay here’s the part I never posted here! This was a two part comic with the first one exploring superboy going for more traditional superman look (sort of based on an mlb episode where chat noir changes his whole suit and demeanor) after getting shunned by the public and media while this part was about Tim’s belief in him inspiring him to just be superboy
I’ve honestly been so busy with two jobs and having like no free time that I barely draw but I want to add more comics to this au 😣🙏
HI ANGEL!!! I LOVE UT SCRUMPTIOUS ART like the colors, the lighting, the dynamic and composition makes me wanna writhe and wiggle inside the screen to make a home in those sweet, warm colors
I admire your writing too! I've been meaning to write a fanfic but i honestly don't have the balls for that (my orv transmigration will not be out until 2048.... Shoot me pls) so then i decided to make fanart for fanfics instead! Which i too, horrendously fail at... (Shame my impeccable art motivation)
I've never joined these kind of requesting events but I'd like to give it a try! I'm just so in love with how you portray and draw phainon, and I just wanna see more crumbs of my man. He's so gorjus, i just wanna squish his cheeks and kiss him all day, (if reality made it possible) just do wtv you want w this! Can be written or drawn, I don't mind as long as its my sweetie phainon <3
thank you for drawing all your lovely art! I find myself revitalized at such a lively, but wholesome feeling everytime i look at them, it's honestly inspirational at times.
Sincerely a silent lurker, take good care of yourself and wishing you all the stellar jades, luck, and desires you ever-so hope for ✨
HHELLO ANON!! TY FOR SENDING THIS IN!!! (ˊᵒ̴̶̷̤ ꇴ ᵒ̴̶̷̤ˋ) YOURE TOO KIND
PLEASE WRITE THAT FANFIC (orv brainrot is excused though (人◕ω◕)) there are definitely people (me) out there who would love your ideas ^^ ALSO(!) you draw art for fanfic??!!! THATS SO AWESOMEOMG ᜊ( ' ⩊ '𖦹)ᜊ you form the backbone of fandom!! (MANIFESTING YOUR MOTIVATION)
ty sm for joining this event! i like to imagine phainon does his puppy dog eyes on purpose to tempt you to kiss him again heh (;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`) (am i wrong or am i wrong)
TY AGAIN!! your words mean a lot, it really made my day! ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) 🗣📢 STAY HYDRATED AND HAPPY AND MAY ALL YOUR CHARACTERS BE E6S5!!
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Game Master: *hastily* New rule一no breaking properties at all time.
Taiga: This flower shit takes too long. Make it five seconds.
Game Master: ......................... Fine.
Taiga: There's not enough food!!!!
Game Master: ...... I'll replenish them semi-permanently. Feel free to use whatever you need.
Taiga: Pass. You guys go play with that Masked Pervert. I'm gonna take a nap.
Elias: Well, he's here and asking for zero feather is technically still participating in the game, so.
Game Master: ..........
Haku: By the way, what counts as being "looked at"? What if someone else is in her field of vision? If there's a risk of someone accidentally turning into stone, your rules don't really work, you know?
Elias: He has a point. Please be more specific with your explanations.
Hello people of tumblr, I've not been around much because my internet wouldn't let me in here and for some reason even if I get in the connection error pop up will appear... sigh anyway I managed to get in through pc with a little vpn tinkering! It's a hassle to get in so you won't see me that often anymore at least for the time being
Anyway, shirtless haru undercut, have a good day peeps 😘
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Pairing: Haru Sagara x Jabberwock! Reader
Note: Just random thought I have about drunk Haru ^^
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Finding Haru nowhere to be found tonight, you're certain he is out somewhere drinking himself into complete oblivion and carelessly wandering off into the dark. But then Rui texts you to confirm that Haru isn't crashing at his place, so now you are left with the incredibly important task of tracking him down. Fortunately, you know exactly where to look.
The main issue is that you cannot really carry his dead weight all by yourself, so you reach out to secure some extra muscle.
Ren Shiranami.
The boy can groan and complain all he wants, but at the end of the day, he still has to listen to you because he is your junior.
So the two of you make your way down the dark path toward Dionysia, which remains abandoned (this all takes place before the Dio ghouls eventually reopen their House).
As you walk, you can hear Ren occasionally yelp aloud or unconsciously press his stride closer to yours because this entire place creeps the absolute hell out of him. You pass by old frayed tents, vibrant paint smudged into muddy streaks by the rain and broken machines abandoned carelessly in the corners. Everything around you gives off that eerie horror movie vibe where some fucking serial killer clown could pop out with a rusty saw and start chasing people down at any given second. Ren is practically quivering from head to toe the entire time while you simply focus your mind and walk straight ahead through the gloom.
When you finally reach the destination, the artisan workstation, it is clearly abandoned as well. Thick layers of dust coat every single surface and there is barely any light left to guide you. You turn to Ren and tell him to hold up his phone to use like a flashlight while you walk straight toward the bleak line of metal lockers. You head right to your left, targeting the third locker in the row that stands out because it is slightly rustier than all the others. The handle seems half-broken and makes that awful, high pitched creaking sound every single time you attempt to open it.
Inside the narrow space, you find Haru curled up tightly within the cramped, dark and moldy interior.
He seems to genuinely enjoy sleeping in tight, enclosed places like this. Any normal person looking in would definitely question if his spine and back are going to be okay, wondering who the hell could possibly find an ounce of comfort in a spot like this. But you know Haru. He is the type of person who finds it incredibly hard to let go of old, deeply ingrained habits even when those very habits cause him physical or emotional hurt. He keeps most things entirely to himself because he dislikes telling people too much about his personal life. You only know these things because you have been his close friend for a very long time. Otherwise, you highly doubt you would even know where to look to find him on a night like this.
Crouching down slightly onto the cold stone ground beneath you, you call out his name into the damp air.
"Haru."
But he seems to be deeply asleep, totally dead to the world. His face is heavily flushed from the alcohol, his hair is completely disheveled, and his shirt is wrinkled with several of the front buttons already undone. You let out a quiet sigh to yourself before turning around and telling Ren to carry Haru on his back. The young boy does exactly as he is told without asking a single question.
Just as the two of you are about to leave the workstation, Haru suddenly wakes up. Clearly still drunk out of his absolute mind, he keeps loudly singing and rambling utter nonsense. He spits out chaotic strings of words that most people wouldn't even understand. His arms wrap and cling tightly around Ren's neck while the poor boy nearly chokes to death under the grip. Ren looks completely annoyed, exhausted and miserable, but he still carries Haru all the way back to safety while the stubborn redhead keeps aggressively tugging on his curls and shaking him around. Ren sighs heavily once or twice during the trek before apparently deciding that this situation is far beyond his emotional paycheck, choosing to simply tune out Haru's loud antics entirely.
⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆
By the time the three of you finally return to the dorm room, Haru has calmed down a little bit, his heavy breathing falling into a slightly more even rhythm.
"Sorry for the trouble. You can go rest now."
You speak gently to Ren right after he helps you settle Haru safely onto the mattress of his bed. The boy hesitates for a brief moment before leaving, but you firmly reassure him that everything is perfectly fine. You have taken care of a drunken Haru countless times in the past and know that he is not entirely catastrophic to manage, so Ren eventually decides to take his leave and head to his own room.
As you use a cloth to wipe the damp sweat away from Haru's forehead, you cannot help but notice how hot his face and neck feel from all the alcohol burning through his system. His breathing occasionally falters and falls out of rhythm. It is obvious that he must be having a bad dream.
You briefly consider helping him change out of his messy clothes, but considering the fragile, volatile state he is currently in, you decide against forcing the issue for now. After carefully removing his gloves and his vest, you tug the blanket over his body to secure him warmly.
You think that maybe you should just leave him to sleep for the rest of the night.
But just as you begin to stand up from the mattress, his hand suddenly reaches out from under the covers and firmly catches your wrist. The cold, unyielding sensation of metal presses directly against your warm skin.
It is a firm grip. It feels slightly eerie in the quiet room. You turn your body back around to look down at the man lying prone in the bed. His vivid red hair is completely messy against the pillow, and his eyes are only barely open. Pale moonlight pours heavily through the window pane and softly illuminates his features while his breathing sounds slightly strained in his throat. And with those tired, glazed eyes and a low, rough voice, he softly calls out your name.
He sounds just like a lost man searching desperately for something in the pitch dark.
Or like a frightened child calling out for their parent after waking from a terrible nightmare.
Seeing that vulnerable side of him makes something twist painfully deep inside your chest because you have never been able to bring yourself to leave his side when he gets like this. So you slide back down and sit at the edge of his bed, doing your best to soothe whatever dark feeling is haunting his mind.
"Do you want some water, Haru?"
You ask him the question very quietly, and despite his condition, he still manages to understand your words. He nods his head weakly while you move to help him sit up slightly against the pillows. You have no idea just how much alcohol he drank tonight, but you can already tell that tomorrow's morning hangover is going to be horrific. You reach over to pick up the water bottle resting beside his nightstand and uncap it for him.
"There are hangover meds too. You should take them."
But as he tries to reach out, his arms start shaking badly. His fingers tremble so violently that he can barely hold the plastic bottle properly. If you let go, he would definitely spill the water everywhere. So you place your hands over his to help him hold it steady while he slowly drinks. The cool water slowly eases the burning sensation in his parched throat, though his thoughts still seem hazy and slow.
"Open your mouth."
You speak the command gently, and he obediently follows your instruction like a child while you place the small pill carefully onto his tongue. The surface of his tongue brushes against your fingertip for only a fleeting second, but the intense warmth of it makes you flinch slightly. His tongue barely dampens the very tip of your finger before you quickly pull your hand away from his face.
You say nothing about it. This is not the first time you have taken care of him while he was drunk, after all. It is nothing new between the two of you.
"Do you want to change clothes?"
You ask him quietly while his hazy gaze slowly drifts down toward the intensely wrinkled state of his shirt.
"...Yes."
He finally answers you after a very long, drawn out silence. Normally, he wouldn't be coherent enough to respond to a question properly. Either you would have to handle the entire clothing situation yourself by force, or he would clumsily strip half conscious and collapse straight into the bed sheets. But tonight, he actually seems somewhat capable of following the thread of the conversation. You stand up and move toward his dark closet, grabbing a comfortable, clean shirt and a pair of sweatpants before returning directly to his bedside.
Haru who is still lightheaded, slowly starts undoing his shirt buttons on his own, but his trembling hands make the simple task nearly impossible to complete. You stand there and watch him struggle for a moment. You know Haru better than anyone. He never asks for help even when he needs it most of all. Sometimes he will actually ask Elias for assistance, but he never asks you.
You frequently wonder why that is. Does he genuinely think that he is a massive burden to you? Or does he simply not trust you enough to rely on you in that specific way? Whatever the true reason is, you don't care. You just want to help him.
So you reach forward and gently stop his shaking hands before beginning to undo the rest of the buttons for him instead. He simply sits there, leaning weakly against the wooden headboard with a dumbfounded expression on his face, looking like his brain is still desperately trying to process the situation occurring right in front of him.
He does not try to stop you at all. Perhaps it is only because he is completely drunk. Usually, a sober Haru would get flustered immediately and pull away violently from your close touch. But now he stays quiet through the entire process until you finish undoing the very last button and hand him the fresh shirt.
He pulls the fabric over his head, making his red hair even messier than it was before. You reach out and smooth it down gently with your palms while speaking to him.
"You can change your pants yourself, right?"
That specific question finally seems to drag whatever little bit of sobriety he has left back into his sluggish system because he immediately stumbles over his words, his face turning an even brighter shade of red than before. You honestly cannot tell if the dark blush is from the alcohol or from sheer embarrassment.
"Relax. It's not like you've never stripped naked in front of me."
You say it casually because you remember there was that one specific time he threw up all over himself and the floor. Towa obviously could not handle the mess, and Ren had not even enrolled yet. So naturally, the responsibility fell onto you.
"I'm sorry..."
He suddenly murmurs under his breath, making your gaze drift right back toward his face. The dim moonlight softens over his flushed skin while his brows furrow together slightly.
"Am I being a burden to you?"
Ah. Right. There is another thing you learned about Haru a long time ago. He is always more honest with his feelings when he is drunk. Which means all the deeply hidden parts of himself that he normally conceals from everyone else start slipping through the cracks.
"Is that what's been bothering you?" you ask him quietly while he remains silent. If he actually wants to talk tonight, you are more than willing to stay up all night long just listening to him. "You think you're a burden to me?"
You repeat the question much more clearly this time to make sure it gets through.
"...Yes."
His voice is so soft that you almost miss it.
"How so?"
You lower your tone gently, coaxing the words out of him. It is the exact same voice that both of you always use when you are around animals, treating them like they are tiny, fragile babies.
"I... I..."
He cannot even explain the feeling properly. Or maybe he simply does not even know where to begin. Perhaps his entire life feels so disastrously tangled up to him that he no longer knows how to organize any of it anymore.
"Do you dislike it when I take care of you?" you ask him very carefully.
He lifts his hazy gaze up toward you. The sheer sadness and guilt reflecting in his eyes make you want to pull him into a tight embrace immediately, but you know that if you move too quickly, Haru might retreat right back into his shell. So you stay perfectly still and wait patiently for him.
"...No."
He finally answers, causing a soft, genuine smile to appear on your face.
"Then what are you worried about?" you ask him again, trying to truly understand what is haunting him so deeply that even when he is dead drunk, he still cannot rest peacefully.
"I feel like... I'm taking advantage of you."
The blunt answer makes a quiet laugh slip from your throat.
"A drunk man like you?" You lean slightly closer to his face. "I should be the one saying that. What exactly are you even capable of when you're this drunk?"
You gently remind him of his current helpless condition, which only serves to embarrass him even more. You soften your demeanor again quickly.
"I want to help you. And accepting help from others isn't taking advantage."
He looks genuinely caught off guard by your words.
"So I'll take care of you even when you're not drunk, Haru." You gently guide him back down beneath the warm blankets while he obediently follows your lead like his brain has short circuited. "So will you let me do that?" you ask while tucking the blanket neatly around his frame again.
His eyes stay fixed on you, still slightly hazy and clouded. He does not answer you right away. But after a very long pause, he nods his head faintly.
"Good." You pat the surface of the blanket lightly. "So get some sleep, okay? We still have work tomorrow."
"...Can you stay until I fall asleep?"
It is the first time Haru has ever asked you for something so directly. The sudden request catches you off guard, and he seems immediately startled by his own words too because he quickly buries himself deeper beneath the heavy blanket.
"S-sorry..."
He starts trying to take the request back like he always does, but you are already moving your body before he can even finish the sentence. You shift your weight onto the bed right beside him like it is the most natural thing in the world.
He flinches slightly when he feels your sudden warmth so close beside him. The heat radiating from your body makes him feel even hotter than the alcohol already does. You tug the blanket over both of you and gently pat his shoulder like you are lulling a small child to sleep.
"Satisfied?" you ask softly with a smile.
Haru shifts his body slightly before slowly turning around to face you.
"...I must reek of alcohol right now."
The quiet mumble almost makes you laugh out loud. He just asked you to stay, and now he is worried about something like this.
"Yeah, you stink," you tease him lightly, immediately noticing him trying to shift his body farther away despite the darkness of the room.
Even without seeing his face clearly, you can feel how incredibly flustered he is. His breath is warm against your skin. So you move closer instead, wrapping a firm arm around him.
"But not nearly as bad as those babies we'll have to deal with tomorrow."
You pat his head gently. Running your fingers through his soft hair, you feel his entire body stiffen up beneath your touch. But he does not pull away from you. Instead, after a long moment, he slowly and hesitantly inches his body closer toward yours. His arm settles around your waist while he buries his face deeply against your chest, inhaling softly through the fabric of your shirt. Finally, you feel his tense shoulders completely relax. That uneven, strained breathing from earlier finally smooths out into a quiet, relieved sigh that you almost never get to hear from him. You rub his back gently before pressing a small kiss against his red hair.
He murmurs sleepily against your chest.
"How did you know where to find me?"
Right. Because he never actually told you about this specific hideout.
"Elias told me." You don't see any reason to hide the truth.
Haru looks up slightly, his chin resting against your shirt while your fingers continue brushing gently through his hair and away from his forehead.
"He did...?"
"He was worried about you." You continue rubbing his back softly, carefully, treating him like he is something incredibly fragile that might break. "It's getting colder lately. That's really not the best place to sleep, you know?"
You want to scold him for neglecting his own well being and worrying everyone half to death. But you don't do it. Because you truly understand Haru. Opening his heart to people is not an easy task for him, and right now, he is trying his best.
And you? You have worked incredibly hard to earn his trust over time. You have worked hard to win his heart also. So of course you do not want to hurt him in any way, even verbally.
"Besides, even if you weren't there, I still would've found you."
You say it matter of fact while pulling his body slightly closer to yours. He does the exact same in return. Even through the fabric of your clothes, you can feel the cold metallic sensation of his prosthetic arm tightening faintly around your waist.
"You're not the only one who likes putting trackers on people."
You smile while softly pinching his flushed cheek. That action finally earns a small, genuine laugh from him. It is only a tiny one. But it is more than enough to linger warmly in the darkness of the quiet bedroom.
"Sleep. I'll wake you tomorrow. Peekaboo must miss you."
You kiss his soft hair once more. You slowly guide him toward a deep sleep. Not until his breathing evens out completely, his chest rising and falling softly against your own body, his eyelashes finally still, his brows relaxed and his expression peaceful in sleep, do you finally close your own eyes too.
"Goodnight, little foxie."
⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆
Bright sunlight pours through the curtains and spills directly across your face, making you stir slightly in your sleep. It is such a warm and refreshing morning, something you rarely get to experience since you usually wake up long before sunrise.
You immediately sit upright in the bed.
Shit!!!
You must have slept straight through your morning alarm.
But as you look around, you realize this is definitely not your room. The ceiling looks unfamiliar. The bed, the blankets, and even the subtle scent surrounding you feel completely unfamiliar.
Right. Haru. He was drunk. You took care of him last night. Even though you only planned to stay until he fell asleep before returning to your own room, somehow you ended up falling fast asleep right beside him too.
Turning toward the other side of the bed, you realize Haru is already awake. He is sitting quietly at the edge of the mattress while yawning softly, the back of his red hair completely tangled. Honestly, it might be the worst case of bedhead you have ever seen on him. Well, that probably means he slept incredibly well, right?
"Good morning..." you mumble sleepily while rubbing your eyes.
Haru lets out a troubled, shy smile.
"Sorry. Did I wake you up?" he asks you quietly, looking like he is afraid of disturbing your peace even now.
"No. It is just my iological clock," you yawn lightly. "Did you sleep well?"
"The best sleep I've had in a long time."
He answers you softly, causing a little smile to grow on your face.
"Glad you didn't wake up with a hangover."
You stretch your limbs slightly while the bright sunlight dances across the room and catches teasingly against his reddish hair. Only now do you realize that he isn't wearing a shirt at all.
"...Where's your shirt, Haru?"
Your tone sounds significantly more interrogative than curious.
"Ah... that." He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. "I dirtied it while feeding Peekaboo earlier."
So he woke up that early already. Normally, he would already be fully dressed and halfway through his morning duties by this time of day. He usually skips breakfast too. But today is a bit different. Sweatpants. Messy hair. Still lingering around his bedroom. Did he actually decide to take a rare day off?
"Ren made breakfast and said he'd handle the morning tasks…" Haru explains quietly, still sounding uncomfortable about accepting help from other people.
"What a good junior. We should reward him later," you tease softly while pushing the blanket aside and preparing to get out of the bed.
But before you can even move your legs properly, a strong pair of arms wraps tightly around your torso. Or rather, Haru clings onto you securely from behind. You glance back slightly over your shoulder to meet his eyes. His bare chest presses faintly against your back while he nuzzles his face lightly against the side of your cheek.
You lift a hand up and gently rub his messy hair and the warm back of his neck. He is being unusually clingy today.
"Sorry... I just wanted to do that..."
The quiet, honest confession makes soft laughter slip from your lips.
Cute.
You think the word silently to yourself. Though honestly, you have always thought Haru was incredibly cute. But today feels entirely different. He is far more adorable when he is honest with himself. And in the end, you simply let him cling to you for the entire morning until he finally feels satisfied enough to let go.
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