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Ever since you remember, you’ve been hiding a secret. Sounds ominous, doesn’t it? After all, not everyone is born and immediately gets told that they’re going to die tragically purely because they were born with blood of gold.

You don’t remember exactly how it happened. You were just running around, having fun before you stumbled onto the ground and scraped your knee; it hurt, nose scrunched, tears rolling down your puffy cheeks - who could blame you? You were not older than 3. Worried parents rushing to you, cooing in an attempt to calm you down, until your mother saw your knee - instead of seeing reddened skin, she saw gold. Your father scooped you in his arms and took you home.

Ever since that incident, your parents had gotten much more protective of you. They’d always watch you whenever you played with your friends, keep you at home, safe, for longer than necessary, not letting you stray too far from home “in case something happens”. It took you a while of pestering them until your parents finally gave in and told you their reasons for such a change in their behaviour.

“You see”, your mother started, “there are some people born with blood of gold, like you. They’re called Chrysos Heirs. Their mission is to defy fate and fight with gods, all for the sake of humanity. It’s very dangerous, and very few of them last till the end.”

It came to you as quite a shock, since you didn’t even realise your blood wasn’t crimson red. After all, you’d never really gotten a chance to learn that fact, with parents keeping you away from any and all kinds of danger. Of course you thought you were the same as them, why wouldn’t you? You weren’t anything special. Right?

“Mommy won’t let fate take her baby away from her. I will keep you safe from that cruel destiny. I promise.”

You’d grown up like any other child; helping out at home, playing in the field (in moderation, with such overprotective parents as yours it wasn’t a common occurrence), living carefree, ignorant to the dangers lurking outside of your little haven called village. Except you hadn’t. You didn’t outright ‘seek’ challenges, but you weren’t slacking off either. Training at the back of your house; wooden sword in hand, swinging it at an imaginary enemy. You weren’t sure if you could even call that training, but with the lack of a better word, you settled for that. You didn’t understand your parents’ concerns. After all, protecting the world wasn’t a bad thing, when your whole world was just your hometown. Even your teachers noticed how agile you’ve gotten, so you could pat your shoulder with pride at your efforts in getting stronger.

It was only logical you wanted to hone your skills and actually learn how to fight when you actually got the chance to, no? Reaching adulthood gave you a chance to finally choose for yourself, although you felt guilty for keeping your parents in the dark about your plans for the future.

“I want to go to Castrum Kremnos.” You remember your mother flinching, how she stared at you as if you’ve told her you’re going to die tomorrow. (It was probably the same thing for her. Fighting equaled death.) Your father was a bit more observant (or maybe he just didn’t lie to himself) and so he wasn’t as surprised with that information. Because it was a statement; not a suggestion, not a question. You were settled on going. On leaving. 

Her trembling hands reached out, tired and calloused from all the work she’d done over the years. You gently took them into yours, thumbs brushing over her knuckles, kneeling down to be on her eye level.

You saw her open her mouth, but no sound came out; only tears started to gather at the corners of her eyes. 

“I will be back when I’m done with my training. I want to go there so I can return here and keep you all safe from any danger.” To you, your village was a haven. And you wanted to keep it that way. “I’ll do my best to not let anyone learn of my secret, I promise.”

“But- what if someone finds out?” You felt guilty for pushing her into such state - wet from tears cheeks, trembling hands, weak voice. But who could really blame you? You wished to have a life of your own, too. Was that so wrong to yearn for such thing?

“I’ll just tell them that this is the exact reason why I’m training - so I can become a capable Chrysos Heir.” You wouldn’t be fully lying, even. You always felt responsible for the people you cared about. Was this the reason why? Your friends always talked about the Heirs with so much passion and admiration. About how brave they were, how amazing and strong. Maybe that’s why you always felt like you needed to learn how to fight - because it was in your blood to protect the world. The only difference was that your world was a small village you were born in, not the whole of Amphoreus.

You straightened up, eyes wandering to your father who only had a bitter smile. He was ready to let go, probably had been for a long time, but it still pained him to see the child he shielded for so all those years simply leave for that one reason he didn’t want them to.

Your warm fingers came up to your mother’s cheek, wiping away the tears;

“I don’t want to save the world, mother. I just want to protect those I hold dear.”You picked up the sword you ordered from your local forgesmith in secret and left your peaceful haven. But you promised yourself and everyone else that you will return. They were the whole reason you headed to Kremnos. So you could learn how to keep the danger away from the world. Or rather, your world.

You’ve passed some villages on your way and have learned a few things; one, it was still a long way from Kremnos, two, it was pointless to go there because it had been abandoned by its people, and three, the people you were looking for were currently in Okhema (and weren’t keen on leaving). 

You could only sigh in disappointment. You never planned to go to the Holy City, and you’ve heard about the golden threads that see everything happening in the city (although you weren’t exactly sure how they worked). Well, it wasn’t like you had any other choice, so you just kept moving forward. At least you’ve got some food you could munch on. It was tasty, you had to admit, and you were quite lucky you didn't have to worry about dying of starvation.

Oh well, Okhema it is.

After what felt like eternity, you arrive at a temple. Is this a citystate…? It’s too dark to even try to see anything, and it seems to be abandoned anyways. So empty and quiet, you don’t like the eerie atmosphere this place has. Goosebumps form on your skin, heart pounding in your chest - are you really scared of the dark? You’re not a kid anymore, c’mon you can do better. 

Inhale, exhale.

It’s fine. You have something to protect yourself if any danger were to arise. Your eyes wander around the place, scanning the area; all you could see was fallen columns made of marble and the faint light of Kephale reaching to the temple amidst the fog.

Hand idly tracing the surface of a stone, fingers stopping at a carving that reads “Janusopolis”. Well, that answers your question; you’ve arrived at the Temple of Three Fates, if you recall the name correctly. You’ve met a priest of Passage only once, when he traveled from village to village, spreading the word of Fate. You don’t remember anything he’d said, it all felt like just some ramblings of an old man. Maybe you should’ve shown him more respect. Who knows if Janus will call Talanton to judge you for your misdoings. Wait, haven’t there been rumours about both of them already being dead, though?

A sound reaches your ears, shaking you out of your trance. Is it… people? No one should leave in such poor conditions, although priests are known for their stubbornness and devotion, so who knows. Still, the more the merrier, isn’t that how the saying goes? It’s easier to protect yourself when you’re in a group (hopefully it’s not some thieves looking for easy money).

Your suspicion was right, as you can make out a crowd as you approach. They’re in smaller groups, most of them wearing pristine white attire of priests, unfortunately, but you notice that they don't seem to be in a hurry; either they’re crazy and are ready to throw away their lives for Fate, or there’re some capable warriors among them. You hope for the latter.

It almost feels like you’re a hunter trying to walk closer to their prey with how slowly you step forward. You’re not that talkative and trying to get obsessed priests to talk, much less help a stranger, is quite a feat. There’s a larger group of people discussing something in a rather tight circle; is it perhaps where the leader stands? You pray to all the Titans above that they’re an easy-going person, because otherwise the conversation you’re about to have is going to be extremely awkward. As you pass people by, the chatter is replaced by whispers (or is it just your imagination playing tricks on you?) and you feel as if a thousand daggers were pointed straight at you. 

Deep breaths, it’ll be fine. The worst you can hear is ‘no’.

You reach the group, which seems to be in a heated debate over… whether or not they can stay here? You sigh internally, it really seems to be the extremely devoted type, huh. Before you can even step back and let them argue in peace, you hear

“And who are you, huh?”

Oh. Oh shit.

…And your plan is all ruined. Although most faces are filled with judgement (how ironic), you spot some younger pairs of eyes hiding sheer curiosity - or, confusion, perhaps. Though the person that stands out the most is probably the only person who doesn’t look like a devoted follower of Fate. Soft white hair dangling off his face, sky blue eyes that seem to be piercing right through your soul, face full of vigor - yeah, he’s definitely the person you were looking for. 

“Do you need help with anything? Did you get lost?” The question is directed at you, and somehow with the way he said it, it feels less threatening than you expected.

There’s a moment of silence, and you feel your hands getting sweaty, but you counter his question with your own one; 

“Are you perhaps heading to the Holy City?”

The man's face visibly lights up at your words.

“Y’know, I’m so glad you’ve bumped into us, who knows how much more convincing I’d have to do before they’d give in.” He lets out a sheepish chuckle, hand on the back of neck. “You coming in felt like an older sibling setting a good example for the younger one to follow!”

You only nod silently at his words. You’ve only known this man for less than 5 minutes, and you can already tell that he talks a lot.

“Oh, right- I should properly introduce myself.” He clears his throat, one of his hands reaching out to you. “I’m Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, Chrysos Heir, also known as ‘the Deliverer’.” If you’re being honest, you’ve never heard about either his hometown, nor his title. Should you feel embarrassed?

“[Name]” you take his extended hand, gently shaking it. You decide to bring up your hometown too. Is it a local custom, you wonder, to introduce yourself alongside the place of your birth? You’ve only ever known people from your village, so no such thing was ever necessary. Phainon, as you now know, stares back at you for a moment before laughing out a “can’t say I’ve been there before”.

“I’m not surprised, it’s in the middle of nowhere, and most people stay there for the rest of their lives.” You can almost see sparks in his eyes as he beams with a grin plastered onto his face. (Is this his default expression??)

“Oh, I have the same thing! No one has really heard about my hometown, and even though it’s been called a ‘place that doesn’t exist’, it has been my whole world throughout my childhood! Only later did I find out there was something beyond the wheat fields of my hometown.” You sense sorrow in his voice; he must miss his home. Whatever he’s thinking about, he doesn’t let it linger and changes the topic. “I’ve gotta ask. I’ve noticed you are carrying a sword with you; are you a warrior too? You look quite inconspicuous for one.” He flashes you a wide smile. You don’t exactly know yourself - does ‘training’ in secret every once in a while makes you a fighter? Yeah, not really.

“Uh, no, I wouldn’t call myself that. I mean, I can protect myself, but that’s it. I’m not that great, even for a human. Which is  also the reason why I’m heading to Okhema - so I can receive proper training.”

“Ah, so you wanna get there for the Kremnoans, huh? I’m not sure if they’ll be willing to train you, or anyone really, with how things are now.” You look up at him, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Why’s that? I know they had to be moved quickly because of Nikador’s corruption, but it shouldn’t be a bad thing, right?”

“Well yeah, but that’s also where the problem lies; they’re quite proud and wanted to stay until the very end - like those guys right here.” He nods in the direction of Fate’s priests. “And the political situation isn’t so great either. Okhemans aren’t fond of the Strife’s followers either. So there’s a lot of tension in the city.”

Your head hangs low. Does it mean that the whole journey was pointless?

“But-” you raise your head just slightly, “not everyone’s like that; I know a few people who are still willing to help eager kids hone their skills! So keep your head up, I’m sure you’ll find someone willing to help. And if not, you can always come to me for advice.” Somehow, his words don’t raise your hopes too much, but you smile weakly at him anyways.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“So… is it alright if I join you on your way to Okhema?”

“Yes, I thought that it was obvious! I mean, we wouldn’t be chatting right now if I thought otherwise, would we?” You chuckle nervously, as if to yourself. So he’s the kind type.

“Anyways, I’ll go gather everyone and we can get going, alright?” He says that as if he isn’t already running to a group of elders. You can only smile to yourself in amusement.

True to his words, Phainon arrives surrounded by lots of people in approximately 5, 6 minutes? You genuinely thought it’d take him longer, but maybe he’s just skilled at convincing.

He walks up to you silently, smile painting his face and simply says “let’s go” before setting off. Which actually leaves you flabbergasted, because how can he be so casual? And with that smile? Your brain doesn’t even register that he passes by you, and soon people start to follow. You quickly catch up to him so you don’t get swallowed by the crowd. 

As expected, he starts a conversation with you not long after, and you swear that he must have some special abilities, because there’s no way that the same priests who were arguing relentlessly just half an hour ago are now chatting about the most mundane things. (Or they’re already plotting revenge, you can’t really tell. Priests can get scary after all.)

Peace doesn’t last long though, as both you and the Heir sense someone else’s presence lurking in the shadows. Janus’s priests must notice that too, since idle chatter grows quieter. 

“Do you see anything?” You can feel the tension in the air, and Phainon having his sword in hand does not make it any better. 

“Not yet. It’s probably a bunch of Titankin though, it shouldn’t be too hard.”

“You shouldn’t  underestimate your enemy” is at the tip of your tongue, but you ultimately decide to keep your mouth shut - you’re not in the position to speak about such things.

“Alright, you focus on the front, and I’ll take care of the rest.” You feel the warmth of Phainon’s hand on your shoulder for a moment before he disappears from your sight, leaving no room for objections.

“Wait-” you shout after him but realise it’s inherently useless as you’re currently facing foes. From the corner of your eye you see people panicking and running in the opposite direction, which makes it easier - more space means more flexibility, but also more vulnerable to your opponent. You’re pretty good at dodging though, so you hope it’s fine.

You don’t necessarily need to kill them, right? Fending them off should be enough (unless they’re too aggressive to even get scared). Your grip on the sword’s handle tightens, and although you’re not entirely sure of yourself, it’s better to strike fast. 

Dagger made out of gold flashes before your eyes. Three steps back. Two forward, your sword’s edge goes through a Titankin’s head. 

On your right. Sword going up to counter another’s attack. They’re stronger than you, you know you won’t last long. Swiftly stepping to the side, their sword hitting the ground from the pressure, your own stabs them in the back. Another one’s down. You expected to have more trouble, but it really does seem to be going pretty well, even for you. Or rather, it did, because you suddenly feel piercing pain on the side of abdomen

“Shit-” you blurt out, one hand leaving the sword’s handle to hold where it hurts. You stumble on your feet, but still manage to land a hit on one of the enemies (although not the one you meant to harm). Your movements start getting sloppy, hands sweating so much your sword almost slips.

You manage to kick a Titankin on your left off you and stab them through their torso. The hand holding onto your wound moves to your sword, smearing gold on its handle. With the last ounce of strength you throw your sword at the enemy, its blade piercing right through their back.

Your legs give out and your knees hit the ground. You see drops of golden liquid on the ground. You’re not sure whose blood is it. You crawl to your sword and weakly pick it up off the ground. With ragged breaths, you try to stand back up on your feet, knees buckling beneath you.  You wince at the pain.

You look around, expecting to see stone-like figures, but you find none. All you can hear is your own uneven breaths. (You hope you didn’t mess up and put someone in danger. If the Titankin flew off to somebody else, you know you have zero chance to protect them. But who are you lying to, you can’t even protect yourself.) You either are in such a miserable situation that even corrupted creatures pity you, or you simply managed to get rid of them all. Your hand is still clutching onto your side, eyes darting from one direction to another, desperate to find any piece of torn clothing to cover up your wound, but all you can think about is that you’re still bleeding and if you don’t do anything now, soon enough someone will learn the truth, and you can’t let that happen. That anxiety makes you hyperaware of everything.

You hoped it wasn’t that bad, you didn’t expect it to be an open wound and hand covered in blood. Golden blood. If you keep pressing, the bleeding will stop, right? But oh Titans, it hurts so bad. You’re not a child, you’re not gonna cry.

In the distance, there’s a group of people; they’re standing close to each other, but you can’t see any red on their pristine clothes, so it means Phainon has kept them safe. A relieved sigh leaves your mouth. But you can’t go back yet. You need to find something to cover up. 

You don’t expect anyone coming to look for you, so there’s still time before you head back to them. Or maybe Time’s priests know how to stop the bleeding? But you’d probably need to show them your wound so it’s not the best course of action. You don’t get a chance to think before you hear your name. Your mind freezes. You need to come up with something. Tell them it’s Titankin’s blood? No it doesn’t make sense. Maybe just ask them for a piece of clothing, they probably won’t bother asking what’s wrong, right? No, it’ll make things suspicious, especially if they do ask about it.

“[Name]! Are you okay? You didn’t get hurt, did you?” That’s when you hear who does the voice belong to. You curse internally, because he 100% will ask about it. Or rather, he already did. Great! Amazing, really.

“No, I’m fine, don’t worry.” Yeah, very convincing, with how weak your voice sounds. You hear him step closer, his outfit coming into your vision.

“Then why are you standing like that?” His voice laced with worry, eyes too, if you are to guess, but you can’t look at him right now, not in this state. “You did get hurt, didn’t you? C’mon show me, I can help, I promise.” His hands reach out, but you quickly slap them away with your free hand.

“It’s fine.” Even you can hear how strained your voice is, but you pray to the Titans that he’ll get tired and let go with enough convincing.

“You’re clearly not. Why won’t you show me? It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, I used to get hurt too!” You can’t. If your hand moves even an inch, he’ll see. You cannot let that happen. The Heir clenches his fists; is he angry? (at you or himself?)

Before you can protest any more, you feel his hand on the arm that’s pressing onto your wound, tugging at it. “Stop-“ You struggle against him for a moment, but the difference in strength is painfully obvious and he raises your hand up into the air.

You look down at the ground, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“It’s… golden?” You’re not sure if he’s more shocked or disappointed, and you don’t think you want to know. There’s no point in denying it now.

“But I thought you were…” he whispers, as if to himself, before letting go of your arm that’s covered in blood. You hear the sound of clothes getting torn and can’t help it. Eyes look up at him, only to see a scrap of white in his hand. You blink in confusion. “Take it.”

Instead of betrayal on his face, you see a soft smile. You pick the material off his hand. “To stop the bleeding.” Makes sense. You wrap it around your waist and tie a firm knot. He extends his hand to you.

“Now let’s get going. We still need to escort those priests, remember? I’ll take you to Hyacine right after.” Although you’re still worried about the wound, you absentmindedly take his hand and let him lead the way. In that singular moment, the whole world goes quiet. 

a/n: if I'm being honest, I'm still not fully satisfied with how this turned out, but if I kept rewriting this, I'd never post it