#heliosunny

If you told him to sit, he sat. If you casually mentioned you were thirsty, he would reappear minutes later, out of breath, holding a cool cup of water. It was an unconditional obedience born from a devotion he couldn't yet fully name, but one that consumed him entirely. He lived to please you.

Then, the wind died down in a sudden swoop.

Your kite dipped, spiraling out of control before snagging firmly on the highest, most precarious branch of an old tree at the edge of the field. You stopped, looking up at the tangled mess of paper and bamboo with a mild, disappointed sigh. It was out of reach. A normal kid would have given up and gone home.

"It's stuck" you looked over at Phainon, squinting against the sun. With the pure, unthinking unfiltered thought of a child, you mused aloud, "I bet you could reach it, Phainon."

You didn't mean it as a command.

But to Phainon, your words were a sacred decree.

There was no hesitation, no second thought for his own safety. He scrambled up the rough bark of the oak tree with a frantic, desperate agility, driven by the singular, burning need to give you exactly what you wanted.

"Phainon, wait, I didn't mean-" you started, your nonchalant facade cracking just a fraction as you watched him climb dangerously high.

"I'll get it for you" he called down, his fingers gripping a branch that was far too thin to support his weight.

He reached out, his hand just brushing the paper edge of the kite.

Crack.

The branch gave way instantly. For a terrifying second, Phainon hung in the air before plunging downward, crashing through the lower boughs until he hit the hard ground.

You rushed over, your heart hammering against your ribs. Phainon lay in the grass, the retrieved kite clutched tightly, miraculously uncrushed, in his right hand. His left leg was bent at an unnatural, horrific angle.

Yet, as he looked up at you through the pain, sweat beading on his forehead and tears pricking the corners of his eyes, he didn't cry out. Instead, a weak, disturbingly breathless smile stretched across his face. He held the kite up toward you.

"I got it," he whispered, entirely ignoring the agonizing snap of his bone, "I got it for you."

Horrified and completely out of your depth, you stumbled backward, commanding him to stay still before sprinting toward the village as fast as your legs could carry you. You shouted for the adults.

Within an hour, the village elder had set his leg, binding it tightly in wooden splints. Phainon had to be held down by two grown men during the process, but his eyes never left you where you stood in the corner of the room. He didn't care about the pain. He only cared that you had fetched help for him.

---

Years had bled into one another, you were teenagers now, but some things remained stubbornly unchanged. You still walked through life with an effortless, untouchable nonchalance, a quiet island amidst the loud, chaotic waves of your peer group. And Phainon, as always, remained your shadow.

It was a stifling summer afternoon when you and a handful of friends found yourselves idling by the edge of the old woods, looking for anything to break the heavy boredom. One of the boys suddenly pointed a finger upward into the thick canopy of a sprawling wild tree.

"Hey, look at that... is that a beehive?" he asked, squinting. "Man, that thing is huge. Look at the size of it!"

Instantly, the group erupted into competitive, childish chatter.

"I dare you to throw a rock at it."

"No way, you do it! I bet you wouldn't even dare to climb up there."

"Are you kidding? You'd get absolutely mauled."

You stood slightly back from the rowdy circle, your expression blank, watching the bees swarm lazily around the massive, golden-brown structure. You weren't really paying attention to their macho posturing. Instead, your mind drifted, entirely detached from the danger.

"Fresh honey sounds nice, though," you murmured under your breath, a casual, unconscious thought escaping your lips. "Bet it's really sweet."

Next to you, Phainon’s shoulders dropped their relaxed posture. His eyes, which had been fixed on the side of your face the entire time, shifted slowly toward the hive.

Before anyone in the group could even register a movement, Phainon stepped past them.

"Wait, Phainon? What are you doing?" someone called out, laughing nervously.

Phainon leaped onto the lowest thick branch and began to climb. It was a mirror image of the day he broke his leg years ago, only now, he was bigger, faster, and completely devoid of any self-preservation. Your friends gasped, stepping back in a mix of awe and horror as Phainon scaled the tree with reckless abandon, his eyes locked onto the buzzing hive.

"Phainon, stop!" one of the boys yelled up.

"Phainon, get down," you said, "I don't want it."

He didn't listen. When it came to your safety, he would protect you. But when it came to your desires, even the ones you didn't mean, he was utterly deaf to reason. He reached the high branch, the swarm of disturbed bees thickening into a angry, black cloud around him. Without a single flinch, Phainon reached out with a thick, heavy stick he'd grabbed along the way and violently struck the base of the hive, catching the heavy, honey-dripping mass with his bare arm as it broke free.

The swarm exploded. A deafening, furious buzz filled the air.

"Run! Run!" your friends screamed, scattering in absolute terror as a cloud of angry bees descended from the canopy.

Phainon dropped from the lower branches, landing heavily on his feet, holding the sticky, golden hive against his chest like a prize. "Run!" he commanded you, his voice eerie in its calmness, even as the first wave of stingers sank into his neck and arms.

You didn't need to be told twice. You turned and sprinted alongside your frantic friends, the furious swarm hot on your heels. But Phainon didn't run to save himself, he ran right behind you, deliberately keeping his body between you and the cloud of insects, acting as a human shield.

By the time all of you collapsed into the safety of an old abandoned shed, slamming the heavy wooden door shut, everyone was gasping for air. A few of your friends were crying, nursing three or four painful stings on their arms and faces.

But Phainon... Phainon was a horrific sight.

He collapsed onto a crate, his face, neck, arms, and hands covered in angry, swelling red welts. He had been stung dozens of times. He was shivering, his breathing shallow and ragged from the sheer amount of venom injecting into his system.

Yet, as you stepped toward him, your chest heaving with adrenaline and a mounting, suffocating sense of guilt, Phainon looked up at you. His eyes were bloodshot, his face puffed and distorted by the swelling, but the look in his eyes was pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

Slowly, he set the broken, dripping beehive onto a clean piece of wood between you. Amber honey oozed out, rich and sweet, filling the dusty shed with its scent.

He looked at the honey, then up at your horrified, pale face. A breathless, distorted smile pulled at his swollen lips.

"It's... for you," Phainon rasped, his voice trembling as he forced the words past his throat. He reached out with a sting-covered hand, not to touch you, but just to hover near your sleeve. "You said... you wanted it sweet. Is it... sweet enough?"

----

The transition from teenagers to adults was ushered in not by a festival or a coming-of-age ceremony, but by the harsh, metallic clang of armor and the grim call to arms. War had come to the borders. Phainon had been the very first in the village to volunteer.

If the war stays out there, it won't touch Y/N.

For three long years, the village heard nothing but bloody rumors from the front lines. No one truly knew what happened out there in the mud and the slaughter, but when the soldiers finally returned, the boy who left had been completely hollowed out and refilled with something terrifyingly sharp.

To the village, he was a hardened war hero. To you, he was still the same old Phainon, because the moment his eyes landed on you among the crowd, the cold, dead gaze of a soldier vanished, replaced instantly by that familiar, unconditional devotion. He had survived a war simply because he had promised himself he would return to your side.

The village erupted into a week-long celebration to cheer for the survivors. Because of your natural specialty in the kitchen, you somehow found yourself tasked with managing the grand feast. You weren't entirely sure how you’d let yourself get dragged into the chaotic, sweating kitchen, but as platters of roasted meats and rich stews flowed out, your nonchalant mask remained firmly in place.

You were an expert cook, but you were an absolute, undeniable fool when it came to alcohol.

As the night deepened and the cider flowed like water, someone pressed a heavy wooden mug into your hands. You drank it, then another, your usual detached indifference melting away into a blurry, sloppy haze. By midnight, you were completely intoxicated, slouching heavily against a tavern bench.

"I can't stand him" your voice slurred and overly loud as you aggressively pointed a clumsy finger across the crowded room.

Sitting at a long table was a boisterous, loud-mouthed soldier from the village who had also returned from the front. He was currently surrounded by a group of locals, loudly bragging about how he was going to court you, boasting to anyone who would listen that you clearly had a soft spot for him because you'd served him an extra portion of stew.

"So annoying. Wish he'd just shut up and go away."

Phainon had been sitting quietly by your side, ignoring his own food. At your words, his eyes slowly tracked your finger, locking onto the boasting soldier. The chaotic noise of the tavern seemed to mute in his mind. The man was a nuisance to you.

"I see," He leaned down, his breath brushing your ear as you closed your eyes, fading out. "If you don't like him... I can make him disappear for you."

"Yeah... whatever... make 'im go away." you mumbled thoughtlessly, completely oblivious to the weight of your words before your head hit the wooden table.

He rose from the bench with a swift movement.

It happened in one terrifyingly efficient go. There was no struggle, just the silent, lethal precision of a man who had turned killing into an art form. He didn't feel a shred of guilt. He only felt an overwhelming, ecstatic rush of pride. He was cleaning up your world.

By the next afternoon, you woke up with a pounding, merciless headache, your memories of the previous night completely wiped clean.

But the village was in a total frenzy.

"His boots are still in his room, his coin purse is on the table, but he's completely vanished!"

When you heard the shocking news of the man going missing, a cold prickle of unease washed over you, though you couldn't fathom why.

"It's awful, isn't it?" a soft voice spoke up from behind you.

You turned to see Phainon standing there. He was looking at you with those wide, adoring, entirely innocent eyes.

"People just disappear sometimes," Phainon said evenly, stepping closer until his shadow completely enveloped you, shielding you from the midday sun. He reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch surprisingly warm, completely devoid of the blood that had coated it hours prior. "But you don't need to worry about it."

----

The morning after the village was turned upside down by the soldier’s sudden disappearance, the air felt thick with unspoken tension. Looking to escape the suffocating gossip of the town square, you accepted Phainon’s suggestion to take a stroll down by the river. You had no reason to deny him; after all, it had been three long years since you last walked together like this.

The riverbank was peaceful, the steady rush of the water a grounding contrast to the chaos brewing back home. As you walked side by side, you found yourself talking about the mundane things that had happened during his absence: the seasonal harvests, the changing weather, the quiet rhythm of village life. You told him, with your usual understated sincerity, that you were simply glad he was back.

Phainon listened with an intensity that made it feel as though your words were the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth. He didn't offer much about himself, the front lines, or the war. You didn't want to push him, either. You knew the battlefield left scars that ran far deeper than the jagged one on his brow, and you had no desire to force him to relive what was likely pure trauma.

Your thoughts wandered for a split second, your gaze drifting to the rushing water. Because of your momentary distraction, your foot caught on a treacherous, moss-slicked rock.

Before you could even gasp, a hand gripped your waist, and a strong arm locked around your shoulders, pulling you firmly against a solid chest.

"Careful," Phainon murmured, his voice low and incredibly steady against your hair. He didn't release his grip immediately, his fingers lingering on your waist just a second too long, checking to ensure you were entirely unharmed. "I've got you."

You stepped back, blinking away a rare flash of surprise, and nodded your thanks.

A little while later, Phainon excused himself to head back to the village first. You decided to stay by the river a bit longer, enjoying the solitude, until the bushes rustled and one of your childhood friends walked out, looking pale and deeply distressed.

"Oh, thank goodness," Martha breathed, jogging over to your side. She wrung her hands nervously, looking around the quiet riverbank. "Have you... have you noticed anything strange around here lately?"

"Strange? Like what?"

"I lost one of my lambs last night, it was just a few months old. It didn't break out of the pen- the latch was still closed. First that soldier disappears from the tavern, and now my lamb?"

"It's probably just a wolf," you replied calmly, trying to soothe her rising panic. "The winter was harsh. The predators from the mountains are likely coming down closer to the fences. Don't worry too much about it. Just double-check the pens before sunset."

Your friend let out a shaky sigh, comforted by your total lack of alarm. "Yeah... yeah, you're probably right."

The two of you began the walk back to the village together, wanting to return before the shadows lengthened and darkness settled over the place.

----

The next afternoon, you headed back toward the edge of the woods to gather a few more wild mushrooms to finish off tonight’s savory soup. As you knelt by a mossy log, a faint, desperate sound caught your attention—the distinct, muffled bleating of a lamb coming from a thick patch of briars nearby.

Curiosity breaking through your usual indifference, you stood up and followed the noise.

You pushed past a heavy cluster of bushes, your hand reaching out toward the trembling, trapped little lamb, when the ground suddenly exploded with movement. A rough, calloused hand clamped violently over your shoulder, ripping you backward. A large, rugged man stepped out of the shadows of the canopy, a rusted hunting knife glinting in his fist.

He pinned you against a tree, raising the blade, but as his eyes scanned your face, he froze. His expression twisted into a mixture of confusion and frustration.

"Wait..." the man growled, "You're not Martha."

He was clearly looking for the lamb's owner, likely waiting to ambush her when she came looking for her missing livestock. But his hesitation lasted only a fraction of a second. A dark sneer crossed his face as he tightened his grip on your shirt. "Doesn't matter. You saw too much anyway."

He brought the knife down. You closed your eyes, bracing for the impact, but the strike never came.

Thwack! Thwack!

Two sharp, deafening snaps split the air in rapid succession. The man let out a blood-curdling shriek as two heavy, black-fletched arrows tore through the air with terrifying velocity, pinning both of his palms directly to the trunk of the tree on either side of your head. The knife dropped harmlessly into the dirt. He writhed in agony, trapped against the wood by his own hands.

Before he could even process the pain, a third arrow flew from the shadows.

Crunch.

It was a gruesome, horrific sound. The arrow drove clean through the side of the man's neck, the steel arrowhead bursting out the other side in a spray of dark crimson. His eyes rolled back, his body going completely limp, suspended only by the arrows anchoring his hands to the bark.

Your breath caught in your throat, a cold sweat breaking out across your skin. You didn't wait to see who the archer was. Driven by pure survival instinct, you snatched the trembling lamb from the bush, tucked it firmly under your arm, and sprinted away from the bloody scene as fast as your legs could carry you.

You burst out of the treeline, your heart hammering against your ribs, and crashed blindly into someone's chest.

You looked up, gasping for air, to see Phainon. He was dressed in his hunting gear, a heavy bow slung over his shoulder, looking down at you.

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

"There's a man... in the woods," you panted, your usual calm entirely shattered as you clutched the lamb tighter. "He tried to attack me. Someone shot him... arrows through his hands, and his neck. There's so much blood. We need to go back."

Phainon’s expression darkened, a chilling, lethal stillness settling over his features for a brief second before he masked it with a calm, reassuring nod. "Lead the way."

With Phainon closely at your side, you cautiously retraced your steps back to the thicket. But when you finally pushed through the bushes to the clearing, you froze in absolute shock.

The man’s body was completely gone.

The three black-fletched arrows had been ripped from the tree, leaving deep, splintered holes in the bark. The only thing remaining was a heavy, gruesome trail of dark blood staining the grass and pooling into the dirt.

"He's... he's gone," you whispered, staring at the empty space. "He couldn't have moved."

Phainon stepped past you, casually kicking a patch of dirt over the heaviest pool of blood to obscure it from your view. He looked around the quiet clearing, his face entirely unbothered, as if a brutal scene of violence hadn't just occurred in this exact spot.

"The wind is picking up, and it's going to get dark soon," Phainon said softly, turning back to you with a gentle, comforting smile. He reached out, lightly patting the head of the lamb in your arms. "Take the lamb back to your friend. I'll handle the rest of this."

You looked at the blood trail, then at Phainon’s calm demeanor. Still dazed by the sheer adrenaline, you nodded slowly, turning to head back toward the safety of the village.

Phainon watched your retreating figure until you completely disappeared from sight. The moment you were gone, the gentle warmth vanished from his face. He adjusted the grip on his bow, tracking the messy path through the brush.

----

The next morning, the village felt smaller, suffocatingly quiet after the terrifying incident in the woods. You walked beside Phainon as he effortlessly carried two heavy wooden buckets of fresh water back from the well. Even with the weight, his stride was perfectly synced to your slow, indifferent pace. You were lazily conversing about nothing in particular when the sudden, loud clatter of hooves echoed down the dirt road.

A lavish, gilded carriage rolled into the village square.

With a harsh tug of the reins, the horses ground to a halt right in front of you and Phainon, kicking up a thick cloud of dust. The carriage door clicked open, and a man stepped out. Dressed in suffocating layers of silk and velvet, he carried himself with an insufferable, nose-in-the-air arrogance that instantly made the atmosphere turn sour. He didn't even look at the village; his eyes snapped directly to Phainon.

"You there," the man barked, his tone dripping with disdain as if he ruled the very ground you stood on. "I am looking for a new personal guard. Pack your things. You will serve me now."

A cold spike of irritation pierced through your usual nonchalance. You absolutely loathed people who treated human beings like property.

"He's not a dog you can just whistle for," you spoke up, cutting through the man’s arrogant demands with dangerous, unbothered friction. "He stays here."

The noble sneered down his nose at you, disgusted by your defiance, but before he could snap back, Phainon stepped squarely in front of you.

"I deny the offer," Phainon said. "I serve only one person. And it will never be you."

The noble’s face twisted in rage, but with a dismissive wave of his hand, he stepped back into his carriage, his guards giving you both threatening, lingering glares before the carriage rattled away.

From the whispers of the lingering guards and the frightened murmurs of the gathered townsfolk, you quickly found out exactly who he was. He wasn't just a wealthy merchant; he was a powerful, untouchable noble out for a regional stroll, a man notorious for his corruption, a tyrant who seized lands, abused peasants, and treated the poor like dirt beneath his polished boots.

You and Phainon knew this wasn't going to be an easy rejection. Men like him didn't take 'no' for an answer.

Seeking an escape from the looming dread, you dragged Phainon into the village tavern. Frustrated and exhausted by the sheer injustice of the world, you turned to the alcohol once more, drinking wholeheartedly.

"If I had that kind of power... if I was that rich... I'd never let things be like that. I'd take everything he has and actually do something good with it. Corrupted bastards... they shouldn't even exist."

You drifted off into a heavy, drunken sleep a moment later, completely oblivious to the catastrophic shift you had just caused inside Phainon's mind.

Once he had safely carried you home and tucked you into bed, Phainon slipped into the pitch-black night.

The noble’s carriage and personal escort had set up camp in a private clearing just outside the village borders. Two guards paced the perimeter, torches flickering against the dark woods. They never saw Phainon drop from the canopy above.

He landed soundlessly behind the first guard. In a fluid, terrifyingly practiced motion from his days in the trenches, Phainon clamped a hand over the man's mouth, pulling his head back to expose the throat. A single, deep swipe of his blade silenced the man forever. Before the second guard could even turn around, Phainon closed the distance, driving the heavy steel blade upward beneath the man's jaw, straight into his brain.

He slipped into the secondary tents where the remaining crew- the driver, the servants, and the backup mercenaries- were sleeping. One by one, he ended them in the dark. The canvas walls of the tents were painted in dark crimson as Phainon cut through them. He wasn't angry at these men; they were simply loose ends that needed to be severed to protect your new inheritance.

Finally, Phainon stepped into the main, lavishly decorated tent where the noble lay asleep.

The heavy scent of copper and fresh blood preceded him, waking the tyrant. The noble blinked his eyes open, gasping as he saw a tall, blood-splattered shadow standing over his bed. He opened his mouth to scream for his guards, but Phainon’s hand plunged downward, pinning the noble to the mattress by his throat. The sheer force choked out the scream into a pathetic, wet gurgle.

"They're all dead."

The noble’s eyes widened in sheer, suffocating terror as he thrashed against Phainon’s grip. Phainon dragged the terrified man out of bed by his hair, throwing him brutally onto the floor. With his boot pressed heavily onto the noble's chest, Phainon reached into his jacket and pulled out a clean sheet of parchment, an inkwell, and a quill.

He dropped them onto the floor next to the man's trembling hands.

"I am going to give you a single chance to live," Phainon murmured, leaning down, "You are going to write a will. Declaring that upon your disappearance, every single coin, piece of land, and treasure you possess is to be legally transferred over to Y/N L/N. If you refuse, I will skin you alive in this tent."

Terrified for his life, the noble scrambled for the quill. With blood-stained fingers, crying and gasping for air, the tyrant frantically scribbled out the text, legally binding his entire estate, his generational wealth, and his vast treasures to your name, sealing it with his official family ring.

The moment the ink dried, the noble looked up, his face pale and wet with tears. "I did it... I did it. Please. Let me go."

Phainon picked up the parchment, blowing gently on the ink to let it dry. He inspected the seal, folding it carefully and placing it securely inside his inner coat pocket.

Then, he looked down at the noble. The gentle expression vanished.

"I lied."

Before the noble could even register the betrayal, Phainon’s hand darted forward. With a swift, brutal twist, he snapped the man’s neck.

---

The morning air was crisp, but you couldn't see the path ahead. A soft, dark cloth was tied securely around your eyes, blinding you completely as a pair of familiar, calloused hands guided you forward with absolute gentleness.

"Just a few more steps," Phainon’s voice murmured right beside your ear, rich with an excitement you had rarely heard from him since his return from the war. "I promise, it’s worth the wait."

You let him lead you, your usual nonchalant compliance guiding your steps. But as the ground beneath your boots shifted from rough dirt to smooth, polished stone, and the open-air breeze vanished into a grand, echoing warmth, a strange sense of unease began to settle in your stomach.

"We're here." he whispered, his hands moving to the back of your head to untie the knot.

The cloth fell away. You blinked against the sudden brightness, your eyes slowly adjusting to the sheer, breathtaking opulence stretching out before you.

You were standing in the grand foyer of a magnificent estate. Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, and gold-leaf trim lined the mahogany walls. The floors were scrubbed so clean they mirrored the morning light, and every piece of silver gleamed. It was entirely vacant, save for the two of you, but it was pristine.

"Do you like it?" Phainon asked, stepping into your field of vision. His face was lit up with a terrifyingly pure, adoring smile. "It’s yours. All of it."

You stared at the sweeping staircase, your mind entirely blank. "Phainon... what are you talking about? I don't understand any of this. How could this be mine?"

"Because he gave it to you.. You remember him right? He left everything to you. I made sure of it."

The words echoed in your mind, and suddenly, the fog of the past few days began to clear.

You hadn't been living in a series of strange coincidences. You had been living with a monster who treated your every passing, careless thought as a divine commandment.

You realized just how incredibly, dangerously naive you had been. Your apathy had been his license to kill.

Before you could take a step back, Phainon glided soundlessly behind you. Unyielding arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his chest rising and falling in a contented sigh.

"I told you I'd always get you what you wanted." His grip tightened, locking you to him. "I would do anything for you. You have me now... the greatest weapon you could ever ask for. And it is entirely up to you how you use it."

He leaned up slightly, his lips brushing against your cheek before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder. He pulled back just enough to look at you.

"I know you'll make the right choice."