#pha

“This is it? This is the grand ending?” you rant to no one, waving the book around like a flag, compensating on throwing it against the wall with full strength, but the book costs too much for it to be thrown around like that.

You flip it open again just to make sure you didn’t hallucinate it in some bizarre fever dream. Nope. It’s all still there. The endless misery. The memory loss trope. The eternal despair. You can practically hear Lygus giggling to himself while writing it, thinking he’s so deep and poetic while he rips Phainon apart piece by piece.

You flop back on your bed, groaning into your pillow. "Fuck this author, Fuck this book, Everything sucks!! AAAAAGH"

You’d been rooting for him from page one. He was everything a main character should be—resilient, kind, stubborn in the face of impossible odds. And then Lygus went and… executed him, in the most metaphorical and literal way possible.

You toss the book onto the floor. “Trash. Garbage. Zero out of ten. Would not recommend unless I want to ruin someone’s week.”

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You ignore it, still fuming. Honestly, if you could punch your way into that novel just to drag Phainon out of it, you would.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, the thought lingers, half-bitter, half-joking: If I ever woke up in that world, I’d make sure none of this ever happened.

.

.

.

.

"WHAT THE FUCK??"

The words leave your mouth before your brain can catch up.

You’re no longer on your bed, no longer in your cramped apartment surrounded by snack wrappers and half-finished laundry piles. No, you’re in a throne room—because of course you are. And it’s exactly the kind of place a villain would be caught dead in: high arched windows bleeding in cold light, black marble floors that reflect your every twitch, and a ridiculously oversized throne that could seat three people but is apparently meant just for you.

The problem is, you recognize this room.

It’s the opening of Chapter 27—the point in The Last Dawn of the Deliverer where the "Tyrant of Humanity- Lycurgus” (aka the absolute bastard responsible for 90% of Phainon’s trauma) is introduced. And now? Yeah. You’re sitting exactly where that tyrant sat.

A cold realization slams into you like a freight train. You glance down at your hands, still your hands. No sudden delicate villain fingers with jeweled rings. You touch your face—still your face, familiar skin, same jawline. You’re not in someone else’s body.

But when you look up…

The guards lining the throne room bow stiffly, their armor clinking in perfect unison.

"Your Excellency," one says, voice sharp with discipline and one might even say, fear. "We’ve captured the rebel scouts you ordered us to find. They await your judgment."

Oh no.

Oh no.

You don’t have to ask who those “rebel scouts” are—you know. This is the chapter where Phainon first meets the villain. Where you—well, not you, but the villain or the author whose job you now apparently have orrders the execution of innocents to break Phainon’s spirit. Because, well, the author is the villain in this novel.

You open your mouth, about to scream “WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT PRANK IS THIS?!” but stop when you catch your reflection in the polished marble floor.

It’s still you. Same hair, same eyes. But here, in this world, everyone is looking at you with the kind of fearful respect reserved for people who could order your death with a snap of their fingers.

The guard shifts uncomfortably. “…Your Excellency?”

Your brain is doing cartwheels. You’re still you—but somehow, in this world, you are the villain. The tyrant. The architect of Phainon’s suffering.

Which means—

You swallow hard.

If you do nothing, Phainon’s story plays out exactly as you read it.

But if you act… maybe, just maybe, you can burn this entire plot to the ground.

You force yourself to stand, channeling every ounce of fake confidence you’ve ever used in your school classroom during project presentations. “Bring them to me,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t shake.

Because if you’re the villain now? Fine.

You’re going to be the worst villain Lygus has ever had the misfortune of creating.

And that is, by defying every single string plot that he created, you were going to make your own plot now.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The guards move in perfect formation, spears glinting under the cold light as the massive double doors creak open.

Bootsteps echo against the marble.

And there they are.

Phainon walks at the front, wrists bound in iron shackles that look far too heavy for any human, though he moves like the weight is nothing. His head is high despite the bruising at his temple, silver hair catching the light, eyes sharp yet it was still..gentle. Behind him follow Aglaea, Mydei, and Anaxa—each worn from travel but had the aura of authority, the kind of people who refuse to bow even when they should. Hyacine keeps close to the triplets, Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon—stare wide-eyed at the towering throne room. And, only Castorice had come without chains.

God. Seeing them in person—these people you’d only read about feels unreal. In the book, this was the point where Lygus twisted the knife: the villain making a cruel spectacle of their capture, ordering their execution to shatter Phainon’s last shred of hope.

Not this time.

The guards shove the group forward, forcing them to kneel. “We found them attempting to smuggle food and weapons to the rebel base in Amphoreus, Your Excellency,” one announces, voice dripping with satisfaction.

In the novel, this was where the villain sneered. Where they spat some venom about traitors and loyalty before making Phainon watch helplessly as the others were dragged away.

You lean forward on the throne, resting your chin in your palm. And then—

You smile.

A warm, genuine smile that doesn’t belong in this scene at all. “You protected Amphoreus?” you say, voice bright with approval. “Incredible work!! Truly inspiring :)”

Absolute, stunned silence.

The guards exchange bewildered looks. Aglaea’s head jerks up sharply, Mydei blinks like he’s trying to confirm he heard correctly, and Anaxa mouths something under his breath that’s definitely not polite.

Phainon’s gaze narrows, suspicion flickering there, as though he’s waiting for the punchline.

“You’re not… angry?” Phainon ventures cautiously.

“Angry?” you scoff, waving a hand. “Why would I be angry at people risking their lives to protect innocents from an invading force? That’s… admirable. The kind of courage I like to see.” You lean back in the throne like your personality didn't do a complete 180 flip. “In fact, I should be thanking you. Amphoreus has been through enough, it’s about time someone stepped up to defend it.”

The triplets exchange glances, then you throw a glance at the three, yet they didn't withdraw themselves, Classic Tribios. No wonder they were the leader of the group.

You clear your throat. “Right. Well. You’re free to go. Guards—untie them. Immediately.”

The room goes still again.

“…Your Excellency?” one guard asks, like maybe they misheard and you actually meant execute instead of release.

You meet his eyes. “Did I not make myself clear?”

Chains clatter to the floor, and your eyes return to the group.

"Host them a party, assign them their following rooms and clothing. Their headquarters will be in the royal palace from now on."

The guards looked more shcoked than you after the ending of the novel. Their expressions shifted from confusion, to disbelief, to the kind of internal screaming usually reserved for emergency war drills. One of them even opened his mouth, probably to remind you that these people were enemies of the crown, before thinking better of it under your glare. Phainon was the first to move. He straightened to his full height, chains gone, rubbing his wrists in silence. His eyes were locked on you, unblinking, and then, within a flash, his empty eyes changed to those of a fake saccharine facade. He smiled widely at you, bowing down towards you, thanking you for your 'gratitude'.

Girl, no, you were just saving your ass from the torturous death he was about to give you.

Aglaea exchanged a glance with Mydei, her lips pressing into a tight, mistrustful line, but then her alluring yet empty, turquoise eyes stared right at you, and she smiled at you. Full of elegance, as always.

The three triplets had the most maturity out of all of them, despite their appearance of an 8-year-old child.

“You’ll be given rooms in the west wing. Fresh clothes, proper food, and baths. The party will be tomorrow evening, make sure they’re not served the bland menu. I want them to be treated like actual heroes."

Your voice made the guards jump to action, bowing before hurrying out to arrange the chaos you’d just dumped in their laps.

Ah, money and power is the best.

“I’m… sorry, what exactly is going on here?” Mydei’s tone was as destructive as the power he was known for. “Last I checked, we were getting skinned alive for having golden blood. Now we’re getting royal hospitality?”

You smiled like you were enjoying an inside joke no one else was in on. “Consider it a… shift in policy.” You let the words hang in the air. “You fought to protect Amphoreus. That’s more than I can say for most of my so-called loyalists. So yes, you’ll be treated with respect. You’ve earned it.”

The group turned their back as the soldiers lead their way into the guest-area hallway of the palace.

"Y-your highness?! We can't possibly do that! This is against the law your father had passed down decades ago!"

"We'll just make a new one."

"YOU'RE MAJEST-?!" You glare at him, which means "Shut up before your head is displayed on the palace entrance."

The poor man’s mouth snapped shut so fast you were half-surprised his jaw didn’t break. He bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the marble, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer to the titans before retreating with the rest of the stunned guards.

The grand throne room door groaned shut behind Phainon’s group, leaving you alone with the echo of their footsteps and the faint, suffocating silence of a palace that was not used to this kind of disruption.

You slumped back in the throne, running a hand over your face.

The door to the side of the throne creaked open, and in swept Chancellor Caenis—one of the chief advisors you vaguely remembered from the book. Sharp nose, sharper tongue, and a political backbone made entirely of stone. She looked at you as if you’d personally thrown the kingdom into ruins, (which you did but anw).

“Your Excellency,” she began, each syllable dipped in acid, “would you mind explaining to me why the most dangerous insurgents in the empire are not only alive, but being hosted in our home?”

“Because,” you said sweetly, “unlike most of my staff, I can recognize competence when I see it.”

“That competence,” Caenis snapped, “has burned our supply lines, toppled our outposts, and rallied half the borderlands to their cause. You’ve given them access to the palace, Your Excellency. Do you understand what that means?”

“Mind your tone, Caenis,” you said sternly, making her shrink down, stretching your legs out. “It means they’re under my watch, where I can keep an eye on them. It also means Amphoreus has a fighting chance at surviving the mess my father had made 50 years ago, purely because he hated the golden-blooded. I will not be the one who enables my father's cruel actions, not anymore.”

Caenis’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again like a fish gasping for water on land. “And the law your father—”

“I said,” you interrupted, leaning forward with the kind of slow, deliberate motion that made her stiffen, “we’ll make a new one. Or perhaps you’d like to argue with the tyrant herself? Do you want a miserable death, Caenis?"

She froze completely and a smile appeared on your face again.

“Didn’t think so,” you murmured.

She bowed stiffly and withdrew, though you caught the way her hands were clenched behind her back.

As the door closed again, you exhaled, heart hammering. God, that was terrifying. Your legs were shaking underneath the thickness of your dress, ugh as if the sun wasn't enough, you were wearing red velvet and 7 layers ontop.

HolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshitHolyfuckingshit—

"I will be going back to my headquarters; do not summon me unless of absolute necessity." You said eyeing at your attendants before you pick up the floof of your gown and walk in a straight posture despite your legs feeling like jelly.

Your attendants bowed low, murmuring the usual rehearsed phrases of obedience, but you could feel their curious gazes burning into your back. No doubt, by dinner, the entire palace staff would be whispering about the insane turn of events in the throne room.

The hallway stretched ahead, sunlight spilling in through the tall arched stained windows, painting the marble floor in ribbons of colours. Every step made the weight of your gown sway against your legs, the distant echo of your heeled boots clacking in time with your pounding heart. You kept your head high, the picture of imperial composure, even as your thoughts ran in circles, screaming.

Okay. You survived the scene. You changed the outcome. No one died. Yet. That’s good. Great, even. But also, holy hell, you just declared open defiance against a law that’s been in place for fifty years, in front of half the guard corps and your most politically venomous advisor. But holy shit, that felt soooo good, You hated Caenis since the beginning, from when you saw her.

The deeper you walked into the west wing, the quieter it became—guards stationed only at the ends of the corridors, and the sound of court politics replaced by the distant cry of gulls from the sea cliffs beyond the palace. You didn’t stop until you reached the private antechamber to your quarters.

The moment the door shut behind you, the mask cracked.

You squeal out and immediately kick off your shoes, asking your maid to fetch the knight's uniform. The overweight gown and jewelry were far more than what you expected. But luckily, Lygus was an extremely good fighter, so people won't question much.

You close your eyes, embracing the silence and then you squeal and giggle again, thinking about Phainon. Oh god, he looked majestic.

It’s honestly unfair, the way Phainon exists normally. His face isn’t just handsome, it’s the kind of handsome that makes you forget basic functions. His silver hair falls in a way like that of moonlight shining, and his eyes are sharp enough to cut through your composure but warm enough to make you want to sink into them and never surface. His eyes truly were the ocean you wanted to sink in.

You smile yo yourself and bury your face in your pillow, screaming in it, relieving all your stress before your assigned maid knocks on the door, asking whether she could come inside.

You clear your throat, trying to smother the embarrassing little squeal that had just escaped into your pillow. “Enter,” you call, voice only, mostly steady.

The door opens, and your maid, Arnes, slips inside with the careful grace of someone who’s been navigating royal moods for years. She carries the folded knight’s uniform in her arms, the dark leather and gold accents catching the flicker of blue lamplight.

She sets it down on the low table by your bed and dips into a curtsey. “Your Highness, the uniform you requested. Shall I assist you in changing?”

You sit up, smoothing your hair like you hadn’t just been rolling around giggling like a lovesick idiot. “Yes. And quickly."

Arnes moves to help you, deftly undoing the fastenings of your gown. The heavy velvet slides away, layer by suffocating layer, until you can breathe again. You stretch your arms, feeling your muscles complain from hours of sitting still on the throne, pretending to be unshakable.

Once dressed in the uniform, the shift is immediate. The fitted leather plates, the loosened trousers, the weight of the sword belt at your hip. This was much what you were used to from your own world, compared to the heavy 7 layer gowns. Probably a sign to order more free dresses.

Arnes pauses before tightening the last strap. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Your Highness… but the palace is buzzing about your decision in the throne room today.”

Of course it is.

You glance at her through the mirror, one brow arched. “And what is it they’re saying?”

She hesitates, then meets your eyes in the reflection. “Some think you’ve gone mad. Others… that you’ve found a way to tame the untamable.” A faint smile touches her lips. “They don’t know whether to be terrified or impressed.”

You snort. “But, the commoners are most happy right?”

Arnes’s smile widens, just barely, like she’s trying not to look too pleased about delivering good news. “Yes, Your Highness. Word reached the market square before the hour was up."

"..I see"

The nobility will not appreciate it, though.

"I will be going for a short nap now. You may leave now, Arnes. Thank you."

Arnes simply bows and nods before heading out and closing the door, leaving you alone again, a little suffocated this time, though. But you head to your bed and lie down. Much more comfortable with trousers this time. And then you felt your eyes get heavy before one final thought runs as you fell asleep.

Phainon is going to break into my room when im asleep isnt he?

Phainon is shocked by how much you murmur in your sleep. You felt more human than the tyrant everyone knew. The air in your quarters was warm and faintly scented with something floral, a sharp contrast to the salt wind he’d grown used to. Moonlight spilled across the bed, illuminating the tangle of sheets and the steady rise and fall of your breathing. You were sprawled in the knight’s uniform, still—an odd choice for someone who’d spent the day sitting in a throne—and your sword belt lay within arm’s reach.

Phainon stepped closer, each movement deliberate. He studied your face in the dimness, the faint crease between your brows, the way your hand curled slightly as if ready to grab steel even in sleep. Not the same as the ruler from the book, he knew you should’ve been. You’d looked at him today with… something else.

“You’re not like..from before,” he murmured under his breath,

He crouched at your bedside, resting his forearms on his knees, eyes never leaving yours as if waiting for the moment you’d wake and catch him here.

It would be interesting to see how you reacted.

To his dismay, his hair accidentally brushed against your nose, and your hand instinctively slapped the softness of Phainon's cheek, still asleeep, thankfully.

“…die, Lygus… die—how dare you…”

The name hit him like a thrown dagger. Lygus. That name was awfully familiar; he never appeared in any of the cycles. His jaw tightened, his heart thumping loudly and making his head spin. Just.. who is Lygus and why does he deserve such hatred from you, the empress herself?.

He sat back slightly on his heels, frowning. Was it an act? A convenient dream to make him lower his guard?

Phainon studied your sleeping face, lit faintly by the moon. There was no mask here, or fake smirk. Just a regular girl sleeping and uhm...drooling on the pillow.

He wanted to chuckle a bit at the sight of you, but that unsettled him.

He leaned forward again, close enough to hear the quiet little huffs of breath when you exhaled. The floral, rrefreshing scent clung faintly to you, and it made him think of spring mornings long before the cycles had started. It made him relive the memories he swore to close off forever.

Of Aedes Elysiae

He exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting over the sword belt within your reach. You weren’t careless. Even asleep, some part of you was ready to fight. That… he could respect.

Your hand twitched again, and your lips moved, the words softer this time. “…should’ve—burned him myself…”

Phainon felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward in curiosity.

Maybe he wouldn’t kill you tonight after all.

He rose to his feet soundlessly, stepping back into the shadows of your room. His silver hair caught in the moonlight one last time before he slipped toward the balcony doors. And then, he's gone.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The first thing you were aware of was warmth. Not the gentle kind from a blanket, but the deep, bone-soaaking warmth that came from sinking into a bath.

Your eyelids fluttered open to sunlight streaming through the tall windows of your chambers. The scent of roses and sandalwood hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faint steam that curled above the enormous marble tub you were currently reclining in. Two attendants knelt at either side, their hands deft and practiced as they poured water over your shoulders, the heat cascading down your back in soothing waves.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” one of them murmured, bowing her head slightly before taking up a silken cloth to scrub away the remnants of yesterday’s grime. The water shimmered faintly from the oils already mixed into it—orange blossom and something sweet you couldn’t quite name.

You let yourself lean back, the carved edge of the tub cool against your neck. If nothing else, being royalty had its perks. Your muscles loosened as the second attendant worked on your hair, combing fingers through to untangle it before rinsing it in the perfumed water.

“Careful,” you warned idly, “if you pull too hard, you’re walking out of here bald.”

They tittered nervously, but their pace didn’t falter. One reached for a small crystal vial and poured a rich amber oil into her palms, working it into your skin with gentle, sweeping motions. The oil warmed instantly, leaving your arms and shoulders with a faint, golden sheen.

By the time they were done, the water had cooled slightly, and you stood with their help, stepping onto the thick towels they’d spread at your feet. Another servant approached with your knight’s uniform, freshly pressed, the black-and-crimson leather polished until it caught the morning light.

Piece by piece, they dressed you—tightening straps, smoothing seams, fastening the heavy cloak at your shoulders. The scent of the oils clung faintly beneath the crisp leather, a reminder that under all the armor, you were still the Empress.

Your sword belt was buckled into place last, the weight of it grounding you in a way the gown never could.

“Breakfast will be brought to your study,” one attendant murmured, bowing low.

“Good, I will be going to visit the heirs in a while.” you replied, stepping away from the tub and toward the tall mirrors.

Man you look pretty.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The corridors leading toward the Chrysos wing (formerly the guest room wing) were nothing like the rest of the palace. Here, the air carried a faint warmth, tinged with something intoxicating. Not quite perfume, not quite incense but it was softer, subtler, like the lingering scent of someone you couldn’t forget.

Gold-veined marble stretched beneath our feet, and rose-hued glass panels along the ceiling filtered the sunlight into a perpetual blush. Everything about this section felt tailored to seduce the senses without overwhelming them.

Aglaea had been in this quarter for a day and yet it feels like you had been stepping into her domain rather than the opposite.

“They call her the demigod of romance,” one of the palace attendants murmured as she walked ahead of us, tone reverent.

You had to physically hold your mouth back from jsut ranting all about Lady Aglaea, she was truly something, beautiful, smart and etc etc (its 4 am im sleepy rn)

And then, you opened the door to her headquarters.

Her presence hit like the cold breeze during spring — radiant, warm yet cold at the same time, and utterly impossible to look away from. She was truly effortlessly elegant.

Her eyes flicked briefly towards you and looked at us dead in the eyes, before standing and doing a curtsy to show respect to us.

“Lady Aglaea,” you greeted, keeping your tone warm, but not dripping with the kind of calculated charm that she herself wielded so effortlessly. “I trust the accommodations have been to your liking?”

Her lips curved just slightly, the faintest smile, like she was indulging you. “They’re… adequate,” she replied, voice soft but measured. “Your staff is attentive. The space is comfortable. It is… awfully concerning, however, to find myself welcomed into the very palace that once sent knights to hunt my kin.”

There it was — her way of balancing courtesy with truth. Not an accusation, but a reminder.

You didn’t flinch. In fact, you stepped a little closer, careful to match her unhurried pace. “Then consider this my first step in amending a… rather unfortunate history,” you said, letting a bit of sincerity slip through. “You’ve earned your place here, Aglaea. I’d like you to feel that this isn’t just a guest quarter, but now yours.”

Her gaze sharpened ever so slightly, like she was trying to decide whether you were serious or just another ruler playing diplomat. “Possession is a dangerous word,” she mused, turning slightly toward one of the petal-strewn fountains. “It suggests permanence… and permanence suggests trust. I don’t give that lightly.”

You followed her movement, stopping just beside the fountain. “I’m not asking for your trust,” you said. “Only your time. The rest, I’ll earn.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, broken only by the trickle of water and the distant flutter of the rose-colored drapes in the breeze. Then, she let out a small, almost imperceptible hum. Not quite agreement, but not dismissal either.

“You speak differently than I expected,” Aglaea said finally, her turquoise eyes studying you. “The stories painted you as… colder.”

The corner of your mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Perhaps the stories were written by people who never spoke to me.”

A faint laugh slipped past her lips, light, melodic, and short-lived, as if she hadn’t meant to let it happen. She shook her head slightly, the sunlight catching in her hair as she turned toward one of the tall windows.

“Very well,” she said, gesturing gracefully toward a side door. “Walk with me. If you wish to make my quarters feel like they belong to me, then you should see what I value.”

“I wonder,” Aglaea continued smoothly, “how you intend to keep the rest of us from perishing the nobility before your ‘shift in policy’ takes root.”

"Soon, don't worry, bearer of romance :)" You were cursing yourself internally again on how cringe you sounded in front of one of your favorite girl characters in the entire damn novel

"I would like to ask you regarding the other heirs," you said lightly, looking right at her.

She glanced over her shoulder at you, one brow raised. "Well then, let's start with Mydeimos, shall we?"

You smirk awkwardly. “Ah, yes, the one with the red tattoos?” you're actually quite proud of yourself on how you're acting so wonderfully clueless when you actually know each and every detail about these characters.

That earned you a hum of agreement. “Mydei is the demigod of strife, or what you people call destruction. He's like a furnace, always lit with bottomless fire. This fire will either be completely doused in a storm or melt down his own existence with it. He is one of the most respectful warriors.” She tilted her head toward you, eyes glinting.

"And...About the triplets, the three of them, they are the leader, are they not?"

Aglaea smirks at you before answering, “Teacher. They’re more ancient than they appear. The first demigod of Passage — leaders, truly. They were once the holy maiden of Januspolis, but then, after claiming the coreflame of passage, they separated into 1000 versions of themselves. Only three of them remain now.”

You nodded like a student taking mental notes from their favorite professor. “Hyacine?”

The smirk turned into something gentler. “The demigod of the Sky. She is soft as the lightest breeze and bright as the first rays of dawn. The world had been far too long dark; the time has come for her healing to be the new light.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to hide a grin. "She sounds like a sweetheart !” and she is a sweetheart, an absolute cutie yet...terrifying when angry. you wish to just squish her chubby cheeks!! and that fat unicorn of hers.

"She is like the sun's gentle rays after a storm," You nod to yourself, this is Aglaea of course shes poetic as hell.

"And about..Anaxagoras?"

 "..I do not agree with the ideals of that blasphemer, but we are the same when it comes to the determination with which we seek our dreams. He is a respectable figure and certainly suitable as the Demigod of Reason."

Your lips curved faintly, but the smile didn’t reach your eyes. just kiss already bro

Aglaea straightened slightly, her poise flawless, and regarded you with that same unreadable half-smile and cold, empty eyes. “Why do you ask so much about us, Your Highness? Most rulers prefer to keep their distance from those who might eclipse them.”

You held her gaze, letting your own smile mirror hers. “Because I’d rather know the ones who might change my world before they do.”

You leaned forward slightly, as if the next name on your mental list was one you’d been waiting for. “And Phainon?”

"Your highness, I needn't introduce him to you; you already look at him as if you are familiar with him.

Heat rose, unbidden, at the implication. You forced your expression to remain perfectly neutral, though your fingers curled faintly in the folds of your pant pocket.

holy shit am i that obvious?

“That is because,” you said carefully, “I’ve heard his name enough times to commit it to memory." okay bro 🥀

The demigod’s brow arched ever so slightly. “Of course.”

As the words hung in the air, the double doors at the far end of Aglaea’s marble hall opened soundlessly, Aglaea wishes you goodbye as you head next to..Phainon's quarters.

Would he care? ugh what if he-

Your thought gets cut off by your servant, who opens the door to his headquarters. Revealing a tall, silver-haired man bowing down with an awfully sweet smile, yet an aura which could make even the strongest warrior fall down to his knees.

"Greetings ,Your highness!"

You inclined your head, mirroring the formality. “Phainon.”

“I trust you slept well?” he asked lightly, though there was a glint in his eyes that made the question feel far less casual than it sounded.

You allowed yourself the smallest of smiles. “Well enough.”

His gaze flicked, almost imperceptibly, toward the sword at your hip, then back to your face. “I’m pleased to hear it,” he said. “The palace can be… unpredictable at night.”

Somehow, you couldn’t tell if that was a warning, an observation, or simply bait to see how you’d react.

You decided not to give him the satisfaction of an obvious answer. “I imagine you’ve seen worse.”

“I have seen worse,” he agreed, stepping closer with an ease that made the hairs on the back of your neck stir. “And better. But rarely something quite as… interesting as last night.”

Oh, he was absolutely doing this on purpose.

Your heartbeat ticked up, though you managed to keep your voice steady. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course not.” His tone was the picture of innocence, but the glimmer in his eyes told another story. “Still, I’m glad to see you safe and—” his gaze dipped, fleeting but deliberate, to the faint crease where your jacket met your shoulder “—well armed.”

You swallowed. Gods, he was exactly like in the novel—saying the nicest things in the most disarming way possible, making you feel like you were both being complimented and tested at the same time.

Phainon gestured toward the seating area beside the tall windows, his movements as precise as a blade’s edge. “Would you join me for tea, Your Highness? I promise it’s not poisoned.”

You almost laughed, but the little voice in the back of your head whispered but what if it was? Still, this was Phainon. The Phainon. And this man absolutely hates you whilst you love him. You even notice the red puffiness of his skin underneath his eyes, even his soft lips, scars, and just—everything.

he doesnt know that though.

Your escort peeled away to let you breathe in the courtyard’s evening air after the meeting with the Chrysos heirs. A few servants were already stringing lanterns across the archways in preparation for the banquet. Soft bells chimed overhead when the wind shifted, scattering the last of the petals from the garden paths.

By the time the sky deepened to midnight blue, the palace had transformed. The great banquet hall glowed with fireflies. A sea of silk, jewels, and gilded masks moved across the floor. The Chrysos heirs, some you’d already met that day, others yet to greet, were wandering around the banquet room, and well, uh Phainon was quite literally stuffing his face with food..

You chuckle to yourself and sit down on the throne at the middle top of the room, all the figures in the room turn towards you and bow to welcome you.

You smile elegantly before raising your hand. Your hand stays poised in the air for only a moment before the ripple of movement stills

"Please," your voice carries easily over the gentle hum of the banquet hall, warm but firm, "tonight is for celebration, not ceremony. Enjoy yourselves." There’s a faint murmur of relief, polite laughter, and then the room’s energy returns back to life. Music picks up again, lilting strings and soft percussion, while servants glide between clusters of guests carrying tons of champagne and trays of candied fruit.

From the corner of your eye, you watch Phainon— freeze mid-bite when he realizes you’re watching him. His mouth is still half-full, and he’s clearly debating whether to finish chewing like a dignified heir or swallow the entire thing and pretend nothing happened. A sly smile curves your lips. And he freezes up in terror.

He genuinely thinks you're going to humilate him but youre just loving him you just have a resting bitch face trust,

Before you can get too lost in thought, a more deliberate presence approaches. Anaxa. The very air shifts from a careless, free one to one filled with gas in the air, ready to be lit on fire any moment.

“Your Highness,” he says, voice smooth but direct with a mocking tone, “it is… illuminating to finally observe you in person, rather than through the filtered tales of the palace.”

oh that little shit-

You raise a brow, leaning forward just slightly

“Illuminating, hm? Please indulge me on the tales of the palace which you have heard, Anaxa."

your heart is drumming against your chest, stay calm. even a little slip up of your composure can make Anaxa realise everything and then you will die a torturous death just like—

Anaxa tilts his head, sharp silver eyes glinting like polished steel in the flickering candlelight. “Ah, where to begin?” His voice is smooth, yet there’s a razor’s edge to it. “They claim you’re… unpredictable. Mercurial, some say. Dangerous, to those who cannot keep pace with your whims, and even....brutal.”

You bite your lip, forcing a laugh that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Dangerous, hm? That’s flattering coming from someone who could ruin people's lives with a flick of the tongue.”

He arches an eyebrow, smirk twitching. “Flattery is unnecessary. But observation is essential, especially to their subjects, Your highness, you surely know that, right?”

You lean back in your throne, crossing your arms, heart hammering like a drum. “Subjects, you say? Surely you don’t consider yourself a subject, Anaxa.”

“Not a subject,” he says smoothly, stepping closer, the faint scent of old parchment and ink clinging to him like a signature, “but an observer. One who knows which pieces move the board and which are mere pawns.”

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes, feigning calm. “And where, pray tell, do I fall on your board?”

He pauses, considering, and that pause makes your pulse skyrocket. “You are… a player unlike any I have studied, you are far more cunning than what rumours suggest, but not..definitely not brutal.”

Your stomach flips, and you force yourself to stay composedl, to not crumble at the soft but piercing edge in his voice. “Cunning, hm? Perhaps. But I’ve yet to see anyone match me yet… including you.”

man you're gonna die cuz of this bratty man, screw his intelligence

“Ah, Your Highness. That is exactly why I am present in the palace… to see if the tales are true, or...” the last part was mumured and you couldn't hear it well.

Your fingers twitch against the armrest of the throne. Every instinct is screaming at you: remain composed. Do not let him see how frustrated you are. And yet the sharpness of his words, makes you want to scream "Execute him" right this moment.

You straighten your shoulders, voice deliberate, keeping the teasing edge that masks the racing of your heart. “Captivating, you say? Then perhaps you’ll find I am worth the attention… but I do hope you can keep up.”

Anaxa bows slightly, that familiar edge of arrogance lingering, but there’s something warmer in the curve of his smile, and subtle acknowledgment. “Oh, Your Highness… I intend to, if only to see how far you will go before the game truly begins.”

This One-Eyed Bastard

Anaxa straightened from his bow, that same unnerving mixture of arrogance and amusement still dancing across his features. “Now then,” he said smoothly, voice carrying just enough to draw the attention of nearby guests without interrupting the flow of the banquet entirely, “thank you for your audience, Your Highness. I may return to my partner, Aglaea.”

With a fluid, almost imperceptible motion, he pivoted on his heel, cloak whispering against the floor, and began moving down the banquet hall. His light teal hair caught the eyes of many nobles, some admiring him and insulting his audacity.

You exhaled, straightening fully in your throne, fingers tapping lightly against the polished armrest. Eyes sweeping across the gathered Chrysos heirs, you allowed the smallest, genuine smile to slip through.

“Guests of honor, Chrysos heirs,” you began, voice firm yet carrying warmth, “your courgae and skill have already shown their value. Your actions have saved lives, protected humanity, and proven your unwavering dedication to the world, even in the face of centuries of misunderstanding.”

Heads lifted, some curious, some wary, as you continued. “From this day forward, let it be known that the Chrysos heirs are no longer considered refugees, criminals, or traitors. You belong here, within the imperial palace, under my protection. Any display of disrespect toward you will not be tolerated.”

A ripple of murmurs passed through the hall, a mixture of disbelief and cautious relief. You held their gaze steadily. “You are the bearers of coreflames, wielders of powers meant to protect humanity. Your presence is not merely tolerated, it is honored. And for far too long, the worship of the Titans, a heritage unjustly forbidden by my father, was driven underground. Today, I restore it. Let the honor of the Titans and the rights of the Chrysos heirs be recognized again.”

The hall was momentarily silent, the weight of your decree settling into every corner. Then, soft exhalations, whispers, and finally a swell of nods and quiet expressions of gratitude passed among the heirs. Aglaea gave you a small, approving smile from across the room, eyes glimmering as if silently praising your audacity and justice.

Your eyes found Phainon in the distance, silver hair catching the lantern glow as he glanced toward you, expression unreadable but clearly attentive. Mydei, the triplets, Hyacine, Castorice—all subtly inclined their heads in acknowledgment, a rare mixture of respect and cautious trust forming in their stances.

Great, step one to not going through a torturous death!!

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The clinking of goblets and the fading music from the banquet hall gave way to the quiet hush of the palace corridors. Lanterns flickered against the marble walls as you made your way toward the courtyard, your steps light but slightly unsteady from the single cup of wine you’d gulped down.

From around the corner, a familiar figure came sprinting toward you—silver hair glinting in the lantern light, his black cloak fluttering behind him. Phainon, looking simultaneously regal and panicked, skidded (skibidi) to a stop a few feet away.

“I—uh, Your Highness… are you—” he started, but stopped, clearly unsure how to address someone clearly wobbling like a feather in the wind.

“I miss my phone,” you blurted suddenly, voice loud in the quiet hallway, gesturing vaguely toward… nothing, really. “Like… I really miss it. And Wi-Fi. I could really use some Wi-Fi right now...My yuri...my yaoi...” You hiccuped softly, swaying on the balls of your feet.

Phainon blinked, completely still and confused af, his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something. “…Your Highness?”

“Wtf is going on, man,” you continued, throwing your arms wide as if the palace walls themselves had failed to answer that question. “One moment I’m like in some fancy hall, everyone’s bowing, wine everywhere, and now… now I’m just… cooked.”

He shifted slightly, glancing down the corridor as if the floor might explode with judgmental glares. “Cooked…?”

“Yes! Cooked! Like a… roasted chicken! Or maybe a marshmallow? Either way, I am fully… cooked. Somebody save me!” You flopped dramatically against the cool marble wall, leaning your head back.

Phainon, despite himself, let out the faintest exhale, lips twitching into a smile he tried—and failed to hide. “…You truly are… unpredictable, Your Highness.”

“Unpredictable?” You lifted a finger, wagging it like a teacher scolding a child, "No way that you're saying that!!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperation battling amusement. “…I think… I’m supposed to escort you, yes?”

“Escort! That’s exactly it!” You flopped toward him, grabbing his arm for support. "Go samoyed!!"

you. His silver hair brushed your cheeks as you leaned ever so slightly closer, taking in the faint, clean scent of him—the mix of leather, a hint of smoke from the banquet torches, and something inherently… Phainon. You inhaled like it was air itself.

He tensed. Very much tensed. Every step toward your chambers, his grip subtly tightening on yours, subtle enough to keep you upright but firm enough to suggest he was calculating something. His sharp eyes flicked to yours more than once, narrowing slightly.

“…Your Highness,” he said finally, voice low and carefully measured, “are you… placing something on me?” His tone was stern like he would not hesistate to finish you off, but that undercurrent of suspicion made your stomach flip.

You blinked at him, panic spreading like wildfire. “W-what?! No! N-no! I swear, I’m not—” You froze, suddenly aware of how close you were to him, the scent of him filling your senses far too completely. “I… I just… I… like… your scent! Yeah, I have a… uh… scent kink… yeah! That’s it!”

He stopped dead in the corridor, turning to face you fully. His silver hair caught the lantern light, his eyes sharp and silver against the dark, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips—half amusement, half utter disbelief.

“…A scent… kink?” His voice was low, controlled, but carried that razor-sharp edge of incredulity he always seemed to manage.

“Yes! Totally! I mean, it’s not weird! Well… maybe a little weird, but I’m not… I’m not trying to poison you or anything, I swear!” You flailed one hand dramatically while clutching his arm with the other.

Phainon tilted his head, eyes blown wide and mouth left open like a concerned puppy.😨 and silently escorted you, he gave you to Arnes, and you went inside before looking behind your shoulder and smiling one last time as the heavy wooden door slammed shut.

Phainon stood in the corridor long after the heavy wooden doors slammed shut behind you, the echo of your giggling and flailing still clinging to the air. His gaze was fixed somewhere in the distance, or maybe on the mess of words and gestures you had left behind.

Cooked? Wi-Fi? Yuri? Yaoi? Samoyed?

His brow furrowed, the sharp, precise lines of his face tightening with thought. What kind of strange codes are these? Are these… instructions? Warnings? A declaration of war? Or… He shook his head slowly. Or is she… insane?

Every word you had said seemed like a puzzle, a string of unfamiliar patterns he was supposed to decode. “Cooked… cooked like a marshmallow… samoyed…” He muttered to himself, pacing lightly along the corridor, his polished boots clicking against the marble. “Do these words hold… some hidden meaning? Or is this… simply… madness?”

His next step was obvious, he needed perspective. He found Mydei first, lounging lazily in one of the smaller rest chambers. (manspreader)

“Mydei,” Phainon started, voice clipped, controlled, but tense. “A moment.”

Mydei raised an eyebrow, lazily stretching, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Deliverer. What is it?”

He glanced around nervously before blurting, “She—Your Highness… she keeps saying… things. Strange things. Cooked. Wi-Fi. Samoyed. What does she mean?”

Mydei blinked once. Then twice. “…Phainon, has insanity finally peaked upon you?”

Phainon’s jaw tightened, frustration and confusion simmering beneath the surface. “I’m… I’m trying to understand! These words—perhaps they’re codes. Perhaps they signify a hidden plan. Or a… threat. Or… a test!”

Mydei chuckled, amused. “Phainon, she drank one cup of wine."

Shaking his head, Phainon moved next to the triplets. They were seated and talking to eachother.

“She said… words… and I—” Phainon started, but before he could finish, one of the triplets cut him off.

“Snowy!, you sound ridiculous,” Trianne said cheerily. “We heard them. We have no idea either, and there is no word ever created like that which your highness said, she's just tipsy!.”

Phainon exhaled sharply, running a hand through his silver hair, strands falling over his eyes. He looked up at the ceiling as if it might hold the answers, but no, only the flickering lanterns offered light. Unique? Not dangerous? That didn’t calm him. It only made his thoughts spiral further.

He muttered to himself again, pacing again, because of you.

You are kind of cute though, wait what?

Phainon finally slumped into a nearby armchair, black cloak pooling around him, and allowed himself a small sigh. “What am I… thinking? I am meant to observe… to guard… not…”

His eyes drifted toward the corridor where you had disappeared into your chambers, the memory of your leaning into him, the scent of you lingering faintly in his mind, still present.

This is… complicated. Very complicated. Everything is going against what happened in the past 2000 cycles. What..just what is going on?

Phainon leaned back, one silver eyebrow slightly raised, and muttered to himself, half in exasperation, half in awe: “What… is she even trying to do to us?”

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ Your head throbbed like a drum during a hardcore metal concert, and the faint metallic taste in your mouth reminded you of the banquet’s aftermath. You blinked slowly, trying to process the world, and immediately remembered, oh fuck.

Ugh.

You rolled over onto your back, staring at the ceiling with wide, pained eyes. Your thoughts were fragmented, fuzzy, and somehow still stuck on the way you clung to him last night. Do not think about that. Do not think about that. DO NOT THINK ABOUT THAT. But, of course, your brain refused to obey.

A faint knock echoed through the chamber door, and your stomach did a nervous backflip.

“…Yeah?” you croaked, voice breaking due to dehydration or pity, you don't know which one it was.

The door creaked open, and in stepped your maid, Arnes, carrying a tray with what looked like a whole full-course meal: water, tea, bread, omelette (?) and some other fancy meat which you are too sleepy to comprehend.

“Your Highness,” she said with a smile that was far too bright for how she usually is. “Time to get you ready for the morning audience.”

You groaned, pulling the blankets over your head. “Audience? Who’s getting audience-ed? Not me. I'm dead now.”

The maid did not dignify that with a response. Instead, she set the tray down, opened the curtains wide flashbang and began bustling about with brushes and fabric. You squinted against the sunlight like a vampire seeing daylight for the first time in centuries.

She had just started fixing your hair when the door opened again.

Revealing silver hair perfectly in place, black cloak flowing, a huge claymore against the doorways.

Why is phainon here?-

“Good morning, Your Highness,” he said, tone warm in a way that made you instantly suspicious. “I trust you slept well?”

You glared at him from under the comb your maid was working through your hair. “No.”

He stepped further into the room, boots silent on the carpet, and set the massive claymore against the wall.

“That is unfortunate,” Phainon replied smoothly, folding his hands behind his back with a cheeky smile. “You seem… functional enough.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, the motion making your head pound harder. “Functional? I’m hanging on by a thread here!''

“I will choose my words carefully then,” he said with infuriating calm, glancing at the tray Arnes had brought in. “Eat, Your Highness. You’ll need your strength.”

You frowned. “Why are you here? Don’t you have other business to attend to?”

He ignored the jab completely, moving to pour tea into a porcelain cup. “I was asked to escort you to the audience chamber. Apparently, some are concerned about your… stability.”

You nearly choked on air, remembering the events from last night.

Phainon handed you the cup, holding it just long enough that you were forced to meet his eyes. “Drink. Before you collapse halfway to the throne.”

You took it, glaring over the rim. “You’re acting all uh normal. Like nothing happened last night.”

His silver brow lifted ever so slightly. “And something happened last night?”

Arnes froze mid-comb, eyes darting between you two with utmost curiosity.

You gulped down the rest of your tea in one go, slamming the cup down. “NOTHING. Absolutely nothinggg, let’s go.”

The corner of his mouth curved, just slightly, before he straightened and gestured toward the door. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

The hallway air was cool, the kind that woke you up whether you wanted it to or not. You walked beside Phainon, trying to pretend the sunlight streaming through the high windows wasn’t stabbing you right in the brain.

His boots clicked steadily on the marble, a calm, almost lazy rhythm. Yours…uhm less so. Every few steps you stumbled just a little—whether from the hangover or the fact that you were still processing him standing there all cheerful this morning, he looked stunning omg.

The gates opened into a sunlit expanse of packed dirt and scattered weapons racks. The heirs were already there, practicing with blunted blades, calling out challenges, ignoring the etiquette of keeping voices dignified.

Phainon stepped aside to let you pass first, his hand brushing lightly at your elbow. “Careful on the step.”

It was one step. You took it perfectly fine, but your heart still did that stupid little trip it shouldn’t be doing.

“See?” you said, not looking at him. “Perfectly stable.”

“Mm,” Phainon hummed, gaze drifting down in that way that made you suddenly hyper-aware of the fitted knight’s tunic they’d shoved you into this morning, and the sword resting at your hip.

“I am,” he said slowly, “quite curious about your skills! :D”

You blinked. “…Skills?”

His silver eyes flicked back up to yours with a spark of mischief. “You wear a blade as though you intend to use it :)”

“That’s because I can use it,” you said automatically, even though the last time you actually sparred with someone, you may or may not have tripped over your own foot.

He stepped a fraction closer, voice dropping into something both polite and way too direct. “May I ask for a duel, Your Highness?”

You nearly laughed. “Right now? In front of the heirs?”

“In front of the heirs,” he confirmed, that faint smile deepening just enough to let you know he already expected your answer. “It would be fun!"

you muttered something incomprehensible, but his hand was already gesturing toward the open sparring ring, as though he were inviting you to tea instead of inviting you to be publicly humiliated.

“Unless,” Phainon said, just loud enough for them to hear, “you would rather decline.” you swore under your breath, you are too prideful to decline.

You stepped into the ring, the crunch of the packed dirt under your boots sharp in your ears. Someone tossed you a wooden practice sword, and you caught it with a little more flair than necessary, mostly to make a point.

Phainon picked up his own sparring blade, testing the weight with an idle twirl. Even holding wood instead of steel, he looked every inch the war hero. A few heirs had stopped their training completely now, watching with barely disguised anticipation.

You squared your stance, forcing your headache into the background. “Don’t go easy on me,” you said.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Your highness !!”

The first clash rang out sharp, wood striking wood. You moved fast—faster than most people expected when they saw the royal robes on you. Your footwork was tight, your strikes precise, and for the first few exchanges, you even had him on the defensive.

holy shit you weren't even in control of your body right now, its as if something possessed you.

“You’re holding back,” you said between breaths, pressing forward.

parrying your next strike and sidestepping with infuriating ease.

You gritted your teeth and changed tactics—feint to the left, twist, swing low—he caught it effortlessly, his blade meeting yours in a firm block.

And then—oh.

His pace shifted.

One second you were trading blows, the next, he was a blur—each strike of his was controlled but unyielding, pushing you back step by step. You blocked one, two, three attacks in quick succession, but the fourth—

Smack.

Your sword flew from your grip, clattering to the dirt. In the same motion, his practice blade rested lightly mockingly at your shoulder.

“Point to me,” he said softly, his silver eyes alight with something far warmer than mockery.

You exhaled, half from exertion, half from the way he was looking at you. “You’re… ridiculous.”

“Perhaps,” Phainon murmured, lowering his sword. “But you are extremely .”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone.

He stepped back, offering you his free hand to help you up from where you’d sunk into a crouch. “Again?”

…You took his hand

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

How did this even happen?

“No—here," Phainon stepped closer, the warmth of his presence brushing along your side. He covered your hands with his own, guiding the angle of your wrists with ease. His voice was light, like he was talking about something as casual as pouring tea, not swordsmanship. “Your stance is fine, but the moment you strike, your weight’s too far forward. You’d be easy to topple.”

You huffed. “So you’re saying I’d lose immediately?”

His laugh was bright, unbothered. “No. I’m saying you’d be easy to catch.”

It made you blink at him, but he was already adjusting your elbow, fingers brushing your arm just enough to be felt through your sleeve. Around you, the sharp clang of steel echoed from other sparring pairs, but you noticed a small group in the distance, the heirs were watching you both with the kind of smiles people wore when they’d caught onto something they weren’t supposed to.

They’re smiling again. Like they know something I don’t.

Phainon thought

Your sword swings are still clumsy, yet you listen. Really listens. He can see it in the way your brows knit, in the way your body shifts at every correction he gives. You're not afraid to be wrong here, in front of him, even if your cheeks flush each time Phainon steps in closer to fix your posture.

He adjusts your hands again, fingers curling over yuors, feeling the tremor in your grip, clearly focused. “Better,” He murmurs, softer than he meant to. You glance up, meeting his eyes for just a second before you try the move again.

There’s a warmth in hsi chest he hasn’t felt in a long time. Dangerous, because it’s comfortable. Dangerous, because he can already feel himself cataloguing the curve of your smile, the way your hair catches the light, the slight rasp in your voice after training.

Phainon catches himself smiling before he even realizes it. The heirs probably see it too

He shifted behind her again, leaning in so close that his breath stirs the hair near your ear. “One more time, Your Highness, and this time, don’t think. Just follow me.”

You laughed lightly, saying something about how you’d never be able to match his skill, but he just shook his head, saying a corny joke.

His hands hovered near your waist, not touching but close enough to guide if you faltered. He leaned in just a little, his voice lower now, the faintest hint of a smile in it. “Good… you’re catching on quicker than I thought. You might even embarrass me at this rate.”

The heirs’ muffled chuckles carried faintly over the sound of practice swords clashing in the distance.

And still, Phainon’s focus stayed locked on you.

Phainon didn’t notice when his hand slid from correcting your grip to simply holding it, his fingers wrapping firm around yours as if anchoring you in place. It wasn’t until you gave the slightest flinch that the moment cracked, reality bleeding in through the haze of focus.

You didn’t pull away sharply—just a small wince, quick enough that you might’ve thought he’d miss it. He didn’t.

“Ah—” he loosened instantly, brows knitting. “Did I—?”

Before he could finish, the pounding of light boots echoed from across the training ground.

“Your Highness!” Hyacine’s voice cut through the warm hum of practice. She jogged toward you, ponytials bouncing against her sides, her healer’s wand already in hand. “I saw that grip—Lord Phainon!! you absolute giant, you can’t manhandle her like she’s a sparring dummy D:”

“It wasn’t—” he started, then stopped. No use defending when Hyacine was already ushering you toward the edge of the ring like a storm in full force.

You glanced back at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place—something between exasperation and… amusement?

Phainon stayed where he was, wooden sword still hanging loosely at his side, watching as Hyacine fussed over your wrist. The rest of the heirs had paused their own drills, mydei openly smirking, Aglaea exchanging looks like they’d been expecting this all along.

His chest felt strangely hollow without your attention on him.

You chuckle as Hyacine's wand bonked against your head, and you raise up your hands, rotating your wrists faster than a windmill's wings.

Phainon smiled at you, feeling his ears heat up.

He will make you his

The next few months blurred into a strangely warm routine.

It turned out that the Chrysos heirs were actually surprisingly easy to spend time with !! Hyacine was constantly by your side, dragging you from room to room to “show you important things,” which were, in reality, her extensive plushie collection, an entire cabinet of porcelain animal clay figurines, and a hidden stash of candied nuts she swore no one else knew about and play with her pet unicorn, Little Ica (fat fuck). You spoiled her without thinking, shes such a cutie!!, slipping her extra desserts at dinner, letting her braid your hair with ribbons she insisted would “bring good luck,” and tucking her in when she inevitably fell asleep mid-conversation.

Aglaea became your quiet partner in tea. The two of you would settle into the sunroom, pale light spilling across the table as delicate porcelain cups steamed between you. She spoke in gentle, deliberate words, always tilting her head slightly as if weighing your responses. Yet she would always make these weird remarks poetically, because you were still a Gen-Z person, of course, you were used to short abbreviations not long...poetic sentences.

Anaxa, uh well, you bickered with Anaxa as if it were a competitive sport or a habit more tbh. He’d make a smug comment about your “amateur understanding of politics,” and you’d fire back with a remark about his tragic inability to win an argument without pacing like an angry cat. Half the time, Hyacine had to intervene before you two could escalate into an actual physical fight.

Castorice was a gentle butterfly, always with her hands folded neatly in her lap and her expression unreadable, except for the faintest flicker of amusement in her eyes when you said something outrageous. (her smiles are so cutee). She listened with perfect attention when you brought up the yaoi, even leaning in ever so slightly as you excitedly recounted a story about two male characters who had way too much chemistry for it to be “just friendship.” She'd even write for you and you would squeal and happiness before air-hugging her.

Mydei, on the other hand, was well, the opposite in energy. A beast on the battlefield, but when you sat beside him with a plate of honey bread, he was just a man with a soft spot for sweets and a habit of offering you half of whatever he had. You never pushed him to talk much; instead, you kept trading recipes and slipping him extra desserts, and somewhere along the way, it became your own not so secret. (everyone knows his insane baking skills and sweet tooth, even the royal chef)

And Phainon… He was always there, literally, looking at you with a smile.

Sometimes on the edge of your vision, leaning against a pillar like he had all the time in the world. Sometimes directly across from you at the dinner table, eyes fixed on you even when someone else was speaking. There was a certain dark amusement in the way his lips curved everytime you talk with him with a wholesome smile.

But there was something else, too.

A faint, prickling sensation under your skin when he was near, it felt suffocating, sometimes making you think that he might actually kill you with torture, leaving you with amputated limbs and gouged out eye sockets.

But you ignored it for the best, because of how he would hold your hand during sword practice, of how he would always invite you to watch him spar with Mydei.

You should've seen the face he made when he found out you and Castorice...made stories of him with Mydei.

him: 😨

Little did you know that, the more time Phainon spent with you, the more the idea dug into him like a thorn, except instead of festering, it bloomed. He’d catch himself in the middle of sparring with Mydei, distracted by the image of you leaning back into him, flushed and breathless, your laughter spilling into the hollow of his throat. He’d think about how small your hand felt in his when he adjusted your grip on a sword—how easily he could just keep it there, never letting go. The way you tilted your head to look up at him made his chest feel too tight, and somewhere deep inside, an ugly, possessive heat coiled, whispering that no one else should get to see that expression but him.

He imagined you on the throne, yes, but not alone. No, you’d be seated right on his lap, his arm resting across your waist, his chin on your shoulder as he murmured sweet, private words meant only for you. He’d hold you there in front of everyone, let them see that you belonged to him. Every smile you gave him, every laugh, every soft, fleeting touch, it all fed into the quiet obsession wrapping tighter and tighter around his ribs.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

ACHOO!!

You sneeze, confused, was someone thinking about you? strange. you dont even have a cold D:

You flop back onto your bed, arms spread out like a t-pose.

The ceiling stares down at you in judgement, and you stare right back, stubborn.

Except it’s not really the ceiling you’re seeing. It’s his stupidly perfect smile. His annoyingly flawless hair. The way his voice dips just slightly when he says your name like he’s been doing it for centuries.

Ugh.

You roll onto your side, pulling your blanket halfway over your face before groaning. "Phainon, the man you are!"

You can still hear his laugh from earlier, unbothered and warm in a way that makes your chest feel like someone lit a candle inside it. You hate it. You love it. You hate that you love it.

This man might kill (for) you any moment and you're giggling over him like a lovesick teenage girl.

You bury your face in your pillow. Yeah... If he ever found out you thought about him this much, you’d have to fake your own death and run off as a local outside the palace.

You let your eyes slip shut, letting the image of him linger in your mind—his gaze catching yours across a crowded room, the slight furrow of his brows when you’re not near, the faintest hint of possessiveness that sends a thrill down your spine.

Is he planning to kill me only for himself? man.

You curled deeper into the blankets, sighing into the soft pillow. The faint moonlight spilled through the curtains, lighting up your room.

Your chest felt warm just thinking about it. It was stupid. He was… well, he was Phainon. And you were just you..and well, you were the reason for his suffering, for his time loops.

Your eyelids grew heavier, thoughts smudging together as sleep pulled you under.

You didn’t hear the faint shift of the window latch. You didn’t see the pale fingers curl around the edge of the frame.

A shadow slipped into your room, noiseless except for the sound of silk fabric. The figure straightened, white and gold catching the faint moonlight, before his steps brought him to the edge of your bed.

Phainon knelt slowly, almost reverently, like a worshiper before their god. His eyes trailed over you, lingering on the slow rise and fall of your breathing.

“…So peaceful,” he murmured under his breath, voice low with a sound of. His gloved hand hovered above your face for a moment before he removed it, his bare, scarred skin tracing the curve of your cheek.

The contact was feather-light, almost hesitant, but the way his breath hitched made it feel anything but casual.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, his thumb brushing just under your eye. “Every look, every laugh, you don’t know, do you? How much I think of you. How much I…”

His lips curved faintly, but it wasn’t kindness. “I should be ashamed. I’m not...You are the reason for my endless pain yet why do i find myself lingering towards you”

He let his hand linger, stroking once more before leaning in, his breath ghosting your ear.

Phainon’s gaze dropped to your hand, half-hidden beneath the blankets. Slowly, he drew it out, careful not to wake you.

He turned your wrist in his palm, studying each delicate line, each faint pulse beneath your skin, as though memorizing it. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and then, without breaking his stare, he lifted your right hand to his lips.

The kiss was soft at first, almost reverent, the warmth of his breath soaking into your soft skin.

“…Perfect,” he murmured against your fingers, letting them rest there as if he couldn’t bear to release them. His voice dropped into something darker, “You have no idea how easy it would be to keep you. To never let you go.”

His eyes softened, but one who might see him in this state would call it, "insanity" or "obsession"

“Maybe,” he whispered, pressing one more kiss to the tip of your finger and nuzzling his cheek against your limped hand, “I’ll take you through eternity with me, all locked up and mine to look at.”

Orientation:

Students gather in the Grand Hall and the dorm leaders each give a small speech before the sorting ceremony. Each student stands in front of the room and is handed a colorless crystal. They hold it close to their heart and make a secret wish. The crystal then changes color to match the dorm.

Confituremburg - Light Pink (Rose Quartz)

Elfenbeinturm - Violet (Amethyst)

Schwanen Schloss - Blue (Aquamarine)

Échange Palace - Pink/Blue (Bi-Color Tourmaline)

Rainbopia - Dark Pink (Pink Mystic Topaz)

Pegasi Chateau - Light Purple/Lilac (Diamond)

Goldpavillon - Gold/Yellow (Golden Beryl)

Classes:

The school offers many of the same classes as NRC, with a few others that are less common at other school;

Astrology

Dance

Literature

Swimming

Etiquette

Clubs:

There are a wide variety of clubs at PHA too. Students can join as many clubs as they like in order to explore their interests. Some are similar to other schools, but they also have:

Library Committee

Dance Club

Fashion Club

Croquette Team

Swim Club/Mermaid Club

Garden Club

Debate Club

Poetry Club

Equestrian/Flying Derby Team

Relationship with other schools:

PHA maintains a good relationship with their sister school, Royal Sword Academy. The two often collaborate for Etiquette and other related classes. On the rare chance RSA can't make it, they ask NRC, which gets complicated.

NRC looks at PHA the same way they look at RSA; a school full of prissy princesses who don't want get dirty and never have a hair out of place. PHA students see NRC as rowdy and most times unagreeable in some ways.

When NRC does come, they only allow the most well behaved students to go. This usually includes Pomefiore, but some of the other dorms go as well. The only two dorms that don't go are Ignihyde and Savanaclaw. Ignihyde is self explanatory, but the one time Savanaclaw students went, a physical fight broke out over dance partners and a window ended up broken (Crowley is still paying off that debt).

Thank you for attending today's lesson and we look forward to seeing in the next one.

Sincerely,

Headmistress Prim