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high school!phaidei AU where those two are those overly clingy, overly cheesy couples who're constantly with and talking to one another to the point their teachers have to point this out to their parents in parent-teacher meetings because apparently, they "weren't paying attention to lessons and disturbed the whole class" 😭
None of the teachers would have explicitly mentioned that they're together but hey, their parents weren't born yesterday so they naturally caught up.
Their car rides back home would have been DRASTICALLY different though. Phainon's parents would have spent the entire 20 mins drive 'counseling' him, telling him not to get so passionate to the point where it starts effecting his studies (the wording thoroughly embarassed phainon, by the way).
On the other hand, Mydei's drive back would be in complete silence. Their lack of reaction stressed him out even fruther, until his parents break the ice by laughter— one followed by the other. Somehow, the idea of their introverted son, who struggled interacting with others and making friends, being so talkative to the point all his teachers felt compelled to point it out, felt so drastic it felt hilarious to them. At that moment, mydei felt that a blasting would have felt easier to take in compared to them laughing at him.
(no mydei doesn't have daddy issues here. let that boy breath somewhere 🙏)
“Another one,” Phainon pleads, puckering his lips in a way that should be forbidden. So lewd and trusting. Mydei might faint on the spot if Phainon weren’t already clinging to him like a starved man.
“You’re greedy today, Deliverer,” he mutters, failing to hide the stupid smile tugging at his mouth. But he kisses him anyway. He always does.
It starts in Mydei’s quarters (because Phainon insists on “courting properly,” whatever that means), spills into the bathing chamber, some shadowed hallway corner, and now, apparently, ends in the middle of Marmoreal Market. Mydei wants to say no, to say later, but Phainon makes him lose reason and gain everything else he’s too afraid to name.
So he kisses him again. Letting his lips do the talking.
Phainon winks, eyes huge, adoring, and before Mydei can even process it, he’s being kissed along his jawline, his throat, the edge of his shoulder blade.
“You love that, dear Mydeimos,” Phainon murmurs into his skin.
He does. Titans help him, he does. He hums instead of speaking. Because if he opens his mouth, he might just press Phainon against the nearest wall and kiss him senseless, let the world see, consequences be damned.
Phainon nibbles, then bites. Leaves marks. Like always. Like he’s claiming something. Like he already knows he’s his.
Then Phainon laughs out loud, bright, unbothered. It cuts through Mydei’s chest like light. He swallows hard. Phainon strokes his chest like it’s normal. Maybe for him it is.
"Who’s the greedy one now?” Phainon teases, voice thick. “So eager.”
Mydei doesn’t even flinch. “Never said I wasn’t.”
One hand at Phainon’s back, one pulling him closer. Phainon’s cheeks are red, his lips swollen. He looks so beautiful. And when Mydei kisses him again, it is against that wall. Phainon swears, calls him a brute.
“Not with you,” Mydei breathes, just for him.
You’re the one keeping me sane, Mydei tells him silently.
When Phainon looks at him again, blue eyes bright with mischief, he has that look. The look he only has when they are alone at night, silver hair tousled, entangled in bed.
“You’re the one leaving my humanity intact,” Phainon tells him again. And Mydei doesn’t know how to deal with that.
So he jests. “Let’s see who gets home faster. And no cheating.” Mydei raises an eyebrow. “Or are you too weak on your knees now?”
Phainon snorts. “Look who’s talking.”
And then he starts running, silver hair catching the light, his cloak shimmering in the sunlight. Mydei doesn’t know what the new dawn looks like. But he knows his light.
now that i have your attention, here's a sneak preview of a genderswapped royalty au i'm working on:
It is difficult to keep sight of the crown princess mid-combat. She’s an unstoppable force: one might catch a glimpse of a swinging gauntlet, a whirl of that red cape, or perhaps a peek of golden hair, wild like a lion’s mane. But Phainon is Her Highness’s first knight, and has years of experience when it comes to watching her lady’s form dominate the battlefield.
The crown princess, in her usual red and gold garb, has her bare muscles on proud display. And oh, does she put them to work. They flex and bulge with battle-honed strength as she fights like a whirlwind. Sweat glistens on her tanned skin, under the sun’s burning gaze. With a wide grin, she effortlessly takes down another tide-touched with a single blow—straight through the monster’s spine.
Her lady’s fists are brutal. Phainon’s knees are weak.
to be posted on ao3 !!
big shoutout to @aratribow for their fem phainon/mydei art & their contributions to the yuri agenda, their art is my inspiration for all of this <3_<3
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Tags/Setting: Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, (Over?)Protective Phainon, Reckless Mydei, Phainon has PTSD,
Amphoreus is finally free.
The cycles are broken. Irontomb is shattered. The Coreflames are gone. There is no prophecy left to fulfill.
Mydei is mortal. Phainon should be relieved. But with how Mydei was acting, he couldn't be.
He has killed Mydei 33,550,337 times.
He will not watch him die once more.
The training yard of Kremnos burned gold beneath Amphoreus’ freed sun.
Freed. That was the word everyone used now.
Freed from the cycles.
Freed from Irontomb.
Freed from the Coreflames that had once devoured gods and men alike.
It was beautiful.
It was also the most terrifying thing Phainon had ever lived through.
“Again.”
Mydei didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. His voice struck like a hammer against stone.
He stood at the center of the courtyard, steady as ever. Broad shoulders marked with those red, ancient etchings of lineage and power. They didn’t blaze like they once had, but under the sunlight they still glowed faintly, like embers refusing to die. Sweat traced the lines of his muscles, caught in the hollow of his collarbone, slid down the ridges of his torso. His golden hair was tied back loosely, strands escaping.
His golden eyes burned with that familiar, reckless fire.
He was beautiful.
And that was the problem, because it made Phainon hesitate.
Phainon tightened his grip on his sword until his knuckles went pale. Silver-white hair clung damply to his temples. His gaze catalogued everything automatically; stance, weight distribution, angle of the spear.
Too open.
Too aggressive.
Too familiar.
“We should take a break,” Phainon said.
Mydei grinned. All teeth. All challenge. “I don’t need a break. What, Deliverer? Getting soft?”
"Soft isn't the word I'd use", Phainon thought, watching the way Mydei shifted his weight, already preparing to charge forward with that same aggressive, devastating offensive style that had served him for... how long? Centuries? Millennia?
Soft was mercy.
This was terror.
The clash rang out across the courtyard, steel on steel, the kind of impact that vibrated up the bone. Mydei fought the way he always had: forward, overwhelming, unafraid to trade blows. His spear moved like it remembered being unstoppable.
Because it had been.
When immortality made you bold.
When consequences were temporary.
When pain was an inconvenience, not a threat.
Not anymore.
Phainon pivoted instead of blocking head-on. “Your left side is open.”
“Then strike it.”
“I’m telling you so you guard it.” He barely absorbed the shock of the next overhead swing. “You’re fighting like you’re still…”
"Still what?" Mydei's eyes flashed. "Still immortal? Is that it?"
The words hung between them, sharp as any blade.
Phainon disengaged, stepping back. His heart hammered against his ribs, not from exertion, but from the sick feeling that had become his constant companion. "You know it's true. Your form is…"
"My form is fine." But Mydei's grip on his spear tightened, knuckles going white.
“Your form is suicidal.”
The word landed harder than the blades had.
“You can die now,” Phainon added, voice thinner than he wanted. “You can actually die.”
“I know that.”
Do you? Because every time Mydei threw himself forward without guarding his core, every time he left his chest open in favor of landing one more decisive strike, Phainon saw it.
33,550,336 cycles.
He remembered the angle.
The tenth thoracic vertebra.
The pressure required.
The way Mydei’s breath would hitch once, just once, before fading.
Every time.
His hands trembled. He forced them still.
"Let's go again," Mydei said quietly, raising his sword.
They circled each other. The courtyard stones were still warm from the midday sun, heat rising in waves that made the air shimmer. Sweat traced lines down their spines.
He watched. Tracked every movement, every shift of weight, every opening in Mydei's defense that he left because his body remembered being unkillable. Old habits, carved into muscle over millennia. The kind of instincts that could get a mortal man killed.
That was when the courtyard doors slammed open.
Three mercenaries burst through. Uninvited. Armed. Desperate.
Phainon barely registered their shouted threat because what mattered, what consumed his entire field of vision, was the archer in their back line. Bow creaking. Arrow nocked.
And Mydei, damn him, turning toward them with his spear raised high, stance wide, chest completely exposed.
Time shattered. Each heartbeat stretched into eternity, and Phainon could see it all with horrible clarity: the arrow's trajectory, a perfect line to Mydei's sternum. Saw the way Mydei wasn't even moving to dodge, because immortal bodies didn't need defending, because golden blood healed all wounds, because…
Because that was before.
Phainon moved before conscious thought could catch up.
His sword flashed, bright and merciless. The arrow split mid-air like breaking glass, two halves spinning away to clatter against stone.
"CAN YOU STOP DOING THAT?"
The words tore out of him, raw and ragged, scraped from somewhere deep in his chest. His sword was still extended, his whole body shaking with adrenaline that felt like acid in his veins, like his blood had turned to glass and was cutting him from the inside.
His hand was white-knuckled around the hilt. He wanted to throw the blade. Hurl it across the courtyard until it shattered. He wanted to grab Mydei, shake him, scream until his throat bled.
The rest of the mercenaries moved already.
Muscle memory overrode everything else. Phainon shifted into defensive stance as Mydei's spear sang through the air, that familiar, deadly whistle that had echoed through 33,550,336 cycles. The weapon moved like an extension of Mydei's body, spinning, thrusting, a blur of lethal grace.
Too lethal. Too committed. Too reckless.
The lead mercenary swung a mace. Mydei didn't dodge, not properly. He pivoted sharply, letting the weapon skim past his ribs, close enough that Phainon felt phantom pain lance through his own chest, before cracking the spear shaft against the man's temple. The mercenary dropped.
Too close.
That was too close.
Phainon moved with cold precision. His blade snapped forwardm a clean strike to the second attacker's wrist. Her weapon clattered. She cried out, sharp and pained. He followed with a pommel blow to the jaw. She folded without resistance.
The archer was already nocking another arrow.
And Mydei wasn't backing off. Wasn't even slowing down. Sweat gleamed on his bronzed, tattooed skin, muscles contracting beneath the red etchings across his arms and chest as he lunged—fast, reckless, spear extended.
And Mydei wasn't backing off. Wasn't even slowing down. Sweat gleamed on his bronzed, tattooed skin, muscles contracting beneath the red etchings across his arms and chest as he lunged, fast, reckless, spear extended.
Fully exposing himself. Fully trusting his body to endure what it no longer could.
Mydei moved like a god.
But he wasn't one anymore.
Phainon was there. Between Mydei and the archer. His sword's flat side slammed into the bow hard enough to send the man stumbling back, and Mydei's spear finished it, the shaft sweeping the archer's legs out. The man hit the ground hard. Mydei's boot came down on his chest, not hard enough to break ribs, but firm enough to pin.
"Don't. Move." Mydei's voice was steady, cold.
But his spear point trembled.
Only slightly. Only for a heartbeat. But enough for Phainon, who had fought with him across millennia, who had memorized every microexpression, every tell to notice.
Silence sank over the courtyard like water filling a tomb. Broken only by ragged breathing and the pained groans of unconscious bodies.
Phainon stood rigid, sword still raised, his whole body shaking with adrenaline so sharp it felt like knives under his skin. The two halves of the shattered arrow lay at his feet. Quiet accusation.
He leveled his blade at the conscious archer. "You. Who sent you?"
The man's eyes darted between them, wide and frightened. "We were just…border dispute…the new territories—"
"Try again." Phainon's sword dipped closer, close enough that the man could probably feel the displaced air against his throat. "And keep in mind I know exactly how mortal bodies break. Exactly how long someone can scream before they pass out from the pain. I know exactly where to cut to make you wish you'd told the truth the first time."
The truth spilled out quickly after that. A minor warlord. Testing boundaries. Nothing organized, just the chaos of a world learning to exist without gods, without prophecy, without the certainty of cycles.
"Bind them," Phainon said. Flat. Final.
Mydei hesitated or maybe Phainon just imagined the flicker of reluctance in those golden eyes. Then he nodded. Within moments, they had the three mercenaries secured with rope from the training yard stores. Two still unconscious. The third sullen and nursing a split lip.
Only when they were safely restrained did Phainon turn to face Mydei fully.
The sun beat down. The courtyard stones radiated heat. But Phainon felt cold.
"You remember," he said. Not a question.
Mydei's jaw tightened. "Of course I remember."
"The cycles. Being immortal. The Coreflame burning in your chest."
"Every Heir remembers." Mydei's fingers flexed on his spear shaft. "Yes. I remember what it felt like. To be unkillable."
"Then why..." Phainon's voice cracked, a raw edge slicing through the control he usually wielded so tightly. "Why are you still fighting like that? That lunge, you gave the archer a perfect opening. If I hadn't seen it, if I'd been too slow…"
"But you weren't." Mydei's voice was quiet. Steady.
"That's not the point!" The words exploded out of him like a wound rupturing. "I won't always be there, Mydei! And even if I am, what if I'm a second too slow? What if next time there are four archers, or six, or…"
"Then I'll die."
Phainon froze.
The world seemed to tilt. The heat of the courtyard stones. The weight of his sword. The sound of his own heartbeat. Everything went distant and muffled, like he'd been plunged underwater.
Mydei said it so simply. So matter-of-factly. Like he was commenting on the weather.
"Don't..." Phainon's voice came out strangled.
"I'll die," Mydei repeated, softer this time. "The way any mortal dies. The way mortals have always died on Amphoreus. Except now it won't fuel another cycle. It'll just be... death. Final. Real."
He set his spear down. The clatter sounded unnervingly like a dropped verdict, metal against stone echoing in the sudden silence.
"Do you think I don't know that?" Mydei pressed a hand to his chest, over his heart. "Every day I wake up and my body remembers something that isn't true anymore. It remembers closing wounds that should've killed me. Remembers rising after blows that shattered bone. Remembers feeling the Coreflame burning here..." His fingers curled against his sternum, almost clawing. "Always there. Always repairing. Always restoring."
He looked up.
For the first time, Mydei; fiery, fearless Mydeimos, Demigod of Strife, Prince of Kremnos, looked almost lost.
"But there's nothing there now. Just muscle and bone and mortal blood. And I know that. In my head, I know. But my body?" He laughed, bitter and sharp. "My body has centuries of memory telling it that pain is temporary. That injury is inconvenient. That death is just... a reset button."
"Then you need to retrain it." Phainon was shaking. The sword trembled in his grip. "You need to…"
"I'm trying." Mydei's golden eyes flashed, and the frustration in them wasn't anger, it was desperation, raw and bleeding. "Do you think this is easy? Do you think I want to be reckless? I'm fighting every instinct carved into me over thousands of lifetimes. Reflexes older than this entire city, technically."
"Try harder!" Phainon's voice broke. "Because I can't…I can't watch you die again, Mydei. I can't."
The confession hung in the air between them.
Heavy.
Mydei went very still. "Again," he repeated softly.
Phainon couldn't look at him. His gaze stuck to the two pieces of the broken arrow at their feet. They felt like a symbol of something already cracked inside him. Something that would never heal right.
"You know what I had to do," he murmured. "Every cycle. You know."
"I know." Mydei's voice was quiet, controlled, but there was something underneath it, something that sounded like old grief. "I'm the one who told you how. The tenth thoracic vertebra. The singular weakness in an otherwise immortal body. The only way to truly kill me."
"You told me." Phainon's hands were shaking now, sword forgotten. "Every single cycle, you told me. 'This is where you strike, Phainon. Here. Remember.'" His voice cracked. "You trusted me with your only vulnerability. You laid it bare…"
His throat closed.
He couldn't finish.
Mydei took a step closer, casting shadow over him. The temperature dropped several degrees in that shadow, merciful, cool relief from the brutal sun. "It was necessary."
"I know it was necessary!" The words burst out of Phainon like a wound rupturing, like his chest had split open and everything inside was spilling out. "I know the logic. I understood the design. But that doesn't change what it felt like! Every cycle, Mydei. Every single one."
His breath hitched. The air felt too thick. Too warm. He couldn't get enough of it into his lungs.
"You never ran," Phainon whispered. "You never begged. You never hesitated. You fought me. Always. You fought me as an equal, with honor, with everything you had left. Even knowing you'd lose. Even knowing the ending was already written."
His vision blurred.
"You met me blade to blade until you couldn't stand anymore. And then, and only then, did you expose your back and..." He swallowed hard. "And let me do what had to be done."
Mydei exhaled hard through his nose. A tremor moved through his shoulders, barely visible.
"You died with honor every time," Phainon continued, voice breaking into pieces. "You made me earn every inch. You made sure I could look you in the eye and say you didn't die ashamed or defeated. You made it…" His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "You made it mean something."
"Phainon..." Mydei's voice was low, roughened by something almost painful.
"And when you finally fell," Phainon whispered, "you would always say the same thing. Do you remember?"
Mydei swallowed. His throat worked. "I said a lot of things."
"You said, 'Deliverer...I wish you eternal victory.'"
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Phainon's breath trembled. "Like it was something honorable. Like sparing me the sight of you kneeling would make it better. Like your dignity in death could somehow erase what I had to do."
Mydei's jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists, knuckles going white. "I would never kneel."
"I know." Phainon's vision blurred. He blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. Not here. Not now. "You never did. Not once. Even when you were dying. Even when I could feel your breath hitch against my hands as I lowered you to the ground..." His voice broke. "You died on your feet, Mydei. Every time."
He laughed, a horrible, broken sound that didn't belong in daylight.
"I wasn't just killing you. I was honoring you. And somehow that made it worse."
Silence. Then: "I held you while you died. Did you know that?"
Mydei's breath caught.
"I never let you fall alone. Even when you dropped your spear...I caught you. Lowered you down. And I'd stay there…" His voice cracked completely. "I'd stay there until your eyes went dark because I couldn't...I couldn't let you die alone."
Mydei's hand, calloused, warm, shaking, settled on Phainon's shoulder. "Deliverer..."
"And now," Phainon choked, "after all that. After 33,550,337 cycles. After thousands of honorable deaths. You fight like none of it mattered. Like your life is disposable. Like you can afford to leave your chest open to an arrow because you'll just get back up."
Mydei flinched.
The movement was small. But Phainon saw it.
"That's not carelessness," Phainon said, quieter now but no less intense. "That's muscle memory. That's the instinct of an Heir who fought fairly every cycle and could afford to take a hit if it meant landing one more honorable strike. But now..." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Now that instinct will kill you."
Mydei's hand tightened on his shoulder. Golden eyes burned. "You think I don't know that?"
"I think you don't feel it yet."
Silence.
The sun beat down. The courtyard stones radiated heat. But Phainon still felt cold, like ice was spreading through his veins from the inside out.
"The cycles are broken," he said softly. "We're free. We won. Everyone sacrificed everything and we actually won. Amphoreus lives on. We have a future."
He reached up. Caught Mydei's wrist.
"But you're still fighting like you're immortal. Still throwing yourself at danger like your body will just... heal. Still leaving yourself open..." His voice broke. "Do you have any idea what that does to me? Watching you be so careless with the life I had to take from you over and over again?"
"I'm not being careless-"
"You are!" Phainon's free hand gestured sharply at the training yard, at the bound mercenaries, at the broken arrow. "That lunge. That archer. You didn't even try to defend yourself. You just charged forward like it didn't matter if the arrow hit. Like your body would endure it." His voice rose, desperate and raw: "But it won't, Mydei!"
"Before, you had one weakness. One. That single vertebra. Everything else, you could take a blade to the heart, an arrow through the lung, a mace to the skull and you'd heal. But now?"
Phainon stepped closer. His hand moved from Mydei's wrist to press against his chest, right over his heart. He could feel it beating, steady, strong, terrifyingly mortal.
"Now everything can kill you. Your heart. Your lungs. Your throat. Your head. You don't have one weakness anymore; you're made of weaknesses. You're mortal. Completely, terrifyingly mortal and you're fighting like you haven't realized that yet."
Mydei's hand came up to cover Phainon's, pressing it more firmly against his chest. Against the steady rhythm. The proof of life.
"I know what I am," he said quietly. "I feel it every day. Every cut that doesn't immediately close. Every bruise that lingers. Every ache that my body used to just... ignore." His jaw tightened. "I know I'm mortal now."
"Then why—"
"Because I don't know the weight of it yet." Mydei's admission was stark, stripped bare. "Intellectually, yes. I understand. One good strike and I'm dead. Really dead. Forever dead. But I've never..." He paused. Swallowed. "Phainon, I've never had to truly fear death. Not like this. Not permanent death."
His golden eyes searched Phainon's face.
"My body made death temporary. Inconvenient. Sometimes even necessary. It was a tool, not a tragedy. And now everyone keeps telling me I'm fragile, that I'm mortal, that I need to be careful, but I don't feel it. Not the way you do."
"Because you're not the one who had to kill you." Phainon's voice was hollow, scraped raw. "You didn't have to watch yourself die over and over. You didn't have to memorize exactly how much pressure it takes to pierce through to that vertebra. You didn't have to..."
His breath caught in his throat.
The memories were too vivid. Too real. The weight of the blade. The exact angle. The way Mydei's body would stiffen, muscles going rigid and then relax. The light fading from his eyes like the sun setting.
Over and over and over and over and-
"You don't understand what it means to me that you're alive," Phainon whispered. "Really, truly alive. For the first time, you're not, you're not a sacrifice waiting to happen. You're not the Demigod of Strife that has to be killed to reset the world. You're just... Mydeimos. Future king of Kremnos. A man who could actually live."
His hand pressed harder against Mydei's chest. Feeling the heartbeat. Counting it like prayer.
"But only if you let yourself live. Only if you stop fighting like death is temporary. Because it's not. Not anymore. If you die now, if that archer's arrow had hit, if that mace had connected, if any of a thousand things go wrong then you're just gone. And I..."
Phainon's voice finally broke completely.
"I would be shattered. I survived killing you because I knew…no, I hoped, that it was part of the plan. That there would be another loop. Another chance. That you'd come back even if you didn't remember. But now?"
His fingers twitched.
"If you die now, there's no reset. No next cycle. You're just gone and I'm just... here. Alone. In a free Amphoreus that I'll never be able to enjoy because the weight of your death, the real, permanent, final death, would destroy me."
The confession hung between them, raw and bleeding and irrevocable.
Mydei's other hand came up to cup Phainon's face. His thumb brushed away a tear that had finally escaped, trailing hot down Phainon's cold skin.
"I didn't know," he said softly. "I knew you had to end me. Every cycle. I knew it was your burden to bear. But I never... I never understood what it cost you. I thought..." His voice roughened. "I thought it was just another task. Another necessary sacrifice. I didn't realize you were breaking every time."
"How could you?" Phainon's laugh was bitter, sharp enough to cut. "You died. You didn't have to live with it after."
"No." Mydei's hand slid from Phainon's face to the back of his neck, gentle but firm, grounding. "But I should have thought. Should have understood." His jaw tightened. "I'm sorry. For every time I made you do that. For not understanding what it meant. For not..."
He trailed off.
"You trusted me." Phainon's eyes closed. Behind his eyelids, he could still see it, the exact moment, every time, when the light went out. "You trusted me with your greatest weakness. Your only vulnerability. Trusted that I would do what needed to be done. That meant something. Even as it destroyed me, it meant something."
"It still does." Mydei's voice was fierce now, burning with conviction. "I still trust you. Completely. With my life. With my weakness, all of them now, apparently." A hint of dark humor, cruel reality. "With my reckless, immortality trained instincts that keep trying to get me killed."
Phainon opened his eyes. Met those golden ones. "Then trust me when I say you need to change. You need to retrain yourself. Because I can't, Mydei, I survived it when I was the one holding the blade because at least then I was there. I could catch you. Hold you. Make sure you didn't die alone. But now?"
His voice dropped to a terrified whisper.
"Now if you die, I might not even be there. You'll throw yourself at some enemy, tank some hit you think you can endure, and I'll just... hear about it later. Someone will come tell me the future king of Kremnos fell in battle. And I'll have to live with the knowledge that you died alone. Without anyone to catch you. And I didn't even get to..."
He couldn't finish.
The image was too horrible. Too vivid. Mydei falling. Dying. Alone. No one there to hold him. No one to stay until the end.
Just gone.
Mydei pulled him closer, forehead pressing against Phainon's. Their breath mingled in the space between them, warm and alive.
"I hear you," he said, voice shaking slightly. "I hear you. And I..." He took a breath, shaky, uncertain. "I still don't fully understand the weight. The true weight of mortality. But I understand what it means to you. I understand that my carelessness isn't just risking my life, it's risking your sanity. Your... everything."
"Yes," Phainon whispered.
"Then help me." Mydei's hands tightened on him, almost desperate. "Actually help me. Retrain me. Beat these immortal instincts out of my body until I remember, until I understand, that I'm mortal now. That every fight could be my last. That I can't trust my body to endure anymore."
"I will." Phainon's hands fisted in Mydei's cloak, gripping hard enough that his knuckles ached. "Every day. Every drill. I'll teach you to defend. To value your life the way I..." He stopped.
"The way you what?" Mydei's voice was soft.
Phainon met his eyes. Golden and fierce and lovely.
"The way I value it," he finished quietly. "The way I've valued it through every damn cycle when I had to end you."
Mydei's breath caught. "Phainon—"
"You don't understand." Phainon's voice grew stronger, steadier. "Every time I drove that blade through your back, I was thinking: This is the last time I'll ever touch him. This is the last time he'll breathe in this cycle. I'm killing the only person who trusts me completely."
His fingers loosened slightly, smoothing over the wrinkled fabric.
"And now there is no next cycle. This is it. This is the only life you get. So I'm keeping that promise. I'm going to protect you. I'm going to teach you to protect yourself. And I'm going to make sure that you live long enough to be the king Kremnos needs. To see the future we fought for. To..."
To stay with me.
He didn't say it.
But Mydei heard it anyway.
"I'll learn," Mydei promised, voice rough with emotion. "I'll retrain every instinct. I'll drill defensive forms until my body forgets it was ever immortal. I'll learn to fight like mortality matters. Like living matters."
"Because it does." Phainon's grip tightened again. "Your life matters. More than you know."
"I'm starting to understand." Mydei's smile was small, fragile, like glass that might shatter. "Thanks to you nearly having a breakdown every time I do something reckless."
"At least you're honest about it." Mydei's thumb brushed against the back of Phainon's neck, tracing small circles that sent warmth spreading through his cold skin. "Alright. Defensive drills. Retraining. Learning to value the life I never had to protect before. All of it. But-"
"But?"
"But you have to promise me something too." Mydei's eyes were serious now, burning with quiet intensity. "You have to stop carrying the weight of every death. Every cycle. What you had to do, it's not who you are. It's not what defines us now."
"Easier said than..."
"I know." Mydei cut him off gently. "I know it's not easy. But we're building something new. A future that's ours. And I need you to be able to see that future without... without seeing my blood on your hands every time you look at me."
Phainon was quiet for a long moment.
The sun lowered itself behind walls. Around them, the bound mercenaries groaned softly. The world kept turning.
"I'll try," he said finally. "If you promise to actually let me teach you. Without charging at every threat like you're still unkillable."
"Deal."
They stood there, forehead to forehead, breathing the same air. The temperature between them, warm, felt like the only thing that mattered.
Amphoreus turned. Free and full of terrifying possibility.
"Come on," Phainon said finally, stepping back. The loss of warmth was immediate, almost painful. "Let's get these idiots to the magistrate. And then we're going back to basic defensive stances. From the beginning."
"All of them?" Mydei's tone was pained.
"All of them." Phainon picked up his sword, sheathed it with practiced efficiency. "Until your body remembers that blocking is preferable to bleeding."
"This is going to be tedious."
"This is going to keep you alive." Phainon's voice was firm, final. "Which is literally all I care about right now."
Mydei looked at him for a long moment. Then something softened in his expression, something that looked almost like wonder.
"Alright, Deliverer," he said quietly.
<- Girlfailure User that does not know how you people post Fics on Tumblr (how do you even tag be so fr) but this has been rotting in my drafts for MONTHS and with the new Update...I realised how deeply I miss them. This is work in Progress for a longer Post-Canon Fic but I am a snail so. Hi! Hope it was still cool-
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
"Mydei." He breathed out shakily, a confession, a declaration, an oath all rolled into one. The name meant to strike fear in the hearts of their enemies had now turned into a name to be worshipped, to be declared as a name worth remembering, a name of pure affection and love. A word that should not mean anything on its own, yet translated into sentences only the two could understand.
I forgive you for everything.
Despite it all, I'm glad it was you.
I love you.
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ok i'm a bit more sane and less emotional than yesterday so here's a more official preview of the last chapter of "for as long as you live, i shall dream"! thank you ALL for sticking with this fic for so long — all the way into planarcadia! from me to you, all the love, and all the best! xx
AO3 IS BACK SO I'M GONNA TO RECOMMEND MY TWO FICS OF ''POOR MYDEI WHO STILL LOVES HIS ORIGINAL FRIENDS SO MUCH BUT IN SECOND PART THEY ENDED UP BEING A BASTARDS''
First part - Mydei mistakes five times Phainon with some of their past friends, breaking the heart of the poor hero. Based in the ending of 3.3
Second part- Happy ending inspired in the finale of 3.4 / cycle of 3.5 (Mydei's family is alive blablabla) Mydei wants to reconciliate with Phainon after he brokes his heart but his past friends are now with him and they pretty dislike Phainon so much ~~
A lot of whump and hurt/comfort, my medicine to endure this shitty life (๑>•̀๑)
