#post trauma

You.

He had watched you die. Not just fall, not just bleed—he had watched as an unseen force, an accursed Titan, curled its will around you, snapped your neck like a brittle reed, and wore your skin like a mockery of the person you once were.

Your laughter, your sharp wit, your calculating gaze that could pick apart schemes and bargains with ease—it had all been twisted into something unrecognizable. And then, just like that, you were gone.

He had fought, raged, carved a path through the battlefield with vengeance burning in his veins, but he had not been able to save you.

But now—now you stood before him.

Alive.

Changed.

Your eyes, once filled with clever mischief, now carried a depth he could not yet understand. The brand of Destruction lingered on your shoulder, a cruel reminder of the past stolen from you. Your presence was steady, but there was a hesitation that had never been there before, a moment of silence where once there had been a confident quip.

“Mydei,” you spoke at last, voice familiar yet foreign. “I’m back.”

He did not know what to say. What did one say to a ghost who returned to them?

And then, with all the restraint he could muster, he exhaled and murmured, “You never should have been taken.”

You offered a small smile, though it did not quite reach your eyes. “Yet here I am.”

His hands trembled at his sides. He was not one for grand gestures, nor did he have the eloquence of Phainon. But he knew this—if fate had returned you to him, then he would fight it tooth and nail to keep you by his side this time.

“I will not lose you again,” he vowed, voice rough with determination.

This time, your smile softened. “Then you better keep up, Prince.”

Aedes Elysiae was a city of gold and light, but in that moment, it felt unbearably cold.

Phainon had known loss, had seen the weight of fate crumble even the strongest of warriors. But nothing could have prepared him for losing you. Nothing could have steeled him for the moment he had watched you fall—watched your body betray you under the control of a Titan’s will, watched as your smile turned cruel, your voice laced with venom that was not your own.

And then, when the fight was over, you were simply… gone.

He had stood in the wreckage of battle, his hands shaking, his perfect composure fracturing. No elegant words, no graceful poise—just grief, raw and all-consuming.

And now?

Now you were here. Alive. Changed.

The stars must have aligned, or perhaps the Astral Express had rewritten fate itself, but you stood before him once more. Your posture was poised, calculated, but he could see the weight in your stance—the brand of Destruction that marred your shoulder, the hesitation in your gaze that had never existed before.

“Phainon,” you spoke his name like an uncertain melody.

He breathed in sharply, taking in the sight of you, as if you might vanish again should he blink. “You were taken from me,” he said softly, hands curling into fists at his sides. “And now you stand before me.”

“I don’t know if I am the same person you lost,” you admitted, voice quiet but steady. “But I will not let them decide who I become.”

A beat of silence passed, then another. Phainon stepped forward, carefully, as if crossing a fragile bridge. He reached out, his fingertips brushing against yours—a silent promise, an unspoken vow.

“You are you,” he murmured. “And that is enough.”

For now, for always.

And as you stood together beneath the golden sky, the weight of the past between you, he knew one thing for certain—he would follow you into any battle, any storm, any uncertain future, if only to keep you by his side.