Chapter Text
When he tells them to stand aside, they do.
The prince walks towards him, slowly. Like stalking prey.
It’s a pretty reasonable comparison, Phainon thinks. Sharp golden eyes, a warrior’s build, and that long mane of blond-red hair. The Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos radiates a presence that is positively leonine.
The sun flashes off their weapons. One adjusts his gauntlets. One hefts his claymore. The detachment clears a circle—an arena, for them.
They are quick to lunge, eager for an offensive edge. There is nothing to risk and nothing to lose. One easily welcomes the other’s blows if it means a better opening, and his wounds knit back together as they fight. One is quick on his feet, guarding himself with excellent swordsmanship and bright eyes.
When the Parting Hour begins and ends, and there is no victor, they do not part. The taste of the battle, the hunt, infuses their veins with excitement. The clash becomes their lifeblood.
The arena widens as the detachment begins to disperse. This is not a gladiator’s battle. They can see it in the way the warriors dance. Their prince has found something more in this fight.
(A sudden movement of the threads catches the eye of the golden-haired demigod. She blinks, watching as two fibers intertwine. They tighten briefly—then relax.)
After ten days and ten nights, Kephale’s Dawn Device shining endlessly over them, they break apart. Neither of them can claim victory, but neither of them concedes a single step.
One undying, one flawless.
Phainon is exhausted. But it is worth it to see the face of the prince, his eyes narrowed and his hair damp with sweat. He has held his own against a god.
Their eyes meet. Gold bores into blue.
When Mydeimos finally dips his head to Phainon—like a lion, he thinks—he knows he has won the prince’s respect.
Phainon sees Mydeimos often after that day.
Aglaea sends them on a mission to slay Titankin. When they come back with no injury, she compliments their teamwork. As the frequency of these missions increases, they morph into competitions for the hero and prince to see who can bring down the highest number of Titankin at the fastest speed.
Mydeimos cooks for the demigods. Phainon complains about the taste. He learns that there is no word for bitterness in the Kremnoan language.
Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon begin to call Mydeimos “De.”
Mydeimos pinches the bridge of his nose. Then, he gives himself the name Mydei. Most of the Chrysos Heirs adopt it readily.
They still use “De.” Mydei does not seem to mind.
The hero and prince banter endlessly. They compete to see who can stay the longest in the hottest bath. They eat and drink their way through every bar and restaurant in Marmoreal Market. Phainon discovers that Mydei has a fondness for pomegranate juice with goat’s milk and cheese.
They spar. On those frequent days, Phainon’s claymore sparks against Mydei’s gauntlets from the Entry Hour well into the Curtain-Fall Hour.
They learn how to guard each other by fighting each other. They meet each other as opponents so often that when they stand shoulder to shoulder, they move with a single mind. Against the Mad King’s Titankin, they tear across the battlefield as one.
Phainon watches as Mydei pleads for the legal protection of the Kremnoan Detachment in front of the Council of Elders of Okhema. He watches as he rescues refugees from Janusopolis. He watches as he quells brawls in Marmoreal Market.
At a meeting of the Chrysos Heirs, Aglaea mentions the prospects of a recipient of Nikador’s Coreflame. The sooner the Mad King falls, the safer Okhema will be.
Her blank eyes land on Mydei, and he gazes back at her. The gold of his eyes flickers in a way that reminds Phainon of a cornered animal.
When Mydei stays silent for two more heartbeats, Phainon steps up to bear the mantle of Strife. Aglaea blinks, then nods at something past his shoulder, something far away.
(Those intertwined threads are vibrating.)
Leonine eyes bore into his back as he exits the Chrysos Heirs’ meeting, but he doesn’t look back.
The first time Mydei dies as a Chrysos Heir, it is first a Furiae Archer’s arrow that finds his throat, then a Furiae Warrior’s fists that crush his ribcage.
He drags another Furiae Archer down with him to give Phainon a better chance to fight the Titankin surrounding him.
Phainon does not see it happen. But the death of the Furiae Archer means a world of convenience to him. By the time the last Titankin on his side of the ancient hall has crumbled, the undying prince’s body is already knitting itself back together.
Phainon tears the arrow from Mydei’s throat, where the skin has already closed around the intrusion. He winces at the fresh blood, but there seems to be no sign of infection.
He waits. Mydei’s ribcage regains its shape within two hours. After another hour, he regains consciousness. He stands. They clear out the rest of the Titankin and travel back to Okhema with Trianne’s help.
Back in the Holy City, Phainon lectures Mydei. Mydei shrugs him off. He is effectively a god. He does not need to keep himself safe.
Phainon knows this. But it doesn’t sit right with him. Mydei does not believe his life is valuable, because there is too much of it to go around.
As they fight more, and Mydei dies more, it becomes more apparent to Phainon that Mydei is all too ready to give up life if it can give Phainon an advantage.
His life—no, Mydei himself—is a powerful tool, to Okhema. To have an undying man on the quest to slay gods is no small boon. Even weapons break after excessive use, but Mydei’s body just shapes itself back together. The lion-prince of Castrum Kremnos, Okhema’s own god and weapon.
So Phainon argues with him more. Engages in more banal competitions with him. Eats his food, even when the bitterness threatens to overwhelm all cognitive function.
He wants Mydei to know himself as Mydei, De, Deimos, whatever nickname he chooses. Mydei, the man who drinks pomegranate juice with milk and takes scalding hot baths and calls Phainon haikas, whatever that means.
He doesn’t want Mydei to be the ten thousand terrors, the slayer of gods and kings alike, eternally dying for Okhema.
Phainon wants Mydei to live as normally as a Chrysos Heir can.