Chapter Text
Phainon's week started the same as it usually did, with nothing out too of the ordinary interrupting his daily schedule.
He had gone on his morning run, visited one of his favorite market stalls for his usual fixing of golden honeycakes, met Mydei for a quick bout of afternoon training on their usual rooftop, and was now trailing along after Castorice, who he had run into near the tail end of running errands for some of the citizens of the Holy City. The demigod of Death enjoyed company while shopping, he knew, though hardly requested it.
Currently, he finds himself leaning against a pillar while his lavender haired friend picks up quills to test out. She claimed using new ones every now and then increased her creativity when she was stuck in a writing block.
Thinking back to the end of his spar earlier, and knowing that she and Mydei often discussed Kremnoan culture, from recipes to literature, he felt confident she might have the answers he was looking for. Her interests during their time together at the Grove had often involved a great deal of studying other cultures' practices, largely serving her well as inspiration for her writing hobby.
"Castorice, have you ever heard of the Homois festival by chance?"
Her grip on the quill she's holding goes slack, and it slips to the floor as her head whips toward Phainon. There's a shocked look on her normally calm face.
"The Kremnoan Homois festival?"
Phainon squints, puzzled. He bends down to retrieve the quill from the ground, dusting it off lightly before holding it out to her. "Is there another?"
The way Mydei talked about it, it seemed entirely an ancient Kremnoan affair. Still, Castorice would know better than he in matters like this, given her long years walking across Amphoreus.
"No, no," she says, delicately taking the proffered quill from him, careful not to let their fingers brush. "There's only the one, as far as I am aware. It is a festival to celebrate pairs of warriors and... to publicly strengthen their bonds."
"Right. Yes, of course." He nods, head bobbing up and down in apparent agreement.
Silence descends for a few moments before Castorice sets the quill down to test another one.
"...Lord Mydei invited you personally? As the other half of his union?" Her voice sounds slightly strangled, though Phainon cannot imagine why.
He's extraordinarily thrilled Mydeimos thought of their friendship so highly, to even think of partaking in some deep, warrior bonding tradition from his homeland with him. To Phainon, it is evident that while Mydei may disagree with certain aspects of Kremnoan ideology when it concerns his own status as Crown Prince, he so greatly cherishes the rare chances he gets to experience things that any other Kremnoan citizen would have while growing up. Phainon can understand the excitement, more so than most, he'd wager. He and Mydei are kindred spirits, in that way. What he wouldn't give to invite all of his closest friends to the annual harvest festivals that he and Cyrene used to love in Aedes Elysiae...
"Yes, he was rather insistent." A soft smile makes its way to his face, unbidden, as he thinks of Mydei's palpable eagerness earlier that day. "Who am I to refuse the mighty, undying Prince Mydeimos? You know as well as I how he gets, I'll be suffering through mysteriously off-putting meals for days." They both ignore the fact that he is not obligated to eat whatever uncanny concoctions Mydei prepares him when annoyed, well aware Phainon takes it as a challenge, an opportunity to test his constitutional tolerance. "Besides, there will be dancing, and I can't pass up such an opportunity! He may have the prowess of a Titan on the battlefield, and the physique to pull off almost anything, but a sense of rhythm? I'll believe it when I see it."
"That may be true, but, Lord Phainon..." Castorice lowers her voice, eyes flitting around the stall as if afraid someone might be listening in. Or as if she is being pranked somehow and waiting for the crafty follower of Zagreus responsible to show themselves. "You...you do know what the ceremony you are participating in entails, don't you?"
"Of course," Phainon lies easily, waving his hand. He remembers it being mentioned in one of his classes at the Grove, but only briefly in a footnote under some other Kremnoan traditions. There may have been some mention of drinking an offering of blood to Nikador, and possibly some small connection to Mnestia? Though, that last bit didn't make much sense and was probably something he dreamed up after falling asleep midway through that class (having been up sneaking off to visit the chimeras with Hyacine the night prior). "I was simply curious if you remembered much about it." His eyes take on the determination and pride in his voice as he proclaims, "I plan on showing Mydei's people the truly deep and meaningful bond we share! This will be a Homois festival like no other, I assure you. One for the history books!"
Phainon's enthusiastic answer causes yet another perplexing reaction.
Crack!
They both look down at where the quill has snapped in Castorice's hand.
Castorice blinks, staring down at the broken writing instrument for what feels like a full quint before she abruptly straightens and apologizes. First to Phainon, and then to the owner of the stall they had been browsing.
About to place a handful of balance coins down on the table for the trouble, she falls quiet as Phainon scratches the back of his neck and puts on his most charming smile while offering to buy a whole set, looking the textbook definition of Okhema's golden boy. The old stallkeeper certainly seems to agree, her eyes crinkling up as she hands over a small set, even wrapping it up with a blue ribbon.
Phainon hands Castorice the box once they leave the stall, who gives him a kind smile in return.
"Any other stops you wish to make?" He asks, content to accompany her further should she wish it.
But Castorice simply shakes her head and clutches the new set of quills to her chest.
"If you'll excuse me, I believe I have suddenly been struck by inspiration on the latest poem I have been working on. Thank you for asking, though, Lord Phainon. I... wish you and Lord Mydei a very successful time...bonding. As warriors." Her face turns a tinge gold near the end, and then she's off before Phainon can thank her for the vote of confidence.
Oh well, he'll be sure to tell her all about it the next time he runs into her.
***
Phainon manages to finish a few more tasks before he freshens up and heads to meet Mydei on the outskirts of Okhema. While obviously not the same as Castrum Kremnos's Grand Arena where the event had been held in the past, this arena was still a good place to hold a festival. Phainon had attended several here in the past, though primarily participated in some debates that were held here as practice for students of the Grove.
He wanders into the entrance, nodding in greeting to those he encounters. He receives a few nods in return, as well as a few questioning looks in regards to his attire, but he supposes it's only natural. This was traditionally a Kremnoan practice, and his clothing stands out quite distinctly from theirs. A woman he recalls from seeing her watching him and Mydei train before says that she will fetch the prince, and Phainon gives her his thanks.
In the meantime he slowly takes his time admiring the decor they've put up. There are great banners of red fabric embroidered with golden trim draping across the ceiling, making the place feel more intimate and inviting than the bare architecture it normally features. They are the same colors Mydei usually wears, he notes. Though, there are a few blue banners as well, smaller and thinner, interspersed between the red. Like the gems on the necklace hanging around Mydei's neck.
"Deliverer." Mydei's rough voice catches Phainon's attention, who eagerly turns to thank him again for the invitation when the words die in his throat.
Mydei stands before him barefoot, adorned in nothing but his gauntlets, golden jewellery, and what appears to be a skirt—if one could even call the piece of material that hugs his hips and exposes the tattoos on his legs through matching thigh high slits on either side so shamelessly that.
While the Crown Prince frequently shows off his upper torso without a care in the world, his legs are almost never bare except for when Phainon drags him to the baths (twice daily, when he can manage it). Seeing those sculpted thighs framed by the draping red fabric, leaving so little to the imagination, Phainon can't help but let his gaze linger for a moment. He's never been one to pass up the opportunity to appreciate that stunning immortal body.
Or perhaps several moments, since the next thing Phainon knows, Mydei has stepped closer with a slight frown, crossing his arms. Without the usual robe covering one shoulder, it really emphasizes that broad chest.
"—verer?"
He looks like he is awaiting an answer, but Phainon is still too distracted to register what might have been said. His head tilts to the side, like a puppy not understanding a command asked of it. "Huh?"
"I asked if you were feeling well." The frown deepens. "I won't have you attending if that is the case. The ceremony can be quite intense, so—"
"No!" Phainon shouts, loud enough to draw the attention of some of the passing Kremnoan attendees. "Sorry, I mean— I'm alright, it's fine." He plasters on the sheepish smile that charms most Okhemans when he accidentally knocks something over at their stalls. "Just, ready to get this ceremony started, is all!"
Amusement flashes across Mydei's face mixed with something else before he turns away to hide it. He shouldn't be embarrassed by the admission. After all, Phainon is certain the other is just as eager to enjoy the ceremony together.
"HKS." Mydei walks over to a nearby alcove to pick something up, and when he turns around with a dagger in hand, Phainon finds he can vaguely recognize some of the patterns as ancient Kremnoan designs inlaid upon it from his hours of antique appraisals. Chartonus had been a great help in that regard whenever he'd brought his spoils back to show him, sorting out the real deal from the fakes and pointing out the differences.
"Take this, you'll need it for our fight later."
"Our fight?" Phainon perks up at that. His experience with Okheman festivals included sitting at feasting tables and dancing or singing, but rarely ever did fights break out. Usually only when some of the rowdier attendees drank too much wine.
Mydei rolls his eyes, but there is a fondness to his expression at Phainon's newfound interest. He seems to be holding back a smile. "This ceremony is a celebration of the bonds between warriors, not only to showcase or show off their prowess in battle, but also display their status as equals. We will be the main event, according to Krateros, so you'd better give it your all. I won't have you insult me with anything less."
Phainon is about to scoff and protest, but the way Mydei explained what was going to happen gave him pause. He blinks, brows furrowed. "According to Krateros? Were you not always the main event before, as their Crown Prince?"
"While I have attended the ceremony in the past, I have never participated in the final ritual myself." If Phainon's eyes are not playing tricks on him, Mydei's face has taken on a hint of gold, much like Castorice's earlier. It does something funny to his heart when he continues, "Before you, I had no equal, and thus no one to bond in such a way with."
Reaching out, Phainon places one hand on Mydei's bare shoulder to bring him closer, noses almost brushing, and uses the other to clasp his hand around the hilt of the dagger Mydei is offering him. He holds it close between them, solemn now as he presses their foreheads together.
"I consider myself honored then, Prince Mydeimos, to share in this tradition with you."
The temperature in the room is beginning to feel like it's been raised to that of a Kremnoan heated bath. Phainon had closed his eyes, but can feel Mydei's breath as it mingles with his own. He hopes he conveyed just how much it means to him that Mydei trusted him so.
Mydei pulls back after a moment of hesitation.
"Come on then, HKS. Daros will help you finish getting ready."
"Daros?" Phainon blinks. "Is this not acceptable?" He gestures to himself indignantly. His outfit—handmade by Aglaea, Okhema's renowned Goldweaver—is one of the nicest he owns.
Mydei only snickers at the pout on his face. Rude. "You might find it unfit for our upcoming activities, but if you wish to keep it on," he pauses, looking Phainon up and down just as he had done to Mydei, lips curling into a familiar infuriating grin, "feel free to do as you please. It will only give me the advantage."
It's Phainon's turn to roll his eyes. "Excuse me for trying to dress to impress. I suppose, based on your own attire, I should have shown up shirtless. Then, all would be well!"
Mydei pauses, as if considering that.
"Not that I will," Phainon continues, face beginning to feel rather warm at the thought of Mydei picturing him shirtless, "because unlike you, I have some sense of- of modesty."
A slow smile spreads across the prince's face, and Phainon can already tell what he's about to say.
"Don't you start-"
"-there is no word for modesty in the Kremnoan language."
Phainon groans. "I swear, one of these days I will track down a Kremnoan dictionary and fact check you, just you wait!"
Mydei turns, retreating deeper into the arena with a wave of his hand as Daros arrives.
"I'll see you in the arena, Deliverer."
***
Daros, one of many Kremnoans whom Phainon considered himself already on friendly terms with, is far less awkward around him now than he had been shortly after the incident at the baths.
Just thinking about how he made a fool of himself and let things get out of hand has Phainon regretting making that silly bet of theirs sometimes. Not enough to regret it entirely, however. He will be forever haunted by Mydei's burning face, those sounds he'd made... Phainon is sure the other stubborn Chrysos Heir had been just as close to giving up as he was, it was only a matter of bad luck that Phainon had passed out first.
Regardless, he and Mydei had attended the baths together numerous times since then, even bringing Daros a generous tip for the trouble they'd caused by being too competitive.
Phainon stands in the small dressing room he'd been directed to, wondering what exactly he needs to do to get ready as Daros sets out a bowl of golden liquid and fetches a brush that he sets down beside it.
"If you would remove your armor and coat, Lord Phainon, we may begin."
Phainon does so without complaint, letting Daros take his things as he slides them off. The Kremnoan attendant carefully folds the coat, fingers briefly marveling at the material.
"Lady Goldweaver's creations are truly of fine quality!"
The compliment brings a smile to Phainon's face. He's sure Aglaea will be happy to know her designs are appreciated by some Kremnoans. The ones with taste, for any matter.
"She really is quite talented," Phainon agrees, sitting down on the bench Daros gestures toward once he's set his things aside. "I could ask her to make you something, if you'd like." His eyes curiously follow Daros's hands as the man dips the brush into the golden paint and starts to apply it to Phainon's arm. The paint is colder than he anticipated, and he finds himself trying not to shiver at the sensation. "So, what is this for then?"
"Only if it would not trouble her! This is a tradition for this particular ceremony that General Krateros insisted upon," Daros explains, fully focused on his work as he dips the brush once more and continues to paint Phainon in liquid gold. "As it is Prince Mydeimos's first time participating in the ritual, you, as his partner, must match him both on the battlefield in combat and during the ceremony, aesthetically."
Looking down, Phainon blinks.
He'd thought the patterns Daros had been painting reminded him of Mydei's tattoos, and upon a second glance sees that not only are they similar, they are, in fact, identical. Mydei had told him once on the rooftops after a match that had ended in a draw left them both lying next to each other and staring up into the light provided by the Dawn Device that the designs were special to him. Jointly created by the friends of his youth and inspired by patterns on a piece of embroidered cloth once belonging to Queen Gorgo that Krateros had passed on to him.
"...I see."
The thought of sharing something so intimate and significant to him with Mydei causes Phainon's heart to squeeze.
Daros finishes the rest of his job chatting with him companionably, though Phainon is, admittedly, slightly spaced out. Wondering about how Mydei will react to seeing his arms bearing his markings.
It isn't long before the task is complete, and Daros guides Phainon out of the small dressing chamber and deeper into the heart of the building, where both Mydei and the ceremony soon to begin await him.
***
Torches blaze along the walls, providing flickering warm light around the edges of the innermost arena chamber and casting intricate shadows of the dancers gathered in the middle of the room on the floor. The roof has a hole in the center of the dome above them, with a shimmering, somewhat translucent fabric stretched across it to dull but not completely eradicate the light from Kephale's Dawn Device providing a spotlight.
His eyes scan the crowd for Mydei, who catches his gaze from across the room, seated on a kline behind a table laden with food. Phainon recognizes Krateros and several other men and women from the Kremnoan army sitting around him, though the space next to Mydei is left empty. Mydei tilts his head toward it, and Phainon nods.
He makes his way to the table and takes a seat next to his fellow Chrysos Heir, feeling overdressed in his pants and collared undershirt when he sees that the other Kremnoans are dressed much like their prince, though not as lavishly adorned. Only Krateros seems to be dressed as usual, which is a little curious.
Speaking of the general, Krateros casts him an appraising look upon seeing the golden faux tattoos on his arms, and dips his head slightly in approval. Honestly, Phainon nearly misses it as he watches Mydei's eyes studiously trace the patterns with his own, darkening somewhat as they do.
"Have I missed much?"
"Not really," Mydei says, finally tearing his gaze away from Phainon's arms to push a plate with fruit, meats, and maroon colored bread toward him. Phainon recognizes it as something Mydei has made for the Heirs before, Nikador's Shield of Victory, he had said it was called. He briefly wonders if Mydei had made this loaf as well. "Eat, you'll need plenty of energy for what comes later."
Phainon isn't sure what makes this any different from their usually sparring, for which he always has plenty of energy, but acquiesces without complaint.
His eyes take in the dancing before them as he eats, laughing along with Mydei occasionally at the antics of some of the younger children. It's good to see people enjoying themselves every so often. Serves as a reminder of why they work so hard in the Flame Chase journey. A brief look that they share at one point tells him Mydei shares his sentiments.
As the dancing winds down a bit, servants approach the table with amphorae and begin to pour the contents into the goblets on the table. Phainon can tell from the familiar color and smell that it is the same pomegranate juice with a hint of milk that Mydei loves. It's strange, though. There seem to be only half as many goblets as there are people at the table.
He is spared of asking why that is when Krateros stands and raises his arms.
"Before we begin the ceremony, let us recite the Five Great Virtues, and have the warriors partake in this blood together on Nikador's behalf!"
Phainon remains silent as those around him solemnly recite the Five Great Virtues of Kremnos:
Unfearing of blade at the throat, manifesting the visage of courage.
Unyielding to conniving treachery, protecting the crown of honor.
Unblinking of eyes burning bright, upholding the cornerstone of reason.
Unbending from wounds to flesh, forging characters of tenacity.
Undaunted of risking life to protect, embodying corpus of sacrifice.
All is still for a moment, before Krateros turns to those at the table. "Lift your chalice, and exchange your essence through this blood."
Phainon is about to reach out for the goblet to take a sip, but Mydei grabs his hand and slightly shakes his head. He leans closer to whisper in his ear, "We drink last. I will warn you, it doesn't taste the same as the kind I normally share. This version contains an ingredient to increase stamina, but makes it slightly more bitter."
He starts to nod to show that he understands, when he looks around and sees what exactly exchanging their essence through this blood entails. One partner holds the goblet up to give the other a drink before they switch, which is easy enough to understand. Phainon has witnessed others do the same, though mainly couples at a few of the weddings he has attended as part of his duties. The next step however, is what has Phainon thrown suddenly off kilter. It seems to be transferring the juice by means of a...a kiss.
Turning to look at Mydei again out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mydei is waiting cool as a cucumber, seemingly unaffected by the displays around him.
...Right. There is no word for modesty in the Kremnoan language, is there? And Phainon had told Mydei when he accepted the invitation that he was, unequivocally, one hundred percent understanding of what this ceremony meant. That lie is coming back around to bite him with a vengeance, but he can't exactly chicken out now. Not when he's come this far. Not when he knows how much this whole thing means to his dear friend. He can get through this. And if he spends some time later in the privacy of his own home thinking about how Mydei's lips felt against his own, that will be his business, and his alone.
With all of his thoughts running wild, he nearly misses when Mydei gently knocks his knee with his own to signal that now it really is their turn. He tries to ignore the fact that all eyes are focused on them. He can't mess this up for Mydei.
"With this cup, bind our fate and offer us your strength," Mydei murmurs, reaching out and lifting the cup to Phainon's lips.
He takes a sip, then a slightly smaller one that he holds in his mouth. Mydei passes him the cup, and Phainon tries to ignore the slight tremble in his hand as he lifts it to Mydei's lips in return.
Mydei takes a large gulp of the juice, throat bobbing from the action. Phainon nearly swallows the juice in his own mouth at the sight.
Phainon can't help but stare, enraptured, as Mydei holds his gaze with half lidded eyes, knocking the goblet in Phainon's hand away. It clatters to the floor somewhere, Phainon thinks. He couldn't care less right now. Mydei leans in close, holding eye contact with Phainon for a fraction of a second, before closing his eyes and the distance between their lips all at once.
A hand finds the back of his head while another cradles his face, keeping it steady. He immediately melts into the touch, mouth parting slightly as Mydei brushes his tongue along the seam of his lips, teasing at first, but then more purposeful. Sharing the juice is somewhat awkward to pull off, and Phainon can feel some of it escape and run down their chins, but his brain is concerned with other, much more important matters at the moment. Like how he and Mydei are basically making out right now in front of Mydei's people. Like how he moans into the kiss, and Mydei isn't immediately pulling away. In fact, he seems determined to seek out any trace of the juice left in Phainon's mouth, with the way he's intertwining their tongues and exploring his mouth.
This is rapidly becoming a problem for Phainon, who can feel his pants getting tighter with every second, but he can't find it in him to stop until Mydei pulls away first. If anything, this is yet another of their endless competitions. One he is determined not to lose. What had Mydei said, about not insulting him by giving any less than his best?
He brings his own hand up to hold Mydei's chin, shifting the kiss ever so slightly to nip sharply at his bottom lip, then lick some of the pomegranate juice that they had missed. He returns to kissing him with renewed vigor, savoring each touch and taste of the two of them together. Mydei gasps, breathy, hand tightening in his hair, and oh, that is not helping Phainon's predicament in any way whatsoever.
Luckily (or unluckily, if you ask him) Mydei pulls away shortly after. Leaving just enough space for a string of saliva to still connect their mouths. Mydei's tongue flicks out, swiping across his lips and breaking the delicate strand. There's a wild, hungry look in his eyes that Phainon is sure is mirrored in his own.
"Time for the main event, Deliverer."
There are cheers around them, and some of the other soldiers nearby clap them heartily on the back, which drags Phainon somewhat back to his senses. Right. The fight. The reason that he is here. He hopes the upcoming battle will serve to smarten him up further.
He can't risk disappointing Mydei in front of his people with a subpar performance, after all.