Archive of Our Own

Mydei woke up to the hum of the city beyond his window, the distant chatter of late merchants setting up stalls, citizens doing their daily shopping, the rhythmic clop of hooves on cobblestone, the lazy clang of a blacksmith’s hammer. A warm breeze drifted in through the half-open window, carrying with it the scent of jasmine from the plants littering the city and the faint tang of sun-warmed stone.

He sat up slowly, brushing blond strands out of his face, skin still carrying the warmth of last night’s sweat and sleep. The sheets were tangled around his legs, and the imprint of his body still lingered on his body, and he could still feel calloused hands on his hips, thighs, lips kissing up his neck, warm and insistent as he thrust into his body, purposeful.

Phainon was gone.

It wasn't unusual. He was an early morning person, while Mydei himself got up a few quilts after the masses had stirred. Phainon was the kind that greeted duty with a big smile, open arms and a half-eaten apple, unbothered by sore muscles or aching ribs. He was, indeed, deserving of the title, The Deliverer. Mydei found it irritatingly endearing, though aggravating when the man would barge in and drag him along for his endeavours.

He swung his legs off the bed and stood, twisted his joints, and stretched his shoulders. A small breeze cooled the sweat on his back as he dressed. As usual, the marks of last night had long since faded, even when the alpha had bit in hard enough for gold blood to coat his teeth, and not for the first time, he felt a spark of loathing for his curse, but he brushed it off.

The hallway outside Phainon's chambers was quiet, and it wasn't unusual, the Chrysos Heir’s residence far away from the masses.

It wasn't until he entered the streets, the bustle and voices embracing him, that the words reached his ears.

Whispers. Ridicule. Invitations painted smouldering sparks of hatred and malice.

“I heard our Champion is finally settling. A proper wedding, to boost morale, after all, Nikador’s madness is only increasing.”

“Not with the Crown Prince, Titans no.”

“Apparently, the Council’s hosting it themselves, Titans be good, imagine the honor. If I were them, I wouldn't even lift a finger to help, not after the ridicule the Elders have faced from Lady Aglaea.”

He stilled, body freezing on the spot as his keen ears strained to hear any more words, but it seemed the whisperers had moved along. His fists clenched before he even realized it, and nails bit into his palms, drawing blood.

He had been hearing rumours of an important marriage for weeks now, but Phainon? The marriage was Phainon's?

It made no sense.

If Phainon was to be married – if he were being pushed into something like this – he would have said something. He would have told him. He always told him about everything, anything under the Dawn Device, how his day was, how many titankins he killed while venturing out to the borders of the Night, any antiques he found, any brawls he broke up, his conversations with the other Heirs. 

Sometimes, he even spoke of his hometown, Aedes Elysiae, the look in his eyes fragile and tender, like it would break apart in any second. He always tried to hide it when his blue eyes met his own gold eyes, but the man always wore his emotions on his face, even though he was just as ruthless as any of the Elders in the council when he needed to be, on both the battlefield and in political arguments.

A marriage, though? It was something big, something he would not hide from Mydei. He would have told him.

Right? Wouldn’t he?

They met again in their usual sparring ground, the one they frequented so often, the masses had started to simply call the spot the one “Lord Phainon and the Crown Prince use”, and in his head, Mydei too had started considering the ground as something intrinsic just for the two of them. They both had burdens, expectations and duties, but here, they could be themselves, lost in adrenaline, sweat, and laughter, no matter how brief it was. 

It was the second quilt of the Lucid Hour, and the Dawn Device lit up his white hair like a crown, stripped to his waist, sweat glistening across his chest. He twisted his shoulders, warming his muscles up. Mydei focused on the muscles rippling, and briefly remembered them moving against him last night, before brushing it off. He looked like a statue carved by the divine hands of Kephale himself, made warm only by the lopsided crooked grin he gave the crown prince when he stepped onto the sparring platform.

“You’re late,” he smirked, summoning his sword.

Mydei arched his brow, amused, playing along even though they both knew the omega was on time, “You’re early.”

They didn’t talk after that.

Words weren’t needed when their bodies spoke louder.

His gauntlets slammed against his blade with bone-rattling force, the ring of metal against metal singing through the courtyard. He twisted away, parried, lunged. Mydei ducked under his swing and punched up into his ribs. He grunted, brushing it off as he laughed. The crown prince could only grin, feral, lost in the fight.

Here, in the rhythm of impact, he forgot.

Here, they were just Mydei and Phainon, two people colliding for fun, two wills clashing, not a crown prince and a golden hero. 

Not a political liability and a national treasure. Not two lonely people modeled to be heroes because of circumstances.

He wasn't a savage beast, and Phainon was a man turned legend. 

He lunges forward, a blur of crimson and bronze, his strikes precise, brutal, and unrelenting, but it doesn't matter. Phainon parries all of his strikes with his sword, the silver blade gleaming from the light of the Dawn Device, deflecting his blows with practiced ease, but not without effort.

“You’re faster today,” he pants, boots skidding slightly on the stone as he pivots.

He swiped his bangs away from his face, exposing his forehead, beads of sweat running down his handsome face. The yellow of his eyes was blown wide as he locked with his own gold eyes, and he smirked, a brief silver of his teeth showing, and the sight brought a flush of warmth through Mydei's body. 

He only shook it off. “You’re slower,” he shot back, slamming a punch into his guard hard enough to rattle his wrist. “Don't tell me old age is catching up with Okhema’s champion?”

He barked out loud, a warm, reckless sound. “You wish,” he snorted.

Mydei ducks low, aiming a sweep for his long legs. Phainon jumps aside, but his fist is already coming up toward his side. He blocks with the hilt, spins behind him, and tries to catch the crown prince with the flat of the blade, but he twists away.

They break apart, catching their breath as they circle each other.

Phainon made the next move faster and sharper as his blade whistled through the air, missing his cheek by an inch as he ducked. 

Together, they continued their back and forth, lost in the moment.

But the distraction didn’t last.

The whisper returned like a thorn caught between his ribs. “The council’s hosting it themselves…”

His body faltered just for a fraction, just enough. Was it anyone else had been across him, they wouldn't have noticed, the hesitation, fleeting.

Phainon noticed.

His sword veered off course just in time, and he tossed it aside, and it lay there forgotten, as the next moment he was right beside him, hands bracing his shoulders before he could potentially stumble.

The omega silently cursed himself in his head, berating himself for allowing such an insignificant rumour to affect him to such an extent.

“Mydei,” Phainon said, voice low, steady, eyes staring with intent. Mydei loves those eyes, even though he didn't say it out loud, and somewhere along the way, he felt a thrill of joy up his spine every time he felt those eyes fall on him in crowded places. But now he wished he would look away.

“What was that?”

“I slipped,” he tensely said, brushing his hands off, gold eyes staring off to the side.

“You don’t slip.”

“Then maybe I’m tired.”

“You don’t get tired either. You're the one who's always going on about your indestructible body and mocking my body.”

He scowled because the alpha was right and he didn't like it. Not his fault, the man was easier to kill than Mydei was. “Do you want to fight or interrogate me?” he asked rudely.

Phainon blinked at him, intelligent blue eyes took the omega in. He tilted his head, eyes scanning his face, the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands clenched around nothing even now.

And then he did something Mydei didn’t expect.

He stepped forward and opened his arms.

He stared, gold eyes wide, “What—” he started in question.

“You need it,” he said simply.

Mydei didn’t move. The air between them buzzed with heat and sweat and far too many things left unspoken, between every waking moment and the other, left unsaid in the moments when their eyes would meet, bodies pressed close together, hands trailing across warm skin.

Then his body betrayed him. His body, which never failed him, which always stitched itself together again, no matter how severe his injuries were, no matter how many times he had stopped his people from claiming glory for themselves, and had fought in their place.

He stepped closer into Phainon, body reacting instinctively, his arms closing around the alpha in a slow, firm embrace. He has hugged before, comforted his people, and wailing children, but this was different. Maybe because it was Phainon, and everything left unspoken between them.

Phainon never knew how to hold grief without wielding it like a blade. He had learned that about the Deliverer, but now he stayed still, letting warm arms wrap around his midriff, the action stiff, and slowly wrapped his strong arms around the crown prince, quietly. Phainon didn't ask questions, didn't press him, only pressing his face into long blonde hair, shuffling ever so slightly to stroke one calloused hand up his spine, a touch that bordered on devotion, but Mydei shoved the thought aside as he shivered in his arms.

So he let himself breathe.

Let himself lean into him, forehead resting on the crook of his neck, his breath fanning out against the golden sun etched against his skin.

He smelled like the sun, warm saline breeze, fresh linen and hard-earned sweat.

He closed his golden eyes, fought with himself.

He wanted to tell him everything. About the whispers, about the rumors, about the sick dread curling in his gut, whenever he thought about Phainon getting married off to a proper omega, prime and slight figured, in ways he never would be. How it would tear him apart to see him wed to someone else, but Mydei wouldn't say it out loud. He'll keep it wrapped, hidden, pressed against his ribs, used to putting duty and expectations above his feelings. 

He wasn’t afraid of an unforeseen future, but rather losing this was something else entirely. He was used to losses, always put on a pedestal to admire and worship, he didn't know what to do at the thought of losing someone who was his equal in every aspect.

But he didn’t.

Because if it were true, he didn’t want to make Phainon choose.

Because somewhere along the way, he could recognise the way his heart beat a bit faster whenever the alpha was close, warmth covering his ears and face. He got used to the intimacy they shared during Curtain Fall hour, the look in both of their eyes. Mydei didn't want Phainon to choose between his duty and his emotions.

And if it wasn’t true, he didn’t want to seem foolish.

So instead, he pressed his cheek to his neck and said nothing, only breathing in the alpha’s scent.

And Phainon held him tighter, fingers stroking through his blond hair.

Later, long after Action Hour had started, they lay beneath the open sky, together, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off each other's bodies.

Phainon had one arm behind his head, acting as a cushion, the other lightly brushing against his. Not touching, just... there, but close enough to grab it if he wanted to.

“You’ve been quiet today,” he said finally, tearing his gaze away from the sky and towards the omega, his tone light and casual. Testing his boundaries.

Mydei snorted, gold eyes peering into blue, “I thought we both knew you're the talker between the two of us, not me.”

He hummed, propping his head up with his elbow, chin resting on his palm. His shadow cast upon Mydei, and he looked up to see the faint smile on his lips, the calculating look in his eyes. Phainon reached out to toy with a stray lock of blond hair, “True. But I know you, you're always talking back. Silence is unnatural between us, and I love your voice.”

Mydei's heart, the traitor, beat furiously in his chest, and he looked away from the searching gaze as warmth flooded his face.

A beat of silence passed.

Then, softer: “If something’s wrong, Mydei, you can tell me.”

His gaze stayed fixed on the clouds. Oh hey, didn't that cloud look like a chimera?

“Anything.”

Would it make a difference? Would anything change? Would it just hurt more?

“No,” he said finally. “Not today.”

Phainon didn't push, but he didn’t pull away either. Instead, he shifted closer, his fingers brushing his once, twice, then curling around his bare fingers with deliberate gentleness.

Mydei glanced at him. He was watching the sky, not the crown prince, as if the moment hadn’t meant anything. 

But it did for him.

Because Phainon was the kind of man who made promises with the smallest parts of himself, because the big ones had already been claimed by duty, by titles, by fate.

And in that moment, Mydei believed him.

_______

The scent of eucalyptus, ivy, bathing oils, and wet stone curled into his nose the moment Mydei stepped inside.

Steam rolled from the pools in lazy clouds, carrying the hum of voices and the splash of water across the smooth tiled hall. The Okheman public bathhouse was always alive in this quilt, warm and wet bodies lounging in heat and comfort. Okhemans sought after peace and pleasure, sheltered under Kephale's gaze, but Mydei wasn’t here to bathe.

He came to deliver a report—another mission handled without bloodshed, a group of refugees brought back successfully. His boots tapped crisply along the upper balcony, the scroll in his hand warm and held with thought to not damage it from his grip.

He was halfway to Aglaea’s chambers when a familiar voice broke through the din below.

“Titans above.”

He didn’t mean to slow down, but he did anyway.

Down in the main body, half-submerged in the steaming water, Phainon leaned against the marble edge. His white hair was wet and pushed back from his face, cheeks flushed from the heat. But he wasn't smiling, and looked absent-minded. He sat apart from the men around, five or six men of similar enough rank– nobles, and high-ranking soldiers. They were laughing, drinking from goblets, and talking far too freely.

Phainon had confessed to him many times about his distrust and dislike of the nobles of Okhema, corrupt as they were. He had defended Mydei and his citizens from their harsh words more times than he could count, and Mydei knew some of his people considered the alpha as close as family; the two of them always stuck together at the hip.

But the champion had appearances to keep up, and it included these baths, no matter how much he disliked them.

Mydei spared one last glance and kept walking.

But his ears, traitorous and keen things, remained behind.

“The entire lot of them are more animals than allies, if you ask me.”

Mydei’s footsteps slowed just slightly, fists unconsciously clenching around the scroll.

“I heard he doesn’t even wash after training,” one man said, lifting a cup of wine to his lips. “Just rolls around on the dirt like a beast and carries on.”

He gets dragged to the baths twice a day, thanks to a certain white haired alpha. He cleans up very well, thank you very much. After all nine years of drifting in the sea of souls, dirty and ragged, tends to do that to you.

“I heard that he barely even talks in meetings the council holds, like he's above all that. Hah! If anything, he's the savage beast,” another muttered. “Like, can you imagine? Only there as nothing more than a mindless animal built for slaughter, not politics.”

They never said his name and they didn’t have to, because he knew they always meant him and his people.

Mydei exhaled sharply, gritting his teeth, rage filling his body. Anyone would think he would be used to rumours and malicious whispers by now, and he was, but it didn't mean they were any less pleasant to hear.

If only they knew, there was more to Castrum Kremnos than strife. If only. Not for the last time, he cursed his foolish father for all the damage he had done during his mad reign.

Phainon didn’t laugh, didn’t drink. He stared ahead, eyes bright with something he dared to call white hot rage, unmoving, jaw tensed.

“They're not from here,” one of the men continued, his voice lowering as he leaned back, “and they don't even try to hide it. Nobody wants a symbol of strife hanging from our hero’s arm when Nikador’s madness is only increasing.”

“Exactly,” another scoffed. “There’s a reason why the council is stepping in, Lord Phainon, you deserve better than–”

A loud splash and Phainon stood up, droplets of water cascading down his sculptured body and a barely noticeable bruise blooming on his left rib.

The shimmering water sloshed violently from the force of his movement, and silence rippled through the bath.

“Is that what you think?” he asked quietly, voice deceptively calm, eyes burning with rage. “That he’s beneath me?”

The men shifted uncomfortably, some even tried to laugh it off awkwardly. 

“It was merely a jest –”

“We didn't mean it like that, my Lord –”

“I think you’re taking it too seriously, Lord Phainon –”

Phainon interrupted them all, a low growl in his voice, “He has done more for this Okhema than any of you have behind your velvet curtains. More in blood and sweat and silence than any of your names could ever claim.”

Nobody spoke, only cowering under his icy glare, unable to meet them.

“If you have something to say about him, or even about the people of Kremnos, say it to me, while I’m still here.”

No one did, not that he expected them to.

Phainon stepped out of the water without another word, or another glance back, water dripping down his skin, and grabbed a towel from the nearby bench with sharp, precise movements, and he was gone, his wet footprints fading fast behind him.

Mydei remained frozen in the shadowed corridor above, out of sight, his pulse loud in his ears.

Breathless, he wasn’t sure what he was feeling, something along the lines of pride and longing and something deeper, raw and aching, begging to be released from the confines of his heart.

The men below began to speak again once the sound of his steps had disappeared.

“Too close to it,” one murmured, shaking his head disapprovingly. “That’s his problem. He always gets tangled with what he’s trying to protect.”

“You think he’s…?” another man began in question.

“He wouldn’t say it,” a third cut in. “But look at them. Sparring every few days, constantly slipping off together, and being assigned to missions by the Lady Gold Weaver. You'll have to be blind not to see it.”

“It won’t last,” the older one said haughtily, leaning back against the marble, “Even if he’s wrapped around his little finger. Lady Aglaea may approve, but the council will intervene, that's for sure. They want a symbol of peace, not a reminder of the war after the Flame Chase is brought to an end sooner or later.”

“I wonder if I'll live long enough to see Lord Phainon claim the core flame of Kephale,” an older man mused in thought.

“They’re going to arrange it soon, the month of weaving is approaching,” someone else added. “He won’t fight it, after all, he’s loyal to his duty to Okhema. He’ll do what’s expected.”

Mydei turned and walked away, every step forming a crack in his ribs.

He wanted to punch something, anything and snap back. Instead, he said nothing, like he always did, and the silence followed along with him like a curse, as he made his way to Aglaea.

The demigod had her back to him, and as he approached, she turned to him, a very faint scowl carved into her usually elegant and composed features. Two garment markers stood next to her, silent and ready.

“You smell like smoke, Mydeimos,” she said, accepting the scroll.

“I was near fire,” he replied, unbothered, “The pass is secure again, and the refugees need to be settled in soon.”

Her eyes narrowed, blank yet sharp with something bitter. “The council’s already twisting the story. I would have long since slit their throats with my threads, but my teacher forbade it.”

Mydei shrugged, trying to look composed, even though he knew the demigod already knew everything, and anything happening in Okhema. He unclasped his gauntlets and rolled his aching shoulders. “I’m used to them, Lady Aglaea. I do not blame you for wanting to cut their tongues off. If their tongues are still moving, it means their throats are intact. A shame, and an offense to everyone who hears their words.” His voice was bitter, the earlier words still echoing in his head.

Aglaea looked up, lips pursed, “You should be careful. Do not let their bitter words make a place in your head. They’ve started whispering harder now, talks of marriage like it’s some sacred solution to national morale.”

“They can whisper all they want,” Mydei said, trying to keep his voice steady. He focused his eyes on one of the garment makers, away from the all-knowing gaze of Aglaea. “I didn’t come here for them. My people need protection. I refuse to let my people shed any more tears or bloodshed. That is my promise."

Aglaea across her arms, across her chest, “And Phainon?”

Mydei tried not to flinch, “I don't care,” and as soon as he said it, he winced and glanced back toward the mists of the bathhouse, where laughter still floated. Aglaea didn't say anything, her gaze unreadable, and she must have already known everything.

“I don’t need a throne or power,” he murmured, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I just need them to stop threatening the only home my people have left. I don't want them to suffer.”

The silence of his quarters in the Kremnoan detachment felt deafening.

He drew the curtains and lay on the bed, donning a simple sleeping robe, the linen sheets cool against his warm skin.

He’d seen how the council did their best to use him, despite Phainon being the very thing they hated, despite knowing Aglaea had all but verbally confirmed he would be the one to lead Okhema after her inevitable demise. How his victories were gilded and paraded like festival prizes. Of course, they’d want to secure him like a precious relic, for their own needs.

His name wasn't brought up even once, despite talking about him, and Phainon had defended him with righteous anger.

Their arrangement was nothing more than mutual benefit, Phainon helping him with his heats, and Mydei helping him with his ruts. But somewhere along the way, after they kissed until their lips were swollen and aching, fought together until they bled bright gold, bickered back and forth in front of crowds, and fell asleep with their limbs tangled together, Mydei had fallen in love.

There is no word for “love” in the Kremnoan language; instead, they had the word “equal,” and in Phainon, he found exactly that.

Someone who was his equal, someone who could fight beside him, someone who made him strive to be better, someone who had him dare to dream.

It shouldn't have mattered. 

It shouldn't have mattered at all, he tried to convince himself.

So what if Mydei knew all his laughs, most of the lies he kept hidden behind his facade? So what if he could tell the difference between the one he used to charm anyone at the receiving end of it, and the one that slipped out when he forgot anyone else was watching. He knew the tension in his jaw when he was pretending to be fine, the twitch of his fingers when he was holding something back. He had memorized him, without meaning to, without even asking for the burden.

So what if he knew how the alpha kissed, slow and steady when he wanted to take his time, rough and messy when he was desperate? So what if he knew what the alpha looked like in between his legs, his warm breath fanning out against the most sensitive part of his body, how calloused fingers trailed down his sides with a gentleness that bordered on devotion, how his eyes looked when he was lost in pleasure, the yellow of his eyes blown wide? So what if he knew how it felt as Phainon thrust into his warm heat, carving a place for himself, fingers bruising his hips, trailing his lips across his body like Mydei was something worthy of his devotion, one that he wouldn't get tired of?

This thing between them wasn’t defined. It didn’t come with promises. But he hadn’t expected the silence to sting this way.

Was he just a convenient secret? A temporary shelter, no, a practice before he stepped into the light, crowned with a bride that made the citizens nod with approval?

Mydei rolled to his side and stared at the wall. Unconsciously, his eyes trailed towards a kline where a white coat lay crumpled, Phainon's coat that he had conveniently left behind when he knew he wouldn't be able to come back in time to help Mydei through his heat. Mydei scowled, delicate features warm as he swiftly turned around and turned to the other wall.

I won't ask him anything, I refuse to chase, he thought.

And he would not cry. He had long since shed enough tears, and he would not now.

_______

Their training ground was quieter than usual.

A soft wind stirred the dust across the arena floor, lifting it in lazy spirals. The warm light, filtered through thin clouds, turned everything a pale, silvery gold, too calm, too still.

Mydei stood at the center, arms crossed across his chest, a frown on his face as he glared at nothing in particular, breath steady, and his heart a beating mess.

Phainon wasn’t here.

He always came.

No matter how bloodied from a mission, how tired from the council’s endless pageantry, he always came. It didn’t matter if they were furious with each other, or teasing, or stiff with unsaid things between them. Sparring was sacred. It was their rhythm. It was how they communicated with each other, too used to keeping secrets hidden behind sealed lips and burdened shoulders. It was their unspoken pact.

But today?

Nothing.

The silence itched beneath his skin, crawling and borrowing deep and settled there, hideous.

Mydei’s jaw clenched as he punched a training dummy, his fist passing through the straw. Then another, and then a third. His punches landed on straw, barely controlled, and he stared down at the dummy, gritting his teeth down hard, before grabbing the dummy and ripping its head off. It was useless, and it didn't make him feel better, so it may or may not end with Aglaea's wrath upon him.

A quilt passed, and still no sign of him.

At some point, an Okheman soldier drifted near the edges of the ground, paused as if to speak, then thought better of it. Mydei didn’t bother looking at the young boy. The last thing he needed was a half-polite excuse from someone else’s mouth.

He waited for another quilt, and when he saw no sight of the white haired alpha, he swiftly turned on his heel and left.

The disappointment lodged itself under his ribs like an iron shard, heavy and hard to ignore.

Mydei hadn’t even realized just how much he had looked forward to their meetings, not just the sparring, not just the thrill, but the time they spent together.

The way Phainon grinned at him was like he was an antique he wanted to know everything about.

The way he always asked if Mydei wanted anything to eat afterwards, even though he knew the crown prince never said yes.

The way their arms constantly brush against each other's on the walk back to their quarters, never quite holding, never quite parting.

And now, the absence of all of it gnawed at him, eating him away on the inside.

Phainon didn’t return that evening.

Nor the next.

Nor the one after that.

By the fourth day, the whispers started.

Mydei caught them in corners, corridors, hallways, and the bathhouse, of course. Wherever he went, the whispers followed, a mix between mocking and pity.

He didn’t bother chasing them, and he most certainly didn’t confront anyone. Because that was exactly what the Council of Elders and the nobles wanted him to do, snap, rage, and break the illusion of control they accused him of lacking.

So instead, he listened, kept his ears open even as his feet moved him away from the whispers.

And in return, the rumors fed him slowly, like poison slowly flowing through a body.

“Disappeared, just like that. No formal leave, no nothing.”

“I think the council must’ve called him privately.”

“He was seen at the market, at Entry Hour, looking as if he would be gone for a long time. In a cloak and everything.”

“Nah, not the market, some backstreet antique place run by an old woman.”

“He said something about a ring, if I remember correctly.”

That last one caught him off guard. 

A ring? His eyebrows furrowed, eyes conflicted as he slowed his steps in the corridor, hidden by a bend in the stone. The two young soldiers, all lanky limbs, not even trying to whisper, didn’t see him as Mydei leaned against the cool wall, eyes closed in concentration.

“Yeah, my uncle said he overheard the whole thing. Apparently, Lord Phainon asked the shopkeeper about Castrum Kremnos.”

“Why Castrum Kremnos?” The boy sounded baffled, and his conversation partner shrugged, "Don't ask me,” and held his hands up. 

“Said he asked about old family heirlooms of the royal family”

Mydei’s spine stiffened.

He knew those rings. He may not have had a chance to see his kingdom in its full glory, but he did know about its traditions and practices.

They weren’t ornamental or meant to be worn as a way to show that one was married. No, they were oaths; most marriages in Kremnos were. Rings forged in precious metal and imprinted with the Lance of Fury. 

He had one. Once.

But why would Phainon be asking about them?

The boys kept talking, oblivious.

“She said he looked like a man possessed. Desperate. Not in his usual charming, friendly way, you know?”

Mydei didn’t wait to hear the rest. He exhaled quietly, dragged a hand down his face and silently started to walk away, the words still echoing in his head.

He found himself walking the long path out of the bathhouse before he even decided to.

The city outside was loud, bustling. The kind of loudness that made you feel invisible, and he welcomed it, blending into the shadows, eyes downcast. 

He bit his lip harshly, and the metallic tang of blood coated his tongue. He didn’t know what he was doing, or if he even wanted to.

Mydei only knew that his chest ached in a way that no treatment or medicine could fix. He’d waited for him like a fool and kept telling himself that he wasn’t.

He made it halfway through the City’s southern quarters, past various shops, flower pots, and spice carts, past the Dolos merchants scamming innocent passersby, when his feet stopped him in front of a narrow, tucked-away shop.

It didn’t look like much, dirty and old, the wood showing signs of molding, the windows cloudy with grease and dust.

The bell over the door jingled cheerfully, a stark contrast with his heart as he pushed the door open with his shoulder and stepped in.

The small shop smelled of dust and lavender. He scrunched his nose up faintly as he took slow, deliberate steps forward. Scrolls and relics littered every corner. A long wall of trinkets gleamed behind glass, amulets, coins, and silver mirrors. His traitorous mind immediately understood why Phainon may or may not be interested in such a run-down shop. 

It was the kind of place that promised meaning and memory equally.

The shopkeeper sat in a rocking chair behind the counter and looked very old, skin wrinkled and dotted with liver spots. Her hair was tied back in a loose, coiled braid, her eyes sharp, despite the veil of age and the cloudiness in them.

She looked up as he approached.

“You’re way too late, crown prince,” she said, clicking her tongue, as though she was exasperated at his supposed tardiness, as if she'd expected him.

Mydei blinked, gold eyes wide, as he frowned. “What?”

“The sun already came and left,” the woman said, not unkindly. “Went in a hurry, and left a storm in his wake as they always do when they carry too much in their hearts.”

“Did he…” he swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to meet the woman's eyes, “Did he find what he was looking for?”

The woman slowly shook her head, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her thin lips. “No, he didn't. I told him what I tell all the young ones chasing ghosts–some things lost stay lost.”

Mydei’s throat tightened. “Do you know why he was looking?” He asked desperately. Or what was he looking for?

The shopkeeper’s gaze softened.

“I know longing when I see it, my dear prince. I know guilt, too.”

Mydei said nothing, only taking a deep breath, taking in the faint scent of lavender, and nodding once and muttered a thank you as he turned and left. He didn’t even need to say anything.

Curtain Fall hour came, and he stood by the open window of his chambers, letting the cool breeze thread through his hair. His keen ears picked up at the faint sound of his people talking, cheering and laughing behind many closed doors. His eyes took in the near-empty streets and ignored the dread in his stomach.

He didn’t, he couldn't sleep, but he owed his body something, so he lay down and stared up at the ceiling, willing tears away.

Phainon was still gone when he woke up restless the next day, and he told himself it didn’t matter.

It was nothing. Maybe it was all nothing.

Maybe it was about a ring, or a favor, or some errand he couldn’t speak of. That wasn't unheard of, he had his share of errands handed to him by Aglaea, meant to be done in secret.

But deep down, a foolish and childish part of him hoped, and prayed it had something, anything to do with him.

And he hated himself for daring to hope.

_______

It had started as a favor.

A quick visit to a fallen soldier's family, Phainon dragging him along with the promise of it being quick. 

There, a small bright-eyed girl looked at the two heirs curiously or more specifically, at Mydei. And Mydei, who always had a soft spot for children, who sometimes dreamed of carrying his own children when he lay tangled with a warm body, had slowly and gently patted her on the head. At the touch, the girl, Phoebe, as he would later know, brightened up, and tugged him along as soon as the ritual was over, and towards the city’s old garden square, where five other children were waiting, all different ages. Phainon, who had curiously followed along, took one at the sight of the children bickering, and laughed out loud. “Good luck,” he said, grinning at him. “What for?” Mydei asked, baffled, as Phoebe let go of his hand to run towards the children.

Phainon shook his head, still smiling at him mischievously, “A game,” he’d said. “Just pretend to cook something and sit still while the kids shout orders at you.”

He’d stared at the while haired man, baffled as he glanced at the children who were making their way over to the two men. He rolled his eyes and scoffed, “You think I'm scared of children, Deliverer?”

The first time he asked, Mydei willingly went. An escape, he told himself. Dealing with children will always be easier than dealing with nobles.

It became a tradition before he even realized that he was showing up even when Phainon wasn't present.

But today, he was late.

A message from one of his captains had delayed him – another council interference, another letter not-so-subtly implied that he and his people were savages. He had quickly walked out of the meeting as soon as it ended, with a bitter taste in his mouth and a tired mind. And still, he went.

Because the children would be there, and as tiring as their bickering was at times, he still loved spending time with them, and because Phainon would be there.

Pretending to be someone else, even if it's just for a while, always felt better than being himself. In that small frame of time, he dared to imagine if things were different for him. Better.

Mydei shook his head, casting aside any delusions and any thoughts of the white haired man, and quickened his steps, making haste.

He arrived at the edge of the city’s old garden square, where broken cobblestones had been overtaken by moss, ivy and wild flowers, stone benches were worn smooth by years, and small trees shaded the space with green. Blue and red flowers crept up an unbroken wall, covering it with their soft petals, and the soft smell of something untouched by human hands filled the air. Laughter spilled into the air like sunlight, warm and weightless, and he was intrinsically familiar with the deep timbre of one of them.

He didn’t walk in immediately, something in him stopping himself from joining them, a daze of dread filling with for some reason.

Instead, he paused just behind the vines that framed the old trellis entrance, half-concealed, and listened.

The children’s voices were loud and bright.

“Where is he?” one of the younger girls, Aurora asked.

“Don't worry! Lord Mydei always brings us snacks that he made himself, maybe that's why he's late!” Adonis enthusiastically yelled, waving his wooden sword high.

“Or maybe he’s buying groceries again,” Lydia, the oldest of the group, said, pulling her glasses up with a frown, “Lord Mydei always says it's important to make sure the ingredients you use are fresh, but also to not to skip it, just because what you have right now isn't the freshness stuff. It isn't healthy to skip any meals.”

“Or, or! Maybe he's making honey pancakes again! I hope he is! I'm hungry! I don't know what adjustments he made to the original recipe, but it's even better, so I'm not complaining,” Orion said earnestly, brown eyes wide with hope.

Mydei blinked gold eyes wide, surprised and half touched, heart weakening at the words. The kids remembered it all, even though he had said it all out of instinct, not even paying attention to the words leaving his mouth, but they remembered it all.

Playing house, as Phainon called it, was surprisingly easy enough. The kids made him the “wife” or the “mother” of the little game they played, as soon as Phainon had mentioned that Mydei was a really good cook. It was similar enough to the hobby he indulged in, only with the additional crowd of children eagerly watching him. He had reluctantly joined after being dragged into the role by the combined force of the children’s insistence, Phainon's teasing, and his refusal to back away from any dare or challenge issued to him by the white haired alpha. 

He remembered Phoebe solemnly placing a sloppily made crown of flowers on her head and declaring, “You are the mom of our family,” and how Phainon had barely managed to keep a straight face, ducking behind a wall to smother his laughter.

“Can I be the mom today if he doesn't come?” Maia asked eagerly.

“No! He’s always the mom,” Phoebe declared proudly. “Because he’s the only one Lord Phainon is scared of. And every husband should be scared of his wife! That's what my mom told me!”

Mydei felt his mouth curve up despite the insistent pool of dread in his stomach.

Then he heard Phainon laugh, from where he was silently watching the kids bickering amongst each other. Mydei heard a familiar ruffle of fabric that told him Phainon had sat up, elbows braced on strong thighs, as he supported his chin with one hand.

“Maybe we don't have to find someone else for the role of the wife,” he said.

“What?” Adonis gasped. “Why?”

“What do you mean by that?” Lydia pressed, as the children shuffled forward towards Phainon, as if they were scared of missing what he would say next.

There was a small pause, and for some reason, there was a shift in the air. Like the man was about to say something important.

“Because,” Phainon quietly said, in that same warm, teasing tone that could make any truth sound like a joke, “I’ll have someone real for that soon.”

Gasps followed his words, as the children started to ask questions all at once but Mydei didn't hear any of it.

The words had struck him like a blade between the ribs. He braced himself with one hand on the wall, the other covering his mouth as he fought the tide of nausea rising within him.

The world stopped for him, and he could only hear his ragged breathing and his furious heartbeat.

Suddenly, everything made sense. The rumors, the council’s whispers, the ring, the antiques shop, the absences.

The strange way he’d looked at him in their last spar, after he came back from his week-long disappearance, soft, distant, like he was already halfway through his destination.

He’d been preparing for someone else.

In the back of his mind, Mydei regretted leaving the man with only a broken nose, instead of breaking every single bone in his body, for daring to disappear and then coming back like nothing had happened.

Mydei stepped back silently, and for once, his ears didn't betray him. He didn’t hear anything as he walked away, only his own breathing as he stared down at the ground and willed tears away.

He tried to convince himself he didn’t need to.

He walked back through the alleyways, boots echoing hollowly against the stones. The warmth of the Dawn Device, which he always complained about to a certain man, no longer touched him, bothered him. The scent of the flowers, ivy, perfumes, baked goods, the laughter from the vendors, and the shoppers felt like it belonged to a different world.

The crowd parted for him as he made his way to the part of the city housing the Kremnoan detachment. His steps were even and measured.

No one could see the way his hands curled into fists at his sides, the way his eyes darted back and forth across every happy face, flinching ever so slightly whenever a child screeched in joy nearby.

The only person who could was hundreds of steps away, bright-eyed with joy as his wedding approached.

He made it back to the detachment, where his people still lived under the guise of hospitality and protection. He tossed his gauntlets towards a soldier and told her to take them to Chartonus for fixing. He greeted a few young soldiers, talked to one of the captains, who reported the day's training reports. Checked in on the younger children, let them talk his ears off and left, patting their heads. Gave his blessings to an expecting mother. Maintained eye contact with Krateros and asked the older alpha about his day, and rejected any talk of returning to Castrum Kremnos.

He did all of this without breaking.

But once he was alone in his quarters, the silence wrapped around his throat like a noose.

He stared at his earring lying beside the bed; the sapphire embedded in it was a mocking reminder of the man's beautiful eyes.

He didn’t touch them.

Instead, he sat down on his kline, slowly and carefully, like the weight of grief might finally tip him over.

He’d been foolish.

Mydei knew what the Council of Elders wanted. A wedding that would unite a noble bloodline with Okhema's champion and restore public morale and their own image.

He reminded them too much of their ongoing struggles, Nikador's madness only growing with each passing day, more and more titankins found on the borders of the Holy City. Strife never did, and never would have a place in a city founded in peace, sheltered under Kephale's gaze.

He was too much, too loud, too harsh, too violent. He didn't process the slight figure of most omegas, he wasn't gentle and nurturing enough to satisfy the onlookers. He had too much on his shoulders, duty and expectations weighing him down. He had to carry an entire nation's hope on his shoulders.

Of course, he’d find someone else. Phainon had mentioned wanting a big family once, when he was drunk. He drunkenly slurred about coming home to his partner and kids, having dinner together, and a home with only memories of love and laughter. When it was all over, when the Flame Chase was brought to a successful end.

Mydei wasn't a part of that future.

Mydei leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees, trying to keep his breathing slow and steady, trying to keep his face blank, neutral, and unreadable.

He loved him.

Titans help him, he loved him. Quietly, stubbornly, in every spar and smirk and silence. Mydei had never said it, never dared, swallowing the words down his throat whenever they came up. 

The words came up often, in warm, tangled sheets, calloused hands stroking up his spine, a warm breath across his scent gland. When he felt his blue eyes fall upon him in crowds. When he righteously defended him and his people, when he called him beautiful. When their eyes met when they played house with the children, when he smiled and softly called Mydei his wife. 

He never really did say it because he thought if he kept it unsaid, it couldn’t be taken away.

And now, he didn't even have it taken away from him.

Mydei was just left behind.

Like he was nothing more than a place holder, like he was just practice.

When the Curtain Fall hour came, he didn’t go to their training ring, and he didn’t expect him to be there. He was done waiting.

_______

Not for the first time, he cursed his father. Whenever things didn't work out for him, he always blamed his father. It was therapeutic at times. 

He ducked and swiftly turned and smashed his fist through a furiae archer. The titankin collapsed into stone as he swiftly turned about to assess the situation. 

Behind him, soldiers guarded the city walls, and to his sides, seasoned warriors engaged with the titankin. He was upfront, leading the fight against the sudden invasion of tides upon tides of corrupted titankin. He blinked the sweat away from his eyes, before lunging forward and ripping a furiae’s head clean off, golden ichor splattering all over his body, and he continued steady clearing aside any titankin unfortunate enough to find itself in front of him, and maybe he pretended he could fight off the sorrow in his chest along with the monsters, but the absence of a white haired man ached, but he pushed on.

He didn’t look for Phainon, and he didn't need to. Phainon found him easily, like it were instinct, neatly decapitating a warrior's head off.

Their backs aligned almost by instinct, the way dancers remember steps not with their minds but their bones, musicians with their fingers. His sword swept high while he struck low. His gauntlet caught one creature by the jaw just as Phainon lopped its arm off, their movements like verses in a battle song only they knew.

“Left!” he barked.

“Handled,” Mydei snapped, elbowing the beast before it reached him.

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re slow.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“I'm sorry, not everyone has your incredible body.”

He almost smiled. Almost, despite the ache in his heart that only increased when he approached him by his side.

Together they fought as they always had, like they were made for it, like they belonged nowhere else but side by side.

The stench of rot and blood mixed with salt in the air, and smoke drifted from the remains of several monsters still twitching.

Mydei’s shoulder ached. More than that, however, it burned.

He hadn’t noticed during the battle, too consumed by the thrill and momentum, but now the adrenaline had dulled, the pain arrived, sharp, twisting, and deep. His arm barely moved, muscles pulled taut like rope on fire and every breath he took tugged at something torn.

His body would heal on its own now, but the medics would speed the process up.

He should have gone to the medics, but his feet didn’t turn towards the numerous medics systematically dealing with the injured. He even spotted Hyacine, instructing her assistants.

Instead, he turned and found himself wandering down the side corridor of the courtyard, the one that led to the private recovery rooms. The ones used for the seriously injured people only. The ones the Chrysos Heirs used, Phainon and Mydei being it's most frequent visitors.

The sight, and even the thought of the alpha, still made his heart ache, and he had all but ignored the man after he had heard his conversation with the kids, ducking behind pillars to avoid him.

Phainon always scolded him for ignoring wounds, stating he shouldn't just ignore them with the excuse that his body will eventually heal. He always wrapped his wounds in clean cloth with hands surprisingly gentle for someone who wielded a sword like vengeance, like it promised him something you desperately sought after.

He stopped himself from thinking too much. Just this once, he promised. One last time before inevitably losing him.

The door was already half open.

Light spilled into the corridor in soft golden tones, the smell of fresh plants, medicine and ointments seeping into every nook and cranny.

Mydei stepped to the threshold and stopped, body freezing on the spot. His wide, golden eyes took in the sight in front of him.

Inside, Phainon sat on a kline, his black undershirt stripped to the waist, his side half-bandaged where claws had raked across his ribs, bruises and small cuts dotting the sculptured canvas of his body. His white hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his temples, with a nasty-looking scratch across his right jaw.

He wasn’t alone. A woman, an omega, his traitorous mind whispered, stood beside him, fingers working efficiently as she wrapped clean cloth around his arm. She was calm, practiced, likely a healer under Hyacine. Her hair was light, her skin warm-toned, her build compact but strong.

She looked like Mydei. Not identical, but close enough. 

Close enough for the resemblance to hit him like a slap to the face.

Mydei blinked, and inside his chest, his pathetic heart crumpled as he continued staring, unable to move.

Then Phainon smiled.

Not his usual grin, the roguish, infuriating kind he threw at him across the sparring ring. This one was softer and fonder. The kind he gave children and young soldiers. The one smile kind that felt earned.

The woman said something low under her breath, and in response, Phainon laughed quietly.

Mydei couldn’t hear the words; the only sounds in his ears were his ragged breathing.

He didn’t need to, because suddenly it was all too clear that this was the woman, the omega that he’d found.

The one he would marry, and it wasn’t him.

Everything inside her folded inward, silent, sharp, and final.

He didn’t say a word as he turned and walked away, and he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to let his mind turn against him.

His surroundings blurred as he made his way back to his quarters on dead legs.

No one saw him, too occupied with the attack, and even if they did see him, they moved on. No one called his name.

He locked the door behind him and shrank to his knees like he was just mortally wounded, as tears filled his eyes. This time, he didn’t fight the grief as he wrapped his arms around himself, a mocking reminder of the lingering warmth he once had.

He stayed in his chambers for a week, not in tears nor rage, but instead in silence.

He barely ate and answered only the most urgent calls—briefings from his people, quiet updates from his captains, and Krateros. He even let Aglaea know he was “recovering,” which was only partly a lie. He wouldn't be surprised if the blonde alpha already knew.

The rest of the world carried on, the city returning to normal.

Phainon didn’t come and Mydei didn’t know whether that made it worse or better.

His shoulder healed on its own slowly, and he wished his heart would as well.

Mydei stared up at the ceiling, and outside the city bustled with life, his people active as ever.

It wasn’t jealousy that haunted him, he reminded himself.

It was hope.

Hope he hadn’t even realized he was still holding onto, for the slim chance he was the one. The one who had the ring, and that when he said “someone real,” he meant Mydei, just not yet.

That may be his smile, the one he had memorized from too many evenings under the sky, and beside him on their beds, soft and gentle had been his to keep.

But now?

Now he felt like a child watching someone else unwrap the gift he thought had his name on it. He saw that happen once in Okhema. It wasn't a pretty sight.

And Titans above, he hated himself for ever believing, for even daring to hope.

_______

The knock comes just past the first quilt, Entry Hour.

At first, Mydei ignores it, head buried in the crook of his arm, his breath warm against his pillow. The sound echoes once again, slowly. Maybe it's Krateros, he mused, sitting up. The older man had messaged him numerous times, many of which he ignored, in favour of ignoring the messages from a certain alpha.

He dragged himself from the kline, walked over to open the door.

Phainon stands on the other side, the muscles of his jaw tight. There were shadows underneath his eyes as he straightened up at the sight of Mydei. He was unshaven, hair a mess, as he scowled

“You’re alive,” he says, voice hoarse.

Mydei tried to slam the door shut. A hand he was painstakingly familiar with shot out and shoved the door open, and Mydei let him, even though he knew he should have fought back. His arms dropped uselessly by his sides.

Phainon stepped forward, already half inside his bed chambers. “What the hell is going on with you?”

His golden eyes narrowed.

“You’ve been acting weird for weeks, Mydei. Distant and cold. You've been avoiding me unless you need something, or if Aglaea needs me, or if there’s a sword in your hand. And then you vanish for a week after the Black Tide and won’t answer any summons—”

“Maybe I didn’t feel like talking,” he coldly said, sneering up at the man. He never hated the small advantage Phainon had over him in height more than he ever did now.

“That’s not an answer, and you know it.” He was angry now, no means a pacifist, but his voice was louder, not shouting, close enough. The bitter smell of an angry alpha irritated the omega’s nose. “I knew you were hurt. I went to Hyacine, who didn't see you even though you were hurt. I went to Aglaea, who didn't tell me anything but spoke in her usual cryptic manner. I went to your captain's. I went to Krateros. I nearly broke into your quarters two nights ago. Just what is wrong with you?”

“Don’t you mean,” he says quietly, struggling to keep himself from yelling back, the rage he kept hidden rising again, “What’s wrong with your savage prince?”

Phainon freezes, eyes blown wide.

Mydei steps back, a growl in his chest. “That’s what they call me, isn’t it? You think I'm stupid. I hear everything, fucking everything. What they call all of us. The beasts of Kremnos. The fighters, the savages who only know how to bleed. I thought–” His jaw clenched, stopping himself from speaking too much. “I thought you knew better.”

“I do–”

“Then why didn’t you fucking tell me?”

“Titans above, what do you mean? Tell you what?” he snapped back.

“That you were getting married, HKS!”

The silence was instant.

Phainon stepped back in surprise, as he blinked, the shadows underneath his eyes more prominent than ever, “…What?”

“Don’t you fucking dare act like you don’t know.” His voice had grown louder, not nearly a shout but close enough, “I heard them all. The men in the bath house. I heard you laughing with Phoebe and the others, saying you’d have someone soon. I saw her bandaging you. I saw the way you looked at her–”

“What–? You mean Melaina?” His eyes widen with something between disbelief and desperation. “She’s nothing, Mydei, I swear, I promise. I saved her when she was a small child. She was one of the first people I managed to save on this journey. I watched her grow up.”

Mydei flinched at the confession but recovered fast. “Then why does she look like me?” and he was being mean, jealous and petty but he couldn't control himself, control his words.

“She's half Kremnoan! Her mother is from Janupolis!”

“I don't care! You still didn’t correct them.”

“And I didn’t need to. They’re nobodies who speak only to hear their voices!”

He reached out as if to hold Mydei's hand, but the omega stepped out of reach, crossing them across his chest.

“You smiled at her.”

“She stitched twelve inches of gash on my ribs and told me I was a stubborn bastard. I see her as family. She’s from Kremnos, and she has relatives on her father's side. Chances are, you would know them.”

“Maybe I do.” His voice caught in his throat as he swallowed and looked away from desperate blue eyes. “She was kinder to you in one moment than I’ve been in months.”

“Don’t do this. Please.”

“You're the one who did this!”

And suddenly it’s not quiet anymore.

He grabbed his wrist, the touch bordering on pain, to stop him from walking away him. “You assumed everything without asking me once.”

“And I trusted you to tell me! Tell me, Phainon, am I at fault for assuming I am someone important to you?! Tell me! When this arrangement of ours didn't just stop at my heats and your ruts, and we both began seeking each other out, was I nothing more than practice?!” His voice cracked pitifully, body trembling, and he was tired, so tired, his shoulder aching.

Phainon paled at his words, “Mydei, you're not practice, for fucks sake–” he dragged a hand under his face, before looking up again,“I didn’t think I had to!” His voice cracks. “Titans, Mydei–what kind of man do you think I am?”

“The kind who keeps secrets,” he spat out venomously.

“You’re unbelievable–”

“And you,” he hisses, shoving his hand away, “are delusional if you think I’ll stand here and play along with some fantasy while you pick out rings and smile at omega who just so happens to look like me and treat it like nothing–”

A low growl interrupted Mydei as Phainon gripped at his hand, slamming him against the wall of his chambers, his breath leaving hom in a rush as he glared up, ready to break his nose when Phainon released him and stepped back as he took a deep breath, and paused as if thinking about something, and met his gold eyes again, something akin to determination shining in them.

“You're the only person I ever wanted, Mydei, believe me when I say this.” The words were sincere, and Mydei heard his own breath hitch, as the alpha's words took on a note of despair, “If you want proof of my devotion, then I'll give it to you.”

He exhaled quietly, and then, slowly, he reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled something out, tiny enough to hide within his plan.

He leaned in closer, and Mydei instinctively leaned back, only to remember the wall behind his back.

“Your hand, please, Mydei,” he pleaded hoarsely, holding his free hand out.

Everything in him rebelled at the idea, but as always, his body was a traitor when it came to anything related to Phainon.

He held his hand out palm up, and Phainon grasped it, and Mydei shivered, familiar with the callouses that littered those warm fingers, as the alpha placed something small and golden in his hand.

Mydei stilled, body freezing as his eyes fell on the ring, mind frantically trying to come up with anything to say.

Words failed him as his throat moved voicelessly, bringing his mother's ring closer, fingers tracing its smooth surface, the Lance of Fury etched into the metal, still best and smooth despite the passage of time.

Tears filled his ears, vision blurry.

He had dreamed of it for years after he lost it in the Sea of Souls as an infant. The only piece of his mother that he ever carried.

He sniffed, once, twice, as he curled his fingers around the ring and wiped his eyes with his free hand. He looked up, a sob in his throat, as he met wide blue eyes looking at him, wordlessly. Mydei took him in, and slowly, everything that had crumbled apart in the last few months came back. 

“H–how?” he asked softly, tilting his head up slightly. His scent sweetened, the bitter notes fading as Phainon shifted on the spot where he stood.

“I’ve been looking for it,” Phainon confessed, voice low. “For months. I went to Chartonus and Castorice for help. She helped me prepare for the sea of souls, and Chartonus came with me. I disappeared for a week because I was looking for it. I'm sorry that I had to leave you behind with no explanation, but I wanted it to be a secret. I wanted to do things properly for you.”

He let out a short exhale, one hand reaching out as if to cradle Mydei's face, but stopped short and withdrew it away. There was a minute tremble with his hands as he cast his blue eyes, heavy with intent, on Mydei, and the crown prince left alive for the first time in weeks. “I’ve missed you, Mydei, I did.”

The omega shivered under his heavy gaze, suddenly aware of the fact he only wore a simple robe, and gripped the ring harder, suddenly feeling an urge to come undone with the familiar touch of a calloused hand.

The shard of discomfort lessened, and he could find breath again, as though he had been submerged all this time, and now he had finally come up for air 

“I was going to give it to you during Mnestia’s festival.”

Mydei didn’t speak, wide eyes taking in the alpha, lips parted.

Phainon tugged at his hair harshly, as he bit his lip, “I wanted to do it right, not with rumors and idiots and pressure from the council. I wanted to kneel in front of you in our spot and bare my heart out for you.”

“Ask me what?” he whispered, and a part of him already knew the answer, but he still asked, because he wanted to hear it from the man's lips.

Phainon lifts his eyes, shadows tight underneath them, and Mydei could feel himself falling in love all over again. How stupid of him to think he could ever move on from Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.

“To marry me.”

Mydei stilled.

“I wasn’t laughing at them,” he hurriedly said, as if he was scared Mydei wouldn't let the words leave him. “I was laughing because I’m terrified. I’ve fought monsters, titans, walked into battlefields I wasn’t sure I’d survive, but none of it scared me like loving you does.”

He reached out to grab Mydei's hand and encased it with both of his large, warm hands, like he was scared Mydei wouldn't believe him.

“I don’t want someone who looks like you, Mydei. I want you. And if I’ve already lost you because I was a fool who waited too long, then–” he swallowed, voice pitched high, Then I’ll walk away.”

He closed his fingers around Mydei's wrist, and the ring dug into his skin as Mydei gripped it harder at the calloused tough.

“But if there’s still a chance, any chance, then say something, please. Anything.”

The silence that came after his confession was different.

Mydei exhaled and opened his hand, staring at the ring. Her mother’s ring. The memory of a sea, of being ripped to shreds every day. Of being cold, and of pain, of calling out to his mother's brief warmth.

He remembered the warmth he chased after whenever he was with Phainon. Long nights spent tangled together, his hands through his blond hair, gentle, his refusal to treat him like a demigod he would inevitably become, and how he treated him like he was something worth protecting, worth loving. Like he was worth the grief that came with love.

Phainon’s confession rang in the air between them, ragged and trembling, as if spoken on the edge of a cliff. Mydei’s chest ached with every breath, his pulse hammering in his ears.

“Then prove it,” he said, voice quiet but unyielding. He held out his hand, the ring sitting on his palm, fingers trembling, not from fear, but from the weight of everything that had led them here. “Put it where it belongs.”

Blue eyes widened, the yellow catching the light like they might burn through him. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move, but then his hand closed around his hand, fierce and almost shaking. The metal slid over his finger, slow and reverent, and Mydei swore he could feel his pulse in it.

Mydei broke.

He grabbed him by the collar and dragged his mouth to his own, the kiss fierce, clashing, nothing held back. He poured every unsaid thing, every stolen glance, every ache he had hidden into the way his lips crushed against Phainon's. His strong arms wrapped around Mydei in an instant, answering the omega’s hunger with his own, the press of his muscular body against Mydei's hot and unyielding.

He knew that both of them could be gentle if they wanted to, but this kiss was fierce, almost punishing, tasting of every unspoken word they’d swallowed for years. And Phainon, Titans above, answered with equal hunger, one of his hands reaching up to cup his face like Mydei was something precious and breakable, even as the alpha's kiss promised he’d never let go.

They broke apart only when air became a necessity, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling like they could somehow fuse their lungs into one. Mydei smelled salt and sunlight as he pressed forward into his arms, pressing his cheek against the hand cradling it. “I love you, duty be damned, I don't care, I won't let you walk away,” he said hoarsely, the words a vow and a surrender all at once.

His blue gaze burned into him, like the act had bound him as surely as it had for Mydei.

Mydei felt his breath leave him as blue eyes seared him from inside, an insatiable desire rising in him.

“Prove it.” He licked his lips, blue eyes hungrily following the motion. He righted his grip on the board shoulders, and he looked into his eyes, “Take me apart, love me like you always wanted to.”

Phainon's warm breath fanned out across his face, as the hand on his waist pressed down on a hip bone, the heat searing into his skin, branding him.

Phainon’s arms closed around him before he could draw another breath, the world narrowing to the solid heat of him. Mydei’s startled gasp caught in his throat as his feet left the floor, his chest pressed against Phainon's firm chest. His grip was unyielding, almost desperate, as if afraid he might vanish if he loosened his hold. The kiss still burned between them—raw and starving as Phainon shifted his hold and Mydei was in his strong arms, swept up in a sudden, decisive motion. The carry was effortless, his grip sure, protective and possessive all at once. Mydei felt the strength in every step he took toward his kline, the heat of his body searing through the thin layers between them, and found wetness gathering between his thighs, his breath stuttering at the effortless display of strength.

His arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, his breath fanning out against the sun etched into his skin, as he pressed his face into his scent gland and inhaled deeply, relearning it. So this is the scent of an alpha desperately in love, body warm and desire running through his veins. His robe fell open, and dark brown nipples leaked out, stiff in the cool air of his chambers. Mydei shivered as he felt blue eyes running down his body, and tightened his arms, pressing himself closer. Right here in the cradle of Phainon's arms, he felt devoured, he truly did.

He laid Mydei down as though he were something sacred, desperation, desire, and longing coated his every movement. In between his strong legs, his hands lingered at a soft waist, to his jaw, his long hair, as if mapping the shape of him into his sharp memory. Mydei’s pulse was a pounding drum in his ears as he allowed Phainon to touch him. He had never seen him look at him like this, like he was a dead lover come back to life, and he was terrified Mydei might vanish at any moment.

He bent over him, between his legs, he pressed his lips to his brow, nuzzling into his blond strands. To his cheek, warm and flushed, bright red under his attention. To the corner of his mouth. Each touch was slow, deliberate, almost reverent, but there was urgency coiled beneath it, straining to break free.

“Mydei…” His voice was rough, barely more than a breath, and the omega didn’t let him finish.

His fingers fisted in the front of his undershirt, yanking him closer until their foreheads touched, breath mingling, lips only a breath apart. “Prove it,” he repeated, his voice shaking with a mix of fury and longing. “Prove you meant every word.”

He didn’t even hesitate as his mouth found Mydei's again, harder this time, the kiss spilling over with urgency, teeth grazing, lips parting, the deep, unguarded sound in his throat pulling the crown prince under. He tasted the heat of Phainon's confession, the weight of the week he had spent locked away from him, the fear of losing something Mydei had never dared to name.

He followed him backward onto the kline, bracing his weight above him without breaking the kiss. His hands skimmed over the breadth of his broad shoulders, tracing the tense lines down his back, feeling the power coiled there. Phainon's touch roamed with unrestrained devotion over the lines of his jaw, down the curve of his neck, where he paused to breathe in the smell of honey and pomegranates deeply, drunk on the scent as he closed his eyes with a soft hum in his throat.

Blue eyes flicked over Mydei and his body between each kiss, the gaze dark with reverence, as if he were some long-lost treasure he had finally claimed. His lips left his soft mouth only to trail them down his throat, each press deliberate and lingering, as though committing the taste of his warm skin to memory.

The scent of both of their arousal seeped into the air between them, as his cunt clenched around nothing, legs spread wide to accommodate the alpha in between them.

Mydei’s breath hitched, chest rising sharply as he worshipped him in fragments– his collarbones, his shoulder, the curve where his neck met his jaw. Each touch seemed to pull something loose inside him, breaking apart the last shreds of distance he had tried to keep. The wetness between his thighs only increased as he arched into him without thought, needing him closer, part of him wishing he would do something, anything to ease the ache in his core. 

“Phainon–” he began, but his insistent mouth caught the rest of his words, stealing the sound and turning it into another desperate kiss.

Mydei pulled him closer, hands gripping at white strands of hair, nails digging into his scalp. He made a low sound, almost a groan, at the contact, and the tremor in his restraint was palpable, as he gripped at Mydei's thigh, hoisting it up onto his strong shoulder and rocking forwards against his core, his arousal prominent and erect.

Mydei whined at the touch, back arching into it as he tightened his grip on the alpha's hair.

Phainon inhaled sharply as he pressed a kiss against his inner thigh, slowly getting closer to where Mydei needed him the most, as slick coated his cunt.

It was all heat and breath and the thrum of blood between them, urgency laced with devotion. The rest of the world had fallen away, and there was only the two of them and the endless pull between them that neither could deny any longer.

Words of love were whispered into his thigh as blue eyes shone bright with a single-minded devotion as Phainon mouthed at his glistening cunt, breathing in the smell of his arousal, nuzzling into the sex, shameless with his love as he focused on pleasuring Mydei until his world blurred, pleasure shooting up his spine, lighting up his nerves. 

Calves circle his neck, back arching as moans slip from Mydei's swollen lips. He lost himself in the sensations, found he had missed it amidst all the heartache as his tongue licked into him, nose slotting against his clit as his hands gripped Mydei's hip to keep in place 

With each touch, each murmur of praise, the wound in his heart slowly sealed back together.

It was all real. It wasn't just a dream. It was actually happening.

“So beautiful,” Phainon murmurs dazedly as he pulls away from his slick cunt, lips glistening with his arousal. “Everything about you is so perfect, my love.”

Mydei's body locked at those words, thighs clamping shit around the man's ears, as his throat constricted in a silent scream, as his hips shudder and tremble with each wave of pleasure that ravages through his body, riding it all out on Phainon’s mouth.

“You taste so good, Mydei…” he gasped out, licking up his come as he leaned up.

“So pretty,” he breathed against Mydei's cheek, lapping up the tears that fell from golden wells. “You’re so perfect, so soft,” he murmured as he hoisted Mydei's thighs onto his shoulders, and slowly slid his cock into his sensitive cunt, craving a place out for himself.

Mydei inhaled sharply, choking on a strangled moan as he tightened his legs around his neck, fists tightening their hold on white locks.

Phainon thrust into him slowly, taking his time, making sure his cock lingered on the spots he knew would make the omega see stars, and kissed him until Mydei felt dizzy and drunk on the desire and pleasure assaulting his body. He acted like they had all the time in the world, as he took Mydei apart piece by piece until he was gasping, tears spilling freely down his heated cheeks, thighs trembling. 

Mydei rolled his hips forward, meeting every single one of Phainon’s thrusts. Eyelashes flutter open as he gazes up at the man he loved, looking at him in a way he knew drove the alpha wild. Pleadingly, as he bared his neck for the man. Phainon leaned down, warm breath fanning out against his scent gland, breathing in the smell of honey and pomegranates, thick with arousal and bit down hard.

Mydei jolted, a strangled moan escaping his swollen lips as he unconsciously clenched down hard against Phainon inside of him. He could feel everything at once, Phainon’s calloused hands roaming his body, the feel of his cock deep inside his cunt, the softness of his lips, the rich, intoxicating scent filling his lungs every time he breathed, and the unique taste of him.

Tears slipped down feverish cheeks, and for the first time in his entire life, Mydei allowed himself this, allowing this moment of vulnerability, of indulgence and desire. It was different from when it occurred before, born out of need. This meeting of their bodies was not born out of need, but out of love. Tears fell freely from his eyes and clouded his vision in a mix of colors. He felt loved, full, and warm as Phainon spilled into him, claiming Mydei from inside.

“I love you,” Phainon whispered hoarsely as he slid strong thighs off his shoulders gently, and pulled Mydei into a desperate and tender embrace, his cock still buried deep inside Mydei, warm hands stroking down his body. Mydei shivered in his embrace, a mix of their spend sparsely spilling out from his cunt staining both of them, as he wrapped his arms around his neck, “I– I was scared of losing you,” he sniffed as he leaned back to meet wide blue eyes, “I always call you a fool but maybe I was the fool all along. I'm sorry… for ever doubting your sincerity and your devotion.”

Phainon smiled softly at the confession, a strong arm tugging Mydei closer, “No, if anything, I am the one at fault. For taking too long, for letting those insufferable fools run their unworthy mouths about you,” his tone hard as he glared at the wall before softening as his eyes drifted down to meet Mydei's, “Would you believe me if I said I fell in love with at first glance, my dear Mydeimos?” he asked gently, hands tucking long blond strands behind his ear.

Mydei swallowed as he reached up to run his fingers through soft, snowy locks, working through the knots. “Yes, I would. I hate my father to Thanatos and back, and I would rather die than compare myself to him, but after our first fight, I walked away thinking that I was just like him. A fool who fell far too easily.”

“If… if I could go back in time, I wish we didn't settle on a beneficial relationship… I want to court you properly. I want all of Okhema to know that I love you, that I will choose you over and over again. But for now…” he swallowed, “When do you wish to get married?” he asked quietly, as he cradled Mydei's jaw, thumb pressing down on his swollen bottom lip.

Mydei paused, a hand pressed right against Phainon's beating chest. “As… as soon as possible,” he confessed quietly, glancing up through his long eyelashes.

Phainon only leaned down to press their lips together at his confession, and the kiss lingered for three heartbeats before he pulled away and rested their foreheads together.

“I love you and I'm sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise.”

“I love you too,” Mydei breathed as he wrapped his arms around his neck.

And for the first time in weeks, he breathes again.

The rest of the night carried on as the two lovers dedicated the night to relearning each other's bodies once again, a promise lingering deep within, and the gold ring on his finger shone bright.