[ he cannot even if he wanted too. the oath he took, the price he paid, burns in his veins like molten gold, reminding him he has long since forsook his ability to walk away. even then he wants to know why this man looks upon him with such familiarity, why he feels this pull in his chest─ it is not Enkidu's chains that bind Mydei to place, but his own.
he takes a step back, arms crossing across the dark shirt that hugs his chest barely hiding the brilliant red tattoos the decorate his skin, eyes narrowed in barely veiled suspicion. ]
I am familiar enough, whether I put stock in such nonsense is another thing entirely. [ a part of him wants it to be nonsense, wants the stories his mother used to tell him of lives unlived were nothing more than just stories. tales to inspire a curious youth who spent far too much time reading about the heroes of old. ] Are you to imply that we knew each other in a past life?
[Even the way Mydei looks at him brings both a sense of joy and a strike of agony in the same measure. Mydei is here in this life, alive, no longer tied to the notion of Strife or of the burdens of being a crown prince— but he does not remember Phainon. Mydei has no recollection of Castrum Kremnos, of the agony of losing his home, of the madness in the ravages of Nikador— but he does not remember Okhema, her people, the friends he and Phainon would fight to protect, and also die for. Over, and over, and over, and over-
(The stab is clean, decisive. Completely through his entire chest, sword impossibly long and yet again claiming golden ichor as it trails down the blade. Phainon is weightless in the air as he’s held there by this weapon, impaled by this monster who has been determined to stop the Flame Chase no matter the cost. Has killed his friends right in front of him, let the supposed savior of Amphoreus watch them die and be unable to save them. Weakly, a hand reaches downwards to the handle of the sword, his blood coming down faster to reach his fingers… and set the thing alight in a sudden blaze.
The Flame Chase is dead. The end of Amphoreus nears. But that never was the point, was it?
A lone number flashes in his mind while vessel and origin recombine. Phainon can’t understand what exactly this means, only knows that he tears himself apart from the inside out like a creature pulling itself out of its cage, its own skin, clamoring to the surface. He is molded beyond what he knows as the man named "Phainon," turned into the result of millions of eons of rage and hate against those who would doom his home, his people, and the entire cosmos. In this, he is now forged into something new.
No, not something new. Something that once was, and is now whole once again.
Golden eyes flicker open, the equivalent of a sun burning alive in his chest. He knows what he has to do.
33,550,335.)
Phainon jolts suddenly, surprise across his gestures, one hand coming to scrub his face in apparent disbelief. A memory? Even now? As it is, he barely registers Mydei’s question, only blinking for a long moment before squinting his eyes shut and shaking his head like some sort of dog getting himself dry.]
Yeah. That— basically, yes. We knew each other in our past lives.
[A life in Amphoreus, one that Phainon, as the Deliverer, would give anything to have back as each and every cycle came to its soul-crushing end. One he eventually refused to accept the supposed fate that awaited him and everyone he loved. One he would fight for until he could no longer remain as he was, but still insisted on continuing to pass the torch. And would continue into forever, if he had to.]
[ something in the way Phainon loses himself to his memories doesn't sit well with Mydei, guard lowering as the man obviously struggles with something. despite his trepidation, his suspicion, Mydei has always been the sort of person who helps those who need his help, someone who risks his life in order to ensure the health and safety of others. even now, suspicious and uncertain, he reaches out to rest a hand on the other's shoulder to shake him from whatever visions had stolen him away─ but the man breaks himself free, surprise clear on his expression.
truly, he had hoped his mother was not as intelligent and wise as she was. that her stories were mere stories rather than truths she skilfully wove anew. how much did she know? how much does she know even now?
he speaks true, mydeimos.
he squeezes Phainon's shoulder and exhales, his hand falling away to hang back at his side. ]
Come with me.
[ Mydei does not wait nor does he explain where exactly he is leading Phainon, he simply turns and walks away expecting the other man to follow. he walks out of the library, not once looking back, stopping only briefly in front a food truck in the parking lot to purchase a couple of cold drinks before moving a little further out. it only takes him a moment to locate a spot underneath a relatively large tree far from the eyeline of the general public, but once he does Mydei stops and holds the bottle of cold water out for Phainon to take. ]
My mother liked to weave stories of past lives when I was young. Apparently I was an unruly child who would not go to sleep until I heard at least one. She is the only reason I cannot dismiss your claim entirely.
[ that is a lie, but this Phainon does not need to know about his companion. ]
[There's hardly any time between Phainon returning back to reality and Mydei beckoning for him to follow— but somehow, it feels like it's hours in between. The hand on his shoulder, the squeeze, the sudden shift in how Mydei tells him to come with him...
A part of Phainon is almost too terrified to go, to see what awaits him. What if it's nothing like he hopes or remembers between them?
Still, staying here is pointless, especially since the other fully expects him to follow after him. The Deliverer has nothing actually keeping him at the library, so he does simply get up and follow right after Mydei, noting the way they go, and who they interact with. For the first time in all of this, he stays quiet, observant of their surroundings rather than immediately assume anything. It's only after Mydei hands him the drink and explains his change of heart that Phainon speaks, very clearly listening.]
So your mother used to tell you stories like this? About past lives? [He finds that incredible, actually— not that he can honestly relate all that much, but it's... comforting to hear, in a way. He's actually glad Mydei has those memories (because he barely remembers anything about his own mother), they've clearly defined who he is in this life as well.]
She did, she likes to say the stories of eld are there to aid the people of today.
[ there is more too it than that. a thread hidden by her gentle smile and soft words, weaving it's way through everything she says and does, winding up and around Mydei's throat. he knows her well, loves her dearly, but he knows she holds a knife behind her back as she arranges the dominos to her liking. it is exactly how he ended up in this city in the first place.
Mydei twists the top of his own bottle off to take a drink, glancing off into the distance briefly before returning his golden gaze to Phainon. ]
Her favourite stories usually involve a lone hero who bares the weight of a world upon his shoulders. The trials and tribulations that faced him. And those who accompanied him throughout them.
A lot of old stories serve as reminders, yeah- I can see that.
[Phainon watches Mydei staring out into the distance, both hands on his own bottle, unsure of what else to do except listen. Normally that's something easy in just relaxing with Mydei by his side— but since the man essentially does not remember him like Phainon does, it feels... awkward. Like he's finished a story too early or gotten to a good part and can't say anything to anyone else for a while. It's hard.
That doesn't stop him from nearly choking on his drink a moment after he hears Mydei talk about Gorgo. Especially about her telling the other about a "weight of the world" hero and his companions. He coughs, loudly, shaking his head and clearing his throat right after.
Just how much does his mother actually know?]
Weight of the world, huh? That's awfully specific.
[As if she knew Mydei had someone he'd loved and cherished in another life, and knew exactly the struggles they both had.]
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he takes a step back, arms crossing across the dark shirt that hugs his chest barely hiding the brilliant red tattoos the decorate his skin, eyes narrowed in barely veiled suspicion. ]
I am familiar enough, whether I put stock in such nonsense is another thing entirely. [ a part of him wants it to be nonsense, wants the stories his mother used to tell him of lives unlived were nothing more than just stories. tales to inspire a curious youth who spent far too much time reading about the heroes of old. ] Are you to imply that we knew each other in a past life?
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(The stab is clean, decisive. Completely through his entire chest, sword impossibly long and yet again claiming golden ichor as it trails down the blade. Phainon is weightless in the air as he’s held there by this weapon, impaled by this monster who has been determined to stop the Flame Chase no matter the cost. Has killed his friends right in front of him, let the supposed savior of Amphoreus watch them die and be unable to save them. Weakly, a hand reaches downwards to the handle of the sword, his blood coming down faster to reach his fingers… and set the thing alight in a sudden blaze.
The Flame Chase is dead. The end of Amphoreus nears. But that never was the point, was it?
A lone number flashes in his mind while vessel and origin recombine. Phainon can’t understand what exactly this means, only knows that he tears himself apart from the inside out like a creature pulling itself out of its cage, its own skin, clamoring to the surface. He is molded beyond what he knows as the man named "Phainon," turned into the result of millions of eons of rage and hate against those who would doom his home, his people, and the entire cosmos. In this, he is now forged into something new.
No, not something new. Something that once was, and is now whole once again.
Golden eyes flicker open, the equivalent of a sun burning alive in his chest. He knows what he has to do.
33,550,335.)
Phainon jolts suddenly, surprise across his gestures, one hand coming to scrub his face in apparent disbelief. A memory? Even now? As it is, he barely registers Mydei’s question, only blinking for a long moment before squinting his eyes shut and shaking his head like some sort of dog getting himself dry.]
Yeah. That— basically, yes. We knew each other in our past lives.
[A life in Amphoreus, one that Phainon, as the Deliverer, would give anything to have back as each and every cycle came to its soul-crushing end. One he eventually refused to accept the supposed fate that awaited him and everyone he loved. One he would fight for until he could no longer remain as he was, but still insisted on continuing to pass the torch. And would continue into forever, if he had to.]
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truly, he had hoped his mother was not as intelligent and wise as she was. that her stories were mere stories rather than truths she skilfully wove anew. how much did she know? how much does she know even now?
he speaks true, mydeimos.
he squeezes Phainon's shoulder and exhales, his hand falling away to hang back at his side. ]
Come with me.
[ Mydei does not wait nor does he explain where exactly he is leading Phainon, he simply turns and walks away expecting the other man to follow. he walks out of the library, not once looking back, stopping only briefly in front a food truck in the parking lot to purchase a couple of cold drinks before moving a little further out. it only takes him a moment to locate a spot underneath a relatively large tree far from the eyeline of the general public, but once he does Mydei stops and holds the bottle of cold water out for Phainon to take. ]
My mother liked to weave stories of past lives when I was young. Apparently I was an unruly child who would not go to sleep until I heard at least one. She is the only reason I cannot dismiss your claim entirely.
[ that is a lie, but this Phainon does not need to know about his companion. ]
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A part of Phainon is almost too terrified to go, to see what awaits him. What if it's nothing like he hopes or remembers between them?
Still, staying here is pointless, especially since the other fully expects him to follow after him. The Deliverer has nothing actually keeping him at the library, so he does simply get up and follow right after Mydei, noting the way they go, and who they interact with. For the first time in all of this, he stays quiet, observant of their surroundings rather than immediately assume anything. It's only after Mydei hands him the drink and explains his change of heart that Phainon speaks, very clearly listening.]
So your mother used to tell you stories like this? About past lives? [He finds that incredible, actually— not that he can honestly relate all that much, but it's... comforting to hear, in a way. He's actually glad Mydei has those memories (because he barely remembers anything about his own mother), they've clearly defined who he is in this life as well.]
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[ there is more too it than that. a thread hidden by her gentle smile and soft words, weaving it's way through everything she says and does, winding up and around Mydei's throat. he knows her well, loves her dearly, but he knows she holds a knife behind her back as she arranges the dominos to her liking. it is exactly how he ended up in this city in the first place.
Mydei twists the top of his own bottle off to take a drink, glancing off into the distance briefly before returning his golden gaze to Phainon. ]
Her favourite stories usually involve a lone hero who bares the weight of a world upon his shoulders. The trials and tribulations that faced him. And those who accompanied him throughout them.
no subject
[Phainon watches Mydei staring out into the distance, both hands on his own bottle, unsure of what else to do except listen. Normally that's something easy in just relaxing with Mydei by his side— but since the man essentially does not remember him like Phainon does, it feels... awkward. Like he's finished a story too early or gotten to a good part and can't say anything to anyone else for a while. It's hard.
That doesn't stop him from nearly choking on his drink a moment after he hears Mydei talk about Gorgo. Especially about her telling the other about a "weight of the world" hero and his companions. He coughs, loudly, shaking his head and clearing his throat right after.
Just how much does his mother actually know?]
Weight of the world, huh? That's awfully specific.
[As if she knew Mydei had someone he'd loved and cherished in another life, and knew exactly the struggles they both had.]