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generalsdiary · 1 month ago

Text

Interwoven

Mydei x Phainon

word count: 2.9k

description: Phainon and Mydei, through a powerful Oronyx's artifact, end up in the bodies of their future selves who have managed to end the war, revive Castrum Kremnos, and get married. They are left to deal with their suppressed feelings while trying to keep appearances about being married, learning how to lead the major city of Castrum Kremnos, and making notes of how they achieved all of this. While trying to figure out a way back home.

a/n: inspired by @starcurtain 's post on Mydei/Phainon fics they want to read (prompt 5)

ty to my beta readers; citrus, rice cake and v.ertias_ (on discord) <2

Chapter 1: In the shadow of the Sun

„What are you doing?“ A rough voice interrupts Phainon’s peace.

Phainon is standing in his personal quarters, holding up a pair of scissors and cutting into what used to be an ochre dress. Shapeless, flowy, plum-colored pants that are too long for him cover his feet. And due to them not originally being pants, they leave little to the imagination. The cotton dress in his hands is being massacred by the dull scissors in his hand and soon put over his head as a shirt, covering his chiseled body upon the intrusion of his…fellow Chrysos Heir.

“I am—uh… Well, is it not obvious? I am making clothes for myself.” Phainon stumbles around his words, Mydei’s presence wasn’t unwelcome despite the surprise.

“You.” Mydei pinches the bridge of his nose,“ Aglaea can make any clothing for you— or just buy new ones if you dislike the ones you own.” He spoke through strained teeth.

“Aglaea only makes specific clothing she likes, not the ones I wish to wear— moreover! I am off the clock right now and I want to rest in what I find comfortable.” Phainon passionately counteracts.

“You look like a broke villager, and your capabilities are a far cry from a craftsman.” Mydei judged the homemade clothes. Phainon either looks homeless, or like a little kid who got ahold of their parents’ clothes and went to town with them.

“What does it matter? I’m in my room, and I—“ Phainon stops himself, his gaze dropping to the floor. Regret and nostalgia for his home fill him once more. He aches to be comfortable, to wear the colors he used to wear, terrible taste aside; he wishes to feel the way he used to before he was draped in the snowy whites, brilliant golds, and ocean blues adorned on his cape. He wishes to go back to a time before he was dressed up like a doll and praised like a hero. It all felt like a false charade he couldn’t bear to keep up every hour of every day. And if it meant cutting up clothes to create something old, something new, familiar; then that’s what he would do.

Mydeimos, the heir to the throne, the Crown Prince with noble upbringing and golden blood in his veins, son of Gorgo, and king of Castrum Kremnos with royal etiquette ingrained in him, silently cringed. The distant look in Phainon's eyes did not escape him.

“Er, Aglaea needs us. Tribios and her have stumbled upon something that appears to be groundbreaking. The meeting is in half an hour. Try not to be late, Deliverer.” Mydei lingers, if only for a moment.

To speak, to share, to indulge.

Phainon looks at him, perhaps a hope glimmers in his eyes, a wish to be heard and to speak of the things that weigh on his mind and heart, to connect with the only one he feels would understand.

He cannot explain it. He cannot fully fathom the connection he feels to Mydei, despite the two lacking a history of any deeper personal conversations.

A need, a desire of a thirsty man as his eyes fall upon a river. The painful burn in his muscles as he is running up to the body of water, falling on his knees with a heavy thud which hurts his knees, leaning towards it until he freezes. His hands hover above the icy water. Sprinkles of it burn his hands, and he can almost feel how it would taste to quench his thirst.

It makes him nauseous.

His fingers tremble with fear, and he leans back on the cold, dark earth, once more digging his hands into the dirt.

Regrettably, neither of them are that close, nor that honest with each other. Phainon feels choked out by the need to cling to the warrior in his room, to scream after him, to keep him near. As if a part of him doesn’t stay inside him when Mydei leaves, it runs off and escapes with the Crown Prince. It is a feeling he cannot grasp or explain. A deep rooted desire to stay close, to talk, to exchange stories, share secrets, and entangle his life with Mydei’s in a way that would keep them connected forever.

Mydei exhales and turns around. The door gently closes to signify that Phainon is alone once more.

Phainon strips out of the messy excuse for clothes and puts on the usual work outfit. The clothes of a hero.

“Perfect as ever, Phainon.” The mask of the hero of Amphoreus gets heavier each time he puts it on. Consequently, it also gets harder to take it off after each day too. He sighs at his reflection in the bath water.

“This is dependent on who is going. Castorice would not be ideal in this situation – Snowy!” Tribbie beams at Phainon’s appearance, turning to face the man with a big smile. “You made it!”

Phainon returns the smile and adjusts his sleeves, “Yes, Mydei informed me, what is this about?”

Castorice lingers further away from the group, standing beside the elevator. Her lilac fingers flip a dried flower petal in her hand. Perhaps it, too, shared the purple hue before the death touch of the Chrysos Heir. Mydei stood in one of the shallow baths, picking at a grapefruit, easily ignoring the Aglaea’s sharp glare at his active appetite.

“I do agree, despite our end goal, Castorice would be safe, but alas, it is a wrong option.” Aglaea agrees with Tribbie, gesturing with her hand. The clear polish on her nails reflects in the artificial light as she feels out the gold strings.

Feeling somewhat left out, Phainon attempts to get a recap of the situation at hand, he butts in, “Might I ask for context?”

“We discovered an artifact with an immense amount of Oronyx’s power left inside it. Upon closer inspection, we came to a conclusion that it could be used to travel to the future. And, possibly, figure out the location of the Death Titan for Castorice, and any other information that can be gathered. It would be best to travel far ahead, hopefully past the point of the war.” Trinnon nods as she speaks, opening up her palms to reveal a floating item resembling a brown leather pouch.

“Why would Castorice be a bad option?” Phainon narrows his eyes at the floating pouch and glances back to Aglaea.

“Castorice’s future might clash with the goal. Although it would be safer for her, since any one of us could awaken in a shallow grave, I am one to hope that we are all fine in the future,” Aglaea muses, she purses her lips and closes her eyes for a few moments.

“Which is why, we believe, it would be best for De to go and for someone to join him.” Tribbie excitedly adds but not before, very obviously, looking at Phainon.

Mydei clenches his jaw, not particularly happy with the choices made in his place; however having arrived late, Phainon missed out on the part where he disagreed and argued his case.

“Who will go with him?” Castorice softly poses a question, pulling her gaze away from the dead life in her hands.

“Given Anaxagoras’ status as a Sage, he is unavailable for such an experimental mission. Tribbie, Trinnon, and Trianne are vital to stay here with me. Okhema will not be defenseless for the sake of this.” Aglaea’s glance moves to her nails, adding an air of casualness and leaving no room for complaints. “Which only leaves you, Phainon. We do not know how the artifact works, but I am confident in your capabilities.” Aglaea feels satisfied with her recap, so she gracefully sits down and crosses her legs.

Phainon exhales, he gestures with his hand, “I am merely evaluating the possibilities—“

Phainon shuffles a bit, shifting the weight from one leg to the other. Could this prove fatal? Dangerous to execute? Meant to fail?

His thoughts get interrupted by Mydei’s rough voice, “Will you continue overthinking or can we get this over with, Deliverer?”

Trianne interrupts the bickering, “The artifact is wavering. We can feel Oronyx’s power fading, you have to go! Now!”

Phainon couldn’t feel Mydei’s hand in his anymore.

In a flash Mydei runs up to Phainon, grabbing the artifact from Tribios. Mydei grabs Phainon’s unusually cold hand. The chill of his skin makes his hidden nervousness apparent. Tribios surround the boys and whisper chants of an old era.

Phainon looked at Mydei with panic in his eyes, “What if we won’t be near each other— what if there is nothing—“ Mydei’s gaze looked unruly as ever, but despite that, Phainon could tell the worry concealed behind it was mutual. Phainon’s questions are left unfinished, cut off by a loud thunder strike and a white flash that blinds his vision.

The first thing he felt was the burn in his eyes. He instinctively closed them, stumbling forward and bending over slightly. A loud ringing in his ears blurred out any noise he might’ve heard in the moment.

However, there were good things. His body feels fine in this future, or rather, this version of the future. And there is firm ground under his feet. The pain overwhelmed him, and he groaned, falling to one knee.

“…—nce!” Echoes of something that sounded like it was miles away tickled his ears. Gentle hands gripped his arms to help him up, but he shrugged them off. With the immense disorientation and a fear of the unknown, he instinctively refused any help.

Phainon feels a gentle breeze brush his cheek and a bird sing. He opens his eyes to be faced with the warm light of a new day and a cliff right in front of him. Still somewhat disoriented, his attempts at figuring out where he was were interrupted by the three people beside him, gripping his arms and helping him up.

“…ince-! … elp… you— pleas—“ The ringing got louder and the echoes closer. Phainon’s chest tightened, forcing himself to sharply inhale and exhale air that slashed his lungs and cut at his throat. Phainon’s mind collapsed in on itself; memories he couldn’t see, couldn’t grasp, running away from him because they weren’t his own. Not now, not here, not yet.

The darkness beyond his mind choked him, flooding his senses with everything and nothing all at once, driving him to the brink of death and— it stopped.

“Prince, please, let us help you!” The shorter one urges as they guide the man to his feet.

“Someone go fetch the King. Aulus, go.” The taller one speaks in a hushed voice to the woman beside him.

“A ridiculous matter such as this wouldn’t be the bother of the King, Hyles—“ The woman answered in a harsh whisper, only to be interrupted by the tall man.

“Do you wish to deal with the wrath of the king if we don’t tell him that the Prince is unwell?” Hyles, supposedly, quipped back and left quickly thereafter.

The commotion between the… servants, Phainon assumes, ended there. The taller one, Hyles, slipped away and Phainon finally turned to face them properly. Before he could ask who they were, the breath was stolen out of his lungs by the sight of Castrum Kremnos. Which stood before him in its full glory.

Mydei was right, seeing it fallen apart doesn’t do it true justice. When was it all rebuilt? Or is this truly just the past instead of the future?

Wait… did they travel to the past by accident? No… No matter if it’s the past or the future he should be careful to behave as this version of him usually would.

“My apologies, I got… dizzy. That’s all. Probably my blood pressure acting up. I get like this when I eat too many sweets.” Phainon chuckles and glances at the two servants.

“Prince Phainon, we should get you back inside, perhaps even call upon a doctor—“ Aulus urges with shaky pupils, worry, and almost fear…?

“No. Please, there’s no need, Aulus.” He glances at the two, hoping and praying he is making himself sound natural while using the name he just heard.

The shorter one speaks up, gently shaking their head, “Prince, please, let us escort you to your chambers, rest is necessary.”

With the persistence of the two, he slowly walked towards the magnificent structure, trying his best to hide his awe and admiration. The enormous columns that supported the building looked refreshed, however he lacked the knowledge to conclude whether this was a scene from the past or the future. And most importantly, how he fits in all of this. Blood red flags decorate the beige stone, signifying the major city of which Phainon only remembers the destroyed version of.

Trying his best to keep himself distracted from the worry of the true identity of the King. The constant stream of thoughts and anxiety about the timelines threaten to overwhelm him.

…And why is he a prince?

“My King, the Prince has experienced the same condition that you had a few days ago in your chambers, he couldn’t hear us at first and fell to his knees—“ Hyles calmly reports to the King.

“Where is he?” The King growls at the servant, the court echoing from the volume of his voice.

“T-the others are walking him to his chambers as we speak, I am certain of this—“

“That’s not good enough! Where is he?!” The marble walls shook in fear of the anger, the Strife from the defeated Titan resembling within their King. Pride and unease resonated within the stone.

“My King, he is alright now, he is stable, I’m sure—“ Hyles fought for his life and luckily the heavy doors opened with a creek, offering a glimpse of hope to the shivering servant, “Ah, there, this must be the Prince coming.” Hyles mumbles prayers as turns to face the doors.

Phainon walks in slowly and relief washes over his body the moment his eyes fall on Mydei.

“Mydei! A sight for sore eyes! We need to talk. Can we go somewhere private?” Phainon approaches him, hoping this is his Mydei, from his time. He is unable to control the pleading look in his eyes.

Mydei moves towards him with a heavy step. Thud, thud. He slips off the bronze glove and cups his cheek. “Are you alright, my Prince?”

A shiver travels down Phainon’s spine and he freezes in place. Every dream, hidden fantasy, secret thought, all of them resurfaced in a burst of desperation. Phainon turns into a puddle under his touch. It felt grounding, comforting, everything he needed from Mydei.

Mydei brushes his thumb against Phainon’s cheek and utters, “Leave us.”

The people left the premise with rushed steps and whispers of ‘My King, my Prince’.

Finding his voice again, Phainon breathlessly speaks up, “Mydei?”

“What is the last thing you said to me?” Mydei lets go of his cheek and takes a step back, he turns away and looks at the statue of a lion in the middle of the court.

Phainon chuckled, uncertain of this whole situation. “Last thing? Uh. You can’t possibly expect me to remember every sentence I speak to you?” Why is he a prince, and is Mydei the king? It made sense but; are they married?

“Do not avoid my question. Just answer.” Mydei groans, folding his arms across his chiseled chest.

Mydei raises his head and heavily exhales. The drawn-out pause makes the hair on the back of Phainon’s neck rise.

“I.” Phainon cannot find it in him to lie, so he weighs out his options. If this is his Mydei, then he is safe to tell the truth. If this is… King Mydei, the future version, it could screw things up on a whole other level. He hopes he can fix the situation even if his tongue slips.

Phainon opts out for the truth.

“…what if there is nothing.” He whispers, eyes trained on the well-defined back muscles of his fellow Chrysos Heir.

Mydei faces Phainon once more. “Finally. I have been here… for days.”

“Mydei?!” Recognition flashes in his eyes and he rushes closer, “You— it is you— my Mydei— I mean— Mydei from my time, our time?”

“Yes, yes, it’s me, Deliverer. Like I said, I arrived days before you. Thankfully, I have managed to gather the situation. Took you long enough.” Mydei obviously holds back an eye roll.

Phainon scoffs, “Took me long enough? I’m lucky I didn’t die!”

“You’re a demigod, I doubt you would have died.” Mydei snorts and provides a piece of information. If Phainon is a demigod, then this must be the future.

Phainon rubs his chin, analyzing the facts he has gathered so far. “Care to explain what is going on?”

“Do I really have to paint the picture for you? Has the trip to the future affected your intelligence in any way?” Mydei narrows his eyes, and Phainon feels right at home. The usual back and forth he has gotten used to over the years secures him in the present, or rather the future, making him feel like he can solve anything with his fellow Chrysos Heir by his side.

“I wouldn’t mind hearing it from you, since you’ve been here for some time.” Phainon is already well aware of how untalkative his fellow Chrysos Heir can be. Whilst he thinks of prospective follow-up questions, he tilts his head, lips naturally curving downwards. As he ponders, his brows furrow slightly. Something doesn’t add up. Mydei arrived… days earlier than him.

“… Wait. If I came after you… who was here before me?” Phainon raises his chin, posing the burning question regarding the titles he has heard thus far.

Mydei swallows, exhales, and answers factually.

“The future version of you, the Prince of Castrum Kremnos. My husband.”

divider cr: @saradika-graphics

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