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lazy-ahh · 15 days ago

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WHAT IF WE COULD REWRITE THE ENDING?

pairing phainon x gender neutral reader

after hundreds of cycles—lifetimes spent chasing each other through death and rebirth—you wake one night with the weight of every memory crashing down at once. the battles. the blood. the way phainon’s hands always found yours, even in the dark. you remember dying for him. you remember him dying for you. you remember the wheat fields, the promises, the way he kissed your forehead like a vow.

the nightmare clings to you like a second skin, stubborn and suffocating, even as you sit curled up on the bed, knees drawn to your chest like a shield. your fingers twist into the fabric of your sleeves, gripping tight enough to tremble—as if holding on any harder might erase the images burned behind your eyelids.

phainon is beside you, warm and solid, his presence a grounding force against the echoes of that dream. no, not a dream. a premonition? no, perhaps a memory. a warning.

the first time, it had been a titan’s attack on okhema—the sky screaming, the earth splitting open like a wound, fire painting the world in shades of ruin. you’d been helpless, scrambling through the chaos, your hands empty, your voice raw from shouting his name.

you remember looking for him, desperate to make sure he was safe. and before you knew it—phainon was there, shoving you aside with a force that sent you skidding across the rubble, just as a blade came down.

you’d crawled to him, your knees scraping against broken stone, your fingers trembling as they reached for him. his golden blood spilled between them, too bright, too much, but even then—even as his breath stuttered, as his body shuddered with the weight of dying—he smiled at you. soft, familiar, like he wasn’t lying in a pool of his own light, like he wasn’t slipping away right in front of you.

"don’t look like that, my love," he’d murmured, his voice fraying at the edges. his hand, slick with ichor, found yours anyway, squeezing weakly. "c’mon. you know i’d do it again. a thousand times."

you’d choked on a sob, pressing your forehead to his, your tears mixing with the blood on his skin. "you idiot," you’d whispered, your voice breaking. "you promised—you promised you wouldn’t leave me."

his laugh was a quiet, pained thing, but his thumb still brushed over your knuckles, tender as ever. "i’m not," he said. "i’ll always be here. just… look up at the stars for me, okay?"

and then—the light in his eyes flickered. faded. his hand went slack in yours.

you’d screamed—not a battle cry, but something raw and broken, the sound tearing from your throat like it could rewrite the past. you’d begged, hands pressing against phainon’s wound as if you could will the light back into him, as if love alone could stitch together what fate had unraveled.

you’d cursed the heavens, the titans, the cruel twist of destiny that dared to take him from you—but it didn’t matter. nothing did. not your tears, not your rage, not the way your voice cracked his name like a prayer gone unanswered.

and so you’d lunged forward, reckless and shattered, your body moving before your mind could catch up. the same steel that had stolen him found your chest, and the pain barely registered—because what was the point of a world without him in it? what was the point of breathing, of waking, of anything, if he wouldn’t be there to smile at you in that loud and bright way of his?

you hated the being that took him. you hated it more than you’d ever hated anything. but as your knees hit the ground beside phainon’s still form, as your vision blurred at the edges, you noticed something strange.

the figure in dark clothes—the one who had struck him down—was trembling. its weapon slipped from its grasp, clattering against the rubble. and in your hazy, fading sight, you could’ve sworn it reached for you, its fingers twitching like it wanted to stop your fall.

maybe it was regret. maybe it was pain. maybe it was just the delirium of dying. but in that final moment, as your blood mixed with phainon’s on the broken earth, you almost pitied it.

(and then—nothing.)

then you’d woken up—

small again, your hands tiny and unmarked by battle, your chest heaving with the ghost of a death that hadn’t happened yet. the weight of a future that no longer existed pressed down on you, suffocating, and before you could even think, you were running—bare feet pounding against familiar dirt paths, lungs burning as you raced toward the one place you knew he’d be.

the wheat fields. your wheat fields. his wheat fields. golden stalks swaying in the breeze, rustling like whispered secrets, like a promise neither of you had ever needed to speak aloud. and there he was—young, unharmed, bathed in the golden light of late afternoon, his back turned as he idly plucked a stalk between his fingers.

you didn’t hesitate. you never did. in every lifetime, in every cycle (why did you call them that? they were just dreams, just nightmares, just your mind playing cruel tricks—weren’t they?), you had done the same thing: you ran to him, crashed into him, buried your face in his chest as the tears came, hot and uncontrollable. his arms wrapped around you on instinct, steady even in his confusion, his voice soft as he murmured, "hey, hey—what’s wrong? did something happen?"

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. not when the memory of his blood on your hands was still so fresh, not when the echo of his last smile still burned behind your eyelids. instead, you clung tighter, fingers fisting in his shirt like he might vanish if you let go.

this time, you swore it would be different.

you trained. you fought. you stood beside him, matching his steps, your movements syncing with his like you were two halves of the same soul. you were determined—no, you were desperate—to rewrite fate, to carve a path where he would live, where he would shine as brightly as he was meant to.

and when the moment came, when the titan’s madness descended on the holy city and the figure in dark clothes emerged from the chaos, you didn’t falter. you shoved him aside, took the blow meant for him, felt the steel pierce through your ribs with a terrible, icy clarity.

it was worth it. it had to be. he had so much to live for—not just as a hero, not just as a savior, but as phainon, as the boy who laughed with his whole body, who picked flowers for you just because, who held your hand like it was the most precious thing in the world. he was your star, your world, your salvation, but more than that—he was yours, in every way that mattered.

until you saw his face.

his expression shattered, his hands trembling as they cradled you, his voice breaking as he whispered your name like a prayer, like a plea, like if he said it enough times, the universe might listen.

the last thing you saw was the blade plunging through him too, his body erupting into flames, gold and furious, his form twisting into something divine, something other. the sky split open with his grief, the very air burning with his wrath as amphoreus crumbled beneath it.

you shouldn’t have been able to see it. your eyes had already closed, your breath already stilled. and yet—there it was. the destruction, the despair, the way his face crumpled as the flames consumed him.

(phainon? no—that wasn’t right. you had called him something else, once. at the start. something beautiful, something you had carved into your soul. it started with... what letter? your mind grasped at the memory, but it slipped through your fingers like smoke.)

you thought he was beautiful. perfect. divine.

your hand twitched, reaching for him, willing him to turn, to look at you one last time. fingers trembling, stretching through the empty space between life and whatever came after, desperate to brush against him one last time.

if you could just touch him, just say his name (his real name, the one that danced on the tip of your tongue but slipped away like water through your fingers), maybe the universe would pause. maybe it would listen. maybe it would let you rewrite this ending, just once.

but the darkness swallowed you whole before your voice could find him.

and there you were.

again.

always.

back in the wheat fields, the golden stalks swaying around you like they were laughing at your futile hope. the sun warm on your skin, the breeze soft against your cheeks—a cruel mockery of peace when your heart still remembered the weight of dying in his arms.

you repeated what you’d done before.

(you would do it forever, if you had to.)

this time, you were even more determined. you would train harder, fight smarter, love fiercer. you would carve a path to a future where the two of you lived—really lived. where you grew old together, where his laughter lines deepened and your hair turned silver and the years stretched before you like an unbroken promise.

but the universe was a merciless thing.

no matter how many times you tried, no matter how many cycles you endured, the ending never changed. one of you always fell, and the other would follow without hesitation—because how could you not?

how could either of you breathe in a world that kept stealing the other away? every inhale would taste like ash, every exhale a betrayal. you were two halves of the same heartbeat, stitched together across lifetimes by something deeper than fate—by choice, by desperate, stubborn love that even death couldn't untangle.

you remember those darker cycles. the ones where fate grew teeth and took him too soon, leaving you hollowed-out and bleeding under indifferent stars. some nights you'd lasted weeks, months, trying to honor what he'd sacrificed for you. others—when the grief carved you open raw—you'd pressed a blade to your own throat before his blood had even dried on your hands. it wasn't surrender. it was following him home.

because living without him wasn't living at all. just slow suffocation in a world drained of color and warmth.

(you died for him. he died for you. the details blurred, but the pain never faded.)

and yet—

you still woke up in the wheat fields.

you still ran to him.

you still loved him, even when you knew how it would end.

because if there was even the slightest chance, the tiniest glimmer of hope that this time would be different—

you would take it.

you would take it a thousand times over.

but you curse this weak and pathetic body of yours.

flawed. fragile. human—nothing like phainon, who was born to shine, born to fight, born to stand tall where others would crumble. after hundreds of cycles, the weight of countless lifetimes pressed down on you like a stone, each death leaving invisible cracks in your bones, each rebirth carving the memories deeper into your skin.

you didn’t mind the pain—you would endure it forever if it meant even a chance to save him—but your body was starting to.

the headaches came first, sharp and sudden, like knives behind your eyes. then the tremors in your hands, the way your vision blurred at the edges when you pushed yourself too hard.

you ignored it all, clenched your teeth and carried on, because what did it matter if your body broke, if your mind frayed? as long as he lived, as long as he smiled—

but someone noticed.

of course he did.

in this cycle—the last one, though you didn’t know it yet, you think it was the last one—the day you both died again, you don’t remember the details. the battle, the blood, the way the sky burned. all you remember is him.

phainon.

no.

khaslana.

cradling your face in his hands, his palms warm against your skin despite the blood staining them—his, yours, it didn’t matter anymore. his thumbs brushed away tears you hadn’t realized you’d shed, movements achingly gentle, as if you were something precious, something fragile.

his smile was soft, unbearably tender, the kind that had always made your chest ache, even now, even here, at the end of everything. but his eyes—oh, his eyes. gold like the last light of a dying star, shimmering with unshed tears, darkened by a sorrow so deep it threatened to swallow you both whole.

"my dawnlight," he murmured, his voice like a prayer, like a requiem, like the last note of a song only the two of you knew. it cracked on the edges, raw with guilt, with grief, with a love so vast it hurt to witness. "how did i not see it sooner?"

his forehead pressed against yours, his breath shuddering against your lips. "you’ve been carrying this weight alone all this time. all these cycles, all these deaths—and i never noticed. i never knew. i thought i was the only one who carried this burden..."

his fingers trembled against your cheeks, his usual composure shattered, and for the first time in all the lifetimes you’d endured, he looked lost. not as khaslana, not as phainon, or the deliverer, but as him—just a man who loved you too much, a man you loved too much, who realized too late what it had cost you.

"i’m sorry," he whispered, and it wasn’t enough. it would never be enough. but he said it anyway, because it was all he had left to give.

you wanted to tell him it was okay. that you would do it again, a thousand times over, if it meant sparing him even a second of pain. but the words wouldn’t come—your body was too tired, your soul too worn.

he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin. "let me bear it for you this time," he whispered. "you’ve suffered enough."

and then—

the world went dark.

but for the first time in hundreds of cycles, it didn’t feel like an ending.

it felt like a promise.

that was when you woke up.

but you can still feel it—the phantom pain of a blade through your chest, the way your breath had stuttered, wet and ragged. the weight of phainon’s scream as he held you, his tears falling onto your cheeks like rain.

the way the world had burned when he unleashed that terrible, beautiful power, the heavens themselves weeping embers as the planet crumbled beneath his despair. it had been almost poetic, in the cruelest way: the deliverer, brought to his knees by love.

you can still feel the ghost of his lips (what was his name again?) lingering on your forehead like a fading star's kiss before everything slipped away. wait... forget? did you... forget something important? the thought claws at your chest, making your breath hitch sharp and uneven—until phainon's hand finds yours, his fingers slotting between yours like they were made to fit there. his thumb brushes over your knuckles in slow, soothing circles, warm and alive and so wonderfully present.

"hey," he murmurs, voice dipping into that soft tone reserved only for you. his free hand comes up to cradle your face, calloused fingers tracing the curve of your cheekbone with reverence. "where'd you go just now, dawnlight? you were making this face—" he pouts exaggeratedly, wrinkling his nose in a terrible impression of your worried expression that's so absurd it coaxes a weak laugh from you despite the lingering dread.

"just... a nightmare," you admit, leaning into his touch. his palm cups your jaw like you're something precious, his thumb swiping gently under your eye as if checking for tears.

phainon makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat, pulling you against his chest with dramatic flair. "a nightmare? and you didn't wake me immediately? cruel, beloved, truly cruel—"

his arms tighten around you, his voice dropping into theatrical despair even as he presses a dozen quick kisses to your hairline, your temple, the tip of your nose when you squirm. "what if it had been about me tripping over my own cape again? or worse—losing to you at cards? these are tragedies that require my immediate comforting presence!"

you snort, shoving at his shoulder halfheartedly. "it was you dying, actually," you mumble into his collarbone, and feel him go still.

for a heartbeat, there's silence. then—

"ah," he says softly, all the playful lilt gone from his voice. when he pulls back to look at you, his blue eyes are unbearably tender. "well. that won't happen." he says it like a promise, like a vow, like the simplest truth in the universe.

"you don't know that," you protest weakly.

phainon grins, sudden and bright, pressing his forehead to yours. "i do, actually. because i'd burn the whole world down before i let anything take me from you." he says it so cheerfully, so matter-of-factly, that you can't help but laugh even as your chest aches. "and besides—" he adds, nipping playfully at your earlobe, "who else would remind you to eat? or remind you to tuck your elbows when you swing your sword? or—mmph!"

you shut him up the best way you know how—by kissing that infuriating, wonderful mouth. phainon makes a soft, pleased sound against your lips, something between a sigh and a laugh, his hands coming up to frame your face like you're his entire world.

his thumbs brush along your cheekbones, reverent and tender, and when you pull away just enough to breathe, he chases your lips for one more fleeting press of his own. maybe you are his world. maybe he's yours, too. the thought settles warm in your chest, familiar as sunlight.

and as the two of you lay tangled together in bed, your head pillowed on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, the silence between you is comfortable.

his fingers trace absent patterns along your arm, sometimes pausing to brush against your wrist where your pulse flutters beneath his touch before continuing their lazy journey. it's peaceful. it's perfect. but there's something nagging at you, something you need to ask even if you're afraid of the answer.

"phainon?"

he hums in response, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours—low, content, a little sleepy. but when he speaks, his voice is as warm as always, lilting with that ever-present affection that never seems to fade, no matter how tired he is. "yes, dawnlight?"

you hesitate, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "if... if we were ever stuck in a cycle," you begin slowly, "if we kept reliving the same pain over and over... would you try to take all of it on yourself? so i wouldn't have to remember?"

the fingers in your hair still. for a moment, there's only the sound of his breathing, steady and sure. then—"yes," he says, simple as that, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. his hand slides down to cradle the back of your head, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. his eyes are mix of blue and silver in the dim light, soft and fierce all at once.

"i would take every burden, every memory, every second of pain if it meant you never had to suffer again." his thumb traces the curve of your cheek, his voice dropping to something unbearably tender. "i would rewrite the stars themselves if it meant you could wake up without that weight on your shoulders. i would do it a thousand times. gladly."

your breath catches. "even if it hurt you?"

phainon smiles, small and sweet and devastating. a memory flashes in your mind, with someone looking at you exactly the same way. but who was it?

"especially if it hurt me," he murmurs, voice honey-thick with devotion. "because your happiness is worth any price, my love. don't you know that by now?" his lips brush your forehead in a lingering kiss that burns hotter than any chrysos flame, sealing the promise into your skin. "everything i do is for you. always. and it seems i haven't been doing my job properly for you to have to ask me that."

you groan the second you see his expression—that stupid, beautiful face all scrunched up in self-reproach, lips forming an exaggerated pout, blue eyes shimmering with dramatic remorse like some tragic stage actor. "oh come on, not the kicked-puppy look—"

phainon doesn't let you finish.

one moment you're eye-rolling at his theatrics, the next his mouth crashes into yours with startling fervor, his hands cradling your face like you're made of starlight.

his lips move against yours with desperate sweetness, all earlier playfulness vanished into something far more intense. you gasp against his mouth, and he takes advantage instantly, tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your toes curl.

then—with terrifying ease—he flips you both. the world tilts, sheets rucking up beneath you as phainon settles between your thighs, one broad hand braced beside your head while the other slides down to grip your waist. his breathing comes ragged when he pulls back just enough to speak, lips brushing yours with every word.

"let me remind you," he whispers, voice gone dark and velvety. "let me show you exactly how far i'd go for you, my love."

his mouth finds yours again, hotter this time, hungrier. he kisses you like he's drowning and you're air, like every worshipful press of his lips could rewrite the universe.

when his teeth graze your bottom lip, you whimper—and the sound wrenches a broken noise from his throat, something between a groan and a prayer.

"tell me," he breathes against the corner of your mouth, trailing kisses along your jaw. his hand slips beneath your shirt, palm scorching against your hip. "tell me you know. tell me you feel how much—" a nip at your earlobe that makes you jerk, "—how completely—" his tongue swipes over the spot, soothing, "—i am yours."

his hips roll against yours in a slow, devastating grind, and you arch with a gasp. "phai—!"

"am i doing good?" he murmurs, all faux innocence even as he mouths down your throat, teeth scraping lightly over your pulse. "tell me, dawnlight. tell me what you need."

you barely recognize your own voice when you choke out, "more—"

phainon makes a wrecked, approving sound against your skin. "anything," he vows. "everything."

and then he's kissing you again, deeper, messier, his hands mapping every inch of you like he's trying to memorize you by touch alone. when you finally drag your fingers through his hair and tug, he actually whimpers—this gorgeous, breathy little thing that goes straight to your core—and you think faintly that you might actually die if he stops.

(luckily, he doesn't seem inclined to stop. ever.)

so. this was supposed to be a quick little idea. just a small, self-indulgent thing about phainon being painfully in love with reader. but then my brain went "what if we made it tragic?" and suddenly i'm staring at a 3.7k word doc like... where did this come from?? listen, i KNOW this probably isn't lore-accurate at all—i haven't even finished amphoreus yet (i keep trying to stall myself from progressing through the main story quest because i heard it is TRAGIC). most of this is just me piecing together clips, vibes, and whatever my brain cooked up at 12 AM. but sometimes you just gotta say "screw it" and write about your blorbo kissing their beloved like the world's ending, you know? also. the ending. no regrets. zero. i was fully in my feels when i wrote that last scene, half-sobbing into my hands while also giggling and kicking my feet. that's just what phainon does to me! one minute i'm weeping over his tragic backstory, the next i'm [redacted] over his stupidly perfect hands. there is no in-between. this was 1000% self-indulgent and i make no apologies. if you made it this far, thank you for humoring me! hope you enjoyed these two idiots being disgustingly in love (and maybe got a little emotional too) <3

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