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devdozes · 1 day ago

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FOR YOU, I'd retrace our footsteps together. For you, I would suspend time regardless of the sin you have done.

CONTAINS SPOILERS ON AMPHOREUS QUEST!! FLAMEREAVER PHAINON!! AND NO TB/ASTRAL EXPRESS.

Time was a cruel thing. It twisted and turned, never allowing him to escape its suffocating grasp. Phainon had grown accustomed to this endless loop, each cycle a repetition of the last. He had been the Flame Reaver for what felt like an eternity, his soul bound to the constant churn of time, his heart forever yearning for something he could never touch.

Once, he had been a warrior of honor, a man driven by a purpose greater than himself. The Titans' Coreflame had once been something he fought to protect, a power meant for good. He remembered the fleeting joy of watching the flames ignite, watching them burn brightly, but those days were long gone now.

Now, Phainon was a mere shadow of that man. The loop had done something to him, stripped him of his ideals, leaving only the embers of hatred and pain. He was no longer a protector, nor a servant of justice. He was a destroyer.

The Cycle, over and over again, had been the same. He had lived it countless times, and each time he had fallen into the same traps. He'd watched the deaths of the Coreflame’s heirs, those young souls who carried the promise of a new dawn, only for him to snuff it out like a mere flicker of a flame. He became the villain each time, cold and calculated, a heart hardened by too many cycles of death.

Each life he had taken, every flame he had claimed, had brought him closer to something darker. His mind had become twisted, his thoughts only focused on eradicating what he once held dear. He hunted the heirs of the Chrysos bloodline, taking their Coreflames, feeling the heat of their power surge through him with every kill. He had long since shed any pretense of righteousness.

But even in this madness, there was a flicker of something softer, a memory that lingered in the darkest recesses of his mind. Her.

The nameless swordmaster who had appeared with the black tide. Her presence was a constant in the loops, a reminder of what he had lost—and what he could never have again.

It was funny, really, how he could fall in love with her over and over, only for time to erase her memory each time. Every iteration of the loop, every repetition, led to the same tragic end: she was taken from him, her name slipping from his grasp like sand through his fingers. And yet, with every reset, he would remember her. He would fall for her again, only for time to tear them apart once more.

The Grove of Epiphany had been one of the first casualties of his downward spiral. He remembered the bloodshed, the carnage, and how, at one point, he had believed that every life he took, every flame he consumed, was for some greater purpose. Now, all that remained was a hollow emptiness. And through it, through all the chaos, one thing was certain: the Coreflames were his now.

And with each Coreflame he took, the bitterness in his chest grew, as did the hatred for the world that had betrayed him. The Titans had failed him. The Chrysos heirs were nothing but pawns, sacrifices in his endless quest for meaning in a world that had none. He no longer cared for anything or anyone.

But her… she was different. She had always been different. Even in this new, twisted form of himself, he felt something for her that he couldn’t explain. Perhaps it was her strength, the same cold determination he saw in himself before the time loops had stripped him of everything. Or perhaps it was because, in a world of endless repetition, she was the only thing he couldn’t control.

There was no escaping it—he was a villain now, a fallen hero. He was the Flame Reaver, and he would burn the world down if it meant he could find an end to this torturous cycle. But in the deepest parts of his soul, there was a quiet, soft whisper that still cared for her, even if he knew he could never have her.

He had given up on redemption, on saving the world or saving himself. But there was something inside him, buried deep beneath the weight of all his hatred, that refused to let her go.

In a world untouched by the cruelty of time’s endless loops, there was peace. There was happiness, something you could hardly remember. For you, life had become a delicate balance of duty and love, of learning your place in the world as one of the Chrysos heirs, the rightful bearers of the Titans' Coreflames. Among your family, you were revered, your Coreflame of Orynyx, the Titan of Time, a symbol of eternal strength and balance.

In this life, there were no endless resets, no cycles that forced you to watch loved ones die over and over again. There was only the now—the soft whisper of the winds as they carried you through the vibrant meadows of your home, the laughter of your family echoing through the halls of the Chrysos estate.

And then there was Phainon, the Cheerful Chrysos heir. In this timeline, he was nothing like the broken soul you had glimpsed in the darker corners of your memories. His smile was warm, his laughter infectious, and in his presence, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace.

You had met when you were young, both heirs of the ancient Titans, bound by destiny yet free to forge your paths. Phainon had always been your companion, a figure of unwavering strength and kindness, someone who stood by you through every trial and tribulation. Your connection was undeniable—your Coreflame resonated with his, both burning brightly in the world you had chosen to protect.

The world was kind to you. You had no inkling of the silent shadow that followed you—Flame Reaver Phainon, the one trapped in a timeless cycle of death and destruction. You didn’t know that he, the man you loved in this timeline, was also the same villainous figure who had once hunted you down, the one who had wiped out the Coreflames and caused so much destruction.

You only knew the happy, carefree version of him—the one who danced with you under the moonlight, who whispered words of encouragement as you trained with your sword. The one who smiled and held your hand, promising to protect you, no matter what.

But somewhere in the periphery, Flame Reaver Phainon watched silently, his presence felt only as a shadow. He never made himself known, never revealed the truth of his existence to anyone. He could not. The loops had twisted him into something that would never be recognized by you. He could not bear to break the world that you had built, the world you believed in.

Time was cruel, but it was cruelest to him. He had watched you live this life, free from the burden of the past, and though he hated himself for it, he could not bring himself to destroy it. To destroy you.

Flame Reaver Phainon stood far away, hidden in the shadows. He kept to the outskirts of your life, a distant observer, never crossing into your path. He didn’t want to disrupt your peace. You deserved happiness, and in this life, you would have it—even if he could never be the one to give it to you.

You had never noticed the subtle shifts in his demeanor, the dark thoughts that occasionally clouded his once bright eyes. He had mastered the art of wearing a mask, of being the cheerful, carefree Flame Reaver you knew and loved, while the real Phainon remained trapped in a world of despair. The Phainon who had lost himself to time, who had become a villain to secure the only thing that had ever truly mattered to him: you.

But the irony was cruel. Here, in this timeline, you were happy—unaware of the danger that lurked just beyond your reach, unaware that the same man who promised to protect you was the same one who had burned the world down in another life. And what could he do? How could he ever tell you the truth? That the happy, loving man you held dear was nothing but a shadow of the monster he had once become?

Your love for him was real, pure, untainted by the past. You had no reason to suspect the darkness that was still buried inside of him. No reason to believe that the man who cared for you so deeply was also the man who had taken so much from others, who had razed the Grove of Epiphany, who had killed those who carried the Coreflames.

But he could never leave you. He could never walk away.

Even if his love for you was doomed—even if he had to stay in the shadows for the rest of his days, watching you live this perfect life without him—he would never stop loving you.

And in the quiet, as you laughed with your family, as you trained with your sword, as you lived a life untouched by the chaos of his existence, Flame Reaver Phainon knew that his heart would forever ache for what he could never have.

This—this happiness, this peace—was the only thing he could never take from you. Yet, He would be forced to.

You had never truly understood the weight of the Coreflame within you, the Coreflame of Orynyx, the Titan of Time. It was said that the Titan’s flame granted eternal strength, the ability to manipulate time itself, and yet it never felt like something so monumental to you. It was simply a part of who you were—like breathing, like existing. You trained with it, honed it, but you had never been burdened by it. Not in this life.

Instead, you found joy in the little things: in your family, in your home, and most of all—in Phainon.

He was always by your side, always smiling, always the light to your darkness. When you sparred with your sword, he was there to cheer you on. When you sat in the courtyard, your mind swirling with doubts about your duty, he was the one who would sit beside you, offering his comforting presence. His laughter, carefree and genuine, was a balm to your soul.

It was hard to imagine a life without him. He was the one who had been with you through it all—the good and the bad. You often found yourself leaning on him, finding solace in his strength and kindness.

He was, after all, your closest friend.

Your companion.

Your confidant.

And sometimes, in the quiet moments when he would look at you with an intensity that made your heart race, you wondered if it was more than friendship. But then he would smile, that soft, radiant smile of his, and you would think better of it. No, Phainon was your friend. Your ally. Your protector.

But there was a part of you that couldn’t help but hope that maybe—just maybe—there was something more. Or maybe, you had known

You had never been one to fear dreams. They were just that—fleeting, intangible fragments of your mind's wanderings. But lately, something had begun to shift in your sleep. The nights were becoming… unsettling.

It started small. A whisper in the back of your mind as you drifted off to sleep, something that gnawed at your thoughts. Then, the dreams became more vivid—more real. You could feel the weight of them, the weight of something else—something ancient, something twisted. Your dreams were filled with time, with moments that seemed so… wrong. Memories that weren't yours.

You didn’t understand it at first. It felt as though you were looking through the eyes of someone else. Someone far away. Someone distant. And each time, as you ran through the distorted visions, you saw a shadow. A man cloaked in darkness. His features always blurred, his face just beyond your reach. His presence was terrifying, yet strangely familiar.

You'd find yourself standing in the middle of a desolate battlefield, flames licking the horizon, the scent of ash heavy in the air. There was pain in the air, a destruction so profound it shook you to your core. But what terrified you the most was how familiar it all felt. The emptiness, the coldness in the very air… and his presence. The one who stood at the center of it all.

The dreams would always start the same. A flash of his silhouette, his figure towering over the flames, as though he were one with them. He was wielding a blade, the darkness around him seeming to twist and bend to his will.

And then… you'd feel it. His gaze. It was almost like you could sense his eyes on you, even though you never saw them directly. The weight of them, cold and sharp like a knife. But you could never see his face. It was always obscured by the smoke, the shadows, the fire.

Each time the dreams played out, you grew more desperate, more frantic to see his face—to understand who he was. The moment you were just on the edge of recognizing him, of seeing his features, the dream would shatter. You’d wake up with a start, gasping for air, heart pounding in your chest. The cold sweat clung to your skin, the room around you far too still, too quiet.

And yet, despite the unease these dreams brought you, you couldn’t shake the sense that there was something important—something deeply tied to you—in these visions.

Tonight, however, the dream was different. The feeling of time—your Coreflame’s power—roared to life within you, and the images began to spiral faster, like a kaleidoscope of fractured moments. You saw yourself standing in a place you didn’t recognize, a strange landscape, distant and unfamiliar.

Then, there he was.

A silhouette, cloaked in black. His figure towered over you, just like in the past dreams. But this time, the shadows didn’t obscure his face. You could almost see it. A flicker of recognition, something deep within you calling out, but as always, the vision faded before you could fully make out his features. You could feel his presence, his overwhelming aura of power and coldness.

Your heart raced, your breath hitched as you tried to reach out, to grasp the fleeting vision of his face, but it slipped away—just like the others. It was maddening.

Then, you heard it.

A whisper. A voice, distant and yet so familiar, it sent a chill running down your spine. The words were unintelligible at first, but as the voice grew louder, you realized it was speaking to you:

"Three slashes."

The dream fractured, shattering into a thousand pieces as you tried to make sense of it. A thousand thoughts clashed in your mind, a storm of confusion and fear, until you couldn’t take it anymore. Your vision blurred, and you were ripped away from the nightmare, your eyes snapping open to the dimly lit room around you.

You were breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven gasps. The remnants of the dream clung to your consciousness, haunting you.

Sweat slicked your skin, your heart pounding as if it had just sprinted miles in terror. The air around you felt thick, suffocating. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog from your mind.

"What was that?" you muttered to yourself, your voice hoarse. You rubbed your temples, trying to chase away the lingering sensations of the dream. The fragments—those images of him, that presence—were too real. Too close. And yet, you couldn’t quite grasp them.

You stood up from your bed, shakily making your way to the window, trying to breathe in the cool night air. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft, ethereal glow. But despite the calm outside, you couldn't escape the feeling that something was terribly wrong. That you were being watched—tracked—even now.

You had no idea who this shadowy figure was. You had no idea why you kept seeing him, or why it felt as though you had known him for a thousand lifetimes. But the strangest part was the feeling that the closer you got to uncovering the truth, the further away it slipped from your grasp.

And then, amidst the confusion and fear, there was a strange thought that crossed your mind—one that had no place in the current reality you were living:

What if this wasn't just a dream? What if these glimpses were real? What if this man was real?

But that thought left you with more questions than answers, and as you collapsed back into your bed, the exhaustion of the night, both mental and physical, finally took hold. But sleep… sleep didn’t come easy. The weight of those unanswered questions lingered, refusing to let go.

And somewhere, just outside the edge of your consciousness, a pair of cold, distant eyes watched.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ You found yourself walking towards Phainon as he sat near the edge of the campfire, the soft glow of the flames flickering across his face. His expression was always warm, kind, like the sun itself—so different from the shadowy figure that haunted your dreams. You hadn't told anyone about the dreams. They were too strange, too disorienting, and you had no idea what they meant.

But you had to know. There was something about this black-cloaked figure, a presence so powerful it felt like it was reaching out through time itself. You needed answers. And somehow, you had a strange, unsettling feeling that Phainon might be the key to it all. After all, his warmth and the way he always seemed to smile when he saw you made you feel safe, protected. But there was an undeniable curiosity, a nagging question you couldn't shake.

You approached him, trying to push aside the unsettling feeling in your gut. "Hey, Phainon," you began casually, trying to mask the tension you felt. "I was just curious about something." He looked up at you, a soft smile spreading across his face.

"Curious? About what?" he asked, his voice light and reassuring.

You hesitated for a moment, debating whether you should bring up your dreams or not. Instead, you opted for something safer. "Well, I’ve been hearing rumors about a black-cloaked figure. You know, one who’s supposed to be really powerful and dangerous. Do you know anything about them?"

Phainon's smile faltered, just for a moment, before he chuckled softly. "Ah, that old ghost story. It’s not really a story, though," he said, his tone almost too casual. "I know about him. It’s part of my history, actually."

Your heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t what you were expecting. "What do you mean?"

Phainon shifted slightly, leaning back on his hands as he stared into the fire, his gaze distant for a moment. The warmth in his eyes seemed to dim, replaced with something heavier. "That black-cloaked figure, Uhm Flamereaver- ..He was the one who destroyed my village—Aedes Elysiae. The one who left us in ruins. The one who brought us to our knees."

Your pulse quickened, but you managed to keep your voice steady. "Destroyed your village? That’s…" You trailed off, unsure how to phrase your thoughts without revealing too much of what you were feeling. You couldn’t tell him about your dreams, not yet.

Phainon nodded solemnly, his voice quieter now. "Yeah. It’s not a memory I like to revisit. That black-cloaked figure, the one who towered over everything, wielding power that seemed to bend the very world around him. He destroyed everything I held dear. And after that, it was just… chaos."

The weight of his words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to grow still. The fire crackled, but it felt distant, almost irrelevant compared to the heavy realization settling in your chest.

Aedes Elysiae. Phainon’s village. The place that had been ravaged by this monstrous figure. The same figure that had appeared in your dreams—his face just beyond your reach. The connection between your dreams and Phainon’s past suddenly hit you like a bolt of lightning.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself, but the truth was sinking in, sinking into your bones. The man you had seen—this terrifying, shadowed figure in your dreams—was the destroyer of Aedes Elysiae, the very place that had shaped Phainon’s life. This man, this figure, had destroyed everything Phainon had ever known.

The weight of it nearly crushed you, the realization that your dreams were linked to his trauma, to his pain.

You took a breath, trying to keep your composure. "So, you’ve met him, then? Flamereaver?"

Phainon’s gaze darkened, his smile gone completely now. "No. I never did. No one did. He came, destroyed everything, and vanished. No trace of him ever remained, except for the ruins he left behind."

You felt a strange chill, as though the very air around you had thickened. You couldn’t quite explain it, but there was something unsettling about the way Phainon spoke. His voice was so steady, but there was a palpable sorrow, a longing that echoed through his words.

"I never found out why he did it," Phainon continued softly, more to himself than to you. "We were just… collateral damage in whatever war he was fighting. And we paid the price."

A lump formed in your throat. "I'm sorry," you said softly, not quite knowing what else to say.

Phainon turned to look at you, his eyes softening slightly. "It’s not your fault. And don’t worry about it. It’s just something that happened a long time ago. I’ve moved on."

But as he said those words, you could see the cracks in his facade—the sadness that he’d buried so deeply. It was clear that this event, this destruction, was something that had changed him. And perhaps, despite his smiles and his warmth, he was still broken by it.

You nodded, feeling a strange weight pressing against your chest. You hadn’t expected Phainon’s story to echo so deeply with the images from your dreams, nor had you expected it to hurt as much as it did. You couldn’t tell him what you had seen—about the figure’s eyes, the way he’d felt so connected to you, the haunting whisper you’d heard in the darkness.

But you couldn’t ignore the terrifying realization either. The man you had seen in your dreams—the figure of destruction—wasn’t just a figure of myth or nightmare. He had been real. And somehow, somewhere, he was still connected to you.

You blinked, snapping yourself back to the present. "Well, thanks for telling me," you said, forcing a smile. "I wasn’t expecting that."

Phainon gave you a small, warm smile. "No problem. If you ever want to talk about it more, I’m here."

You nodded, stepping back, though the weight of his words lingered. There was so much more you didn’t understand, so many pieces of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit. But one thing was certain: The man in your dreams—the one who haunted your nights—was tied to Phainon’s past.

And somehow, that connection felt deeper than anything you could’ve imagined.

The night had come swiftly, blanketing the world in an inky blackness. But sleep, when it finally came, wasn’t peaceful.

Your body tossed and turned as unsettling dreams clawed at your subconscious, dragging you through a nightmare that felt far too real. In the darkness of your mind, you were pulled into the void, and the figure you had been seeing in fragments now stood clear as day in front of you.

Flamereaver.

His presence was suffocating, a looming shadow that seemed to swallow the very air around you. His figure was clad in a flowing black cloak, the same cloak you had seen, but now, it was different. Now, his face was obscured by a black and gold metal mask, sharp and cruel, with angles that made his expression unreadable but no less terrifying. The golden sword in his hand gleamed ominously, its edge stained in a crimson hue, a dark reflection of something far more sinister than just a weapon.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t scream. But the vision played before you as if you were a spectator, unable to escape the horror.

Flamereaver's sword—a golden monstrosity—was pointed directly at you, its sharp tip glinting as if it had been forged in the very fires of torment. You could feel the weight of it in your chest, even though it didn’t pierce you. The cold, hollow sensation was enough to make your heart race, the fear that gripped you was as tangible as the blade that hovered inches from your skin.

Then, the vision shifted—abruptly and painfully.

A figure—someone familiar—stood before you in the flames. It was Mydei, his body lit by the firelight, and yet there was something horribly wrong. The sword you had seen moments before was buried deep in his back- his 10th vertebrae. Blood pooling around him as his once proud form crumpled to the ground. His eyes were wide with pain, his golden gaze fading as he collapsed.

You couldn’t move, but the weight of the tragedy hit you like a tidal wave.

And then, the scene shifted again, and you were standing before a pile of ash and golden threads, Aglaea's body lifeless on the cold stone floor. The threads that once had wrapped around her form now lay scattered around her, their beauty twisted in the face of death. The golden strands still clung to Flamereaver, wrapping around him like a pathetic attempt to bind him, to pull him back from his path of destruction, but it was useless. She was dead. A hole through her chest, the final sign of her futile resistance.

Your breath caught in your throat as the image of her body, still draped in those golden threads, haunted you. You had seen her, so graceful and so powerful in the waking world, but here she was, a lifeless body, a casualty of Flamereaver's wrath.

Aglaea, the weaver of fates, had fallen before him.

The words from the prophecy rang through your mind as if they had been spoken to you in a thousand voices at once:

"The undying Mydeimos is, the lion apart from the rest. Chrysos Heir who seeks the Coreflame of Strife, must suffer a thousand deaths, be bathed in blood on the path home, and bear the madness of fate alone."

The images blended into one final, crushing vision: Flamereaver standing over you, his sword raised high. The echo of his voice, cold and detached, filled the air, though you couldn’t make out the words. The bloodstained sword gleamed, and you knew, you just knew, that this wasn’t just a dream. This was something more.

And yet, despite all the horror, there was something strangely familiar about him. The mask. The presence. Flamereaver wasn’t a stranger. It was as if you had seen him before—felt him before—but from where? Why did he feel so... intertwined with your fate?

The vision ended abruptly, your body snapping awake, drenched in cold sweat, your heart racing as if it had been through the flames itself. You sat up, gasping for air, as the lingering images of Flamereaver, Aglaea, and Mydei haunted your every thought.

You couldn’t understand. Why had you seen that? Why had it felt so real?

You pressed your fingers against your temples, trying to stave off the overwhelming dizziness. The confusion. The connection that tied you to them, to Flamereaver. His name hadn’t been spoken aloud, but you knew—deep in the pit of your gut—that this was no simple nightmare.

The visions were more than just fragments of your subconscious. They were memories, perhaps not your own, but they were real. Flamereaver, the destroyer of Aedes Elysiae, the end of Aglaea, and the death of Mydei... it was all intertwined with you.

Your blood ran cold as the fragments began to piece together: Flamereaver, the man who destroyed everything, was somehow connected to you, just as Phainon had said. The connection was deeper than anything you could have imagined.

And yet, you still didn’t know how. Why. How could your fate be so entangled with the one who destroyed Aedes Elysiae? How could he have been the one to bring about such tragedy?

You had the Coreflame of Orynyx, the Titan of Time. And yet, it seemed that the time you lived in wasn’t the only timeline you were a part of. The glimpses, the memories that never happened, the visions—they were all a part of a story that was still unfolding.

And as much as you hated it, as much as you fought against it, the answer seemed to lie in Flamereaver—the villain who had become a shadow of what Phainon used to be.

You laid back on your bed, staring up at the ceiling as the storm outside began to pick up, the wind howling like the fury of forgotten gods.

In the quiet, you whispered to yourself, uncertain but desperate, "What is it about him?"

The answer was hidden, buried deep within your Coreflame, but you couldn’t touch it. Not yet.

You closed your eyes, but even as you tried to sleep again, the shadows of Flamereaver and the bloodstained sword haunted your thoughts.

You awoke with a sudden start, the remnants of the haunting visions still clinging to your mind like an insistent fog. But they quickly dissipated as panic shot through your veins. The dream’s weight faded, replaced by the reality of the chaos unfolding around you.

The room was in disarray. The walls, normally quiet, seemed to hum with tension. The air itself felt thicker, heavier. The sound of frantic footsteps echoed through the corridors outside. You could hear voices shouting, calls of alarm, the sense of urgency thick in the air.

Tribbie. Trianne. Trinnon.

They were gone. Missing.

Your heart skipped a beat. You barely had time to process what was happening before instinct took over. You leapt from your bed, your legs unsteady from sleep but propelled forward by the pounding sense of dread. You didn’t need to hear the specifics to understand—your companions, your friends, the remaining parts of Tribios, the ones who bore the Coreflame of Passage, had vanished.

Their absence wasn’t just a loss. It was a void. They were the heart of the Chrysos Heirs, the key to a future you hadn’t fully comprehended yet. Without them, something would break. Something crucial. You couldn't lose them.

Without hesitation, you grabbed your weapon—a gleaming sword that reflected the dim, flickering light in your room—and sprinted out the door. Your breath hitched as you charged through the corridors, the air thick with panic and confusion.

The moment you heard the cries for them, it was like everything clicked. You had to get to Janusopolis. You didn’t know how, or why, but you felt the pull deep within you—the place where Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon always went when they needed to calm their minds.

Janusopolis.

The holy land blessed by the tripartite prophecy. The very ground where Tribios, the Holy Maiden, had once tread. The land that held the secrets you hadn’t fully understood yet. You could feel the prophecy stirring in the depths of your soul.

Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon—the remaining fragments of Tribios—needed you. They were not just missing. They were calling to you, urging you to find them before something terrible happened. The fragments of the prophecy you’d heard before rang in your ears, but now, it made sense.

"Seek the children of humanity with golden blood in their veins, shatter the dimmest dark in this world, and walk toward the tomorrow where the stars gleam."

The words were clear now. You had to find them.

The cold night air bit at your skin as you raced toward the gates, not stopping to think about the danger you might be in. You had no time for that. Every part of you screamed for urgency, every breath felt like it could be your last if you didn’t find them.

As you ran, your mind raced. Why? Why were they gone? Was it connected to the visions you’d been seeing? The presence of Flamereaver? Could he be the one who had taken them? The thought made your blood run cold, but you couldn’t afford to think like that—not now.

Your feet carried you faster and faster until the silhouette of Janusopolis came into view—a holy city blessed by the stars, kissed by the dawn, a place of serenity and power. But tonight, it felt anything but peaceful. The quiet, peaceful aura that usually hung over the place seemed to be suffocating. The city that once whispered of hope and deliverance now felt hollow.

You skidded to a halt at the gates of Janusopolis, breathless and trembling with adrenaline. You pushed through the crowd of panicked Chrysos heirs and soldiers, no longer caring about the chaos that surrounded you. Your eyes were locked on the entrance to the holy land—the same entrance you and the others had walked through countless times before, when you sought peace and guidance. But now, it seemed to be leading you to something else entirely.

You entered the city, your heart pounding in your chest. The holy streets were empty, the usual hum of life and light eerily absent. It was silent, too silent, save for the soft echo of your footsteps as you moved deeper into the city.

There, at the center of the city, in front of the great temple that once stood as a beacon of hope, you found it—the source of your fear.

Tribbie.

She was standing there, her small frame illuminated by the flickering light of a nearby lantern, her wings drooping. Her purple eyes were wide, filled with confusion and fear, but there was something else in them too. Recognition. Pain.

“Tribbie?” you called, your voice hoarse with panic. “What happened? Where’s Trianne? Where’s Trinnon?”

She didn’t respond immediately, her gaze distant, as though she were lost in some sort of trance. The golden threads, the ones that connected the Coreflame of Passage to her very soul, glowed faintly, almost as if they were guiding her toward something.

Slowly, she turned to face you, her expression softening slightly at the sight of you. Her voice, when she spoke, was barely a whisper.

“They’re gone,” she said, her voice trembling. “All of them... taken.”

You blinked in disbelief. “What do you mean, ‘taken’? Who did this?”

Her eyes flickered toward the shadows that seemed to stretch unnaturally in the dim light. There, at the edge of her vision, you could almost make out a figure—a figure cloaked in darkness.

The figure who had been haunting your dreams.

You clenched your sword tighter, adrenaline pumping in your veins. You knew it was him.

“Flamereaver,” you murmured, the name tasting bitter on your tongue. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

Tribbie didn’t answer, but her silence was all the confirmation you needed.

“We need to stop him,” you said, determination hardening in your voice. "We have to find Trianne and Trinnon, and we’ll stop this madness together."

But as you took a step forward, the city around you began to tremble, the ground vibrating beneath your feet. . . . . .

Time seemed to slow as you, Tribbie, and Trinnon continued your search through the darkened streets of Janusopolis. The golden threads of the city flickered faintly in the distance, and the air, thick with tension, pulsed around you. Every footstep, every breath felt like it echoed louder than before. Despite everything, there was a flicker of hope inside you—hope that Trinnon and Trianne were still alive, hidden somewhere within the city, waiting to be found.

You turned a corner, your heart skipping a beat when you saw them standing ahead, safe but clearly weary. Trinnon was leaning against a column, her expression tense and filled with concern. Beside her, Trianne stood tall, but her posture was fragile, almost as if the weight of everything was slowly crushing her spirit.

“Trinnon! Trianne!” you called out, rushing toward them. Tribbie, who had been close by, ran ahead, her little wings fluttering with excitement.

“We found you!” Tribbie exclaimed, her voice barely above a breathless whisper, but the relief in her tone was unmistakable.

Trinnon gave a weak smile, but there was something in his eyes that unsettled you. Shee wasn’t quite himself. Neither of them were. “It’s been too long,” she muttered, looking between you and Tribbie. “We’ve been trying to keep them at bay, but I don’t think we can hold out much longer.”

You frowned. “Hold out? From who?”

Before anyone could answer, a shadow fell over you all. It was cold and suffocating, a darkness that swallowed the light, even the very essence of Janusopolis itself. You turned slowly, dread clawing at your chest.

Behind you, emerging from the murky shadows, stood Flamereaver. His towering form, cloaked in black, rippling with an unsettling aura, made your blood run cold. The metal mask covering his face gleamed like a twisted version of the moon, reflecting a darkness that seemed endless.

“Flamereaver!” Tribbie cried, her voice high with fear. But there was no surprise, no uncertainty. This was the force you had feared, the figure from your dreams, the one you had known was bound to come for you all.

Flamereaver’s golden sword, shaped like a crescent moo,n gleamed in his hands, stained with a sickening red that made your stomach churn. His stance was relaxed, but you could feel the weight of the death and destruction he carried in every movement. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, were a cold abyss of madness.

The silence that followed was unbearable, suffocating. Finally, Flamereaver spoke, his voice distorted by the mask. “So, we meet again.”

Before anyone could react, Trianne stepped forward, her posture regal and strong despite the way her hands trembled. “You won’t have them, Flamereaver.” Her high pitched yet weak voice rang out, resolute.

Suddenly, the air around Trianne shimmered. She raised her arms, and before any of you could move, a massive holy gate began to form behind her, glowing with ethereal light. It looked like an impossible barrier, a final line of defense. But Flamereaver was not a force that could be stopped easily.

“Trianne, no!” you shouted, but it was too late.

With a flick of his wrist, Flamereaver lunged toward her, but the holy gate expanded rapidly, forcing him back. The Gate of Passage, as it was known, was a last-resort barrier designed to seal away any being of immense power. But Flamereaver was no ordinary foe. The gate trembled as if it were alive, and with a screeching sound, the atmosphere crackled with raw energy.

Flamereaver didn’t hesitate. He plunged his golden sword toward the gate, and for a moment, the world itself seemed to hold its breath. The holy gate’s light flickered, but Flamereaver’s strength, bolstered by the sheer force of madness, proved too much.

Trianne’s face twisted in pain as the gate flickered one final time. “You have to go!” she gasped, her voice strained and fragile. She turned toward you, her eyes filled with regret.

“No, Trianne!” Tribbie cried, reaching out to her. But it was too late.

Before you could react, a force from the gate swept over you and Tribbie, throwing you backward. Trinnon, too, was knocked off his feet. You could barely hold onto your weapon as the force pulled you, the world spinning in disorienting chaos.

“Trianne!” you shouted one last time, desperate, your heart shattering with each passing moment.

And then, in a heart-wrenching instant, the gate slammed shut. The light dimmed, the air grew still, and you were thrown into the distance, far from the destruction. The three of you landed hard on the ground, dazed and disoriented, your mind still struggling to comprehend what had just happened.

You forced yourself to stand, gasping for air, but the world felt heavy. You turned back toward the gate, your chest tightening as you realized what had happened.

Flamereaver had...gotten Trianne.

You didn’t need to see him strike—because the weight of his power, the flickering glow from the gate, told you everything you needed to know.

Through the shimmering walls of the closed gate, you could see Flamereaver standing before Trianne, his mask cold and unfeeling. The last thing you saw was his sword raised high, and then, in a moment that felt like eternity, the light of the gate went out.

The silence that followed was deafening.

The journey back to Okhema felt like an eternity. Every step you took seemed to drag you deeper into a world that had already begun to crumble. Trinnon, her usually calm eyes now dim with sorrow, walked beside you, her face pale and tight with grief. Tribbie flitted nervously around, the usual playful energy replaced with a quiet sadness, as if the weight of the world had suddenly fallen onto her small shoulders.

As you reached the entrance to Okhema, the ancient gates groaned open, revealing the familiar yet ominous surroundings. The moonlight barely penetrated the canopy above, casting long shadows on the stone path ahead. You felt a growing sense of dread, something gnawing at your insides, the remnants of the painful memory still fresh in your mind.

Then, you saw them.

Phainon, Anaxa, Aglaea, and Mydei were gathered in the center of the village, standing together as if in solemn unity. They were all here. Phainon, with his usual carefree demeanor, was in stark contrast to the turmoil within you. His hair, the color of pearls, fluttered gently in the breeze, his posture relaxed as he chatted with Anaxa, the strategic genius with a calm and composed aura. His sharp features, marked by the cold wisdom he held, were unmistakable.

Aglaea stood near the group, her golden attire gleaming softly even in the dim light. She was the picture of elegance, but there was a distant sorrow in her eyes—a far-off look that made her seem out of place in this gathering, as if her mind was elsewhere.

And then, there was Mydei. The calm, calculating nature of his gaze was gone, replaced by something more unsettling. His golden eyes, always so sharp and perceptive, now held a layer of sorrow and desperation that was deeply unsettling. You could see it in the way he stood, slightly apart from the others, as if weighed down by an invisible burden.

“You’re back.” Phainon’s voice broke through the silence, his tone warm but somewhat distant. He grinned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "How did things go?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words felt stuck in your throat. Trianne’s last moments, Flamereaver’s cold, unfeeling mask, his sword raised above her—everything was a blur now, the weight of the loss pressing heavily against your chest. The air felt thick, suffocating, as you glanced at the others, waiting for them to notice that something was wrong.

But no one seemed to.

Anaxa tilted hiss head, sensing something amiss but not pressing for details. "You look... tired," he said, his voice laced with his usual sharpness. "Did something happen?"

Tribbie shuffled uneasily, her wings fluttering nervously. "We... we couldn’t save her," she whispered, barely audible.

Mydei shifted, his gaze narrowing. “Who? What happened?” His voice carried the weight of someone used to having the answers, always in control, but this time there was a hint of vulnerability in it.

You couldn’t bear it anymore. The emotions roiled inside you, the memories of Flamereaver and Trianne’s sacrifice pressing against your ribcage like a thousand pounds. You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the tears that threatened to spill. "Trianne... she’s—" You couldn't say it. The words didn’t feel real.

Before you could finish, Phainon stepped forward, his brow furrowing in concern. "What happened?" His voice, despite its usual playful tone, now held an edge of genuine worry. "Where's Trianne?"

You felt a wave of frustration rise within you, mixing with the sorrow, the confusion. Why was he acting like everything was fine? Why wasn’t he seeing it? Flamereaver had already destroyed everything. Everything you had fought for. You could feel the anger bubbling in your chest, but it was quickly swallowed by the guilt that followed.

Anaxa, ever perceptive, observed your reaction. He stepped forward and placed a hand gently on your shoulder, offering silent support. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Flamereaver came... he took her.” Your voice cracked. “Trianne’s gone...”

There was a long, painful silence. Then, it was Mydei who spoke first. “So he’s still out there,” he muttered, his voice colder than you had ever heard it. His eyes were fixed on you, then on the others, calculating. "I’ll find him."

Aglaea, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke, her voice quiet but steady. "We need to be careful. Flamereaver is not just any enemy. He’s far more dangerous than we could have imagined."

Phainon finally spoke again, but this time, his voice had a dark edge. "If Flamereaver is out there, then everything’s changed. But there’s something else… something about him that doesn’t make sense."

You stared at him, confusion flickering in your mind. "What do you mean?"

Phainon turned his gaze toward you, his usually bright eyes now clouded with something more... haunted. “I’ve faced him before. In a different world. He’s not the same anymore. But he’s... so familiar."

You stared at him, a chill running down your spine. There was something about the way he said that that made you uneasy. His expression was too distant, too removed, as if something far darker was lurking beneath the surface.

Before you could probe further, Tribbie looked up at you, her large eyes wide with worry. "I don’t like this... I don’t like how we’re all acting like nothing’s happened. We need to stop him. We have to save everyone."

Mydei moved to stand closer to Phainon, a grim expression overtaking his usual calm demeanor. "We will. But we have to be prepared. We need to find Flamereaver before he finds us again."

The weight of the situation finally hit you in full force. Flamereaver wasn’t just a villain. He was something far worse—a reflection of someone you knew, someone you cared about. Someone who had loved you.

And now, in a twisted, painful way, that love had become the very thing that could destroy everything. . . . .

As the words of the Chrysos heirs echoed in the darkness, the weight of it all became too much to bear. The grief, the uncertainty, the loss—it all collided inside your chest like a tidal wave. Your heart raced, pounding with a rhythmic intensity that you couldn’t escape, as if something was trying to break free. Your vision blurred, and the world around you started to spin.

Before you could stop yourself, your knees buckled, and everything went black.

You woke with a sharp gasp, the coldness of sweat against your skin making you shiver uncontrollably. But what truly caught your attention was the sheer clarity of the vision that flooded your mind—a vision that felt too real, too vivid to be a mere dream.

You were standing in a desolate place. There was no sound, no movement, just an eerie silence. The air felt heavy, thick with tension and despair. A figure stood before you—Flamereaver—but the figure before you was different. His mask was gone, revealing a face that was both familiar and foreign. Phainon.

But something was terribly wrong.

His eyes... those cold, piercing blue eyes—his eyes—were filled with anguish, a depth of sorrow that seemed to crush everything around him. Tears streamed down his face, each drop carving through the hardness of his expression, making him seem like a shattered version of the man you knew. He looked at you, not with the warmth that used to define him, but with an unbearable emptiness, as if he had lost everything and was now nothing more than a shell of his former self.

And yet, despite everything, he still reached out to you. His hand trembling as it extended toward you, like a broken plea.

Without thinking, you smiled at him. Not the gentle smile you gave him before, the one full of affection and warmth—but a soft, sorrowful smile. A smile that spoke of a connection beyond what you could understand, beyond what you had ever experienced. You didn’t remember this, you couldn’t. This never happened in your current timeline. But it didn’t matter.

It was another timeline. Another place, another time. The fragments of him—the real Phainon—tugged at your heart, and you could feel a deep sadness in the pit of your stomach. The same sadness you saw reflected in his eyes.

And then, the vision fractured.

Your mind was suddenly overwhelmed with images, flashes—shards of memories from alternate timelines. Each vision more vivid than the last. The pain, the loss, the unspoken love between you and Phainon, the never-ending cycle of worlds where he was Flamereaver, a villain, a destroyer—yet always, somehow, still tied to you.

In one, he was standing beside you in a field, the two of you laughing, your fingers brushing, everything so perfect. But as quickly as it came, that image cracked and splintered.

In another, you saw him, his golden sword raised high, drenched in blood. His eyes were wide with madness and fury as he stood over a body. The vision distorted as a scream echoed, a sound so agonizing it made your heart stop. It was your scream. Your voice, distorted and broken, reaching out to him as his cold gaze met yours, unwilling to stop.

And then there was another. You saw yourself, bound and broken, trapped in a cage of golden light, as Flamereaver—Phainon—stood outside, watching you, the expression in his eyes unreadable, cold, lifeless. There was no sign of the man who once loved you, no trace of that warmth. Only a villain. Only the cold steel of a mask.

The pain in your head intensified. The memories came faster, harder, bleeding into your mind, each one crashing against your senses like waves. You groaned in pain, clutching your head, trying desperately to hold onto yourself as the visions tore through your thoughts. They didn’t make sense. They were too much. It felt like your mind was splitting apart, each fragmented memory pulling you deeper into the abyss.

"No." You whispered the word, unable to stop yourself. It felt like you were losing yourself to these alternate timelines. These lives you hadn’t lived but could feel so intimately, as if you had been there—had been with him—in all of them.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to shut out the images, but they persisted. Phainon, Flamereaver, Phainon again. All different, all the same. Always him, always torn between the love and madness.

Finally, your vision cleared. But the pain didn’t subside. It remained, a gnawing ache at the back of your mind, as if something was trying to break free, something that didn’t belong in this timeline. Something wrong.

You took a deep breath, still shaking from the flood of images that had nearly drowned you. Your hand instinctively went to your chest, pressing against the thumping of your heart. The Coreflame of Orynyx pulsed softly, almost as if it were echoing the pain you felt, resonating with the memories you had just seen.

The timelines. The memories of love, betrayal, and death. You couldn’t make sense of them. But one thing was certain. Phainon, or Flamereaver, was a part of all of them. No matter the timeline, no matter the world—he was there.

And you were bound to him. Always. And forever will be.

With trembling hands, you slowly rose to your feet. The world around you still seemed distant, like you were standing outside of it all. Your head pounded, but your resolve was hardening. You couldn't ignore this any longer. The alternate timelines, the visions—they were leading you somewhere. To him.

To Phainon.

And you weren’t sure if you could save him from the madness, or if he was already too far gone.

One week later, everything felt heavier. The visions hadn't stopped, but they had become quieter, more subtle. The ache in your chest, the strange pull between worlds, lingered but was manageable—at least for now. It didn’t stop you from constantly being on edge, though, as if you were always on the verge of a breakdown.

You hadn’t spoken to anyone about the visions. Not about Flamereaver or about what had happened when you passed out. They were too real, too overwhelming. You didn’t know if they were a warning or simply your mind unraveling from the burden of the Coreflame. But the truth lingered in your heart, and you couldn’t escape it.

You couldn’t escape him.

It wasn’t long before you found yourself standing at the edge of the bustling Okhema, the city’s skyline stretching out before you like a shimmering maze of lights and shadows. The week had passed in a blur of activity and chaos—just the usual for someone with your position as one of the Chrysos Heirs. The loss of Trianne and the uncertainty of your friends weighed heavily on you, but today, today was different.

Today, the gnawing sense that something was wrong kept you from being at peace. The dark thoughts, the phantom memories, all pointed to the one thing you had tried to ignore: Flamereaver, Phainon.

You knew he was close.

Your intuition had never steered you wrong, and the Coreflame within you pulsed softly, almost as if it were calling to you, beckoning you towards something you couldn’t yet understand. The lingering echoes of the visions haunted your every waking moment, especially the one where you saw Phainon, his face covered in sorrow, tears staining his cheeks as he reached for you.

The feeling of helplessness swelled within you.

"Hey," Trinnon’s voice broke through the haze of your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. She was standing next to you, her usual mischievous smile softened with concern. Her deep blue eyes studied you with a gentleness that, on a normal day, might have comforted you. "You’ve been staring at the skyline for what, an hour? What’s going on?"

You didn’t know how to explain it. The memories. The pull. The relentless images of Phainon and Flamereaver tormenting your thoughts. How could you tell her that you were seeing multiple versions of the same man, each more broken and distant than the last? How could you explain the confusion, the fear of seeing him as both a lover and a villain, as both someone you trusted and someone you feared?

"I’m fine," you said, the words slipping out more easily than you’d expected. You smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach your eyes. "Just thinking."

Trinnon raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. Instead, she placed a hand on your shoulder, her touch warm, reassuring. "Well, whatever it is, don’t bottle it up. We’re all in this together, you know?"

You nodded, appreciating her words, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was lurking in the distance, waiting for you.

It came suddenly, like a storm.

The world around you had been eerily quiet, peaceful even. A brief moment of respite, one you hadn’t truly had in a long time. You stood outside, near the base of the Chrysos estate, when a dark figure appeared in the distance. The air thickened, crackling with tension, and you could feel your heart race before you even saw who it was.

There he stood, Flamereaver—his presence like a shadow that consumed everything around him. He wore the same black and gold armor, his mask now covering his face once more, though the haunting blue eyes of the man you knew still seemed to pierce through the metal.

His arrival didn’t go unnoticed. Mydei, the cheerful and unburdened version of Phainon you knew from this timeline, immediately appeared by your side. His face was calm but alert, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of Flamereaver.

"Stay back, you," Mydei said with a forced calmness, but there was a flicker of something else—something that you could feel—but it wasn’t the warmth you were used to. Instead, it was an edge of something deeper, something darker. Maybe it was fear.

The air seemed to vibrate with the tension, the ground beneath your feet shaking as the power of the two forces gathered. It was as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath.

Then, like the snap of a thread, the battle began.

Flamereaver swung his golden sword, sharp and relentless, his movements precise and calculated. Mydei, without hesitation, leaped into action, summoning his own weapon—a brilliant sword made of shimmering light—and met Flamereaver's blow with equal ferocity. Sparks flew as the two clashed, their swords ringing with the intensity of their strikes.

Behind you, Tribbie and Trinnon were watching from a distance, unsure of what to do. You could see their fear and confusion, but you couldn't afford to pay attention to them now. The sight of the two polar opposites Phainons fighting each other sent a shock through your chest.

You didn’t know what was happening, but you could feel the weight of it in your bones. You knew they didn't understand what this was, what was happening between them. Neither of them knew that the man they were fighting—the man they saw before them—was a version of Phainon, twisted by the realities of alternate timelines.

But there was no time to explain.

The battle raged on, their swords clashing over and over, each strike shaking the ground beneath your feet. Mydei fought with all his strength, every movement elegant and full of purpose, but there was something different in the way he moved. Something almost... hesitant.

Flamereaver was relentless. His strikes were brutal and precise, as if he had lived a thousand lifetimes of pain, of loss, and now, he was taking it out on the world. His rage was palpable, swirling around him like a storm.

It was almost as if he wasn’t fighting for something, but rather, against everything.

You couldn’t help but feel the weight of the fight on your shoulders. Something in you ached, a deep, visceral need to end this. But you didn’t know how. How could you end something that you didn’t understand? How could you stop this man—Phainon—who was so broken, so shattered by everything he had gone through?

As the battle continued, you felt the shift in the air. Something was about to change. You could sense the power building around them, the two Phainons locked in an almost tragic dance of strength and fury.

Suddenly, Flamereaver let out a loud roar, his sword raised high above his head, glowing with an eerie golden light. His power surged, the earth beneath your feet cracking and breaking as if the very world were reacting to his fury.

"You don't understand," Flamereaver growled, his voice cold and full of malice. "I don't want to fight you. But I have to. I have no choice."

Mydei’s expression faltered, the weight of those words striking him harder than any blow. His sword faltered, just for a moment, and that moment was all Flamereaver needed.

With a brutal strike, Flamereaver knocked Mydei back, sending him crashing to the ground. The impact sent a wave of pain through your chest, and you gasped, your heart racing. Mydei was down—your Phainon was down.

But before Flamereaver could take another step, you found yourself moving, the Coreflame within you pulsing as you reached for your weapon. It was instinct. You couldn't let this continue, couldn't let Phainon destroy himself, no matter which version of him it was.

"Phainon!" you shouted, but your voice caught in your throat as you stepped forward, eyes locked on his face through the mask.

For a brief second, the world stopped.

Flamereaver's gaze flicked to you, and there it was again—the flicker of recognition. Those eyes, so cold yet full of something deeper, something that made you feel the weight of his suffering.

But then he turned away, pushing the moment aside.

"You don't understand," he said again, his voice breaking. "This... this is the only way."

But you refused to back down.

You couldn’t let him destroy himself. You couldn't let him fall further into the darkness. . . . .

The world around you seemed to still, a sudden heaviness pressing down on your chest as your mind raced. You felt the surge of power from your Coreflame of Orynyx, the Titan of Time, deep within you, pulsing like a heartbeat. You could feel its raw potential—an energy that was both ancient and infinite. It was a power to manipulate time itself. You had tried to avoid using it, knowing how dangerous it could be. But now, there was no other choice.

Your breath hitched as you raised your weapon, and with a single, strained command, the air around you distorted. Time itself seemed to ripple, warping into a protective barrier that expanded, consuming you and Flamereaver, trapping both of you in an isolated bubble, a prison where only the two of you existed. No one could come through. No one could escape.

It was a barrier that bent the laws of reality. The world outside would continue, but inside, time would stagnate—like the eye of a storm, everything would be frozen except for you two. No reinforcements. No interruptions. The battlefield was set, and now, it was only a matter of survival.

Flamereaver paused, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. His golden sword lowered slightly, his cold blue eyes locking onto yours.

"What... are you doing?" he asked, his voice sharp and tinged with confusion. His eyes searched your face, the mask still covering the rest of his expression, but there was no mistaking the uncertainty hidden within him.

"This ends here," you said, your voice steady but filled with determination. "I won’t let you destroy yourself. Not like this."

The words seemed to hang in the air between you two, but they were as much for yourself as they were for him. You couldn’t let him destroy everything. Even if it was Phainon—your Phainon, the one you knew in this timeline—he was still the same man who had once brought warmth to your world. The man who had laughed beside you, fought beside you, and cared for you.

But now, he was a shadow of himself—Flamereaver, consumed by pain, by rage, and by the haunting memories of those alternate timelines. He was the same, yet so different. You knew this fight was inevitable, but it didn't make the weight of it any easier to bear.

"Phainon," you breathed, but it came out more as a whisper than a plea. A flicker of recognition passed through his eyes, but it quickly faded, replaced by the cold, determined rage of the Flamereaver you had seen in your visions.

His grip tightened around his sword, and in an instant, he lunged at you, faster than you could react. His strike was brutal, a slash that could cleave mountains, and you barely managed to raise your weapon in time to block it. The force of the blow sent a shockwave through your body, but you stood your ground.

You were not going to lose. Not now.

You summoned the full power of your Coreflame, letting time bend and distort at your will. With a flick of your wrist, the air around you froze—time itself locked in place for just a moment. The world around you blurred, but you could still feel Flamereaver’s presence. He had slowed, momentarily caught within the barrier you had created. The trick was simple: time had stopped for him, but not for you.

With speed borne of necessity, you launched yourself at him, your sword glowing with the intensity of your Coreflame. But just as quickly as the pause in time had come, it was gone, and Flamereaver was moving again, the collision of your swords creating a shockwave that shattered the air around you.

"Is this really what you want, Flamereaver?" you shouted as you pushed back against his strength. "This... hatred? This destruction? You’re killing yourself, piece by piece! I can’t let you do this!"

Flamereaver’s face twisted, the sharp edges of his mask catching the light, and for a brief moment, you could see the faintest hint of conflict in his eyes.

"You think this is a choice?" he spat, his voice rough with pain and anger. "There’s no choice, not for me. Not anymore. I’ve seen it all. I’ve lived it all. The timelines, the futures, the deaths… I’ve had to do this. It’s the only way. And you... you don’t understand."

The energy between you two was electric—shaking the very air with every blow, every clash of swords. But deep down, you felt the pull of his words. He wasn’t wrong. The weight of countless timelines had driven him to this madness. The suffering of one too many lifetimes had made him into Flamereaver, a weapon of destruction, not the man you had known. The man you loved.

But that didn’t matter now.

You raised your sword again, pouring more energy into it, time swirling in chaotic, twisting loops around you. A flash of light, and the barrier around you intensified. The air itself began to crack with the pressure of the fight.

“I do understand, Phainon,” you said through gritted teeth, refusing to call him Flamereaver anymore. “I understand more than you know. I see everything. The pain, the loss, the futility. But I won’t let you destroy everything for the sake of a timeline that doesn’t matter anymore!”

The air hummed with power as the final blow approached, and everything seemed to slow down, the world bending and shifting with the force of your Coreflame.

But as you charged, your heart heavy with the truth of what was at stake, you could feel the clash of wills—his against yours.

The air crackled with energy, the space around you a vortex of swirling time, the very fabric of reality trembling with the intensity of your battle. You pushed yourself harder, your sword clashing violently against Flamereaver’s golden blade, the force of each strike reverberating through your body. The power of your Coreflame surged through you, yet the toll it took was unbearable.

Your vision blurred as pain sliced through your chest, the blood rising in your throat. You coughed, red staining your lips, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt. But you couldn’t stop—not now. Not when everything was on the line.

You gritted your teeth, forcing your body to move despite the agony. With a harsh shout, you released another wave of energy, bending time and space around you, creating a domain where only you and Flamereaver existed. The ground trembled beneath you, and time itself seemed to freeze around you in a swirling, distorted cocoon.

"Phainon!" you screamed, your voice raw and desperate, but still fierce. "You have to fight for what’s beautiful in this world! You have to fight for life, for love, for all that’s worth living for!"

Each word felt like it tore through your very soul, as if you were speaking not just to him, but to all the futures that had led you here, to this moment, to this endless loop of pain and loss. You didn’t want to fight him. You wanted to save him. You had to save him.

But as you said those words, your body betrayed you. Blood poured from your lips, staining your hands as you continued to focus on the barrier, continuing to manipulate time, even as the pressure on you became unbearable.

The world around you shook with the sheer power of your Coreflame, the barrier you’d created nearly cracking under the weight of your will. You could feel it slipping, the exhaustion pulling at you. It hurt to breathe. But there was no way you could stop. Not now.

Flamereaver’s sword moved again, but this time it paused, his blade hovering in mid-air. His cold, blue eyes flickered with something faint—something that might have been concern—but he quickly masked it, his stance hardening, his expression unreadable behind the mask.

He stepped back slightly, his gaze flickering between you and the barrier you were weaving, his voice low but heavy with something unspoken.

"Why… why do you keep fighting like this?" Flamereaver’s voice was almost a whisper, the icy edge of his words betraying the flicker of doubt within him. "Why do you continue to believe in something like this world? There’s nothing left to fight for. There’s only… endless destruction."

But you were undeterred. Even as your body screamed in pain, even as your strength waned, you stood tall, refusing to give up.

"I remember," you whispered, the words tumbling out in a broken breath, the truth slamming into you like a tidal wave. "I remember every timeline, Phainon. All of them. Every time we fought, every time I tried to save you... I remember it all."

The words seemed to hang in the air, like the echo of a thousand lives lived in vain. Your hand trembled as you pointed your sword at him, and you could see the flicker of realization in his eyes—recognition, maybe even regret.

"You were my Phainon, and I was your anchor," you continued, forcing yourself to speak even as your voice cracked. "In every timeline, we fought, we lost, and we loved… But I still remember. I remember you, Phainon, and I won’t let this timeline be another where we’re torn apart by fate."

His blue eyes hardened again, his grip tightening on his sword as he stepped forward, a twisted smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. "And what will you do, huh? Keep fighting? Keep trying to change the past? It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore."

But you weren’t listening to him anymore. You were listening to the truth in your heart. The truth that had been born from countless lifetimes of love, pain, and regret. You knew what you had to do, and you would do it, no matter the cost.

You gritted your teeth, one final wave of power pouring through you. You could feel the strain in your body, every fiber of your being crying out as you pushed your Coreflame to its absolute limit, warping time itself to bind Flamereaver within your domain.

"I won’t let you destroy everything, Phainon," you whispered, barely able to stand as the weight of it all bore down on you. "I will fight for this world. For what’s good. For you. Even if you can’t see it."

But even as you said those words, the pain overtook you. Your vision blurred again, a red haze clouding your sight as the blood kept flowing. You were so tired. So very tired. The barrier you’d created flickered, cracking under the strain of your power. But you wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

Phainon, or Flamereaver, or whoever he was now, was silent for a moment. His cold eyes never left yours, the mask of indifference slipping just for an instant. For a brief moment, you saw it—the faintest glimmer of the man you once knew, the man who had loved you, the man who had laughed with you, the man who had once been whole.

But it was fleeting. Too fleeting.

"You don’t understand," Flamereaver muttered, his voice cracking with emotion, though he quickly masked it again. "I’ve lost everything. I’ve seen all the futures, all the deaths, and there’s nothing left for me anymore. Nothing left but this path."

You smiled through your pain, the tears blurring your vision as you whispered back, "Then fight for something new. Fight for the future, Phainon. Fight for a new opening."

And just as you spoke those final words, everything went dark.

The last thing you heard was his voice, soft and distant, but almost filled with something... something you couldn’t quite place.

The world around you shattered as the full force of your Coreflame surged through you, sending a wave of excruciating power pulsing outward. Time itself bent, twisted, and unraveled in an unstoppable cascade, and all the memories—the infinite timelines, the endless iterations of you and Phainon—flooded the space between you and him.

You saw the glimmers of the past—the laughs shared in quiet moments, the times you had fought side by side, the love that had once blossomed, only to be torn away by the cruel hands of fate. All of it surged through you with such overwhelming force that it felt as though your very soul was being ripped apart.

But you kept going. The memories of every single life, every battle fought, every whispered word of love, every sacrifice—it all came rushing back. They were never forgotten. They never would be. You couldn’t let them fade, not now. Not when this was the last chance you had.

With a desperate scream, you lunged forward, charging straight at Flamereaver, your heart wild with emotion, your body burning with the raw power of your Coreflame.

“Phainon!” you cried out, your voice raw and filled with anguish. “This world might not be all sunshine and rainbows, but if you want to kill me and get away from me again, I would go to hell and back to stop that from happening!”

Tears streamed down your face as you threw yourself at him, your sword raised high, your heart an inferno of defiance. The memories blurred in your mind, flashing like streaks of lightning. Every version of you, every timeline, every instance where you fought for him, fought alongside him, died for him—it all flooded back in a painful torrent.

But as you reached him, something changed. The air around you grew thick with the weight of your memories, and Flamereaver—no, Phainon—stood still, frozen in place, watching you with cold eyes, yet there was something more behind them. Something that flickered faintly with hesitation, but it was quickly buried beneath the icy mask of indifference.

And then, with one final push, you reached him. The strain was too much. The blood you’d been coughing up stained your lips, a thick, red reminder of the toll this fight was taking. Your vision blurred, and as you took a step closer to him, your body betrayed you. You staggered, your legs buckling beneath you, and you collapsed to your knees before him, your strength finally giving out.

Blood pooled around you, your heart pounding erratically in your chest as you struggled to breathe. The world spun around you, the edge of consciousness pulling at you, but you fought to stay awake. You couldn’t let go now. Not when you were this close. Not when you could finally reach him.

Despite the pain, despite the overwhelming exhaustion and the blood that continued to pour from your body, you lifted your gaze, locking eyes with him. You smiled, even as the darkness threatened to overtake you, the memories flashing around you like stars in the night sky.

“I remember, Phainon,” you whispered softly, barely audible as your vision blurred. “I remember it all. All of our timelines. All the lives we lived... I won't let you go again. I refuse."

The memories of your past lives, the love you had for him, the pain you had shared—all of it came rushing in, flooding the domain you had created between the two of you. Your soul reached out, pulling his with it, drawing him into the same space of memories you had built together. You weren’t just fighting him now. You were pulling him with you, into the places where you had loved and fought and dreamed of a different world.

Flamereaver—Phainon—didn’t move. His face remained frozen in that cold expression, but there was something in his eyes now. Something different. Something like recognition, but also resignation.

The memories of every life, every timeline where you had fought, bled, and died together, were now swirling around you, enveloping you both. He was trapped in them as much as you were, unable to escape the flood of emotions, the weight of all the pain and love and loss.

In the quiet, in the storm of your memories, you finally reached out, your fingers trembling as you touched his arm, the touch gentle despite the violence of the battle.

You didn’t want to fight him anymore. You just wanted him to understand. You wanted him to remember. You wanted him to see you—see both of you, in every timeline, in every reality, in every life.

“You’re not alone, Phainon,” you murmured, your voice trembling with the last remnants of your strength. “You never were... We were always together, no matter what. And we can still be...”

But before you could finish, everything blurred, and your world tilted. The power of your Coreflame, the memories, the barrier that had separated you both from the rest of the world—it all crumbled.

And with that, you collapsed completely, your body no longer able to sustain you.

But your soul... your soul reached for him, even as everything around you faded to black.

The last thing you felt was his hand, cold against yours, pulling you deeper into the memories you shared.

The world slowly came back to you, warmth and light filtering through the haze that clouded your mind. You blinked, eyes fluttering open as you felt an unfamiliar sensation—softness beneath you, the slow rise and fall of steady breathing around you. Your body felt heavy, almost too heavy to move, but it was a comforting weight, one that seemed to be wrapped in warmth.

It took a moment for your vision to clear, but when it did, you found yourself staring up into the sky, the remnants of your Coreflame’s power still crackling faintly in the air. But what stood out the most—what truly jolted you—was the feeling of someone’s hand gently resting on your head, a steady, reassuring presence.

You shifted, only to realize that you were lying on something. Or rather, someone. The shape beneath you was warm, solid, and unmistakably familiar.

Your gaze slowly drifted upward, meeting the eyes of the person whose lap you had ended up on.

Phainon. Flamereaver. The one who had stood as your enemy, your tormentor, and your love across timelines. The one whose cold eyes had been an unyielding wall of ice.

But now—now, as you gazed up at him, you saw something different. His eyes, once so full of indifference and hatred, now held an undeniable warmth. A warmth that you hadn’t seen in him before.

Tears streamed down his face, staining his usually stoic features. His expression was a mixture of disbelief, sorrow, and something else—something more fragile, like a shattered version of the man you had known.

“You’re awake…” His voice was hoarse, cracking as if he hadn’t spoken in centuries. It was softer than you remembered, almost as if he was afraid to disturb the fragile moment.

You blinked, confused. "Phainon?" Your voice came out weak, and you had to swallow to clear the rasp in your throat. The events of earlier—the battle, the memories, the fierce fight between you—felt like a blur, like it all belonged to a distant world.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling as he carefully brushed a strand of hair away from your face. The gesture was tender, almost reverent. "I thought… I thought I lost you," he whispered, voice breaking.

It hit you all at once—the realization of what had happened. How close you had come to losing him. How close he had come to losing you. Everything that had led up to this moment, all the pain and the fighting, had led you both to this point. A moment where you were here, lying in his lap, alive, and for the first time in so long, together.

You reached up with trembling hands, touching his face, feeling the wetness of his tears on your fingertips. "You didn’t lose me, Phainon," you said softly, your voice full of quiet sincerity. "Not this time. I’m still here. And I’m not going anywhere."

His eyes—those cold, distant eyes—flickered for a moment, the warmth that had bloomed there growing, flickering into something more. His hands, which had been so stiff and unyielding in the past, now cradled your face with an almost reverential gentleness.

"I’m sorry," he murmured, his voice shaking with the weight of his emotions. "I didn’t mean to hurt you… I didn’t want any of this. But I… I couldn’t stop myself. I—"

You interrupted him, shaking your head weakly. "You don’t have to apologize. Not anymore. I understand now… why you were the way you were. It’s not your fault." Your words were soft, but they carried the weight of all the pain you had shared, all the regrets that had been building between the two of you.

Phainon’s gaze softened, and he let out a ragged sigh, one that seemed to release all the tension in his body. His shoulders slumped, as if he had been holding up the weight of the world for too long.

"I don’t deserve your forgiveness," he said, his voice low and thick with emotion. "I don’t deserve you."

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a quiet determination. "No. You don’t get to decide that," you replied, your voice steady, though still tinged with exhaustion. "I choose to forgive you. I choose to be here with you. And I choose to fight for us, even if this world isn’t perfect."

He stared at you, as though trying to understand, as though he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of your mouth. But his heart—his heart, so broken and battered, was slowly beginning to heal with every word you spoke.

"I don’t know if I can fix all of this," he whispered, his hand gently cupping yours. "I don’t know if I can ever make up for everything… for everything I’ve done."

You smiled faintly, despite the ache in your chest, despite the exhaustion and pain that still lingered in your body. "Maybe you don’t need to fix everything," you said softly. "Phainon, when you think this story is simply the end, it is a new beginning. A beginning for you, and— For us." And then he leans in—his lips against the soft inside of his palm and smiles at you softly. "Enough of this emotional bullshit now come idiot," You say as you grab his hand and the barrier around you all shatters to pieces, running off with his hand in yours, smiling.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ Never can we suspend the time, Having to leave the tracks behind. - da capo.

HOPE YOU LIKE IT :DDD I PRSNALI LOVE THIS EGIUREJKF OH MY GODDD IVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS NON STOP SINCE 7 HOURS

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devdozes · 2 days ago

Text

GRAFFITI GIRL!!♥

reader is an archer, phainon the cutie patootie is a very famous basketball player

The sound of an arrow slicing through the air had always been familiar, comforting even. You had spent years perfecting your craft, mastering the bow until it felt like an extension of yourself. Every competition, every target practice, every moment spent under the sun with an arrow nocked had led to this: your undeniable rise in popularity as one of the best archers in the city.

It had started as murmurs online—clips of you landing impossible shots, slow-motion replays of arrows piercing bullseyes from meters away. People admired your technique, your precision, your beauty. And you had thought that was all there was to it. Until one morning, when your phone blew up with messages that had nothing to do with archery.

[Bro, when did you get into graffiti??]

[Check your socials. You’re literally everywhere.]

[You’re the ‘Graffiti Girl’ now lmao.]

Confused, you scrolled through your notifications, and what you saw nearly made you drop your phone. Murals—detailed, striking, larger-than-life murals—of you, painted on walls all over the city. They weren’t just random sketches either; they were hyper-realistic depictions of you mid-shot, bow drawn, gaze sharp and focused. Some were vibrant and colorful, others grayscale and hauntingly dramatic, but all of them unmistakably you.

“What the hell?” you muttered to yourself, staring at a particularly stunning piece where you stood against a stormy backdrop, hair windblown as you let loose an arrow.

The internet was eating it up. The hashtag #GraffitiGirl was trending. Speculations ran wild. Who was the artist? Was it a secret self-promotion? Some even joked that you had an unknown admirer with insane artistic talent.

“I swear, I have no idea who’s doing this.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you sat in the archery range’s locker room, still in your gear. “I hold a bow, not a spray can.”

Your coach chuckled, sliding their phone over to you. “Well, whoever it is, they sure captured your likeness. People love a good mystery. It’s only making you more famous.”

You groaned, scrolling through yet another wave of tagged posts. “Great. Because being known for my archery skills wasn’t enough, now I’m an urban legend.”

Still, as the days passed and more murals appeared, you couldn’t shake the curiosity gnawing at you. Who was behind this? And why you? The portraits were breathtaking, each one showcasing a level of admiration and effort that felt almost personal.

Little did you know, someone was watching from the shadows, amusement dancing in cerulean eyes. Someone who had been following your career longer than you realized. Someone who had a habit of leaving their mark wherever they pleased.

Phainon smirked as he capped a spray can, admiring his latest work. “Let’s see how long it takes for you to find me, Graffiti Girl.”

The next day, another mural appeared, this time on a massive billboard near the heart of the city. It was unlike the others—this one had your signature pose, mid-draw, but behind you was a flurry of painted arrows, almost as if they were frozen in motion, caught between reality and artistry.

You stood beneath it, staring up in awe and bewilderment. “Okay, this is getting ridiculous.”

A few people nearby were already snapping photos. A pair of teenagers whispered excitedly before one of them approached you hesitantly. “Uh, excuse me… are you really Graffiti Girl?”

You turned, exhausted. “I’m really just an archer.”

“But you’re the girl in all these paintings, right?” They held up their phone, flipping through dozens of pictures of the murals.

You sighed. “Yeah, that’s me, but I’m not the artist.”

They grinned, undeterred. “Can I still get your autograph?”

You blinked. “You want my autograph? I—” You looked around. A few more people had gathered, watching with anticipation. Clearly, they wanted one too.

With a deep sigh, you took the offered notebook and signed your name. “Here.”

“Thank you!” The kid practically squealed before rushing off. More people moved in, shoving out shirts, phone cases, anything they could find for you to sign.

You shot a glare at the enormous mural overhead. “Whoever you are, you better come out soon, because this is officially out of hand.”

Meanwhile, from the rooftop above, Phainon chuckled to himself, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, but where’s the fun in that?”

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The steady rhythm of arrows striking targets filled the air as you exhaled slowly, eyes locked on your next shot. The world around you faded—the buzz of your rising fame, the endless stream of people calling you "Graffiti Girl," even the latest mural that had appeared overnight. None of it mattered when you were here, bow in hand, muscles tensed in perfect control.

You loosed the arrow. It cut through the air with precision, landing dead center. A perfect shot.

And then, peace shattered.

"YO! GRAFFITI GIRL!"

The loud, unmistakable voice of Stelle nearly made you misfire the next arrow. You turned just in time to see two figures strolling onto the archery ground like they owned the place.

Phainon, the city’s golden basketball star, walked with lazy confidence, hands in his pockets, his ever-present smirk firmly in place. Beside him, Stelle, the infamous baseball prodigy, balanced a bat on her shoulder, looking far too pleased with herself.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” you asked, lowering your bow.

Phainon tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “What? We can’t visit our favorite viral sensation?”

Stelle grinned. “Yeah, man, you’re, like, famous famous now. People keep saying you’re the face of urban art or whatever.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “I am NOT an artist! I don’t even own spray paint!”

Phainon hummed, glancing at the newest mural painted on the outer wall of the training center. “Damn. Whoever this artist is, they’re crazy talented. Captured your whole ‘focused warrior’ thing perfectly.”

You shot him a flat look. “Don’t sound so impressed. I don’t even know who they are, and it’s driving me insane.”

Stelle whistled. “Must be a super fan. Or a stalker. Could be both.”

“Helpful,” you muttered.

Phainon chuckled, stepping closer until he was just within your space. “C’mon, Graffiti Girl, you have to admit—it’s kinda fun. The whole city’s obsessed with you.”

“I didn’t ask to be turned into a public phenomenon!”

Stelle shrugged. “Too late. You’re a legend now.”

You groaned, grabbing another arrow and nocking it, trying to drown out their teasing. You had a tournament coming up, and the last thing you needed was to be distracted by whatever graffiti conspiracy was unfolding around you.

Unfortunately, Phainon and Stelle weren’t exactly the type to leave you alone.

The next day, you arrived at school only to be met with another painstakingly beautiful mural of yourself—this time on the wall behind the campus.

It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

You stood in front of it, staring up at the massive artwork. It depicted you mid-tournament, bow drawn, eyes burning with determination. The shading, the details, the way your hair seemed to flow as if caught in motion—it was infuriatingly well done. And at the bottom, in neat spray-painted letters, was the artist’s signature: a tiny crescent moon with the words “For Graffiti Girl.”

You groaned. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Students passing by murmured in awe, some taking pictures, others outright staring at you with knowing smirks. “It’s her,” you heard someone whisper. “The Graffiti Girl.”

Clutching your books, you stomped towards your locker, praying for some kind of normalcy. But the moment you swung it open, you froze.

Inside, neatly placed on top of your books, was an assortment of your favorite snacks. A small bag of chips, a neatly wrapped protein bar, and even a chilled bottle of your go-to energy drink. Nestled beside them, almost too perfectly positioned, was an empty spray paint can.

Your eye twitched. “Oh, come on.”

Laughter echoed down the hallway, and you turned just in time to see Phainon and Stelle walking past, both of them grinning like they knew something you didn’t. Phainon lifted a hand in a casual wave. “Morning, Graffiti Girl.”

You glared. “I swear, one of you is behind this.”

Stelle snorted. “Us? Nah. We’d never be that subtle.”

Phainon only smirked, golden eyes gleaming with mischief. “But if we were, wouldn’t that make things more fun?”

You stared at him, trying to decipher his words, but he simply turned and walked away, hands still in his pockets, the very picture of nonchalance.

You looked back at the empty spray can in your locker.

ugh, who even were they man

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

You spent the rest of the day ranting to Phainon and Stelle about the unknown graffiti artist.

“I mean, who even does this?” you huffed, dramatically waving your arms as the three of you sat outside on the school’s courtyard steps. “They’re obviously super talented—like, I’ll give them that—but why me? Why not, I don’t know, a city landmark? A basketball star? A baseball player?”

Phainon, sipping his drink far too nonchalantly, shrugged. “Maybe they just really like archery.”

Stelle snorted. “Or really like you.”

You shot her a glare. “Not helping.”

Phainon leaned back, resting his elbow on his knee. “So, what’s your plan, Graffiti Girl? Gonna track them down? Challenge them to an art duel?”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know! But this whole thing is making me look like some kind of underground celebrity, and I just want to focus on my tournament.”

“Aw, c’mon, it’s kinda cool,” Stelle teased. “Not everyone gets a mysterious, devoted artist making masterpieces of them.”

Phainon smirked. “Yeah, sounds like someone’s muse-worthy.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “If I ever meet this artist, I have so many questions. Who are they? How do they know what I look like in such detail? And where do they get the time to pull this off?!”

Phainon hummed, the corner of his lips twitching. “Yeah. Sounds like a real mystery.”

You didn’t notice the way his fingers idly spun a tiny, dried fleck of paint between them.

The day of the tournament arrived, and you walked onto the competition grounds with your bow slung over your shoulder, mentally preparing yourself for the matches ahead. You had spent weeks training for this moment—blocking out distractions, fine-tuning your form, and ensuring your focus was razor-sharp.

And yet, the universe clearly had other plans.

The moment you stepped onto campus, five brand-new murals greeted you, each one more breathtaking than the last. They were scattered across different walls, but all of them had the same theme: you, in various moments of focus, determination, and skill, capturing your strongest moments in striking detail. And at the bottom of each piece, painted in elegant, sweeping strokes, were the words:

“Good luck on the tournament.”

Your stomach flipped as you took in the sheer effort that had gone into them. The shading, the lighting, the emotions conveyed—it was insane.

You were about to scream when your phone vibrated aggressively in your pocket. Pulling it out, your screen was flooded with notifications. Your name was trending.

#GOODLUCKGRAFFITIGIRL had taken over social media.

You scrolled in disbelief, seeing hundreds—no, thousands—of posts from people cheering you on. Fans from across the city, even people who had just seen the murals online, were hyping you up. Some were posting pictures of the new graffiti, while others were leaving comments like:

“She’s not just an archer, she’s an icon, a hella pretty one.”

“Whoever this artist is, they’re singlehandedly running a one-person PR campaign.”

“I don’t even know much about archery, but now I NEED to see Graffiti Girl win.”

Your face burned as you kept scrolling. There were even clips of your past competitions being shared with captions like “She’s insane at archery. Watch this shot.” Some posts even tagged you directly, wishing you luck.

Phainon and Stelle appeared at your side, both peering over your shoulder at your phone.

“Damn,” Stelle whistled, eyeing your phone with her golden eyes, “You’re famous-famous now.”

Phainon leaned in closer, resting his chin on your shoulder as he smirked. “So, how’s it feel to be the city’s most beloved archer AND street art muse?”

You groaned, stuffing your phone back into your pocket. “I—this—WHAT IS HAPPENING?”

Phainon chuckled. “The people love you, Graffiti Girl. Better give them a good show today.”

You huffed, gripping your bow tighter. “Oh, I will. But first—if I ever find this artist, I swear—”

Stelle nudged Phainon with a knowing grin. “Yeah, that’d be interesting, huh?”

Phainon only smirked wider, cerulean eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah. Real interesting.” ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The tournament grounds were packed, buzzing with excitement. You had expected a crowd, sure, but not this many people. And definitely not this many people holding up signs—actual signs—with your face on them. Some were even prints of the murals, and others had bold letters saying “GO GRAFFITI GIRL!” with little spray paint designs drawn around the words.

Your face burned. You had never been this flustered in your life.

As you walked toward the competition area, people waved at you, called out your name—or rather, your new nickname. “Graffiti Girl! You got this!” “We believe in you!” “HIT IT, Queen of Archery!”

You tried to keep your composure, but the overwhelming support made your heart swell. It was… kinda nice. Embarrassing, but undeniably nice. You smiled, even let out a giggle, feeling lighter with every cheer.

Then the tournament began, and you switched into focus mode.

Arrow after arrow, target after target—you gave it your all. The wind barely mattered, the noise in the background faded, and it was just you and your bow. The final shot came down to a near tie, and with one last deep breath, you let the arrow fly—

Bullseye.

The crowd erupted. Your name—no, Graffiti Girl—was chanted over and over, people on their feet, cheering, clapping, screaming. The wave of excitement crashed over you as the realization hit—you won.

Grinning, you lifted your bow triumphantly, beaming as you took in the cheers. Stelle tackled you in a side hug, shaking you back and forth.

“YOU DID IT! WINNER WINNER GRAFFITI GIRL PAYING FOR DINNER!” she cackled. (my friends used to chant this whenever I won)

You laughed, still breathless, before suddenly remembering—

Phainon’s tournament.

“OH, FUCK—” you gasped.

Grabbing Stelle’s wrist, you sprinted toward the basketball court, dodging through the crowd, ignoring all the people still calling out congratulations. You weren’t missing his game.

The moment you burst into the gym, the match was just about to start. Phainon stood near the court, spinning a basketball effortlessly on his finger, golden eyes glinting under the lights.

He turned just in time to see you practically skid to a stop in the front row, waving your arms dramatically.

“PHAINON! KICK THEIR ASSES!” you yelled.

Stelle cupped her hands around her mouth and added, “YEAH, SHOW ‘EM WHY YOU’RE THE BEST, PUPPY BOY!”

Phainon’s smirk grew as he caught your gaze. Instead of responding, he simply lifted his hand—then mimed shooting an arrow, as if mocking your earlier win.

Your stomach flipped.

Still catching your breath from running, you huffed, crossing your arms. “Just play, show-off!”

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ The match was intense, fast-paced, and full of electrifying moments. Phainon moved like he was born for this, his fluid movements and precise shots making the game look effortless. Every time he made a basket, the crowd roared, and you and Stelle screamed the loudest.

“ PHAINON, YOU’RE A FUCKING MONSTER!” Stelle shouted, practically jumping.

You clapped your hands over your mouth as Phainon landed a perfect three-pointer, his sharp gaze flicking toward you for just a second. He was smug. He knew he was winning.

The final quarter arrived, and with only a few minutes left on the clock, Phainon’s team was ahead but not by much. The tension in the gym was thick as the opposing team tried desperately to catch up. But Phainon wasn’t having it.

With one last perfect steal and a smooth drive to the hoop, he launched into a jump, executing a flawless dunk just as the buzzer rang.

Game over. Victory.

The gym exploded with cheers. Phainon’s teammates swarmed him, patting his back, ruffling his fluffy white hair. The crowd was on its feet, chanting his name.

“PHAINON! PHAINON! PHAINON!”

You grinned, cupping your hands around your mouth. “LOOK AT YOU, MR. MVP!”

Stelle hollered, “GRAFFITI GIRL APPROVES!”

Phainon, drenched in sweat but still frustratingly attractive, turned toward you, shaking his head with an amused smirk. He made his way toward where you and Stelle stood, stopping just in front of you.

“You didn’t miss a second, huh?” he mused, his mischevious eyes glinting.

You crossed your arms, feigning nonchalance. “Had to make sure you didn’t embarrass yourself.”

His smirk deepened. “And?”

You huffed before breaking into a grin. “Not bad, Puppy Boy. Not bad at all.”

Phainon chuckled before reaching into his gym bag and pulling something out—a can of spray paint. He casually twirled it between his fingers, gaze never leaving yours.

Your heart skipped a beat.

…Wait.

What?

Stelle gasped dramatically. “OH—”

Phainon just grinned. “Funny thing about graffiti…”

The moment Phainon casually twirled the spray paint can between his fingers, the world seemed to freeze.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, as if everyone simultaneously pieced together the puzzle. People exchanged wide-eyed looks, pointing between Phainon, the can, and you—Graffiti Girl.

Even Stelle’s jaw dropped. “OH SWEET MOTHER OF TRASHCANS.”

Your brain short-circuited. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish as you stared at Phainon, completely speechless.

“…Wait. You—?”

Phainon, still frustratingly smug, simply lifted the can and gave it a little shake. The soft rattle of the ball inside felt deafening. Then, with the most innocent, playful grin, he looked you dead in the eyes and went:

“:3”

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

The crowd erupted. People were screaming, cheering, some laughing in pure disbelief. “PHANION WAS THE ARTIST?!” “OH MY GOD, HE WAS DOWN BAD THIS WHOLE TIME!” “GRAFFITI GIRL AND PUPPY BOY SUPREMACY!”

Your brain couldn’t keep up.

“You—you—you did all of that?” you stammered, eyes darting between him and the can. “The murals? The portraits? The ‘GOOD LUCK GRAFFITI GIRL’ everywhere?”

Phainon just shrugged. “Seemed like a fun way to support my favorite archer.”

Your entire soul left your body.

Stelle absolutely lost it. “OH AEONS, HE’S DOWN HORRENDOUS!” She grabbed your shoulders, shaking you like a ragdoll. “GIRL, DO YOU REALIZE WHAT THIS MEANS?! HE’S BEEN SIMPING PUBLICLY!”

The crowd agreed. Loudly.

“GRAFFITI GIRL X PUPPY BOY! GRAFFITI GIRL X PUPPY BOY!” The chant started slow but quickly picked up speed.

Your face burned hotter than the sun. “OH MY GOD, SHUT UP—”

Phainon just leaned in slightly, voice low enough for only you to hear, his cerulean eyes glowing with amusement. “So… do I get an autograph, Graffiti Girl?”

You wanted to throw yourself into the sun.

Instead, you grabbed the front of his jersey, yanked him down, and kissed his cheek.

The crowd went feral. Screams, camera flashes, Stelle wheezing in the background.

You leaned back with a smug smile, still holding onto his jersey. “I think this is better than an autograph.”

Phainon.exe stopped functioning.

For a second, he just stood there, blinking, before his entire face broke into the biggest, most lovesick grin imaginable. He looked like a golden retriever who just got told he was the best boy in the whole world.

Then, with absolutely zero hesitation, he picked you up, arms wrapped tight around your waist as he spun you around like some kind of rom-com protagonist.

“OH MY GOD, PHANION, PUT ME DOWN!”

“NEVER! YOU’RE MINE NOW, THE ARTIST HAS FINALLY GOT HIS MUSE!”

day 791683639 of wrting abt things which will never happen to me

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devdozes · 2 days ago

Note

I loved the haunted train fic!!! I was wondering if you could somehow do one where they go to explore haunted house, but like the three of them — with mydei. It would be so funny seeing them there trying to escape

YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND FELLOW MONARCH :3

The moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the old mansion at the end of the road. Its stone walls were covered with ivy, the windows dark and cracked like hollow eyes watching the night. The faint sound of wind moaning through the trees added to the unsettling atmosphere.

You, Phainon, and Mydei stood in front of the house, staring up at it.

"Well, this is definitely not what I expected," you muttered, glancing at Phainon, who was bouncing on his feet like an excited child.

"Come on! It’s a haunted house! It’ll be fun!" Phainon grinned, his cerulean blue eyes sparkling. "We can mess with the ghosts, scare them off, or, you know, become best friends with them." He winked at you as though that was the most logical thing in the world.

You snorted. "Yeah, because that's totally how haunted houses work." You glanced at Mydei, who stood a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, looking like he was seriously reconsidering this whole idea.

"Let’s just get this over with," Mydei grumbled, his voice deep and steady. His ash blonde hair with the red tips caught the moonlight as he looked up at the house, the golden sharpness of his eyes cutting through the darkness. Even though he was always grumpy and reserved, there was a protective air about him—especially when it came to the two of you.

Phainon, always the troublemaker, didn’t seem to notice Mydei’s evident lack of enthusiasm. "Don’t be such a downer, Mydei! We're here for adventure!" He nudged Mydei with his elbow, and the grumpy man flinched.

Mydei shot him a sharp glare. "I’m not a damn child, Phainon. You’re the one acting like a hyped-up puppy," he snapped, stepping forward, his broad shoulders tensing as he adjusted his grip on the flashlight.

Phainon smirked, unfazed by Mydei’s usual grumpy demeanor. "Oh, I’ll act however I damn well please," he replied, sticking out his tongue. "Besides, you don’t get to act all cool when we’re about to step into a haunted mansion. You’re just as scared as me!" He shot Mydei a teasing grin.

"I’m not scared," Mydei growled, his voice low. "I just don’t like wasting my time."

"Yeah, sure. That’s why you’re about to faint from fear," Phainon teased, poking him in the ribs. "And I bet I’ll get more ghost friends than you. I’m just way more approachable."

Mydei shot Phainon a deadpan look. "You think that thing will like you more? It’d eat you first, just to shut you up."

Phainon laughed. "I’m irresistible, though! Maybe I’ll make it fall in love with me!"

You had to laugh, shaking your head. "You two are ridiculous."

Phainon stuck out his tongue and skipped ahead, completely ignoring Mydei, who stood in place for a moment, shaking his head as he muttered something under his breath.

"I can’t believe I’m stuck with these two..." Mydei grumbled to himself. He let out an exaggerated sigh before following you and Phainon toward the door.

The entrance creaked ominously as you pushed it open. Dust and cobwebs lined the corners of the hallway as the smell of mildew filled the air.

Phainon, ever the optimist, clapped his hands together. "This is gonna be so good! Look at how spooky this is!"

Mydei raised an eyebrow at Phainon. "I can’t tell if you’re genuinely excited or just trying to annoy me."

Phainon grinned, his eyes dancing. "Why not both?"

"Because you’re insufferable," Mydei muttered, his hand on the hilt of the sword he had brought along just in case things got... interesting.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips. These two, with their chaotic energy, had a way of making even the most terrifying situations feel like a joke. Though, deep down, you knew they had each other's backs. Even if they argued constantly, there was an unspoken bond between them.

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed through the house, causing you to flinch. You turned to Phainon, who had accidentally knocked a pile of dusty books off a table.

"Phainon!" Mydei hissed, eyes narrowing. "You almost gave me a damn heart attack!"

"What?! It wasn’t my fault! The books just wanted to fall!" Phainon defended himself, grinning like an idiot.

Mydei crossed his arms, his posture rigid. "You’re not even funny. I swear, every time you open your mouth, I lose ten years off my life."

"Yeah, well, at least I make this fun," Phainon shot back, sticking out his tongue. "You just stand there looking like a big, scary statue."

You shook your head at the bickering, but it was hard to suppress your smile. Despite their constant arguing, you loved how much they cared for each other.

Suddenly, there was another noise from deeper inside the house—a creaking sound, followed by a soft whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. Your hand instinctively reached for Phainon’s sleeve, and you didn’t miss the way Mydei’s eyes flicked to you, though his expression remained impassive.

"What was that?" you whispered, heart pounding.

"Probably just the house settling," Mydei replied, though his voice was quieter now, more cautious. "Let’s keep moving. We don’t want to get stuck in here."

Phainon bounced on his heels, a mischievous grin on his face. "I’m just waiting for the ghosts to come out and freak you both out. They’ll run scared when they see my beautiful face."

"That’s the last thing they’ll do," Mydei muttered under his breath.

"Ha! You’re just jealous," Phainon shot back, raising an eyebrow at Mydei. "You wish you were as charming as me."

Mydei just growled in response.

The three of you ventured deeper into the mansion, navigating the winding halls and dodging more falling bookshelves. The walls were covered in eerie portraits with eyes that seemed to follow you. At one point, Phainon had to stifle a laugh as one of the portraits fell off the wall and crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces.

"Whoops!" Phainon exclaimed. "Guess the ghosts don’t like art."

"You’re impossible," Mydei groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Before you could respond, a chill swept through the room, and the lights flickered, casting long shadows across the walls.

"Okay... that was definitely not the wind," Phainon muttered, suddenly serious.

"Yeah," you said quietly, your heart thumping in your chest. "I think we should go."

But just as you turned to leave, the door at the end of the hallway slammed shut, trapping you inside.

Phainon’s grin was back in an instant. "See? I told you, I’m irresistible."

Mydei didn’t even look amused anymore. "You better get us out of here before I strangle you."

The door slammed shut with a deafening thud, the sound echoing down the hall. You froze, your pulse quickening, and Phainon let out a laugh that was a little too forced.

"Well, this is fine. Totally fine," Phainon said, his voice faltering just slightly. His usual grin was now replaced with a nervous smile, but his eyes still sparkled with that mischievous glint. "I’m sure it’s just, you know, some natural phenomena causing the door to lock by itself."

"Phainon," Mydei’s voice was low and dangerous, a tone you had only heard when he was truly upset, his fingers flexing as if itching for something to punch. "I swear to the gods, if this is your doing—"

"Oh no, no, no!" Phainon interrupted quickly, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "I swear it wasn't me!" He gave a half-hearted laugh but quickly stopped as he looked around, his eyes scanning the room as if expecting something to jump out at him at any moment.

Mydei exhaled, clearly not impressed. "Let's just find a way out before this place decides it wants to trap us inside."

You didn’t have to say anything. Mydei’s words were enough to make you move faster, even though the darkness seemed to stretch on forever, pressing in around you. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. The last thing you needed was to panic right now.

You approached the door and turned the handle, but it was no use. The door was locked from the other side. Something was holding it shut. The temperature in the room dropped again, and this time, it wasn’t from the wind. You felt it—a cold, creeping sensation that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

"Alright, this is getting real now," Phainon whispered, his voice uncharacteristically tense. He had wandered off a little, his fingers lightly grazing the walls of the hallway. "So, let’s figure out what’s going on here before we become ghost food, yeah?"

But it was Mydei who stepped forward, his large frame blocking your view of the door. His golden eyes were narrowed, scanning the surroundings with that quiet intensity he always had.

"Stay close," he ordered, his voice more serious than you had ever heard it. "Don’t stray."

You and Phainon exchanged a quick glance. The playful energy from earlier had evaporated, replaced by something else—something unspoken. Despite Mydei’s grumpy exterior, his protective instincts were always there when it counted. He wasn’t just trying to act tough for the sake of it. He was looking out for you both.

Phainon nodded, now a little more subdued, and followed behind you, staying close to Mydei.

As you ventured further down the hallway, you noticed the walls seemed to pulse with an unnatural rhythm, the shadows in the corners almost alive. The flickering lights overhead didn’t help the situation. Every time the light went out, your heartbeat sped up, your fingers twitching in anticipation of something horrific. But when the lights flickered back on, the hallway was exactly as it had been before.

"Okay, I’m officially creeped out," Phainon whispered. "This place is messed up. And I don’t mean the good kind of messed up, either."

"I know," you muttered, barely above a whisper. "This doesn’t feel right."

Mydei’s eyes flicked from side to side. "The air feels heavier the further we go. Stay alert."

Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hall, and you all froze.

It was slow, deliberate. Footsteps that weren’t yours. They came closer, echoing off the walls like a reminder that you weren’t alone.

You clenched your fists, trying not to let your nerves show. "This isn’t funny anymore," you whispered, but Phainon, ever the optimist, was already spinning on his heel to face the noise. His usual grin returned.

"Oh, come on! It’s just a ghost trying to scare us. Big whoop." Phainon chuckled nervously, his voice faltering. "I bet it’s just some clumsy spirit tripping over its own ectoplasm."

But Mydei’s face had gone deathly pale. "No... That’s not it," he muttered, his eyes hardening as he reached for his weapon.

Before any of you could react, the door at the far end of the hallway slammed open, and a rush of cold air swept into the room. A shadowy figure stood in the doorway, its shape barely visible in the dim light. The faintest whisper could be heard, a haunting voice that filled the space.

"Leave... now..."

You shuddered, taking a step back as Phainon’s eyes widened. "That is not just some clumsy ghost," Phainon whispered under his breath.

Mydei pushed past you both, his muscles tensing as he slowly advanced toward the door. "Stay behind me," he ordered, his voice steady despite the growing tension in the air.

You, now fully aware of the danger surrounding you, didn’t question Mydei’s command. You stayed behind him, close to Phainon.

"Who are you?" Mydei called out into the dark doorway, his voice firm and demanding. "What do you want from us?"

There was a long pause.

Then the figure stepped forward, and the air turned even colder. You felt the icy fingers of fear crawl up your spine. The spirit was tall, its body translucent, its face hollow and shrouded in shadows. Its empty eyes locked onto you with a silent intensity.

The voice came again—soft, hollow, but unmistakable. "You shouldn’t have come here..."

You felt a chill ripple through your bones as the spirit’s hollow gaze turned toward you. Your throat tightened, and you instinctively stepped closer to Mydei.

Phainon, however, didn’t seem phased. He took a step forward and waved at the spirit. "Yo, are you the ghost that owns this creepy house? You know, it’s a little bit of a dump. Not to mention, super haunted. Pretty bad for business, don’t you think?" He gave a big grin, though there was a hint of nervousness in his voice.

The spirit’s gaze flickered to Phainon, and for a moment, it seemed as though the air itself had turned to ice.

"You—" it hissed, and its voice split into a chorus of whispers. "You disturb what is sacred."

Phainon’s grin faltered, but he stood his ground. "Yeah, yeah. I’m sure whatever you’re upset about could’ve been avoided if you had a better sense of hospitality. But we don’t mind the haunting, really. We’re used to spooks." He winked at you, trying to keep the mood light, even if it wasn’t working.

Mydei, on the other hand, stepped forward, his jaw clenched. "Enough." His voice was a commanding growl, filled with authority. "We’re leaving. You won’t stop us."

The spirit tilted its head, and with that, the walls of the hallway began to shift, the space warping like it was breathing. The temperature dropped further, and the whispers grew louder, more frantic.

"You will regret this..." The spirit's voice grew deeper, more menacing. "You will never leave..."

Mydei didn’t hesitate. With a swift motion, he turned, grabbing your arm and yanking you toward him. Phainon, following behind you, was grinning again, but it was a nervous grin this time.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let’s get out of here before it gets any more upset!" Phainon said, eyes scanning the walls as the house seemed to press in on you.

With Mydei leading the way, the three of you ran, navigating through the maze of corridors, trying to outrun the angry spirit and the curses it hurled at you.

As you and Mydei rushed through the hallway, Phainon was right on your heels, practically tripping over his own feet as his usual cheeriness turned into pure panic. "I don't like this! I really don’t like this!" he yelped, almost knocking into a lamp as he scrambled to keep up with you both. "Why do we always end up in these situations? Why are we the ones getting chased by ghosts?!"

You shot him a glance, still trying to focus on not getting actually murdered, but Phainon’s wide-eyed expression was enough to break your concentration. “Seriously, Phainon? Right now?”

“I don’t know what’s happening!” Phainon screeched, his voice a little higher than normal, making you wonder how he was still managing to hold it together in some odd, comical way. "The ghost’s pissed! And now it’s making everything all… spooky!!"

“I swear, I’m going to start screaming,” you muttered, your voice getting shaky as the air around you grew colder. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, and the whispers—oh god—the whispers were getting louder. You swore you could almost hear them saying your name.

Phainon, not helping in the slightest, suddenly screeched, "Oh my god, it’s behind us! It’s right there!!" He whipped around dramatically, his hands flailing in the air as though he could somehow ward off the spirit by sheer panic.

It wasn’t behind you. It wasn’t anywhere close.

"Mydei!" Phainon wailed, grabbing his arm dramatically. "Save meeee!"

Mydei barely even flinched, his sharp golden eyes scanning their surroundings with that ever-present air of annoyance, but underneath it, you could see him trying not to chuckle. "Phainon, stop acting like a child," he growled, not missing a beat. “The ghost's not going to catch us if you keep screaming like a little girl.”

"Oh, so we’re doing the ‘who’s the toughest’ thing now, huh?!" Phainon’s voice cracked on the last word, making the tension in the air almost unbearable. "You just wait, my frightened little heart can’t take much more! I'm not cut out for this!" He clutched his chest, looking like he was going to have a heart attack right there. "Just let me live!!"

Mydei, sighing heavily, muttered, “You’re such a pain.”

Before you could stop yourself, you let out a short, nervous laugh. "Yeah, I think we’ve all been a little too dramatic here…"

As you tried to ignore the rising sense of dread in your chest, the spirit’s eerie whispers grew louder. Phainon’s eyes widened and suddenly, without warning, he grabbed your arm and pulled you into a perfectly timed scream of sheer terror as the shadows seemed to swirl around you.

“IT’S COMING FOR US!!!”

“Phainon, stop!” you hissed, tugging your arm away as he clung to you like a frightened koala, causing you to stumble forward.

“Oh no!” Phainon gasped, looking around wildly. “The ghost is too strong for us!!”

“No, Phainon!” you groaned, holding back another burst of laughter. “The ghost isn’t real, it’s just some shadowy figure trying to scare us!”

"Trying to scare us?! It's succeeding!" he practically screamed, his voice cracking in a most undignified way. He was full on panicking now, his hands scrambling for anything to grab onto. “It’s getting closer! Do you feel that?! The temperature is dropping!”

“I think the temperature’s been dropping since we got in here,” Mydei said with a bored expression, walking ahead, clearly done with Phainon’s theatrics.

“Stop being so calm!” Phainon wailed, "How can you be calm in this haunted house?!" His hand shot out, grabbing a nearby table for dear life. “My life is flashing before my eyes!!”

“Dramatic much?” you said, trying not to laugh at his antics. "Calm down, I don’t think it’s—"

Suddenly, the lights went out.

The three of you froze in place, the only sound the soft thrum of your own heartbeat.

And then… the whispering returned. Louder. Closer.

“Oh, hell no,” Phainon squeaked, his voice going up an octave higher. "I knew it! I knew it was going to—"

“Phainon, for the love of god, stop screaming,” Mydei growled, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice now, his arms crossed. "You’re more of a nuisance than the actual ghost."

“Oh, shut up,” Phainon whined, now clinging to your side like a human shield. "We’re all going to die here. I just know it!"

“Mydei, is it actually behind us now?” you whispered, feeling a chill creep down your spine as you glanced over your shoulder.

“No,” Mydei answered nonchalantly, “But it’s definitely getting closer.”

You turned back around to see Phainon’s face, which had somehow turned a shade paler than usual.

The whispers grew louder again. And then—

A chair suddenly flipped over behind you with a loud crash, causing all three of you to freeze. Phainon was the first to scream, and this time, his scream was not a small, panicked shout—it was a full-on, high-pitched scream that could rival the most frightened cat.

“WAAAAH!” Phainon shrieked, literally jumping behind you and clinging to Mydei’s back like some kind of terrified parasite.

"Mydei!!" you shouted, barely able to contain your own laughter as you backed up. "Do something! Phainon’s gonna cause a scene."

“I am the scene!” Phainon continued, barely making any sense as he clung to Mydei like he was some kind of lifeline. "I’ll scream all the way to the afterlife if I have to, but I am NOT dealing with this haunted disaster!"

“Will you shut up?” Mydei grumbled, clearly losing his patience.

But it was too late.

A shadow suddenly shot out from the corner, and in one fluid motion, a cold hand clasped around your wrist, making you yelp and pull away.

"Okay, okay!! I’m out! I’m OUT!" Phainon screamed at the top of his lungs, finally snapping into full-on survival mode, and pulling you both toward the door. “THIS WAS A MISTAKE! I’M NEVER GOING INTO A HAUNTED HOUSE AGAIN!!”

With Phainon dragging you by the arm, Mydei let out a sharp huff, but even he couldn’t hide the small smirk forming at the corners of his lips as he followed along.

“Let’s just go before he burns down the whole damn house,” Mydei muttered under his breath.

And somehow, you all managed to escape… barely.

SORRY ITS SHORT IM WORKING ON AN UNBIELVABLY LONG PHAINON FIC RN!! IF YOU ALL WANT TO BE TAGGED IN THE FIC, PLEASE DM ABT AND UH COMMENT, ILL TAG YOU ALL :3

84 notes · View notes

devdozes · 2 days ago

Text

Whats the worse that could happen? :3

two best friends,, stuck in a creepy train :0 (i need to make these two sillies playing mimic too istg I love mimic rblx)

The train doors shut behind you and Phainon with an ominous clunk.

“Okay, cool. Super normal,” you muttered, shifting your weight from foot to foot. The empty train car stretched out ahead, eerily quiet. Not a single other passenger. Just you, Phainon, and the dim, flickering lights overhead.

Phainon exhaled sharply, rubbing his arms. “Right. No big deal. We’re just stuck in a suspiciously abandoned train in the middle of nowhere.” He turned to you with a forced grin. “Totally not a horror movie setup.”

“Not at all,” you agreed, glancing at the dark windows. The city lights should’ve been visible. Instead, there was nothing but pitch-black void.

The train lurched forward suddenly, making both of you stumble. Phainon yelped and grabbed your arm. “WHY did it move? WHO’S driving this thing?!”

You didn’t have an answer. The doors didn’t budge when you tried them, and there was no sound of an engine. Just the unsettling hum of flickering electricity. Your heart pounded as you looked down the train car again.

A shadow moved.

“Okay, that was definitely something,” you whispered, gripping Phainon’s sleeve.

He inhaled sharply. “Nope. Nope. I am NOT built for ghost encounters.”

The shadowy figure stood at the far end of the car, featureless, its presence unnatural. The lights flickered violently as it inched forward.

“Plan?” Phainon whispered.

“Uh… I don’t know. Be brave?”

Phainon gripped your hand. “We are cowards at heart. Don’t lie to me.”

The shadow jerked forward suddenly, and you both screamed, running to the opposite end of the train. The doors were still locked. You banged on them while Phainon frantically pressed random buttons.

“HELLO, CONDUCTOR? CUSTOMER SERVICE? EXORCIST?? ANYONE?!” Phainon shouted.

The shadow was closer now, towering, its darkness spreading like ink. The lights flickered wildly, casting strange, warped shapes along the walls.

“I SWEAR IF THIS IS SOME PARANORMAL ACTIVITY PRANK, I’M SUING!” you screeched.

Then, the lights went out.

Silence.

You clung to Phainon, barely able to breathe. He clung back just as tightly.

“…If we die, I just want you to know, I—”

The lights flickered back on.

The shadow was gone.

“…was the one who ate your last pizza slice,” Phainon finished shakily.

You blinked. “Phainon.”

“What?”

“We just almost DIED and that’s what you were gonna confess?!”

He shrugged weakly. “If I was gonna go out, I wanted to leave this world honest.”

The train remained silent, unmoving. The horror of moments ago left an eerie, uncertain calm in its wake. You and Phainon exchanged nervous glances.

“…We’re still stuck, aren’t we?” you muttered.

“Yup.”

“…And the creepy shadow thing could come back at any time?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

You sighed. “Great. Love that for us.”

“…So should we, uh, play I Spy to distract ourselves or—”

A distant thud echoed through the train.

Phainon clung to you instantly. “I SPY WITH MY LITTLE EYE—TERROR.”

You groaned. “We’re so doomed.” "Better than doomed yuri" "SINCE WHEN DO YOU READ DOOMED YURI OR YAOI?"

Your stupid bickering with Phainon was interrupted by another sound,—footsteps.

Not just one set. Multiple. Slow, dragging steps echoing through the empty train car.

Phainon’s grip on you tightened. “NOPE. NOPE. THAT’S A HARD NO FROM ME.”

You swallowed hard, barely able to turn your head toward the source. The flickering lights made the figures ahead shift and blur, as if they weren’t fully solid. More shadows. More of them.

The intercom crackled suddenly, making you jump. A distorted voice, garbled and almost robotic, whispered:

“Next stop… nowhere.”

The lights flickered out again, and this time, they didn’t come back on.

“…I take back everything. I DO want an exorcist,” Phainon whispered.

You grabbed his hand tighter. “Screw that, I want a miracle.”

A sharp, ear-piercing ding rang through the train, followed by the sensation of the car tilting slightly—like something, some things, had climbed aboard.

Shuffling noises. Ragged breathing. A whisper so close to your ear that you swore something was right behind you.

“Run,” Phainon breathed.

Without hesitation, you both bolted into the next car, barely making it through before the door slammed shut behind you. You panted, pressing your back against the cold metal wall.

“Okay. So, options?” Phainon huffed.

“Uh… keep running and scream louder?”

“Solid plan, ten out of ten.”

The lights flickered in the new car, revealing long, claw-like marks on the seats, deep scratches in the walls. It smelled like rust, like something metallic and old.

“…We are not alone,” Phainon whispered, barely audible.

You turned, your stomach sinking.

At the far end of the car, there was something slumped over in a seat.

A passenger.

Or at least, it used to be.

It moved. Twitching. Its head jerked slightly, as though noticing you for the first time.

The flickering lights gave you only glimpses—empty eyes, skin too tight over its skull, a smile far too wide to be human.

Phainon whimpered. “Nope. Nope. NOPE.”

The thing stood up.

It took one slow step toward you, then another. The car groaned under its weight, the very air thickening with something wrong.

Your pulse hammered as you grabbed Phainon’s hand. “We are going to run now.”

“Yes. Yes, we are.”

You both bolted again, pushing through another door, then another. The train stretched impossibly long, the windows still showing nothing but void.

The sound of footsteps behind you grew louder.

Then—

The train intercom crackled again, but this time, the voice was different.

Clearer.

“Keep going. Don’t look back.”

Your breath hitched. The voice was unfamiliar, but something in it felt… human.

You and Phainon exchanged looks, silent understanding passing between you.

Whoever—or whatever—was speaking, you had no choice but to listen.

You kept running, even as the shadows twisted behind you. Even as the train seemed to stretch on forever. Even as your lungs burned.

Because the alternative was stopping.

And stopping meant death.

The train rumbled beneath your feet, shifting slightly. Your grip on Phainon tightened as you forced yourself to keep running. The air around you felt suffocating—thick, heavy, like something unseen was pressing down on your shoulders.

Then—

The lights cut out completely.

The train jerked forward.

And a hand landed on your shoulder.

You didn't think—you reacted.

With sheer, primal instinct, you whirled around and threw a punch behind you, aiming right where the hand had been. Your fist connected with something solid. A choked yelp echoed through the darkness, followed by a dramatic thud as something—or someone—hit the floor.

The lights flickered back on.

Phainon lay sprawled on the ground, clutching his stomach, his expression caught between pain and absolute betrayal.

"WHY," he gasped, "DO YOU HAVE THE REACTION TIME OF A SEASONED BOXER?!"

Your breath hitched as realization dawned. "Oh my god, Phainon!"

You immediately crouched down, gripping his shoulders. He looked up at you with watery, exaggeratedly hurt eyes. "You punched me."

"In my defense, I thought you were a demonic entity trying to consume my soul!"

Phainon whined dramatically, curling in on himself. "That doesn't make me feel better!"

You groaned. "Okay, okay, my bad. Are you—"

The intercom crackled again.

“Next stop… nowhere.”

Both of you froze.

Slowly, your heads turned in sync toward the front of the train.

The door at the end of the car—locked just moments ago—was now slightly ajar. Beyond it, the next car was bathed in dim, flickering red emergency lights. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, as if something other was lurking just beyond your sight.

Phainon gripped your wrist. “I don’t want to go in there.”

“Me neither.”

“Let’s go in there.”

You both inched forward, step by hesitant step, despite every single fiber of common sense screaming at you to turn the hell around and wait for rescue.

As you crossed into the next car, the air grew colder. A strange static filled your ears, like a radio barely tuned to a station. The seats here were in even worse condition—ripped fabric, deep claw marks, and something wet staining the floor.

Then, the worst part—

A single, withered passenger sat slumped in one of the seats.

At first, you thought it was a corpse.

But then—its head snapped toward you.

Phainon made a noise so high-pitched it could’ve shattered glass.

You grabbed his arm, yanking him forward as the figure lurched to its feet, joints cracking grotesquely. Its limbs moved stiffly, like a marionette being pulled by invisible strings.

And then it grinned.

Far too wide.

Far too wrong.

The lights flickered.

When they came back on, it was closer.

“RUN,” you screamed.

Phainon didn’t need to be told twice. You both sprinted, crashing through the next door, then the next. The train felt endless, an infinite loop of terror.

Then—

A different voice crackled through the intercom.

Familiar.

Warm.

Phainon’s voice.

“Hey there, gorgeous. You still with me?”

Your heart skipped. The voice was clear, not distorted. Not like the others. You turned to Phainon beside you.

His eyes widened. “I—I didn’t say that.”

The intercom chuckled.

Then, your own voice echoed through the speakers:

“You really think you can get out of here?.”

You froze.

Phainon froze.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the two of you turned to stare at the nearest speaker.

The train was playing back your voices.

And then, in a low, distorted version of Phainon’s voice—

“…Do you really think you can escape?”

The lights exploded.

Darkness swallowed everything.

And then—

The creature smiled at you

The withered creature took one slow step toward you, then another. The car groaned under its weight, the very air thickening with something wrong.

Your pulse hammered as you grabbed Phainon’s hand. “We are going to run now.”

“Yes. Yes, we are.”

You both bolted again, but this time, you started grabbing anything you could—loose metal poles, discarded newspapers, even an abandoned shoe—and hurled them behind you.

The creature let out a guttural growl as something smacked it in the face. "STOP THROWING THINGS AT ME AND LET ME FUCKING DEVOUR YOU!"

“NO THANK YOU!” Phainon shouted, chucking a seat cushion at it.

“TRY A DIFFERENT DIET!” you added, launching an entire fire extinguisher.

The thing hissed in frustration, dodging objects as you and Phainon kept running, making it increasingly difficult for it to catch up. You had no idea where the train would take you, but one thing was certain—you weren’t going down without a fight.

You were already scrambling toward the other end of the train, looking for anything else to weaponize. You picked up a discarded shoe and yeeted it at the spirit. "YEAH, TRY A DIFFERENT TRAIN, BITCH! THIS ONE’S OCCUPIED!"

The spirit flickered wildly, hands clawing at the air in frustration. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD IT IS TO HAUNT THIS TRAIN? I SPEND HOURS BUILDING UP ATMOSPHERE, AND YOU TWO ARE JUST THROWING CRAP AT ME LIKE I’M A STRAY CAT!"

Phainon was hunched over, gasping between laughs and adrenaline, while You simply wiped away tears of panic-laughter. "WELL MAYBE IF YOU HAUNTED WITH BETTER CUSTOMER SERVICE, WE’D CONSIDER GETTING DEVOURED!"

The spirit shrieked, full-body glitching, before taking a deep, dramatic breath. "Okay. You know what? Fine. I’ll give you a five-second head start. Then I’m chasing you, and when I catch you, you’re SCREWED."

Phainon grabbed Your wrist. "WE GOTTA GO."

The lights flickered violently as the spirit began counting down. "Five... four..."

"SCATTER!" You yelled, diving behind a row of seats as Phainon nearly tripped over his own feet, sprinting toward the opposite end of the car.

The spirit cackled. "TWO... ONE! READY OR NOT—"

And then, with a horrible jolt, the train LURCHED forward, throwing all three of them off balance. The spirit let out a confused, "WHAT THE FUC—?!" as it tumbled forward, smacking into the wall. You and Phainon crashed into opposite seats, groaning.

"Did… did the train just MOVE?" Phainon wheezed, gripping his stomach.

You were well terrified, still upside-down in a seat, nodded. "Oh yeah. We’re so screwed."

The spirit groaned from the floor, twitching. "You IDIOTS threw so much at me that I ACCIDENTALLY POSSESSED THE TRAIN INSTEAD."

A heavy silence fell over them.

"...Can we throw more stuff at you to reverse it?" You asked, deadpan.

The spirit let out a soul-piercing screech.

The train sped up.

The train screeched as it sped up, the lights flickering erratically. The air turned thick, suffocating, as if the train itself was breathing—alive and watching. The metal walls groaned, stretching unnaturally, and the floor beneath your feet shuddered as if something massive was crawling underneath.

Phainon swallowed hard, pressing himself against a seat. "This isn’t funny anymore."

Your fingers curled into fists, trying to steady your breathing. "It was never funny."

The spirit, now a swirling mass of darkness, twisted unnaturally in the center of the train car. Its form convulsed, faces stretching and melting within the shadows—expressions of agony, rage, hunger. "You… cannot escape," it whispered, voice layered with a chorus of the damned. "You are within me now."

The windows showed nothing but void—pitch black, a consuming abyss outside the speeding train. The outside world was gone. The train was no longer just a train; it was something else entirely. Something wrong.

Phainon turned to you, voice low and tense. "We need to do something before this thing turns us into whatever the hell those other faces are."

The overhead lights suddenly went out. The darkness swallowed you whole.

A sharp, wet sound echoed in the void—something dragging, something breathing too close.

Then a whisper, directly in your ear. "I see you."

You lunged forward on instinct, desperate to move, but something yanked your ankle—cold, bony fingers wrapping tight, pulling you into the dark. You gasped, thrashing. "Phainon—!"

A blinding spark of light suddenly erupted—Phainon, wielding a phone flashlight with shaking hands. The dim glow cut through the abyss, revealing the grotesque, stretching limbs of the spirit reaching for you. Its eyes—hundreds of them—glowed an eerie white as it recoiled from the light, hissing violently.

"Get off of them!" Phainon kicked at the skeletal fingers, and they retracted with an inhuman screech, leaving you gasping as you scrambled away.

The train screeched, the walls pulsating as if enraged. The windows cracked. The air turned ice cold.

And then the whisper came again.

"The lights won’t last forever."

Then… the flashlight flickered. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The dim glow of Phainon’s flashlight sputtered, barely keeping the darkness at bay. The spirit loomed, its skeletal fingers twitching, inches away from your leg as it hissed in frustration. You sucked in a breath, adrenaline surging through you.

And then, without thinking, you swung your foot forward—hard. Your boot connected with the bony fingers, sending a sharp crack through the air. The spirit recoiled, screeching in rage.

Phainon’s eyes widened. “You just—”

But you weren’t done.

In a last-ditch effort, you lurched forward and bit down—hard—on the spirit’s skeletal hand.

A horrible, distorted scream echoed through the train car.

“WHY THE FUCK DID YOU BITE ME?!” the spirit shrieked, jerking back like it had been personally offended. It cradled its mangled fingers, wisps of darkness curling from the wound.

You spit to the side, gagging. “You taste like burnt dust and disappointment.”

Phainon wheezed, half laughing, half horrified. “Holy shit, are you insane?”

The spirit, still clutching its fingers, hissed furiously. "You—stupid—insignificant—mortals—!"

The train shuddered violently, sending both you and Phainon stumbling against the seats. The windows cracked further, hairline fractures stretching like spiderwebs. The overhead lights flickered madly, casting the spirit’s shifting form in unsettling bursts of clarity. It was writhing, its shadowy body stretching and convulsing as if struggling to keep its shape.

You wiped your mouth, glaring. “Listen, I don’t care what kind of cursed, horror-movie-ass entity you are, but I am NOT getting dragged into the void today.”

Phainon grabbed your wrist. “And we’re running again. Now.”

The moment he pulled you, the spirit let out an unholy screech and lunged. The doors at the far end of the train slammed shut, trapping you in. Its many glowing eyes fixed on you both, the rage palpable.

“NOWHERE TO RUN.”

And then—the last light flickered out, plunging everything into black.

For a moment, there was only silence.

And then—

The train jolted violently, sending both of you crashing into the seats. A deafening metallic groan tore through the air, and then… stillness.

The train had stopped moving.

You gasped, your heart hammering. "Did we just—?"

Phainon didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you up. "No way in hell we’re waiting to find out."

The air was eerily silent, no longer filled with the spirit’s screeches or the train’s unnatural groans. The flickering light from the emergency signs barely illuminated the space, but through the cracked windows, something new came into view—a platform.

A station.

You both turned to the doors, staring in disbelief. "We actually stopped somewhere," you muttered. "We can get out."

Phainon hesitated for only a second before grabbing the nearest object—a fire extinguisher mounted on the wall. He ripped it free with surprising force and, without a second thought, hurled it at the train door’s glass.

CRASH.

The glass shattered. The station outside was bathed in dim, flickering fluorescent lights. The eerie silence of an abandoned place stretched beyond the open doors.

"Go, go, go!" Phainon pushed you forward, practically shoving you through the broken door.

The moment your feet hit the platform, you took a sharp breath. It was cold. Too cold for an enclosed station. The air smelled stagnant, as if no one had stepped foot here for years.

Phainon landed beside you, panting. "Alright, we’re out. Now what?"

A sudden, slow creak echoed from the train behind you.

Both of you turned just in time to see the spirit still inside—its twisted, shadowy form shifting, barely held back by the threshold of the broken door. Its many eyes narrowed at you, seething with frustration.

"You cannot leave," it whispered.

And then—

The train doors SLAMMED shut.

The entire train shuddered once before its lights flickered off completely, its massive form now nothing but a black void on the tracks. Then, without warning, it started moving again—pulling itself into the darkness of the tunnel ahead, disappearing completely.

Silence.

The station remained still, untouched. It was as if the train had never been there at all.

You turned to Phainon, your breathing still unsteady. "Did that just—"

Phainon nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, it did."

Both of you stood there, staring at the empty tracks.

You glanced around, breath catching in your throat.

The advertisements. The tiled floor. The station name displayed on the screens—

This was your home station.

Phainon caught on at the same time. He stumbled to a stop beside you, panting. “Wait. This is—”

“The place where we got on the train,” you murmured in disbelief.

Your heads snapped back toward the tracks.

The train was still there.

And through the shattered doorway, the spirit stood frozen, watching you. Its hollow gaze burned with something unreadable—rage? Amusement? A curse unspoken?

Then—without a sound—the train doors sealed shut. The station lights flickered wildly. The overhead speakers crackled with distorted static.

And before your very eyes—

The train faded away.

Vanishing into nothing.

Silence fell over the station.

Neither of you moved.

You slowly turned to Phainon. “…I don’t even know how to process that.”

He sucked in a deep breath, hands on his knees. “Same. I’m gonna need, like, a week to recover from whatever the hell just happened.”

“…Let’s just go home.”

“Best idea you’ve ever had.”

And with that, you both stumbled toward the station exit, still shaking, still processing, but alive.

The night air was cool against your skin as you and Phainon walked through the quiet streets, the weight of everything that had just happened still pressing on your chests. The eerie train ride, the spirit, the frantic escape—every detail still lingered in your mind like a bad dream that hadn't fully faded yet. But the familiar sights of your neighborhood grounded you, reminding you that you were really back. That you were safe.

Phainon was unusually quiet beside you, shoving his hands into his pockets, his head tilted downward. He was still catching his breath, still processing.

Then, under the glow of a streetlamp, you finally got a good look at him.

His lip—

Bruised. Swollen. Slightly split.

And it hit you why.

You had punched him.

You had done that.

Your eyes widened. Without even thinking, you grabbed his face, cupping it in your hands.

Phainon blinked. “H-Hey—?”

You tilted his face side to side, inspecting the damage with a deep frown. His skin was slightly flushed from the adrenaline, his eyes wide with surprise at your sudden closeness.

“…Shit,” you muttered, thumb hovering near his chin. “I actually decked you, huh?”

Phainon let out a choked laugh, his voice slightly strained. “Y-Yeah. You’ve got a mean right hook.”

You winced, guilt creeping in. “Sorry, I thought you were, y’know, a ghost about to kill me.”

“Nah, understandable. But damn, you fight like you meant that punch.”

Your lips twitched, but you still frowned, tilting his face a bit more. His bottom lip looked painful, and you could already see the bruise forming.

“…You need ice,” you mumbled, still holding his face.

“I need therapy,” Phainon deadpanned.

That made you snort. “Yeah, that too.”

Phainon gave you a lopsided grin despite the pain, but there was something in his eyes—something flickering and soft.

Neither of you moved.

You were still cupping his face. Still close.

The weight of the night still lingered between you, the echoes of terror and chaos slowly settling into something else. Something quieter. Something warmer.

You felt your heartbeat pick up.

“…I should probably let you go,” you muttered.

Phainon’s lips parted slightly, eyes still locked onto yours.

“…Yeah,” he said softly.

Neither of you moved. And then— Phainon swallowed hard, his voice dropping.

"You know…" he started, eyes locked on yours, serious for once. "I genuinely thought we were going to die there."

Your breath hitched.

He let out a shaky exhale, a small, nervous laugh escaping him. Then, barely above a whisper—

"And I thought I was gonna die without telling you how much I liked you."

The words hit you like a train of their own.

Your fingers tightened on his face. Phainon barely had time to react before you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his bruised lip.

It was soft. Barely there. But the second you pulled away, his entire face exploded into a bright red, his eyes wide, lips parted in sheer disbelief. "You—" His voice cracked. "You just—what—"

Phainon let out a wrecked noise. Hands immediately flying to cover his burning face.

"Oh my god."

You laughed. Loud, relieved, warm.

But Phainon? He wasn't letting go.

The second the shock wore off, he clung to you—arms wrapped tight around you, face buried into your neck, refusing to let go.

"I'm never taking the train again," he mumbled, voice muffled. "I'm walking everywhere. I’ll ride a damn bike. I’m moving to the mountains. No trains there."

You huffed a laugh, but his grip only tightened.

"Also, you’re never leaving my side again," he continued, clutching you like a lifeline. "Nope. I’ve decided. We’re a package deal now."

You raised a brow. "Oh?"

He pulled back just enough to pout at you, still hugging you like a koala. "Yes. Do you know how scared I was? Do you? I thought you were gonna get eaten or—I was gonna get eaten—"

"You literally threw a fire extinguisher at it."

"And I’d do it again! For you!"

You bit back a grin. "Oh, so now you’re brave?"

"I was always brave," he huffed. "I just—function better when you’re around."

That was… a lot to admit.

You blinked, heart stuttering, but before you could say anything, Phainon suddenly pulled back just enough to look at you properly.

Then, determined, still puppy-clingy, he cupped your face this time.

"Can I kiss you again?"

Oh.

Your breath caught.

He looked at you like you were his only solid ground after everything—wide-eyed, a little desperate, entirely smitten.

And how could you say no to that?

"Yeah," you murmured, barely above a whisper. "You can."

The second the words left your lips, Phainon did not hesitate.

He kissed you.

Not just a quick, hesitant peck this time—a real kiss. Warm, lingering, a little shaky but full of everything he was trying to say.

Like holy shit, I thought I lost you.

Like holy shit, I don’t ever want to lose you.

His arms tightened around you again, as if making sure you were real, that this was real, that you hadn’t been swallowed whole by the dark after all.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, Phainon let out a small, giddy laugh, still clinging.

"Okay," he said, "maybe almost dying wasn’t all bad."

You snorted. "Don’t get used to it."

He grinned, still holding you close. "Can’t help it. You’re kinda my favorite person now."

THE SILLIES AUBFRJNFEK!! REQUESTS ARE OPEEN AND LIKES, COMMETNS, REBLOGS ARE APPREICATED!! LOVE YOU ALL :DD

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