( He'd already gotten in enough trouble for fighting during orientation; attempting to get back to his duty rather than shoulder a new and different one. The black tide does not wait for his return, it will see that Strife is gone and make its way unimpeded, and then everything Mydeimos has ever fought for, everything he has sought to protect and defend with his choice, will be for nothing. What god is he, if he cannot even summon the strength of his divinity to return? He has failed the one thing he was meant to have done, the one thing he has shaped himself into for the sake of all.

And it eats at him, crawls under his skin to make his irritation simmer. It is, Mydei belatedly realizes, unfair to unleash it upon the one man who will weather it without complaint. Phainon will shoulder all of the world's burdens even now, before he has claimed the coreflame of Kephale, and not say a word of complaint. Idiot.

That Phainon can confirm the status of his divinity disquiets him some, his frown deepening. But whatever he's going to say is easily brushed aside by the jab; he follows his instincts there, relieved for the excuse. )

Maybe I just wanted to see you flounder until you find something that those things will accept. ( As for the matter of indulgence? A sigh runs through him, visible in his shoulders and chest with the strength of it. ) If it's if I have regrets, Deliverer, my answer will be the same as yours.