apocryphals | call me out (2025)

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call me out (2025)

select character, request character, receive starter. or leave me a starter i don't particularly care either way.

[ as far as phainon's concerned: up until this point, it was just castorice and himself — a disconcerting outcome, but a touch more forgiving, merely denoting an indefinite pause to their respective flame-chase journey. it's the addition of mydeimos that leaves him more panicked than he cares to admit. the news delivered of the flame reaver's survival, still running amok the grounds of amphoreus, still rings with deafening clarity —

but that's something he'll have to address with mydeimos later. for now: phainon readily leans into the distraction, something that'll keep him rooted in the present than hopeless what-ifs. mydeimos needn't complete the sentence; the chrysos heirs likely understand, as a collective, what being here entails, how much of a disruption it actually is to their more dire circumstances back home where they actually belong. but they're left with no choice: save this world, and it may ensure amphoreus' future, somehow.

he'll confess, at least — ] ... You feel different. [ less demigod, more like a chyrsos heir who has yet to participate in a trial and actually come out of it triumphant. then again, that can all be chalked up to his senses already made dull from that unfortunate operation. it doesn't really explain why castorice also feels particularly off — less perilous, as if being near is less of a hazard than it was before.

phainon's quick to move on, still. with a shake of his head: ] Feeling shy, Mydeimos? That's unlike you. But... there is something I've been wondering about for awhile now, though I suppose... the question I've been hoping to ask has found itself somewhat revised due to recent occurrences. You wouldn't mind indulging me, would you?

( 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.

[ despite himself, a smile creeps in; he expected nothing less. ]

Of course... There is no place for regrets. Not this far into it anyway. Regardless of what's been left unsaid and all that we've failed to enjoy during our time of minimal leisure, I suppose, in the promised new world, it's something to make up for, if it's what any of us desires.

[ there's an edge of — something, like he isn't wholly satisfied with the inevitable finale that's to come. what a way to dishonor the parting words of his professor, harboring the little reservations that he does. phainon prefers being a man of his word than a coward, still; he'll feel it, the hopeless wondering, the rise of questions left unattended, the sacrifices his fellow chrysos heirs have made, enduring and suffering all the same, but he'll do what he must as he should and always have. ( even then: he's tired of the farewells, the hollow absence each departure leaves in their wake. if their predecessors are anything to go by: whatever reunion everyone speaks of with optimism, phainon sees an endless parting. )

phainon hadn't realized he was lost in thought — not until he notices a flicker of motion: the serviton attempting to make its way back to mydeimos, moth to a flame sort of thing. he reaches, unhurried, for its mechanical hand, preventing it from floating any closer towards the other man. perhaps the question he once yearned to ask may do the trick; he's been through this song and dance, knows what these little robots want. the answer has long since been drilled into him, however; everybody suggests the same thing, and mydeimos, even more noble, resolve staunch and unfaltering, may reiterate what has already been conveyed several times over.

but, for the sake of ridding mydeimos of this serviton, he'll do him this one solid: ]

... Say, Mydei, what convinced you to rise to divinity? ... The price everyone is expected to pay, it's greater than all of us combined, you know. Even then, what makes this entire journey worth it to you?

( The smile soothes something in Mydei's chest -- he is aware that Phainon does not let expectations wear him down, he knows too that Phainon will not break under the weight of it, but that does not mean he does not stumble under it all. Mydei understands, of course, though his burden was less than the weight of the world and more easily solved. But Phainon's resilience is what makes him their Deliverer more than the lack of his flaws, more than the golden blood in his veins; they both should have known that he was not meant for Strife and save the man from the humiliation of defeat in the trial. Yet he cannot shake the feeling that Phainon is... perhaps not hiding something from him, but not saying what occupies his mind so that he lapses into silence.

There is nothing Mydei can say that will make the other man talk about the things he'd rather keep close to his chest, but there is something he can do if he does not offer it up -- he makes a mental note to challenge him to a spar or some other contest in short order, and question him that way. And he is about to do so when the other man seems to come back to himself, a brow raised as his only question at the moment before Phainon continues.

His first instinct is to chastise Phainon -- he knows why, but then his eye catches on the little machine, and he can't help but scoff. )

HKS. ( But there is fondness in it, gratitude for the question without bite. ) That my people will survive and finally find a new meaning for their lives, just as I have.

( The ServiTron, halfway satisfied, manages to get closer to them without being pushed back, and places one strange hand on the back of their heads, attempt to encourage them to press their foreheads together and ruining Mydeimos' honest confession with a friendly "Now tHE twO mUST pRess theIr heADs TOgetHER foR The prOCesS to be ComPLETE." )

What sort of damned thing--

( But his head is pushed forward all the same. )

Come now, it'll only last for a few seconds. Surely, even you can handle another noggin against your own. [ his tone borders on teasing — because being slightly cheeky is the better facade.

well. it's not like it's unheard of anyway: they've brushed shoulders, exchanged blows during spars, relied on one another on the battlefield. wouldn't this be the same? it's a serendipitous occurrence, enduring this with a rival than the more uncomfortable option of somebody else who may induce more discomfort than this ought to warrant. phainon tells himself so, and yet, he's not even wholly convinced. he doesn't do vulnerability. not to this extent.

his chin is dipped low, eyes averted, as he feels the gentle impact of somebody else against his forehead now. the serviton, after a pause, seemingly appeased by the ""affectionate"" display, floats off in silence, keeping them both within its line of sight. it takes phainon a moment too long to finally register that there's something absurd rising in his chest, spreading like a wildfire, leaving him awash in something awfully out of place: for once, a balm swathed upon the grief he has dragged around for all those years.

if and/or when their eyes meet at all, phainon may as well resemble a deer in the headlights, as if mydeimos is the one to blame for all of this. he waits for the feeling to pass, for the suffocating weight of heartache to return in waves, and when it barely does — ]

See? Harmless, isn't it? Those little ones may be rather insistent to an unpleasant extent, but... participate in what they request of you, and they are gone in a blink of an eye, it seems. [ belatedly said, with a mirth so forced, it nearly sounds unnatural. but phainon takes this as the appropriate cue to step away, correcting his posture, reassembling the little composure he has left. ]

( He scoffs, rising to the challenge as easily as the tease is placed down. Fine, if Phainon thinks he can't handle a bit of touch, he'll show him otherwise. Better this man than some stranger, true, and at least they have traded physical interactions in some form for the length of their rivalry; the Deliverer is a known quantity, someone who Mydei trusts enough to give him the secret of his immortality. He is... unlikely to bring up this moment in any arena where Mydeimos cannot respond in kind, and therefore he relents.

For a moment, Mydei thinks nothing of it: a gentle pressure, a warmth, the itch of hair trapped between their skin. Intimate, certainly, but no more than a bare hand grasping another's to pull someone to their feet. The exchange of blows with armor cast aside. He is about to pull away, having seen the ServiTon move, but before he can there is-- something else.

Aglaea has described him as a burning fire, and Mydei knows how true that is -- he will likely burn himself out long before the others are ready to say goodbye to this world, this life. But it is his duty, his fate, his role, and he has made his own peace with it. There is no time, no space, for regrets in his life. Not when every step forward is a fight against something, but he knows no other way to live. And yet -- the feeling that bursts forth from his chest doesn't threaten to smother that flame but exist besides it, turning the scorching heat into the warmth of a fire, the light of a candle.

His eyes go to Phainon's in that moment, meeting a gaze as wide as his own golden one; clearly neither of them know the source of this comfort, this sense of contentment. (As if there is a library, as if Mydeimos is playing host to a man who shares his interest in history and language, as if there is no other fate for them than this.) Before Mydei can get in a word -- a question of what they'd experienced -- Phainon is gone. The feeling lessens, though it does not abate completely.

A hand goes to his head, gloved fingers brushing the place where they touched before his eyes snap back to the other man. Mydei's patience is stretched thin at this moment, pulled tight in the distance between them. )

Enough. ( Mydei says, slicing through Phainon's words as his eyes snap to the other man, burning gold. ) You felt it, too.

[ jokes on patho-gen, maybe mydeimos, too: phainon has always been fond; he'd rather not acknowledge how this abrupt reunion actually makes him feel. it's an anomaly, still: brought to the forefront, in demand of a spotlight now, it's an equivalent to something that once held no comparison to those wheat fields, the sky above that was as mundane as his more joyous days — ]

Felt it I have, and it's as big as I remember it to be. [ he applies swift taps against his own forehead to emphasize his point: mydeimos and his supposedly big head made out of impenetrable steel. those head bonks are no joke; he's tested them himself, etc. ] It just so happens that it doesn't hurt nearly as much as before.

[ those nonsensical scuffles of their typical friendly rivalry, their scoreboard often tallied up to remain balanced, where the occasional defeat or two never mattered; they've always caught up to one another anyway. he misses those days already, and it's getting awfully quiet now; the chrysos heirs are dwindling in numbers with nowhere else to go but forward — like it has always been. ]

... Knowing you, you meant something else. Am I right to assume so? You'll have to elaborate, even a little, if you'd like for me to understand.

( Mydei considers the likelihood of Phainon simply avoiding the topic, as he so often does with things that trouble him. Foolish man, for as insistent he was that all of them were in this together he never seemed to believe that others could help him in turn. The hypocrisy is staggering, but Mydeimos does not have the time nor the inclination at the moment to shove the Deliverer's head into the dirt enough times for the lesson to stick.

But the option remains on the table, depending on how skillfully the man can evade this particular conversation. )

Don't be a fool, Deliverer. You know what I speak of -- it surely hasn't left you completely by now. ( For it hasn't left Mydei, as settled into his ribs as it feels at the moment. He shifts his weight back, as if he's making to move away from Phainon, and feels the peace ebb away slightly, though it flows back between the bones of him when he rights himself, closing the distance between them somewhat. ) You are the source of it.

[ you, as well goes unspoken. can't prove a point just standing there though. so phainon emulates mydeimos' earlier motions, taking those few steps back and then some. he feels it wane until he's hollowed out — save for the one ambition that prevents revenge from filling him whole with a crazed hatred unwilling to retreat. alongside it: a longing to remain in mydeimos' company regardless of how his own presence may lack purpose. that's the anomaly, and he's aware of it, too: it's not like they need to constantly be around the other, yearning for that next time while counting down the days until they'll encounter one another again. ]

Be that as it may, [ retracing his steps, edging closer to mydeimos, he settles for that empty spot right next to the other man as the onslaught of that unexplainable comfort finds a home within him again. he gives it a second or two, allowing himself to adjust, waiting for it to fade knowing that it likely won't. ]

... you are the root of it all for me as well. But, it's hardly any different from what it was like before. [ — before strife returned to castrum kremnos, dedicating the rest of his immortal life to their flame-chase journey, that is. ] It's just strangely amplified, this trust I already have in you.

[ except — it's more than just trust. but if phainon is forced to give it a name, this is the easier one. ]

( The sudden absence and emptiness in his chest would have brought Mydeimos to his knees were he a lesser man, not as accustomed to pain and hardship as he is. How could one touch tie him so securely to the Deliverer is beyond him, for the moment Phainon is out of reach there exists an urge so strong to bring him back, to keep him by his side. The twitch of an eye, the flexing of the fingers of his dominant hand are all the outward signs that he gives, but it is enough to betray him to anyone who knows him well. And who exists that knows him better than Phainon?

The Deliverer settles into the space at Mydei's side, the rolling emotions in his chest settling at the same time. Inconvenient. Mydei's chest and shoulders move with the force of his sigh, the shake of his head as if to clear his thoughts. )

Mm, likewise. ( 'Trust' is a word that suffices, though it does not feel adequate. Still-- ) They can't expect us to be by each other's side for however long we are guests here. Whatever its done will likely do us no harm should we spend time apart. ( Yet he can't help but offer something of a lifeline to the other man, dragging their thoughts away from what this means in favor of teasing and jests. So he attempts to catch Phainon's gaze, looking up at the other man. ) I never thought to hear you implying that you miss me, Deliverer.

[ when night never falls, their days blend with ongoing sunlight, but phainon is aware of how long it's been. aglaea's threads are limited to the expanse of okhema; even with the teleslates, he wouldn't be able to bug mydeimos as much even if he wanted to. just kremnoan thunderclaps, a one-sided mode of communication, and nothing else. so phainon receives his gaze just fine; his is particularly probing, aware of the many ways he's able to approach this. he wonders which would be better received: something light-hearted and boyishly nonsensical, ultimately sweeping everything else under the rug in favor of harmless fun or — ]

Mention the 'next life' the way you have, and anyone would loathe to no longer have the luxury of time to spend with you. [ despite his voice lowered to prevent eavesdroppers, there's a cheeky grin spread across his face now, some sort of mask to dampen the oddly heartfelt delivery of something so stupidly solemn. ]

Regardless, [ back to his usual range now, like what was previously conveyed needn't be so readily processed. ] we're bound to encounter one another on the battlefield soon enough, once we've returned to Amphoreus anyway. [ not to issue the killing blow that'll supposedly send mydeimos to the afterlife. permanently, for once. surely, aglaea wouldn't just let the demigod of strife handle the flame reaver on his own once informed. but he's aware of that, right. ]

For now, especially since we will be here for some time, I'll have to ensure you don't lose your touch.

( Ah. Of all the answers Mydei he could have expected, that was not one of them, nor the manner in which it's spoken. His mouth works silently before he concedes, cheeks and the tips of his ears a dusty pink as he looks anywhere but at the other man. There are libraries here, Mydei thinks to say, but none of them are filled with what I wished to show you. But his tongue has turned to heavy lead, unable to form the words. )

You and the rest have your own missions to occupy yourselves with rather than aiding me with mine. Or have you forgotten that Castorice has yet to find Thanatos to claim the Coreflame of Death? ( He is not, in other words, aware of it. But he knows that Phainon wouldn't forget his duty simply because he is here, and so the discrepancy has a furrow forming in his brow. But, because he is feeling indulgent with peace and warmth in his chest, he can't help himself: ) Seeing as I don't recall losing our last spar, perhaps it's you who needs the reminder. And a chance to test this... new soul we've been given.

Edited 2025-04-17 06:39 (UTC)

[ no one would think to blame mydeimos for being unaware of the happenings regarding his fellow chrysos heirs; the black tide is relentless, a seemingly perpetual stream. and he understands the delivered signal wasn't meant to request for aid, just a warning, cautioning the chrysos heirs for what's to come, but even then — ]

... And what better way to quickly attune ourselves to the lingering soul within, if not by sparring with the very person you needn't hold yourself back from. [ as far as phainon's concerned, mydeimos' is that perfect equal, demigod or not. even if the other man has the upper hand of divinity, it's certainly a challenge he wouldn't shy away from. ]

As for Miss Castorice, while the journey may have likely been arduous for her, venturing through Styxia under the condition it has been reduced to, rest assured, she is now the successor of the aforementioned Coreflame and will be fulfilling her duties elsewhere. [ he begins to step away now, not really with the intent to lead, but to guide them both out of here — hopefully towards an open field where no one will become collateral damage to their bouts of training. ]

... Anyway, it would be unwise to believe we'd leave you to combat the Flame Reaver on your own, on top of managing the black tide, you know. Our numbers may have dwindled, but we cannot afford to allow them to venture anywhere closer towards the Holy City.

( A nod of his head -- if there is one person here can spar against without concern for their well-being, without reservations, it is Phainon. He remembers the Deliverer asking him for lessons, and Mydeimos' curt dismissal of his potential. Yet now he knows that his first judgement was in error; there are things that the carefree man hides behind his smile. The drive that burns in his heart that propelled him towards the Coreflame of Strife has made him his equal. Worthy of Mydei's trust, the secret of the curse of immortality. That does not change simply because they are somewhere else.

Confusion creeps over Mydei's face as Phainon continues, though he keeps pace with the other man when he starts to move -- closer, perhaps, than he has in the past, chasing that lingering feeling in his chest. )

Elsewhere-- ( He muses, casting a look at the other man. ) I see. I will not let the Tide break through, even should Okhema be filled to the brim with demigo-- ( He stops, both in his tracks and with his words before it catches up with him, and he takes several large steps to return to Phainon's side once more. ) He has returned? How? When?

( And he is here, far away from the front lines where he should be. )

[ it's phainon's turn to pause, his thoughts and footfalls coming to a gradual halt. and if mydeimos decides to walk on ahead, he'll be the one catching up to him in return. ]

You've come to warn us through the sound of thunder... Krateros, he was the one who relayed your message when I was still left unaware of its purpose. [ mydeimos doesn't lie. does his teacher have a reason to approach them with deceit, then? that assumption didn't make any sense, either. they seem to take less kindly to the council of elders just as much as they do regardless of how a few kremnoans found it more promising to side with the council now. ]

Do you not recall, by any chance? ... I can't say that I blame you. What you've been tasked with is a far greater burden than any of us can possibly imagine. [ — yet his gaze is searching for some lingering prelude of madness that ailed strife's predecessors as if that could be the cause of some short-term memory loss. but as far as phainon can tell, mydeimos' eyes are no different than the day he last saw them. ]

That is the means with which Nikador sent messages to those who follow him, yes. Though I did not think you would know as much-- ( Which means he must have, but Mydei would remember having launched a spear at Okhema with a message attached in the thunder, especially if it meant the Flame Reaver had returned. And while Krateros may disagree with his choice, he is still a man of Kremnos. He would not lie to Phainon unless he truly wished to face down Mydei's wrath.

His steps still, waiting for Phainon to catch back up with him, though he does not make to move again, catching the other man's gaze. )

Don't be so eager to take me for a fool and a madman, Deliverer. My memory remains as sharp as ever.

( There is no doubt that he hasn't simply forgotten; he would remember crossing fists with the being again. Mydeimos still remembers the way that Phainon had shielded the blade of that thing from striking true into his back, as if the Flame Reaver had known the one place that would send his soul into the netherworld with no return. Running a hand through his hair, Mydei casts his mind back for some... understanding of how this came to be. Castorice had not made mention of being elsewhere when they'd met here, nor acted like she had found that which she'd sought, which-- )

How long has it been since I left?

[ he bites his tongue around that impulse, defensive words laced with careful concern. when they all know what will become of strife, what fate has in store for their individual downfall, it isn't something that ought to be voiced — unnecessary and too sentimental. his features are in a disarray, brows furrowed, lips down-turned, obviously displeased with something, but phainon looks away all the same. ]

It's been nearly a month, maybe even more. [ he doesn't dare allow his thoughts to wander towards his professor's end. no matter the words that encourages and drives him forward, still, in this life, he's just gone. his arms are crossed loosely over his chest now — as if to prevent something from spilling forth, something else that mydeimos didn't need.

with a shake of his head, phainon redirects his thoughts to their present: ]

Is it not the same for you? ... Don't tell me that Kremnoans register time differently upon returning to a place of familiarity. [ a half-hearted joke, lukewarm, in attempt to brighten the mood, somewhat. ]

( What will become of him will be, but he is not yet. Mydei has never known how to say the right words to comfort, but the expressions that pass over Phainon's face have his own shifting into a brief one of concern. Not for him, but for the other man's sake -- it does him no good to worry over what has not yet happened when there is so much for him to still do. While he cannot feel their Deliverer's distress through whatever bond they've accidentally created, Mydei doesn't need to in order to know what lurks behind his smile. So he levels a look at Phainon, wishes to say something to set his mind at ease, and fails to come up with the right words.

A trend, it seems, whenever he wishes to express something heartfelt towards the other man. How could his tongue turn to cotton, his thoughts betray the depths of his respect for the other man, and leave him stumbling and uneven with what he means to say?

The sigh that escapes him once again shakes his shoulder, a scoff rising to his lips and filling the air between them. )

No. It hasn't even been a week, by my accounting. ( And has only died twice in that time, given the power of Strife that now answers to him. ) I can't claim to understand the workings of Oronyx, but this has the hallmarks of their work. Has so much truly passed in so little time?

[ even the authority of time's divinity has found itself elsewhere. the trailblazer's jokes, no matter how ill-timed, seems unlikely to lend themselves to large-scale, foolhardy pranks involving memories, the discrepancies that may do more harm than good. phainon has every mind to say so in hopes to inform than to further spread confusion, but there's a lull between mydeimos' question and his own pondering — ]

Perhaps this is just an unfortunate blathering of the one who has succumbed to madness. You're aware of how grand their stories and behavior tends to be once they've gotten ahead of themselves. [ his words reference no one, just himself or the potential of what may come to be once all reason has dwindled into nothing, yet he couldn't fully commit to the belief that he really has lost his mind.

the grief is all too real, that feeling of something vacant settling in like a heavy pit in his gut hardly feels self-inflicted. but it's fine if mydeimos finds solace in the idea that in phainon's feverish fits and dreams, he has allowed his worries and reality blend into some strange conglomeration of trying to process his current reality — of being away from amphoreus, of the potential failure to fulfill the one thing that was given to him. ]

I wish I had an explanation as to why we no longer align in this regard, but you needn't concern yourself over this any longer. What I am able to relay is something I can impart at a later time if you so wish, but I suppose... our Guardian of Amphoreus needn't worry himself over those details nonetheless. [ it has nothing to do with keeping the black tide at bay anyway — aside from the return of the black-robed swordmaster, and how the prophecy was making some progress towards its promised outcome. ]

I do believe you though. I hope you are aware of that.

( Mydei fancies himself adapt at reading Phainon better than most -- he has to, if he is to meet him blow for blow in all things. But there is something else lingering in the other man that he doesn't know how to help with, nor have words of advice that may help that he has not already imparted on the man. There is no solace in the suffering of a man he trusts, at the very least. Seeing as he has yet to make peace with himself in a way that will keep him prepared, or so he thinks, there are only two things he knows of that might settle him. One they are on the way to, and the other-- is new.

But something compels him to try, driven by the urge to keep working forward, to not let himself get lost. If he can encourage Phainon to do the same--

So Mydei, if Phainon will let him, will reach out for his hand to place it against Mydei's chest, gently above his sternum, bare fingers brushing against his own warm skin. A guess well played, for the sense of rightness, of trust and care intensifies, though still an echo of what it was when this bond came into being. He hums, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he keeps Phanion's hand there, though the other man is free to remove his hand whenever he wishes. )

Just because I do not worry over details does not mean I don't wish to know them, Deliverer. Especially when they seem to have made you more evasive than normal.

( One golden eye cracks open, and then the other, slow and piercing into the blue of Phanion's own. His voice is still a rumble, something that -- if Phainon still has his fingertips against Mydei's chest -- he can no doubt feel, though it is softer. )

As you should. I am not known for lying. ( He huffs, gaze focusing somewhere over the other man's shoulder before refocusing on him. ) And I, you. There are worse people I can think of to be trapped with.

[ there's no resistance or outright rejection. just an easy surrender — even with the underlying hesitance that keeps his fingers from settling, mostly fidgeting with uncertainty, against mydeimos' skin. but as the other man speaks, a pleasant thrum spreads across his palm, a strangely grounding thing. phainon doesn't want to admit to how it makes him feel ( like home, at peace — something he hadn't felt since aedes elysiae ); it's easier to study mydeimos' face in typical earnest, his fingertips absent-mindedly, slow and methodically, tracing the patterns on his chest as he listens — then with a lift at the corner of his mouth, a raised brow, just briefly: ]

Are you really implying that you'd rather be entangled with somebody else than I in a conversation like this? [ but it's a frivolous question with an obvious answer. better candidates do exist, ones who won't allow themselves to remain bereft for long when delivering tidbits of a present not yet experienced by others. if mydeimos were to affirm his words to be true, phainon wouldn't hold it against him anyway. ]

No matter, be it brief or indeterminate, our farewell has been reduced to naught for the time being. I suppose there isn't a need to squander it over what cannot be changed... However, I'm willing to tell you whatever you're interested to know.

[ his palm shifts, a gentle glide upwards until his fingertips ghosts along collarbones, reaching for the markings there, near the curve of mydeimos' neck. phainon's cheeky enough to be this audacious as if issuing a wordless challenge of trust, where it actually begins and where it ought to end. but there's an underlying tug that drags his attention elsewhere — of touch being more of a necessity that rarely found its place beyond that boundary. with mydeimos, everything has a purpose: a favor granted to a fellow comrade in order to remedy the disorganized frenzy his thoughts once were prior to allowing him this. ]

I am curious though. Who would you prefer encountering first in an unknown world such as this?

( Something in Mydei's chest moves at the way Phainon's fingers trace the tattoos over his chest, though he cannot think of what or why. But it pulls his attention away from the matter at hand more than he would confess to, even as the sense of belonging and peace works its way into his skin, past muscle and bone to settle at the burning core of him. 'Home' has never meant much to him -- as wandering and aimless as the city he should call it. That belongs to people, a feeling. This feeling in his chest now. Surely it is simply because Phainon is the closest person here to him, in this strange land. That must be it. )

Don't ask such stupid questions. ( No, he admits to himself, this is a conversation and experience he would only want to have with the Deliverer. ) What have you learned that's made you even worse at hiding your true feelings? I told you that I didn't need to be a mind reader to know that something is eating you.

( Once again his eyes flutter shut, a deep breath that brings him back to himself. It's easy to get lost in the touch, the trust, and Mydei lets himself indulge. Strife itself has felt muted ever since his arrival, but Phainon's touch sends the dregs of the rage into the corners of his mind. Peace. The feeling has him relaxing further, head falling to the side on reflex to offer this: his trust, and more skin for Phainon to run his fingers over, to give them both the moment to fully submerge themselves in the feeling he doubts either of them have much experience with. )

The Goldweaver, for one. ( He might chafe at Aglaea's methods, but he also respects her for it -- sometimes one must make unpopular decisions and choices for the betterment of others, and she has shouldered them for centuries. ) If there is anyone who can feel out a new world as quickly as her, I've yet to encounter them.

At the very least, her presence here would provide some sense of direction. [ — for phainon, not yet prepared to take up that mantle of hers, especially with the prospect of her being gone once he is required to. ] But it's a blessing, if nothing else, that she isn't currently plucked from her standing as the one who continues to oversee Okhema.

[ unfortunate for them, the whole of amphoreus, that patho-gen saw it fit to whisk strife away instead, but now with the vaguely confirmed discrepancy of some of their memories no longer aligned with what phainon perceives to be current, he isn't sure what to make of this foreign world.

for now, it's just his fingers against mydeimos' neck with a thumb, gentle, against a pulse just under the curve of his jawline — no pressure, not much of a grasp around the base of it. and maybe mydeimos is aware that phainon wouldn't dare, could never think to put his hands on him in a way that would dishonor the underlying friendship they actually have. just a playful warmth, asking to be swatted away — because phainon is aware he's crossing one too many lines with this. ]

As for what's been on my mind — [ if mydeimos decides to allow phainon's hand to remain where it's been settled, a touch now barely there, he'll find that it'll return to where it was once placed: upon his chest, mostly where a certain professor's hand rested upon their own prior to an expected finale. ] I suppose you can say that...

[ — but there's plenty he wants to talk about: the very concept of memories that his professor imparted, what the 'next life', that new world promised to amphoreus, actually entails for them as chrysos heirs, how their spars, stupid challenges, the bickering, everything else in between — they'll likely never have that again. not with the others, not even with each other. it's easier to spill the truth with mydeimos' eyes closed, part of phainon reveling, in silence, at the brand new sight of this, like discovering an unexplored facet. but, he conveys part of the truth instead: ]

— my teacher is no longer of this world.

Edited (when you belatedly wtf at your own typos + parts you forgot to delete 💀) 2025-04-24 04:14 (UTC)

( The trust inherent in the way Mydei gives himself over to Phainon is something he would do even back in Amphoreus; it is not a thought that Mydeimos has had before, nor one that he thinks to dwell upon. But the Deliverer is, perhaps, the only one he can do this with -- offer his neck, his chest, and know without question that the hand around his neck will never tighten. His hand moves, then, almost as if to move the Deliverer's hand away, but Phainon moves it back down to his chest just in time -- his brow wrinkles slightly, his own hand coming up to wrap around the other man's wrist, but he does not make to remove the hand from his chest. Not yet, as interrupted as he is by the words. )

Your Professor Anaxagoras? ( He is familiar enough with the man, seeing as he's spoken so highly of by Phainon. Unconventional and unusual by all accounts, but he trusts Phainon's judgement of character nearly as highly as his own, and has never thought ill of the man in spite of never meeting him. Mydei wracks his brain of what he knew before he left Okhema, of the whispers and rumors. The Black Tide takes up most of his recent memory, yes, but he remembers enough. ) How did it come to pass? Last I knew he had survived the Grove and come to Okhema. Was it his connection with the Reason Titan that shortened his life?

( A gloved thumb moves in gentle circles over the pulse point of Phainon's wrist, slow, almost clumsy in his attempt to soothe the ache of loss that Mydei knows well. He simply swallows it all, takes it to heart and takes one step after the other. But Phainon is not like him in that way, he aches and he mourns and he keeps the grief tucked in close to his heart. Foolish idiot.

But perhaps that is what makes him the Goldweaver's flawless Deliverer. Or one of many traits that make him so. )

[ he feels like an exposed nerve under the glaring light of a probing eye. phainon moves to retract his arm — as if the reciprocation of touch is where he decides to draw the line. ]

That is the digestible, truncated version of the story. [ and he ought to leave it at that.

with anyone else, it's a route he would have strongly considered, making it clear it wasn't really up for discussion beyond a certain point. it makes him want to recoil further into himself, refusing an audience for something that needn't be addressed, the way the ghost of a simple gesture lingers against his skin — yet it unlocks a novel curiosity, something vague and uncharted. phainon doesn't dare give that a name, either. mydeimos is different nonetheless — ]

The citizens' assembly, you're aware of it, aren't you? It all began there, and the rest is history, especially after he unveiled his findings, the method he utilized in order to discover, confirm, and deliver his truth.

[ his tone is steady, less emotive than when he confided in mydeimos about a nightmare, unraveling, during his trial with strife — like there's a deliberate attempt to mask something, keep it from bursting through the surface to be known for what it really is. what he relays lacks in detail, but — phainon figures it's apt enough for the time being. ]

... Anyway, what were you up to prior to this encounter? Aside from being pursued relentlessly by our little friends.

( If Phainon wishes to withdraw his hand, Mydei will let him. At least until he decides to be a fool again. While he will bemoan the loss of a good routing of the other man, Mydei does have to concede that this method of getting the Deliverer out of his own head has its advantages. Less likely to result in the destruction of public property, for one. )

I remember that they were to hold it soon. ( He'd made a habit of remembering and attending when he could, though the Kremnoans tended to think themselves beholden to the laws of Castrum Kremnos rather than seeking representation at the assembly. Still, it had been good to make himself present lest someone attempt to foolishly think they could rouse suspicions against his people in his absense. ) A truth you seem keen on avoiding. Have it your way, Deliverer. I'll have the truth from you eventually.

( Make no mistake, the matter is not at rest. But Mydei has not become Strife simply by not knowing when to pick his battles -- even he knows that a wall must be hit multiple times before it will crack and crumble under the force. So he will give Phainon the reprieve that he seeks. He begins to walk again, leading them to an empty space that will fit their needs for a spar; Mydei does wish to see what this place has given Phainon as much as he knows the other man might wish to test his own abilities. )

Likely nothing different than yourself. I've seen the pathetic excuse for food they're attempting to feed us, and quickly dispatched no small number during their 'tests'.

[ eventually — after his mind processes this encounter and doesn't feebly write it off as some wayward dream. for all mydeimos' calm fortitude, equally unshaken stoicism, of a resolve incapable of crumbling under the weight of quick, successive burdens regardless of the sacrifices, what may never be had again — phainon knows better than to add onto that ever-growing load, much less meet him on a shaky foundation, however temporary in its half-assed presentation.

for now, phainon falls into step beside mydeimos, only proceeding further, footfalls hurried and enthused, upon their arrival at the broad, open space. he looks over his shoulder to address the other man, turning fully once there's a considerable distance between them, stepping onto their own little makeshift ring. ]

Are you really boasting about your accumulated riches to me, Mydeimos? [ said with a lift of a brow, a toothy grin, a hand now planted upon his hip.

phainon can't say the same for himself. he ended up with a... training dummy for an opponent, and in his typical broke glory, he only really has the promised 5,000 numis to his name after the fact. not much of a practice round that he was hoping for, less interactive and engaging than he'd like. but this — mydeimos has always promised experiences worth remembering, and a typical spar isn't exempt. ]

So are we playing by the rules they've provided at the arena? Or shall we up the stakes? Just to give it an additional kick to this.

Let us up the stakes to the rules we are used to, though I shall not hold back from this Shifted Form they have granted us.

( Sparing Phainon with anything less than everything he has at his disposal is an insult to both himself and the other man. The Deliverer is his equal -- that, he knows, will not change even with their arrival here. He can only hope that in the next life, when there is no Strife, that they will remain so. If not in combat, then perhaps in some other way.

For all that he considers Phainon his rival, he understands that there is no one else that can match him. For all that he considers Phainon his friend, there is no small amount of joy in the fact that there are moments where Mydei can best him. No small amount of joy in knowing that Phainon is reason enough for Mydei to improve, to be better. )

If you can best me in one round out of three, Deliverer, I'll save you the embarrassment of enquiring about how well your own rounds went. Come then.

( And let them do what they do best: raise each other to better, higher heights. )

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call me out (2025)

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oh my god i'm so sorry

you're good; no worries!!

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🎀!