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.

[ 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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