Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aedes Elysiae seemed to exist out of time. From day to day, it remained the same. The old people who lived here all their lives claimed that even decades could not change its appearance in any way. It wasn't old, its buildings weren't cracked or abandoned. On the contrary, it was always blooming and always boasted of its rich harvest and the elegance of bright orange trees, which foliage never turned into dried branches. White houses with unremarkable wooden roofs stood among narrow streets paved with stone that was always gently warmed by the sun. Each Aedes Elysiae path wound like ribbons between the buildings. The air here always smelled of the sea, roasted chestnuts, and wheat. Especially in the morning, when the endless fertile fields were lit by the warm rays of dawn. The Lucid Hour.

Two small figures were busy in the backyard of one of the tiny houses. They were always trying to keep themselves occupied with something new and interesting, and this time they were assigned a very important task — to make orange jam for the evening. Their parents were always out in the fields, and it's the season for picking. In the Month of Everday, they disappeared every morning to pick ripe, bright red cherries. Now they were returning home with baskets full of pears, grapes, and figs. Thanks to this, each of their meals was saturated with a variety of aromas and tastes, no one here could ever get tired of the monotony. And everyone liked to put something of their own into the family table.

Khaslana couldn't cook. Yet he volunteered with childish delight to help his older sister, Cyrene, who was always happy to accept his help. Even if instead of cooking, he distracted her with endless curious stories that only a child's imagination was capable of. Although Cyrene also liked to put in one's two cents into these fantasies. These fictional stories always managed to capture her attention. Sometimes to such an extent that both stopped cooking.

Everyone could capture the moment when Khaslana started dreaming. He was too sincere and too simple of a child, with every thought written on his forehead. And each of these thoughts did not even think to hide under the white, silken strands of the boy's hair, which began to cover his eyes too often now. Someone needed a haircut.

Khaslana liked to listen to the old radio that their parents had put in their room because they felt sorry to throw it off completely. Various programs, music mixed with static, weather forecasts in Okhema... from which he learned about snowy winters and embarrassingly hot summers. He liked to wander around, and there wasn't a single corner of Aedes Elysiae that his prying nose couldn't get into. He memorized every place where he could come up with a new story by the bizarre shapes of trees and the number of stones on the paths leading to them. It could be said that he used everything that could only fill their village and home for the vividly lived stories in his head.

Even now, Khaslana stood with the orange peel in his hands, his head turned toward the woven baskets. He looked as if he was going to take another handful of oranges - all at once, so that he wouldn't have to go up and down the stairs, which were propped up against the white brick wall, over and over again. But before he could do so, his thoughts were diverted, as usual, by a motley series of images. 

And he froze there silently, just like the slow passing of time in the village.

“What are you dreaming about this time?” Cyrene asked with interest as she fastened an empty orange peel to a string. “Could it be the Knights of Kremnos?”

“There are no knights in Kremnos.” Khaslana proudly shared his knowledge, listlessly rubbing the remaining peel.

The girl giggled, noting that the lack of knights in warrior land had never stopped her brother from thinking of himself as one. And how strange it was, she thought to herself, to dream of breakfast while making preparations for the evening's dessert. But she could understand him. No one likes to wake up early here. It was a pleasure to soak in the soft sheets for as long as possible. Sweet bread, ham, cucumbers, olives, tomatoes, freshly squeezed juice... so much was waiting on the morning table. For Aedes Elysiaens breakfast was considered the sweetest and most long-awaited part of the day. They didn't have to hurry anywhere: the harvest wouldn't be able to escape, and the children who needed to run to school would run away without the adults' requests. Because the teachers Pythias and Tribios were able to cultivate a sense of discipline even in the most disobedient children. Those who had to go to work in the city, even if there were not many of such people here, worked from ten to two, because it was more familiar to them.

Life here flowed along with the silent time, and no one tried to speed it up.

Cyrene, however, dreamed as much as her brother. It was just less noticeable, although according to her closest friend Livia, she often had to bring her back to reality. Her fantasies did not involve deeds of valor and thoughts of honor and duty, nor did they involve her running out into the fields in the middle of the day with a wooden sword and singing songs written by the old heroes of Amphoreus, like her brother. He was particularly fond of the latter, constantly embarrassed by his own attempts to squeeze the bass out of boyish voice. Instead, her fantasies were making her study and be curious, pursuing the image of a grown-up Cyrene who could contain all the places and stories of the world.

And that`s why she especially loved her morning routine, reading on their modest porch after breakfast. She didn't have many books. She read some of them several times, but that was only because she really liked them. She liked to read them in all sorts of ways: basking in the morning wind, sitting on the edge of Khas`s bed, reading each line with the expression of a real actor. She loved to read the textbooks that Lady Tribios gave out for free, whether they were intended for teaching, or given to the girl herself as an inquisitive and curious student. She even liked to read the scrolls that her mentor Pythias gave to her students for a short time. Even if they weren't all about the most interesting subjects for Cyrene - history, politics, and rhetorics - she still enjoyed studying them. Because they were given to the village by a student from the Grove of Muses itself, which means that they were written by some real science.

She especially liked to read the free sunday newspapers that came to them. Including the so-called “alternative newspapers". With their vivid pictures and emotionally narrated world events. Cyrene didn't always understand their content, especially the political debate columns. But through them she was learning about the culture of various places.

And she liked to cut colorful collages out of pictures from there.

Cyrene also liked to capture everything she liked. Everything that inspired her. She liked to draw landscapes of the village, her favorite mill, beautiful sights of unknown places, portraits of her parents and the sparkling blue Khaslana`s eyes in her albums. She even has a separate notebook with sketches of cute chimeras and friendly insects. She really wanted to convey the world around her in all possible ways, and if she only had a musical instrument, she would write music as well. It seemed very noble and sincere to her. After all, as long as she lives, she absorbs so many beautiful things that she would like to give shape to, that sometimes she couldn't even paint it. Be it with wax crayons, there were far more of these than real paints in the village, or the old paint palette in her room.

And while her younger brother dreamed of fantasy worlds, the ones described in the books she read several times, she dreams of traveling around the world. Not to the same extent as Khaslana, of course, who often hopes to meet a dragon in one of the caves of the village on the strength of pure enthusiasm. But it was precisely because of this that they still had something in common. Each of them tried to believe that the real miracle was at arm's length.

Their village, for example, is a real miracle, preserved forever by a silent statue of the titan of time, looking at what is happening in the village with its winds and delicious fruits.

“Cyrene, why do you think they don't have a face?”

“Because Oronyx takes care of us differently! They don't need a face to watch us…”

“I know! But still…” Khaslana muttered impatiently, still going back to work on the peel. “Do you think they`re watching us through the sun, or through the moon? During mornings, or nights? And what form does time take? Will time flow differently for chimeras?”

“Ohh, I need some...time,” Cyrene giggled, “to think about it and give you a decent answer!”

“Don't you ever think it's impossible to see time here?” The boy continued to ask difficult questions. “It seems to me that our parents have not changed at all since our childhood, and that neither you nor I seem to grow up at all... you are still the same little one.”

“And this is what I just noticed,” Cyrene snorted with a slight grudge, “you yourself seem to be fourteen, but it seems that you are still the same silly little boy who constantly cries and…”

“That's not true!”

“Hee-hee,” the girl laughed innocently, “let's get back to work, my dear Khaslana…”

The boy turned away with a slight resentment, jumped down from the ladder and bent over the basket of sweet fruits. He never liked it when adults didn't answer a hundred of his questions, and Cyrene knew it. Normally, she would answer every one of them, but here she felt only a confused tension inside. Their lands were never tinged with snow, never touched by yellowish fallen leaves like in her collages. Perhaps the “shape of time " was hidden in these unfamiliar pictures in her newspapers.

Cyrene looked at the stone statue's missing face in confusion. It was so grandiose, so calm and eternal, with its arms folded across its chest, holding a long, long sheet of text written in a language she didn't recognize. Perhaps They were watching them both through the sun and the moon at the same time; no one could know the answer to that question. No one could even ask, as the goddess wouldn't be able to answer.

“Here, look.” Cyrene says calmly with a distracted smile, drawing the offended brother's attention. “Some of them are already starting to dry under the sun! You see, the peel is still dripping with sweet orange juice in your hands, but as soon as you hang it up here, it will become bitter as the time flies by…”

“There`s still something that time does change…” The boy nodded with a smile, shoving a slice of citrus fruit into his mouth. “Want some?”

“But just one, remember, we need to make jam,” Cyrene winked slyly at her brother, taking a juicy and still alive slice in her hands. Such a vibrant flavor couldn't help but turn the anticipation of an evening dessert into a truly special occasion.

Khaslana accepted her simple explanation without another word. After refreshing himself with a slice of orange, he now waited just as eagerly for the dish time would make from those bitter rinds. And the gentle breeze still continued to flutter the bell hanging under the roof of the porch. But it didn`t make a single sound. It was too quiet here. Always too quiet.

And as much as the siblings were fascinated by the thought that their sweet village would truly remain like this forever, that they would forever be carefree children living in their own dreams for years, that they would never see their parents grow old - it couldn't help but frighten them. The kind of fear that crept up to the very depths of the heart and spread through the body with a slight disappointment. If Aedes Elysiae was indeed sealed forever under the dome of Time itself, then they, too, were protected by the will of Oronyx. And the endless concoction of their own expectations and fantasies could forever remain in a form of merely a story inside their heads.  

There was a brief silence between them, torn between the words “forever”and "never". The dried orange peel was too small for them to contemplate Time itself. Neither wanted to linger on it — no more than the briefest shiver down their spine.

"You know, I would like to have a lot more people living in our village…” Khaslana confessed shyly. “Oh and I don`t mean..! I love playing with Livia and Piso, sharing the adventures of the Deliverer Phainon with them, helping old Galba with the hunt, and…”

“Oh, don't call him old in front of him, dear Khaslana…”

“Oh,” The boy clapped a hand over his mouth, flushing as though caught red-handed in real mischief. “Okay ... ahem, anyway! I wish I could…Show our favorite places to others too! Introduce everyone to our village! I'm sure I can make this tour really exciting! For example, on the northern slope, the Deliverer once helped a wounded Chimera king, and…”

“And that's where I found you once, with your knees scraped off when you fell off your bike, shouting so loudly-”

“T-this isn't a story about the Deliverer. I won't tell anyone that.”

“I'll tell!” Cyrene winked at her brother, immediately startled by the puppy eyes.

In the end, Khaslana was just... a boy. Of course, he only wants to tell people about the exploits of an unattainable Hero, while Cyrene would have gladly shown everyone those faded photos taken with an old camera - pictures of her little brother with his face smeared either with birthday cake or with dirt from yet another scuffle with the neighbors' scarecrow. Because he's so cute and sincere in these, just like Mom. The absolute copy.

“Children!” Audata shouted from somewhere near the fence, and the children immediately reacted. Kirena smiled, thinking how convenient it was when their parents showed up at the exact moment she was thinking about them. “Help me with baskets! And wash the fruits well. I'll go keep an eye on your father. I bet he tries to strain himself again, this stubborn…”

“Okay!” Cyrene and Khaslana exclaimed in unison, smiling happily at each other as they took the heavy baskets from their mother.

They casually kicked off the flip-flops they'd slipped on barefoot and dashed into the house without turning on the kitchen light. You'd be surprised how many great ideas pop up when you're doing mundane tasks like this. And so Cyrene mysteriously runs to their room, looks for a blank white sheet, tears off just a little bit and quickly writes down on a piece of paper a message to the main fan of riddles:

“At the Curtain-fall Hour, I'll meet you by the warm fire."

And behind a pile of green grapes, Khaslana finds the note with his heart beating in anticipation, glances curiously at his sister, and begins to smile proudly. The Deliverer took up the sudden task with sparks in his eyes and his legs bouncing with excitement.

And half an hour before midnight, a curious boy almost runs out to the kitchen, hides behind the sofa and watches with impatience as Cyrene prepares something delicious. Khaslana would be lying if he said that he didn't recognize the smell of his favorite hot cocoa and didn't notice the empty bag of marshmallows on top of the trash bag. Fortunately, the weak firelight of the fireplace allows him to see the inscriptions on discarded packages. It's his favorite dessert, after the orange jam, of course - his older sister's signature cocoa. Always so sweet and loving, always carrying the scent of a million wondrous stories.

“You can come closer, you know.” Cyrene didn't even turn around, just knew for a fact that the boy wouldn't have had the patience to wait for the appointed time.

“T-this is the Deliverer, and I'm ready to-”

“The Deliverer?” Cyrene set down a large spoon by the stove, turning off the fire. “But I need Khaslana for this adventure. What a pity. Apparently, it will have to be canceled…”

“Uh..? B-but!” The boy's eyes darted nervously around the tiny kitchen. “Khaslana is here too, and he's... ready for an adventure, too?”

“Great!”

Cyrene handed her brother a mug of cocoa, watching the faint childhood resentment over her refusal to play games about his favorite Hero melt into tentative delight. She put her arm around the boy's shoulder as she laid a blanket on the floor in front of the fireplace and took out the diary hidden under the pillow. She opened it exactly in the middle, holding it close to the fire so that the boy could see the entire colorized map of Amphoreus, which she had spent the entire evening redrawing from her geography textbook, sitting comfortably on her favorite, huge swing in the Sacrament Courtyard. The boy's eyes lit up with pure delight, even though he immediately recognized that this map wasn't about the glittering realms of other fairy-tale worlds. But there were two cardboard cut-out figures on it, his and Cyrene's.

Khaslana looked timidly at his sister, asking permission to touch them. Cyrene just nodded, giggled, and sipped her hot drink out of her favorite mug.

Small cardboard figures could be moved all over the map, so Khaslana found himself in his favorite kastrum Kremnos. He was searching for any information about it in books with greedy curiosity. After that he found himself in the Grove of Muses, but quickly moved his figurine to Janusopolis, smiling happily. The Grove of Muses, the birthplace of knowledge, was definitely not for him, but the hometown of his dear teacher was always interesting for him to visit.

“I suggest we create our own story!” Cyrene whispered, picking up her prepared pencils. “A story about how many new and interesting travelers are coming to visit us!”

“Or how we visit them!” Khaslana responded with delight, immediately remembering that his parents had been sleeping in the room across the hall for some time now and turning to a whisper.  “First of all, the Deliverer Phainon would have gone to kastrum Kremnos full of glory!”

“Or ... would the Crown Prince himself have come to Aedes Elysiae?”

“And I would learn swordsmanship from the very..!” Khaslana blushed with delight, swallowing his overwhelming emotions excitedly. “And the professors of the Grove of Muses would have come to Cyrene so that she could continue to study this vast world!”

Cyrene blinked a few times, looked at her younger brother's flushed face in surprise, and smiled sheepishly. There was a slight sadness in her eyes - she really would have liked to talk to the people of the Grove of Muses someday, she was sure that the knowledge they possessed was a hundred times greater than the thoughtless notes in the weekly newspapers.

“And even more,” Cyrene continued to write down sketches for a future story, “a designer from the Eternal Holy City Okhema will visit us and give me a bunch of the most beautiful dresses…”

“But your dresses are already the most beautiful,” Khaslana nodded absently, still twirling his pencil thoughtfully near the mark labeled 'Kremnos'. “And when I'll become a true warrior, like the Kremnoans, I'll free the princess from the dark towers of Styxia! And dragons!!”

“Will you free the dragons too?”

“Yes!! Wait, what? No, i mean… ah. Well – yeah! I promise to save everyone!”

Cyrene chuckled softly, stroked her brother's hair, and continued watching with fascination as countless stories flowed from the little dreamer's pencil. But she was just as much a dreamer herself, and so the pages kept filling with the handwriting of two small figures, basking by the warm fireplace in the glow of their own imaginations.

Thus began the very first epic of Aedes Elysiae. 

Chapter Text

Khaslana hastily finishes his wheat tortilla and deftly steals a few stalks of fried asparagus from his sister's plate. She notices it right away and gives his hand a light, harmless tap. But she lets him keep the stalks anyway. She had fried them this morning in wild honey, but she didn't have any appetite for honey at all. She wanted something softer, but her favorite yogurt ran out yesterday. And she didn't really want to go to the market. And so Cyrene silently picks up the last piece of omelette with her fork and frowns at the vases covered in dust. Why do their parents still keep them outside?

“Are you offended by any chance?” The boy carefully specifies, immediately getting distracted by the garbage in the pockets of his wide blue pants. “I know how to cheer you up.”

In an instant, Cyrene felt her brother slap her on the back. Hard. With full force. Just like that — sharp and sudden — right on her favorite beige nightgown.

“Khas!” She deadpans, her hand already darting to inspect the new ‘decoration’ now gracing her back. “What kind of games are you playing, how old are you - ten... what even is this?”

“Cultivation Fish!”

“Oh Oronyx,” Cyrene breathed with a smile, “you know the holiday is over, right? And that the main purpose of the Cultivation Fish is for me not to notice that you've attached it to me..?”

“Yes, but... that's exactly why I…”  Khaslana laughed in embarrassment, rubbing the back of his head. “Look how well your fish is preserved in my pocket…”

Fools' Day was already a month old, and none of the local children stopped at just one fish on their backs that day. Piso, leveraging his natural audacity, pranked Livia’s parents by claiming their goat had escaped. They were still trying to count the missing animal for a long time, until Audata and Hieronymus, who were working on a nearby plot, reminded them about the ridiculous holiday that opens the Month of Cultivation. Khaslana drew announcements about the arrival of "important people of Okhema” on the pages of his sister's album, having hung them all over the village with special care. He stole his father's superglue and later got a smack on the head for permanently decorating the neighbors' houses with paper remnants.

In general, the holiday in Aedes Elysiae was held exactly the same every year. The only thing that could really surprised everyone this time was Audata's initiative to take part in it without being noticed. And the bell tied to the bottom of Khaslana's shirt was shaking violently as he put up the hastily drawn announcements. But no one had noticed it until the end of the day, because the bell was already old and rang badly. But this particular tale had the village elders laughing twice as hard as they ever did at runaway cattle, salt swapped for sugar, or those paper fish that periodically appeared on their backs... It just seemed that accidental absurdities always brought more mirth than any carefully planned jest.

Cyrene glanced at the paper figure in her palm, noting that it still had its neat little button eyes painted on it. But that was just suspicious.

“You`re right, it is too unusual for a pair of pants that were often washed to preserve little fish this great. If they were often washed. Weren`t they, Khas?”

The boy crunched his asparagus mysteriously, hiding his eyes back into his plate.

It was extremely difficult to train a hero to perform everyday tasks, especially when the hero was already sixteen years old. In childhood, there still existed some possibility to transform laundry, cooking, cleaning, or painting garden paths — anything that didn't require a sword or special 'sacrificial devotion' — into something resembling a soul-stirring quest. Now that he was all grown up, there wasn't much point in keeping an eye on him, and her little brother got a little lazy. It was probably unavoidable for everyone in their small village.

Cyrene herself got somewhat lazy. Both Audata and Hieronymus understood their children's gloom, but there was nothing they could do to ease it in any way. It took a little more money than they had available to get the children out of their home nest. Cyrene and Khaslana never blamed their parents, continuing to help them with their work and secretly looking for all sorts of ways to earn money. Mostly, of course, through connections that end within the same village. In fact, there were as few of them as there were offers. After a month of working as a postman, Khaslana was especially shy when he looked at the Deliverer's favorite wooden sword hidden under his bed. Which could have protected even dragons... and Cyrene would spend hours bored in the small library that had just been rebuilt, realizing with horror that all she could see on the covers were the names of books she had already memorized.

“You'll be attending Lady Tribios' mechanics lecture today, right?” Khaslana asks, still lost in his own thoughts.

“I will.” Cyrene said with a soft smile, and pulled out her favorite album from under a drawer in the kitchen table. She immediately began drawing a portrait of their favorite teacher from memory. “Why do you think Lady Tribios decided to leave the glittering Janusopolis and come here?”

She never talked about her past, even if her most curious students were not shy about asking all sorts of questions. Questions that  were asked either veiled under the interest of the history of her hometown, or frankly personal. So they tried to find out as much as possible about their favorite teacher, and in return, she liked to leave them alone with their own imaginations. Like a true professional, she was too busy explaining a variety of material most of the time anyway.

And her lectures were always interesting, though difficult. And her homework assignments, in the form of blueprints, often seemed to be the only leisure for both of them for long evenings spent trying to understand what was drawn on the old scroll paper. But when they understood what, why, and how to come to a decision, they were filled with a long and vivid elation. And if only they had the material to bring even one of the blueprints to life...

“I'm thinking of asking her to teach me some aerodynamics... remember how she talked about it?”

“Aerodynamics... what do you need it for, Khas?”

“I'd like to… promise not to laugh! I'd like to be a pilot.”

Cyrene giggled a couple of times in spite of herself, immediately moving to an empty space on the sheet and starting to draw a picture of her younger brother with a pilot's cap, such as they see in advertisements for famous Okhema airlines. The boy leaned closer to the album curiously, his cheeks immediately turning pink. He expected to see a grown-up and handsome man with serious eyes. So that just by looking at him, you can see all the responsibility that he holds on his broad shoulders. Such had he always imagined himself in his undying visions of tomorrow - fantasies that refused to wither with passing years. But all he saw was a small boy with large, naive eyes, who smiled as if he had done something mean and was afraid to admit it.

It looks like one of his childhood photos. His sister's drawing skills couldn't help but amaze him. But that's just...

“That is... I definitely won't look this way.” Khaslana said, his voice lost in embarrassment.

“Someone is fastidious, huh?” Cyrene laughed loudly. Much louder than any bell hanging at the door of their neighbors.

After breakfast, they decided not to stay long and went straight to the library, which was the small basement where Lady Tribios gave her lectures. Usually, they weren't visited by many people, but everyone knew the days and times they were held. One day, guests from other cities came to a lecture on astrological calculations. It seemed that they all were former Tribios students. She didn't talk about it, but most likely she once taught at advanced schools in Janusopolis. Cyrene had done quick-hand sketches of their beautiful clothes and noble faces. Khaslana spoke particularly long and loudly that day. This happened every time something made a strong impression on him. In the end, none of them remembered the content of that lecture, but they definitely had emotions that they could carry with them all the way to Okhema, if they ever managed to get to it.

At that lecture, they understood for the first time why the people of Aedes Elysiae are so star-oriented when it comes to farming. But they are unlikely to be able to explain what they understand. This was the case with most of the Holy Maiden lectures. But she never scolded her students for it. So Cyrene and Khaslana tried not to miss a single lesson of their beautiful teacher. Out of respect and curiosity.

Today, the inventor's modest basement was empty. The conspiratorial glint in their eyes spoke volumes - this was their chance to gain exclusive knowledge available only to them. Today's lecture will be read only for them, which means...

“Lady Tribios, please teach me about aerodynamics!”

“Lady Tribios, please teach me how to draw planes!”

The woman flinched, her foot brushing against a row of tubes with various drawings and spilling her half-finished herbal tea. Cyrene and Khaslana were startled by this, immediately running to the table and realizing to their shame that they had entered without knocking. They quickly picked up the fallen papers and frantically searched for a rag to dry the spilled tea remnants. Tribios calmly picked up a handkerchief lying on the shelf next to her and managed it all herself. And while she tidied up, she looked at the impatient kids with mild surprise. They looked at each other like that for a while, until the teacher spoke first.

“Come again?”

None of the students found the courage to repeat the heartfelt request until Tribios laughed with her silken, elegant, and always kind laugh. She didn't ask any more questions, just got up from the table and turned her back on the guests, looking for the right book. The silence here was never awkward, on the contrary - it concealed the “sacred knowledge” that bored children, who spent much more time in fantasies than in reality, craved so much. They had nothing to do, and knowledge was the necessary food for the mind that could occupy their eternally empty leisure time. And they were looking forward to this silence, because it was followed by a brand new unknown world...

“It's so unusual that you are interested in it. But curiosity is never questioned, is it?” Tribios returned to her favorite soft chair with a battered book in her hands. “This is my old textbook.”

“Lady Tribios's textbook?” Khaslana moved to the back of the chair, looking at the seemingly brand-new pages of beautifully printed text. Cyrene came over from the other side, immediately pulling out the “studying album” from the bag her mother had given her.

“Yes, that's right…” The woman opened the book in the middle, revealing a full-page view of an almost shiny, colored plane. “If I were to teach aerodynamics, my starting point would be this essential question: how do we define the center of pressure?”

“It's when the wings and tail of an airplane share a common point," Khaslana explained excitedly, "to make takeoff easier.” 

“Well done.” With an approving smile, the woman turned back to the first page and pushed the textbook toward Cyrene. Without hesitation, the girl started meticulously reproducing the schematic drawings. “The center of pressure is where all the lifting forces from different parts of the plane balance out. The drawing you're working so hard to duplicate in your sketchbook,” Tribios tapped the diagram carefully in the middle, “shows the aerodynamic surfaces that create lift. See the two dots? This is the center of mass and the center of pressure... notice who is behind whom, because…”

And the students listened to every word. None of them was really good at memorizing words, and while Cyrene carefully transferred each of the lines to herself, making short notes, Khaslana wrote everything down as verbatim as possible, not understanding half the words and shortening them from time to time in completely unnecessary places. He had to ask sister for a sheet of notes, and promised that he would buy new notebooks at the market over the weekend. After an hour and a half of enthusiastic explanations from their dear teacher, they wearily thanked her and lazily stomped home. Both of them had their heads buzzing, as they always did after Tribios lectures, which they took far too seriously, leaving them just as stressed as they’d be during the first days of the Harvest Month. But they were happy, because both of them had a completely fabulous story in their heads:

“What if Lady Tribios was a medieval genius?”

“Then the fire of the Inquisition would be burning” Cyrene answered her brother's question sadly, remembering the stories of the books she had read.

“I don't know... the Holy Maiden seems so ancient to me, as if she witnessed the birth of our world. Like she was born much earlier than Aedes Elysiae or even Janusopolis itself.”

“Ancient, you say,” Cyrene said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, “she's not much older than our mom though.”

“Just think about it! It`s like one touched by divine favor, who stood present at the gods’ very downfall!.. Only to roam now, exiled among human souls…”

“Khas, what a rich imagination you have! But we won't be able to write a story about the birth of the world and the death of the gods.” Cyrene paused thoughtfully. “But we will try to write a story about the Middle Ages! It seems to me that Lady Tribios is suited for an image of an ancient tower and the loyal but tricky inventor of the king.”

“Why tricky?”

“Because Lady Tribios knows so much more about the world than the king does! She will fight for the truth.”

“And then Phainon the Deliverer will come and help her tell the world the truth..?”

Cyrene was distracted, narrowed her eyes, seeing the figure of her friend Livia in the distance, and interrupted her brother, who was hoping for new feats of the Hero.

“You know, Khas, I'll write you this story! And Livia will help me make it more plausible. And you, you help our parents with dinner!”

And so Cyrene ran off on her own business again. When this happened in childhood, Khaslana usually didn't even notice. But now, when wooden sword play struck him as something shameful, he couldn't settle himself. He couldn't go play with his sister and Livia either, because he wasn't a girl. And he didn't understand the huge number of different girly little things. He wanted to ask his sister to stay with him, but for some reason, he blushed in embarrassment and couldn't say a word. He needed to prove that he was no longer the same little boy who had always relied on his older sister. Although even the Deliverer Phainon, in his most dangerous adventures and battles, maintained the calmness peculiar only to heroes, only thanks to ridiculous plasters with flowers and delicious cookies with the Fortune Teller's cocoa.

And so he idly trudged to his secluded spot under the beautiful and simple archway next to the Sacrament Courtyard. He had left a plate of grapes there. Maybe even a jar of nuts. Or so he hoped, since he hadn't found it in its usual place in the kitchen drawer today. So he picked up his pace.

The boy unfolded the heavy album sheets on the way, discovering that half of the entries were really written in a clumsy hand. He couldn't tell where a thought started and ended, and that really scared him. How can he become a pilot if instead of determining the unbalanced thrust, he has drawn a lot of small curlicues?..

Khaslana let out a disappointed sigh as he rolled the sheets back up, spotting through the lush green foliage an unfamiliar figure sitting in his favorite spot. Wearing a red T-shirt. He might have thought it was none other than Piso, sitting there fishing for dinner at his father's request. But Piso had never had such long, golden hair. The boy hid behind a tree, watching the stranger from behind. The hair is very beautiful. Khaslana smiled uncomfortably, finding a slight resemblance to a lion's mane. He had seen it in the lessons of his teacher Pythias. And they developed as freely and as majestically as the lion's. This was what he had seen in the stories of Cyrene.

But if this really is a stranger, does that mean someone's come to them? Actually arrived? Here? From the big city? To tell them a lot of different stories, things that Khaslana never knew existed? The figure in the red t-shirt didn't turn around. For some reason, he was sure that his new mystery was aware of his presence, just didn't feel any interest. Proud. That's what city visitors should be like - arrogant and disinterested in the villagers. Yet the thought didn’t offend the young boy in the slightest — quite the opposite. What delight he might find if he could somehow startle this mysterious figure. To impress the lion himself. Here was a fresh challenge for the Deliverer...

The figure, meanwhile, was idly tossing the grapes Khaslana had left behind into their mouth and seemed to be trying to sort out the fishing rod. Indeed, he saw his father's fishing rod in a stranger's hands and frowned for some reason. Touching other people's things is not very respectful. And surely his impudent mystery didn't know how to fish. At least they couldn't have done it any better than Khaslana. And right now, he would approach them from behind, tap them on the shoulder, and make them fall in love with him.

The boy took a step forward, then flinched at the voice.

“Phainon, why are you hiding here in the trees?”

Khaslana flushed, glancing wildly at the figure. Then he snorted with displeasure - still no interest. But he didn't stop blushing in his displeasure and turned to the boy a little younger than he was. It was Piso who interrupted his new love story. He looks at him with mischievous curiosity with his brown eyes and waits for something interesting and unusual in response, like a treasure map or a conspiratorial whisper that he has managed to find a real dragon.

Although the new person in their village was indeed nothing less, but a real treasure. Much cooler. And so Khaslana decided not to talk about his enigma, all he did was silently put his hand on the shoulders of his childhood friend and walked him away from the Sacrament Courtyard, telling him in a low voice about the past day and the maneuverability of the plane's wings. The main thing for him was preventing the golden hair from evaporating the very next morning, right at the Entry Hour...

And in the evening, tired of Piso's jokes, Khaslana lay down on the soft mattress of his bed, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. The white walls still bore traces of his childhood art: star beacons for fairy-tale travelers; the sun breaking all the laws of nature, shining side by side with the moon ; the castle of the warlike Cremnos; the famous wheat fields of their favorite village; the prophecies of the titans… And the dusty wooden sword of the Deliverer thrown under the bed. To the boy's surprise, the sword could remain stationary for a surprisingly long time – much longer than it was possible for a restless teenager. And it was waiting, waiting, waiting...

And Khaslana himself was always waiting. Because time will not deceive the waiting ones. But what exactly he was waiting for, the answer remained unclear to him.

“I wrote it!”

Cyrene kicked off her sandals, running up to her brother and showing him their favorite album, filled with all sorts of stories from Amphoreus. It was already beginning to come to an end, and it seemed that their great epic would indeed end. But Cyrene asked Khaslana not to be so dramatic, because she could always redraw the map and make new figures.

And on the blank page of the album, the beautiful Lady Tribios looked up at them, her hair loose and her cheeks smeared with paint from working with machinery. Khaslana smiled, hiding the urge to show it to their dear teacher. She probably would have loved it.

And so the opening lines of the new chapter completely enthralled their primary readers.

“ In the Dark Ages, when the Church reigned over men’s minds and the pyres of the Inquisition lit the path for heretics, there lived in the small monastery of Janusopolis a maiden called Tribios. Even as a child, she spent her days among strange, unknowable gears, drafting elaborate designs with ink pilfered from her mother’s desk. One day, from copper plates she fashioned a clever and whimsical automaton — a small bird with a crooked beak and wings of improbable grace and span.

Tribios never believed her mechanical creations differed in any way from living birds. Thus she wove for them the gentlest nests of white lilies gathered near the church in the Lucid Hour. After all — they were as precious to her as the songbirds that followed her everywhere. They chirped just as sweetly, blinked their button eyes with the same curious wonder when seeking knowledge.

The maiden was destined to become the Holy Maiden of her beloved city, assuming the mantle of Mother Mortis. Yet the priests doubted her candidacy, for no Maiden had ever been so bound to the nonexistent as fair Tribios. Through the halls of the Church, day after day, whispers carried like sacred wind: 

Machines neither breathe, nor lament, nor pray — who then may dare to tend them as living things?

But Tribios continued to create beautiful and fragile copper birds, repeating her favorite prayer every morning to the rhythm of the church bells:

Lady of the paths shall show us the way, the king of fairness shall keep the balance, and the spirit of the night shall grand us wisdom. 

On the day when Tribios gave her birds the ability to fly, the bishop knocked on the door of the house of the Holy Maiden Mortis.

This is not grace, but heresy!

The screams of rage caused the floor beneath her feet to shake, and the church bells to ring with a terrible roar, such as has never been heard before in the territory of Janusopolis... ”

“Stop!” Khaslana squealed. “I don't want the story to end like this! Didn't Lady Tribios have a chance to convince the priests that she was right? Didn't they learn rhetoric in school?”

“Of course, dear Khas,” Cyrene said sadly, “but sometimes irreparable tragedies happen in the world. Besides, you didn't hear the rest of it. This story has a happy ending!”

“No,” The boy frowned, running his eyes over the written lines, “I won't call escaping from Janusopolis a happy ending. I think I've got this…”

A completely new story began to appear alongside Cyrene's, the neat handwriting gradually being covered up by the hurried letters of an inspired Khaslana, who wanted to see a happy ending only.

“ ... Lady Tribios was a real smart girl. After reading dozens of complex books and getting to chat with hundreds of Janusopolis' greatest scholars, she managed to come up with questions that finally made the church servants change their minds:

But is the lamp not dead until lit by a hand?
Is the bell not mute until struck by the wind?

And if man was made in the image of Kephale the Merciful, why then should a mechanism — forged of metal and copper — be denied a soul?

Let it breathe, let it lament, let it pray — so long as it lives by the care of its maker!

The priests were real impressed by Lady Tribios' fiery speech and properly recognized the young girl's wisdom. They kept discussing till the Curtain-Fall Hour, but one thing they knew for sure - the future Holy Maiden would honorably keep the roots of what's dear to Janusopolis' people

the end”

Cyrene stared in surprise at the hastily written story, trying hard to ignore her little brother’s somewhat terrible grammar. She was really struck by the content itself. She couldn't find any words that would accurately convey her feelings about a completely new narrative line in the story of the Holy Maiden, but she could only praise her new faithful co-author with confidence.

Cyrene smiled, patting her younger brother's head out of habit. The boy just smiled happily, feeling a little proud of the story he just wrote.

“It would be nice to meet Lady Tribios' birds!”

“I'm sure we'll have another chance to do so! Are you going to sleep, Khas?”

“Y-yes.” The boy looked away in embarrassment, suddenly remembering the golden hair of his enigma. “Tomorrow I'm going on a new adventure…”

“Oh? What kind of adventure?”

“Something... in the spirit of the Deliverer…”

Cyrene turned off the light with a smile, tucking her favorite album under her pillow. If she remembers it correctly - their father kept some unnecessary copper plates somewhere...

Chapter Text

Khaslana liked when his family cooked smoked venison for dinner. Such a celebration could not be spoiled by the scorching sun or the fact that he didn`t really meet his mystery again. Although the second one really upset him. Very. He'd spent the entire afternoon in the Sacrament Courtyard, still expecting to see someone he didn't know, but all he'd seen were the lost red chimeras from the next village, the strange shapes of clouds, and his own epic fantasies. Although the latter was hardly something new for him. Since he hadn't seen anything particularly new in his sixteen years of living in Aedes Elysiae. He was getting inspiration from the same fairy tales, the same myths, the same gossip… But he didn't get tired of the constant images swirling around in his head, just hoped that his mystery would turn one of them into reality. So he waited dreamily. And he refused requests to go hunting in the woods with old Galba and Piso today. He couldn't find a good argument for why, but they begged him for so long that he even had to promise to go some other time and share half of his own loot with them.

Explaining the real reason was...embarrassing. Khaslana did not even tell his beloved sister about the figure in red, from whom he usually did not hide anything.

Time will not deceive the waiting ones. Farmers believed in this, hoping for a rich harvest in the coming season. This was especially true in the Month of Fortune, when every family in Aedes Elysiae planned and expected the upcoming crops. Only Khaslana repeated this phrase with hope about the beginning of his heroic epic. And as he, with childlike excitement, blurred the line between fantasy and reality, these words only further solidified the unrealistic images in his mind. Waiting truly, always — is rewarded; faith will never leave a believer empty-handed. Yet a timid realization that this was unlikely to make him a knight of Okhema still crept into the hidden corners of his childish mind.

Because all the knights were left on the old illustrations of dusty books.

The boy smiled awkwardly as he watched five perfectly smoked pieces of meat on his plate at once. He especially loved the smell that lingered in their small courtyard for hours afterward. Each bite of the juicy meat left behind a pleasant sweetness that made any worries and problems turn into a fleeting nuisance. Khaslana loved the nutty taste of the meat, and he could eat it without any sauce or extra marinade, enjoying the naturalness of wild game like the sweetest grapes.

But with the sauce, it would be even better. There was clearly not enough fruit on this table to make a perfect addition to venison, but old Galba's supply of wild honey was far greater than that of herbs and fruit… Because they ate the former much less often.

“Mom,” Cyrene says, dipping the meat in wild honey, “It's been so long since we've made elderberry champagne…”

“You know, I wanted to make something else out of the remaining berries.” Odata smiled faintly. “But that`s gonna be a surprise for you.”

“Something better than our favorite champagne..?”

“Khas, do you want more meat?” Hieronymus squints, pointing to his son's plate. “And we'll go to the neighbors next. You know, to check the situation, so to speak.”

Khaslana shook his head. "Check the situation"  in father's terms, meant comparing their standard of living with that of neighboring villages. However, neither Khaslana nor Cyrene had been able to understand the competitive streak between the villages that was so strong in the older generation. As if something bad would happen if someone else's wheat was brought to the Marmoreal Market. But he still snagged one more piece, deciding to try the one with the wild honey that never ends.

Father just clicked his tongue at that, but he didn't object. Although there was more in his eyes than he could say – Khaslana wasn't the only one who regretted growing up. Because even as a boy, his working productivity in the fields directly depended on the food he ate. And he ate a lot. After all, any hero needs a lot of strength to...  mow the grass.

“Children, before you run away, we need to make a present for Lady Pythias.”

“Oh, right, her birthday is coming up.” Cyrene put her empty fork to her lips thoughtfully. “How about we make some Petimezi ? ”

The traditionally made grape syrup that would grace every home's dishes as a sweetener throughout the long months ahead.

“That's a good option.” Father nodded approvingly. “Now, I think I`ll go. Thanks for the food.”

Hieronymus stroked the children's heads and kissed his wife on the cheek, giving Cyrene a final wink and taking a few empty plates with him. Audata nodded with a smile, silently approving the option, and ran into the house after her husband. The siblings looked at the remaining goodies on the table and agreed that they could save them as a snack for the upcoming breakfast.

Cyrene ran her fingers over the bird-shaped whistle resting by the salt, the figurine she'd discovered during her morning tidying of the room. They had a lot of forgotten things in their room, from the colorful flags hanging by Khaslana's bed that he had taken with him after the festival ended, to the many stuffed animals on top of Cyrene's closet. Some trinkets were beautiful. Almost too precious to throw them away, like that little bird. Others were tossed into the garbage bag by Audata with barely concealed irritation, watching how her children didn’t even try to justify the junk they’d once bought at the market.

“You know, Khas,” Cyrene began slowly, raising the whistle to her lips and letting out a sweet, singsong sound, “Have you ever wondered how the rulers of Eternal Holy City Okhema lived their lives? Like… mundane things.”

“The rulers?” The boy thought deeply. “To be honest, not really. Because a true knight will be loyal to any ruler and kingdom…”

 “Yeah, sure.” Cyrene giggled. “But I've been thinking about Empress Cerydra all morning, and…”

“About Caesar? From the northern kingdom?” There was a hint of disbelief in Khaslana's eyes.

“She also had a loyal knight, Hysilens, and don't even try to deny that you keep some sketches of her exploits. And I also know that you asked Cipher about Hysilens's favorite wine!..”

“They don't sell it at the fair, you know.”

“I think we should go straight to Styxia for it!”

“Are you sure my life is worth as equally as quality wine?”

Laughter rang out around the table, and as Cyrene told the plot of her new story, Khaslana couldn't take his eyes off the Sacrament Courtyard, or at least the part of it he could see from the corner of their tiny house. And at some point, he actually saw his mystery. He jumped up abruptly from the table.

“Khas..?” Cyrene was taken aback, accidentally dropping the whistle face down. “What is it, something is wrong?”

And no matter how much she looked out of her brother's back, she couldn't see anything that would cause such a reaction.

“You know, I…” The boy hastily smiled at his sister, pushing the chair back with an awkward movement and straightening his favorite linen blouse. “I promise, I'll find out more about the Empress and... I just remembered, I need to pick up something from Lady Tribios... bye!”

“Bye..?”

Cyrene tilted her head in confusion, watching her younger brother run away. And he did not run in the direction of the library at all, instead he ran towards the statue of Oronyx. And if she had taken a few steps away from the door of the house, she might even have been able to observe the reason for her brother's sudden rush. But if he doesn't tell her something, then he has his own reasons. But this has never happened before. And Khaslana was more aware of this than anyone else, and it was even worse for him that he had no motivation to do so. At the very least, he’d hardly be able to explain to himself why he’d wanted to hide this new chance for adventure from his sister. The one he’d left all alone.

The girl lazily picked up the bird, out of boredom deciding to continue humming different melodies, which, due to a simple whistle, all turned out to be the same tune.

The mystery did come back to him after all. They had their back turned to him, seemingly interested in the stone image of the Time Titan. The sunlight fell upon the stranger’s lush golden hair – so brilliant, so enveloping, as though giving its last strength to let this new guest bathe in its radiance. One more second, and the sun would slip beyond the horizon.

“It's the statue of Oronyx!” Khaslana exclaimed, standing unabashedly next to the stranger.

“Why don't They have a face?”

“So you`re a city guy?”

“...Hmph. Answer my question first.”

And yet, his mystery turned out to be a boy, not a princess who needed his rescue and charm. There was a certain roughness and a real belligerent courage in his boyish voice. But that made it even more interesting – Khaslana chuckled satisfactorily, a familiar flutter appeared inside, and his imagination immediately began to draw the image of the very ruler that he had never really thought about before talking to Cyrene today. Something rather commanding was in a stranger`s voice. And that brought a smile full of real admiration to his face.

His own voice was completely different – perky and cheerful, as if every word was a joke or another reason to gossip with his sister. That wasn`t the only difference they had. The stranger was much more solidly built. He clearly had more physical exercises than the fights with hanging scarecrows that Khaslana used to train hand-to-hand combat, and kilogram bags of wheat.

“It's a philosophical question. And I`m bad at one, so I don`t know.” Khaslana said honestly.

“Don't you live here?” The boy looked disdainfully at the clothes of the sudden interlocutor.  “How can you not know something about your homeland?”

“H-how?” Khaslana waved his hands in frustration. “I know a lot about Aedes Elysiae! I know how to determine the future of our lands by the skyveil! For example…”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if the skyveil fluctuates, then it is better not to work with the earth at all and spend time on something else. Usually at this time, my sister and I gather leaves, sweep paths, paint carts…”

“I don't understand.” The stranger grimaced. “What does `skyveil fluctuates` mean?”

“It's when the stars twinkle.”

“Huh. What a stupid thing - to rely so much on the stars in questions of your work…”

“It's not stupid at all!” Khaslana lowered his voice resentfully. “We believe in Oronyx predictions…”

“That`s not what I…” The stranger paused, somewhat guiltily looking at the boy again. “Something else you can share with me?”

“So you're a city guy?” Khaslana smiled again, instantly forgetting the unpleasant words.

“Hmph…” The boy gasped heavily. “I came from castrum Kremnos.”

Khaslana blinked, then stared at him. He wouldn't even have had time to realize how stupid his face looked right now – in fact, he wasn't even aware of himself after hearing that. It really was much better than some princess. Castrum Kremnos is a city of true warriors, a place where some of the most glorious deeds, some of the longest adventures of the Phainon the Deliverer took place. Castrum Kremnos and its kingdom, through which infinitely majestic halls the Deliverer moved with a freedom and honor that only recognized Heroes were allowed. He was particularly fond of walking on the king's expensive burgundy-and-red carpets, thoughtfully taking each step closer and closer to the King, so that he could bend one knee before his powerful image and swear protection. Even if such a ceremony never existed there. And what gracious feasts there were, after another resounding victory of the Kremnoans..!

“Haven't you ever heard of castrum Kremnos?” The stranger asked with a slight threat in his voice, and then imperceptibly shook his head. “Apparently, it's not that important out here…”

“I Did! Heard.” Khaslana shouted at the top of his voice, afraid that the handsome stranger would think that he had never dreamed of being in the Kremnos for even a minute. “Please, please…” The somewhat desperate boy began to chatter quickly. “...fight me.”

“Excuse me?”

The village boy took a step back, blushing deeply. It was for this reason that he got rid of his wooden sword long ago - how awkward and completely incomprehensible he can be to others with his fantasies and extraordinary requests. But how could he describe all his fantasies to a stranger, how could he express his burning desire to give his beloved hero at least one chance to make his destiny come true?

“What kind of fool,” The stranger looked curiously into another boy's eyes, “Asking for a fight after five minutes of conversation, standing on his own territory?”

However, the golden-haired boy's speech was as epic as Khaslana's thoughts.

“At first glance, you are strong.” He shared his observations.  “And still, there`s only a defeat awaiting for you in the end.”

Khaslana flushed at the compliment. The Kremnoan himself had praised his modest build with its mediocre muscle relief. He had often heard this from his parents and other Aedes Elysiaens, but somehow the compliment from this particular person meant much more. He could have sworn it, but the boy in front of him clearly had personal mentors and knew a lot about the warrior's perfect body. Through the red, somewhat tight tank top, if he looked closely enough, he could make out the contours of a well-built torso. Just how strange was it to keep staring at a stranger's body like this.

“I said you were destined to be defeated.” The stranger hissed through clenched teeth, snapping his fingers right in front of Khaslana's nose.

“He-he,” The boy smiled back, rubbing his hands together, “Then I'm willing to fight even more!”

And the young Kremnoan suddenly rushes at the boy, a sharp blow passing through his shoulder. And he'd obviously changed his mind at the last moment about exactly where to land his heavy fist, Khaslana could have sworn that his jaw ached for no reason at all, as the fist almost landed on it. His only response was a snort, not from surprise or pain, but from the growing intrigue inside. Wanting to feel how long he could hold out in a real fight. And he reflexively pushes the opponent in the chest, which makes the movement so sharp and strong that it forces the other to take a step back. A satisfied smile was on his face, and the Kremnoan's eyes glowed with the hue of the sun's rays that had fallen on him minutes earlier. In a moment, both boys were in a real fight, laughing and trying to keep their balance. It would be dangerous to fall on the stone next to the statue, so Khaslana hurried them both further into the tall grass. The Kremnoan swung at the boy in an attempt to use one of his favorite moves on him, but Khaslana only stumbled awkwardly over a huge rock jutting out of the ground and fell to the ground without any extra help from Mydei`s fists. Instead of bracing himself, the stranger's reflexes made him try to catch his opponent – only to go tumbling together into the endless sea of yellow grass.

“Does that... count as a defeat?” Khaslana asked breathlessly, the image floating in front of his eyes as he tried to see the Kremnoan looming awkwardly over him.

“As a humiliating accident.” The boy snorted, getting to his feet with a jerk and giving Khaslana a hand. “My name is Mydei.”

“Oh! And mine is…”

“Phainon!” Livia's worried face appeared behind Mydei. “What's going on here?! Are you in pain?!”

Mydei turned around in surprise at the girl's startled voice, feeling a slight blush on his cheeks. This wasn't how he'd imagined meeting the locals.

“No, Livia,” Khaslana said, blushing several times more than his new friend, for several reasons at once, “I`m not-”

“Phainon?” Mydei smiled enigmatically as he helped the boy to his feet. “Um ... sorry,” He turned to the girl, “I just got here the other day, and Phainon was telling me about the stars.”

“We are always very happy for new guys!” Livia laughed, clapping her hands together. “Isn`t it right, Phainon?.. But for a moment, I thought you were fighting. Were you?!”

“We were.”

“We weren`t!” Khaslana took a deep breath, avoiding Mydei's gaze. “And stop calling me that, Livia!”

“Why, isn`t that simply your name?”

“N-no, that's…”

“Didn't he tell you about the adventures of the Phainon the Deliverer?”

“Phainon the Deliverer, eh?”

Khaslana cringed in real shame. He really wanted the handsome stranger to know about the glorious exploits of his favorite Hero. So that years later, when they stood side by side on the same battlefield, he would feel the weight of all those fantasies lived. So they could share many new stories yet to come. But the realization that he himself was dealing with a real Kremnoan, who had been surrounded by real battles and political intrigues all his life, came to Khaslana much more strongly than a mere guess about someone else's childhood dreams could have come to Mydei. It came to him in the form of shame and real pain, and still he needed to comment on the current situation in order to preserve at least the rest of the boyish honor he had.

“Phainon as Phaethon... wandering among the stars... and…”

“Of course, Phainon the Deliverer.” Mydei put his hand on the shoulder of his embarrassed friend. “I should probably come back home before it`s too late. Nice meeting you. I hope for a rematch.”

Mydeimos looked around, his eyes lingering on the starry sky that was beginning to show, and tapped Khaslana on the shoulder a few more times. He emerged from the tall grass and walked deeper into the village, while the others in the Sacrament Courtyard watched him go in silence. Livia laughed again at what had happened, just like Cyrene, she had grown to look so much like her with age, and said good night to her confused friend. Khaslana didn't want to go home, because he hadn't learned anything about the Empress Cerydra or the Knight Hysilens. And In the end all he`s going to bring back to his curious, expectant sister, was the sinking realization that his new, awe-inspiring comrade never learned his real name.

And so he lay back down on the warm ground, staring at the blanket of night protected by Oronyx, who had also witnessed such an awkward duel. The beloved fantasies of the inaccessible castrum Kremnos and Caesar appeared in his head. Out of habit, Khaslana tore off a thin stalk of nearby flowers and began waving it across the starry sky like a feather.

“A tale worthy of the Amphoreus epics,”   Khaslana began composing in a whisper, ” Speaks of the frozen splendor of the Eternal Holy City Okhema's Empress... Who never wore opulent gowns nor adorned her garments with jewels gained from countless treaties... Who draped the pelt of a snow leopard — slain barehanded before her rise to power — over her austere military attire... Who breakfasts alone each dawn after personally testing her meal for poison... Who sleeps little and rises before the sun's first breath... Who knows the true conduct of a warrior and suffers neither cowardice nor weakness of mind... She possessed but a single flaw…”

Khaslana smiles sleepily, slowing down his lazy but inspired hand movements. In the distance, he could hear the smells of delicious food fading into the cooling air and the late-night heart-to-heart conversations at his native wooden tables, which now had a single ashtray with vases of olives instead of plates. As children, he and Cyrene loved to fall asleep like this, in the wheat fields, listening to the whispered folklore of their favorite village.

“It manifested in the form of her most devoted knight, who played her beautiful songs at breakfast and shared her favorite drinks. Only in her presence did her perpetually icy eyes truly smile, only to her words did she lend ear, and only through her hand flowed poetic outpourings of the soul – so starkly different from the calculated schemes for conquering yet another kingdom... For in truth…”

“The Empress was never cruel,” A gentle voice continued the story for him, “ She was just a truly brilliant strategist trying to restore the Holy City to its former glory ... let's go home, Khas.”

And Khaslana nods softly, getting to his feet and smiling gratefully at his sister, who of course would never have missed his absence from their room. They didn't discuss anything, just basked in the sounds that timidly filled Aedes Elysiae' night. Even though they didn't have any crayons or figures on the map they'd drawn for this story, Cyrene still spent hours of her sleep writing out more and more details about the history of Cerydra and Hysilens. From time to time, she watched her brother sleeping peacefully, and his relaxed smile drew more and more expressions of Caesar's own tenderness under her pen.

Chapter Text

The mere thought of tiny bug feet on his legs, arms, back, and a shudder creeps over him at once. Khaslana had almost no fears, except for the faint, venomous insects. They were hardly poisonous, but the bare facts were not so exciting when faced with the impenetrable darkness of an unknown place. Though he did take a lantern with him — and a rather powerful one at that — it didn’t make the situation any less dangerous. It illuminated the rocky walls so well that even the shadow that had just passed near his nose could not go unnoticed.

The boy leaned back in surprise, scaring Cyrene, who was watching warily as well. Without a word, he turned to his sister and smiled wryly, his face pale with horror. It was the kind of smile Cyrene had called nervous, but instead of laughing at it as she usually did, she smiled back the same way. They almost looked like twins now.

There was a slight confusion in their eyes, as they realized that they couldn't quite remember how they had come to this. How they ended up at the entrance to a previously unknown cave. Why exactly did Khaslana squeal as a spider ran past his palm, why did Cyrene immediately jump back, trying to make up for her fright with laughter. She couldn't find the right words to support him, so she just continued to watch her brother's slow progress. And it seemed to be a completely spontaneous adventure, and yet they were wearing the most worn clothes to avoid getting dirty from the ground dust, lanterns were prepared, and Cyrene even had a strong rope from their father's warehouse in her hands.

Which they probably won't need, since a rock thrown into the cave to test the depth assured the brave and courageous ones that they won't have to fly for long. If they try to be more careful, they won't have to fly at all.

One way or another, everything happened exactly as it was meant to. At least they had a reason to be here. It was Khaslana's inability to hide his thoughts, desires, and secrets from his sister to blame. And so they talked for a long time before going to bed, until a naive and childish confession came out of his mouth: “I miss the adventures of Phainon very much.” Cyrene didn't start laughing, didn't look away awkwardly, just sighed softly. What was his sister really feeling at that moment? There was no proper answer. Her features were disappearing into the gloom, as well as any chance of guessing her real reaction. But as for him, he just blushed. Spending so much time in your own daydreams at his age was just plain weird. Besides, he already knew that there would be no dragons or warriors in their village.

Yet the appearance of the Kremnoan caused the wooden sword hidden under the bed to show itself to the world again.

After a few minutes of silence, Khaslana was beginning to think that his sister had just fallen asleep again. But Cyrene finally spoke up and told him the story of Earth's titan, Georios, and more specifically, how little was really known about Them. It seemed that Lady Tribios herself knew very little about Them, although she was the one who enthusiastically told her students the story of Amphoreus and its main heroes. Word by word, speculation by speculation, and so the guys set themselves the goal of going to explore the first cave found in Aedes Elysiae. After all, where to look for traces of Georios, if not in the ground..?

And even if it was very naive and completely not logical, still even Cyrene missed the stories about the exploits of the Deliverer. In addition, she could finish drawing some of the landscapes she started as a child.

“What are we even…” Khaslana swallowed nervously.

“Actually, do you remember, we found our favorite fairies once the same way,” Cyrene put her hand on her brother's shoulder in an attempt to support, “The real-real adventures take place where one has never been before..!”

And it was right after words like these that the real horror began to unfold on their parents' VHS horror tapes. Cyrene shifted from one foot to the other, trying to see the contents of the abyss. The boy sat back down on his knees, crawling forward a few more inches. He squeezed his eyes shut, beginning to repeat in a whisper: “no risk, no glory. No risk, no glory. No risk, no glory. No risk, no…”

“Why didn't we ask Dolimem about the local caves before we…”

Khaslana paused, feeling something slimy touch his arm. A creature from outside. Encroaching on his dear and beloved life. Cyrene opened her mouth expectantly, catching a faint squelch a moment later. She turned on the flashlight with unprecedented confidence, crawling straight to her brother and seeing the abyss in front of her. This should be done quickly, without giving your thoughts the opportunity to draw tragic outcomes.

“Khas, how about…”

And Khaslana just grabs her arm, speeding forward through the narrow passageway. No risk, no glory. No risk, no glory. No risk, no glory…

Something cracked under their weight, and the last thing either of them could see was the horror in the other's eyes. They plummeted swiftly downward. Fortunately, the fall was short, and they landed well before they could bid farewell to life or ponder how their parents would receive the tragic news of their grown children, lost to meaningless childish games. A dull ache flared in Cyrena’s lower back as she remembered the rope she left at the cave's entrance. First thing first, she saw the stone they’d throw there to check the depth. Fortune had betrayed them; so had their faith in a little stone.

Cyrene slowly opened her eyes, coughing up dust from the ground, as if her entire face was covered in it. As well as the old white dress that no longer fits her height. Her hands rested on the familiar bright purple flowers, and the stone masses around her were wrapped in vines. The girl gave a faint smile, then suddenly reached for her brother.He lay some distance away, motionless, as if unwilling to move at all.

“Khas,” Cyrene whispered, looking down at her younger brother's martyred face, “Khas, I think we're in a Membrance Maze…”

“It's not... over yet,” Khaslana mouthed, hardly answering his sister's words.

With a slow nod, Cyrene forcibly opened her brother's eyes, peering into the slightly dilated pupils. A small laugh escaped her lips. Truly, fear had large eyes.

“Look, it's Georios!!” Cyrene shouted theatrically, pointing down the endless tunnels.

“Where? How do They look?!” Khaslana immediately got up on his elbows, trying to look for something that even his imagination couldn't imagine.

“How do I know?”

The girl laughed sarcastically, getting to her feet and trying to get her dress back to its original whiteness. No success. And the same goes for their mission to discover a place completely unfamiliar to them and impress the titan of earth with their dedication. Either way, and each of them knew it, Georios' possession would not be in their own small village, but it was especially pleasant to experience the familiar spark of curiosity from childhood. Khaslana just threw his head back in frustration, the realization of the failed feat beginning to come to him as well.

The golden butterflies of Mnestia — familiar to every inhabitant of Amphoreus — alighted on the boy’s white hair, confirming the Hero’s fears.

They really got into the forest of their dear fairies, and they have known about this place since childhood, they just came from another entrance. As it turned out, their magical forest stretched beneath all of Aedes Elysiae, an entire world buried like a secret. It wouldn't be difficult to find a way out of here, all they had to do was find one of the fairies and ask them for help, with their hands dirty with dust and their faces red with embarrassment.

Cyrene sighed dreamily, turning to her brother and smiling happily.

“You know, I'm glad to discover this place all over again,” The girl shared her thoughts, “Even if we are now closer to adults than to kids, and we do know almost... almost,” She spelled out slowly, “every corner, this place is still a real miracle. I like fairies a lot more than chimeras. They dance so merrily and tell stories no less than textbooks…”

“Cyrene…”

“I think this place was made by Mnestia herself. I often get inspired by it, fantasizing about the Grove of Epiphany.”

“Cyrene, why are they all over me?” Khaslana, who wasn't really listening to her, asked with a note of complaint, “What do they want?”

More than five butterflies had already settled on her brother, casting a golden glow on his face and giving his hair a silkier sheen. Cyrene laughed brightly.

“Because they're happy to see their Deliverer.”

Khaslana looked away sadly, but a smile still crossed his lips.

They got to the center of the Membrance Maze quickly enough, just following the only path that led deeper into the cave. They almost immediately came across Dolimem, the village chief, who gave them an unabashed appraising look, but made no comment on their appearance. She also ignored their childish act to go “through the window”, when there was a neat direct entrance, which the fairies decorated in a special way in the first year of meeting new friends. Around the Dolimem, Khaslana and Cyrene always felt like guilty children, even if they came to help in some way and did everything perfectly.

After all, every fairy was much older than they were, especially Dolimem...

The chief told them about the land of Georios. About Their lights located all over Okhema, about the blessings They give to the animals of all Amphoreus. About how two titans were born from Their breath at once - Aquila and Phagousa, which created an eternal confrontation between land and sky. About how the priests of the city of Icatus annually dig a titan out of clay so that all living things can breathe again. And while the children listened with particular attention to her stories, they couldn't help but feel that their dear fairy had caught a glimpse of the time when Georios ruled among humans.

And suddenly the detailed lecture, punctuated by the old fairy's occasional and embarrassed giggles, ended as the ever-indulgent Similimem sat on Cyrene's shoulder.

“Look, I've learned to play the harp…”

A tiny harp appeared in the hands of the blue fairy, and around their hidden nook rose a rather unrestrained, hurried melody — drawing nothing but weariness and irritation across the village chief’s face. The guests were immediately distracted by the wonderful melody, forgetting about the greatness of Georios without much effort. And as Dolimem flew slowly away toward her tiny wooden house, only more fairies and Mnestia's dainty butterflies flocked to the music.

“To be honest,” Similimem sang in a clear voice, busy with her harp, “I overheard your conversation…”

“We had no doubt you did,” Cyrene laughed.

“And I wonder, why our wise chief didn't tell you the mo-ost important thing?” She began to sing every word, getting lost in the instrument's notes, and laughter erupted within their small circle.

“The mo-ost important…” The fairies echoed, losing themselves in the energetic dance.

“After all, our dear chief Dolimem ... once cursed those travelers, who tried to harm our wonderful trees!”

“Curse-ed…”

“And even if the Phagousa hated Their ancestor, no titan liked to see their possession destroyed... especially Georios, who had heard the wise Dolimem's grievance…”

“The Wise Dolime-em…”

“After all, the traveler tried to cut down not just a simple tree, but one protected by Mnestia herself,” Similimem pointed to the most luxurious tree of the Membrance Maze standing a little further away. “And therefore They allowed a terrible curse to be cast on the traveler!”

“With no second thought, no second thought, no second thought!”

“The curse was no less than Eternal, Terrible Hunger, one of the most merciless curses of Phagousa…”

Cyrene and Khaslana looked at each other, a hint of fright crossing their faces. Until that moment, it had never once crossed their minds that the Gods could not only protect but also punish. They had never contemplated the limits of their Creators' forgiveness, for the very idea that things could be otherwise had never even occurred to them. And that realization alone made them deeply uneasy. But just as the idea that the justice of the gods might lie not in a light gift but in a cold reckoning crept into the depths of their minds, the fairies interrupted the flow of thoughts that were becoming too loud.

“You look so frightened,” Dosolmem said timidly, hovering between brother and sister, “But do not fear..! After all, at the behest of Georios, the land of Aedes Elysiae is always fertile! Care is always encouraged for hardworking farmers!”

“For the farmers,” Similimem laughed, winking at the guests as she continued her lovely tune.

As the fairies danced happily, Khaslana and Cyrene exchanged a look, agreeing that it was time for them to return home. Time passed very differently in the Membrance Maze than in the village, and they could easily have spent several hours inside, lost in the magical stories and mysterious music of the fairies. Neither of them was in a hurry to discuss the story they'd just heard, or to write it down on the map of their endless epics.

At home, however, a real surprise awaited them. Cyrene was about to open the door when Khaslana's eyes darted to the side of the house at the last moment. The boy immediately grabbed his sister's wrist with his mouth hanging open. Perhaps luck was on their side after all.

Two curious faces peered out from the white stone wall, eager to see what was happening from the front rows. Next to their mother sat an elegant woman in a snow-white outfit that seemed simple only at first glance. She wore an expensive gold necklace around her neck, and on the hand resting freely on the table gleamed numerous bracelets adorned with shimmering blue stones . Khaslana's eyes immediately brightened, and he recognized the gold-tinged blond hair tied back in a single, yet majestic, long braid.

“O Kephale,” Audata mouthed, interrupting her quiet conversation with the guest. She clearly noticed her children, “What on earth happened to you..?”

“Eh!”

“Mom,” Cyrene blushed with shame for a moment, replaying the events of the day in her head. She had almost gotten both of them killed after all, “We just stumbled. It's not a big deal. Really…”

“You stumbled and lay in the ground for hours..?”

As the small, curious faces inspected her, the woman in white observed them back with quiet fascination. She didn't cut into the conversation and didn't even seem to have any intention of commenting on the awkward situation, while Audata looked down at the children with mild disappointment. Both Cyrene and Khaslana were ashamed of the situation they were in, but not to the extent that they were interested in the graceful lady at the table. She silently raised a goblet of blood-red wine to her lips and winked at the children.

“Excuse us, Miss Gorgo,” Audata laughed awkwardly.

“To my mind, it's a real honor,” The woman interrupted in a strong voice, nodding curtly, “You know, my son almost always comes home in such a state that it’s easier to throw his clothes out than send them to a tailor. And every time this happens – I am proud of him, it only means that he has improved in the art of combat. And your children are improving their knowledge of the world. Exactly the way people who are not indifferent to their surroundings should do.”

Cyrene and Khaslana looked at each other, seeing each other's wide, proud smiles. They didn't have the faintest idea who the woman was, but they wanted to put a compliment from her on the wardrobe as a trophy and treat it with the same care that Miss Gorgo treats every word spoken. Khaslana grinned foolishly, knowing that he was going to say something before he thought again.

“Mydei looks so much like you!”

The woman nodded, giving the boy another majestic look.

“I hope you enjoy our food,” Cyrene said with an admiring smile, noticing the fried elderberries on the table. The surprise that their mother mentioned earlier. “Have a good evening!”

And the kids ran inside, left deeply impressed by their unusual guest. Cyrene ran into the room, locking herself in to change, and Khaslana lay down on the sofa to dream without further protest.

“Mydei – it's the boy you got into a fight with yesterday?” A voice called from the room.

“That`s right! And he has the same confident look as Miss Gorgo. And he’s braiding his hair into the exact same little side plait as hers! Tiny…just like hers... you see, the real Kremnoans have come to us! They're just as amazing as they are in your pictures…”

“It's so nice,” The door opened, and Cyrene, who had changed into her favorite pink sweater, plopped down next to her brother. “You know, I often found myself thinking that we just made them up.”

“What do you think – is it even possible to make up an entire world?”

Khaslana snapped his fingers excitedly. None of them dared to answer this question. Such thoughts came to them, more than once. With each new written page of their common epic, with each new fantasy related even to the living people around them. They laughed as they planned Livia and Piso's wedding, whispered aloud the stories of their favorite fairies, and imagined their parents as one of the richest men in Okhema.

Sometimes their gaze held an unspoken doubt. What if the books they read have been written by fellow “dreamers” like themselves, that the authors might in fact be living just two villages over, equally prone to gossip and boredom. Even though the lessons of Lady Tribios and Teacher Pythias had made them feel more confident that the world beyond Aedes Elysiae still existed, it still managed to make them even more frustrated.

Because they don't exist outside of this village.

They glanced at each other briefly, making sure they both remembered the story the fairies had told them. They were still in no hurry to discuss what had happened. Because then they’d have to accept that the world’s tragedies were nothing more than collateral damage in the eyes of calculating gods — that their reality wasn’t some boundless epic, but just a crude scales-balancing act between titans locked in eternal strife.

“Still, I'm glad” Khaslana closed his eyes with a smile. “That Mydei and Miss Gorgo do exist. They are exactly what I always imagined them to be. Honest, seemingly rude, but honest and majestic Kremnoans.” 

Cyrene slowly withdrew her hand and turned her face to the wall, but the silence was deafening. Her thoughts vibrated in the air – in the slow rhythm of the second hand, in the chaotic flight of dust motes, in snatches of other people's conversations outside the window, even in the numb pads of his fingers. He never managed to hide anything from his older sister. But the older sister usually managed to lose herself in silence and a small smile filled with sadness. She understood a lot more things than he did, noticed a lot more details, and listened to a lot more of the world's spoken words since she was a child. It always seemed to him that she was enveloped in the same veil of loneliness that came to him on rare nights in the form of the absent moonlight outside the window.

“You know, Khas... as long as we only see what we want to see in others, they are just a dream, a fantasy that has nothing to do with reality…”

Just a dream? He couldn't find the right words for the ache in his chest from his sister's comment. Was she talking about the Kremnoans? About Mydei? In a way, she was right, for Khaslana still knew nothing of his new friend, but he had learned all about the glorious warriors of Kremnos, and he was eager to go with one of them to many such glorious battles. But he didn't know if Mydei, who called him Phainon not with respect, but with a touch of teasing, wanted the same.

But why did Cyrene care? The boy couldn't understand that part no matter how he tried.

Khaslana just gives his sister a silent hug, as if the hug alone could dispel their own doubts about dozens of things at once. At least it was usually enough.

“Lord Oronyx,” Khaslana begins in a whisper, “Guide our steps along the path ahead…”

“Grant us restful sleep through the night,” Cyrene said with a smile, echoing one of her favorite prayers, “Bestow upon us wisdom for the days to come.”

Chapter Text

Action Hour is the hour when the churches of the villages begin their game of ringing bells. It always seemed unusually deafening, but it was impossible not to fall in love with its melody – it was like a lullaby for everyone who believed and waited. This music has always been a confirmation of the upcoming holiday. Cyrene's most favorite holiday was Easter. She liked to paint the eggs of the village chickens in an elegant red color, and she liked to join the dancing parties that went around the streets, meet beautiful girls, and laugh at the most ordinary things.

However, the bells didn’t ring only on holidays. It’s just that their loud chime never reached their village. Neither did the festive round dances.

Cyrene opens her eyes in the familiar bed, under the familiar light blanket, in her favorite linen pajamas. As usual, she was one of the very first to wake up, and as usual, there was no reason to do so. In this village, the silence could be heard at any time. It was easy to find solitude here and spend the whole day in a stingy, silent silence. The silence here could be joyful as much as it could be the fuel for slight sadness. And yet it was always the reason to thank Oronyx for the fact that they never had problems that would turn slight sadness into heavy grief.

Today, she would like to draw... herself. Because Cyrene was a very sweet, very lovely girl. Her clothes were woven by her mother's love, from the crops that were gathered by her father's hardworking hands. And even though she didn't look like the model beauties on the covers of glossy magazines, for which she allocated a whole box in the closet, she still thought that the reflection in the mirror was no less attractive and sincere. In addition, according to the magazines, she had a "romantic" type of looks – one of the rarest, with the most beautiful name.

And she always silently praised the experts in fashion, because the face looking at her from the mirror really could not be called anything other than romantic. Her features were softened and rounded, her thick pinkish hair fell over her shoulders. She was sure that if she just tried modeling, she’d be accepted right away. She was so perfectly proportioned and, because of that, utterly charming. But they will take her only as a model for makeup, although she did not know how to use it at all. She didn't see the need for it, because she adored herself for her natural charm.

The girl smiled softly, turning to her brother's bed and clapping her hands.

“And you could become a model if I teach you how to walk the catwalk correctly and choose beautiful clothes,” Cyrene sighed dreamily. “I hope they will be able to emphasize your lush white eyelashes. You got that from mom, I'm so, so jealous, tehe-e~…”

As the girl spoke, she twirled the curls at her temple, imagining herself with soft ringlets, dressed in the most lavish gowns – like real, fragrant blossoms. There was no sign of embarrassment or response from her brother, and she finally turned her attention to his bed. 

“Khas?”

Apparently, her restless little brother was gone again. However, he usually woke up later than everyone else. Thanks to the menacing voice of his father, calling him to work in the field. Cyrene was sure that despite his hyperactivity, Khaslana would be able to sleep all day, or even days, without noticing the world around him. Her hands dropped timidly, it didn't really feel right.

“He must have run to Mydei…”

Such a harmless suggestion brought a smile to her face -- it was a good thing that Khas had made a new friend. From the way this boy’s mother looked, she could tell without a doubt that they were clearly suited to each other's personalities. It seems that the Mydei's temperament was even less assiduous than his brother's.

New friends is always a great thing...

The thought made her feel an unpleasant, barely noticeable pain in her chest – it wasn't a big deal, after all, someone new awaits her somewhere out there as well...

The girl stepped out of the house barefoot, her feet meeting the white stone still chilled from the cold night. It was nice, while it wasn’t scorching yet. She peeked around the corner of the house, hoping to spot some leftovers from her mother’s and Miss Gorgo’s evening gathering. Maybe a few sun-dried olives soaked in rich spices, the freshly bought market ham, the neighbors’ goat cheese, and…

But all she could see was the clean blue table and the folded chairs that had been left out of the way. How strange it was, she thought, this didn't happen even during the big cleaning days, snacks were always on the table in their house. Did mother care so much about the opinion of the elegant guest from Kremnos? Cyrene covered her mouth with her hand, letting out a light chuckle. She never thought about it – but it seems that not only the local children feel a little lonely –

Seeing the same faces every day.

Cyrene fell silent, listening to the sounds of the village. Today was unusually… ordinary. For the first time in a long while, there was no wind, no distant barking of the occasional stray dogs. No snorting of chimeras in the Sacrament Courtyard, no rustling of the eternally orange leaves. 

“This needs to be captured,” Cyrene whispered, taking a few more steps forward, her slight concern growing. So quiet, so inconspicuous, so silent.

She has to capture the infinitely frozen time.

The girl quickly returned to her room, taking her favorite album with her in one movement and running out again, before putting on her favorite gold sandals. Flipping to the middle of the album, she stared at the blankness in disbelief. Cyrene shook her head. She knew she had filled these pages days ago, her cherry tree sketch stretching across the paper. It should’ve been here… and this spot right here was meant for her portrait crowned with Livia’s gift, that space for her brother’s goofy grin, here should be the exhausted but gentle blue gaze of her mother—yet…

She couldn't find a single drawing inside.

All her drawings, filled with her emotions and thoughts, disappeared, turning into white, as if the album sheets were started anew.

“What..?”

The uncomfortable feeling in her chest grew stronger this time, and only now did Cyrene notice how unusual the sky above her head was. A chilling rising sun and a hot, dusky moon existing in the same time. 

“Khas?”

Cyrene took a few slow steps toward the statue of Oronyx, suddenly noticing the changes that had taken place in it. The faceless statue that had watched them through the stars and the soft rustle of wheat, suddenly took on human features. The eternally blank scroll in her hands was now filled with line upon line of text in a language Cyrene neither knew nor wished to know. For some reason, she feared looking too closely at those unfamiliar symbols — feared that if she squinted hard enough, she might decipher every word written here. And that even a single word from this scroll could set her heart pounding wildly in her chest, as if these letters held the entire truth. About the Titans, about their world, about themselves. And that was a truth she didn’t truly want to face.

With growing unease, the girl raised her eyes and peered into the human-like features of the statue's suddenly visible face.

Their eyes were full of tenderness, Their lips were neat and full, and Their chin was delicately rounded. They were smiling as if They knew a lot more than anyone peering at her pretty eyes. Cyrene slowly touched the statue, it was somehow warm. Oronyx was mysterious, happy, yet there were a lot of indescribable grief no one could share in Their gaze. As if from a burn, Cyrene immediately pulled her hand away.

“Khas!” The girl tried to prove something to herself once again. “Mom..?”

“Dad!”

“Mom, Dad…” The girl's breathing deepened with each word. “Khas! Livia..?”

Cyrene's gaze involuntarily dropped to the text on the scroll, compelled by the same law of nature that drives people to sink their teeth into forbidden fruit. And so, against her better judgment, she allowed herself to piece the isolated letters into words. Words that glowed with that same unnatural light which had descended upon the fields of Aedes Elysiae. 

“Here, love, brighter than a thousand moons –

turns the world to hollow ash,

for nothing can rival its all-consuming light. 

And Chaos, ancient and ravenous,

rends the fabric of being, devouring creation itself like a merciless sun.

And here, amidst the ruins of dead ages and the shadows of those yet to come,

stands a Titan, gaze fixed beyond mortal ken.

They does not lower Their eyes to those whose lives are but a breath in time’s eternal dance,

yet Their silence whispers this truth:

before infinity, humankind existence is but a mote of dust, swept away by the wind of eternity.’

So speaks the scroll, inked by stars,

carved in stone by time,

and signed by the void itself.”

Cyrene exhaled heavily, falling to her knees in front of the statue. She couldn't understand any of the words, even though she could make out their meaning now. The image of Oronyx described here was very different from their merciful protector, who gave Their generous gifts to all who could wait patiently and believe. Their Oronyx had never been indifferent to Their followers, their Oronyx had never considered people so tiny and insignificant, for all Their greatness, for all the heavy weight They carried on Their shoulders. Oronyx watched them, Oronyx was awed by their time, Oronyx grew their fruit in the Month of Everday and put them to bed at the Curtain-Fall Hour. 

The sharp smell of something burning hit her sharply, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't find the source of it. She couldn’t see the smoke — the very thing every villager dreaded spotting in summer, when temperatures soared to unbearable heights, and the news flickered with images of firefighters’ futile battles against flames devouring yet another forest. Even fire had two faces: in winter, it warmed and sheltered; in summer, it reduced everything to ash. Cyrene still couldn't feel anything but her own fear and the smell that was eating into her pretty clothes.

Cyrene stared at the statue in panic once more, seeing only indifference and deep regret in its gaze. Now she had the feeling that Aedes Elysiae was not frozen in a peaceful moment of life, but in a moment of its own oblivion and terrible, catastrophic death. A small cry escaped her lips, and she clambered awkwardly to her feet and ran as fast as she could. She screamed about a fire that was just about to happen, and with each word, the oxygen in her lungs gave way to a yet nonexistent burning.

But no one came out of their houses. Cyrene couldn't see a single sign of life, except for her own panic and the hurricane of terror and fear that filled her insides.

“To all who are waiting, to all who are waiting, to all who are willing to…” The girl began to mumble feverishly, bursting into the newly built library, which had become her favorite, and going down to Miss Tribios without feeling her feet, skipping step by step.

Cyrene gasped, gritting her teeth and growling in frustration. Of course, there was no one here. “Oh, Dear Kephale, let it all be a bad dream that has nothing to do with reality…”

She began sorting through her favorite books, throwing them on the floor with hatred, trying to find at least one story through which she could rewrite what was happening now. Five minutes, ten minutes, an hour passed, but the time didn't really move. The world didn't want to interact with her while she unsuccessfully threw another empty book on the floor. The pages were as blank as her sketchbook. As their epic. Because in the end, no matter how hard they tried...

Only Titans can decide fate.

The smell of burning had either stopped too long ago, or it had never stopped at all, Cyrene couldn't tell anymore, because she couldn't feel or know anything else but that terrifying smell. She staggered up the stairs, her legs wobbling, fear and despair seeping into her skin. There were several mechanical clocks hanging on the walls of the library, and each of them was stopped, not moving in time with the world around them. She stepped out of the open, deserted door.

And finally, she saw what she was so afraid of. Destructive, biting flames engulfed the village, eating away their home and all the fertile land it once had. Her favorite flowers turned to dry and brittle petals, and with each step she took, the ground seemed to burn even more. She felt herself pathetically small, unable to even cry, because of the horror that had happened to her too suddenly, too quickly, and had lasted all her life before. And she couldn't say a word against it, knowing in every cell of her body that the horror would continue to happen in the future, time after time, meeting millions of girls just like her in such tragedy.

“I'm sorry, Cyrene.” A grieving male voice said from somewhere.

Cyrene, feeling the heat touching her, ran out into the middle of the street, noticing a noble knight bending over a statue untouched by the elements.

“Perhaps, in another place and time…” The familiar-looking man continued in a heavy voice, “None of this ever happened…”

“Phainon..!?” Cyrene gasps, noticing the silhouette of a character from her own drawings. She could feel her mouth starting to dry quickly, and it began to hurt to keep her eyes open. And like all the other truths that have come to her, she calls out the real name of the Hero in front of her.

“Khas! Khas, what do you mean..?”

The girl rushed towards the statue with a frightening look, grabbing the strong hands of the Deliverer without thinking, and immediately noticing that she did not feel either a touch or someone else's warmth. Same went for the look of blue eyes under the lush snow-white lashes of her grown-up brother, directed at her. But he wasn't looking. It seemed that only the statue was seeing her, with Their icy, indifferent gaze. 

Tears welled in Cyrene eyes — only now did she understand, she did not exist here, not truly. Neither did the other villagers. She was but a spectator, a puppet clutched in the hands of an indifferent Creator.

“But I'll just... start over, okay?”

“Khas... Khas…”

Cyrene sat down next to the statue, waiting for the past and future to burn her along with her present.

—

Cyrene opens her eyes with a heavy feeling, finding herself in a familiar bed, under a familiar light blanket, in her favorite linen pajamas. She jumps up in her own bed, immediately rushing to her younger brother, her eyes half-closed against the rush of tears. She is relieved to find her brother there this time, clinging to him with a hug. Khaslana wraps his arms around his sister, not fully realizing that it was his sister and that he was being hugged. It finally unravels the knot of anxiety and fear in Cyrene's chest, and she just smiles nervously, starting to blush at the fact that she's behaving like a real child at her twenties. She really was scared out of her mind by a mere nightmare.

“Cyrene..? What... what happened?” The boy asked in confusion, feeling how hard his sister's heart was beating in her chest.

“You know,” Cyrene said in a frustrated voice, “Such terrible things can happen to a Deliverer and a Fortune Teller..."

“Have you made up a new story?” Khaslana asked cautiously.

“No,” Cyrene shook her head, pulling away from her brother and looking him straight in the eyes. “I would never write such a terrible story for our heroes…”

Khaslana just nodded worriedly, still not sure what had happened to his sister sitting in front of him with such a worried look on her face. 

“Then ... let's write as many good stories as possible!”

“Y-yes,” she breathed, wiping the last of the tears from her eyes. “Not in a way of Titans deciding other people's fates, but in a way of Khaslana and Cyrene from Aedes Elysiae… Let's do this as long as we can write good stories…”

“That's right,” Khaslana smiled, “There's no way I'd want to become a titan anyway…”

Light laughter echoed through the room, and it was the first sound that filled their lovely village today.

Chapter Text

Cyrene peered curiously out of the album, not letting a single word go past her ears. She was glad to meet her brother's new friend, and she could think of nothing better to do than to make him her new model. Though the somewhat hot-tempered boy was clearly unhappy about this. Or maybe it only seemed that way to Cyrene. No matter what, he behaved surprisingly professionally and supported her every chaotic desire to change the position every so often. And after each minor change in pose, he did not move even once. He held one of the fruits of a freshly picked pomegranate in his hands, frozen in a majestic silhouette. At times, the artist even felt as though she were painting from the work of a sculptor who had once stood in her place. Cyrene couldn’t help but notice the faint blush on Mydei’s sun-kissed cheeks — one that seemed determined to linger on his stern face until the very end.

Of course, Mydei was not the only person Cyrene saw in the landscape she had chosen. The white-haired head kept looming in front of both the artist and the model. Khaslana didn’t shut up for a second, and sometimes, absorbed in their creative process, his only listeners exchanged awkward smiles — wordlessly poking fun at the fact that Khaslana didn’t even seem to need anyone else in the conversation anymore. But even so, both listened carefully, realizing that thanks to this chatter, the process was not as boring as it would have been in silence. Khaslana's chatter was never boring in general, but if Cyrene had lived with it in the background her entire life, then Mydei, who clearly preferred silence, was only just beginning to get used to it.

“...I bet,” Khaslana continued one of his hundreds of thoughts, “You walk around like that in Kremnos.”

The boy pointed his finger dismissively at the model, apparently addressing his bare torso with some complaint. Cyrene giggled unnoticeably, immediately returning her concentrated look. The thing was that for the sake of the picture in her head, she’d insisted Mydei remove that baggy black shirt he came to the Sacrament Courtyard in, leaving him in nothing but his hunting trousers. There was nothing strange about this, Miss Tribios always told her that anatomy can only be learned after overcoming shame. Besides, she had asked to take off just the shirt, which made Mydei look more like a brave hunter than an honorable Kremnoan. But for going even further than this, she needed to overcome shame on an even larger scale. The request itself was already somewhat strange, but since Mydei had agreed so quickly, it meant that perhaps he already had a similar experience in the past… 

Her brother might even be right.

“And anyway, what about these red patterns?”

“Patterns?” Mydei snickered quickly, immediately returning to his previous expression, “These are traditional Kremnoan tattoos.”

Tattoos must be really painful, Cyrene thought to herself. She paused briefly to compare the lines in the drawing with the real ones on her model`s body, trying to hold a curious question to herself. Did everyone in Kremnos have such large tattoos? If she were to get one herself, she'd definitely choose something with beautiful, exquisite flowers, perhaps just as red as their new friend's — so everyone could admire their beauty as much as Cyrene would. Somewhere on her wrist. Neat, delicate…

“Wow,” Khaslana turned away, now understanding why the boy felt so confident without any t-shirt on. It was not just about being handsome, but also warlike.

“What, are you being envious?”

“I`m not? Anyway, my body is no worse than yours, I can even prove it, wait…”

Cyrene froze for a moment, raising an eyebrow questioningly. Her brother was a strong boy, but still he could not compare with the technicality of the Kremnoan body. The young boy posing for her might as well have stepped out of the textbook she'd bought at the fair a year ago. Unfortunately, that particular manual contained little anatomy, focusing more on perspective and composition, but those rare pages featuring rendered muscles and dynamic poses... Mydei was the perfect life study of the human form. 

“It’s not worth it,” Mydei clicked his tongue dismissively.

“It’s easy for you to say, you have a right place…” Khaslana looked down at the ground, “... to study.”

“I can teach you. Anything. Just be ready for it, Deliverer.”

Khaslana snorted sheepishly, meeting his sister's questioning gaze briefly, he then nervously kicked a pebble under his feet. Cyrene applied a few light strokes, carefully outlining the graceful contours of a single blond braid framing the expressive face of her new model. It seemed her brother had a small problem that he himself seemed unaware of. And if he did, she wouldn't ask about it unless he brought it up first. The Deliverer, huh.

It seems that his new friend doesn't really know his real name, and apparently Khaslana was in no hurry to tell him one. For his personal bizarre reasons. And while Cyrene could only guess, she involuntarily agreed to play this strange game, ready to restrain herself from calling her brother by his real name every time. But she just couldn't call him a non-existent hero from their fantasies anymore. Especially after the recent nightmare.

Mydei too, most likely, just played the fool, which led the two of them to wait for the moment when Khaslana would find a solution to some personal internal conflict of his.

“Is everyone in your family so handsome, Mydei?” Cyrene asked thoughtfully, suddenly remembering the elegant Miss Gorgo. 

Khaslana was right about that back then – her son really did look a lot like her. As if he had taken all of his mother's features, becoming her exact copy. At the same time, this did not make him feminine at all. Before them stand a very reserved and confident young boy with majestic and somewhat rough facial features. Besides, Gorgo herself had a rather warrior-like and bold look...

“Probably,” The boy answered indifferently, “But not everyone is worthy of glory.”

Khaslana looked at Mydei with confusion. This was the very grandeur and uniqueness he described to Cyrene when speaking of his new friend. It was like every other expression of his reeked of blood crusted on armor and the heavy stench of war's pointless sacrifices. It was impossible not to feel admiration - though the kind that sent shivers crawling down one's spine.

“What does this mean?” Khaslana still dares to ask.

“My father is worse than a HKS,” Mydei barked, without adding another word.

Cyrene ran a brush over the drooping corners of the lips of the painted warrior-hunter, exchanging worried glances with her brother. He only shrugged, awkwardly looking away. Their parents never quarreled, even more so – they scolded them several times less than old Galba did his son. They always realized that they were very lucky to be born into such a warm and kind family. To understand this, they did not need to compare themselves with those who were less fortunate. They were always well-fed, they could always take trinkets from the market, and they were never even forced to work in the field or in the kitchen – they helped simply because they themselves believed it was the right thing to do. And even if there were quarrelings in their family, they were all resolved quickly enough – with grape juice and peeled fruits on the table.

“Don't make such stupid faces,” Mydei snorted with displeasure, noticing the discomfort that had appeared in brother and sister's eyes, “No tragedy. Besides, Krateros is helping us. It's not that we need help at all, it's just that mother often laughs in the company of my mentor. And I like to hear her laugh.”

“An answer worthy of a Kremnoan,” Khaslana smiled broadly, “Tell us something more about your home…”

Cyrene smiled too, continuing to silently listen to conversation. She wanted to know everything and even more about Krateros they knew nothing about, about the many, many names that the boy had left outside of Aedes Elysiae and had never mentioned to them before.

“I was the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos.”

The artist's fingers weakened in surprise, releasing the brush from her hands. Khaslana’s eyes burned with a ravenous, overstimulated hunger to wring every last detail from that casually dropped fact. If he could now connect simple and complex words with each other in sentences, everyone here would have to listen to another long and incessant monologue, full of fantasies and dreams. Everything happened exactly as it was written in the epic of Aedes Elysiae. The Crown Prince really did arrive in their village, decorating their streets with the grandeur of foreign lands.

”I lived in the main palace most of the time. But there is no luxury for real warriors. On the contrary – only as the Crown Prince did I win more victories. With my bare hands. For when a warrior begins to rely solely on his weapon, he dooms himself to defeat in advance.”

“Huh…” Khaslana breathed out raggedly, “I would be your most loyal kni…”

“Silence,” Mydei didn’t move, but his tone stopped the boy without any commanding gestures. Khaslana smiled more widely in return.

Cyrene felt truly ashamed of her own restless and shameless brother. She could not even suspect that he would have a tendency to such adulation.

“None swear fealty upon mere words,” Mydei cut in coldly, casting a contemptuous glance at Khaslana, “Besides, I am no longer a prince. Thanks Kephale.”

“Kephale?” Khaslana asked, confused, still smiling stupidly. “Don’t the people of the Kremnos worship Nikador?”

“Hmph.”

Khaslana fell silent in shame, only now realizing that his new friend had a completely different and incomprehensible life compared to Khaslana`s. He had so many convictions, and each of his words felt like a heavy quote from the books on Miss Tribios's shelves. He already had a personal opinion on everything. Khaslana looked guiltily at his sister - they had written so many epic stories about images, the greatness of which they could not even approximately imagine, that when they met a living person, who jumped right out of the scrolls of history lectures, they could not really understand a single word.

This is exactly what Cyrene had told him about, and the real boy in front of them seemed much more complex and incomprehensible than any of his fantasies.

“Deliverer,” Mydei exhaled, “We’ve only known each other for a few days, but this pitiful look of yours… reminds me of the dog that keeps hanging around our house. You’re very similar.”

“Similiar to… a dog?”

“Yeah” Said Cyrene, finishing the picture, “I noticed that too. Unfortunately, there are a lot of stray dogs roaming around here in the villages... and almost every one of them reminds me of my brother.”

“What does that mean?!”

“That`s bad,” Mydei echoed sadly, “I'll ask my mother if we can take this white dog with us while we live here.”

“I’m done!” Cyrene got distracted and put her brush down on the easel, nodding at the painting she was very pleased with.

Mydei smiled mysteriously and nodded briefly, beginning to stretch out on the spot after sitting in one position for a long time. He mechanically bit off a pomegranate with the peel and without hesitation approached the painting, peering into his own painted facial features.

Khaslana only frowned, crossing his arms over his chest and feeling resentment growing inside him. The Prince, for whom he was already ready to fall in a fair fight, saw him not as his knight, but as a…

“You are truly a master, Cyrene,” Mydei became embarrassed, looking at every detail drawn, “You would become an amazing royal portraitist.”

“Ah!” Cyrene clapped her hands in excitement, “Do you really think so? Really? Mydei, have you ever been drawn by real royal portraitists like this before?”

“Sure. But I... um... got rid of the paintings.”

And that explained why he was behaving like a true professional here. Of course, the Crown Prince was drawn a lot back in his kingdom.

Khaslana shook his childish feelings off and looked at the portrait his sister had created. She really did paint better than anyone else he knew. Of course, his sister would become a great portraitist for the royal court, he had never doubted that for a second while he dreamed of the life of the Deliverer and Fortune Teller within the walls of the warlike castrum Kremnos.

But what could Khaslana himself do to stand out in the Prince's eyes..?

“What a pity,” Cyrene sighed sympathetically, “I can give you this portrait! Only if you become my model once again and help me sketch you from different angles. References for future works!~”

“I used to draw too,” Mydei admitted, noticing Khaslana’s look that had become increasingly pitiful for some reason, “What’s up with you? And I`m ready to help you, Cyrene... Thank you. Let’s go, I’ll show you the dog. I’m sure it’ll come running as soon as it sees me.”

“Where do you… live?” The boy asked in a quiet voice.

“Close to the entrance to the village. Cyrene, what happened to him? Why does he look so sad.”

The girl silently placed her hand on her brother’s hunched shoulders, whispering to ask how he was feeling. But she got no answer. Just as they no longer received his long, rambling monologues about nothing, dismissing it all by saying the ever-optimistic boy was simply a bit tired. So on the way to visit the Kremnoans, it was Cyrene and Mydei who did all the talking, sharing their favorite techniques and the names of Okhema’s most renowned artists – those, whose names made it into the weekly newspapers…

And once he saw the snow-white huge dog with incredibly kind little button eyes, Khaslana came to life again. What kind of monster could have left such a miracle without a home – the boy had no idea, and, without hesitation, he pounced on the huge dog, curling up with him on the ground in a strong and unexpectedly passionate embrace. Mydei and Cyrene exchanged glances with a smile. It seemed that two kindred spirits had found each other in a huge world and a tiny village.

Gorgo came outside as soon as she heard the contented barking of the dog, smiling as she watched the scene, her gaze lingering especially on her son, whose shoulders – for the first time in so long – were relaxed, free from tension and the weight of heavy thoughts. The woman invited kids into their house in a strong voice, pulling out a variety of snacks that the village children had never seen before from the shelves. And while the curious eyes of Cyrene and Khaslana studied the strange stems and sticky toffees wrapped in parchment, a whole plate of delicious pancakes appeared in front of them, coated generously with wild honey and cherry jam.

“Once again, Mydeimos cooked too much, eat with no hesitation.”

“Mydei, can you cook?” Khaslana suddenly exclaimed loudly, feeling a blush on his cheeks.

“I…”

“The most glorious Kremnos feasts included my son's dishes,” Gorgo shared firmly and proudly, placing a dry palm on the top of Mydei's blond hair, “Didn't he already tell you that he plans to open his own restaurant in the very center of Okhema? So that the simple-minded people from the capital would know the cuisine of Kremnos. A direct quote.”

“Mother…”

“Pft,” A laugh escaped Khaslana’s lips, watching as the tanned face of his warlike and cold friend turned red, “A skill worthy of a Kremnoan…”

Cyrene immediately reached for the tempting pancakes, piling several onto her plate. Drawing, especially when you're concentrated and not taking breaks, can be very draining. So goes for writing... So goes for the sight of delicious food that you don't usually see on the table at home.

“You are a real master, Mydei,” Cyrene smiled at the boy, biting off a piece of the tender pancake.

“Thank you…”

“And if you cook us some…” Khaslana was immediately hit on the head by his sister, “Nevermind! Let us cook you Tahini with pomegranate and pistachio..!”

Mydei just snorted, looked at his mother in confusion and nodded softly. The table, where there was usually a royal silence, was filled with conversations and the overly enthusiastic emotional outbursts of one white-haired fool.

After a light supper, Cyrene and Khaslana were fired up with the idea of introducing Mydei to Lady Tribios, and especially to her library, rich with various literature. The boy really liked this idea, because he loved to read, he even confessed that his favorite subject has always been and will be history – because there is nothing more important than the memory of the events of one's homeland and the warriors who fell into the abyss of time without a trace.

And none of the kids were in any hurry to tell Mydei that most of Tribios’ books were actually about physics, not history. And this history certainly had nothing to do with the castrum Kremnos. But the desire they’d carried since childhood – to show someone from the outside every little hidden corner of their beloved village – overpowered any rational thought about how important any of it might actually seem to their long-awaited guest.

And before they could reach the wellspring of knowledge, a slender hand suddenly grasped Cyrene’s wrist. Gently, unobtrusive, yet no less frightening and unexpected.

“I`m sorry...! Can you tell us where the Holy Maiden lives?”

Before the kids' eyes stood two incredibly strange figures. Their clothing and appearance unlike anything they could have seen in even the weirdest dreams or read about in any scroll. A girl in a light, multi-layered pink dress, with curly, neatly tied pink pigtails that seemed to bounce in rhythm with her every movement. And a man with enormous bags under his eyes, dressed in old, seemingly worn-out dark clothes and a tattered cloak that was frayed at the edges. His somewhat greasy hair was gathered in an untidy ponytail, and a black bandage fell over his eye. Like a real pirate.

“What a contrast…” Khaslana stammered embarrassedly, meeting the man's gaze and immediately feeling ashamed. As if he had just been scolded, although he had not yet managed to do or even say anything. Yet.

“She’s… right here,” Cyrene smiled softly at the girl with the ringing voice and pointed to the house to the left of them, they had just a little bit left to walk to, “And you are..?”

“Disgusting,” The man said in a hoarse voice, shaving the bridge of his nose with his fingers, “At the very least, I must acknowledge her efforts. A pathetic attempt to repeat the ancient archives of the Grove of Epiphany, steeped in sacred knowledge. The old woman has gone mad, but she has not forgotten her roots.”

“You have such an arrogant speech,” Mydei noted, as if barking in the direction of a stranger.

“You have such a stupid face.”

“Sir, please…” The girl standing next to him smiled guiltily, took the man by the sleeve and pulled him towards the house, “Thank you very much! Sorry for the inconvenience!”

“B-but we're going there too…”

Lady Tribios appeared in the doorway, smiling faintly and waving at the kids nearby. The strangers walked in quietly, exchanging a few words, and the door closed behind them. No one understood what exactly had just happened, but everyone got the simple hint that they were not welcome inside.

“Does this happen to you often?” Mydei rolled his eyes, turning to brother and sister.

“First time, actually.”

“The Dryad and Pirate,” Cyrene concluded with a smile, winking at the boys. They just shrugged, deciding to stick to their opinion about two unfamiliar figures.

Instead of the promised library, Cyrene and Khaslana took Mydei to their room, showing him the books they had, but none of them appeared to be to Kremnoan`s liking. He didn't complain, secretly delighted at how easily he'd connected with the locals. He wouldn't admit to them anytime soon just how much he'd missed this kind of aimless chatter. Mydei never tolerated it in any form back home, but here, for some reason, he reveled in the mindless emptiness and the steady stream of someone else's nonsense.

On the way home that evening, Mydei again encountered the dog chasing its own tail outside their house. He silently took the dog's paw and wordlessly promised to look after it and feed it the most delicious meat, straight from Kremnos itself. Something warm inside him held a fragile hope to stay here as long as possible.

“Would you be fine with the name Snowy?” Mydei asks in a soft whisper.

And after a few active nods, the boy picks up the not-so-small dog so that he and his mother can spend the rest of the evening racking their brains over how to entertain their new restless friend, who seemed to be completely unfamiliar with fatigue. And while Gorgo joked that she remembered little Mydei exactly like this, the boy lazily tossed a rubber ball he found on the street with Snowy. To him, the restless dog resembles a completely different boy. And that brought a short smile to his face.

Chapter Text

The beautiful Dryad adored bathing in the gentle morning sun, forever enchanted by the crystal rainbow etched upon the distant horizon – a shimmering bridge that never faded from the opposite shore. She would hum soft, wandering melodies to herself as she folded elegant paper cranes. Upon their wings were inscribed healing recipes, poems of her folk, maps of the wandering winds, and a multitude of photographs of the all-guarding Sky.

Thus, she would send forth entire flocks of these paper cranes to skim across the glassy surface of the water, which rippled under the almost imperceptible weight of her tiny messengers. The water would reflect the dawn sun, lighting the path for the cranes on their journey.

One day, her peaceful solitude was shattered by a Piratе, swathed in heavy robes of black. His cloak, tattered and torn in places, flapped about him like a grim shadow, tossed by a wind. He plucked one of the paper birds from the water, turning it over with a dismissive curiosity. The Dryad did not felt his presence, but instead saw a tremble of disquiet run across the face of the crystal rainbow. As if the very wonder of the world itself was warning her, begging her to turn around. But it was too late. The bird was robbed of its elegant form, cruelly returned to a state of crumpled, milk-hued parchment. A tremor of alarm passed through the Dryad. Her iridescent wings, which shimmered with a thousand sun-kissed colors, gave a nervous flutter as she stared at the long, dark figure standing before her.

The mere paper that had just been a whole bird with wings slowly fell onto the sand. Barely noticeable traces of a burn remained on the Pirate's fingers.

“Are you really a bad person?”

“Why limit yourself with morality?”

The Dryad touched the stranger's hands, healing the burns. She received only mockery in response, but no biting comments.

“I don't think I ever thought about it, it’s just that my cranes usually leave burn marks on people with bad intentions…”

“What foolish magic.”

“Who are you?”

Dryad asked anyway after a short pause, deciding to try her luck. So far, the wanderer was not eager to answer her questions directly, which meant he was keeping secrets. Secrets of a kind that no plea could ever reach their storybook places.

“Let's say I am but a shadow that shouldn't be here. My ship was broken. There are some surprisingly turbulent waters here.”

“Do you know how to find the way home?”

“The way home?”

The Pirate covered his face with his right hand and burst into a rough laugh.

“Due to Fate, my home has been gone for too long.”

The Dryad only looked at the wanderer with eyes full of sympathy in response.

“You know, if you ask the Gods…”

“If the Gods had ever listened, we would never have met under these conditions. I need materials, not faith.”

The Pirate's voice was filled with cold indifference. Suddenly, the waters roared to life, lashing out at the two figures who were so tiny against the water's immense size, and swept away dozens of curious paper cranes that had been awaiting their journey. The Dryad shook her head in dismay, once more reaching out to grasp the Pirate's sleeve.

“At least ask me…” 

But this time her hand was rudely pulled away and the conversation was over.

The next morning, Dryad met Pirate in the wreckage of a structure she didn't understand, his face was frozen in an emotion she didn't recognize – his eyebrows were furrowed in pain, and his gaze was directed at the endless sands of the beach with some obsessive thought.

“But why do you keep wandering?”

The Dryad asked, putting down the basket of paper sheets and approaching the Pirate sitting in the collapse.

“I seek the truth.”

“Truth – as in knowledge? You see, I was right – you are not a bad person after all!”

A happy smile flickered at the corners of Dryad's lips.

“Be afraid of your superficial judgments.”

The Pirate said through his teeth, his intonation alone lowering the Dryad's wings.

“You are too complicated…”

And although there was disappointment in the Dryad's voice, one could still see sparks of curiosity in her eyes. What could the Pirate say to that? But he remained motionless, and only the index finger on his hand trembled imperceptibly.

“...you know, we, Dryads, help everyone without exception. But you should ask first, and…” 

The Pirate unlocked his hands from his knees, adopting a less rigid posture as he glanced around. The Dryad saw only indecision in his eyes. For such complicated souls, it is always the hardest thing to admit when something is beyond their grasp. Especially when those souls have spent too much time alone – and Dryad saw no other sailors nearby, no prisoners begging for mercy. She continued to wait patiently, feeling the warm, gentle sand beneath her feet and smiling thoughtfully at the waters whispering among themselves.

At some point, Pirate only nodded, rising to his feet. Such a tiny gesture came at the greatest price – the price of his own stubbornness and pride.

The Dryad immediately smiled as she flew away from the beach. She disappeared from the Pirate's sight as quickly as she reappeared before him – with new clean and white clothes and boots that had not yet worn out the soles, unlike his.

“You can spend the night in your ship and return here tomorrow morning, a new ship with the most delicious food will be waiting for you, and the Nereids will protect your further travels with their caring waters!”

The Pirate quietly thanked the Dryad, although he refused the clothes, which could not help but offend the noble Healer.

“You can make me return to faith, but you cannot change my clothes, saturated with struggle and many years of resistance to the very Fate.”

The Dryad just clicked her tongue softly, smiling at the Pirate one last time, and returned to the basket, once again beginning to send hundreds of cranes to everyone who needed them.

The next morning, the promise given to him by the naive Dryad actually came true – his ship was repaired, and the table on the tiny captain's bridge, once covered with layers of dust and dirt, was covered with a silk sheet and several dishes that he had never seen before.

Foolish magic, – the Pirate thought to himself, clinging to the strengthened steering wheel and noticing how the wind lifted his black cloak upward, somehow reminding him of the towering rainbow wings of the ever-smiling Dryad.

He was able to sail away without any obstacles. The warm sun with clouds as airy as cotton candy, and a rainbow that stretched across the entire sky, were now bidding him farewell. A golden beam of light fell upon the Pirate – this was the Dryad's way of wishing him luck, offering her first and last prayer in his honor.

—

“Khas,” Cyrene smiled wryly, rereading the resulting story from the very beginning, “You need to read more. Our styles... don't go well together.”

The only response the girl heard was an offended sigh. And still, she really enjoyed writing something together with her brother, even if she sometimes scowled at the direction their story was taking. The book of their epics was now written by two different hands, and now looked like some game of “continue the sentence.” The boy’s short sentences in the middle of Cyrene’s long paragraphs felt like something truly alien. Furthermore, she couldn't still understand why her brother had been so adamant about making the stranger into a Pirate rather than a Mage. It would have made the images of their story many times more interesting. But it seemed that it was her mistake in the first place – because that was the exact word that flew out of her lips after their first meeting.

All of this could not help but wound the inner writer within Cyrene. And yet, her new co-author was finishing her stillborn feelings for her, transforming all her mild discontent and attempts to retreat into philosophy into an ordinary, kind fairy tale. It could not help but bring a smile to her face. After all, she truly wished to write only good stories for their characters, from now on. It was simply that, out of habit, she did not always succeed in such goal.

“It’s not fair,” the boy smiled sadly, hiding in the pillows, “This is our history, the Cyrene`s and the Khaslana`s story, it’s not my fault that you write better… I write… the way I feel…”

“Dear Khas,” Cyrene smiled, digging her brother's face out from behind the pillows and gently taking his cheeks in her hands, stretching the downturned corners of his lips into a smile. “I think…”

“Besides,” Khaslana muttered through his sister’s manipulations of his cheeks, “The image of the Dryad could not have turned out so naive without my pen. So.”

Cyrene stopped in surprise, gave her brother one last pinch, and laughed. It was true – the "helping everyone without exception" Dryad could only be written well in the words of a boy who had dreamed of a Deliverer for years. But he had also contributed to the image of the Pirate, by giving him a chance for new hopeful adventures. But he did not seem to be very convinced by his own words, and Khaslana's gaze remained just as depressed.

“And how would you write them, Cyrene..?”

“Well... heh-heh, the man seemed so gloomy to me that even the sweet and sparkling girl standing next to him seemed capable of all sorts of evil deeds…”

“You sound just like Mydei.”

A surprised gasp – the name began to ring out in their tiny home far more often than was necessary.

“In my version, Dryad would go with the Pirate, leaving her sisters behind, but not leaving her loyal cranes. Because she, too, is interested in the “Truth,” no matter how much she convinces herself that her duty is solely to help others. She would be interested in the truth… for which the Pirate fights with such hatred, and the truth, the nature of which she has no idea.”

“You are both too... complicated for me.”

“Oh, Khas,” Cyrene laid a hand on her brother's silky hair. 

Lately, he really had begun to evaluate himself from all angles with unusual frequency, clinging to any chance to compare himself to his older sister and Kremnoan. Of course the Dryad would resemble him in so many ways. He had simply found a way in her to voice the anxieties that had taken root inside him. Com-ple-xes, just like the ones they wrote about in those popular psychology columns.

“Are you jealous of Mydei?”

“Yes.”

He admitted it so honestly. 

“And of me?”

“It`s just…”

And Khaslana fell silent, scooping himself up under the pillows again. Cyrene could only sigh. It seemed that, for the first time, thoughts far more complex and unfamiliar than knightly duels and the scent of smoked venison had descended upon her brother. With silent steps, the girl approached the wardrobe and took her favorite straw hat adorned with pink plastic flowers – so they would never wilt. A moment later, the hat was perched atop other`s snowy-white mane of hair, and its wide brim immediately obscured everything the boy could see.

“Well, I think Mydei likes you.”

A bright blush appeared on the boy's cheeks, which caused a slight confusion on Cyrene's face. She said a simple, harmless phrase. And apparently she would have to think for a long time now about what exactly was going on in her little brother's head. Cyrene glanced in the mirror, noticing a deck of her favorite tarot cards lying on the nightstand. And the most timid of them all was the only card that stood out. There were two people in elegant white robes standing in front of each other. Lovers. The girl frowned, opening her mouth, but she could not really formulate a question.

“Mhm,” The response from under the hat.

“Mhm?” Cyrene echoed, beginning to laugh loudly, “Kha-as, how about we meet the Pirate and the Dryad in person?”

“I’m afraid they certainly won’t like me,” The boy timidly appeared from under the hat, holding its huge brim with his right hand.

“But I would like to get to know this lovely girl better! I'm interested in her story... her real story.”

“But you consider her... capable of all sorts of... troubles.”

“Evil deeds,” Cyrene corrected, “Do you feel how using another word changes the degree of romance? In any case... I see beauty in her mysterious personality and the aged face of this man. I'm sure that there's a place for much, much love even in his heart. How old do you think he is?”

“Fourty.”

“Ah!..” The girl laughed, “With such an attitude you definitely don’t have a chance in his eyes..!”

“Cyrene,” Khaslana touched his sister’s forearm, putting his finger to his lips and calling her closer to him.

The girl obediently leaned over, ready to listen to any secret or gossip that her brother was going to confide in her.

“...or even fifty…”

Now Khaslana laughed too, seeing the amused surprise on his sister's face. She seemed to be thinking hard about this, now trying to find ways to bet for the turn to chop dry tree branches to keep the fire going in the fireplace, choosing the most suitable option.

“Kids,” Came from the door, “I have to ask you to go to the fair. No objections accepted!”

The smiles on their faces suddenly disappeared, replaced by real sorrow. There was only one fair for the entire district – a miracle that it had even appeared, so vast and accessible amidst the remote villages of Amphoreus. It was located at a nominal center, where three small villages intersected, yet for the residents of Aedes Elysiae, it remained rather inconvenient, as they were the farthest away. On fair days, they had to search for hats, though, truth be told, they could have managed easily enough without them, simply by staying in the shade. They also had to wear heavy sneakers to withstand the journey: the thin soles of their sandals offered no protection against sharp stones or the deep, clinging mud that had soaked the ground for years.

In short, a long and difficult path under the blinding sun awaited them. Cyrene rolled her eyes, quickly pulling the straw hat back over her brother's eyes and began searching for his white panama hat.

“Go bother mom until she gives you a list of what is needed…”

Khaslana merely nodded, accepting the hat as his due, and leisurely walked out of the room. Fair day was one of those days when they tried not to rush with extra effort.

During such journeys, they usually couldn't even manage to talk, because of how overwhelming were the high temperatures that caught them by surprise each summer. Halfway there, the full bottle of ice-cold water they had brought from the refrigerator was already half empty and even warm. Though Khaslana would have sworn that the last time he drank from it, he had felt unpleasantly sharp ice biting into his teeth. Most of the time along the way, they just asked each other if they needed a break, and neither ever agreed to one. Over all the years the market had existed, they had come to understand one thing: the faster, the better.

And hearing the echoes of too loud and emotional conversations with the donkey neighing, the siblings exhaled, feeling how it became a little easier to walk – they'll be there any second.

Upon entering the area – shrouded in colorful flags and stalls draped in all kinds of fabrics – their gaze immediately shifted to their friend, who was working there that day. A girl with cat-like features was talking with a certain boldness to a woman in lavish robes. They were clearly arguing, and though no one yet knew the real reason for the quarrel, it looked just like another typical situation for Cipher:

Someone had once again started haggling over nothing, inflating the item's actual value, and it seemed she still couldn't manage to convince the woman that the clay she was selling was actually real solid gold.

But even so, there was something profoundly heavy in their friend's gaze that the brother and sister found difficult to comprehend. She kept arguing her point with relentless bitterness, yet her face was frozen in genuine fear. What was the reason for such emotion? Who was the reason? Khaslana and Cyrene exchanged a silent glance, wondering if their friend needed help. But it was better for children not to interfere in adult matters, so without a word, they decided to stick to their list and not disturb Cipher for now. After all, they could always ask about what happened later – if they could even muster the nerve to admit to such impertinent curiosity.

The main reason for them to keep coming to the fair were household items – for example, first on the list were cleaning products: dish soap and surface cleaner. In addition, they had run out of whitewash, which could only mean one thing – they would again need to slog with paint in their hands near the paths close to their house soon. Their mother also ordered a new perfume made of essential oils, entrusting the choice only to their preference. More precisely, to Cyrene's preference, because Khaslana did not understand aromas at all, except for the smells of homemade dishes. Besides, their father's favorite leather belt broke. It needed to be repaired, so they would have to come back here again ...

Cyrene almost forgot to grab her favorite yogurt, already imagining the number of salads she could dress with it. And she barely remembered to remind her brother – lost in his own thoughts – to get new notebooks for Lady Tribios's lectures, while simultaneously eyeing some new stickers she could put right on the cover, admiring the puffy pink bows and little flowers next to their names.

“Thank you!” the boy said, putting the set of new toothbrushes into the basket.

“Do we have any toothpaste at home?”

“Yeah...with ginseng root.”

Khaslana grimaced, deciding not to comment on this news in any way.

The basket was already full of everything they needed, and everything that was bought simply because it was “cute” and “funny.” Khaslana curiously pulled out a plush chimera keychain from the basket, which somehow reminded him of his older sister. Cyrene only shrugged, pretending that she had no idea how it got there.

Finally, they decided to go to Cipher, and she greeted them with a burst of laughter. Khaslana was immediately embarrassed by it, for some reason knowing for sure that he was the reason for such a reaction. And how could someone's mood change so abruptly? Now both of them didn't want to remind her of the quarrel that had happened earlier, even out of curiosity.

“What a hat you have, you, dreamer! Ha-ha-ha!”

“That`s rude, Cifera,” Cyrene winked charmingly at the girl, “And I don't agree with you at all, I think Khas looks very cute with this hat~”

“I can’t argue with that,” The girl theatrically brushed away a tear, “The dreamer really is a cutie! I can just imagine your so-called Deliverer with a hat instead of armor.”

“What’s this?” The embarrassed boy didn’t even have time to listen to his friend mocking, being distracted by the book with a red cover under Cipher’s elbow, “The music of Castrum Kremnos?”

The girl looked at the two questioningly, slowly shifted her gaze to the firm elbow rest, and burst into laughter again. Cyrene understood what her brother intended to do even before he understood so himself, and with a look of confusion, she pulled out their mother's purse. Seeing the gold coins, Cipher's eyes lit up with an unhealthy gleam, and so, another "greatest bargain of a cunning con-artist" was born.

The book, which hadn't even been placed on the shelves alongside the other goods, used as nothing more than a stand and unwanted junk, suddenly became the good with a high price.

Because value, as any good merchant knows, lies in the eye of the beholder…

“No questions,” Cipher said sarcastically instead of thanking, accepting the payment from Cyrene’s hand, “It wasn’t for nothing after all, that I brought it from home today!”

Khaslana, flushed red from the heat and bubbling with excitement, took the old book in his hands and began feverishly flipping through page after page. He didn’t understand a single word, didn’t recognize a single name, but he knew exactly who would find every line here more captivating than any battle. Cyrene offered Cipher an awkward farewell smile, invited her over sometime, and then led her brother – who now noticed nothing but the book – away from the fair.

The boy kept wondering for a long time why he had chosen something so mundane and unlikely to be of use to his friend. He could have looked for something related to cooking, recalling his friend’s future plans, or something about combat techniques or war strategy. After all, it was unlikely Mydei was passionate about music.

But he was certainly on cloud nine when he found Mydei sitting at the only table in Lady Tribios' library, scribbling something in a small notebook. Without further explanation, Khaslana placed the book he had found in front of his friend, smiling proudly and clearly expecting approving praise. But Mydei only managed to murmur an unexpectedly timid "thank you," pointing to the chair beside him as an invitation to sit.

And as he read "The Music of Castrum Kremnos" with his friend, Khaslana understood almost every word, contented with the new feat of he Deliverer – Mydei’s serene face, alight with interest as he read something entirely new from the culture of his homeland.

Meanwhile, Cyrene curiously examined the poorly erased question still visible on the new album page, written in her brother’s clumsy handwriting: “Why did Mydei refuse to be a Crown Prince?”

“Someone here really took over all of your thoughts…”

Chapter Text

“You should burn the old clothes.”

The graceful silence that had filled the small, empty house was broken by a heavy, tired breath. The woman with refined manners and a penetrating gaze that seemed to be constantly assessing everything around her slammed the tape measure shut with a sharp sound. She had finished taking measurements and seemed less upset than she had been the first time they met. The numbers clearly satisfied her. It was still not possible to understand why.

Looking at the new clothes in the mirror, Khaslana felt delight and slight confusion: he could not fully reconcile his image with the one he saw in the reflection. He felt the same way every time he was looking at his drawn doubles in his sister's notebook. It was him, but also it was a completely different boy, even more of it – it was a young man who knows exactly what he wants from life and goes towards his goals. It is so strange, to be a naive dreamer, as Cipher often called him, yet to see someone's more… mature, in the mirror. 

The boy glanced timidly at the woman – could it be that she knew about Phainon the Deliverer  – if she can dress him up like that? And she herself was so wise and beautiful, as if she were not real as well. And she was also quite strict. He understood at once – it was better not to admit that in these clothes he was, in fact, not very comfortable. After all, he was a village boy, a naive dreamer. All his life he had lived in linen shirts, worn after his father – they were always too big for him, especially in childhood – and in the same spacious shorts or pants, in which it was convenient to work in the fields and cripple himself in the next adventures, into which this confident young man in the reflection sent him.

He felt uncomfortable, and at the same time, the image before his eyes took his breath away. He kept spinning around himself, looking for new angles from which to examine such unusual and truly luxurious clothes. They were obviously expensive, and obviously worth their money, the amount that the boy would not be able to see even in a big city, simply because he never had the need to look at things with such price tags.

He was wearing an ironed black jacket and unusually tight black trousers that did not restrict any of his sharp movements. Khaslana had never seen such material and continued to catch himself on a rather childish desire to check how durable these foreign fabrics were. But from the tired gaze of the woman, lazily examining his delight, he immediately abandoned this idea.

If only Cyrene had seen him like this, she would have teased him about it for a long time. And if Mydei had seen him like this too...

The woman, whose name and appearance shone with an expensive golden shine, began slowly and haughtily, “I came here specifically to take a break from work, for your information.” 

“But you brought me here yourself, Lady Aglaea,” Khaslana noted sing-songly, taking hold of the bottom of his jacket with his fingers, fiddling with the hard edges of the fabric in his hands, “And I happened to be on my way for morning milk…”

Aglaea's thin heel struck the wooden parquet with obvious displeasure, she quickly tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear and, with a drawn-out, swan-like stride, reached the royal-looking chair, sitting down in it in the appropriate style. She thoughtfully placed her palm under her chin and again turned her tired gaze to Khaslana, who had found himself in this situation not by his own will, but with great pleasure.

“I just felt sorry for your sister,” Aglaea concluded indifferently, syllable by syllable, shifting her hands to the armrests, “The girl clearly racks her brains every morning, thinking about what to wear, even if you, as I suspect, don’t have that many things... And loking this way next to such a beauty... Ugh ,” Aglaea narrowed her eyes, “You can’t be so careless about your appearance, you do know it, young boy?”

“Um…” Khaslana blushed, immediately losing all the confidence he had acquired with the new suit, "I'm trying… my best… too…”

Trying to be at least a little bit like the Deliverer.

“You`re not.”

“Mmh,” tThe boy shuddered from the woman’s now merciless and condemning gaze piercing him, “Can I show myself to others?”

“Yes, you can,” Aglaea turned away, smiling mysteriously, “I can even give it to you as a gift, just not now. I dont want to see how my expensive fabrics will end up in dust and dirt.”

“It wont..!”

Khaslana shyly pulled the toe of his equally expensive shoes forward, twirled it on the parquet floor and, out of habit, darted towards the exit with a jerky step. But he was quickly stopped – not by a sound, not by a warning word, not even by his own conscience – but by a somewhat empty and cold gaze that silently followed his every step. So he straightened his shoulders, awkwardly turned to Aglaea and muttered under his breath a promise to gain the habit of a more noble gait. The kind that is characteristic of all knights.

Aglaea smiled emotionlessly and slowly followed the boy. Perhaps she was also curious about the reactions of others? She clearly knew about Phainon, and his exploits, and his losses, didn`t she? Just being next to her made him tremble inside with the same excitement and anticipation that played in him when reading knightly epics – when they get down on one knee and wait, wait for the tip of a mighty sword to touch their shoulders, so they will be allowed to bear a noble and great duty, an oath of loyalty and eternal service.

He ended up in the hands of a famous fashion designer almost against his will – after a loud, shocked gasp, he immediately felt the woman grab his wrist carefully but firmly – and his original goal of going out for milk vanished from his thoughts as if it had never existed. He did not feel a threat or danger in this, while they approached the unremarkable house in silence, because he could not tear his gaze away from his "kidnapper". Very beautiful. He had seen such beauty in Cyrene's drawings and in black and white newspapers. However, he never got the chance to ask questions – his favorite kind, the ones everyone found so annoying. A second later, he was already standing with his arms and legs spread wide, silently watching the measuring process unfold.

He went to get milk with Cyrene. And before his abduction, his sister was distracted by Livia. And even if she noticed his absence, it seems she didn't even care about the fate of her missing brother. After all, he disappeared... quite often.

“He-he,” Khaslana exclaimed, feeling the strength in his gait, “Lady Aglaea, you… you work with clothes, right?”

“It seems difficult for you to be silent.”

“You`re probably right…” The boy mumbled, “But I’ve never seen you before!”

“I never was here to begin with.”

“You know, a lot of interesting people have been coming to visit us lately... And you remind me of that Pirate, well…”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh,” Khaslana gave a nervous laugh, immediately returning to his proud expression as much as he could muster, “It… doesn't matter. You just seem to me to be just as... it doesn't matter.”

“It`s the right decision to not finish that sentence.”

Khaslana blushed again, beginning to doubt his suitability for the role of a knight. He seemed to have no manners. Especially when talking to such an elegant woman.

There was no one on the streets. Khaslana did not want to take Aglaea along the uneven paths of his dear Aedes Elysiae, afraid of her heels and how uncomfortable they must have been to walk in. And while he hid behind his concern for the guest, the skin on his heel was being unpleasantly scraped raw. The shoes were rather small for him, and even so, Khaslana couldn’t stop wondering: how did a woman with no sons come to have a pair of size 43 shoes?

“Do you have kids?”

“What..?”

Aglaea was confused. But Khaslana just ignored the situation, feeling awkward, timidly apologized and hurried to Lady Tribios's library, hoping to meet his sister there. And if he did not meet his entire family there at the same time, then he would have to disgrace himself further. Perhaps this kind of question was actually quite personal. He behaved rudely. He could no longer be decent, and yet he still dreams of impressing Mydei's mother...

He wasn't prepared for the suit on him.

Thanks to Kephale, he immediately spotted familiar pink hair in the library, and as soon as an excited cry escaped his lips, everything inside him immediately shrank from awkwardness.

Next to Cyrene sat Mydei, hiding under the hood of a bright red hoodie, blocking out the sounds around with tiny wired headphones. He was focused on the images he was drawing in a tattered notebook, seemingly oblivious to everyone around him. Miss Tribios was whispering something to their Dryad as she spooned up some porridge made from berries growing nearby.

And all eyes turned toward him.

“Aglaea?..”

“Miss Aglaea!”

More precisely, toward her.

“Khas! Wow!” Cyrene's squeal was heard, she immediately hurried to her brother and covered him with attention from all sides, “I didn't even recognize you!”

Mydei, in surprise, glanced around the room, unable to decide which part of the scene demanded more attention. But at the sight of his friend, he only snorted, immediately turning his eyes back to his notebook. Which instantly stirred a clash of conflicting emotions on the other`s boy face.

“My dear mentor Tribios,” A warm smile appeared on the woman’s face, turning the storm of emotions on Khaslana’s face into one single surprise, “I wanted to come to you in the evening, but this young boy brought me to you much earlier… And hello to you too, Hyacinthia…”

The silence that reigned in the library was suddenly broken by the insistent hum of five voices that could not hear each other. The first to fall silent were Cyrene and Khaslana, quickly realizing that in addition to the new suit, something even more fabulous and unusual was happening. Then the Dryad with the unusual name fell silent. Aglaea, perhaps out of habit, gave the initiative in the conversation to Tribios. It was amazing how such a mature and serious woman became so kind and expectant depending on the person talking to her. She called the woman her mentor, which caused a dreamy hope to appear on the faces of the teenagers - could they too grow up to be so mature and elegant?

“I'm glad to see you, dear Aglaea,” Tribios said slowly, nodding to the woman in the now familiar silence, “I didn't expect to see you here. I hope you didn't come here for any special reason?..”

Lest some misfortune occurs , the brother and sister heard in such a strange question.

“Quite the opposite…” Aglaea answered in the same tone, “I’m going blind, Tribios.”

How abrupt and honest. But was there another way to share something so serious and terrible? Probably not. The library was once again plunged into silence, this time heavy and completely different from the silence that accompanies everyone who comes here for knowledge. If you listened closely, you could hear the faint sound of rock music playing from Mydei’s headphones. It was only by the troubled expressions around him that he realized the conversation had moved beyond mediocre greetings and the exchange of pleasantries between people who hadn’t seen each other in a long time. And so, even the echoes of rock music ceased to weigh down the room.

“What does this mean?” Hyacinthia asked in a thin voice.

“My ability to distinguish colors is not at all up to par with a fashion designer of my level,” The woman began calmly, “And it’s becoming increasingly difficult to work with fine details, too.”

Aglaea silently showed her delicate hands, and only now Khaslana noticed the countless number of plasters on her pale and thin fingers. He looked at his suit again, holding back the naive question – how could a blind master dress him in such clothes? Even if Aglaea did not sew it in his presence, she took all the measurements down to the centimeter, the trousers and jacket sat on him impeccably. He felt uncomfortable, yes, but only because such a suit was unfamiliar to him.

“None of my clients notice this,” Aglaea waved her hand, as if answering the boy’s silent question, “But the assistants are starting to pay attention. I’m using the wrong shades… and my attempt to switch to a different style in my own sketches immediately raised questions. The meticulous detail of my designs has been my trademark for over a decade now. The minimalism has been on our heads for too long for me to have any strategic justification for switching to it now. My conservatism has ruined me, Tribios. It will get worse – and I will no longer be able to hide this… pathetic affliction.”

The woman only shook her head softly. She was not going to agree with Aglaea's sad assessment, but she could not deny reality either.

“And when did you... start noticing..?”

Cyrene and Khaslana sat down silently next to Mydei, both believing that this would spare them the awkwardness of eavesdropping on such difficult and personal conversations. And Mydei was grateful for this, realizing that it would be impolite for him both to leave, and to keep staying here.

“For a couple of weeks, it seemed to me that there was a light fog over Okhema. I didn’t really question what was going on, after all, it’s hot here, and there was a rare rainy season at that time. I got so used to the light veil before my eyes that I stopped noticing the fog had crept into my workplace. It’s funny how… I only found out there was no fog to begin with after I complained to my head seamstress about it, somewhat nervously.”

“You visited the doctor, right..?”

“One of the best out there," Aglaea chuckled, placing her palm on the silky hair of the girl who was worried sick about her, “What, should I have visited you, instead?”

“You wouldn't agree to trust me with the most important thing a designer can have. Aglaea,”  A dry male voice joined the conversation.

The clearly out-of-place kids sitting in the corner of the room distractedly shifted their gaze to the stranger who had entered. Khaslana immediately grabbed his sister and friend by the wrists, trying to share his astonishment at the sudden appearance of the Pirate, who had materialized like a bolt from the blue, but they only offered awkward smiles. Cyrene whispered, softer than what would have been intelligible, explaining to her brother, who still held onto that fantastical image in his mind, –  this was the Professor of the Grove of Epiphany, Anaxagoras.

This time he was not wearing a black cloak, nor a sullen look, his hair was braided into a neat bun, and there was no longer that mysterious and threatening aura around him. It turned out that while Khaslana was trying on a new image, Cyrene was in full swing communicating with the scientists from the Grove itself. He noticed it just now, but there was some special inspired gleam in her eyes that did not disappear under the weight of the conversations taking place in this room.

“It was naive to think that Hyacinthia came here without you,” Aglaea rolled her eyes, clearly not happy about the Professor entering.

“That was originally the plan.”

“Lady Aglaea, the Professor has been placed on forced leave,” It was amazing how many people could immediately ignore the man’s arrogant tone, “I remembered that Professor Tribios had moved here, and I thought this place would be the best to rest…”

“I always told you, this girl is the only sacred thing you got from the Gods you deny. What's wrong with your eye, you bastard?” Aglaea pointed her finger at the Professor's black eye patch, still being elegant despite such a disrespectful gesture and offensive words.

“Deny it as much as you like, witch,” The Professor answered rudely, “But we've always been alike when it comes to this. I've already paid my price. What's happening to you is your price to pay for your desperate desire to become the best in your field. You know that better than anyone.”

Khaslana frowned, feeling a painful sting inside from such cynical and rude words. He squeezed his sister's hand in his own, about to stand up and stand up for Aglaea, but Cyrene only stroked the back of his hand in response, hinting that it was not worth interfering. Keep watching , she whispered.

“Don’t tell me you were bickering like that in your marriage too?” Tribios asked, somewhat disappointed, throwing up her hands.

“Worse,” Hyacinthia stammered.

“Alike, huh?”  Aglaea exhaled in disappointment, “If I had known that you would be here, I wouldn't have come.”

“I`m just telling the truth.”

Aglaea's heel characteristically hit the floor, she silently covered her face with her hands and did not say another word. Hyacinthia quietly disappeared behind a tiny door near the bookshelves, a minute later bringing the woman water.

“Sorry that you have to hear the squabbles of unhappy people,” Aglaea said with a smile, turning to the kids still sitting in the corner.

Khaslana timidly tossed his head from side to side, feeling some special responsibility before the woman. It was she who allowed him to feel like something more than just a boy from the village. Even if only for a short time. And the light click of heels immediately followed in his direction, causing him to awkwardly and abruptly stand up on his feet, surprising Cyrene and Mydei.

“Did you make this suit?” Cyrene asked timidly, looking at every little detail of Aglaea’s appearance, her golden nails, her expensive and tiny earrings, her lush but styled gold-colored hair, her simple white dress, which, due to its interesting style and many accessories, seemed like the most complicated dress ever.

“I made it the other day… the customer just didn’t want to take it. It happens sometimes. They paid, of course, but they just refused to take it. I was so surprised when I saw a boy here with exactly the same parameters as the customer. And his sister, too, looked especially pretty.”

Cyrene blushed, clasping her hands together and quickly exchanging glances with Lady Tribios, who had seen more of her personal design sketches than anyone else. One compliment from a real fashion designer, and her imagination began to paint her own brilliant future as just such a designer.

“Lady Aglaea,” Khaslana began quietly, unclasping his hands with his friends, “I am sure you will not lose your skill, even if you stop distinguishing colors and shapes. I cannot explain it... But it is as if you create not at all thanks to your eyes, but thanks to love... for people... and for your work... until they disappear, you will still be able to draw, sew and take measurements even from those who may later refuse your outfits. I am sure you have made many people truly happy because of your efforts.”

Khaslana blushed, as if waking up and suddenly realizing that every pair of eyes in the room was now definitely focused on him. Mostly he saw surprise and slight incomprehension, it was one of his bad habits, after all – to speak too sincerely and to say too much when it was not required of him. But in Aglaea's attentive eyes he saw only recognition, at that moment he truly felt like a real knight. And so he bowed, adding to the epic flaring up inside him the external embarrassment. And again he gave the tragedy too romantic and fairy-tale meaning.

“Thank you, young boy,” Aglaea said in an unfamiliar, warm voice, now not seeming at all stony and arrogant.

“Phainon,” Mydei corrected the woman, smiling defiantly at the other boy.

“Nice to meet you, Phainon!” Hyacinthia exclaimed joyfully, while Aglaea and Anaxagoras did not pay any special attention to the somewhat funny name.

“...I would still try to help you,” muttered the Professor, belatedly answering the sarcastic question thrown out earlier, “And I still can, Aglaea.”

Aglaea just looked at the man in silence, quietly answering him something that only he could hear. And from his reaction – the disappointed turn of his head, the arms folded on his chest – it was impossible to determine the mood of this answer. It was hard to watch, even if they didn't know their history, but they still felt like someone that once was close.

But Khaslana heard nothing further, turning to Mydei with a nervous smile and receiving an approving nod in response. The difficult conversations ended, replaced by a laid table and interested discussions of the past days. And even if the three kids who ended up here completely by chance did not know either the visiting guests or their stories, they still listened with special interest to every gossip and conversation about names, events and places unfamiliar to them.

And when only Cyrene, Mydei and Khaslana were left in the library all by themselves again, the latter began to bombard them with questions about everything that had happened in the last few hours, and he had too many questions. Like always. And while he was trying to understand whether Hyacinthia was the Professor's daughter, and why the Pirate was married to the Golden Lady, and how it happened that the scientist of the Grove of Epiphany herself had been teaching them all this time... Mydei silently continued to draw something in his notebook, occasionally glancing at Khaslana, and Cyrene was dreamily spinning in a new pink dress given to her by Aglaea. And in the end, she allowed the boy to keep the suit, apparently no longer very worried about its future fate.

“You spoke so beautifully,” laughed Cyrene, straightening her brother’s tie, “I also think that Lady Aglaea will make clothes even better than before!”

“Why..?”

“Because she will start to smell the colors around her and hear the crackle of new fabrics! You were right – she does it only out of love,” The girl smiled broadly at her reflection in the mirror, ruffling her brother’s snow-white hair, “And I am sure that she herself will like a world where beauty is determined only by feelings, affection and love, rather than by the demands of fashion trends and the appearance of customers! Beauty is a deep and complicated feeling, after all.”

“You both say too much of… beautiful things,” Mydei admitted thoughtfully, closing his notebook and approaching the siblings.

“How do we look?” Cyrene asked coquettishly, immediately smoothing back Mydei’s slightly loosened signature braid.

Khaslana snorted, peering at his friend through the reflection and awaiting his verdict with particular excitement.

“You look like dear guests of Kremnos,” Mydei said, somewhat embarrassed but proud.

Chapter Text

Heavy rains began today. They were quite rare, especially by the standards of the climate in which their village was located – usually the residents here try to hide from the drying heat, run to the sea to cool off and buy inflatable pools at the market. Small ones. 

During summers like this, Khaslana and Cyrene would chop the dried branches of their once magnificent trees to keep the fire burning at night, while their parents worked in the fields. It was a good thing when the summer season caught only a few branches by surprise, and not entire trees. None of the children today had ever witnessed the latter, but every summer the adults couldn't help but bring up, for the hundredth time, the story of the year they had to cut down one tree after another, spending hours clearing away the fallen, dried leaves. That year, on the third day of the month of Everday, people formed a circle around Oronyx, as huge as everyone's fear of the disaster that could befall their village. A severe drought was dangerous; a great fire would be catastrophic.

And Oronyx, of course, heard Their residents.

Heavy rains were rare, but when they happened, they washed the lands tired from the heat, releasing all their dehydration and fatigue through steam. The days like this were special because they allowed everyone and everything to rest, and after that, new work awaited them: clearing flooded porches from water; climbing onto the roof to check the performance of the drainage pipes that usually stood unused.

Cyrene inhaled, drawing the curtains to shield herself from the sad gray sky and the large raindrops beating on the glass. In fact, she really liked heavy rains. Unusually dark stories came to mind during them, she dreamt of serious images and felt the absolute freedom to experiment with genres beyond her creative horizon. On such days, she drew gray and somewhat lonely pictures, delving into the inner world of her favorite heroes, ignoring the outer world with its landscapes and words. Lady Tribios had long ago given her a definition of this state of mind - melancholy. And there was a lot of love in melancholy as well, and therefore she still smiled dreamily, turning to the side to her brother hiding under the blanket from the thunderstorm and lightning.

In such weather, he, too, was seized by melancholy, but Khaslana's love was immediately becoming a sad and formless weight. Within it, there were no grey hues nor paragraphs of reflection; he simply fell asleep, surrendering not to a gentle languor that might have protected him from the weather-induced malaise, but to a kind of personal, burdensome helplessness that weighed on him alone.

The edge of their shared album, full of epics, which Cyrene had been unable to find all morning, peeked out from under his pillow. If one looked closely, they could see words written hastily in red pencil, not in neat letters: "The Tragedy of the Prince Crowned in Blood."

And no matter how much the girl wanted to set off on a journey full of inspiration with her brother today, she did not want to interrupt his personal attempts to express some of the stories on paper. Besides, it was clear that her younger brother was in no hurry to share. This epic was definitely not for the two of them anymore.

“Don't die out of loneliness, Khas,” Cyrene whispered, adjusting her brother's blanket, “If anything happens, parents are in the next room. I'll be back!”

Khaslana silently turned to his sister in response. Plain blue eyes stuck out from the blanket, it couldn't help but cause a slightly guilty smile on Cyrene's face – even after such a request, she still couldn't sit at home silently. After kissing her brother, who had fallen ill with sadness, on the forehead, Cyrene quickly pulled on her white socks and the trousers she had recently bought at the market, swiftly said goodbye to her parents, and – throwing on her brother's windbreaker and a pair of rubber boots – stepped out into the downpour.

When she was still a child, her parents hadn't let her out this easily, but now it seemed to her that these outings were almost the only way to be sure that the adults trusted her. She wouldn't get her things dirty because she treated all clothing with care; even the boots specifically made for puddles and mud were returned clean under the roof of their house. She wouldn't get lost because it was impossible to get lost in Aedes Elysiae, even beyond its borders. She wouldn't get sick because, even if she lingered in the rainy cold longer than she should, she had learned to wash down her dinner with a pill to prevent any kind of cold. And so, no matter how much her mother saw her off with a displeased look at the door, she never voiced any objections. She trusted her. 

Besides, Cyrene really hoped to meet something interesting and unusual today. Someone new. Judging by the events of the last few days, she was beginning to think that in order to make new acquaintances, it was enough to just go forward, go forward and believe.

The sight of the empty village made her feel uneasy, the lack of people on the streets reminded her of a nightmare she had had, yet this time everything around her was not shrouded in fire, but in puddles beginning to form on the white stone. Cyrene reached the statue of Oronyx, thoughtfully peering at the statue's missing face. In her dream, she was sure, it had her eyes and her pretty round cheeks. Cyrene smiled, folded her hands in a prayerful gesture, and began to read one of her favorite prayers under her breath. The Villager`s Prayer.

And after she opened her eyes, her first rainy adventure awaited her.

Next to her stood a girl her height, dressed from head to toe and frozen in exactly the same pose, with a grateful smile on her lips.

“Hyacinthia,” Cyrene said happily, catching herself once again looking at the neat little ponytails, “Do you also like to walk in the rain?”

“Of course! Any weather given by Aquila is good weather!”

“Hmm,” The girl shifted from foot to foot, took the stranger's hands in hers and said with a wide smile, “What an optimist you are, I like you! We will definitely be friends!~ You are not at all like Anaxagoras, although you are his student.”

“To be honest…” Hyacine looked down at the ground, “I don't understand this man at all. According to Lady Aglaea, he was easier and less boring back in the day. Don't get me wrong, I really like the Professor, it's just…”

“You`d love to know his past-self, right?”

Cyrene nodded several times, noting to herself that she had just discovered the third form of melancholy, which manifested itself as a longing for someone one had never known.

“Out of curiosity,” The girl giggled lightly, “Maybe if I had someone to compare him to, I could understand him better… all this rejection of faith, his strictness towards himself…”

“But could you continue to consider him Professor after that? We had no idea that Lady Tribios was one of the scientists of the Grove of Epiphany. She tells us so little, but now I understand the reason behind this – adults often keep secrets about themselves from those they want to teach something. This is the only way their lessons remain memorable. They always want to remain reliable adults in our eyes, and for this reason they try to seem like someone without weaknesses. It`s their way of caring.”

Hyacinthia just smiled silently. She had obviously thought about this before, and felt relieved that someone had spoken her own thoughts out loud. And so the two sweet girls found each other in the downpour, starting to share all sorts of stories with each other without stopping. Hyacinthia began to tell myths about Aquila that Cyrene had never heard before, about the honorable skyfolk and why Cyrene could never see the stars in photos of Okhema. Cyrene told all about the agriculture of Aedes Elysiae, noticing the admiring smile on her new friend's face – as if only more light had been added to the magical sparkle in her eyes, so greatly was she enchanted by the scale on which this place relied on the well-being of the sky cover.

As it turned out, they both love the color pink, homemade sweet cakes, and all the cutest things. Cyrene wondered if the chimeras running along the paths of the Groves were just as cute, and then set herself a new goal – to show her new friend the local fairies. Surely her brother wouldn't be too offended if another kind companion found their secret place?

Cyrene couldn't help but laugh, finding both similarities and differences between the Dryad he had written with Khaslana and Hyacinthia, who had told her so many new stories. Perhaps she wasn't as fabulous and impossible, but her love for the world was as sacrificial and unquestioning as that of the heroine of their naive tale.

“I got the idea of what the Professor is doing here, but why did you come here?”

“ Me?” The girl thought, confused. “To be honest, I need to work on my practical training, I'm studying medicine! And I thought that I'd find a hospital here, but it seems that Aedes Elysiae…”

“Nobody ever gets sick here!”

“Yeah... Don't get me wrong, I'm really glad that everyone here is healthy and no incidents happen! It's just…”

“Everything is fine! You help people, right?”

“Everyone in my family does! And I’m very, very proud of it and I try very hard myself. But I don’t really have any practice which is bad for my education… In any case, we came here specifically for Anaxa.”

“You know, my brother thought you were his daughter.”

“D-daughter?” Hyacine stopped, looking at Cyrene with wide eyes of surprise, "He`s not this   older than me...”

“Are you thirty..?”

“It`s him who`s not forty,” Hyacine laughed loudly, “It’s so funny! Everyone sees him as an old man! You know, the scientists of the Groves thought that I’m his daughter as well, even though I just applied for the position of his main assistant… To be fair, that happened for the first time in his entire career too… Even Aglaea once called me for a “serious conversation,” she looked so nervous then, I still find it funny…”

“Wait, it wasn't a joke about them being married in the past?”

“It wasn't.”

Hyacine adjusted the hood of her raincoat, silently staring at the dead end of what had seemed like an endless path until recently. Cyrene silently took her friend by the elbow to redirect her along the uncleared path, to new adventures.

“To be honest, it always seemed to me that they spent most of their time in loud quarrels and showdowns rather than in happiness…”

“Oh…”

“There were always quarrels around the Professor. He loves conflicts. He loves to prove, to question, to challenge to a duel…”

“Challenge to a duel?” Cyrene giggled, “What do you mean?”

“A verbal ones. I don't know why he calls debates duels. So stupid... all this pathos…”

“And yet you still choose to be there for him!” Cyrene gently pinched her friend's hand, “And you know... I always dreamed of being a student at the Grove of Epiphany too…”

Hyacine opened her mouth, but she decided to keep everything she wanted to say to herself at the last moment. There was no awkward silence, the topic simply went in a completely different direction. Cyrene knew exactly why it was hard to answer her, a village dreamer, something about her dreams of a prestigious Temple of Sciences, but at the same time she did not want to be upset with the Dryad with a gentle voice and understanding eyes.

So, she will simply continue to wait. After all, Oronyx encourages all who wait and keep faith within themselves.

After some time, busy with conversations and gossip, the girls came out to a two-story Gothic house, standing away from all possible paths and other houses. Cyrene's heart beat tremblingly in her chest – never in her entire life and the random routes she had laid out had she seen this house. And if she had seen something familiar to it, it was in an abandoned state. Now, before her, almost a palace towered. Luxurious black gates, fruit trees flaunting behind them and a flower garden, all planted with beauty that Cyrene had never seen in her life. Purple roses, pink lilies, black petals of flowers unfamiliar to her.

Hyacine took a step back, involuntarily pulling Cyrene along with her. But the other only smiled encouragingly. It seemed to her that she would find something much more valuable in this house than just an adventure and a new story. Perhaps the love itself? A sweet princess locked there alone, that would give Cyrene all her patient years of waiting and hoping.

And she walked forward, tightly squeezing Hyacine's hand in hers, with a confidence as if nothing less than the will of the Titan himself awaited her within.

The gates were open, which only made Hyacine more wary. On the other hand, what if it was opened on purpose, by someone who needed help? In that case, she was obliged to help, as a true healer. No matter how she tried to persuade herself, she understood from her friend’s firm determination that there would be no way back. Cyrene was not at all surprised by the doors open for her. If fate itself had predetermined her presence here, then so be it.

The door swung open with a soft sound, immediately followed by the quiet sound of wheels.

“Cas..?”

A pale girl their age, with neatly styled short hair and a beautiful crown of flowers, came to them in a wheelchair. She was wearing a nightgown reminiscent of a flower garden, and on her shoulders sat a golden butterfly, which also turned its gaze to the unexpected guests. Cyrene smiled enchantedly, feeling the warmth of a wish come true spreading throughout her body. She had found it – the love.

Hyacine covered her mouth with her hands so that no one would hear her frightened breath. The stranger did not let out a sound, as if she too expected to see guests on her doorstep. She only nodded in greeting, lingering her gaze on Cyrene and giving her a fleeting smile. None of them fully understood what exactly was happening now – but each of them was pleased in their own way.

“Cas, we have guests…” The stranger said softly, very quietly, even if she was addressing someone, it was unlikely that anyone could hear her except the girls standing opposite her. She slowly turned the wheels to the right, disappearing into the next room without any unnecessary comments.

“Polyxia, what... Oh!”

An equally pale and timid girl in a bright T-shirt with a character drawn on it and panties appeared from the second floor stairwell. Cyrene and Hyacine heard only a short, disappointed squeal, noticing a sharp movement on the second floor.

“It’s still impolite to burst into someone else’s house without warning,” Hyacine noted bashfully, “I’m sorry!.. We’ll leave now, forgive us for…”

The mysterious girl returned, riding up to the guests with a teapot and two cups in her hands. She did not say a word, only extended the fragile porcelain dishes with delicate patterns to the guests. And Cyrene accepted the cup, bowing low to the stranger, imagining herself a part of old European balls. A slight blush and a gesture inviting them, apparently, to the kitchen.

Never before had Cyrene imagined that so few words would be needed to meet Love herself, that there would be no fireworks, no thousand invited guests – the King’s confidants. That in such a meeting there would be almost no sound, except for the accepting and grateful silence.

“Thank you very much!” Hyacine took the cup shyly, looking back at Cyrene, and followed her into the kitchen.

And while the gentle stranger poured black tea with a light aroma of fragrant herbs into their cups, Cyrene and Hyacine greedily examined the space around them. It was like in a museum – all the furniture here was not very outstanding, but clearly quite expensive. It was clearly cared for, and each color here matched the household appliances and dishes, creating not just a room, but a real design project. Cyrene had only seen this in advertisements for Okhema's furniture stores, which she herself had never been to.

“Excuse me!” The second stranger, now dressed in a long black dress, timidly approached the kitchen, “I… we rarely have guests…”

“We don't have guests at all,” The Love herself took a sip of tea in a casual manner, “We're afraid... the house is too old and stands out. But we always leave the gates open. We're expecting guests.”

“I knew it!” Cyrene's voice stood out strongly compared to the quiet and moderate voices of the girls living here, “I knew that we needed to come to you! You are so sweet, so beautiful! This is the best day of my life, he-he~”

“Oh…” Hyacinthia hid behind her cup, drinking all the tea in one gulp due to embarrassment and the awkwardness of the situation.

“What a miracle,” The short-haired girl gave her guest another smile, “So it was worth it after all… My name is Polyxia. This is my sister, my beloved Cas…”

“Castorice,” the other girl blushed, “We are twins…”

And now it was actually noticeable – the similar shyness in their gaze, the unusual purple hair, the somewhat muffled, as if not from here, voice – they really were identical. And also their cute elf ears...

Only the personalities  were different, and Cyrene noticed it already – Polyxia's timidity was completely different from Castorice's bashful embarrassment. She was like a royal blood, everything about her spoke of the ethics and proper manners of real ladies. Everything about her was about love.

“Cas rarely comes here,” Polyxia began slowly, “Only when she needs to meet deadlines set by the editorial office... because it's quiet here and there are no distractions. If she doesn't download cartoons to her laptop, that's it…”

“Editorial office?” Hyacine clarified, “Are you a writer?”

“I-I…” A blush once again appeared on Castorice’s pale cheeks, “I am a writer, yes, but…”

“You’re so embarrassed…” Polyxia laughed briefly, “As if you are publishing your cheap novels from childhood…”

“Polyxia,” The girl said in confusion, resignedly placing her hands on the table and not saying another word.

“You remind me of me and my brother!” Cyrene shared, taking a lollipop from the white crystal vase on the table, “I like to embarrass him too. Most often it happens by accident, but it's funny every time... Cas!” Castorice's right hand twitched involuntarily, “You shouldn't be ashamed of what you write! I dream of being published as well... I'd publish everything I do, just like that!”

“Thank you…” Castorice thanked shyly, unable to get used to the fact that someone other than her sister called her by this form of her name, “And you are… What's your name?”

“Hyacinthia!.. Excuse me, once again... where have my manners gone?..”

“He-he,” Cyrene winked at her friend, hinting that she was the one to blame for this, first and foremost, “And my name is Cyrene.”

“Such cute names…”

“Can you write a story for us, Cas?” Cyrene clapped her hands, taking another lollipop from the bowl.

“W-what..?”

“About the Professor and a Fashion Designer! We will describe their story to you! I am so interested to see how other people write! I will learn from the professional herself! Pretty please?”

Hyacine inhaled, covering her face with her palms. Cyrene only smiled at this gesture – if her new friend dreamed of getting to know the Professor from the past, then she's only  happy to let her have such an opportunity at least on paper. And the professional writer in front of them would clearly be able to write this story in the most plausible way.

It was really hard to persuade Castorice. But not impossible – a few soft words from Polyxia and a special look from Cyrene, which she actively practiced when she broke something from the dishes at home, were enough.

So after a while there was already a blueberry pie on the table, and the tea was already brewing for the third time – Castorice was silently writing word after word on her pink laptop, covered with dozens of different bright stickers. Cyrene looked at the text being born before her eyes, and at the unfamiliar faces of the most diverse characters. She didn’t know any of them, but she kept thinking, wouldn’t it be impudent to ask Castorice for stickers as well? In a good way, she should have paid her with money – after all, she just showed up on the doorstep of the girls’ house and had the impudence to ask an obviously famous author for a story about people she didn’t know, for free. Castorice’s books were probably expensive…

Unfortunately, Cyrene didn't have a notepad or a notebook with her, and there was no other paper in the house. After all, Castorice had such a good, almost new laptop for writing, and Polyxia, it seemed, wasn't very interested in creativity.

But there was no need for notes, Cyrene remembered every hint and comment on what was happening in the text of a real writer, she wanted to run home right now and try everything that Castorice was so generously sharing with her now. The secrets of creating a good story – and all that in front of her – Cyrene could not dream of more. At the same time, her gaze studied every detail of her Love's appearance, and she was not regretting that she didn't even have a camera with her. She could memorize the portrait of her Love without any effort. Every creator needs their own Muse, and Cyrene felt doubly victorious.

Interested in the resulting text, Hyacine, who, of course, was in no hurry to admit it, asked Castorice to print the text.

“Two copies,” smiled Cyrene, taking Hyacine’s hand and showing the victory sign with her other hand, “We’ll be back tomorrow!”

The rain had long since stopped. It was getting dark, but the two girls who had come out of the real castle did not care. They discussed the text they had written and giggled at some of the lines. Before leaving, Cyrene confessed to Polyxia that she would come back here again and again to fill her entire album with portraits of her new Muse. This brought a gentle smile and light laughter to the girl's face.

Cyrene has a lot of things to do when she gets home.

The howling of the hyenas nearby, however, was already beginning to confuse the girls – Cyrene had forgotten that they came running here from time to time, and Hyacine had never seen them in person. This made their steps more hasty, their gossip shorter, and their perusal of the text on the sheets of paper in front of them more superficial.

“Not everyone can boast of such fearlessness, Cyrene,” said Hyacine as she said goodbye, blowing a kiss to her new friend.

“See you tomorrow, cutie!~”

Cyrene waved to her friend, spending a few more minutes looking at the statue of Oronyx, still standing in the same pose. The caring moonlight fell on it, and right now, for some reason, Cyrene felt as if she had been blessed.

Chapter Text

Anaxagoras did not imagine his student life would be like this. His sister had warned him that he might meet all sorts of people, not always well-mannered or calm – that's how it was in their hometown, and so it would be in the Grove of Epiphany. And he dreamed of the Sacred Academic Gnosis, shrouded in the ancient veil of wisdom, passed down from generation to generation by philosophers unknown to him. Possible surroundings couldn't possibly be less important for him in the way to the creation of something eternal.

But instead of zeal for the lofty, his classmates purposefully spent their precious time on strong drinks and the only thing they were studying were the wide skirts of the local female students. Worse than that – the skirts of the fallen ladies who dared to visit the sacred academic lands, fueling the desire of the lost to stray further and further from knowledge.

In any case, he had to "circulate" among the senior students. They had connections among the teaching staff, they had keys to the rooms he needed in the administrative wing, they had the courage to bluntly condemn and reason about the actions and thoughts of those whose names, in polite society, were spoken only in a good light. Anaxagoras still didn't fully understand such delicacy. The Grove was famous for its pursuit of pure science, and yet here, one either spoke well of the dead or said nothing at all. Although the dead were leaving this world carrying many times more secrets and truths, than those who adhered to morality could ever possess in life. A phrase whose meaning had been distorted and passed down to descendants as a pathetic justification. Either speak well, or nothing, except the truth.

He never drank that vulgar brew that was poured around from glass to glass by his situational friends, never listened to the conversations full of ignorance and the wild, unflinching laughter brimming with carnal emotions. Instead, he got used to pouring himself some strong coffee and silently observing, wincing from the rejection of everything happening around him and the bitter taste of the black, petroleum-like potion in his cup.

It was hard to even imagine that he could find a worthy interlocutor here to brighten the time being wasted. But he needed to join the ranks of the scholars of the Groves as quickly as possible, to earn something more valuable than an empty diploma – the recognition of the old men at the top of the academic hierarchy, whom he already had the audacity to consider his equals. And never did the unpleasant aftertaste of doubt appear on his tongue. Ambitions must be loud and intrusive, and that is precisely why the old men were equal to him , and not the other way around.

And on one such evening, he couldn't take his eyes off a young Beauty, dressed all in gold, writhing in a circle of either her friends or strangers who had run in for fun. In any case, none of them stood out in appearance, mannerisms, or their disgustingly simple dresses. Unlike her. If only Anaxagoras acknowledged the existence of the Titans – in the sense that believers do, bowing in prayer before Their indifferent gaze, allegedly influencing destinies – then he could say with certainty that he had met Mnestia herself.

And she, of course, noticed him back, in his gaze seeing something different from empty-headed admiration and the greedy passion to possess her lush skirt, to see her secrets.

“You are so arrogant.”

“And you – you are so frivolous.”

And it was in her that he found a worthy interlocutor. Everything turned out to be extremely simple, because it was her name he had seen in first place in all the academic competitions held in the Groves. She always stood one position above him; her name in every list mockingly winked at him and at the same time aroused an unquenchable curiosity within. He was too proud to ask about her from his acquaintances, too proud to openly acknowledge her intellect. Even if he was confident in its authenticity. After all, even if there was some vulgarity here, in the Temple of Science, there was certainly no dishonesty or corruption. Which meant that, by the laws measuring the intellectual abilities of the Grove's students, she was undoubtedly more outstanding than he is.

“Have you ever thought that the statues erected in the modern world don't convey even half of the power destined for them?”

“Because today's heroes cannot accomplish even half of the great feats of their predecessors, or because of the departed majesty in architecture?”

“Because of the meager security that has come upon the world – no great tragedy, no great feat. ”

“Is it true that there is no great tragedy as such? Or is the real tragedy hidden somewhere in the depths of human indifference?”

They chatted tirelessly, unable to agree on a single point in any topic that arose at their table, whether it was superficial or in the form of an hour-long discourse. But they were incapable of tearing themselves away from each other, no matter how much sympathetic disgust for each other appeared on their faces – an unspoken complete disagreement with the respected interlocutor.

That evening, Anaxagoras drank for the first time, catching himself in an argument with Aglaea, who was playing with him in between. Even when discussing complex formulas and topics where one could never come to a definitive conclusion, she continued to smile at him and adjust her elegant dress, clearly not made for a simple dive bar. She was as if made entirely of diamonds. Anaxagoras felt a fainting shame from his own thoughts, and even so, in the intervals between such, he examined her delicate features with purely masculine interest.

And for the first time Aglaea danced with someone she actually wanted to dance with. And her unexpected partner continued to reason about the mistakes of the rulers of Okhema, periodically stepping on her crystal-made shoes, and, untypical for himself, muttered in embarrassment: sorry. At these moments, she laughed quietly, correcting some dates for him and reciting the laws derived by one or another Ruler from memory, since it was impossible to reason about the politics of fallen Kings without knowing the Law they established..."

“What a complicated style this girl has,” Cipher grimaced with displeasure, hiding the read sheet at the bottom of the thin stack, “But she's funny. Agy, dancing with that miserable idiot! Ha!”

The cat-like girl giggled maliciously. She theatrically wiped a tear that had welled up from laughter, her whole appearance showing her genuine impression of the story that Castorice had put effort into – effort she clearly hadn't planned to spend. Cyrene snorted with mild offense, turning away from her friend.

“They really did dance! Hyacine told me all about it.”

“Hyacine, hu-uh?” Cipher narrowed her eyes cunningly, “Do you have a whole club of dreamers out there, or what? And I thought you were the only one like that in the whole village!”

Khas averted his eyes. He never knew how to resist his friend's teasing jokes and this time it was best to keep quiet as well. Besides, he felt a slight resentment towards his sister. In just one day, so much had happened to her, while he could barely put his thoughts in order, staring at the bent corner of their shared album. He didn't know how to write. Not as beautifully and subtly as the unfamiliar Castorice, not as interestingly as Cyrene. But now the gap between them had only grown wider, and the zeal to create within him continued to fade.

“You didn't finish the story!”

“Ah-h,” Cipher purred, “Little one, such stories don't interest me. And anyway, since when does this Idiot not drink? Didn't Agy chase the two of us off her doorstep with a mop that was bought specifically to wipe, sorry for the delicate details, the shit of the street dogs?.. This writer made a saint out of a man whose whole office is full of empty bottles of fermented wine, what a story! Ha-ha-ha!”

“You're making that up,” Khaslana mumbled, squeezing the basket in his hands.

“Ew, making up such things is too bo-o-ring... Everything I say is nothing but a true story, real life, you'll understand it when you're older! Besides, do you think I compose all this on the fly?”

“I've never seen a trader who didn't like to chatter…”

“Nuh-huh! If you're going to make things up, do it cunningly…”

The girl grinned mischievously, placing a sign on her work table, announcing a break. With a light movement, too subtle for the kids, she took both of them by the arms, leading them away from the curious eyes of customers.

“You know what my favorite fantasy is?”

“Where are we going?”

“Listen here, kids,” Cipher conspiratorially leaned towards her devoted customers, “The life of my dreams. I have the same fortune as Agy. More precisely – it`s me, me, who possesses her fortune, just like that! Of course, I didn't steal it, I owe her a lot after all.”

“Wait, how close are you to Lady Aglaea anyway?” Khaslana asked confusedly, exchanging glances with his sister. For a second, he was afraid that she already knew about this too, that she already knew dozens of times more than him, but in response, he saw an equally confused look.

“Don't interrupt your elders. So…”

“Cifera, aren't you…”

“Hush!” The girl mysteriously repeated in a whisper, “And with all that money, I bask in the sun even at night, in her golden castle made of gold. Because instead of the sun now – there's gold, get it? And even more, huh, I take golden baths, counting every coin that Agy received for her honest,” A theatrical sympathetic inhale, “Efforts. And I no longer see neither the market, nor these displeased dog faces. My life is a golden gold covered in gold!”

“We've never seen dogs at the market.”

“I'm not talking about them. You'll understand when you're older. Ahem, and I eat only the most expensive and luxurious delicacies. Not this molecular gastronomy or whatever that was, all that tiny junk that Anaxa-fool loved so much, you can't get full on that! Small portions, unnatural taste.”

“What is molecu…”

“Portions should be huge! Hearty! Like how they fed our past Caesar, that brainy Cerydra! By the way, I was acquainted with her. Personally! She treated me to crab. Not a hundred grams for my entire salary crab, but like, a whole one – just because we were friends. Heh-heh-heh.”

Khaslana and Cyrene sighed in admiration, immersing themselves in someone else's fantasies without a second thought. No way their friend knew Cerydra herself; after all, she was a little over twenty, not a thousand-plus years old. But they didn't feel like asking questions anymore, nor did they want to resist Cipher's clearly teasing dreams.

“And that's how I spend my whole life. Literally. Basking in the sun's rays, eating the most delicious dishes in Okhema, dressing in Agy's most beautiful clothes, and dedicating poems to her sparkling gold. Gonna think on this one more. I wouldn't touch a pen for anything, like your Princess Homebody. What's the point of working if you're at home?! Where does she return to after work then? How does she even rest? Well, such questions certainly won't worry me in Agy's golden chambers. I mean mine.”

“Cifera's golden chambers?”

“You are my most favorite girl,” Cipher said proudly, winking at Cyrene.

“I still don't understand,” Khaslana began thoughtfully, “Aren't you going to be bored?”

“Boy. Being bored is when they buy just one trinket during the whole working day and that's your entire earnings! And you stand here for hours under that scorching sun, and…”

“But you have a fan with you.”

“But when you go on a date with someone else's, ahem, I mean, my, my gold every day…”

Barely noticeable drool trickled down Cipher's chin, as if she were very hungry and had smelled something edible. The market, indeed, typically had many food stalls, which siblings  usually didn't visit; they were pretty content with tons of home-cooked food from the fields and forests. But sometimes it was impossible to resist the smell; for example, right now the market was filled with the all-encompassing sweet smell of pistachio desserts, and even though all three had moved some distance from the main stalls, it didn't protect them from the smell. Though the only thing one could really protect oneself from was the hunger that came with the smell. Someone's stomach betrayed them with a rumble, and Cipher, without losing a second, led the children back to the stalls with a satisfied smile.

“And what would you spend all that gold on?” Cyrene asked curiously, peering more closely at her friend's modest clothing – short denim shorts, a careworn cardigan thrown over them, and wide boots. Even if Cipher really was close to Aglaea, it was clearly not because she was one of her clients. 

“Why spend it? It exists – and that's what matters. Here,” The girl, with a deft movement, hopped into her own stall and pulled out two vanilla ice creams from the fridge under the counter, “Say hello to your parents.”

Cyrene and Khaslana joyfully thanked their friend, not rushing to go home and allowing Cipher to continue her "boring work." Cipher had foreseen this – hundreds of questions from her dreamy Little One and Dreamer.

“Lady Aglaea is very dear to you, right?” Cyrene asked with a playful smile, she was the only one who knew how to tease the merchant back.

“Too saccharine. What, do you want to write a story about us too? I'm waiting for romance, dates, a passionate night…”

Khaslana immediately blushed deeply. Cyrene just covered her mouth with her palm in embarrassment, laughing awkwardly. Their friend really couldn't boast of modesty. She was about to answer something but suddenly became thoughtful, causing a slight alarm to appear on Cipher's face.

“Right, it's better not to joke around with a Princess Homebody's style…”

“You didn't finish the story!”

“What exactly should I finish? This freaky stuff here, I quote,” Cipher pulled out the thin sheets again, unpleasantly slapping her finger on the last one in the stack, ““ And with this kiss it became somehow disgusting, because it proved their abilities to yield, the willingness to compromise, ceasing the persistent struggle for their point of view… ” Jeez, what nonsense. How did that even come to her mind? Will normal people attach such creepy significance to a kiss?”

The girl silently stared at the last page, rereading one of the lines over and over, as if trying to understand something. Or someone. She sighed with displeasure and carelessly returned the sheets, smiling with a slight sadness. It was clear to the naked eye – they had stumbled upon someone else's personal secrets again. Insisting on such questions was too unfair, no matter how much the kids' fantasies ran wild with impatience to learn everything that was possible, and impossible. In which exact moments of Castorice's written story does the truth show through, where exactly does it cross the border with romantic fiction?

“Come visit us! We always expect you, Cifera! And I'm sure…” It was very difficult to resist questions, “Agy... is waiting for you too.”

The merchant snorted, winking at the kids one last time and immediately switching to an approaching customer. Her voice instantly became ringing and playful, which could be respectfully called professionalism and honestly called a fraud. Cyrene and Khaslana silently trudged home, this time sinking into a silence much deeper than before.

They both felt ashamed of something of their own in front of each other. Cyrene kept seeing the mysterious inscription about the crowned prince before her eyes, and Khaslana was burning holes in several sheets of text printed in neat, beautiful letters with his eyes. He had never read anything like it before, couldn't imagine half of the things described there. Student life, a dive bar, discussions about the devaluation of feats, and the listed complex feelings of gloomy lovesickness at the end. He had never been distinguished by intelligence, and if the new guests really came from such a complex and unfamiliar world, then he clearly would never be able to join it. He felt like a stranger just by looking at the text written by a girl completely unknown to him, who nevertheless lived somewhere nearby.

And what did it mean – you'll understand when you're older? He couldn't comprehend either the fiction on the pages or the things Cipher described from the real world. Dog faces that can only be seen as an adult, but why`s that, if he sees dogs almost every day? How were those different from these? And these from those? What's bad about Anaxagoras not drinking wine, and Aglaea liking to dance with him? And why was their friend so uninterested in fantasies, as if real life was much more interesting and eventful than it was on the pages of paper. Why did her desire to dream only in the "cunning" way felt like some kind of deception, and what if he wanted to dream only nobly – of feats, deliverence, love...

“Are feats really only needed when a tragedy happens? So... knights aren't needed anymore either?.. Without feats – they're not needed?..” Khaslana asked in a whisper, squeezing the basket's handle in his hand with force.

“Khas, it's…”

Cyrene was at a loss for an answer. Of course, he was affected by the conversation written by Castorice between two overly intelligent adults reasoning about overly complex topics. She could repeat the simple phrase she used to say back in the days to him once again – Phainon the Deliverer  is her favorite Hero! And he would be happy to hear it once again, imagining that his sister was talking about him as Phainon. Yet deep down, he kept coming on realisation that she was really talking about him, because no Deliverer really existed. Once a guilty phrase had escaped her lips:

You're not Kephale, to really be the Hero of all mankind...

And after that, there was much more Khaslana than there was Phainon. Cyrene knew what that phrase meant to him, but she never found the strength to apologize. Or the desire to. With thoughts tired of empty fantasies, she reread the announcement about admission to the students of the Grove in the newspaper over and over again. Of course, she loved to write about Phainon, to draw him, making him purposely older than her younger brother, avoiding complete repetition of her brother portraits. She often got carried away, composing another epic about the Deliverer. And afterwards, feeling somewhat guilty, she listened to how enthusiastically Khaslana retold his every step again. He believed in these stories much more than she did, and it sometimes seemed to her that she was fueling up the false hope. He could deny it, could continue to hide the wooden sword under the bed, and still smile proudly every time he was called Phainon. Whispering prayers for the hero's well-being before bed.

“Even to Mydei..?”

Could it be that even a real Prince, who had renounced his throne, also didn't need a knight? But would he have come to them, here, if a tragedy hadn't happened on Kremnos?

“I don't know…” Cyrene inhaled, smiling softly at her brother, “about Mydei, but I... I definitely need a knight.”

And yet, she wasn't much different from him and couldn't think about it all seriously. They grew up with the Deliverer, with the Fortune Teller, she too invested too many of her own hopes into non-existent images. And it certainly wasn't for her to tell her brother about how all these expectations and dreams would most likely remain just that forever, not even living up to their own echo. And each of them felt that such truth became closer with every story told by others. Because in their world, no tragedy had truly happened. Their world did not need Heroes.

“You need Khaslana…”

“But isn't Khaslana... also a knight?” Cyrene's hand landed on her brother's shoulder. He awkwardly shrank, not finding enough resentment in himself to brush that hand away.

“And does the scholar of the Groves Cyrene need a knight..?”

The boy silently walked ahead, not raising his eyes to the cold sun hidden behind the clouds. A little later, Cyrene slowly followed him, guiltily examining his white, snow-like hair.

“Does such a Cyrene even exist?..”

After returning home, Khaslana hid under the blanket again, immediately falling into a restless sleep. Before dinner, he found several tiny birds made from father's copper plate by his bedside, which brought a timid smile to his face. He immediately gave them names, examining their neat wings and completely non-sharp beaks. Each of them fit in his fist, perched on his palm as if on a pedestal. Proudly and majestically, exactly like a monument.

And therefore, before bed, Cyrene found a large bouquet of white lilies in the kitchen. And the neat little birds she had made stood in a round dance, watching their creator expectantly. Cyrene smiled, trying to discern the scent of the bouquet gifted to her. And this was quite enough to admit that in any of the possible scenarios awaiting them in the future, they would try to be here for each other.

Chapter Text

The wall on her side of the room gradually began to fill with portraits of a mysterious girl with a humble expression on her face. She showed no emotion – no sorrow, no joy, no deep tragedy in her eyes, and no hint of a smile on her lips. Khaslana looked warily at pictures, trying to understand why he was still able to feel a garden of the brightest flowers in these gray and apathetic motives of the drawings. And why he sees tons of warmth and understanding in the empty eyes of the girl.

The portraits were hanging very close to the bed, on plain white sheets. This made them seem naked. Khaslana couldn't quite answer the question of why he felt like they were missing something, and Cyrene kept going on and on about the beautiful wooden frames, like in real galleries. That if only she had them, she could open her own "exhibition" and her drawings would turn into real "masterpieces."

Cyrene had spent the morning assembling her own kite, pink and cute, as she would have called it, and Khaslana couldn't find the nerve to ask why his sister was so lovingly depicting a girl who radiated cold and death even. She was humming a tune to herself, methodically placing wooden sticks on thin, painted paper.

They usually flew kites after Easter. As usual, they`d return home from the ceremony, trying not to let slip the reason behind their prayings, and eagerly await the next morning, the only morning when the ringing of the church bells reached Aedes Elysiae. It was so majestic and so loud. And in the evening, they never failed to thank their parents for all that had come to pass and all that was yet to be. 

On other days, they did not touch the friends they had made with their own hands. And still, Cyrene was fired up with the idea of showing their traditions and holidays to all the new guests of the village. And she did not really need a holiday as such for this.

So instead of sneaking another look at the portraits, Khaslana had to stand in the kitchen and make Lagana, a bread that was made once a year, on the same day that the kites were flown… The boy narrowed his eyes, not sure how right this was. They were breaking tradition by holding the holiday on a different day, but they were also introducing others to it, which was the right thing to do. He slowly tore his gaze away from the paintings and after a few steps found himself in the kitchen. He put his hand in the sesame seeds he had gathered and froze in indecision again. Don't the people of Okhema, Kremnos, and the Groves know about Easter? How necessary was this very introduction?

Besides, he didn't know how to make bread at all. Or any baked goods. He didn't know how to cook at all.

Khaslana peered timidly through the window onto the porch, where the quiet sounds of his sister's careful efforts could be heard. She was much better at making paper kites. She was much better at everything. Maybe it was because girls really were much more careful than boys, as his father had told him throughout his childhood. The only things Khaslana was good at were catching voles and playing the fool.

“Khas, Khas~” Cyrene sang, without turning her head to the window, “What happened?”

All his childhood he continued to hear that everything was written on his forehead. He no longer believed it. Because his sister, for example, felt every one of his thoughts without having to see his forehead…

“We're having guests today!” continued Cyrene, putting the finished kite aside and switching to her brother's, “We'll sing songs, share secrets, and... get the lanterns ready!”

Which were also  made of paper. Khaslana opened the window shutters, somewhat upset, feeling how stuffy it was getting in the house. Unable to bear the sight of his sister doing his work for him, he ran out into the yard without putting on his shoes, silently settled down next to Cyrene and with a deft movement pulled the simple construction of sticks and paper from her fingers. His kite was already old. The paint had long since lost its bright yellow color. Previously, it was like the sun in the blue sky, but now it seemed that today would be no less than its last day. And the sun would burn to ashes. The boy sadly turned the kite over to the other side, where there were sticks that were already peeling off, and in some places they had even become so thin that no frame could be made from them anymore.

“I probably won’t participate,” Khaslana admitted in a whisper. He held one of the sticks in his hands, which seemed to have fallen off at the ends.

“Why?” Cyrene patted her brother on the shoulder, guessing the reasons for his possible sadness, “We can make a new one, we can fix it...”

He was probably thinking about how Phainon, as a Knight, had worn out just like that once-solar kite. Khaslana smiled faintly, shaking his head and clutching the broken piece of wood in his hands, causing it to crack in half.

“I kept…” The boy blushed, “...trying to write a beautiful story with Mydei, and of course I couldn’t do it as seriously as Princess Cas,” Cyrene smiled in surprise, reacting to the nickname created in secret from her, “And I'm being honest, I couldn’t write anything at all, well, except… an endless war? I erased my pathetic attempts over and over again, and still my – er… ahem… Crowned Prince –”

And the number of nicknames only grew with each passing second. Cyrene anxiously patted her brother on the shoulder and removed her hand, afraid to distract him from his story. Something like this had happened often enough lately to not notice Khaslanaa started to break down again under the weight of the secrets he had kept with him. And still, every time he came to her, laying out the truth and experiencing an uncomfortable shame, which was evident in his attempts to hide the gaze of his blue and sincere eyes.

“Kept on ending up in another deadly battle. I don’t know why, but every time a very frightening phrase came out from under my pencil, Cyrene, I’ve never heard it before, I would never want this to be the Crowned Prince’s reality, I…”

“What phrase, Khas?..”

“... he was created for cruel battles, and his hands knew nothing but the blood of his enemies...”

Cyrene froze, remembering the flames that had mercilessly engulfed their beloved village. And the look of the Deliverer full of bitterness, asking for forgiveness from the statue of the Titan protecting them. She involuntarily moved her hand to her kite, from which a piece of paper immediately came off due to the girl’s sharp movement. She feverishly chose the words in her head. She didn’t want to say “it’s just a fantasy” that would wipe all their fantasies into dust. Not after the recent conversation.

“You said that Khas is your favorite knight, but Khas isn't able to… give Cipher the golden castle she dreams of so much, make the Pirate and the Golden Lady happy together, make the Princesses of the Underworld never spend all their time alone again, make our Dryad not feel useless, and… make Mydei… make Cyrene able to enroll in the Groves, make Mom and Dad never have to toil in these fields again, make…”

“Khas, stop, that's…”

“Phainon, Cyrene, hello to everyone!” a ringing, cheerful voice was heard. At the gate stood Hyacine, waving at them in a comfortable red skirt, and Anaxa, busy with some book, not even thinking of raising his gaze, “Are we... too early?”

Hyacine, as a truly sensitive healer she was, immediately felt the uncomfortable atmosphere around siblings.

“Of course we're too early,” The man snorted, shifting his weight to the other leg and turning the page with particular affectation, “I've never noticed such restlessness in you. I thought we came here to rest?”

“Dear Kephale,” Hyacine stamped her foot with an offended voice, snatching the book from the professor's hands, “That's exactly why we came here – to relax! Not to read these... essays of yours... "On Nature", and... the cosmic mind of Nous, you gave all these lectures a long time ago, and you didn't even take the first courses this year! Talk to living people, and not to dead philosophers, if you have the opportunity!”

Anaxagoras turned even paler than usual, immediately falling silent and looking expectantly at the guys sitting on the porch. The girl, slightly pink with anger, covered her mouth with her hand, clearly regretting raising her voice to the professor, but she was in no hurry to take back her words. Now something like a plea could be read in her gaze, while Cyrene was lost in what was happening.

“I’m not… Phainon,” The boy muttered, jumping to his feet and taking both paper kites, pressing them to his right side, “Go invite Princes… Castorice and Polyxia. I’ll fix it… for now…”

Hyacine nodded slowly, receiving confirmation of her cautious guesses – it seemed they had caught some quiet quarrel. She carefully approached her friend, helping her to stand up and looked at Anaxagoras with a pleading look in her eyes. She gently shook her head in the direction of the door, behind which the eternally cheerful boy disappeared.

“That will be problematic,” Anaxa stated, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. The scientist had no experience in consoling at all. Just as Khaslana had no experience in communicating with cynical adults.

As they moved away from home, both girls tried to talk about something abstract, each for her own reasons. Hyacine was still afraid of being reproached for her rudeness towards the Professor, who had taken her under his academic wing and provided her with a job at the university, and Cyrene was still frantically thinking about her guilt before her brother, who, before she had time to notice, had taken too much on his shoulders.

In the Gothic two-story house, they were given aromatic fruit tea again, while Castorice was frantically looking for something that at least from a distance resembled a kite. And while they were waiting, Polyxia did most of the talking, and Cyrene couldn’t tear her eyes away from her — she spoke unhurriedly, measuredly, as if time itself obeyed the flow of her stories about the simple conduct of life. It was the opposite for her and her brother – it seemed that fate itself did not give them a chance to finish something very important, yet here time seemed to start working only after Polyxia finished her thought.

Cyrene listened with a smile to the lowered tone of her Muse's voice, stirring pink sugar in a cup of tea. Her enchanted thoughts were interrupted by her brother's plaintive voice: "... to never spend all their time alone again…"

Polyxia seemed to have no idea of the world beyond this house and their beautiful flower garden, which she tended every morning as soon as she felt the rising rays of the sun through the transparent curtains of her luxurious bedroom. She was isolated – unlike Cyrene, she did not watch television, did not read newspapers in search of beautiful photographs of places she was never destined to visit. Polyxia felt like she only knew her own sister, receiving all the news of Amphoreus through her. She would recount the plots of her sister's favorite anime as if they were all happening in the real world.

But that didn't make her seem unhappy or lonely. She didn't feel bad about being isolated, any more than her overworked sister did – they enjoyed their solitude, blaming neither time nor circumstances. And she and Khaslana's Princesses certainly didn't need to be rescued, nor by a brave Deliverer, nor by an honest Fortune Teller.

“...it will be very hard for you and your brother to part ways…” Polyxia’s distant words were heard.

“You are very wise,” Cyrene agreed with a sad smile, not thinking about how exactly the dialogue had come to this.

“I see so much guilt in your faces…” The girl said, rolling back from the table, “Are you really in the mood for a celebration?”

Polyxia moved off to the cupboard, returning with a box of white chocolates and a bottle of dry wine. Hyacine waved her hands anxiously, refusing the treats, while Cyrene moved the empty cup of tea closer to the bottle.

“I… I found it!” Castorice’s confused voice came from above, immediately followed by the sound of boxes falling down.

“Ah... how clumsy. Perhaps it`s a family thing…”

And after only one cup of wine, which according to the rules was never drunk in anything but glasses, a disheveled Castorice was already standing in the kitchen doorway, adjusting her long-skirted dress. She tucked a stray lock of hair back behind her elven ears. Cyrene suddenly laughed, clapped her hands and admired the kites, which were shaped like beautiful, beautiful butterflies, just like the sisters themselves. She couldn't even imagine that kites could be in a form other than a kite.

On the way back to the village, the girls each talked about their own things, without trying to distract themselves this time – but with a real interest in each other's lives. Cyrene moved Polyxia's wheelchair with tremulous pleasure, chatting about the beauty of the fields of Aedes Elysiae and confessing to the girl with every portrait he had drawn of her. Polyxia responded only with a quiet and affectionate laugh, while Castorice looked curiously at her sister and their new friend, who treated her with special interest. She could not restrain herself and several times asked Hyacine in embarrassment what this could mean, while Hyacine only shrugged her shoulders in response.

Cyrene found no one at home, immediately thinking of her favorite library. The twins looked around the village with timid curiosity, where they found themselves for the first time as guests. Castorice leaned over to her sister from time to time, whispering ideas for her future novels.

“Professor,” said Hyacine, stunned, as she was the first to enter the village library.

A very suspicious but charming picture appeared before the girls' eyes – Anaxagoras, in the voice trained for lectures, was telling something to Mydei and Khaslana, who were listening attentively. To Hyacine's surprise, one could not hear a single discussion about the grandeur of Reason and the indifference of the Titans in the words he spoke. They were discussing... airplanes. And Hyacine's favorite topic as well – the beauty of the sky..

“... but there are few in the Groves who can teach you how to pilot, Phainon.”

“And you? Can you teach me?” The boy asked, without the shyness that had been present with the man before.

“Me?” A rather coarse laugh pierced the ears of the girls watching this, “No sane person would put me behind the steering wheel of an airplane. I can't even drive a car…”

“For a reason,” A female voice full of reproach came from the upper landing, “The story is inappropriate for kids. ”

“Woman, I will not quarrel with you in front of my…”

Anaxagoras paused thoughtfully, looking at the boys sitting in front of him.

“Students. Although you, Kremnoan boy, you don't need me. You ask me about history while I teach alchemy.”

“Ah…” Mydei began.

“You called me your student?!” Khaslana pointed at himself in surprise, interrupting his friend’s every attempt to get a word in.

“Lady Aglaea! Lady Tribios!” Said the cheerful Cyrene, waving to the two women, who were too engrossed in their own conversations and who could not possibly have seen her attempts to greet them, “Come celebrate Clean Monday with us!”

Silence fell over the library, and it was unclear who exactly was supposed to continue the next dialogue that had been lost in the cacophony of sounds.

“Dear Cyrene,” Tribios's soft voice came back, “Clean Monday is celebrated after Easter. In the spring. You…”

“Come with us to launch beautiful paper kites into the sky!”

Khaslana shuddered in place, casting a guilty glance at Cyrene and hiding in the loud conversations that had begun between several people at once. He approached the bookshelves under the curious gaze of Mydei. He picked up two repaired kites leaning against the shelves and looked with fear at the results of his clumsy work. The paper was firmly held on pieces of wood of different sizes, showing everyone its strangely colored wings.

Cyrene whispered an apology to Polyxia and ran up to her brother to hug him and praise him for his efforts to bring their old friends back to life. Neither of them wanted to discuss the conversation that had been interrupted on an unpleasant note, hiding behind a grateful smile a promise to return to it later.

And an hour later, in the approaching twilight, all sorts of paper kites were frolicking across the sky – two stunning butterflies, figures resembling faded sun and moon, and the warlike Kremnos serpent, made as if from an expensive material, it seemed to be the only one that somehow justified its name. And while Mydei himself seemed embarrassed by it, Khaslana could not tear his admiring gaze away, often disappearing from quickly changing conversations only to appreciate the beauty of a real Serpent.

Hyacine proudly introduced everyone to her loyal pet, a real alicorn. He was very different from the majestic horses that Khaslana and Cyrene had read about in Amphoreus's notes on animals. He was tiny, plump, and seemed to purr in a thin, thin voice when he was once again lost in the tall grass of the Aedes Elysiae fields. His name was Ica, and he was celebrating this summer's Clean Monday with the Snowyi, who had come running to them.

The adults walked in circles around the laughing children, discussing days gone by or problems unfamiliar to the kids; at least, none of them could have imagined that the topic of conversation would be thoroughbred chimeras and the terrible music that Anaxagoras loved so much.

“You know, I…” Castorice said sheepishly, approaching the circle of laughing guys, “I’ve never really had any friends…”

“And we don’t even celebrate Easter,” added Polyxia, smiling at Cyrene, who had not left her side all evening, “How unsociable we are…”

“You see, Lady Tribios!” cried Cyrene, proud of herself, “Holidays can be celebrated whenever you want!”

Tribios did not hear this naive argument, turning all her attention to the conversation with Aglaea, who for some reason looked too worried. Noticing this, Khaslana took a step towards them, not understanding what exactly he wanted to tell them now.

“Same…” Mydei admitted, briefly glancing at his distracted friend, “I haven’t celebrated Easter in the company of friends as well… thank you.”

The boy, who was stingy with words, smiled reservedly at Castorice, thus, it seemed, trying to support her. She was very embarrassed, only nodding imperceptibly in response and turning her embarrassed gaze to her sister. The ones, who confessed something personal like that, did not even have time to understand what was happening, as they found themselves in the generous embrace of Hyacine. And neither of them was accustomed to these embraces. Mydei and Castorice exchanged nervous smiles, secretly envying how easy it was for Hyacine to show her emotions. 

Cyrene smiled widely, looking back at her brother, she wanted to exclaim: “Look, we can save them in another way!” But he was already lost in his thoughts again, looking at the silver crescent rising high into the air.

“Beautiful, isn't it,” commented Polyxia, who seemed to be observing the same view.

“Yes!” Cyrene happily agreed, returning her attention from her brother to the girl, “Very beautiful!”

By the time the parents returned from the fields and the interested Gorgo came to look at her son was having fun, each of them already had wreaths of chamomile picked from the same field on their heads. Khaslana tried to light the paper lanterns he had found that morning, and Cyrene picked a bouquet of various flowers, choosing those that would best match her Muse's dress.

“It suits you very well, Professor,” Hyacine smiled shyly, pointing to the wreath. Ica enthusiastically tore himself away from her hands, rushing to the flowers on Anaxagoras's head and beginning to gnaw on the beautiful white petals.

“Hyacinthia,” Anaxa said through gritted teeth, brushing the little alicorn off his head, “Stop feeding this insatiable animal!”

“Only a crown of thorns suits him,” Aglaea shared her observation with a mocking laugh, bringing the wine that Audata loved to make close to her lips, “And crucify him to the cross, here, here, and here,” Aglaea casually ran her palms over the man’s hands.

“Woman,” Anaxa chuckled resentfully, no longer paying any attention to Ika.

“Look,” Hyacine said shyly, pointing upwards, “Paper Lanterns…”

And under the bright lights Khaslana had cast in the sky, the group of chance-met companions saw out the end of summer's Clean Monday – a day invented by Cyrene – wishing it a fond farewell. 

Chapter Text

Khaslana's consciousness returned to him when he was already in empty space. He tried to stand up, losing his balance, but there was nothing under his feet to lean on. And he began an endless fall into nowhere. Panic immediately overwhelmed him, not fear, but helplessness, the inability to realize what was happening to him and where exactly he was. He was not even able to control his own body, since he did not feel a single post-spatial landmark around him. No scream, no cry escaped his lips, because his thoughts were occupied with only one task – to regain the sense of his surroundings.

Closing his eyes in horror, Khaslana, for the umpteenth time in his life, found himself in the situation when the only thing he could trust was time. Something that still allowed him to remain calm assured him that everything would pass as the minutes flew by in a flash. And when panic turned into mild fear, the boy found himself lying on his elbows, trying to maintain balance against the lack of gravity.

It turned out that the space was not so empty after all – it all resembled the night sky, which the inhabitants of Aedes Elysiae loved to be enchanted by. The landmarks he got used to, however, never returned to him. The stars were now not only above his head, where “above” was supposedly located, now they were everywhere, even below him. As if the universe itself had embraced him tightly, leaving no room for darkness. His curiosity fought with horror in equal strength, but no matter how scary it was to peer into the endless space surrounding him, his eyes still ran from one comet`s tail to another. One of it ran right under his hand, Khaslana even thought that it tickled him. As soon as a slight itch arose, his hand automatically reached for the other to relieve it. When in fact his body did not experience any of the physical sensations.

Whatever the surface was that he was leaning on, for reasons unknown to him, he could even make out the outlines of wheat ears and village fields within it. A moment later, Khaslana noticed strawberries waving beneath his feet, lacking the physical form and color by which he usually quickly indicated ripeness. The boy inhaled anxiously, running his fingers through the nonexistent grass.

“What is…”

He tried to get to his feet, with a precision he had never noticed in himself before. None of the Deliverer's adventures or feats had seemed as dangerous and unknown to him as the place he found himself in. And what frightened him the most was not the fact that he had no idea how to get back, but the very realization that he did not feel the need to return home. Because everything here felt like his beloved village.

It was neither the sounds, in the silence of which he was not able to hear even himself, nor the smells, there was neither smoke from the chimney of his home, nor sweet venison, nor the tender smell of wheat bread calling to the table – but the feelings, the same ones that Khaslana experienced, dreaming in his bed and rubbing the ends of the pillow, not knowing what to do with his hands.

Step, another step, when you don't really know which direction to go, it's better to go forward. Before his eyes appeared the shadows of skyscrapers, which he had never seen in real life, but in his fantasies, in descriptions of his sister, who was carried away by the pictures in magazines. They appeared and immediately vanished, never coalescing into any single physical form.

At the very moment he heard the crackling sound of the fire in his home and the echo of a child's cry, grieving for something dear and close to the boy himself, he started to run. He kept running, not losing his breath and not feeling any pain or pleasant pressure in his legs – he ran for as long as time could capture. Until he saw her.

“Cyrene!” Khaslana said evenly, pausing slightly at the sight of his sister's familiar pink hair and favorite dress. She looked so small and so sad, which made the boy immediately think that she had just happened to be here by chance as him. They were in some kind of a shared dream, “This would be one of the most unusual nightmares!”

“Kha…”

The girl looked at the approaching guest with unfamiliar horror, not knowing what to say. Khaslana raised his eyebrows in embarrassment, looking at his sister's features with greater attention. She was like a photograph, the one where he was not yet fourteen. In it, his sister stretches his cheeks like flour before making his favorite morning pancakes. In the background, the mother's laughter was heard, they even have an unsuccessful photo where the father separates his children and asks them in a stern voice to stand up straight. Not out of spite, but because they spent almost the entire photo film on grimaces.

In this photo, Cyrene still had chubby cheeks, which Khaslana loved to make fun of in any of their arguments, and because of the lighting, it seemed like he was the eldest here, although, according to Cyrene, his cheeks were no smaller.

The boy looked at himself – he was dressed in his usual favorite blue shirt, lazily pulled-up pants, which, due to the rapidly increasing growth in adolescence, seemed more like shorts. He remained exactly as he had been before going to bed. But Cyrene's dress seemed suspiciously well preserved. Although since that photo it had already gone through several variations, being both a skirt and a blouse...

“Cyrene, why…”

“Nightmares?” The girl asked in an unfamiliar, sad and quiet voice, “You're probably right. It is a nightmare.”

And for some reason the feeling that he was still in Aedes Elysiae only grew stronger. Though this was not his Aedes Elysiae at all. As the girl sitting in front of him in a closed pose apparently understood.

“What's happened?..”

“You know, I've dreamed a lot about Khas being like that,” Cyrene smiled the same smile his sister gave him every day. Yet there was something distant and heavy in it, something that Khaslana didn't really want to know, he was simply afraid to know, “All naive, with such a ringing voice. I'm sure your Cyrene... can't take her eyes off you”

She winked cheerfully, laughed briefly and again silently turned her gaze to the guest. Khaslana smiled back, confused, feeling his heart fill with sadness that was hundreds and thousands of times greater than himself. He did not understand a single word, but for some reason he felt guilty towards the girl, who seemed to understand everything at once. He was sure that she was hurt by his mere existence in this universe.

“And your... Khas, what is he like..?”

“I don't know. I haven't seen him for ages!”

“Why..?”

“Such is the fate of those who wait for the Gods,” Cyrene said with an exhale, looking thoughtfully at the boy, “Or not just Gods?.. A true Hero, perhaps?. Or... anyone at all who could end all of this... I still haven't figured it out, in all the time I've been waiting here. In any case... Time doesn't deceive those who wait. Remember? We…” A frustrated pause, “You probably repeated this phrase very often too. After all, at the end of the day, it's all…”

The girl's voice constantly trembled, either from deep thoughtfulness, or from how difficult it was for her to speak.

“...we have left…”

But while this phrase meant childish hopes and bold desires that somehow never came true  for him and his sister… The boy shuddered, imagining what exactly these words meant for unfamiliar Khaslana and Cyrene.. He could only guess how much each word was a literal reality for them.

“Why are you waiting for... help..? Cy…”

“It's okay, it's still my name,” The girl giggled, catching herself on the fact that she couldn't call the guest by her brother's name just as much. Khas couldn't stop looking into those heavy sadness of her blue eyes. As if he had noticed this emotion in his Cyrene's eyes since childhood, unable to determine its root, and only now he had a chance to greedily examine the unfamiliar feeling living in the girl's soft face like a seal placed on her by fate itself.

“You... are waiting for help from outside? But couldn't Kephale or Oronyx… help you..?”

“Ah…” Cyrene smiled distantly.

“Have you encountered something much greater than the Will of the Titans..?”

The girl only nodded, letting out a quick breath and showing the guest to the place next to her. And Khaslana obediently sat down, no longer afraid of the formless and empty space. His Cyrene would have immediately straightened his hair, patted his shoulder or pinched him. He had stopped noticing all these micro-gestures too long ago, but now their absence echoed as an unpleasant chill on his body. Because the girl next to him was not even in a hurry to simply make sure that someone had sat down next to him. Her gaze from time to time focused on something that Khaslana was not able to see. And he himself was not entirely sure that he truly existed, shrinking from the absent warmth of the girl`s close to him. 

“How are you? How are mom and dad? You still… have them, right..?”

“What?” Khaslana was confused, letting out a nervous laugh. He didn't want to think about what exactly she meant. “O-of course! Everything is fine, they work and... And what about your... mom... and dad…”

“Tell me about everyone,” Cyrene smiled sadly at the question, not wanting to answer. In doing so, she simultaneously hoped that the naive boy next to her would not understand anything, and that he would understand exactly as much as he needed. One way or another, she definitely would not want to hear about the death of her parents.

Is it possible that they too will meet their end someday?

“O-okay... You know, many, many friends have come to visit us…”

“In Aedes Elysiae?”

“Yes, that's it!” Khaslana nodded vigorously, hearing familiar notes of surprise in the question, “It was just Mydei once it started… you know, he tells so little about himself that I can only get lost in my own fantasies...”

“Khas wants to get to know our silent warrior better,” Cyrene said with a smile. The boy looked at the girl with curiosity, lost in only one question – do they have Mydei too? Could her Khaslana feel the same strange things for Mydei as well…”

“Then we met the Pirate and the Dryad.”

“Hyacine and Anaxa! I miss them both so much. You know, I didn't understand a single one of Anaxa's lectures until the end while we were studying with him! And Hyacine always helped me with my notes, although Cas was the best student of all of us. But she was so timid, so quiet... I don't even remember properly... Did I actually communicate with her?..”

Cyrene suddenly fell silent. Khaslana reached out to his sister's hand out of habit. He was doing so every time to support her when she shared her worries. But he stopped, unable to explain to himself how sad she must be – not remembering her friends. How lonely she must be. To look at his features now.

“My Cyrene…” As frustrative as it might be – to talk with someone close like to a complete stranger, “She communicates more with Polyxia. I'm afraid of her, though.”

“Polyxia?..”

And a heavy silence hung between them again, and each of them was afraid to ask clarifying questions, because with the answers, they would also receive the truth about the lives they would never be able to live. It was especially scary to learn that those were better. Even scarier – that, in fact, they were many times worse than the ones they had.

“And Cyrene and I are writing... our own epic…”

“Ha-ha, what, like in the textbooks?” Cyrene noted with curiosity.

“Not really, for example, we wrote one about Lady Tribios, her expulsion from Janusopolis,” The boy began to recall, bending his finger on his hand, starting to count, “More precisely, Cyrene wanted to end this story with expulsion, and I made it so that the priests understood her! He-he.”

“Tribios…” Cyrene opened her mouth in surprise, “Could it really be that you both…”

Another question remained unanswered. A pause filled with the same timidity before possible answers.

“You're clearly proud of yourself, aren't you?”

“Yes,” The boy admitted immodestly, bending his second finger, “I also want to prove to Cyrene that Castorice and Poliyxia are real Princesses with dragons and everything, that is, they have elven ears,” Khaslana imitated ears on himself with his hands, “And according to the description, they are very similar to the inhabitants of Aidonia, and I’m curious…”

“If she keeps on… giving all those who have passed away the softest death,” Cyrene said in a heavy whisper, causing the goosebumps.

“I... no, Castorice and Polyxia will never be in Styxia again, because I had to…”

And why did he mention Styxia, which was never mentioned on any page of his and his sister's Epic? A phrase spoken by a strange voice. An echo of a stranger's memory. Khaslana anxiously clenched his fists, avoiding eye contact with the girl.

“Do you want to become the Deliverer, Khas?” The girl asked with unfamiliar seriousness.

It seemed that she was saying this phrase not for him, not for the first timel – there was so much bitter despair in her, as if this Cyrene deeply regretted something, as if in this one question alone was the hidden reason of why the time had replaced hope for her and her brother.

“I do, but I…”

“Give it up.”

“What..?”

Cyrene shook her head slowly, covering her face with her hands. Khaslana immediately felt ashamed, but he could not understand for what exactly he should feel such a depressing emotion. Could it really be for simple, childish, boyish fantasies, for a naive desire to see everyone happy?

“There is no longer such a place as Aedes Elysiae, and even more so, there never was an Amphoreus to begin with,” Cyrene said distantly, with some indifference, “I would very much like to read your Epic, I’m sure it’s full of funny stories… but if you have the chance…”

“A chance?” Khaslana's face showed genuine horror, as if the tragedy that this Cyrene had experienced was becoming his own reality with every word. Thousands and thousands of different deaths of his favorite characters burst into his memories, yet he heard not screams, but a quiet hopelessness haunting his insides over and over again.

“Never even dream of the nightmares that gave birth to the Deliverer…”

“What do you mean, Cyrene?”  The boy did not notice how he raised his voice and jumped to his feet. The space around him suddenly began to burn him from the inside, and instead of the silence immortalized by time itself, he heard millions of voices, millions of prayers, and he was not able to understand the words of any of them.

“And please... make our only dream come true…”

Cyrene's voice began to fade, just like the very space around the boy. He only had time to fall to his knees and cover his ears with his hands, if only to block out the horror, relived a tragedy an incomprehensible number of times. 

—

“Khas! Khas!”

Cyrene shook her brother, who was screaming in his sleep.. But he did not respond to her futile attempts to bring him back to reality. Their parents had long since woken up, standing in the doorway, watching with concern. Their son had never had nightmares before, moreover, they were a rarity in this house for each member of the family, and while Audata was thinking about the most dangerous diseases, Hieronymus was simply watching with tension in his face.

“Cyrene..!”

“Khas!” The girl breathed a sigh of relief, hugging her brother who had finally woken up. The adults folded their hands in a prayerful gesture, apparently thanking Kephale for protecting them from a misfortune that was incomprehensible to them, and returned to their morning routine.

Her brother's face was frozen in inhuman horror, he continued to grab air with his mouth and did not even hurry to unhook himself from Cyrene's strong embrace, as if she was the only rod holding him in this world. The girl whispered soothing words, for some reason confident that the image of their destroyed village had also come to her brother in his sleep. Or, perhaps, of the whole world.

Chapter Text

“I didn’t really want to come in the morning,” Cipher shared lazily, trying on one of Cyrene’s straw hats and making faces in the mirror, “Not really in the evening either, in short I…”

“Are you this tired from work?”

“Nope, just too lazy, I sleep for thirty hours on my days off,” laughed Cipher, “But then I remembered that you invited me over, and that Audata usually has the most delicious food. The sign of the best customer is payment along with the treat and…”

“Like feeding a homeless cat,” Khaslana muttered in a heavy voice, reflected in the mirror only halfway, hunched over, with an envious gaze. 

“Who offended you, dreamer?~ Let me guess – your own thoughts? Oh, how delicate! What's that next to you... a bra?”

Cyrene blushed slightly, slapping her friend on the back of the head with all her might. Hearing a loud whine in response, she immediately stroked Cipher's head, laughing awkwardly and worrying that her parents would come into the room. Because of Khaslana's nightmares, the door to their room was locked tight, and although nightmares had only lasted for a few days, they had already managed to get tired of meeting the sun's rays in parallel with the frightened cries of their son.

“We're going to the beach! This is my swimsuit, Cifera, what a pervert you are!”

“I didn’t even doubt it, it’s just, hmm…” The girl looked Cyrene over from head to toe, looking at her chest with particular attention, “Isn’t it a bit small?.. How quickly other people’s children grow up!”

“Ci-fe-ra,” Cyrene said through her teeth, glancing briefly at her disinterested brother.

“Is there another one? I want to go too,” Her cat tail suddenly moved from side to side, “I like to sunbathe and eat grapes picked from the nearby bushes... um…”

“Of course! We invited everyone, you were the one missing! I'm so glad you came today,” Cyrene smiled ominously, gently squeezing her friend's shoulders.

The girl rushed to the closet, pulling another sickly pink swimsuit from the shelf. She handed the set to her confused friend. Cipher winced at the girlish design, pinching the white bows with her nails in disgust and casting a sarcastic glance in Cyrene's direction. A joyful and persistent look in response, from which it was clear – this is not generosity, this is hidden elegant revenge of a lady who is sweet only in words, for every cocky remark, for every joke about the weakness for sweets visible on her cheeks.

“Even Aglaea?” Cipher asked her rhetorical question with a tired look, noticing the curious smile of the eavesdropping Khaslana in the mirror reflection.

“Especially,” Cyrene whispered threateningly, leaning towards her friend’s ear and winking at her in the mirror, “Aglaea.”

And they had to go to the beach in just half an hour, which was the reason why Cyrene had already prepared a bathing suit, why Khaslana was timidly going over the options for the meager number of swimming trunks in his head. He never thought about his appearance, since none of their friends here thought about theirs to the same extent. What did Piso care, for example, whether he was wearing old or new swimming trunks, if the only thing he cared about on the beach was hoping for the opportunity to defeat Khaslana in another fight? He would worry about it only to attract Livia's attention. And Khaslana thinks about his appearance now because...

“Will Aglaea really be there?” The boy asked, upset, getting up from the bed, “I was already embarrassed enough by the fact that Mydei would be there, why… Aglaea?”

“Embarrassed... pfft, dreamer, who were you embarrassed in front of, ha-ha-ha,” The girl laughed, forgetting that she herself would have to spend several hours in a tight pink swimsuit as well, “Hmm.”

“Children, get dressed already, the bus will be here soon...” The mother’s curious voice was heard at the door, “Hello, Cipher.”

“Hi Audata…”

Cyrene looked at her brother with sympathy, clapped her hands and ordered them to pack their things for the beach. It would take them an hour to get to the beach, and during that time the sun would no longer be so ardent, but they would still have time to catch the ideal temperature for tanning and relax in the wind of the approaching evening. Lady Tribios promised to take several exciting games with them, although Cyrene still did not understand which ones. Their respected teacher spent most of the time trying to persuade Aglaea and Anaxagoras to go, using the usual, uncomplicated argument “the sea heals.” Of course, no sea will help with vision problems, and therefore, as Cyrene thought, it should have cured some other, adult problems she still didn't understand. 

After a while, the four of them – Mydei was already standing at the bus stop, feeding Snowy with cookies he had taken from home – were already standing at the bus stop. Snowy, as usual, rushed at Khaslana as soon as his bag appeared on the horizon. He knocked him down again and began to lick the boy’s face with its rough tongue with special enthusiasm, causing him to laugh awkwardly. And while Mydei was thoughtfully watching this picture, Cipher stood next to him, looking with cat-like curiosity at the blond boy, whom she had never seen before.

“Is it because of you our dreamer feels so shy… embarrassed, even?”

Mydei looked warily at the stranger, deciding to ignore the question that was incomprehensible to him.

By the time Khaslana was allowed to stand up, they had already started a conversation, it was easy to imagine that it consisted entirely of mutual awkward and unsuccessful attempts at humor. Cyrene handed her brother some wet wipes, advising him to spend more time with Snowy.

The others also began to approach - Hyacine in sunglasses, in a multi-layered swimsuit. Anaxagoras, dressed from head to toe, and it was unclear whether he was going to change on the beach, or was simply avoiding the sun's rays. And Cyrene kept looking out for the twins, hoping that her invitations had not been ignored by the girls who liked to spend all their free time at home.

Khaslana nervously adjusted the shirt thrown over him, looking around every time Snowy, who was playing with him, ran off after a stick thrown somewhere in the grass. He answered Mydei's inquisitive questions about what was happening with awkward comments, shaking his head from side to side. And the reason for his concern finally came, covering her shock of golden hair with a huge fabric hat and approaching them in neat straw sandals that knocked on the asphalt like a warning. Behind her, Lady Tribios was approaching quickly, with loose red hair and sunglasses in her hands. Those were most likely for Aglaea. To protect her eyes. But she was apparently not in a hurry to put them on.

The boy breathed a sigh of relief, because the designer's dull, appraising gaze first fell on her ex-husband, who chuckled smugly and hid behind another book at the very moment Aglaea approached.

“Are we… the last ones?” A muffled voice was heard, approaching from somewhere in the direction of the fields. “Sorry for the wait!”

The sisters hid under a huge white umbrella, and a somewhat threatening and silent shadow fell on their faces. Mydei, who was standing next to Khaslana, chuckled casually, and this reaction occupied all of Khaslana's thoughts throughout the trip. Cyrene joyfully rushed towards the approaching sisters, adjusting a single flower that had slipped from Castorice's hair and asking Polyxia with special tenderness about the past days.

And even Castorice didn’t have time to notice how quickly her new friend grabbed the handles of the wheelchair from her hands, setting off on some kind of personal promenade with her sister.

“I`ve read your funny story.”

Castorice shuddered, turning all her attention to the sullen man. She immediately blushed, catching herself wanting to laugh out loud. Exactly as she imagined him. A professor, no more, no less. And while he waited for some kind of coherent answer, the girl gathered her last strength so as not to die of shame.

“Answering the question you asked in the text, by the way, human indifference has always existed. It is not a tragedy. It is just nature. Your thought was interesting, but not fully developed. Try better next time.”

Castorice nodded several times, alarmed, relieved that the Professor's only complaint was, of course, about the logical component of her immodest text. He seemed completely unconcerned by either the kissing scene or her impudence in trying to describe his own thoughts. Anaxagoras looked at the girl attentively for the last time, this time returning to the book once and for all.

On the bus, everyone was busy with something of their own, Hyacine turned to Khaslana and Mydei, sharing some smoked meats with them and answering Mydei's questions about what exactly her capabilities as a healer were. Khaslana gazed distantly at the view from the window, for some reason noting with boredom the bare fields repeating one after another. Anaxagoras muttered under his breath, trying to solve some problem unknown to any of the passengers in his mind. Tribios, who had been involuntarily eavesdropping on several conversations unfolding here, corrected the man in his reasoning from time to time. And he listened to it, briefly nodding in gratitude, but Tribios could not have seen it even if she had wanted to, since she was sitting in the back.

Castorice sat with some timidity next to Aglaea, who had found a potential client in the girl and was discussing Castorice’s favorite designs with her in a professional voice. Fortunately, she hadn’t read her story. And to her own surprise, Castorice kept up a conversation about fashion, which she thought she knew absolutely nothing about, naming one old-fashioned style after another and noticing the silent approval in the woman’s eyes with slight pride. From time to time, she was distracted to curiously check on Cyrene and Polyxia, who were listening to music from her old player. In fact, she loved downloading music into this purple box, and was always afraid that the girls would hear the songs that Castorice often used for inspiration when writing intimate scenes. And so she couldn’t hide her anxiety even from Aglaea, or rather, she had never been able to hide her anxiety at all.

But every time she looked back at Cyrene and Polyxia, who were asleep on each other’s shoulders, it became easier to breathe.

Cipher was the only one who paid attention to Tribios's simple attempts to keep up the conversation, but she was embarrassed to talk to her, just as she was embarrassed to talk to Aglaea, who greeted her with a somewhat guilty look and remained silent, leaving the girl alone with her own thoughts. Tribios saw this, and, accustomed to never imposing her conversation, only smiled affably at Cipher every time she noticed her frozen gaze.

There weren't that many people on the beach, not as many as there might have been, considering that the beach was closer to the city than to the village. Cyrene smiled encouragingly at her brother, reminding him that he had their bag. The sun was blazing, and there was shade at the very edge of the beach, right where the strangers who had already managed to grab a spot for themselves were already lying. After all, the beach still helped cool off from the heat, especially the kind that was in their village.

All the girls and Anaxagoras walked slowly towards the changing rooms. Aglaea's usually indifferent face flashed with distaste at the pebbles swirling unevenly under her sandals, and Cipher, noticing this, immediately swerved towards her, taking the woman by the arm and smiling at her in a way unfamiliar to Cyrene and Khaslana – without any cunning or the desire to deceive. Cyrene was distracted from her conversation with Hyacine, quickly looking at her brother who remained behind and pointing to Mydei. Khaslana involuntarily shook his head, not understanding either his reaction or what his sister meant.

“It’s convenient to draw here,” Mydei noted absentmindedly, watching the calm water.

“I don't know, Cyrene never drew here... she and Livia usually just dance and beg souvlaki from dad. We used to go over there,” Khaslana lazily pointed towards the sparse bushes, “The grill… and all…”

“Hm.”

And there was a silence between them, which Khaslana decided to take advantage of and spread towels on the hot pebbles, ignoring his somewhat confused friend. Khaslana noticed this only now – Mydei had neither a bag nor a hat with him – just a disheveled notebook in his hands and a pencil sticking out of the pocket of his red shorts.

“I’ve never been to the beach before,” Mydei noticed a questioning look.

“R-really?.. Heh,” Khaslana scratched the back of his head in embarrassment, “Unfortunately, there’s nothing special about our beach…”

“It's quiet here. That's good. And it's quiet in your village too. I like it.”

Mydei sat down on the towel, opening the pages of his notebook and looking at his friend with anticipation. A slight sadness ran through Khaslana's gaze, as if he wanted to say something that could certainly offend.

“I like to draw Aedes Elysiae. I will show views of your homeland to my friends in Kremnos.”

“Do you have friends..?”

“Yes?” Mydei smiled briefly, “We protected each other's backs in countless battles. But we rarely communicate now. Since…”

“Am I a friend to you?..”

“Phainon of Aedes Elysiae,” Khaslana shuddered, reacting to the name that was pronounced mockingly over and over again, “You are my knight, aren’t you?”

“No,” The boy fell into the place next to Mydei, clenching his hand into a fist, “I’m not a knight anymore. Never… was one.”

“Why?”

Khaslana fell silent, turning away from his friend and watching the people leaving the locker rooms one by one. He smiled briefly at the sight of Anaxa, who had proudly settled down in the shade, wrapped in a long-sleeved sweater, long swimming trunks and rubber slippers that completely covered his legs. Hyacine, running up to him, quickly pulled the hood of the sweater down over his eyes, showing everyone around him the face of a Dromas adorning the hood. A light laugh was heard in the distance.

Mydei silently opened the notebook, looking around and coughing to draw his friend's attention back to him. Khaslana's eyes widened. He was looking at the carefully made sketch of the young boy's portrait with his facial features. This was not his adult version. But he himself, Khaslana. In knight's armor, he directed his gaze somewhere to the side, covering himself with his hand from the sun and smiling smugly at the views opening up to him. The boy immediately blushed, noticing the neat "Deliverer" written next to him in elegant handwriting. Opening his mouth in surprise, Khas looked at the equally embarrassed Mydei, who, even if he was embarrassed, did not break eye contact with him, as if testing him in some way.

“Do you know what tyranny is?”

“What?!”

“It is something that leads kingdoms to brilliant victories and people to inner peace, because the people know for sure that they are under the protection of the King. Castrum Kremnos has always needed a tyrant, such is the philosophy of these lands – in conditions of eternal war, there should be no peacemaker on the throne.”

“Mydei, but what about…”

“Cyrene showed me your Epic of Caesar Cerydra.”

“She showed you – what?! And where was I?!”

“Of course, your ignorance of Caesar as a historical figure immediately caught my eye, but…”

“Mydei, Mydei…” Khaslana shook his friend by the shoulder, making a pitiful face, which was ignored with royal willpower.

“I've never seen anyone dare to even imagine Caesar's weaknesses. Phainon, or... may I say, Khas? You will always be a Knight. Just as I will always be the Crown Prince. But this isn't about status. Or even about real events. I think it's about a way of thinking. You and your sister write all these strange stories, hoping to find the best ending for each of your characters. It's valiant.”

Khaslana exhaled loudly, unable to control the thoughts and emotions that overwhelmed him with each new sentence. With arms weak from indecision, the boy hugged his friend, fully aware that a knight should never be so close to his king. He remembered the nightmares that clouded his mind every night, every hint from Cyrene and his parents that it was time for him to stop living in the clouds. And swallowing down the horror from the tragic pictures that the True Deliverer was going through, constantly scrolling through his head, Khaslana muttered:

“Then I will try... to achieve the best ending for everyone…”

“No,” Mydei interrupted in a whisper, “Because I refused to be the new Tyrant of my people, and I would like my Knight to…”

Khaslana froze, feeling a slight ringing in his ears.

“... to just remain himself."

“Phainon, Mydei!” Hyacine 's ringing voice was heard, stopping the noise growing in Khaslana's head, “Lady Tribios brought tavli with her. Anaxa and Aglaea are already playing. And here, it seems…”

The girl looked back to where everyone had settled down, noticing the professor actively gesturing in anger. He lost already. Mydei coughed in embarrassment, moved away from the sudden embrace and brought his friend back to reality. Khaslana suddenly laughed sharply, falling on the towel and hitting the hot pebbles with the edge of his head. A minute later, a prepared ice pack was on his forehead, which Hyacine  took with her just in case. She couldn't say for sure, but it looked like sunstroke. Even if it was hard to expect from a village boy.

And while Mydei was watching her injured brother, Cyrene, full of desire to show Polyxia something completely unfamiliar to her, rolled her closer to the water. Polyxia looked with curiosity at the inflatable ball lying on her lap, not in a hurry to ask questions. The girl removed the white shoes from Polyxia's feet with special care, leading her deeper into the sea. The gentle and cool water touched the legs of the girl, who did not feel the lower part of her body most of the time, causing a wary smile in the corners of her lips. Cyrene took the inflatable ball, swam a little further than the shore, threw it to her friend and suggested playing volleyball. The next half hour Polyxia learned the tricks with the ball that Cyrene herself knew, periodically clapping her hands and rejoicing at her small victories. After another half hour, she controlled the ball many times better than her teacher, driving her into a melancholy full of delight.

Cipher was basking in the sun, having found a sun lounger left by one of the tourists, drinking another glass of wine taken from Audata's house. From time to time, Aglaea came up to her, pouring wine for herself, and whispering something to the girl. Khaslana narrowed his eyes, waiting for Mydei to return, who had gone to a tiny local cafe. And while he was waiting, he silently watched everyone else going in the direction of the local cafe. Apparently, they were hiding from the sun. At the moment when Anaxagoras disappeared behind the door as well, it was already hard to just wait. After all, he was overflowing with energy, and, well, he had lost all shame back in his childhood already, not even trying to mind his own business. And so he hurried inside.

And seeing Anaxa, Aglaea, Hyacine and Cipher sitting at the first table without doing anything, a sharp exclamation burst from his lips:

“You do have children after all!”

“Phainon…” The woman coughed awkwardly, immediately recognizing the boy’s voice.

Ci[her's tail suddenly drooped, she extended the glass closer to Aglaea's glass, waiting for the characteristic clink of glass with some hope, in which many unspoken regrets were hidden between them.

But there wasn't even a dull thud against the glass.

“Well, woman. It's truly unfortunate. And have you ever told... your daughter…” With what ease the Professor played along with any jokes concerning Aglaea, “About your eyesight? You taught me honesty.”

“And have you ever thanked your daughter, honest one?” The woman grinned mercilessly in response, putting Hyacine to shame.

Khaslana wilted, frightened by how inopportunely he had come in. On the other hand, he was beginning to think that any conversation between the adults who had visited them had to take place in this mood.

“She had,” said Cipher sympathetically, “I even suggested moving in with her. If things suddenly get worse, I don’t know, it all happened so sudden... I won’t run away anymore, Agy…”

Aglaea smiled sadly, running her hand through the girl's hair. She nevertheless reciprocated the glass waiting for her, clicking it at the same time on Anaxagoras' glass, which was no longer expecting anything. The man awkwardly looked at Hyacine, who was quietly finishing the last piece of watermelon.

“I think,” Khaslana said, who had lost all his previous courage, remembering that in reality he couldn’t even imagine the weight of the enormous number of problems listed in the houses of an infinite number of people he didn’t even know, “I think Lady Aglaea just doesn’t want things to get worse. And to see you… worried, as well…”

“Oh, Phainon,” Aglaea began, “You're a good kid. It's just that not all things can be fixed.”

“But a lot can be reconsidered,” Anaxa responded hoarsely, “I have reconsidered. I suppose Cipher had too, since she came here. It's the same with your designs. Sometimes the right fabric just isn’t there. You are proud and cold as ice, but smarter than me by far. Be smart, accept the new input.”

Cipher smiled awkwardly at the upset boy, who now looked worse than a guilty cat. Khaslana only shook his head, looking at Aglaea's elegant sadness in timid anticipation and trying to digest the things the professor had said.

“You know, Cipher dreams of your golden palace-”

“Dreamer!” The girl squealed, grabbing the boy's ear with her free hand.

“Hah,” Aglaea answered softly, looking at the quarreling children, “Forgive me, Cifera.”

And in response, Cipher only bashfully finished the contents of her glass, noticing the gentle smile that flashed across Aglaea's lips. A few seconds later, Mydei approached the table, holding out a new bottle of wine to Anaxagoras. By order. And so the glasses were filled again, while the boys tried to settle somewhere nearby, closer to Hyacine, in order to continue to refuse offers to "sip" the drink.

Tribios, Cyrene and the twins sat at a table nearby, listening to every word and silently exchanging glances at the quick laughter that flashed through the conversation. Castorice brought them crowns of flowers, smiling broadly at the words of gratitude.

“Lady Tribios, what is it like…” Castorice asked, “To watch the world change endlessly for so many years?”

Cyrene looked at her friend in surprise, catching herself on the feeling that she had uttered the question that was being born inside her in the very words that she would never have been able to voice. After all, if Tribios had once been Anaxa and Aglaea's mentor, then she had certainly once seen them as children. The same ones who were now sitting next to them in the corner, discussing something of their own. Quietly gossiping about the adults sitting next to them. Moreover, she had once seen exactly the same girl  in the reflection of the mirror, who certainly did not suspect either her future as a scientist or the existence of Aedes Elysiae. 

Tribios only shrugged her shoulders, answering simply:

“Time does this to everyone.”

On the way home, the bus, filled only with the company formed by chance, by the will of a bunch of previous decisions and events, slept quietly, exhausted from the hours spent in the pleasant water under the warming sun. While Mydei whispered to Hyacine and Khaslana that if there was no one to treat and no one to save, it only meant that they lived in truly calm and peaceful realities, which they should not give up under any circumstances. 

Chapter Text

“Thank you..!”

Cyrene accepts the bouquet of expensive flowers from Polyxia with bated breath, proudly turning to the exhibition hall reserved for her paintings and whispering to one of her most important visitors a promise for a personal tour with a detailed story about each painting.

She managed to become quite a potential artist in Okhema. After Anaxagoras had taken her as his student, Cyrene still burned with academic knowledge for a long time. However, she used all the lessons in alchemy, taught to her free of charge by one of the most sought-after scholars in the Groves, for her art. And she had this opportunity only thanks to the heartfelt kindness of Hyacine. She mixed substances and paints to capture color and lighting with a greater touch of realism. She completed the courses at an accelerated pace, which drew a look of acknowledgement from her strict teacher's face, and afterward, she set off for the capital to apply to every possible art school. 

But the role of a teacher didn't quite suit her, no matter how much she relied on all those teaching tricks that their dear Lady Tribios had used on them in childhood. And yet, their red-haired generous teacher gave the children more than was required. She gave them a part of herself, even. Only in practice did Cyrene understand how difficult it actually was, and she had to remember about establishing clear boundaries of what was permitted at the same time. On particularly difficult days, Cyrene drew portraits of her teacher from memory, timidly thinking that it would be nice to contact her, ask for advice. Yet there was no real need for this. Tribios would definitely advise her just one thing – quitting. Since it's not Cyrene`s thing.

Cyrene loved children, especially their stubborn naivety and honesty. Each of the kids, even the most cocky hooligans, reminded her of her childhood. And that was the reason why she simply could not be with them all day long. They demanded so much attention, while the woman was simply carried away by their fantasies, locking herself in her studio rented for pennies in the evenings and losing herself in new paintings and essays about non-existent worlds out of habit. On the tenth request to the shift worker about a `replacement tomorrow?`, they could no longer tolerate boxes of chocolates or expensive wine as gratitude. Just asked Cyrene to leave job.

And so she spent a whole year searching for all possible exhibitions and people interested in her art, who could guarantee her not only the basic minimum for survival, but also the visits to the most expensive restaurants in the center. Cyrene loved luxury, after all.

And fate brought her together with three red-haired girls who were looking for unusual creators from all over Amphoreus and who reminded her so much of her dear Tribios.

And today – today one of their exhibitions was taking place. The artists invited to it were truly diverse: some of them Cyrene knew personally, some of them she had seen in online archives, some of them were also under the enthusiastic wing of the red-haired girls, and some of them were simply curious about such a multi-genre experiment. So, in the room next to hers hung gloomy paintings filled with punishing scenes of death, while she smiled sweetly in her little pink kingdom of flowers, butterflies and a large number of pink sunsets, collected by Cyrene from all the travelers who contacted her via the Internet, wanting to share their own photos.

Her paintings also featured many fairies of Aedes Elysiae, who were looked at with special attention or even bewilderment. The most magical part of her childhood seemed like a real fiction to the locals, opening up space for their fantasies. And every time her paintings with fairies were bought, she was proud of her old friends – now they could meet new people, and the memory of them would spread throughout Amphoreus in the form opposite to some silly tales.

Portraits were a special thing in her art as well. To create such, she found the most tender and amazing girls who often call her, saying they want to become her models. Each of them stood out in their own way and then lived in Cyrene's short stories – stories where most of the attention was given to the appearance of her lovely models.

She lost her passion for writing, but now she has a habit to send her ideas and written portraits to Castorice, who then decides what exactly she would do with them. Castorice loved her style, especially her attention to detail, thanks to which Cyrene's models could often find themselves in scenes written by a fairly popular writer, if only they read the literature she published. The friends often shared light erotic sketches with each other, bringing each other a new wave of inspiration.

And that is how her measured creative life went, there were no tragedies, no dramas, no regrets. Except, perhaps, one.

“You used to draw me a lot,” Polyxia giggled quietly, thoughtfully stopping at a picture of a dragon hiding in its own arms, “How many of your admirers envy me?”

“Hmm?~” Cyrene leaned slightly towards the girl, peering into her lovely unique eyes, “I can’t say about admirers, but I certainly envy myself... That my very first Muse was so charming and wise…”

“I'm sorry I couldn't be her anymore.”

Cyrene straightened up, her hands clasping the handles of the other's wheelchair. Polyxia, unlike Cyrene and her own sister, refused to leave the village.

While Cyrene was studying in the Groves, she had the time and enthusiasm to come to Aedes Elysiae at least once in a month, just to talk to the girl who embraced within herself any, even the most fleeting images that arose in Cyrene`s imagination. And without the Muse, each of these images seemed impossible to depict, whether with words, with paints, or even with the enormous formulas of Professor Anaxagor, who pondered feelings in chemical processes and numbers. But at some point, there simply wasn't enough time to do so. Exams and conferences, to which Hyacine eagerly dragged Cyrene as a participant to share her thoughts on color and paints.

And the dreamy image of the Creator and Muse disappeared from her head just like that. She wanted to see the unusually peaceful and mysterious girl next to her, in reality, all the time. And that's why Polyxia was wiser than all her friends - after all, she did not need any city life, and she did not even try to torment herself with illusions about such a need. She found herself long before a naive village girl with big dreams burst into her house.

How funny fate sometimes turns out – Cyrene, who once told her younger brother that it was important not to offend people with some funny fantasies, made a similar mistake herself. She waited and waited for the Muse to become something much more than just a source of inspiration. No matter how much she waited, she never was needed anyway. Not in the same way she needed her. And yet, she would like to find the strength to love the real Polyxia, and not a far-fetched image. And so Cyrene smiled silently, kissing the woman on the back of the head and saying out loud the words with which she ends each of her whirlwind thoughts when she finds dozens of portraits of Polyxia in her room.

“Everything happened exactly as it was supposed to, darling!”

Polyxia smiled, she was the only one who had such a smile in all of Amphoreus. They whispered about something of their own, sometimes Cyrene interrupted herself to answer questions from visitors interested in one idea or another. After a while, an inspired Castorice returned from the other end of the hall, asking the girls if they had finished. Polyxia looked at the artist expectantly, and, receiving her kind nod, smiled at her sister. Castorice hastily shared what she had seen in another part of the exhibition, pleadingly asking her to share these impressions with her. And so the twins disappeared around the corner, leaving Cyrene to the guests who kept coming.

Meetings with Polyxia were especially important dates in her calendar. Not something that one would celebrate and mourn for the entire next week, like a salary for example, but something that one would dreamily recall over a cup of tea, at lunch or before bed, choosing the size of the canvases needed for future paintings. Besides, today was another event that was quite important for her.

“How are things at work, boys?” Cyrene asked with a curious smile, noticing Mydei’s serious look first and knowing for sure that somewhere behind him there was Khaslana, tired as always by some reason.

“This painting you have here,” Mydei began immediately, pointing to the canvas above the artist's head, “This is Janusopolis. If I'm not mistaken, what I see before me is Dreamshroud Mausoleum. The place where the heroes arrived... But you didn't depict it as destroyed. Why so? Moreover, when did you manage to go there..?”

“I didn’t,” The woman waved her hand, squeezing out a light laugh, “Tribios gave me an album with photos. And sometimes I use it as a reference… and the destruction… heh heh, as an artist, I can rebuild a few columns with ease, right?~”

“The same goes for a whole wall..?”

Mydei could not tear his gaze away from the bare, majestic columns of Janusopolis, which looked light and fairy-tale-like because of Cyrene's brush. The warm light of the moon fell on columns, giving the blue paint a pinkish tint, and instead of the icy slabs immortalized by the architects, delicate reddish lilies sprouted. The artist smiled, waving to her brother standing behind and inventing a completely new landscape in her head: the Castrum Kremnos, shrouded in the tenderness of life, not the cruelty of war. And she knew exactly who to ask for photographs and to whom to give a painting that had not yet been painted.

With age, Mydei, who was always delighted by her paintings, only became stronger and bigger, and if Cyrene asked him to be her model now, she would have to seriously study the anatomy of a real warrior – tall and broad in the shoulders. He was not just a teenager who knew the correct fighting technique anymore. Her brother next to Mydei still did not look “perfect” enough for an academic drawing – thin and strong exactly as much as Mydei’s persistent attempts to make him not miss training in the gym allowed him.

And she will never stop telling her brother how lucky he is with his husband.

“You shouldn’t have quit drawing, Mydei,” Cyrene closed her eyes, “You had such impeccable graphics… And no matter how hard I tried, I still couldn’t reach the level of your shading!”

“Just think,” Khaslana grinned, placing his hand on Midei’s shoulder, “A professional artist still couldn’t reach the level of a seventeen-year-old boy.”

“Shut up,” Mydei barked, his face suddenly changing, “Look what your brother is doing.”

The man pulled out a crumpled glossy magazine from his backpack. On the cover, Khaslana was depicted, half-dressed, with a cigarette in his hand. He looked utterly dramatic – surrounded by fresh foliage and rain, and here is the reason why Khaslana had taken shelter in a tiny gazebo according to the scene. And he was clearly drenched, exactly as one needed to be drenched for a beautifully staged shot – with a slightly wet, perfectly messed-up white blouse. He was pensively gazing somewhere beyond the lens of the professional camera, and the dynamism of his pose hinted at an intention to bring the cigarette back to his lips.

Cyrene suddenly laughed, noticing the blush on her brother's cheeks as he turned away. It seemed like someone had already had a serious conversation this morning.

“Aglaea is very good at promoting her models.”

“Aglaea completely forgot what restaurant I work in,” Mydei continued disappointedly, “As a chef. So because of her poor memory, all this morning my colleagues would ask me how I liked this new photo shoot. Am I jealous? Was I against it? Thanks Kephale, I just increased their workload in the kitchen. They didn’t have time for this shit talk anymore. They didn't have time for anything else actually.”

“They were right, by the way,” Khaslana muttered, “He is jealous. It's a shame that he's not the only one who can see me as sexy and beautiful.”

“Of course. That's the point. It's not that Phainon is too much of a media personality for a hundred thousand rumors not to be made up about him every day.”

“You... are greatly exaggerating.”

“What if I start retelling them all right now?”

“Huh? Well, I'm all ears. Name something new that I haven't seen in private messages yet.”

“‘What, Phainon is a heavy smoker, huh? I thought you were such a healthy lifestyle guy, how the hell did you let this happen, boss?!’”

Cyrene looked away, holding back her laughter. The childhood nickname had actually become her brother's media name, and every time she saw him in fashion world discussions, she was surprised not to find the Deliverer standing next to it. After all, it simply hadn't worked out to push the idea of the `Deliverer of Fashion` through, thanks to Aglaea's stern voice and the sheet of paper with the wishes for the contract they had signed a few years ago that had been left unattended on the table. And it was a good thing the contract was signed at all, because Khas's studies hadn't gone well. And for his luck, Aglaea, on the contrary, was successfully retraining as a modeling agent… And Cipher, with a keen talent for marketing, actively helped her with this.

“What's wrong with that? It's not like it`s propaganda or anything, right..? How many times in your life have you started smoking because of a pretty picture in a magazine?”

“I don't even…”

“Believe me, the whole emphasis here is on the look…”

“And on the bare chest, yes~” Cyrene snatched the magazine from the man’s hands, lingering her gaze on the “emphasis”, “So… was it done without any retouching?”

“What do you mean…”

“That's right.”

“I'm proud then,” The woman jumped up to reach her brother's hair, intentionally gave him a quick flick and patiently waited until he realized he had to sit down so Cyrene could pat him on the head. This praise did not make him proud though – he looked after his body according to all the rules that Aglaea dictated to him on the record. Besides, he was following the diet, taking advantage of his husband's never-ending high-class food.

“Alright. Let's pretend I'm out of questions. What time do you finish?” Mydei took the magazine back, changing the topic, “Do we have time to walk around, have a look?”

“I warned everyone that I would leave at five,” Cyrene smiled, gesturing for the men to continue through the exhibition.

They agreed to visit their parents for a few days. Mydei's vacation was ending, and Khaslana had exceeded his monthly plan specifically to rest according to his husband's schedule. He himself was not planning to take a vacation yet, inspired by Aglaea's workaholism, besides, he really did not feel the need for a full rest, while his work took place at home of a fashion designer known throughout Amphoreus most of the time, same for his personal life – always in the company of a kremnoan with the legacy of the great Gorgo. After all,  Khas, just as his sister did, quickly fell in love with the luxury of life in the capital.

They visited Aedes Elysiae less and less often, but they did not spend a single night without praying to Oronyx, thanking the Titan of time for a happy life; and all those people who gave village kids a chance to break into a life full of movement and demands. Each of them did not allow themselves to fall into the illusion that they had achieved everything themselves – financial support from their parents during the period of moving out, connections given to them from above, no less, and a personal courage to leave the native nest.

After getting acquainted with the entire exhibition, Mydei and Khas began to patiently wait for the artist at the entrance, while discussing plans for the rest of the vacation. When Cyrene joined them with a bag prepared in advance that morning, they set off. Snowy was waiting for all three of them in the back seat of the car. He was sleeping peacefully, not even doubting that his owners would return sooner or later. He was already old. But still sweet. He still whined from boredom when Khas was at work, even though Mydei was right there, playing with him. Cyrene quietly placed her hand on the dog's white fur, trying not to disturb him, and stroked him lightly. He had no idea how many sweets she had bought for him.

That night on the road, Mydei took over the wheel, letting Khaslana to rest. Glancing timidly at the siblings sleeping in the backseat with Snowy, hugging each other. He turned down the music, closed the car windows so that nothing would disturb them, and wrote a quick message to his mother with a smile: “Should I say hi for you to Audata and Hieronymus?”

A smile emoji in response. There are still six hours left to drive.

They were already greeted with hugs in the morning. And none of them could escape a thousand personal questions, as was usually the case with old people who missed their kids too much. Mydei briefly shared everything that might seem new, and went to sleep in the abandoned room of the siblings, looking for a bed with flags that had fallen off the headboard, in order to fall asleep on his husband's old sleeping place, frightened by the sharp creak and feeling the specific smell of bed linen that had stood idle.

Cyrene and Khaslana began helping their parents with the cooking out of habit. And every time they were surprised that the skill of setting a whole festive table for dinner for only five people had not disappeared anywhere. It was getting rather difficult for their father to spend whole hours in the fields, and their mother was already walking very poorly. Cyrene, putting canned sweet fruits on saucers, bombarded her parents with questions about their health and tedious medicines as usual. Spoon after spoon – and the only thing they kept telling their kids was that they did not need anything and everything was just fine. `And if something happens, we will be able to manage ourselves.`

Khaslana inhaled the aromas of Tahini with pomegranate and cranberry, which Mydei loved so much, with particular pleasure. He helped Audata mix salads, singing her favorite songs with her. He did not manage to catch his husband waking up, having run off to help his father with his favorite smoked venison. And so Mydei was left to carefreely gossip with Cyrene and his mother-in-law, who was interested, in a curious-girl way, in the personal relationship of Livia and the boy with whom Cyrene studied. The gossip led women to be distracted, so he was the one who kept on checking the asparagus crisping in the frying pan.

The dinner was generous, glasses of homemade wine were sometimes drunk without toasts and shared memories. The village was so quiet and empty that the loud and cheerful voices of the family sitting there seemed to be the only sound left in Aedes Elysiae. It was hard to accept, but like any other village in the neighborhood, it too was gradually beginning to lose its inhabitants. Many moved, many were taken in by their children or even grandchildren – one way or another, there were fewer and fewer windows with the lights on. But no one wanted to spoil their little holiday with such sad thoughts, and so the voices became louder and more cheerful.

They sat like that until late, the empty plates were becoming more and more numerous, and Cyrene was already tired of running for the alcohol stored in their personal cellar. Audata had already been talking to Gorgo on Mydei's phone for an hour, having gone somewhere closer to the paths leading into the forest. Hieronymus was asking his son-in-law about the traditions of Kremnos with particular interest, and Mydei noted that the man knew his homeland too well. It was a real pity that they simply did not communicate enough to understand this earlier. How many discussions had been missed...

Siblings ran out into the Sacrament Courtyard to the sound of merry laughter, realizing that the boring history buffs would not finish their discussions for a long time. Cyrene bowed to the statue of Oronyx, immediately tugging her brother and forcing him to sit on one knee in front of Their main patroness. Laughter again, confused words again – the girl began to spin in a solo waltz, expecting her brother to accompany her, yet he was not thinking clearly from alcohol. But he had a guess, and he knew how to dance very well – he was probably trained well for one of the photo-set. And still, he still stepped on his sister's white ballet shoes, laughing instead of apologizing.

“Have you ever reread our epic?” asks Cyrene, almost shouting, deliberately starting to spin with her brother in the carousel of hands until they get dizzy.

“No!”

“Why?”

Just laughter in response. The girl abruptly unhooked her hands, sending her brother into free fall and sympathetically squatting down next to him. Khaslana moaned, trying to get to his feet and exhaled defeatedly, closing his eyes.

“The Deliverer... took The Crown Prince as his husband... and fell in battle... with a vestibular apparatus..!”

“The Fortune Teller, having the most interesting imagination, laughs at her brother’s awkward fall.”

Cyrene nodded, giving Khaslana her hand and trying to get him to his feet. After a while, they silently looked at the Oronyx, they were too afraid to come closer to Them for some reason. They did not immediately notice Snowy approaching them. He immediately repeated after his beloved people, and with the same obedience sat down in front of Oronyx. Silent, not moving. Also thinking about something. His own dog thoughts.

“Aglaea really did begin to feel the world much more subtly,” Cyrene whispered thoughtfully, addressing either the image of Titan in front of them or her brother.

“Sometimes I forget that she can’t see… every time she points her finger at some unnatural folds during a photo shoot.”

“She sees destinies! And helps heroes to open up!”

“Or is it just her still distinguishing the shapes of objects?” Khaslana noted with a nervous smile, turning his gaze to sister.

That's how all their fantasies disappeared. Khaslana was the first to stop working on the epic, believing that this was the way he could stop the endless nightmares of his. One day, he confessed that he wanted to change something in the reality – that he wanted to truly carry Lady Tribios's rich legacy through his entire life, that he wanted Mydei to be not the Prince he had dreamed of all his life, but just a boy trying to build a new life with his mother. That instead of practicing as a healer, he wanted Hyacine to continue studying the sky, helping Professor Anaxagoras. For Anaxagoras and Aglaea, if there really was no chance of them getting back together, to remain good friends at least. For their cunning friend Cifera to never feel lonely again.

Then it was Cyrene that lost interest in the epic, feeling a deep inner sadness from the tragic novels they wrote in an attempt to change the fate of the heroes they created. After all, they knew each of these heroes – criticizing the latest news with them in the morning and sometimes getting into petty quarrels.

Perhaps this is what is called growing up, when at some point you realize that if you dream, you should do it through your own feelings and sensations. And that the only thing they can really influence is their own stories.

“Parents have grown quite old,” Cyrene said absently, slowly walking up to the statue and sitting down on the right side of its pedestal.

Khaslana did not raise his gaze to Oronyx, repeating the movement of his sister and sitting down with his back to the village. Snowy remained sitting in place, timidly wagging his tail, as if realizing that he would not be able to support the bright sadness.

“There are fewer ever-blooming trees here.”

“Time passes, changes everything,” Cyrene breathed in response, “Even if we hoped that under Oronyx’s blessing nothing would be subject to the corrosion of time. It seems to me that time takes care of people in a completely different way. It does not leave life unchanged, otherwise it would be too cruel. We were happy kids, but I would never… be content at the fullest if I didnt have a chance to experience the life that I have now. And yet…”

“Each of us wanted more,” Khaslana finished quietly after his sister, hiding behind the statue, “More than Aedes Elysiae could ever give us.”

“Do you think we fulfilled their dream?”

The man moved closer to his sister, looking thoughtfully at the moon that had appeared above them. They could forget some of the stories, they could forget all of the fantasies and dreams that had once seemed most important to them – but they could not forget the Deliverer  and the Fortune Teller who appeared in their nightmares from time to time. Perhaps it was the very fear of the realization that somewhere out there their lives had indeed turned into tragedy. This realization alone made them thank all the gods with a special greed for the fate they had been given.

They may not have written stories anymore, but on nights when the memories of the two heroes cursed by the world became too vivid and anxiety pierced their lungs, it seemed to them that each of their personal successes was nothing more than a new paragraph in the prayers of the Deliverer and Fortune Teller. Their only reality was the best possible scenario in the fate written for them.

“Most important is,” Khaslana said slowly, “Is that we have fulfilled ours…”

In the silence that had fallen a little later, the slow steps of Mydei approaching could be heard. He stood silently next to them, not asking unnecessary questions, giving the siblings space for thoughtful silence. And after Cyrene smiled, he finally said:

“It’s the fourth day of the Month of Everday,” The man began slowly, clearing his throat, “And I’ve always dreamed of taking part in a Field Walk. May we…”

“At night?!” Cyrene asked excitedly, immediately getting to her feet.

“Nuh, Cyrene,” purred Khaslan, still sitting on the pedestal, “There is nothing sexier than a man who is interested in the culture of your homeland.”

“Oh really?” Mydei asked in a low voice, watching his husband with interest. “Then why can't you even wear the traditional clothes of Kremnos? Cyrene, did he tell you about the last time we…”

“So! First we need to hold hands.”

Khaslana immediately jumped up, clapping his hands and falling into the arms of Cyrene and Mydei. They laughed and helped him to his feet and took his hands, following Khaslana, who was chatting about nothing as usual. Just as in childhood he was the real chatter box. Snowy began to run around guys, causing them to feel slightly dizzy. He, too, was impatient to have a Field Walk.

And in the middle of their journey, Cyrene exclaimed with a frightened sigh, remembering the very procedure of the walk:

“We must sing the Song of the Wheat Waves! And we do it without a priest! Everything is wrong..!”

“And it is a night now,” Khaslana answered with a laugh, stopping abruptly and looking thoughtfully at those following behind him. A second later, he sang the first line of the song, and then smiled at Mydei and Cyrene, who picked up the words after him. They started over three times, honestly going around the entire field in a circle, without cutting corners. And already halfway there, the snow-white dog got tired, returned to the statue, curled up next to it and began to wait. While the adults continued to celebrate, following the route clockwise, following Aquila's celestial path, perfectly aware that yesterday the whole village did it without them and all the wheat had already been blessed by Them.

At the end, they began to dance in a circle around the statue, singing urban pop songs, taking breaks for drunken laughter and occasional banter. Although this was no longer part of the traditional festivities.

“Children! We're already bringing everything into the house!” Audata shouted, briefly noticing the silhouettes of the now-grown children in the darkness.

“The past, present, and future rest in your hands,” Cyrene smiled, squeezing Mydei and Khaslana’s hand tighter, “The threads of fate weave through your fingers…”

“All of time listens to your call,” Mydei picked up embarrassedly, glancing at Oronyx.

“May you accept our humble offering!” Khaslana shouted, receiving a slap on the back of the head from his husband and noticing the sideways glance his sister cast at him. After all, the evening prayer is read in a whisper.

Meanwhile, Snowy decided to take pity on his owner and began to fawn around Khas's feet. Mydei clicked his tongue, remarking with a smile:

There are still some things that never change.