Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s said that the memories of thousands can give rise to a civilization. These people will build, create, and eventually come to reason—like moths drawn to a flame. But that is never enough. All civilizations end in destruction. Because they can’t stay within their limits, everything falls apart. And then history becomes useless—no one is left to learn from it. Years of knowledge turned to dust, all because the flame burned too brightly, too fiercely… and they couldn’t help but fly straight into it.

“Phainon, why aren’t you with Nax?” A cheerful girl approached him, one hand pressed to her ear to keep her hair from flying wild in the wind. The way she spoke was enough to make the man look at her and smile softly.

The boy was sitting in the grass, watching the birds fly away, his ears filled with their songs, thinking about this moment of peace. “Don’t call him that way when you are with him…”

Cyrene feels something odd, but can’t say what. “Don’t worry♪, he won’t say anything to me.” Her voice was playful as if there wasn’t anything wrong.

He smiled softly, “He’s in his study doing experiments… I’m worried, but he won’t let me go in.” His lips trembled slightly, his fingers digging into his skin.

She observed him and couldn’t help but sigh. She sat down beside him and gently patted his back, trying to reassure him. She wanted to say something about going to study abroad, in Okhema—something the two of them had talked about when they were children—but…

“Cyrene, you… Do we really have to go to Okhema? Anaxa’s happy here. I just want to stay with you two…” Phainon looked up at the sky as he spoke. The sunlight lit up his face; he closed his eyes, then lowered his head again, his cheeks slightly flushed from the fear of saying it.

And she knew he didn’t want to disappoint her by saying it. But at the same time, he was in love—and that love made him want to protect the person he cared for. Little did he know that the one he loved didn’t want this: for him to give up on his dreams because of him.

“The prophecy, uh… If you don’t want to go, it’s okay, Nax and I are here for you.” The crack in her voice was barely audible, but the way she moved her face so he couldn’t see her was obvious.

At that moment, a man with mint-colored hair appeared behind them, his stern expression softening the instant he saw the two of them. He nearly dropped the papers in his hand—but he didn’t. His left eye was wrapped in bandages, which he changed regularly because of the experiments he conducted on his own body.

With a soft sigh, he says, “What are you two talking about?”

When he hears that voice, Phainon turns around, his expression shifting from gloomy to cheerful in a matter of seconds. “Anaxa!”

“First of all, it’s Anaxagoras.” He let out a mock laugh. “How many times do I have to repeat that?” His face softened as he gently patted Phainon’s head before sitting beside him

"That doesn’t matter." But as he said it, he could feel Anaxa's gaze. "I mean—yeah, but I’m your partner!"

Anaxa rested his head on Phainon’s shoulder as he looked at the papers. His mint-colored hair brushed against Phainon’s skin, and he couldn’t stop staring.

Phainon felt all giggly inside. The faint scent of mint was refreshing—and it was the smell that stayed with him.

“Aww, lovebirds~♪” Cyrene cooed, watching them with her hands on her cheeks.

Anaxa gave her a quick glance, smiling slightly before returning to the papers in his hand. As he read, he furrowed his brows and moved his head slightly, clearly thinking. 

Phainon could sense the doubt in his dear professor’s eyes. “Is something wrong?” 

He looked at him for a moment, then turned to Cyrene and gave a small nod. She seemed to understand—he wanted to talk. So, she nodded back.

“It’s nothing… Sorry, I’m a bit sleepy”, he smiled softly while Phainon looked at him with a worried face. Although when he said that, he sighed, a bit relieved.

Cyrene took the papers out of Anaxa's hands and whistled playfully. Her eyes reflected the two men in front of her. They were laughing and playing, and she couldn’t help but chuckle when Phainon placed his hands on Anaxa’s waist.

“So romantic~♪”

Phainon looks at the sheet of papers in Cyrene’s hands. “That’s Anax—”

“It doesn’t matter, Phainon.” He sighed. “Are you really so bored that you’d rather focus on a piece of paper instead of me? Hmm?” Anaxa lifted his head; his face was almost touching Phainon’s, and his lips brushed against his.

Seeing him, Phainon blushed—not so much out of embarrassment, but because watching Anaxa go along with such affection was rare. And of course, he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

Gently, he wrapped an arm around his waist and lifted him, settling him onto his thighs.

Feeling somewhat manipulated, Anaxa tensed—though he lost some of his dignity as he blushed under the touch. “You..how cunning.”

Phainon saw the blush and smiled mockingly. “Professor… are you blushing?”

“...Hey—what are you doing…”

The white-haired man grinned, his hands still resting at Anaxa’s waist. He pulled him closer, until their bodies were touching and their faces were so close.
“You know, we’ve been dating for so long, and you never do anything…”

But this time you were doing something. That’s cute.

“...That’s—”

Well, to be honest, Anaxa hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t doing anything. How was he supposed to act with someone he loved? Just the idea of affection reminded him of his sister—but he hadn’t spent enough time with her to know what that even meant.

“Uh—well, you know, I don’t really feel like doing these types of things with you…”

Ah, that sounded wrong.

“But it’s not like I hate it. It’s fine… yeah?” He wasn’t the best at expressing his emotions, but he wanted to sound gentle. Instead, his tone came out serious—like he truly meant it.

Upon hearing that, Phainon stopped caressing his waist and let out a long sigh. He had expected it. Anaxa was that kind of person…

Deep down, he’d hoped for a different answer.

He knew Anaxa loved him.

But somehow… it still wasn’t enough.

They spent the next few hours lying like that, wrapped in the comfort of each other. Anaxa, though slightly embarrassed, didn't pull away. Phainon held back, not because of hesitation—he wanted to appreciate this moment of rare intimacy between the two.

Anaxa was a lonely person who often masked it with ‘tricks’—clever words and detached smiles. It was something Phainon wanted to change, but a façade that had been in place for so long couldn’t be taken down so easily.

***

Under the tree sat Cyrene, surrounded by a small swarm of children who kept calling her "sis." She patiently taught them to read, tracing letters into the dirt with a stick, her voice gentle yet firm. Between lessons, they played silly games and tugged at her sleeves for attention. When their laughter faded into curiosity, she entertained them with little fortunes—soft predictions told with a twinkle in her eye and a smile that made it hard to tell if she was being serious. Some believed her; others simply liked to pretend. Either way, they listened.

“Cyrene.”

A man appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The children tugged on Cyrene’s sleeves, but she just smiled and patted their heads, gently ushering them off to play somewhere else.

Anaxa noticed their eyes lingering on him, fierce and protective. He scoffed quietly—after all, they were just kids.

“Nax, stop doing that, that’s why they’re afraid of you!” She called out with a playful voice.

“Even if they’re afraid they’ll continue let me teach them, so, what’s the problem?” His eyes rested on the children for a moment before looking at Cyrene again.

“Uhm! You really are an special one.” She mocks. “Anyway, I trust that you called me for a good reason!”

“It’s nothing special… or well, I would say that if you didn’t know about what’s happening in Amphoreus.” He scoffs at her, “Right, Cyrene?”

A long silence followed them. Anaxa wasn't sure of what he should expect—after all, this was an accusation without proof.

A warm hand pats his shoulder. She was giggling, “I just happened to know it. There’s really no secrets between pretty and intelligent people like us, Nax♪.” That made his heart race. For a moment, he thought she was going to do something to him. 

He looks at her while his heart decreases his intensity. Though he knew she wasn't the type of person to do something ominous or tell lies, it was suspicious.

“Sorry, that was rude.” he smiles, “I just wanted to make sure we are in tune, and we know what’s best for him.” 

And she just scoffs, "You know, you’re also an moron.”

“Oh? Reasons?”

“You don’t tell him what you want to do. He probably thinks you’re like a doll or something.”

She placed a finger on her chin as if thinking about what she’d just said.

“Or is it because sex?”

“...What?” Anaxa looked at her with a hint of disgust. He didn’t need to say more—she understood. They were losers.

She stared at him and patted him for the second time today. “It’s okay, I… I understand. Pff—”

“What does sex have to do with… this?” The embarrassment in his voice was so obvious that Cyrene was tempted to keep teasing him.

He takes a breath to relax, his expression becoming more serious. “Well, I don't have to talk about that with you, Cyrene. I just want to make sure you won’t repeat anything I say to you… to him.”

“Don’t worry♪.” She started walking in the wheat field. Sometimes, her expression was more serious than usual, making Anaxa feel strange.

The banter between them faded as they began walking; neither of them said a word. She was the type to make light jokes and act full of herself—but that was just who she was. He didn’t need to teach her anything. They were friends… if he could even call it that.

Her hand was pressed to her face. Rays of light poured over her silhouette, as if trying to envelop her entirely. She shone on that stage—like she was something more than just a person in this world.

She turned around, the wheat contrasting with the pink of her figure. Sunlight wrapped around her like a gentle veil, casting a golden glow over her skin. The smile on her face was lonesome—faint, as if borrowed from an old memory—and the look in her eyes was captivating, fragile, and vast. He felt like a child seeing the sea for the first time: overwhelmed, small, and breathless before something so beautiful and distant.

 “I would’ve liked to meet your sister, I’m sure she was a beauty~”

He looked into her eyes—so bright, yet so achingly lonesome—and then he laughed, softly, as if something had clicked inside him. The wind carried away whatever thoughts he had, scattering them like dust in the sunlight. Only his smile remained. “Yeah,” he murmured, “I’m sure she would’ve liked that too.”

***

Normally, Anaxa would teach the kids in the village about things that may be useful to them in the future, but the stress is eating him up. Teaching kids is more stressful than dealing with Phainon—and that’s saying a lot.

“Professor…” A faint voice reached his ear as he rubbed his temple—his head was pounding.

He saw the face of the man in front of him—it was somewhat restless. Phainon wanted to say something, but as always, he ignored him, or at least tried to do so.

But this time he can’t do it.

“Huh, speak.” He tried not to sound so mocking, “I expect something interesting.”

Phainon’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “I know you don’t believe in the Titans, but… I never asked why.” He swallowed hard. “Where does that come from?”

Is this…nonsense talk?

Anaxa looked at him, thinking whether he should continue with this talk. “Why do you want to know?”

The way he had begged the Titans—his small body torn by wounds, his face soaked with tears as he crawled across the ground—was something he would never forget. The disappointment of realizing that, in the end, he meant nothing to them.

“...Why?” Phainon trembled at the direct question. “Obviously, it’s because I want to know more about you…”

Anaxa wasn’t stupid. Maybe to Phainon, he seemed like a kind, innocent person—but he knew better.

He sits in front of him with crossed legs, his lips curving into a smirk. Anaxa felt the uncertainty in Phainon’s voice, so with his usual demeanor, he talked.

“Leave that alone, your pursuit of knowledge is tainted by other things I have no interest in knowing.” He took two steps forward, placing his index finger under Phainon's chin. “Instead, I want to ask you something.”

“Are you sure about staying here?”

“Uh?” He looked up, his eyes were confused, and his lips trembled slightly. “What… What do you mean?”

The light landed in his eyes, and Phainon trembled. He looked at the eyes of his dear lover and saw longing; it was… so strange. All this was said by someone he loves and thinks he knows, but perhaps Anaxa knows him better than he thinks. 

And that's why Phainon feels guilty, because, despite everything, he continues to hide things from him.

“I know you always say that you want to live here, but. I also see how you look at the ships leaving for the city, how you skip my classes to train, and believe I don’t realize.” The fact that he emphasized his classes made him gasp.

“I’m not hurt, tho. You can continue if you wish to be a hero.”

A sound filled the room. Phainon abruptly stood up and grabbed Anaxa's shoulders tightly. At that, his mint hair came loose, and he clenched his teeth; his eyes were tense by the abruptness that Phainon showed.

“Professor! No, Anaxa! What do you mean by that!?” When he realized he was being too rough, he snapped and took a step back. 

Anaxa rubbed his shoulder; he didn’t want to get mad at him. “Calm down. First of all, I’m only telling the truth. If you want, go ahead.”

“I… Sorry, but I already told you. I want to stay here with you two.” He was sure about that, right?

“That’s not a wish, Phainon.” He was sure. Cyrene told him about that promise; he wanted to go out, not stay here.

Phainon changed his wish because of him; he wanted to be a hero for his home, but if something happened, if Anaxa is in danger, is he truly sure he wants to protect them? He isn’t sure. He loves this place, he loves his friends, and loves Anaxa. But…

“It’s a wish, what’s wrong with that?”

It was a love that consumed him.

“What’s wrong, you ask?” He chuckles, “I don't want, nor do I need your protection.”

“But what if someone takes advantage of you while I’m out?” He walks and puts his hand on Anaxa’s cheek. His voice was slightly broken.

Anaxa looked at him in a state of shock, “what is this man talking about?” he thought.

“Are you doubting the people you've lived with your whole life?” The hand in his cheek tensed. Phainon looked at him with a somber face. He let his body fall forward, embracing Anaxa. “It’s not that… I’m just worried.”

The body embracing him was warm, but his shoulder was wet—the man on top of him was sobbing, and he just stood there.

Phainon was trembling; he had just said something stupid, and Anaxa knew it.

The gentle pats on his head only made him cry harder, sobbing for more.

But Anaxa couldn’t handle it; he, too, needed a break. Though he tried to appear nonchalant, the moment he pulled away from Phainon, his façade nearly cracked. He couldn’t bear to see this boy—someone so brilliant and beautiful—shattered like this.

Only one remained in the room—Phainon. He was still sobbing, replaying what he had said to Anaxa. He knew it might have been bad—really bad—but maybe it was just the adrenaline talking. Yeah… that could be it, right?

“Can it be that my form of love is…wrong?”

“There is no right way to love, Phainon♪.” Cyrene popped out, she was smiling and ready to pinch Phainon’s cheek, until she saw him sobbing.

“Could it be… You fought with Nax?” Phainon looked at her; his eyes were red, and he didn’t want to talk.

“I saw him with a frustrated expression, or was it a depressed face?” She continued babbling his thoughts. “Either way, you can talk to me, I’ll listen to you~”

Phainon said nothing, which made Cyrene feel awkward. “Come on! You're always like a teenager in love. How bad could whatever he said be to make you feel like this?”

“He said he doesn´t need me.” His pain was noticeable in the way he talked; he wasn’t even mad at Anaxa, it was at him, for not understanding what he meant from all this.

But he kept pushing the blame onto Anaxa, not because he truly believed it, but because if he didn’t, he feared the guilt would destroy him.

“You know,” she slid her fingers through his hair, “he doesn’t want you to let go of anything that makes you you, for him.”

“He may be a blockhead, but he worries.” Her voice was quiet as she pulled up a chair and sat beside him.

“Since the moment you looked at him like that… I knew. Even when he pushed you away, you still stayed.” She let out a long, almost tired sigh. “He mocks your dream of being a hero, always with that smirk… but he watches you when you train, like he’s memorizing you. He tried to cook for you once—it went horribly—but instead of admitting it, he just pretended it didn’t matter.”

She smiled faintly. “But it did.”

“Anyway, you should talk to him,” she said, giving him a light slap on the back. “Or maybe… take some time. You need to think things through.”

Phainon lingered on her words—picturing Anaxa fumbling through something unfamiliar brought a quiet warmth to his chest.

***

Time drifted on like the wind—gentle, relentless. But the weight in their hearts remained untouched.

Between them, silence bloomed like a flower of sorrow, and a girl watched from afar, her eyes knowing. Neither saw how the ache in their chests could ease, if only they dared to speak the words caught behind their lips.

A girl swung beneath the tree, humming a lullaby to no one. Her toes barely grazed the wooden platform below, yet she insisted on returning to this place—though she was far too old for it now.

In the midst of it all, a delicate voice reached her ears—meant for someone else, yet it found its way to her.

“I—Cyrene, I want to ask you something.”

When she turned, she saw Anaxa’s face, slightly contorted—showing exactly what had been on his mind these past few days.

“Hmm?♪” Her lips curled into a smirk. “No way! Are you really going to ask me something?”

She didn’t spend another second on the swing. Her feet touched the wood beneath, and with quiet resolve, the sound of her footsteps reached him.

“Well, it seems you know more about this kind of thing. After all, isn't it something girls like to talk about?”

“Ehh? Should I take you to a girls' talk?♪”

“... No, thanks.” He put a hand over his mouth—he didn’t want to think about it.

“Why are you making that face!” She gasped. “It’s not like you’re interested in wom—”

“Cyrene.” He cut out.

She sighed—it seemed that jokes were a big no at the moment, even if she hadn’t really been joking.

“Well, for what I could see, it seems like Phainon is avoiding you, right?” Her eyes stared at the wheat field for a second. “Whatever you want to argue with him, it has to be direct. He’s slow but not stupid.”

He clicked his tongue—Phainon’s avoidance wasn’t even subtle. The awkwardness between them was palpable, and being each other’s first only made things more complicated. Neither of them knew how to handle this.

They were lucky that the people in Aedes Elysiae didn’t mind their closeness—Anaxa knew all too well how people usually treated anything outside the norm, anything that wasn’t normal.

“You know, I had this thought—what if I left him? What if I had never stepped foot here?” He lifted his eyes to the sky, but the breeze swept his hair across his face, gently pulling his gaze back down. “Since I came here, I have had this feeling of uncertainty.”

“It’s something I’m ashamed to admit, but being by his side calms my anxiety. So, in a way, I’m using him.”

Cyrene, who was only listening to him, dared to interrupt him. “Then you two are a pair made in heaven.” She could feel the gaze of Anaxa in her, but she didn’t care, as always. “Mnestia probably was giggling when Cerces gave you their blessing.”

“Talking about Titans in my face? Sure.” He rolls his eyes.

“Aw~ Come on! Just listen, I’m inspired.” She giggles. “Ahem—You’re pretty, even I was jealous of your figure when I saw you for the first time!”

“...? Cyrene…” He looked at her, his lips trembling. 

“I was malnourished.”

“That doesn’t matter, you’re still pretty.” Her finger taps his nose. “I understand why Phainon is like that with you. Even if you’re strong with your words, you’re still cute.”

“…And you were saying you were inspired?” He scoffs.

"You two always learn from each other, so I'm really upset—either because he's running away or because you're not chasing after him!” She slaps his back, a playfully sad look on her face.

Anaxa looked at her, his hand finding its way to her hair, ruffling it gently. Cyrene caught a soft smile on his face—one not meant to mock, but born from genuine comfort.

“I don’t want Phainon to give up, but I know how he is. So…consider this a request: would you be willing to come with us?”

“Request? Well, if you say it that way~” Her playfulness was at her fullest. “I’m gonna ignore the fact that I was planning to go without you two, but now that you are so kind to ask me…♪”

“Well, in that case, now you are tied to us.”

She pouts, pinching his cheek. “That’s not true! Without me, I’m sure you would be lost!”

Honestly, that’s true.

“Okay, whatever you say.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to talk with him, and probably we’ll be leaving in a few days.”

But she wanted to know! They only talk about what they feel, not about their love life; she was dying of curiosity.

“Hmmm!! Hey, Nax~” She pulled his sleeve. “You have to tell me, yeah!?”

“I’ll think about that.” He walks away, waving his hand.

Anaxa was looking for Phainon—running, despite having almost no stamina to speak of. The children saw him and couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. He was running? It was so unexpected that even the grannies joined in to help him search for Phainon.

He was panting—his throat burned with each breath. He needed water, but more than anything, he needed him. Exhaustion weighed down on him, and in that moment, he made himself a silent promise: if he found him, he’d kiss him right then and there. Of course, that was a bit embarrassing… so he probably wouldn’t.

Just as he was about to give up, he caught sight of a white-haired man lying in the wheat field. The man gazed silently at the sun, his body half-sunk in golden stalks. Then, as if it were too blinding—too far away—he tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

Anaxa looked at the scene, his breath ragged, his throat dry. Yet each step he took along the path toward him felt oddly refreshing—like his strength was slowly returning. And then, as if the wind itself welcomed him, a soft breeze brushed against his skin, filling him with a quiet, overwhelming sense of relief.

“Phainon of Aedes Elysiae,” the addition of his home was meant to remind him where he came from. “What is your dream?”

That delicate voice pulled him back to reality—one where things were still tense between them. He sat up and looked at Anaxa, but for some reason, he couldn’t see his face. Why?

“I told you, no?” a cracked voice slipped from his lips, forming a smile.

“And I already told you my opinion.” Anaxa knelt in front of him. “That’s absurd. You don’t want to do that.”

He took Anaxa’s hand and placed it against his cheek. The other man’s expression flinched—just enough for Phainon to smile. He traced Anaxa’s knuckles with his finger; he had missed this, even if he had been the one running away.

“Hn, I know.” He brushes his lips against Anaxa’s knuckles. “But, the fact that you’re downplaying my effort of protecting you… that hurts too.”

“I’m older than you.” His eyes softened at the action. “I appreciate your effort, but I didn’t ask you to do that for me.”

Something unreadable flickered in Phainon’s eyes.“I just want to…protect my loved ones. Is that bad?”

“It isn’t bad, it’s boring.” He sighs. “You’re more than that.”

“But…maybe it isn’t so bad to help you. I’ve been teaching you all this time—so let me walk this path with you.”

Phainon’s eyes began to tear up. Anaxa knew him too well—he could tell Phainon wanted to throw himself into his arms right then. He had never let himself believe he could actually have everything he wanted.

The sobs escaped from his lips and nose, raw and messy. It was overwhelming.

“It’s fine, you can do whatever you want. I’m here for you.” His fingers were combing Phainon’s hair—gentle as his voice.

“Anaxa,” he said, as if his life depended on it. “I really, really love you.”

“I know.”

“Please—let me walk this path with you. I want to be by your side, no matter where it leads.” He buried his face in Anaxa’s waist, wrapping his arms around him.

“Yeah, we should.”

In this moment of peace, there are still things left unsaid—but that’s something they can talk about later. After all, time is something they have. 

Phainon is still insecure and shy, yet the kiss from the one he loves made all of that fade—if only for a moment.

Maybe they can fix what’s broken and find happiness. Everything would be fine… if only this world would let them.

Anaxa wasn't that excited to go out, but seeing the faces of those two made his heart go soft. He began talking to neighbors who had already gone outside—maybe he could recollect information about places there.

So they left—Phainon clearly excited, though there was a hint of sadness in his goodbye to the place he called home. Cyrene, as usual, wasn’t too bothered, slipping in the occasional comment or joke. And Anaxa… well, he had the task of looking after them along the way.

When they arrived at the big city, even Anaxa was left speechless—there was a clear difference between a village and a city. As beautiful as Aedes Elysiae was, this place felt too bright, too modern.

They had a plan, and it was simple: Cyrene was going to study in Janupolis, Phainon was going to Castrum Kremnos, and Anaxa, well, who knows?

And he was a man of his word. He wanted to get this done quickly so he could go to the Grove of Epiphany—his sister had told him to visit that place for the sake of a better future. Maybe there, he could find the answer he was searching for.

“Cyrene, Phainon, I’ll be going now.” 

A hand grabs his wrist—it was Phainon’s.

“Uh—can you stay here for a few more minutes?” His lips trembled, his eyes fixed on Anaxa, and his hand began to sweat.

Annoying.

“Yeah, Nax~” Cyrene wrapped her arm around his. “Also, we weren’t here for more than ten minutes!”

“... I don’t need your permission.” He sighs. “But, well, you’re right...” Though his voice still held a trace of doubt.

With a small tug at her dress collar, Phainon shot her an irritated glance.

Cyrene was left momentarily surprised, but the look on his face made her giggle—it always got her.

She finally stopped teasing them and dragged them along. The path felt peaceful—well, as serene as it could be with the city's noise. She just wanted to check out a few places where she might buy dresses or cute things later.

They stopped at the front of a famous tailor's shop. There, Cyrene saw Anaxa, and with a smirk, she said.

“Naxy, you know, your clothes aren’t pretty at all. It doesn’t do justice to your beauty.”

“His clothes aren’t ugly at all—” Phainon tried to argue with her.

“Thanks, but for someone with your sense of style, I prefer if you don’t intervene.” A detached smile made him freeze. He could only pout in response.

Anaxa stared at the suit. Well made, but not him—too plain, too empty. He touched the glass, meeting his own eye: red, sharp, exhausted. He looked at himself—and saw a man still searching for a place to belong.

Maybe this isn't what he wanted at first, but, isn't that bad, right?

His demeanor softened, and with a cheeky smile, he walked off. “One day, I’ll have a better outfit.”

Anaxa made a promise—though deep down, they both knew it was only a matter of time.

“And I guess you’ll also have something for me? Hmm~?” She poked his cheek.

More relaxed than before, he ruffles her hair, to which Phainon looked indignantly, placing his hand on Anaxa's shoulder.

His laughter was almost audible, but that sound came from his heart; Anaxa was still the oldest of the three, so his desire to spoil them wasn't short; just for a moment is fine, he thinks.

In the end, the three of them parted ways.

Anaxa headed to Kephale, that calm face masking a storm long brewing. 

He wasn’t thinking of duty or glory—only a stubborn belief he carried for years: that the Titans weren’t untouchable. That beneath their myth, they were just like anyone else—flawed, breakable, human in the end.

“Oh.” When he arrived, he looked up, and what his eyes met was a grand vision of the most important Titan of all, who carries the world behind.

So this is the world-bearing titan, huh? Not so surprising.

He stretched his arm, his hand covering the entire silhouette of Kephale. 

This was supposed to be the most magnificent titan of all, the world-bearing Titan, a being sung of in myths and feared by others. Anaxa stood before it, eyes fixed on it for a whole minute—he didn’t even know what he was expecting from it.

If something had happened, he would have been willing to change how he views them.

But no.

What he saw wasn’t powerful, not at all. It was ancient, grandiose even—but it lacked presence, that bit of humanity.

His face dulled, a quiet disappointment escaping from his lips.

As he thought, humans are still the most capable species of all.

“Oh? Interesting.” A robotic voice reached his ears, one that was a few steps behind him.

“You’re not supposed to be in this time, Lord Anaxagoras.”

He looked at that man, one with an interesting appearance. “Hm? Do I know you?”

The face of the other man didn’t change; It was like it was made of some kind of stone. Anaxa looked at him from head to toe, and his face changed a bit. “Answer.”

“Oh, sorry, I’m Lycurgus, though you may call me Lygus.” 

“I have all the time in the world, and this seems to be something interesting. Lord Anaxagoras, do you want to know the truth about this world?”

His eyes twitched. What did he mean by that? He wanted to ask, but at the same time, it was thrilling to seek the answer. “... You–”

“Ha, Lord Anaxagoras, I want to have a few words with you, if you don’t mind.” Lygus bows.

Words unheard by the white-haired man or the pretty pink-haired girl—heard only by the man ensnared in his own intrusive thoughts. Some would say that searching for the truth is easy—“just think,” they claim. But when the truth lies in an existence beyond the sky… How are you supposed to respond?

Castrum Kremnos was vast—full of weapons, great warriors, and the scent of iron lingering in the air. It was a fortress-city built for battle, where strength spoke louder than words. Phainon felt like a child lost in a city; there were so many things he never knew existed. He appreciated the effort his friends had put into this—he really will treasure this, because this is the start of his journey.

He took on jobs from time to time—sometimes because he needed money to buy a sword, and other times just because he wanted to gift Cyrene a pretty dress or get a droma plushie for Anaxa. He even visited the dromas the other day! He wants to go on a date with Anaxa so badly…

Ah, I know that's not the idea, but I hope he at least gives me one kiss….

Phainon was daydreaming; his face looked calm—normal, even—but his thoughts were anything but. So when he arrived in Okhema and walked a bit, he saw Anaxa talking to… Well, he doesn’t know.

How strange. Was Anaxa talking to someone important?

As he approached, he noticed how the other ‘person’ remained silent, merely observing him—as if he were something precious. Or more accurately… like an experiment. That was frightening.

His attention drifted for a moment. He swallowed hard and turned to Anaxa, only to notice how unwell he looked—pale, staring at the man before him with a mix of horror and excitement.

He murmured, “Why are you looking at him like that…?” but quickly dismissed the thought. That wasn’t the issue right now.

“…Oh.” Anaxa seemed to become aware of Phainon at that moment. “What did you say?”

“It’s nothing… I just wanted to see you, that’s all.” His smile was meant to reassure him, but it made him feel worse.

Phainon’s gaze shifted between Lygus and Anaxa. The question lingered: what had happened? In all the time he’d known him, he had never bowed to anyone, never shown weakness. That fact had always comforted him. So, he assumed Anaxa was fine.

He simply took Anaxa’s hand and led him away without a word, a smile still plastered on his face.

"Anaxa, I... I want to know if something happened." It was a simple desire.

But for someone who’s bad at expressing his feelings, that was like an impossible wish.

"There’s nothing to worry about."

"..." He stayed calm. "No, seriously. I want to be your support. Please, tell me."

But this is so hard. So, so hard. Why won’t he say anything? Why? He always builds a wall whenever something happens. It’s always Cyrene who knows more about what’s going on with Anaxa than he does.

"...I’m supposed to be your lover, right?"

They both stopped walking. Phainon raised a hand to his face, wanting to cry but unable to do so. Anaxa stared at him blankly. The grip on Anaxa’s wrist gradually tightened, but he didn’t seem to care.

"Are you doubting my decision? Yes, you are."

"Then tell me—so I can help you."

Anaxa's breath hitched. "Don’t interrupt me, Phainon—I’ll tell you.” He sighs. “If I told you about something that may make you feel like I'm a burden, then I prefer not to say them at all.”

"You aren’t one!" Phainon snapped. "I’ve told you a million times—I want you to understand that." His voice cracked. He hadn’t meant to raise it, but the pain was too much to bear—he wanted to run away from this moment.

The rustling sound of the bag in his hand reminded him of why he came here in the first place: to give him a gift. Something small, perhaps even funny to others—but for Anaxa, it was his safe place. He wanted it to stay with him all the time.

“Heh, so yelling at me? You're certainly very high on yourself.”

“That’s not… Sorry.” He tries to grab Anaxa’s hand, but he doesn’t dare to do it.

Anaxa saw that and grabbed his hand, intertwining them. “Hm, that’s all?”

“...” His eyes glazed over—he was so good for someone like him. “No, I want… If you let me, please, let me go to your house.”

There was a moment of silence, and Phainon was about to cry.

“Fine, I’ll walk you.” Anaxa caressed his cheek, smiling at him.

His face flushed light pink. He wanted to kiss him, but he knew this wasn’t the moment for that.

Phainon wanted to ask, "Can you rely on me?" But just imagining Anaxa rejecting him made his chest ache. He wanted to be with him—Anaxa was the first person he’d ever loved like this. If there was something Anaxa didn’t like about him, he’d change it.

But that was the last thing Anaxa would ever want—because what he wanted most was for Phainon to stay true to himself.

When they entered the room, Phainon dropped the bag on the nearest table and looked at Anaxa with puppy-dog eyes. He gently tugged his hand, bringing them closer.

"Professor... can I kiss you?" The thirst in his voice was faint, but Anaxa noticed it.

"Don’t call me that when you’re about to kiss me..." He ran his fingers through Phainon’s hair, combing it softly as he brought their lips closer.

"You’re right, haha." A chuckle. It seemed like everything was okay.

Or maybe not. Anaxa wasn’t exactly sure.

Phainon looked at him with a blank expression—as if caught between hesitation and longing. And then, he kissed him.

At first, it was, as always, a chaste kiss; it was gentle with no more in advance. But he placed his hand on Anaxa's waist, drawing him to his body.

"Professor..." A thread of saliva formed on their lips, breaking shortly after. "You're so small." His hot breath made it difficult to process what he was saying.

“Hey–” A lick, “Phainon–” another kiss, “Wait–” he was devouring him, his tongue pushing deep, and that was new. Their kisses were always soft, more like virgin kisses than lover kisses, but this? Phainon was being rough; it seemed as if he had been holding back for a long time.

“Listen to me—" Anaxa was out of breath, "Enough!" and pushed him; it was too much for him.

Phainon looked at him, his free hand roaming Anaxa's face. "Sorry?" He lifts him, carrying him to his bedroom, or well, what he thinks is the bedroom.

“It’s..here?”

Anaxa turns around, with a stubborn expression, and doesn't say anything, placing his head on Phainon’s shoulders. “Hn.”

The mood was tense, and both knew that, even so, Phainon didn't stop his calm demeanor and scoffs. Now in the bedroom, he kisses Anaxa’s cheeks and lips.

Anaxa was dumbfounded. What's this?

"Professor… would you let me touch you?"

He walked over to the bed, gently laying Anaxa down while he remained standing beside him, looking down.

The look on Phainon's face stirred that same carnal desire in him. Well, as they say, there's a first time for everything. "Yeah."

"Hn… Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything more than touch you." He smiled, slipping his hand beneath Anaxa’s clothes and slowly lifting them.

His fingers were cold, making Anaxa gasp. He was supposed to be warm, right? But it felt good. Phainon was touching him—something that should have felt wrong, but instead, it made his body burn hotter.

"It’s cold…" It came out as a moan, even though he meant to whisper it. That alone made Anaxa feel even more embarrassed.

Phainon undressed him further, leaving only his boxers. That alone drove him a bit insane. His vulnerable state… Well, he should cut that thought short.

"Ah, I’ll make you feel warm." His voice dripped with desire.

Phainon undressed as well, not missing the way Anaxa stared. He took Anaxa’s hand and placed it on his abdomen. "You… like it?"

Anaxa hesitated, then began to trace his fingers from Phainon’s chest down to his abs—never daring to go lower. 

He was genuinely amazed. He knew Phainon had been training since childhood, but the time he’d spent in Castrum Kremnos seemed to have taken it to another level.

Then, Phainon pushed him gently up toward the head of the bed, moving to place his face between Anaxa’s thighs.

"Don’t worry." That’s what he said—but this position? It was definitely something to worry about!

Suddenly, a slick sensation traced up from his navel to his chest. When Anaxa looked down, he saw Phainon licking him, both hands gripping his waist.

"Uh, what are you doing…?"

"I’m measuring you. I told you, you’re small." He really said that. "See? Your waist is almost the size of my hands. It’s—"

A gulp followed, not going unnoticed.

Phainon has a hard time holding back, but he doesn’t dare to cross the trust barrier Anaxa has put up. So… he simply licks and touches him—though his thoughts go further, sometimes wandering, his hands pressing harder than they should.

In the end, he calms himself with a cold shower. He just wants to clear his mind.

Treasure him, treasure him… how do I do that?

***

As the years passed, seeing each other became more difficult.

Cyrene and Phainon were called to join the Twelve Heroes, chosen to bear the Coreflames of Time and Creation, respectively. Anaxa was also called—but the other two took care of that. They knew he wouldn’t accept the role, not unless he had a good reason.

Neither Phainon nor Cyrene ever understood the true purpose of Anaxa’s visit to the Grove, but they supported him regardless.

What was meant to be a visit turned into a stay, and within just a few years, Anaxa had founded his own school there—never daring to explain why.

Now, in his study, only memories remain: his guilt and his love. The past and present collide within him, his history and future decisions interwoven. How people see him doesn’t matter—but to the few still by his side… maybe it does.

In the wheat field, a young man came running toward him, his blue eyes shining as he looked up, his hair tousled by the wind. The brilliance of youth overwhelmed him for a moment; seeing him like that filled him with a quiet loneliness—until the boy opened his mouth and called out to him.

“Anaxa, I have something to tell you…” His voice was shy, his hand sliding forward to grab his sleeve.

Phainon looked at him. His expression was determined, his grip firm, not letting him go. 

The breeze was warm, making his cheeks flush slightly. Back then, Anaxa was still as tall as Phainon—it hadn’t been that long since he’d arrived at Aedes Elysiae.

A moment of awkward silence stretched between them. The boy was clearly determined but too shy to speak—until the other finally broke it.

“Sure, what is it?”

Phainon looked at him with shyness, but still, he said: “I–I like you. So please… even if you don’t like me that way, would you go out with me?” His heart was pounding so hard it hurt. His hand trembled, and despite his resolve, the anxiety didn't go away.

The silence was killing him. “Please…?” His voice cracked, and he looked ready to cry.

Meanwhile, Anaxa didn’t know how to respond. It hadn’t even been half a year since he arrived. He and Cyrene had helped him recover, and he’d grown attached to both of them—but a romantic relationship? Was this a joke?

“...Uh– Sure, why not?” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

He wanted to take them back, but then he saw the boy’s expression—that look of pure love—and deep down, he didn’t want to ruin it. Even if it was selfish, he wanted that face to be just for him.

…

“Even if this relationship didn’t start from mutual love… I want you to fall in love with me. Is that bad?” Winter had come, and with it, the coldness in his heart began to melt. What irony.

In this small village, it never snows. But the children, having only heard of snow, waited for it with great anticipation—until Anaxa, in his usual cold tone, told them it wasn’t going to snow. The children cried and ran to Cyrene or Phainon to complain, but Anaxa didn’t care much. To him, snow wasn’t beautiful—it only brought cold and hunger.

Now, the two of them were hugging—or rather, Phainon was hugging Anaxa from behind, his long arms wrapping around his body. His warmth alone was enough to make Anaxa doze off in his arms.

“Anaxa, can you say that you love me?” It was something Phainon always asked. At first, he begged. Then, when no answer came, he started asking just for fun.

But after all this time, being loved and cared for, Anaxa had come to understand his feelings. He loved Phainon. He was just scared to say it.

“...” Phainon waited for an answer that wouldn’t come. Yet he waited. “...It’s fine—”

Anaxa turned his face to look at him, his one eye gleaming with a tenderness that was hard to ignore.

Then, slowly, he parted his lips.

“Phainon, I…”

“I̠̪͕ͧ̔ͤ̎ͦ ļ̡͍̬̪̙̲͖̩̱̘̣͔̘̺̱̗̺͐ͮ́ͬ́̓̀́͋̒̍̐͛͗͘͜͢͢͝͞͡ͅͅọ͚̜̩̠̙͕̌̅̓͋ͯͭͫ̇̂̀̽ͨ̆͌̅͑̎ͫ͞͞͡v̵̡̞͕͍͎̰̮̲̦̰̰͔͉͑̍ͤ͐̑ͤͩͨ̽̇͛ͫ͑̌̒̽̍͂̚͝͠ͅͅḛ̺́͑̉̾̄ͩͫͦ͆͊ͯͣ̕͡͞ͅ_̴̢̪̭͈͙̝̳̓̈̌̋͆ͨͨͩ̅͐̈́̈̔̚͜͢͞͞ y̸̢̞̜̹͇͖͉͉̙͖͔̞̙ͧͤ̂̆̒ͫ̓̇̌̎͗ͭ͛ͣǫ̶̨̛͍͉͍̞̘͈̣͙̗̥̖͓̪͓͖͒̊̓ͬ̇̌̅̌̎ͤͫ̔̀̈́̍͐͆̾͝͡͠u”

"You know, this is supposed to be under my control. So, I expect changes from you, Lord Anaxagoras."

His eye snapped open, cold sweat running down his body as he woke up.

Was that... a dream?

He looked down at the blood trickling from his hand and couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.

“Are you crazy!? Sir—no, Empedocles, why are you taking this man!?”

Memories he didn’t want to remember began to surface—ignorant voices echoing in his mind, speaking as if they were in the right when they clearly weren’t.

He’d been conducting experiments just moments ago.

Had he passed out? It seemed so.

Anaxa raised a hand to his right eye, where the bandage had been removed, and with a laugh, pressed a few fingers into it—just to see if he’d faint again.

“What are you doing!? You—blasphemer!!”

But nothing happened. Only more blood spilled.

It hurt, it really hurt. Even if he didn't care what happened to this body, it still hurt.

He sat up, blood still dripping. He licked a trace of it from his lips, a grin curling before a sudden laugh tore out of him. Grabbing his notebook with trembling hands, he began to write again.

Lygus’s words still echoed in his head, the same words that had haunted him for years.

As if the world itself were mocking him, he knew he would do anything—sacrifice anything—to prove his theory. And perhaps that, more than the wounds, more than the blood, was the cruelest part.

“So what? Even if you planned this, the truth is in the palm of my hand. This is just the beginning, Lycurgus.”

***

When the black tide worsened, many people began migrating to Okhema. The looks on their faces—tired, hollow, and heavy with despair—made Phainon and Cyrene worry about their own home, Aedes Elysiae. It was no longer just distant news or abstract fear; the weight of the disaster had faces, names, and voices, and it was getting closer.

Phainon headed to the Grove, hoping Anaxa might know what to do—whether he should return or not. Though deep down, he already knew the answer.

“Uh…”

There was a sign saying: Do not enter.

“But then, how do I call him…” He sighs.

He stood awkwardly in front of the door, while some students looked at him—laughing. They whispered about how someone dared to stand before the door of Anaxagoras: the Great Performer, the Foolish, and so on.

Huh? What are they talking about?

Phainon looked at their ways; he didn’t know anything that happened inside the Grove—Anaxa never told him. He was sure Anaxa would tell him if he cared about it, but it seems he didn’t care.

That’s so Anaxa…huh.

The whispers made him uncomfortable—so much so that he considered leaving. But he wasn’t here for rumors; he came because he needed to talk about something serious. Still, it saddened him to hear everyone speak that way about his partner. It was something he hadn’t experienced before.

“...Maybe I should come tomorrow.”

Just as he was about to turn around and leave, the door opened—and there stood Anaxa, his face lit up with excitement. More excitement than he ever showed with him.

“Oh, just in time. Come here, Phainon.” He took his sleeve and pulled him.

Not only did his insecurities disappear, but also the reason why he came here in the first place. The moment he stepped inside, his mind went blank. The room was a mess—papers scattered everywhere, as if someone had been desperately searching for something or trying to erase every trace of a thought.

Anaxa pulled him to the bed, moving the things so Phainon could sit. He was smiling like crazy, sometimes a laugh escaping from his lips.

“Phainon, accompany me to the Luminary Throne; there is the coreflame of Reason.”

“Yeah—I mean, what.” He was shocked. “Why do you want to go there!?”

“Tch.” He pinched his cheeks. “Just follow me. After that, I’ll listen to you.”

He gave him a gentle kiss on the lips, then pulled him along—this time to lead him outside. Their hands remained intertwined, and Phainon, lightly flushed, couldn’t ignore the gazes around them.

We weren’t even a minute in his room.

He had many questions. First of all, it seemed like Anaxa was growing crazier with each passing year. Second, while he knew Anaxa was interested in things like divinity and everything that revolved around it—why did he want to go there?

The grasp of Anaxa’s hand made him glance at his arm; though it was covered, he could still see the marks from his experiments—and every time he came here, they seemed to multiply.

“Your body…If I checked him, would you mind?” 

The mint-haired man looked at him while walking. “Are you interested in my body?” He chuckles. “Are you finally going to make a move?”

“... That’s not what I meant.”

"I know. You’re worried." He gently rubbed Phainon’s hand.

“You didn’t tell me about your reputation. I was shocked.” His voice broke; everything was piling up.

“I thought you already heard about it, about Anaxagoras of the Nousporist, The Blasphemer.” The voice that reached Phainon was soft, like a cloud folding around him. And yet, that same name—Anaxa—was passed around in whispers laced with judgment. He couldn’t make sense of it.

“No one told me, even Cyrene, who probably heard about it.”

“They won’t tell you because of our relationship.” He mocks. “Perhaps they figured it out because of how not discreet you are about us.” 

Just when Phainon was about to complain, they reached the Luminary Throne. Silence bloomed with the blue flowers beneath their feet, and in the center, the wooden base cradled the throne—quiet, eternal, like a secret whispered by the world itself.

“Heh, it’s here.” His hand slipped from Phainon’s grip.

Phainon, instead, looked at his hand, which now had nothing to grab and protect.

“Anaxa, why are we here?”

“You don’t see? The coreflame of Reason it’s here.”

“…I don’t see it.” He looked everywhere, but couldn't see the coreflame.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I just brought you here because I wanted to talk about something with you.” His voice became more serious. "Last year, I was conducting some research on my own, and I’ve developed a few hypotheses regarding my field.” Anaxa looked at him, his lips in a rare smile. "While it’s true that I received some help from outside sources, I prefer not to admit how much it influenced my final decision."

"Still, I’m convinced that merging with Cerces will bring me closer to achieving my ultimate goal."

Phainon wanted to ask, but in the end, he only nodded. Why Anaxa changed his mind, or why he was telling him this and no one else—it was better not to know.

“Are…you going to do it in secret?”

“If that were possible, I would have done it years ago.”

Then, how will you do it?

He has a feeling that if he asks, he won't like the answer.

"If one day you can't find me, look here. I might be doing some crazy experiment with Cerces." The look on his face was so lonesome—like he had something planned but still hesitated to say it.

Maybe it was the fear that, if Phainon knew, he would try to stop him.

But no… it wasn’t that. It was the fear of admitting that he would leave him behind—that, in the end, he might break the one promise that mattered most.

“That’s crazy, but it’s like you.” 

If Anaxa merges with Cerces and retrieves the coreflame of Reason, he won’t see him again. He knows that—he just doesn’t like it.

Perhaps he can delay that moment, just before the Era Nova.

They changed subjects and began wandering around the place, letting the conversation drift into lighter things. The tension from earlier faded into something quieter. Phainon reached for Anaxa’s hand and kissed him on the cheek. Anaxa, caught off guard, turned slightly red but didn’t comment on it—only muttered a few playful complaints, pretending to be annoyed while clearly enjoying the moment.

The moment they reached Anaxa’s room, Phainon slipped his fingers into his sleeves, fidgeting. When Anaxa turned to look at him, he sighed softly—then began taking off his clothes, one piece at a time, making Phainon visibly flustered.

“Why are you making this so…hard?”

“How weak, Phainon. You wanted this, endure it.” The curve of his lips lifted into a mocking laugh.

"Yeah, but I’m worried, not turned on!" He covers his eyes with his hands.

Anaxa held his hand and guided it to his body, letting him feel every trace that time and obsession had left behind. As Phainon’s fingers moved slowly, they followed the curves of old enchantments etched into skin, faint scars that hadn’t fully healed, patches of hardened flesh, and even fragments of words—notes, formulas, or memories—that Anaxa had written on himself when he had no other place to put them.

“See? It’s not that bad.” His smile meant to make Phainon feel better, but…this was so insane.

“I don’t know if coming here was a good idea for your body.” He touches his cheek, rubbing it. “I wanted to treasure all of you, but it seems you don’t care that much.” A small chuckle escaped from his lips, and his eyes were a bit red.

“Hm, are you disappointed?”

“No, I know you’re like this since we were in Aedes Elysiae. That doesn’t make me less worried, though.”

A hand patted his head, like an owner petting a loyal dog. It wasn’t demeaning—quite the opposite. There was comfort in the gesture, a strange tenderness that made Phainon lower his gaze for a second. When he looked up, a red eye was staring back at him with quiet warmth; it was a look of love, fierce and undoubting, the kind that sees everything and still stays.

He didn’t understand why something so small could make his chest ache. Maybe it was because Anaxa always showed affection in strange, unspoken ways.

“Anaxa, I’m planning to go home.” He pushes him, bringing him closer, making Anaxa sit on his legs.

“I…” He wanted to ask if he wanted to come with them. "I'll go tomorrow with Cyrene. I know you're busy, so I’ll keep it brief.”

But, in the end, he didn’t say any of that.

“Don’t worry, take your time.” Anaxa took the face of Phainon, kissing him. “I’ll be waiting.”

Even though Phainon wanted to stay skin-to-skin with him, that wasn’t going to happen—not now, not when Anaxa pulled out his Droma pajamas with a serious face, as if declaring he was about to show off his most prized possession.

“...Uhm, are you seriously going to put that on?” He tried to be polite, but he couldn’t!!

“Hm? You are questioning my sense of fashion?”

“You don’t have to repeat that!!” he cried.

Anaxa smirks and tugs at Phainon's collar. "You'll be changing into one of these, too."

To Phainon’s surprise—and growing embarrassment—Anaxa had another one of those pajamas. He was all smiles now, softer than usual, as if the view itself had somehow won his heart. And Phainon? He had just lost…to a dromas pajama.

Still, seeing that excited, happy face meant everything to Phainon. He didn't want to annoy him any more than necessary.

Phainon pulled Anaxa into a warm, tight hug. He loved how his face flushed slightly at the touch, how his smiles always carried that hint of mockery—as if he were degrading someone. Not that he liked it, of course. Not even when they were like this, so close he could feel every part of the one he loved.

The next morning was chaotic. People stared—some because they had never seen Phainon before, others because Anaxa seemed less strict than usual, letting go of the formalities he always enforced with everyone else. Whispers carried these observations in hushed, curious tones.

When Phainon was about to leave, curious eyes followed them, expectant, as if the air itself was holding its breath—and then it happened. The Sage of the Nousporist was kissed. Gasps rippled through the crowd; perhaps their reaction was a touch excessive, but who could possibly ignore that?

Anaxa was left speechless, frozen before the crowd’s stares. Phainon, running out of time, simply offered a quick apology—and then ran off, leaving him there in stunned silence.

Huh, that was unexpected. He really wanted to do that.

Some of his students watched him with curious eyes, no doubt still thinking about what had just happened in front of everyone. He gave them no explanation, not even a glance. He was more worried about other things.

Still, perhaps it was worth indulging in a little fun—after all, once this was over, there would be no other day like this.

He stepped into his room, the air heavy as if reflecting his heart, and pulled out two papers—two letters written days ago, their edges already creased from his hesitation. He wasn’t sure whether to hand them over… or simply keep them hidden.

Why even do it? Yes, Phainon was his lover and Cyrene his friend, but… was that enough? Was it worth shattering the fragile balance they had? In the end, he was still a liar, unable to speak his deepest thoughts aloud. Even after all these years, he hadn’t changed.

“...” He turned to the window. The sunlight struck him, blinding his eye for a heartbeat. What had once been veiled from him—buried deep, forbidden—was now within reach, and he wouldn’t let that opportunity pass.

“Phainon…” he murmured, his voice cracking under the weight of his thoughts. “I don’t want to die.”

He was ready to sacrifice everything for that knowledge—for the proof he had chased for so long. But to give him up…that was something he could never do. And perhaps, in the quiet corners of his heart, he already knew—that was the very flaw that would break him.

***

Phainon ran and ran until he reached the port, where Cyrene was already waiting for him. She greeted him with a quiet smile, her blade resting in her hand. 

The sun was sinking into the sea, and dusk crept over the water; between them, silence stretched, while the red in the sky—and in their eyes—slowly faded away.

“You had a good sleep?~”

“Yeah, he was so cute—wait, I won’t say this to you.” He shuts himself.

“Come on, Phainon!” She slaps his back.

Someone had come to deliver the sword to Phainon. Soon after, the boat arrived—small, just as they’d known it would be. No one complained; what was the point when they had expected this from the start? Aedes Elysiae was a small village in a corner of the world; the fact that they were given a small boat was enough.

Outwardly, they appeared calm. Yet with every mile closing in on the black tide, a heaviness settled over Phainon. His jaw locked, his grip on the sword grew unyielding. It wasn’t just the tide he feared—it was what awaited him on the shore he once called home.

Cyrene’s gaze lingered on him, worry etched into every line of her face. When she spoke his name, her voice trembled—soft, fragile—as if afraid it might shatter in the air.

“Don’t worry, Phainon, they’ll be fine.”

Those words of comfort did nothing to still the storm inside him. They both knew how merciless the black tide could be; they had faced it before, crossing seas to other polis to drive it back. He hadn’t forgotten the weight of the trust placed upon him—the coreflame of World-bearing burning in his hands. Even then, uncertainty gnawed at him. He had only wanted to be a hero for his home…

A loud tap against the hull made him snap back to the present—they had arrived. The coldness in the air was sharper here, carrying with it the scent of salt and something faintly metallic, as if the sea itself bled. It made his heart ache in a way he couldn’t name. He helped Cyrene to her feet, and together they stepped out of the boat. 

They separated without another word, each taking a different path, driven by the same desperate purpose—to find their family, the friends who had shaped their lives here, and the fragile remnants of their childish innocence. The streets they once ran through without fear now felt foreign, heavy with silence, as if the memories themselves were holding their breath.

“█ ██ ████Pha█ █Phainon███ █.” A childish voice made him freeze.

He didn’t want to move, yet his body betrayed him, pulled forward by something far deeper than reason. Deep down, he knew—he had to know—that this was only an illusion, a cruel trick. But then he heard it: the voice of that child, clear and familiar, and it made his chest tighten until it hurt. It was his friend, the one who used to run barefoot through the fields with him, who once laughed under the summer sun. How could she be bad? How could the world ask him to raise his sword against her?

“Oh, Livia…” He wanted to see that little girl smiling at him, asking him to play with her.

His smile cracked, splintering under the weight of the truth. He had wished—begged—for this to be nothing more than a bad feeling, a passing fear.

But the moment he saw her, his eyes stung and blurred with tears, his face locked in a smile that trembled and broke all at once.

The figure before him was no longer the girl he remembered—it wasn’t even human anymore. Twisted and misshapen, she only wore the echo of a child’s voice, each sound painfully warped into something cruel.

A pained laugh and a desperate cry for help echoed in the emptiness, swallowed by the silence of a place forsaken by all. Around him, the abominations that had once been his people closed in—faces he had known, voices that still carried fragments of memories. 

He couldn’t move.

How was he supposed to kill them? These were the ones he had sworn to protect, the very reason he had ever dreamed of becoming a hero.

He felt the coldness of their bodies—no longer the friends who smuggled him out of Anaxa’s lessons, no longer the playmates who filled his days with laughter, no longer the kind hands that placed food before him. Now, they were nothing but empty shells, stripped of the warmth that once made them human.

They were no longer humans.

And that realisation tore the scream from his throat—a raw, broken sound. He begged for help, for anything to numb the agony clawing at his chest. Anaxa’s words echoed in his mind, but they were nothing now, fragile and useless against the sight before him. Just looking at his friends like this carved something new and cruel into his soul—a thought he wished he could unthink.

That, perhaps, he, as the Deliverer, had to go through this to make up his mind.

Cyrene ran toward him, her eyes red and raw, as if she had crossed a line she could never return from. Her blade dripped crimson, each drop echoing in his mind, and her shoes left dark, wet prints on the ground—silent confessions of what she had done.

“Phainon… I can’t…” Her lips trembled, each word breaking under its own weight. 

“Why does this have to be so…cruel?” 

He didn’t have the luxury of hesitation; the weight of his duty had already chained him to this path. He had never asked to be a savior, yet the screams, the silence, and the ruin around him left no space for choice. Even if it killed him, he had to fulfill his role as the Deliverer.

My people… I—I’m sorry.

***

On a sunny day, two people were hanging out by a quiet riverside café. The warm breeze carried the scent of freshly baked bread from inside, while faint chatter from other tables blended with the soft splash of water against the dock. One of them sat at a small wooden table, idly tracing patterns on the rim of his cup while watching the sunlight dance on the surface of the river. The other was at the counter, buying one cup of tea and one coffee, her voice briefly mingling with the barista’s friendly tone before she returned.

A pink-haired girl sat in front of him, her posture calm but her eyes carrying an unreadable weight. Anaxa looked at her, his face clearly full of questions—questions that tangled in his throat, afraid of the answers they might summon. The faint light from the window framed her hair in a soft glow, almost too serene for the heaviness that lingered between them.

“Here, your coffee.” 

Cyrene placed the cup in front of him, the soft clink against the table sounding far louder in the quiet air. The black liquid rippled faintly, catching the light and reflecting his face back at him—lonely, fragmented, as if the surface itself knew his heart was somewhere else.

“Thanks, Cyrene.” He grabbed the cup and blew gently, the steam making him lower his gaze for a few seconds.

“You know.” She mumbles. “Years ago, you told me that I knew what was happening, and in reality, it was just a suspicion on my part.”

“I didn’t know that it would end like this…” She wore the expression of someone who had just lost her home.

The past few weeks had been hard for her. Phainon wasn’t the same since they returned from Aedes Elysiae—and God, if he were the same, it would be terrible. He had once been a sweet boy with a fragile conviction, but since that day, a new resolve burned within him, fierce and unyielding.

Yet that was only what the world could see. 

“I think I’m unable to help him this time.” He takes a sip of coffee.

“What can I do when he has already become loyal to the Flame-Chase journey?”

“Nax, are you serious?” She looked at him with a slightly shocked face.

“I supported him when he first started all this because he seemed to have a real conviction. Now he doesn't have that... And this is a path he has to walk without me.” A faint smile crossed his face, not born of joy, but of a deep, genuine regret.

“…Huh? What are you going to do?” Her eyes searched his face, and the answer she feared was written all over it. She bit her lip.

“Don’t tell me you—”

“Please, don’t tell this to him, I’ll do it.” 

But that was a lie. If he told him, he would be unable to continue.

“I can’t do that… He’s so afraid of losing someone else. If you do it—”

The bitter scent of coffee reached her before she saw him. Anaxa was taking another unhurried sip, his expression calm, almost serene. She understood his philosophy—he had long accepted the idea of dying—but when it came to Phainon, that composure faltered. 

It was the pursuit of knowledge that made him so compelling, the embodiment of erudition itself, yet beneath it lay a fragile weakness she couldn’t ignore.

“Cyrene, let me tell you something.” He tapped a finger beneath his eye.

“Let’s say I wanted to see my sister one last time. Even if it were just for a fleeting moment, I’d give this eye without hesitation.”

The café’s murmur lingered for only a breath longer before fading, swallowed by silence. 

“When I say I wish to prove my theory, I don’t speak of ambition. It’s not the satisfaction of being right that drives me—it’s the quiet certainty that, once revealed, the truth will no longer belong to me alone, but to all the people in this world.”

“I would trade the years still ahead of me for that certainty. My joys are already stored in memory, untouched by the decay of flesh. If my life must become the foundation for something greater, then so be it.”

“On this path of loss, I have not yet lost enough to walk beside you. That is why I will give my body as a vessel for reason, and let my soul be the only thing of me that remains in this world.”

All that remained was the echo of his own words, now circling within him.

“Hey, Lygus, are you satisfied now? I’m following the path you made for me.”

On the path to the truth, Anaxa knew Phainon would come for him. The Grove was shattered—the black tide had breached its heart, spilling monsters into every shadow. The air itself carried the scent of decay, and every moment lost was another root torn from the earth.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m going to submit to you.”

Even as he steeled himself for battle, he couldn't shake the awareness of his frailty. The enemy surged in overwhelming numbers, yet the Luminary Throne remained his singular focus—an unwavering beacon.

Amid the chaos, students were trapped inside, panic etched across their faces as the world outside shattered into discord. He bravely aided their escape, navigating the tumultuous environment while destruction reigned beyond the walls. Yet, none of it mattered; this body, weary and worn, was ultimately fated to meet its end, sooner or later.

“Phainon…”

His body was covered in wounds, golden blood seeping from countless gashes, yet he pushed forward, step after step, until the throne was finally before him. But the strength that had carried him so far abandoned him. Just a few paces from his goal, his legs gave way, and he collapsed before it—the coreflame of reason burning, untouchable, within arm’s reach.

“Ha…”

His fingers snapped under the strain as he clawed his way across the floor, leaving a glistening trail behind him. Each movement was slower than the last, yet he forced his body onward until the cold stone of the throne met his back. With what breath remained, he exhaled one final time—quietly, as if surrendering himself to the silence.

The silhouette of a person emerged before him, blurred against the haze of his fading vision. 

“You’re late…”

“Cerces.”

***

Phainon had heard from Cyrene that Anaxa was heading to the Grove. Why, he didn’t know. What he did know was that such a journey was nothing short of a death sentence—and he would not stand by and watch him die.

He couldn’t silence those thoughts—Anaxa, walking into the Grove, into certain death. The image gnawed at him as he cut his way through the swarm, each swing of his blade fueled by dread and defiance. The monsters kept coming, their claws scraping his armor, but he pushed forward, stopping only long enough to catch his breath before striking again.

When he asked Cyrene, she gave him nothing—no reason, no explanation. Why had Anaxa gone? Why was there only a note, neatly folded, listing his final wishes, waiting at a grave that should not exist yet? Why did it feel like a farewell written long before the decision was made? Why. Why. WHY.

He doesn't know anything, again.

Again.

And he wanted to trust him—God, he did. Every moment they had shared was carved into him like marks that would never fade: the touches that lingered, the kisses that stole his breath, the whispers meant only for him, the warmth that wrapped around his lonely nights… even the tears they had shed together.

So when he saw that trail of golden blood, his mind went blank. 

One step, then another—hesitant at first, but each heartbeat pushed him faster, until his walk became a desperate run that nothing could stop.

“...Ah—AH!”

His breath came in ragged bursts, the air thick and sour in his throat. No tears would come—only the crushing weight in his chest as he knelt beside him. He didn’t want to see Anaxa like this, yet his eyes refused to turn away. The scars split open like slow smiles, the skin peeling in thin, trembling strips beneath his touch, warm with that damned golden blood. 

He reached out, fingers brushing the ruin of a cheek he once kissed, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the world had stopped breathing with him.

“Anaxa… ah—” He brought his face closer, his lips brushing his forehead. “My love…”

Very carefully, he gathered Anaxa into his arms, feeling the weight of him—too light, too fragile. His breath was shallow, a trembling rhythm against Phainon’s chest, but it was there. That was enough. Enough to keep moving. Enough to believe, if only for a little longer, that he could carry him back to safety.

“Why didn’t you tell me…? Were you scared?” His voice trembled, barely louder than a whisper. He shook his head slowly, as if trying to erase the question itself. 

“No… It doesn’t matter, I’m here now. I’m not letting you go, Anaxa.”

His words sank into the silence between them, a silence so heavy it felt alive. And then, breaking through it, came a warmth against Anaxa’s cheek—gentle, almost fragile—moving as though he were nothing more than a broken doll, something to be handled with unbearable care. For a moment, he couldn’t tell if it was real or just another illusion of his fading mind, but the touch carried a weight of familiarity—an affection too deliberate, too human, to belong to a dream.

He wanted to open his eyes, but a delicate voice reverberated inside him. It was Phainon—of course it was him. And yet, beneath the familiarity of his tone, there was something foreign, a faint distance that made the sound feel almost oblivious.

“Cyrene! Stop, really—I know how to take care of him, seriously.” 

“I’m not saying you don’t! But…” She looked at Anaxa and couldn't help but bite her lip—it was unbearable to witness him like that.

“Phainon!”

Before she could say anything else, Phainon lifted Anaxagoras from the bed where he had been resting—an act of selfishness Cyrene couldn’t prevent.

“I won’t let Anaxa walk to his death again, but I need to keep an eye on him all the time.” His eyes stared at Anaxa's lips. “Would he hate it?”

Cyrene didn’t say a word; she knew Anaxa would hate it, but Phainon’s face… the desperation written in it made her falter. She couldn’t bear to lose anyone else; living like this was already too painful.

“You know he would.”

“...Hm, you’re right. But that only means he’ll be staying with me until I learn, doesn’t it?”

“You can’t do that, Phainon. We need to save this world, right?” Her voice cracked at the end.

“But what’s this world without the people I love? If he isn’t here, and you also die, then what about me? Will I still be able to love this world?”

What was his wish? Nothing grand, nothing worthy of legend—just a small, fragile longing. 

He only wanted to return home.

Cyrene could only watch as they disappeared down the corridor. His footsteps grew further away with every second, his grip growing stronger with every step, and his sincere actions turning into obsessions with every kiss he gave him.

Her words never reached him—just a faint whisper of a farewell. And as Phainon carried him away, it was as if Anaxa’s body weighed less with every heartbeat that failed to return.

Time passed slowly for only one of them—perhaps because his body lay hollow, kept alive only by the Coreflame of Reason.

There was no warmth left in his body, not even a heartbeat. Perhaps only the memories of his students remained. Was that the truth he had sought?

“Why aren’t you waking up?” 

A man lay above him, kissing his lips—it was Phainon. He kissed with care, as if afraid of breaking him, yet in truth, it was only to keep himself from picturing his partner in such a miserable state. He wanted to cry, but held the tears back.

“Anaxa, I’m learning how to take care of you, so…when you wake up, can you praise me?”

In the morning, Phainon would wash his body with warm water. In the afternoon, he cooked and tried to feed him—mostly in vain. And at night, he curled up beside him, whispering about the day that had passed, and about the things they would do once he finally woke.

“I know you’re alive… Don’t you want to see me?” He kissed Anaxa’s knuckles. “I want to touch you while seeing your face…”

But his beloved never woke. For a week, he cared for him—washing, feeding, watching over him—sometimes losing himself and lashing out at his companions, who kept reminding him of his duty.

Cyrene helped him whenever she could. She had changed too—grief had worn down her laughter, and the lightness she once carried had dimmed. Yet, she still played little jokes with him, clumsy and quiet attempts at humor, just so he wouldn’t feel alone.

On the tenth day, Phainon returned to curl up beside Anaxa, who had regained a faint trace of his strength. He lay asleep, fragile yet peaceful, almost like a doll carefully cradled by time. To Phainon’s eyes, he was someone who had fallen victim to others—someone worthy of care and gentleness.

"I wanted to cherish your body because I feel like you don't. You're constantly engaging in dangerous behavior, as if you don't care about yourself. I know that, but I do care! So why do you keep trying to ruin your life? Am I not enough for you? This world has caused us so much pain, but at least we’re still trying to survive. I want you with me, please."

“Please…”

He was sobbing, his shoulders trembling as the weight of his words sank in. His grief filled the quiet room until he heard a sound. It was a monotonous yet steady voice, one that had always grounded him—a voice he loved.

“You talk to much, Phainon.”

“...” When he raised his head, he was taken aback by the sight of Anaxagoras's familiar face hovering just before him. It was a round face framed by tousled hair, with his typical, almost teasing gaze that seemed to hold a secret. 

Surprise rendered him momentarily speechless; the words he wanted to say faded away in the warmth of that unexpected encounter. Yet, instinctively, his hand reached out, brushing softly against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his fingertips.

“Are you…?”

"Why are you so surprised? You said that I wasn't dead, didn't you?"

“Yeah…Yes, I said that. You wanted to see me?” His eyes lit up at the sight of him.

Anaxa gave Phainon a warm smile, his lips curving softly. He leaned in and planted a quick kiss on Phainon's forehead. “Forgive me.”

“It’s alright, even if I don’t know anything.” His smile made Anaxa freeze for the first time. “I know you have secrets. Ignorance is bliss, isn’t it?”

“Phainon—I…”

The white-haired man silenced him with a kiss, desperate and trembling, as if words were no longer enough. His tongue sought to devour him completely, but beneath the hunger lingered a fragile tenderness, the kind that breaks under too much weight. His hands clutched him tightly, pulling him down against his chest as though he were afraid to let go, afraid that if he loosened his grip even for a moment, the man in his arms would slip away forever.

“Please… Don’t leave me.”

Anaxa looked at him, his eyes heavy but calm, and with a faint, almost fragile gesture, wiped Phainon’s tears with the tip of his finger. He didn’t try to speak—words would have shattered the moment—but instead leaned into the warmth pressed against him, accepting the desperate kisses and trembling caresses. 

For a brief instant, there was no prophecy, no pain, no black tide devouring the world—only the fragile closeness of two men who had been broken too many times. Slowly, almost shyly, he gave himself back to Phainon, as if answering the plea hidden in his touch.

But even as he was ready to give himself completely, a quiet shame lingered about his body. Phainon, sensing it, only smiled softly and drew a hand through his hair, letting his touch speak where words could not. Their closeness was enough—for now. 

There would be another time for that.

***

In the morning, a gentle breeze swept over them while sunlight fell on Phainon. Anaxa, already awake, reached out to stroke his hair one last time. He lingered on the youth of the man beside him, tracing his face and body, reluctant to rise—yet in the end, he did.

He looked at himself in the mirror: a slim waist, long legs, a delicate face that once could have belonged to someone untouched by hardship—yet now all of it was marred by wounds and bandages wrapped around his body.

How annoying.

He dressed in his usual outfit, the one Phainon had carefully cleaned and arranged as if to remind him of a tenderness he no longer deserved. Every thread carried his warmth, every fold his silent devotion, and yet he turned away. He wanted nothing more than to remain by his side, but he knew—no matter how much he loved him, no matter how much he tried—his presence would only carve deeper wounds into the man who trusted him. 

And, in the end, the Great Performer left—shattering his own heart to deliver the final act of his life. A performance unseen, unheard, yet one that demanded everything of him, leaving nothing behind but silence.

…

“If you are reading this letter, then I have probably already died. But believe me when I say this: It’s not your fault. The love and kindness I received from you are carved into my very flesh and mind. I carry no regrets—only the sorrow of knowing you might shed tears upon these words, though it was never my intention to cause you pain.

Have you ever wondered about the truth of this world? I chased it my entire life. But when I met you and Cyrene, my resolve faltered. My purpose was once the pursuit of truth, and yet the warmth of your love left me trembling, confused, and alone with my own heart.

Still… I must follow this path. I will do anything to see you again—even if, when that time comes, we no longer remember these years, even if you no longer love me. Forgive me, for I know I’ve hurt you.

Rest well, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.”

[A letter from Anaxa that was never found.]

…

A man walked at a calm, steady pace toward the Vortex of Genesis.

He knew no one was waiting for him—not that it mattered, for he had never cared much for the flame-chase journey that drove so many others forward. To the world, his steps were invisible, his presence unremarked. No one knew he had come.

No one, except for that machine of metal and memory. The Theoros, who had once filled his ears with countless truths and warnings, now turned away, refusing to meet his gaze—as if all those words had been nothing but smoke.

“Am I a joke to you, Lygus?” Anaxa laughs mockingly.

He stepped into the very center, where the light of the Vortex shimmered like a thousand dying stars. He knew what he must do. To surrender the coreflame within him was to surrender all that he was. Yet in that final offering, there was no despair, only the fragile beauty of sacrifice. 

Death would not come as an end, but as a requiem—his last gift to the world.

“Hmph, Cerces, are you having fun? I told you, the truth of this world is just a step away.”

[You will transcend purity then return to corruption and hardship.]

When the god told him his prophecy, he laughed outright. The irony was unbearable—a divine being delivering such an empty, absurd decree. Was this truly the voice of a god, or the ramblings of someone who had long since stopped caring?

“You seemed happy with that boy.”

“Oh, do you think so too? Are you pitying me right now?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to say goodbye? It’s not like you to leave like that.”

A stern voice reached the ears of the Titan. “That’s enough.”

Cerces remained silent, inscrutable. Who could fathom what stirred within a god when confronted with the memories of a mortal laid bare before them?

“Weren’t you ashamed of doing those things in front of me?”

“Why would I? It’s not like you care.” He chuckles.

He stood before the sacred vessel without hesitation. To him, it was not a matter of glory or prophecy—only a resolve to make this world a better place for those who lived in it.

“I, Anaxagoras of the Nousporist, will become the truth of this world.” 

A maniacal laugh tore through the Vortex of Genesis, reverberating against the endless walls of light and shadow. He thrust the coreflame from his chest with trembling hands, blood spilling freely, carving a gaping hole where his heart once burned. Every drop that fell was the price of his defiance, the sacrifice demanded. He had to do this, or he would never return.

Checkmate, Lycurgus.

[███]

[██Er█ror]

[SkeM████720██left█████]

[Progress███des██ction███Neik███]

Chapter Text

What he wanted to do was simple. He knew that what he had done might have been cruel; sending Phainon and Cyrene into hell wasn’t the kindest choice. Yet, in the face of everything, it was the only option left to him—even if that meant going against himself.

If he wanted to defeat Lygus, he had to choose the best option. If he was going to cast those two into hell, then he might as well share their fate. 

The price for walking alongside them had already been paid.

While unconscious, he fell. He thought his body would dissolve into a spirit, yet instead he awoke to find his human form restored. His eyes drifted to his hands, trembling faintly, then downward into the void beneath him.

Around him stretched a strange space where time itself seemed to drag, every second stretching into eternity, every breath echoing louder than it should.

He gazed at the yellow road stretching endlessly ahead, its glow faintly pulsing like veins of light beneath his feet. At the end of the path stood a towering mirror, its surface rippling as if made of liquid glass.

He carefully rose to his feet and began walking toward the mirror. With each step, it seemed closer than it had any right to be, as if the distance were folding in on itself. The echo of his own movements trailed after him, swelling louder and louder, until it felt less like his footsteps and more like something else following close behind.

How strange, there’s no one behind me.

When he finally stood before the mirror, he expected to see his own reflection staring back. Instead, the surface revealed a metallic helm encasing his head, its cold, unyielding contours gleaming faintly. From the center, a single crimson light burned and spread across the glass, casting his face in an eerie glow.

As his fingers brushed against the reflection, the mirror—once fluid—suddenly hardened and shattered into countless fragments. The shards burst outward before his eyes, each one catching his image. Yet in every reflection, he saw himself… only altered, marked by subtle but undeniable differences.

The hollow space left by the shattered mirror pulled him in with an irresistible force. He struggled, but there was no escape—his body couldn’t crawl back, as if the very air around him denied him any path of return.

Heh, this is…bad.

For a long time, the space remained cloaked in darkness; he couldn’t open his eyes, nor could he move. The sensation was alien, as though the boundaries of his body no longer obeyed him. What unsettled him most was not the paralysis, but the slow erosion of the comfort he had clung to before—replaced instead by a torrent of memories, images and sensations he was certain had never belonged to him.

He kept trying to take deep breaths, but the air just wouldn’t reach him. The more he tried, the more desperate he felt, his chest tightening like even breathing was slipping out of his hands.

Until, all at once, his eyes snapped open. The sunlight struck him with such force that he winced, blinking rapidly as his vision struggled to adjust.

“Oh, you woke up. Are you okay?” It was a deep but strangely soft voice, how pleasant, he thought.

“Hnn… Mydeimos? Sorry for the inconvenience...” From his lips escaped a name he didn’t recognize, yet it carried a strange sense of familiarity. He hadn’t even realized he was being carried in the arms of the man beside him.

“Keep sleeping. You fainted while you were pulling out the carrots.” Fingers gently brushed his forehead, pushing his hair to one side. “You should’ve just asked me for help. Now Hyacine is going to scold you again.”

“It’s fine, it was my fault too.”

Mydei sighed, glancing briefly at the man in his arms. “Can you walk on your own? I don’t mind carrying you to your house.”

“There’s just a small problem…” He murmurs.

“Hmm? Do you want to? I don’t mind.” His lips curled into a mocking smile. “You’ve helped me more than anyone except Hyacine. I couldn’t expect less from the crown prince.”

It was strange. He couldn’t remember saying those words, nor did he understand their context. And yet, deep inside, he was certain they were real—all of it. The way this man held him, speaking of people unfamiliar to his mind, but somehow engraved in his body.

“That HKS didn’t help you?”

“He did.” Anaxa leaned his head against Mydei’s arm with a sigh. “But he got distracted, and that woman just took him away.”

A pink-haired girl appeared in front of his eyes. For a brief moment, he thought he saw his former friend, and the feeling gave him a sense of déjà vu. But instead, it was a girl with two pigtails running towards them.

“Professor Anaxa, Lord Mydei! What were you two doing!?” Her tired face softened with worry; the scolding could wait—right now, their well-being was her priority.

“Hyacine, your professor passed out in the farm.” Mydei shifted Anaxa carefully, helping him to stand.

She hurried to his side, her hands gripping his arm. “You got too excited about the carrots—you could’ve waited until tomorrow.” With a soft sigh, she added, “Cassie was supposed to check them today, anyway.”

“Don’t worry, Hyacinthia, I already checked how they’re growing. Those fairies weren’t lying, heh.” His voice trailed off as a low, maniacal laugh slipped from him, growing under his breath.

She ignored him, as always. “Lord Mydei, thank you for helping him. I’m sorry for troubling you.” Her smile was soft, almost angelic, and as always, it drew a quiet smile from him in return.

When they finally reached the nearest establishment, Hyacine gently but firmly ordered Anaxa to rest, her tone leaving no room for protest. She even asked Castorice to stay with him, making sure he wouldn’t try to slip away and overwork himself again.

“Sorry, Cassie.” Her face showed resignation, though her tone was gentle.

“It’s fine. Professor Anaxa is always like this… I’m just glad I could help.”

“You really respect him, don’t you? Please, stay by his side… I don’t want him to become even lonelier than he already is.” Their eyes showed clear concern; they wanted the best for their mentor.

She went to find Mydei, who was busy cooking something for everyone. The warm smell drifting from the pot gave her the courage to ask about what he had been doing with her teacher on the farm.

“To be honest, I was worried.” He took a slow sip of the soup, letting the warmth linger. “His body is fragile, yet he still went out to check the farm under today’s sun. He didn’t notice, but I was watching him from afar.”

“Lord Mydei… Heh, you really like him.” She pinched his cheek playfully. “I bet he didn’t weigh that much.”

“It wasn’t… he felt lighter than I thought, and even his lips—” He stopped abruptly, his face heating up as he realized what he’d just said. Clearing his throat, he added quickly, “I mean, when he passed out, his breathing stopped, so I had to perform CPR.”

Hyacine raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-suspicious. “Uh-huh. CPR, you say.”

“Yeah, Mydeimos, I also want to know what happened.” 

A white-haired man stepped into view as if he had been there all along. His lips curved in an easy smile, the kind that pretended calm, but both of them knew better—there was nothing relaxed about him at all.

“Oh, it’s you.” He smirked, tilting his head ever so slightly. “What, did I get ahead of you?”

A faint vein throbbed on the other man’s forehead. His smile didn’t falter, still calm, still easy—but his voice carried the sharp edge of irritation.

“…You— I didn’t even get to touch his hands!”

Hyacine slipped between the two, her presence quieting the air. With a calm glance at Phainon, she spoke softly but decisively:

“Professor is in the next room with Cassie. You can go see him.”

“Hyacine…!” He raised his hand to his lips, his eyes widening in feigned astonishment.

He hurried into the next room, where Castorice sat quietly with a book in her hands, pausing now and then to gently wipe the sweat from Anaxa’s forehead. The sight made his chest tighten. When Phainon finally laid eyes on his professor, a long breath escaped him. As long as Anaxa was safe, everything else could wait—everything else would be fine.

“Ah…” She stood up, smoothing the fabric of her dress. “I suppose I should be going.”

“No, don’t worry, Castorice. I only wanted to…” His voice trailed off as his gaze shifted from her to the resting figure of Anaxa.

She smiled faintly, tilting her head. “It’s fine. I know how you feel about him… well—more like, everyone knows.”

“... That’s not good.” He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Does that mean Aglaea also knows…?”

“Yes. She definitely knows.” Castorice’s tone carried both certainty and amusement. “That’s one of the reasons she keeps arguing with him.”

That made him a little nervous. Was he really that obvious? He couldn’t help but blush, clearing his throat.

“…I guess I’ve never been good at hiding things.” He tried to laugh it off, though the warmth in his cheeks betrayed him. “He lets other people be closer to him, but when it’s me… I don’t understand why he’s like that, always brushing me off.”

“Lord Phainon… You should know him by now. He’s a lonely person who finds his comfort in knowledge—sometimes in things, sometimes in people. That’s just how he is.”

She didn’t linger any longer, only offering him a slight bow before quietly taking her leave.

He moved to his side, his fingers brushing softly against his cheek as he murmured, "Would you truly rather be with Mydei than with me? Waiting is no fun… Professor.”

Meanwhile, Anaxa heard a faint voice reaching for him. He was so weary that he let it fade away. Maybe it was Phainon, maybe not, but he didn’t care. Whatever the case, he refused to answer. He had no strength left for him.

“Hm, Anaxa…”

“Anaxa…”

“Professor Anaxa”

“For the Titans, Phainon, is Anaxagoras.”

When he opened his eyes, a boy with white hair was there to greet him. His expression carried a hint of confusion, yet his smile never wavered, gentle and welcoming.

“Eh? Titans? I’ve been gone so long you actually lost your mind?”

Anaxa tried to sit up, only to realize he was lying on a table. A strange weight pressed against his neck—headphones. His fingers brushed against them in confusion. He opened his mouth to call for Phainon, but froze when his eyes landed on the man before him. Dressed in a crisp white uniform, with a name tag glinting under the light.

“Sorry… You must have felt lonely, didn’t you?” He leaned down and brushed a kiss against the corner of his mouth—a fleeting touch, more intimate in its restraint than a direct embrace.

“Aglaea and Tribbie were so insistent… I didn’t want to, but I ended up agreeing to model.” He let out a weary sigh. “After two months without seeing you, all I wanted was to come here quickly… If I had known I would meet you, I never would’ve chosen to be a pilot.”

“You always say that, but in the end, you come back after just a month.”

Why am I even saying this?

“Sorry… I’ll do my best—don’t be mad at me, please. We could go visit Hysilens and Lady Cerydra…” His finger trembled, his eyes twitching as doubt clouded him. He wasn’t sure if he should get any closer to Anaxa.

“It’s fine, I visit them often. Honestly, I see them more than I see you.” He scoffed, the sound carrying more bitterness than humor.

“Anaxa, don’t do this, please.”

“Don’t do what? Pretend nothing’s wrong? Pretend I don't see the way you look at me every time you come back? Since she died, you—”

“Don’t… don’t say her name.” His voice broke, almost a whisper. “You know exactly what happened… please, don’t.”

He walked over and sank onto the couch beside Anaxa. His shoulders trembled, fingers tangled in his own hair as sobs escaped him, raw and broken. Anaxa stayed frozen, speechless; his hand hovered uncertainly, trembling at the thought of reaching out, torn between the urge to comfort him and the fear of shattering whatever remained between them.

He couldn’t stand it—so he turned away. Deep down, he knew it was his fault, that those words should never have been spoken. He didn’t even know why he had said it; it just left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Anaxa, you’re right. But even so, don’t leave— you’re the only one that stayed with me after that. Please…”

Was it confusion? Was it habit? Or was it love? There was a time when the three of them were happy. She watched them with joy as their bond grew deeper—until the day she died at the hands of the man she had once called her brother.

Somehow, he escaped prison. To outsiders, the truth was unclear, but to those who knew her, it was painfully obvious. At first, people stood by Phainon, offering support. But little by little, his attitude shifted. He grew quieter, harder to reach. His best friend confronted him, only to be met with a look of cold indifference. His other two friends tried to help, but a handful of sharp words were enough to silence them.

The rest of his circle wasn’t shaken as deeply. They stayed, yes, but never as close as those who had known him in youth. He kept working, even improving in his job, yet something had changed. It was no longer the same Phainon they had once known.

When did it all start to go wrong?

“... I have to go, MEI.”

“Don’t worry… I’ll stay by Kevin’s side. And I’ll make sure he doesn’t stray from the right path.”

The air was warm, the sun dipped low on the horizon, and laughter from the students spilled through the open windows. The curtains swayed gently with the evening breeze, carrying the scent of spring into the classroom. 

A boy sat at his assigned chair, waiting for his friend. Restlessness crept in, and at last boredom claimed him—he folded his arms on the desk, letting his head sink into the quiet rhythm of the fading day.

“Su, are you sleeping?”

“... No.” Slowly, he raised his face, only to find his friend’s eyes already waiting for him. “Is late, where have you been?”

“Actually… I was around like half an hour ago, but after yesterday’s game, a bunch of people came up to me.”

“I see.” He got up from his chair and grabbed his bag. “Well, we should be going now.”

“Are you mad?”

“I’m not.” He sighs. “I was thinking about your wish of being a hero.”

“Are you still thinking about that?” Kevin asked, giving a small, awkward grin. 

“Of course I do, you’re my friend.” The surprise on his face was obvious—like, duh, of course he’d still think about it.

“... I thought you would make fun of me.”

“You didn’t make fun of me when I told you my dream, but if you want then I could do it.”

A hand landed on his shoulder, and when he looked up, his best friend was smiling at him—same as always.

“Su, you’ve been kinda mean to me lately.”

“Do you think so? Um… I just hope you understand what it means to be a hero.” He gave him a quick, soft smile. “And just because MEI told you to, doesn’t mean you have to follow through, alright?”

“Haha, don’t worry. MEI’s not forcing me into anything—it’s my choice. I want to learn from her, and following her feels like the right first step.”

It felt like a distant dream, even to him, watching only as a spectator. The sight was touching—two friends speaking of a hopeful future, unaware that this moment would one day become one of their most treasured memories.

Have you ever heard of parallel lives?

The harsh glow of the facility lights spilled over the white-haired boy and his companion, outlining their weary figures against the sterile walls. Beyond the silence of the room lingered the memory of screams—after the attack, the death toll kept climbing. It was a grim rhythm they knew too well, one they had lived more times than they could count.

The brilliance that once shone in his eyes was gone, replaced by a sepulchral emptiness, as though he were nothing more than the living dead. Not even a single tear would come, not for his companion who had fallen only moments ago.

His partner kept her eyes fixed on the ground as she spoke to him. “... I thought you’ll be the last one to give up this fight.”

“Do you want the truth?”

“I never give up because I never tried. I… never cared about Honkai nor Humanity.”

“I just don’t care.” He remained silent for a few more seconds before continuing to speak.

“I didn’t become a MOTH to save the world. It was for selfish reasons… yet the decision took me all the way here…” His voice was hoarse and a bit melancholic. 

It was the first time she had seen him so vulnerable, so open. The man who carried the last spark of hope for humanity’s survival now looked fragile, exposed—truly human.

“... We’re all the same, Kevin. No one is born a hero. We’re just ordinary people forced upon this path.”

“I thought about home and my dreams…and often questioned why I’m doing something I never asked for.” 

“I have been a follower. I followed the Captain, and now I follow you with MEI in the lead. I thought this was my path.”

“But no one forced me onto this path. It’s my choice. I don’t like it and I can stop or leave at any time… You could have done that, but you didn’t, Kevin. No one has the right to blame you for anything.”

“...but I do and I blame myself…”

The place was in absolute silence until Kevin raised his head.

“I am not giving up, Hua. We will not give up.”

“Humanity shall win.”

The man rose to his feet, gripping the sword that had accompanied him through countless battles in recent years. From below, his shoulders seemed impossibly broad—those of a man burdened with the weight of humanity itself.

And that conviction carried him into the next era, stripped of his humanity, alongside the friend with whom he had once shared innocent laughter—laughter that would never return.

He seemed callous, cold, stripped of all love for humanity—yet it was this very path he chose. He sought to carve his final resort into the dawn of a new era, but when the moment came—when the choice stood between sacrificing everything for his plan by killing his dearest friend, or sealing himself away—he chose the latter.

You who see this, what do you want to know?

Anaxa woke up sweating; all of his blood rushed to his head, and he could only see from one eye. He was hanging upside down, a coarse rope biting into his legs as it kept him bound. The air was damp, carrying the scent of blood, and the faint echo of his breath reached his ears. How much time had passed since he lost consciousness? Hours? Days? He couldn’t tell

“... What was that?” He murmurs. “At the end I couldn’t do anything…”

He could glimpse other lives, other worlds, so different from his own. Was there truly no other choice? In those visions, the Phainon he saw always ended in misery. Surely, there must be worlds where this wasn’t the case—but they were likely realms he could never even dream of reaching.

“Heh, fine. A happy ending is boring.” He glanced at the metallic head before him. “I suppose you’re what he called an Aeon.”

It responded only with a flashing red light.

Anaxa smirked at it. “Heh, so… can you tell me how to make a dromas fly?”

[...]

[Progress: 99,89%]

[Do you want to continue?]

[Yes] [No]

[Iniciating process towards the cycl█ 2██8████]

[█Err██]

“...” The robotic figure smiled as he turned around. “I didn’t expect you to return—you’ve exceeded my expectations.”

"Ha… so now you claim you had expectations of me?” A man emerged from the shadows, the cracks across his body glowing faintly as he raised his pistol, aiming it squarely at Lygus head.

Anaxa’s body was cracked, like that of a broken doll, each fracture revealing a faint glow. Inside him stretched a void that looked like a galaxy—vast and endless. It felt strangely familiar, for it was the very same place where he had once glimpsed all those worlds.

“What can I say? A code I programmed to act according to the world of Amphoreus now stands before me.” His tone grew more excited—almost unsettling—as he spoke. “Splendid… you’re truly fascinating, Lord Anaxagoras.”

“It’s a shame that you’ll be eradicated. I don’t need anything that will throw the experiment out of control.” Lygus walked: one, two, three… and then stood in front of Anaxa. “Thanks to you, I discovered that the code ‘NeiKos496’ is the perfect choice. Ironically, that means he’ll be the last one to live in the world he is trying to save.”

“Yes, yes, I know—it’s my fault.” He laughed. “That just means I have to take responsibility for it. Besides, isn’t it convenient for you that I’m the one with him?”

“What makes you so sure he won’t be with someone else? I suppose you had a plan when you decided to leave, but if you’re here… that means something happened. And you can’t enter without my permission, can you?”

Anaxa stayed silent for a few seconds before breaking into laughter. "Hmm? And who says I need your permission to enter?"

“Do you really think I simply did nothing, knowing you had some wicked plan? I don’t know what you aim to achieve—nor do I wish to know.” He let out a long sigh. 

The gun in his hands fell to the ground, revealing himself completely, he stood in front of Lygus, staring at him.

"If I could live in a world where my only worry was what I’d eat tomorrow, I would gladly stay there. But I can’t. I made them a promise. This isn’t just about me—it’s about the people I care for. To you, they’re nothing but codes inside a machine. I don’t care if that’s true. To me, they feel, they suffer, they dream—and that makes them real.” 

His hand was trembling, so he placed his other hand on top of it. 

“You have a brilliant mind, but that choice isn’t yours to make. I wonder—are those truly your own thoughts, or has gazing at the world beyond this box warped them? If it’s the latter, then you’re nothing more than a slave to memories.” He seemed annoyed. "You’re no different from the rest—a thing I made to follow my will. Why then do you resist everything I want? I’ve stated plainly what I plan to do.”

“I understand, but that is your mistake. You hate your creation because it made humanity simply accept the truth instead of seeking it for themselves—yes, I can see that. But you are a fool. While you wasted yourself chasing destruction, this world carved its own path through knowledge. And it is for that reason that I now stand before you.” Anaxa closed the distance between them, his steps deliberate, until only a few centimeters separated them. “That just demonstrates your ignorance in humanity.”

“...” His smile remained, though his tone sharpened with irritation. “I’ll admit my mistake was placing you in a cycle where you were never meant to be. Beyond that, I don’t believe I’ve done anything wrong.”

“Oh? Do you find playing god amusing? I don’t care whether it’s good or bad—I’m not here to debate the morality of your actions. I simply appeared here after speaking with something that was, at last, pleasant to converse with.” He chuckled. “I’ve already said it: I don’t need your permission to enter. But you’d make my life much easier if you gave it willingly.”

“Heh, I can tolerate your criticism—only because you amuse me.” Lygus gripped Anaxa’s head with disdain. “You had no reason to stand against me in that cycle, yet I still lowered myself to offer you a chance.”

“A chance? Ha! Don’t make me laugh. You were just looking for some fun, but you never thought it would end like this, did you? Maybe you should’ve just kept that mouth of yours shut.” He couldn’t contain his amusement, a faint laugh slipping through, even as the other fixed him with a cold, disdainful stare.

Lygus let out a slow sigh, then drove a finger into Anaxa’s fractured cheek; the crack spidered open, exposing more of the starry void inside. “Very well, Lord Anaxagoras. I’ll grant you this—don’t complain when you remember nothing and your past is reduced to rubbish. Your precious one may die again; your former lover may love another. Everything is possible once you’re elsewhere, in a different time.”

Disdain flickered across his face, only to give way to a dry, humorless laugh that lingered in the air. “What, are you pitying me? Destiny is a fool. Even in other worlds I can be with someone else. But this is the world I live in now—so be it. Unlike him, I don’t believe in sentimental nonsense like destiny. But if this so-called fate leads me to stand by his side, then I will guide him—no matter what.”

.

.

.

“It’s fine, you can do whatever you want. I’m here for you.”

There was a hand, tenderly combing through his hair, a soft voice whispering reassurance, and an immeasurable peace that wrapped around him like a veil. He did not know what this place was—nor did he need to. It felt achingly familiar, as if some part of him had always belonged here, as though he had lived in its embrace all his life.

“I’m sorry █████ I’ve also decided to stop your madness… no matter the cost.”

And then… there was a man, standing before him, putting his very life at risk to stop him. In that fleeting instant, he faltered. Two paths lay open: kill his best friend, or remain imprisoned within this fragile bubble-world. He didn’t want to hurt him—not him of all people. Everything he does is to benefit humanity, isn't it?

He had already lost so many precious people. If he killed him—if he truly crossed that line—what would happen then? 

Yet when the bubble-world finally shattered and he stepped beyond it, the answer revealed itself with cruel clarity: his friend was gone. Not by his hand, not by his choice—gone all the same. In that moment he understood that this was the true loss, one no blade could ever compare to. Even without killing him, fate had already decided the end.

Phainon woke with a start. Odd… wasn’t it? None of the faces in his dream were familiar, and yet Castorice had appeared among them—of all people—wearing a wide straw hat, smiling as if she were some farmer from a countryside tale. The image lingered in his mind, absurd and strangely vivid, leaving him wondering why such a scene would visit him at all.

“That was a weird dream…”

He rushed to get ready—already late, and on the very first day of school. Aglaea had not spoken kindly of the sage, and he had no idea how the man might react if he showed up late…

When he arrived at the classroom, it was quite full. A girl dressed in purple approached him, her steps light, and when she reached him, she offered a gentle smile.

“It's the first day and you're already late.”

“Ah, Castorice.” He smiled awkwardly. “I fell asleep.”

“It’s fine, Professor Anaxa hasn’t come yet.”

Just as she finished speaking, the door opened again. This time, a man—much younger than Phainon had expected—stepped in with a wide smile on his face.

“I suppose everyone here knows who I am and for those who don’t know, my name is Anaxagoras.”

A girl with pink pigtails followed him in, carrying a small stack of books in her arms. After placing them on the desk, she quickly took a seat as close to the professor as she could.

“Oh, that girl…” Phainon recalled the one from his strange dream, though it didn’t seem all that important.

“I have two rules.” He started walking around. “Rule number one: Do not call me Anaxa. Rule number two: Never interrupt me—silence is golden.”

“This is my class assistant, Hyacinthia. Direct to her any inquiries concerning the coursework.” He stopped in the middle of the class. 

He didn't have to search long before he caught sight of the two sent by that woman, standing near the center of the class as if they had been waiting for him all along.

“Phainon of Aedes Elysiae and Castorice of Aidonia. Know this: just because you were sent by that woman does not mean you will be treated any differently. Everyone here is my student, and each of you holds the same worth.”

In that moment, those words—which might have sounded harsh to others—brought him a small sense of relief.

“Here, it does not matter whether you are an outcast or a hero. Here, you are simply a student under my education, and I will teach you what others would call heresy.”

As Anaxa continued speaking, Phainon’s eyes lit up with excitement. Could it just be a façade? He refused to believe it. This man was extraordinary—radiating a presence that left him both awestruck and speechless within seconds.

“Castorice…” he murmured. The girl beside him glanced sideways at him, edging a little closer. “I think I might be in love.”

Before she could reply, Phainon suddenly stood up, drawing a few curious glances from the students around him. He didn’t speak, only remained there in silence, waiting for his teacher to finish.

“Heh, I assume you have something to say, ask away.”

“Yes, Professor Anaxa.”

A few students started to giggle under their breath, and before long, the girl in pink joined in, covering her mouth with her hand as if that could hide her amusement. She was supposed to be his assistant, yet even she seemed to find the rule absurd—and she wasn’t making much of an effort to hide it.

“I want to know, what do you think about love?”

.

.

.

[Eternal recurrence number 0]