Chapter Text
ACT III: The Crimson Dawn
“I hate you” Phainon had snapped at Mydei with malice. That’s how their tale had started.
Time has its ways of tricking you. Once you are happy, it flies. But the second something dares go wrong, the narrative flips, and everything seems as if it takes ages to move on.
The days without Mydei are long and boring. Phainon comes home to a dark home. Wakes up alone. Make one cup of coffee. Walks alone everywhere he goes. He wants to lay himself down somewhere and simply die, but he knows he cannot. Everyone else needs him, and if one thing were to go wrong again, it could mess it up permanently, someone could stay dead the next cycle.
Phainon must carry on. For Mydei. Or, maybe, for himself.
He doesn’t know. The line separating him and Mydei had blurred long ago, he often couldn’t tell where Mydeimos ended and he started. They knew each other like the back of their hands.
Phainon painfully tried not to think of Mydei as he walked to the Chrysos heir meeting. He can’t help but see him everywhere. The leaves on the trees shaped like his eyes, the coffee shop where they’d had countless dates, everything and anything reminded him.
He enters the hall and Castorice comes up immediately. “Phainon. I’m so sorry.” Phainon nods, but nothing comes out.
“The ceremony is tonight.”
Alright. Phainon can go. For the 33,550,335th time. He can watch people pity him. He can watch Mydei’s body dressed in the finest white being hoisted into a cramped coffin. He remembers the first cycle all too well. He’d been just a teenager, screaming and crying as Mydei’s lifeless form was being taken away. He was so clueless then.
The rest of the heirs are idly chatting around the room, a board in the middle. Ironically, Tribbie and Phainon usually led the meetings, with plans and battle topics.
But today, Phainon does not feel like doing much.
He spots Anaxa and Sunday across the room, talking to one another in hushed tones, Sunday looking around warily. Phainon has no idea what is happening with them, but shouldn’t Sunday be gone soon? The express was planning to leave before the cycle ends, to not get stuck in the endless loop.
It’s not Phainon’s problem though. Answers will reveal themselves sooner or later, Phainon is sure. Everything is always revealed.
Phainon leaves the hall, weaving through the hallways, until he finds an all too familiar room, he’s been there so many times.
On the pristine white cot, lies a body. Mydei. He’s paler than ever, his eyes glossed over and frozen like a moment in time, and patches of his skin ripped open in places where he’d been torn.
His hand rests on top of his chest, clutching something. Phainon knows Mydei left it for him. He takes the ring out of his hand, and slips it into his pocket. He’ll save it for Mydei next time. As he has all the times before.
He does something he has not done in a long time. He takes Mydei’s hand. His cold, lifeless hand. He holds it as his eyes water. He traces the lines on his palms, something he’s done millions of times. Mydei is lovely as ever, even in death. Phainon traces his face, and kisses him softly, before dropping his hand. He closes Mydei’s eyes, letting him finally rest. Phainon leaves the room, drying his eyes on his sleeve as he treks back to the hall.
People are scattered still. Tribbie stands near the back, flanked by Cerydra and Hysilens.
“Phainon.” Tribbie says as he approaches them. Hysilens looks at Cerydra, and they can tell Phainon is not in a good mood right now. Taking the hint, Cerydra interlocks her fingers with Hysilens, and the couple disappears back into the crowd.
“I’m sorry about Mydei,” Tribbie starts, and Phainon nods. “But we must go on. You’ll see him again. We just need to end the cycle right.”
Same speech as last time. As the last million times. Phainon nods as Tribbie calls everyone to the table. Pitying gazes meet Phainon wherever he looks. So he looks down.
“Two days to prepare.” Two days. Two days until Phainon dies with him. Two days until he can see his beloved again.
Phainon looks to Anaxa, noticing he’s suddenly become more interested in everything then he has been in the last thirty three million cycles.
He can see how Anaxa keeps looking at Sunday. That look you have when you just know. Especially from their living quarters, it seems far too intimate to be friendship. Phainon is happy for them, but a part of him also hurts. He feels so alone.
The meeting is quick.
The ceremony starts half an hour after. Phainon does not sit. He stands in the back, watching as the coffin is carried down the aisle, set on the altar, as white rose petals cascade over it like a white wave.
Phainon watches in sadness, and anger.
He’s going to avenge Mydei. Then he’s going to marry him in the next cycle. That’s what’s going to happen.
Phainon has dealt with this bullshit far to long.
This will be the last time that he will ever have to watch Mydei’s funeral.
They’d started out hating each other.
But it ended with Phainon on his knees sobbing out “I love you.” As Mydei had taken his final breath.