briinnny

[briinnny]

Oh Kephale.

pairing: phainon x gn!reader (w mentions of the entirety of the amphoreus cast).

word count: 2.1K

warnings: spoilers for the entirety of amphoreus (3.4 included), reader dies… a lot, mentions of blood, main character death, suicide, kinda yandere pahinon ? maybe bring some tissues with you.

summary: He meets you again, wearily weeping under a faceless mask reflecting in your bleary eyes. Forgive him, once more, for he must do this for the greater good. A long overdue promise escaped his frozen lips, not many words leaving him in the wake of a revengeful madness grasping the remains of his sanity.

Golden ichor stains him endlessly, so much that he cannot recognize who it belongs to. But yours have always shone brighter under the sunlight. But maybe, this is not the only reason his heart aches when you depart from him once more.

Chasing without fear the tomorrow that will never come.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He really can’t have anything, can he ?

The first reset, you were a simple servant working for Lady Aglaea. Apparently, she had seen you grown up, and in an effort to not repeat twice the same mistake she did with Cipher, she was always keeping you by her side. You were her shadow in a way, always lurking nearby. Thinking about it, shadows are supposed to be somber and dark, but you were like the sun… No, that is incorrect. You were a star, something that has not been seen in ages. Something bound to disappear.

And disappearing you did, but not like Cipher. In a twisted way, your death — caused by the Council of the Elders as a warning to Aglaea herself — caused the two women who have long broken apart to reunite. Cipher had found you, and delivered your body to a bedflower in the Garden of Life. The irony, letting you bleed on flowers symbolizing the opposite of your unfortunate predicament. With your body here, both the Goldweaver and Garmentmaker made one final gift to you: a single piece of jewelry, a simple bracelet made with the famous Golden Threads that fill the eternal holy city to the brim.

In a way, it was Aglaea’s opportunity to connect with you one last time, and to usher a single goodbye in your mind that was long gone. Castorice could have attested so, but silence is known to be golden.

As for Phainon, he knew you to some extent. You two were not that close yet as he often trained with Mydeimos, while you remained with the leader of the Chrysos Heirs, always watching, never speaking. You had the same speaking mannerism as the blind woman did, and sometimes he failed to understand some of your riddles. It made you giggle.

Oh Kephale, how long until the west wind brings that laughter back to him ?

The second reset, you met early on: at the Grove. You two were students under the infamous Anaxagoras himself, giving the blasphemous professor more than one headache with your stupid antics. He should be getting the Coreflames already as the memories of the truth behind Amphoreus was still clear in his mind, but he had the right to indulge himself a little bit, correct ?

So indulging he did, until the two of you graduated at the same time. He watched as your fate changed, no longer at Aglaea’s side, but at his side. A trio was formed between you, Phainon and Mydeimos. Most of the time, the two men would stir up trouble, often fueled by stupid competitions (like, who would count how many chimeras they can carry in their arms without dropping any ? Mydeimos won by the way, he managed to carry thirty six of them while Phainon failed when he reached thirty three. Loser). But, you also acted as a peacemaker whenever the two started to argue. After all, they are too proud to apologize on their own, so you can give some well needed advice.

In this life, you died by the Black Tide, and he will never forgive himself. It was a simple mission to save some people stuck on deserted ruins, and Tribbie had been kind enough to help you all reach it with her powers. What you had not anticipated were the corrupted titankin, and you took a blow in his stead. He was dragged away as the monsters closed in. He saw your last breath before the portal closed in, your last smile for him.

Oh Kephale, how long until the west wind brings that smile back to him ?

The eleventh reset, you had claimed the Coreflame of Time already, which reminded him of a friend long gone. He went straight to the point when he saw you, and asked you to deliver what you had conquered. You refused, of course, saying that you had to protect it with your life, this mission had been entrusted to you as the Priest of Time, a reminder of a bygone time. C̴y̴r̴e̴n̴e̴,̴ ̴d̴i̴d̴ ̴y̴o̴u̴ ̴c̴o̴m̴e̴ ̴t̴o̴ ̴h̴a̴u̴n̴t̴ ̴h̴i̴s̴ ̴d̴a̴y̴s̴ ̴l̴i̴k̴e̴ ̴a̴ ̴f̴o̴r̴g̴o̴t̴t̴e̴n̴ ̴g̴h̴o̴u̴l̴ ̴?̴

But you were kind, you had always been. So, you two struck a deal: he could get what he desired, if he passed Oronyx’s trial using the Scale of Judgement. In a way, you had truly inherited the way the fallen Titan did, playing a bit to have some fun but to also buy yourself time, as giving your Coreflame would result in your death, no doubt needed. And yet, you still bravely accepted it when he won.

You took it out of your body, and he saw you disappear right in front of his eyes, turning into nothingness. But before that, you spoke to him, and even in this deranged state of his, he can still remember what you told him: “Phainon, do love yourself a bit in this journey of yours, and live with that love.” 

He remained in the Abyss of Fate for a while that day, using the only thing you had left behind to retrace all of your steps. You were nothing more than a memory, and he was listening to it all, seeing you help many people before he arrived. And when he left, Castorice was entering the place, seeking your soul.

Oh Kephale, how long until the west wind brings that kindness back to him ?

The one hundred twenty seventh reset, you were a healer, working alongside Hyacine. You had tended to his wounds one day when your fellow healer was busy taking care of other people, tracing your fingertips along his battered back. The next time you saw it, you kissed the scars he harbored, and apologized as if you were the sinful one. His only answer was to seek the warmth of your skin, as he knew it would leave just as quickly. Like you always did.

The three hundred seventy ninth reset, you were side by side with Hysilens and Cerydra, the two having not yet fully taken upon their journey, and you were there too, as a dancer enjoying the waves of your oceanic companion’s violin, dancing in front og the rumored tyrant. One day, you took his hand and danced with him. He laughed after stepping on your foot accidentally, and you simply ruffled his hair. The flames of your passion burned you, and you held the corrupted titankin by offering one last show. Golden ichor painted the streets that night, and he did it in your honor.

The seven thousand fifty hundred and first reset, you were no one special, only haunted by your own demons, and yet his paranoia made it be that he followed you around, watching over your back. Whenever someone bothered you, he would strike, whenever you sobbed, he would hold. In the end, he found your body laying on the floor of your bedroom, a dagger tinted with crimson in your hand that harbored no warmth. That day, when Khaslana killed himself, his humanity left at the reminder of your fate.

Nine thousand eight hundred forty fourth reset, Mydeimos succumbed and ravaged everything. Your body could not be recognized.

Eighty nine thousand three hundred and second reset, you traded your life to buy time for Anaxagoras to fuse with the Reason Coreflame. He was the one who held the blade to your chest.

From now on, he would be the one to kill you. If he did that, then he would know when to expect your death, correct ?

. . .

“Lygus.” The Antikytheran turned around, the view of the destroyed Amphoreus a sight for sore eyes in his twisted opinion. Phainon did not return that excitement, instead gazing lifessly towards the one who had caused everything in the first place. The one who has ruined their lives before it could even begin, and for what ? His own twisted pleasure at proving the Erudition wrong, and at embracing the Destruction.

“What is it ?” That voice, filled with deceit and a lack of emotion stirred up something inside of the man’s chest, which he ignored for now. “Ah, do not speak, I know exactly why you are open to a conversation today. It is because of your little… partner, isn’t it ?”

Silence takes over the two of them, before finally, Phainon speaks.

“You… why ? Why is fate always so different ?” A simple hum of acknowledgement cuts through the thickness in the air, the ashes and the blood and the memories carry no weight anymore between the two survivors of this charade, of this lie crafted by hands that held no love. A creator is supposed to love their creations, no ? So why, why does he despise them all to the point of never aiding them ?

“That answer is simple. For the results to show some sort of difference after each run, a variable needs to always change. Simply deriving how the story unfolds bears no satisfactory answer, so I brought in something that will always change.” Their eyes met, golden against a simple concealment. Coward, always hiding. “But you know that already, don’t you ?”

. . .

“You shall be everlasting, but everchanging, with a soul always alike, which will illuminate this world.” The three friends looked at each other, before one let out a sound which could be summed up as a mix between a whine and a grumble.

“What does that fate even mean ? Draw new cards !” The young girl shook her head, refusing to cooperate with the demands. Seeing the look on the face of his two friends, the white haired swordsman in training had only the strength to sigh. And an argument started between the two, just as quick as that.

“Give me another fate !” One wailed.

“No can do !” The other cheered.

“Come on, let’s not get handsy now, that fate sound… huh, nice ?” His comforting words and the half received embrace met nothing else but eyes dagging into his soul. “Then take it if it is so nice !”

The pink haired one only laughed as her two friends were now bickering.

. . .

He had killed Mydeimos, and now, there you were, in his arms. There was nothing romantic about this scene, only a wasteland in the making, and he, the Flame Reaver, shall draw his sword through your heart for the final time.

But, indulge him a bit, alright ?

A clawed hand reached out to you, the metal cold against your tear strained cheek. This was not the fitting death of a hero, but he did not want you to be a hero ever again. Maybe it was selfish of him to wish to dictate your life in such a way, but what else can he hope for when you have tasted death for so long ? If only you knew how many times the metallic scent of your blood overgrown all of his senses, to the point that he was driven crazy, hoping to never feel it again.

The life in your eyes is so frail, almost gone. But there is one endeavor left to do. The dreamless wish to show you, and to prove to everyone, that his humanity remains alive.

A simple noise. His mask falls to the ground, revealing the broken head of the man you once loved, now plagued with millions of lives. With millions of you left broken, dying, sometimes alone, and sometimes with some people by your side. Your gazes meet, and he raises his weapon, ready to strike down and—

“Ph… Phainon ?”

He cannot strike down. Three slashes are too cruel to you, too short for him to remember you correctly, for you have started to fade in his eyes. Why cannot he recognize you anymore ?

You laugh at the hesitance. He can only stare, almost in horror, as the wind blows by, bringing that sound to his ears. Some recognition flashes across his crazen eyes that hold nothing but silent emptiness. Your first life, as Aglaea’s assistant. You laughed back then, too, when he failed to decipher your riddles.

The silence outstretches, and your face becomes clearer, blood stained lips curved upwards into what barely resemble a smile. It is tainted with pain, tainted with sorrows and maybe regrets. He regrets too, not saving you from the beasts in your second life as he ran away like a coward to escape his own end.

“I knew… it. You are no monster.”

Please, stop looking at him, stop being warm. Stars explode after sharing too much warmth, and yours is intoxicating. You have never stopped loving this world, your companions, your life and him. Without realizing, he fulfilled a part of this long made promise with you, back when you were the Priest of Time.

He lived with love, your love.

Oh Kephale, how long until the west wind brings that love back to him ?

“See you again tomorrow, K̴h̴a̴s̴l̴a̴n̴a̴.”