Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Other Side of Paradise

by springfieldofcherryblossoms/umi-sen-yama-sen

Act I. 

Back in the days when Phainon was only at his peak of puberty, in Aedes Elysiae's sea of wheat fields, he once dreamed of the future. 

A future in which he would venture far beyond his home onto the road of righteousness, protecting and shielding the helpless and becoming the hero that his mother and father, as well as his friend Cyrene, would be extremely proud of.

But then, there was also a strange dream that he had once. A hazy glimpse of someone, with a mop of hair in an achromatic color of a lightness intermediate between the extremes of black and white. A color of silvery gray that fully reminds him of the smoke wafting through the grooves of each household's chimney in his hometown. If he wanted to delve deeper into word flattery and have a more in-depth dissertation on the color, he thought the hue was a perfect color of intellect and compromise. A diplomatic color that bridges the gap between pure and impure.

Inwardly, Phainon considered it a color of mystery. Similar to how it abruptly materialized in his dreams one day, it vanished just as quickly. Every time he closed his eyes, he couldn't identify the person—not even a clear image of this enigmatic figure. Despite his best efforts, he was only able to remember the color—not the face.

And to think that it left him feeling remarkably empty afterwards. Like he was longing for something he wasn't even certain existed. 

"Perhaps your subconscious mind is projecting a sense of lack of fulfillment in your daily life onto your dreams,” Cyrene had once wondered, before flashing him a knowing yet teasing look he was already familiar with. "Or perhaps you're dreaming about someone you wanted to meet someday.”

"Is that possible?" He remembered himself questioning the pinkette, intrigued but doubtful of the prospect of him 'wanting' to meet someone. "Even if I didn't know who it might be?”

She smiled and said, "Nothing is impossible, Phainon." Her bright eyes were almost eerie, as if she knew something he didn't. “One day, you'll have to meet a lot of people who will play significant roles in your life. This individual you dreamed about might be one of them.”

Even though her remarks alone didn't fully satisfy him, Phainon stopped questioning the meaning of his dream. He simply allowed it to linger in his thoughts for months and then years until it ceased to exist in his goal-oriented mind—the dream now merely forgotten in the passage of time.  

In one ominous fateful day, the sun above turned red and the wheat fields were charred into ashes. Black Tide swept into his village. The corrupted water that dissolves souls and has destroyed numerous city-states in Amphoreus, killing many of the people he knew. From his parents, who were unable to escape the tide and perished in the inky depths beneath—absolutely claiming their lives—to Uncle Galba and Piso, who attempted to fight off the emerging ghoul-like creatures but died in dire circumstances due to their obvious powerlessness against the unknown; and last but not least, to Mrs. Pythias and Livia, who transformed into horrifying monsters that fell from his trembling hands. 

He remembered how his voice failed him from nonstop screaming, how it cracked, raw and full of misery, calling out for the people who had once made the village complete but were now completely gone, becoming just one of the innumerable tragedies that befell Amphoreus.

And when dawn broke in the aftermath of the village's devastation, even though he was covered in golden wounds from head to toe, he buried the dead one by one; he even built a makeshift grave for every life lost, including his parents, who were swallowed by the tide. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

Full of hatred, hurt, and despair, he was forced to leave his hometown along with Cyrene. They left the village with the hopes of fulfilling both of their new roles outside of the comforts of their former home. Drained and absolutely lost, he met someone named Aglaea, who introduced him to the Flame-Chase Journey and explained what it meant to be a Chrysos Heir.

As two young drifters from afar, Phainon joined the holy city's legion and became an Okheman soldier, while his friend became a student within the Oronyx's temple. He recalled never giving up, training day and night until tough swordplay became as natural as breathing—to the point where it felt like a dance to him. It was both liberating and gratifying. Every time he swung his weapon in the air, duplicating every technique he remembered from the scrolls, his once-childish goal to be a full-fledged warrior became more than just a fantasy.

And what happened afterwards had him meeting his first-ever rival, the crowned prince of Kremnos, the Undying Mydeimos, who had led his forces to the gates of Okhema, which caused a flurry of panic among priests and ordinary people alike. He still remembered how this Kremnoan challenged the elders of Okhema to a duel, not for glory, but for his people's rights and dignity, to ensure they would not be treated as second-class citizens in foreign lands.

And with the Goldweaver's mediation, Phainon was subjected as the elders’ representative to the prince's challenge. A duel using the Talanton’s Scales of Justice, where they must submit their offerings—something that has more weight than the fate of the world. 

The Son of Gorgo, the lion apart from the rest, was renowned to be formidable and undefeated, yet the duel ended with an ordinary soldier as the victor, with his “Deliverer” card weighing far more than the Signet of Kremnos that the prince presented to the scales. 

For some reason, Mydeimos did not feel bitter about the outcome; instead, it felt like a concealed acknowledgement on his part. The prince started to respect the weight of a single tarot card, including Phainon's humble origins. He had to say that it triggered the beginnings of a good rivalry-like relationship between them that would remain for years, with Mydeimos continuing to refer to him as "Deliverer" instead of his name following their duel. 

. 

.

.

.

.

. 

Of course, it took him a while to adjust to his new life in Okhema, and juggling both of his responsibilities as a soldier and a student of the Grove had been difficult but nonetheless pleasant. For starters, he met Professor Anaxagoras, who was by far the most eccentric scholar he knew. Despite his eccentricity and Phainon's lack of interest in logic, he learnt to embrace and admire the scholar's way—if not too blunt—of teaching by searching for the truth.

“Do not fear blasphemy.”

Aside from the professor, he became acquainted with Miss Hyacinthia and Miss Castorice, who were also part of the Chrysos Heirs. As Anaxagoras' students who exclusively adhered to Nousporist doctrine, they grew close over the course of several years.

(And he was really appreciative of the professor's rigorous but stimulating lessons; he learned a lot, and even he didn't anticipate that he would win a lot of debates against those arrogant noble scholars. Professor Anaxa's insightful advice had been very beneficial in helping him sharpen his intellect, and for some reason, some scholars had been afraid to challenge him in public debates.) 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

During his time in the Grove, Phainon would frequently ponder about Aedes Elysiae in his moments of seclusion.

His hometown had become a part of Amphoreus' history, and small archives of the village were kept in a specific section of the Grove's vast library. He would occasionally find himself in those sections of shelves, poring over whatever records there were regarding the places that had tragically succumbed to the ruthless surge of the Black Tide.

It has been many years since he left Aedes Elysiae, but Phainon had never forgotten the golden sea of wheat of his hometown and the sense of comfort that it brought him. Every time he closed his eyes, he could still vividly recall the warmth exuding from the light coming from the Dawn Device all the way to his village. 

And during the night ever since he left his village, he was plagued with countless visions of himself in a dream, along with a sweet whisper murmuring in his ears akin to a lover's caress, cajoling him to move forward. Again and again.  

“..... this….lead…”

“....be….you….no matter what.”

“Go….become a hero.”

. 

. 

.

. 

. 

. 

The struggle against the Black Tide had severely weakened many people's hopes. Many had been corrupted; the rally against the Titans to seize their coreflames was also under way; the Chrysos Heirs had no choice but to act. 

It was all to fulfill the Prophecy of Genesis, to carry out Kephale's will to the bitter end. For the sake of the upcoming new dawn. 

Seize the coreflames. 

Uphold the world. 

That is the Flame-Chase. 

For Era Nova. 

He witnessed the god wielding the Lance of Fury devolve into madness. Together with his brother-in-arms, they gave the mad god his final release and watched as Nikador fell, their remains spread like golden ashes in the wind. 

He watched his old mentor compete against so many others in a public debate about the Coreflame of Reason. He was forced to confront him and see a brutal execution that would never leave his mind, not until his memory deteriorated with time. 

He was also there when the battle in the sky commenced. Seeking to seize the coreflame of one Titan among the skies, he crossed the rainbow bridge, breaching over the gloom with his blazing spirit akin to a scorching sun. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

Cyrene had once told him about her strange dream when she was younger. About dreaming of a dark, frigid room with nothing but Oronyx's curtain shining like crystals, containing the entire Amphoreus and staging odd and fantastic dramas within it.

She even mentioned that it had innumerable versions of them from a variety of universes. At first, he saw the dream differently after hearing about it as a young boy. Since he was too young to even consider such a dream negatively, he just only thought it was harmless and interesting, and perhaps even magical in some aspects.

However, as he grew older, he stumbled over the old memory as though he had been suddenly struck with a startling insight. This made him wonder: What if Cyrene's dream wasn't a simple dream at all? What if it was way more than that? A kind of warning? A glimpse of a more complex and significant issue that might arise in the future?

Being Professor Anaxa's student for nearly ten years had taught him about the concept of possibility, and Cyrene's unique dream in which she saw a simulation in Oronyx's curtain was another thing that he couldn't simply ignore. 

His belief in his friend's competence in the art of divination was not the only reason; he also felt as though he was experiencing unexpected visions in his sleep that were far too genuine to be considered surrealistic. An alternate world. A different version of himself in a different setting, making similar or opposite judgments.

What if what he saw in his dreams was exactly what the other Phainon saw in his own world?

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

Wherever he went, he always carried the echoes of his home. 

Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, a humble young lad from a tiny village who took on the role of the "Deliverer.” 

The destined one of the prophecy, who will bear the wishes of many, the one who will usher everyone to the new dawn. To answer the world's call. 

If he had to be honest with himself, he wasn't fully convinced he had what it took to be the Deliverer. He remembered telling his father once that he wasn't cut out for this “Deliverer” role, for he is nothing special. His inner turmoil over failure occasionally overtook him, leaving him unsure if he possessed the capacity to carry everyone's hopes for a brighter future free of strife. Can he even save everyone?

“Deliverer, leads us forward.”

Aglaea's words weighed heavily on his shoulders. He remembered that he could only provide a practiced, reassuring smile to conceal the bitter ache in his core. Her all-knowing eyes might have felt his hesitancy through his silence, but he refused to ever show the world his worry of the unknown. 

"Now, Deliverer, I will put my people in your capable hands. You have my complete trust. May the new dawn be upon us.”

Like the Goldweaver's, the weight of Mydei's last words had also taken place on his shoulders—

“Snowy… No matter what the outcome is, please don't you ever blame yourself.”

—and another one. 

“Lord Phainon, I can see every color of human souls, and yours was like a bright beacon that shines among the rest. I have a feeling that you will lead humanity until the very end.”

Again—

“Deliverer boy! You owe me this one!”

—and again. 

“May our journey's end be one without darkness, Lord Phainon.”

And again. 

“May this world never again need a Deliverer.”

With the light from the Dawn Device gone, plunging Amphoreus into total darkness, Phainon was certain that the Black Tide would eventually arrive in the holy city soon enough.

"As long as there are still people who love this world," he said, watching the red-hued skies. "A Deliverer is destined to appear.”

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

When they finally secured the Coreflame of Worldbearing, only he and Cyrene were left to see the horror and tragedy that would become Amphoreus. He watched the skies remain scarlet as he listened to people's screams and sorrowful sobs, which woefully mirrored his own ruined emotional state. 

He remembered seeing a sight that made him question what was going on in his world. It didn't seem to be about the Black Tide anymore; it was far too complicated to be considered as such, with the way the skies were turning into something unfathomable that he couldn't find the perfect words to fully express.

“Phainon… We set out on this journey to answer the world's desire, didn't we?”

“That's what it means to be a Chrysos Heir. So has it always been.”

“Then why…” He could still vividly recall how her voice cracked every time she continued speaking, “...Why must Amphoreus’ wishes be so...cruel?”

He didn't know. He really didn't know. 

“We made the best choices we could, whenever we could! But in the end... The prophecy that led us...this Black Tide swallowing everything…”

“...”

“Why does it look like this?”

"...Do you see it, too?" He found himself asking, his gaze still fixed on the bizarre scene above them. "Those burn marks…the flickering cubes…they're not a tide at all."

Cyrene stepped beside him to watch how the skies were changing, he finished. 

“They're more like….a shattered telestate.”

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

When Cyrene took over Oronyx's authority and coreflame, they immediately headed to the Vortex of Genesis to surrender all twelve coreflames, but much to their astonishment, someone was already waiting for them at the end of their journey. An apathetic, familiar figure who was certainly not who they expected to greet them, as this individual had never expressed interest in the Flame-Chase Journey.

Someone who maintained a neutral stance in every crisis. The Antikytheran, known as Lygus, was an honored and influential member of the Council of Elders. A highly esteemed individual in Amphoreus, revered by many for an unknown number of generations.

When Lygus started talking about "Scepters," how he had acquired one and changed the computation's nature from Erudition to Destruction, and how many "extrapolations" were required to "calculate the prime mover of life," all of this supported his suspicion that something was wrong with the terminus of their journey.

While it initially confused him, as he was completely clueless of every foreign word uttered by the Antikytheran, it eventually dawned upon him that Lygus was attempting to compare his world to a very large database, in which this so-called Scepter created Amphoreus as a simulated world.

A part of him thought that if Amphoreus was a mere simulation, then it totally explained everything he saw in Okhema—where he saw the burn marks, odd-looking flickering cubes, along with the shattered crimson skies…

But, of course, the in-denial part of himself had to voice his complete disapproval, including his clear incredulity that Amphoreus was being simulated. He just…couldn't believe it. If his reality was only a simulation, what about the Chrysos Heirs and the centuries-old prophecy they followed and believed? Was Era Nova a lie? What about the innumerable innocent people who have been killed unjustly in this world?

In his heart, they were all real. Phainon refused to accept the part where they were only mere internal variables of an experiment. He didn't want to believe that everything was all programmed for the sake of an equation. Following millions of extrapolations in Amphoreus, where the Titans' and Chrysos Heirs' deaths for each repeated cycle served as the primary factor in processing and accelerating the hatching of this so-called Irontomb, all of its outcomes inevitably resulted in Destruction, continuously completing a reversal against Erudition through their self-evolution. 

“So, the ‘results’ you speak of… are this wreckage of a world?” He remembered saying, his emotions were in full chaos, divided between fury and disbelief. “We all gave everything we had, returning twelve Coreflames to recreate the world… and in return…”

“Phainon…”

“We become nothing more than sacrificial offerings at the end of everything…?”

The more he listened to Lygus' explanation of reality, the more nauseated he became, thinking about all his fellow Chrysos Heirs who had to devote their lives to accomplish the new dawn. Every hopeful wish and recollection of memories was like a sharp knife piercing his heart; it nearly made it difficult for him to breathe.

Lygus answered, apathetic. “The cycles of the ‘Hero's Journey’ that have played out until now were never about creating a new world or perfect heroes and gods. They were a deep-learning program made for the Black Tide.”

His expectations for a new world grew dim. All of the efforts and sacrifices had been in vain. It made him more distraught for the senseless sacrifices committed, particularly for his cherished companions who perished unaware of the truth behind the prophecy, as well as the different path away from Erudition that Amphoreus unintentionally followed. 

The golden blood coursing through their veins belonged to the Blemished One, whose name was "Destruction" itself. And, as such, the Chrysos Heirs were, from the start, fuel for the Aeon to burn the universe.

He was forced to face the harsh reality, although with bitterness, despite his best efforts to persuade himself otherwise. The gravity of the situation far outweighed his personal rage and refusal to accept the facts as they were. 

The birth of a new Lord Ravager must be deferred until they can find a means to completely stop it. They could not allow the cocoon to hatch because it would endanger the entirety of the world. If not stopped, the Irontomb will break free from its constraints in Amphoreus, annihilating the entire cosmos after its ascension.

The following step was a gamble. It was a risk where they had to take extreme steps to avoid the Irontomb from being released by performing the unimaginable. Aside from relying on any Aeons who happened to gaze upon Amphoreus other than Destruction, he and Cyrene decided to take matters into their own hands by deceiving the world—by weaving a long dream in which the experiment was still ongoing. Hoping that if Time and its records vanished, it would one day catch this specific Aeon's attention and spare Amphoreus from its unfortunate fate. 

It was only a wishful thought of his, but if not an Aeon, they hoped that someone outside of this simulated world could break Amphoreus' never-ending cycles, saving everyone from the world's impending destruction.  

With Cyrene's ceremonial blade in hand, he remembered how his hands almost shook, his newfound determination faltering for a moment as the weight of a new grave responsibility began to descend on his shoulders. He had to tell himself over and over that her self-sacrifice to erase Time, as well as his acceptance and fortitude in enduring new cycles to keep Irontomb from awakening, were required for them to progress on this new path. 

Phainon remembered how he saw his friend one last time, wearing a comforting smile he had always been accustomed to seeing. How he had to harden himself before delivering her a swift and painless death, and how her once sparkling eyes lost their radiance as she limped in his arms, golden blood flowing from the stab wound he inflicted. 

Even when she completely vanished along with Time, leaving her hopes and dreams of the future in him. He remembered weeping as he lamented the loss of every existence, including his own, as he took over Kephale's authority, shedding half of his mortal self to become the demigod of Worldbearing.

The name Phainon was no more, for he had chosen to stand his ground no matter how long it would take for this journey to end. 

“So, let's set out. We will be the ones to start everything…”

“Carry the primordial chaos, just as your name suggests, and bear this world we hold so dear…”

“So long, Khaslana.”

And a new chapter had begun, with him alone bearing the weight of the world, marking the first Eternal Recurrence by resetting time with Cyrene's final act of sacrifice. 

Chapter Text

Act II

He had made it on his first journey back in time, where nothing ever existed. He couldn't even bring himself to marvel at the bareness of the world. It was too empty and dreary, as if he could envision what Amphoreus would become if he and Cyrene did not intervene in Lygus' plans for destruction. As Professor Anaxa had previously told them in one of his courses, in the nothingness, Khaslana saw Kephale at the center of chaos; time, space, and causality all flowed from their flesh. And time seemed to stretch indefinitely as he waited for so many years for the waves of time to calm down. He came to the painful revelation that Amphoreus was, in fact, a simulation. He watched as the world began to evolve and couldn't help but compare it to how a moving picture on a telestate may appear.

It was the year 3870 of the Light Calendar as he witnessed history unfold before his very eyes. 

The Chrysos War had lasted for nearly a century, and the threat of the Black Tide was growing stronger and more relentless. That was the era of the Daythunder Knight's battle with the Sky. Seliose—the denizen of the sky, a legendary figure in his original timeline whom Khaslana chanced to mentor once when she was exiled from her tribe and discovered him in a remote cave. While she was unable to seize the Coreflame of the Sky, she was the living proof who proved that the prophecy was true (without his intervention)—that mortals could slay gods.

From that moment, the sole survivor of the old dynasty, Imperator Cerydra, had issued a call to arms across the lands, summoning every Chrysos Heir to wage war on the Titans.

And that was the first, doomed Flame-Chase Journey that he happened to witness, sealed away in history. 

>>>>Eternal Recurrence #1

If he had to be honest with himself, resetting time and jumping into a new cycle wasn't an exciting experience on his part. The new power he obtained was far too tremendous and nearly hard to manage, and Khaslana hadn't gotten used to using his divine vessel yet, so every time he had to cross the veil of time, he felt a little disoriented afterwards. 

After spending a few millennia in the previous cycle, the current cycle prompted him to consider the Imperator. Her incredible bravery and her burning passion to lead had left a lasting impression on him. Of course, it was unfortunate that the first Flame-Chase Journey he witnessed did not succeed, but knowing how the Imperator utilized her penchant for conquest to wipe out sinners along the way, Khaslana felt compelled to reach out to the most suited individual with whom he could share the truth. 

It was even more appropriate because the Empress was the leader of the Chrysos Heirs in this cycle; thus, meeting her much sooner was inevitable if he intended to offer help to find an alternative path to Era Nova.

After he managed to get in touch with the Dux Gladiorum, who insisted on merely addressing her by name as Hysilens, he immediately shared everything he knew about the truth of the Flame-Chase Journey and even the grim reality of Amphoreus.

At first, Lady Hysilens didn't seem entirely convinced, almost leading him into a trap with the intention of getting rid of him. However, when he encountered those two familiar people from his original timeline, their doubts and misgivings about who he really was quickly transformed into pure disbelief when he started discussing Lady Tribbie's prophecy during his interrogation, which not everyone knew about.

He tried to tell himself that he didn’t mind the mistrustful gazes directed at him. Not at all. 

Though understandable, Khaslana couldn't help but feel quite alienated. While they eventually showed acceptance towards his unexpected appearance and real identity, another part of him felt the melancholia searing through his bones. Reminding him again and again that they weren't the same people who once trusted him with all their hearts. 

There was every reason to be wary and suspicious of him. For them, it was somewhat unexpected to meet him because, in addition to the fact that he wasn't originally from that place, the Imperator had declared that the "Deliverer" would not ever show up in that era, at least not at the time he did.

In the current prophecy, the Phainon of this era was the destined "Deliverer," who had yet to be born. If anything, Khaslana was a mere extra in the script, but he tried to convince himself that having him there gave the Chrysos Heirs leverage against the Black Tide and the Titans they wished to defeat—where he could act as a Deliverer in place of the unborn Phainon, reducing the number of victims to less than intended based on the history he once knew. 

Since then, a new quiet resolve had settled in his chest. This time, he hoped things would be different.

He had truly hoped.

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

‎"Heh, how brave, aren't you?"

‎

‎"..."

‎

"Listen, I hope you didn't come all the way here just so you can spout such a preposterous story so absurd that it fills me with derision. Did you know that I can execute you for trying to make a fool out of me?”

‎

“Little Impe—”

“Silence, Dux Fatorum. I'm talking to this shady lad over here.” 

Unruffled, he could only look up at the proud figure of one Imperator sitting on her throne as she curtly dismissed Lady Tribbie, who was only trying to reason on his behalf.  

Her bright eyes were sharp and mistrustful; he had the impression that her gaze was already judging him from head to toe based on the way she reclined in her seat; her fingers were tapping on the armrest with an unsung beat. 

"So, you're telling me that Era Nova is a complete and utter lie? Why do you think I would listen to the words of a dubious figure who just appeared out of nowhere? I can tell you’re not even from here. How could you dare tell me that the prophecy we received for a very long time was just an illusion spurred by what you called Aeons?”

The coldness and the piercing gaze of the Empress were surely enough to intimidate a whole city, but Khaslana had gone through much worse to even let someone's intimidation get through him.  

"Imperator, I wouldn't dare to stand right in front of you if I were lying," he remarked, his voice filled with conviction, and went on. "I am being truthful about what I just said. Even if you don't believe me, please trust Lady Aglaea's golden threads and allow them to tell the truth if I pose a threat to this world.”

Imperator Cerydra eyed Aglaea from across, clearly expecting an answer.

“...He is speaking the truth,” the Goldweaver responded, shaking her head. “I didn't feel my threads vibrate. He's not lying.”

“Hmph,” Imperator Cerydra tutted in response, but she seemed to be considering Aglaea’s words. “We relied on the prophecy in hopes for a new world, but if the prophecy isn't real at all, then what are we even fighting for?”

With that remark, a long stretch of silence filled the Imperator's council chamber. 

“Well?”

“We must find another path to ‘Era Nova,’” he finally said. “I know there is another path.”

Probably.

“We simply cannot give up,” he added.

Hopefully.  

"Well, lad, it's easier said than done. I didn't waste all of that blood, all of that sweat, and all of that incredible effort to rally a campaign to spread the prophecy throughout the entire land. I've been dubbed a vicious tyrant, a villain, so to speak, more times than I can count, simply for standing up for what I believed to be right.”

She continued, tapping her fingers once more. “And now you're here saying that we've been chasing a false delusion for more than a thousand years and that our efforts were in vain. For what, exactly? Was it all for nothing? Say, Deliverer of the future, please tell me why I should heed your warning.”

Khaslana knew he wouldn't be able to fully persuade the Empress if he only told half of the truth. To gain their trust, he needed to reveal his true identity and link to this world. 

Although he could never lie, Khaslana had to exercise caution to ensure that his choices or plans wouldn't incite the Antikytheran to do something far more heinous than he had in the original cycle, given that Lygus was still present and lurking in whatever pocket dimension he possessed. 

“My name is Phainon, born in a humble village of Aedes Elysiae. I came from another doomed cycle,” he confessed, which in return had garnered a couple of expressions with a mix of utter disbelief and stupefaction, except from the Imperator. “Where it should have been the very last one to complete this so-called Era Nova. I was there, along with a dear friend who had witnessed the reality unfold before our very eyes of how we—the Chrysos Heirs—were being fooled into thinking that we will open a new world once Era Nova is fulfilled. But the truth is the world is in fact…”

A simulation. 

“...a large stage. And we…”

Aren't real.

“...are just a bunch of ignorant actors, all for the means of fueling the path to Destruction.”

“Agy…” 

Aglaea looked like she couldn't bring herself to speak.  

Lady Tribbie, on the other hand, appeared to be deeply rattled in comparison to the Goldweaver. Meanwhile, Hysilens was frowning the entire time, lost in contemplation, and the Imperator was wearing such an inscrutable expression that he couldn't tell what was going on in her little head.

The Goldweaver eventually spoke. “I would know if this young man lied. My threads are an extension of myself. Everything he claimed was true, Imperator."

"I suppose we've heard enough. We're all aware that Dux Goldweaver's threads are more than simply for show; they speak and disclose the truth.”

“...”

"W-why won't we look at this positively? We think Snowy's arrival considerably sooner than expected was a stroke of luck. We were already struggling. The Titans…the Black Tide, we all needed the assistance we could get, don't you think?”

Lady Tribbie flashed him a comforting smile. The smile and the familiar nickname inwardly made his heart throb.

“Dux Gladiorum, I'm thinking.”

“Yes?”

"How much stronger is this lad, based on your careful observation?"

Hysilens gave him a brief glance before responding, "...I believe he is powerful enough to beat me. This little white fry is a scary man.”

Lady Tribbie was against it. “That's—”

She went on, ignoring Lady Tribbie's attempt to respond. "But he has the eyes of an honest, selfless warrior who would do anything in his power to keep everyone safe. He didn't seem to care about himself, only about others.”

The Imperator leaned on her throne; a calculating look seemed to pass through her impassive visage until her eyes landed on him. “Hmph. As of yet, nothing has been decided. Whether or not you are helpful to my plans will be up to me.”

Khaslana realized at that point that it was all or nothing. He needed the Imperator's approval; he needed to demonstrate that he was worthy enough to assist and join them in their journey, even as an outsider. 

"Imperator, from the bottom of my heart," he lowered his head in humility before the Empress, "please let me carry all the burden."

"So, you intend to take the mantle of the Deliverer of this era?" 

If he had to, then perhaps he would. 

"Provided you would be so considerate as to conceal my true identity, then yes.”

In hopes of paving a different path to a new dawn, he must do whatever it takes to keep the cycles from stopping. All for it to prevent the Irontomb from unleashing.

He cannot allow Cyrene's sacrifice to be in vain. He had to deceive the entire world.

"Hm. Anything offered for free now will cost a lot more in the future. So, pray tell, what do you get out of this?”

“The spoils of the Flame-Chase, please let me handle all of those Coreflames.”

“On your own?”

“Yes. On my own.”

The Imperator let out a smirk, seemingly impressed, probably by his sheer audacity. He wasn't sure. “Do you have a death wish? Do you think you can handle it?”

He stated, if not gravely. “I have to.”

“I like your fire and dedication, lad. I respect that.”

Lady Tribbie and the others could only watch their interaction in rapt attention. 

"I'm not going to ask any further questions, but I do have one condition for you."

"What would that be?”

“In the upcoming battle, in our conquest of ‘Earth,’ you have to prove that your power could transcend fate.”

Transcend fate… 

Imperator Cerydra folded her arms across her chest, watching him make his decision. "So? Will you do it?"

Khaslana responded to her with complete conviction as he fortified himself with new resolve. "I will do it, Imperator."

"Good. Do your utmost to defy fate, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.”

Khaslana adapted quickly to his not-so-new environment. Despite the fact that he was a complete outsider to this cycle, he couldn't deny that he longed for a sense of normalcy in which Okhema hadn't fallen into the clutches of the Black Tide yet.

In his frequent times of solitude, he occasionally found himself in fascination with the comforting colors of the Amphoreus' skies, which were painted so exquisitely by the light emanating from the Dawn Device. It was the complete antithesis of the shattered skies he had witnessed on his original cycle—fake, desolate, and ominous.

The subjugation of defeating the bearer of the Earth Coreflame was just around the corner. As far as he could recall from his time in the Grove, Georios, the Earth Titan, was the largest, gentlest, and most benevolent Titan. They were born out of chaos, but they transform devastation into fertility, as well as providing seedbeds and homes for all living things.

They were the Kindest Guardian of the mortal world. 

However, in this era, and most likely due to Lygus' influence, the formerly beneficent Titan was no longer secure from the claws of malice. They succumbed to corruption and were eventually swallowed by the darkness and evil of the Black Tide. 

“Deliverer.” 

He turned around and found himself meeting a familiar gaze that seemed to burn through holes in his sort of unpresentable outfit. Judging by her stance and impassive look, she was definitely not amused while sizing him up. 

Khaslana was almost tempted to chuckle, but he reigned himself in not to, for the sake of keeping in her good graces. No matter how much he insisted that this wasn't the same Aglaea he knew in a tight-knit bond bordering on how a younger brother sees an older sister, there were a few things that would remain constant regardless of the cycles he was in.

"I apologize for not coming to see you since our meeting with the Imperator. I wanted to make sure I finished these before you were ready for the conquest.”

The Goldweaver handed him a familiar enormous golden box, and it didn't take him long to figure out what was inside. 

Knowing Aglaea’s penchant for good appearances and fashion, he had already expected this kind of move coming from her. He certainly didn't anticipate, however, that she would show her generosity to a man who wasn't even originally in that era. 

With inward gloom painting him whole, he just thought the once acting leader of the Chrysos Heirs was still as kind as ever. No matter how much people insisted back then that she was unfeeling and cold as ice after being a demigod, for Khaslana, Aglaea is still Aglaea. 

She had always been their pillar. Without Aglaea, he didn't think he could earn another purpose in life, and he was filled with total regret that he wasn't able to thank her enough for all of her efforts to support them.  

He watched the familiar garment sitting inside the package, and he thought it almost felt like he was seeing a piece that fully reminded him of home. He saw the long white trench coat with golden highlights and the Goldweaver's trademark floral designs, the black pants, boots, arm guards, pauldron, and even the golden embellishments of diamonds that he used to wear to finish his full ensemble. 

Khaslana suddenly felt the throes of homesickness in his whole being. The anguish he felt upon seeing the garment almost outweighed his contempt for the mastermind of all the horror he had to witness and would have to experience for as long as he could maintain his demigod form in each cycle.

"My sincere apologies," he murmured as he closed the garment's lid after giving it one final glance. “But, Lady Aglaea, I can't accept these.”

“Why? Does it not appeal to you? Is it far too tacky?”

"No! Don't get me wrong, it's nothing like that. Honestly, they're way too beautiful," he said, shaking his head. "It's just that…I believe this garment doesn't belong to me.”

Aglaea paused for a while, as if he had just told her something ludicrous, before responding. "What exactly do you mean by that? I'm giving it to you; thus, it now belongs to you, don't you think?”

“No, I mean—” Khaslana interrupted himself before he could say anything about how undeserving he was of the clothing. While he considered himself to be unworthy of the Goldweaver's beautiful creations, it just didn't sit well with him wearing the same clothes he had in the original cycle—even if the sight of it made him long for something he had once lost and yearn for those halcyon days when he was still an ordinary Okheman soldier.

To achieve his objectives, he simply assumed the role of the Deliverer of this era, but that did not imply that he would totally dedicate himself to it and take it from its original bearer. 

He would only borrow the role for the meantime, but the garments fitting for a perfect hero were rightfully for this era's still unborn Phainon. Not his.  

For some reason, it looked like Khaslana wasn't able to fully mask his true sentiments of his refusal to accept the gift. He unknowingly confessed through words where he thought he was only reasoning in his mind. And now, he was all bare and transparent before the seamstress. As he refused once more and met her gaze, the Goldweaver seemed to be surprised by his honest admission, but she didn't push him even further upon hearing it. 

“I understand. I'll keep this for your other self,” Aglaea said with a nod, “But is it fine if I make you another one? Of course, it would be a different style of garment, so you can rest assured.”

Khaslana was speechless when she made that offer. He believed that was the end of it, but she offered to make him another one? 

"You are the new champion that the Imperator intends to introduce to humanity, and you possess the power of Destruction. I refuse to see you fighting while wearing such rags. I hope you may understand my pride as a seamstress.”

He almost wanted to laugh, but he couldn't seem to do so. 

“If you insist, then I'm honored to accept it,” he offered with a simple yet genuine smile. “You have my deepest gratitude, Lady Aglaea.”

“Well then, what are your favorite colors?”

Khaslana couldn't help but think about the six colors that he was fond of. 

Yellow, red, blue, green, purple, and white. Each color has different interpretations for him, and he fondly remembered how he had to make a dissertation about those colors because his cycle's Aglaea wanted him to understand color theory. While the memories brought him comfort, he had to tell himself that it was all in the past and that he couldn't afford to exhibit any weakness.

“I have a lot of them, so I can't really choose well.”

“Then think of a single color that you could never seem to forget, no matter how much you tried forgetting it.”

Something clicked within him after hearing that comment. He had a color in mind that he couldn't seem to shake for unclear reasons. 

Gray. The color of someone's hair that appeared in one of his dreams from way back. It wasn't a special color, but it somehow did leave an imprint on him.  

He shook his head. Gray fabrics seemed like a rare commodity to find in textile workshops nowadays, so he would just settle on the most common one to spare Aglaea the trouble of searching for a decent fabric for him. 

“I'll settle for a black,” Khaslana said. 

The black color perfectly suited him fine. After all, he was all alone. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

He saw the Goldweaver again the day before the fated conquest. This time she was carrying the same golden box, but after verifying the contents, Khaslana felt like his time had stopped.

"Just in case you feel uncomfortable by exposing yourself to everyone, you can wear these," he heard Aglaea say as he continued to stare at the new garments within the package.

The garments were simple, just as he hoped. It was still a long trench coat, but instead of white, it was the color of his choosing. Aside from that, he spotted a single smoky gray cloak with golden streaks stitched on each side of the hood, as well as gold moon-shaped embellishments, gauntlets, and sturdy-looking boots.

And last but not least, he saw a golden mask and a letter card with adorable flowers and rocket doodles.

Snowy! We hope you like it! Agy almost seemed to lose it, so we helped her design the clothing. She said that the sleeves were far too simple and wanted to add some of her signature flowery motifs, but we naturally stopped her before she could begin! Just in time, too! 

We bet you would have loved something simpler. After all, Snowy is a humble youngster! Teehee!

P.S. We also decided to make a mask for you. Just in case Snowy requires it!

—Tribbie, Trianne, Trinnon

"Haha, I can definitely feel the energy bursting through this letter," he weakly found himself saying, perhaps a little too warmly.

Aglaea seemed to agree, chuckling gently. “That is Teacher for you. I hope you don’t mind their over-the-top enthusiasm.”

“I don't.” His lip curled upwards in a fraction, and an attempt of a smile began to appear on his placid visage. “Thank you so much for these clothes, Lady Aglaea.”

She nodded. “Your appreciation is well received.”

“I want to extend my appreciation to Lady Tribbie as well. If you would be so kind as to lead me to where she is, I would like to express my gratitude in person.”

“Don't worry about it. The Teacher understands. She told me that you can thank her the next time you see each other. After all, it's the Curtain-Fall Hour as we speak, and you should be preparing for the morrow. I absolutely apologize for disrupting your resting time.”

He shook his head. “It's fine.”

“Thank you, Deliverer.”

“‘Phainon,’” he said and continued, “Please, just call me Phainon.”

The Goldweaver stared at him for a few moments until she nodded in agreement. “Very well. Then just call me ‘Aglaea’ as well.”

“Will do.”

She bowed. "I will now bid you farewell. See you at the Entry Hour, Phainon.”

When the Goldweaver finally left, Khaslana suddenly sank on his knees, clutching the box to his chest. The letter remained in his grasp; all of his suppressed emotions were vying for control inside of him.

…Tribbie! Aglaea! 

He was unable to control it any longer; his body felt too hot, as though it wanted to explode, and tears started to form in the corners of his eyes. He missed this familiar, unadulterated kindness from the people who were once a part of his life, and he couldn't believe that he would be able to receive it once more this time around. 

Did he even deserve it? He actually didn't know, regardless of how many times he asked himself. Receiving their kindness made him extremely vulnerable; their warmth was slowly creeping into his heart.  

Was he truly bereft of real warmth while being the incarnation of the Sun—himself?

He couldn't help but think of how ironic it was. 

“Ahh…!”

He choked back a sob until the waves of emotions swept over him with overwhelming power. Like a lost child, Khaslana let out his heart. 

It felt too lonely to be alone on this mission. Despite the fact that he was meeting the same people he had known in the original cycle, he felt oddly estranged. The enormous amount of burden on his shoulders was so heavy that if he didn't steel himself and disassociate, he wouldn't be able to bear it and would simply give up. 

But no matter how uncertain he was with his own capabilities sometimes, Khaslana knew he could never give up. Even if he was scared that he might be making the wrong choices in this current cycle of his, regardless of the outcome, he had no choice but to simply deal with it.

Remember, there is no room for redos, Khaslana. 

To convince them, you must first demonstrate your value.

Keep the cycles running. Fool the world. 

Don't show any weakness. 

Take responsibility. 

And before his tears could fall, they evaporated into a wisp of smoke.

. 

. 

.

. 

. 

. 

He was also beginning to despise his demigod body. He couldn't seem to cry the way he wanted to. 

Ah, how unfortunate. 

Chapter Text

Act III. 

To his own dismay, Entry Hour had arrived far too quickly, but Khaslana had no choice but to march out of his room while dressed in the battle garb that Lady Tribbie and Aglaea had created for him. When he joined the Chrysos Heirs, he ignored the mixture of suspicious and inquisitive looks that were directed at him while wearing the golden mask.

He was quite grateful for the confidentiality. At least with his mask on, he didn't have to bare his face to more than a hundred, let alone thousands, of individuals taking part in the subjugation. 

Of course, the Imperator delivered a solemn war address to raise the morale of thousands of Flame-Chase soldiers before they set out to confront the bearer of the Earth Coreflame. Having seen it firsthand, he had come to understand how perfectly Imperator Cerydra fit her role as the law herself. Despite her diminutive size and angelic face, her loud voice spread throughout the venue, inspiring everyone to listen to her speech and look up to her. Her words were incredibly inspiring and powerful, even convincing enough to persuade thousands of soldiers to risk their lives in battle.

In every way, Khaslana saw her as the ideal leader. Cunning and assertive. Driven and filled with authority.

Even although it was absolutely unnecessary for her to mention him during the speech, the previously suspicious looks sent his way had morphed into pure interest. Aside from the Knight Commander Hysilens, who was tied to her side at every conquest, they were also curious about the Imperator's "new champion," who had the power of Destruction.

(Well, they would never have known he was a demigod from another cycle. So Khaslana had to play along with the “new champion of Destruction” role for a while.) 

Now that he thought about it, this would be his first official involvement in the current cycle's events. He couldn't stop himself from feeling excited, with his warrior blood brimming with complete anticipation. It had been a long time since he battled, and as Chrysos Heir through and through, even in his original cycle, he was conditioned to fight Titans as if it were his true calling.

But before they could reach their target's particular territory, the thousands of armies of the corrupted Titan ambushed them head-on, igniting the war.

He remembered the sudden surge of adrenaline pumping through his veins as he summoned Dawnmaker in the air. Like a nameless hero leading a whole legion at his back, Khaslana cleaved his way through hundreds of enemies, mercilessly slashing every corrupted Mountain Dweller who dared to bar his way as he paved a path for his fellow soldiers. His daring yet fearless entry instilled unprecedented confidence and chivalry in the Flame-Chase army, and he led them all into combat.

A familiar tune began to reverberate throughout his surroundings. War cries echoed all around him, with the sound of swords clanging and flesh being torn filling the air, and the lands were painted with gold and red. His body felt hot once more, as if his very being was all ready to combust. His core, the Coreflames he carried in his demigod form, pulsed within him, as if it wanted to unleash all of its power. The sword practice he knew from the original cycle became like a dance; he moved swiftly and confidently while swinging Dawnmaker with such finesse that it left the other soldiers looking up at him in pure awe.

He ripped through the army of enormous Titankin with ease, their blood spilling everywhere he went. Khaslana was fearsome on the battlefield; no one had been able to leave a mark, let alone a dent, on him. 

No enemies were spared in his graceful yet merciless saltation of the sword. 

In that time, it was also his first time seeing the Titankin of Georios, the Seismic Walking Dragon, Terravox, who was the wisest among Georios’ creations. They were also there to aid, and he was grateful for another great ally who joined them in battle—by blessing the warriors and defending them with their golden, robust shields.

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

He had to admit that it was not an easy battle.

Just like what he had sworn with the Imperator, Khaslana really did pour all of his strength into winning this fight. But the truth was that it was extremely difficult to suppress his need to transform. He was doing his best to keep on track and fight solely with his Dawnmaker. However, as the fight continued, it became sweltering hot beneath the layers of his covers, and he was sure his divine form was screaming at him to let loose, but he reeled himself in because he couldn't—otherwise, he would expose whoever he was to the people who were still watching from afar.

His vision became clearer behind his mask, indicating that his divinity was progressively seeping out of him, breaking through his half-mortal essence and absorbing whatever remained in him as Khaslana, the human.

Even when he faced Georios and fought like it was truly the end of the world, he wasn't able to stop from shedding his mortal shell and unleashed a power so destructive coming from the heavens that it almost decimated the Earth Titan's armies, as well as their territory.  

“.....KHAOS…!” Enraged, Georios' thundering voice caused every living thing to cower back as a massive earthquake struck Amphoreus. 

As a result, in a final act of desperation to defeat Khaslana, the crazed Titan pulled him into the Chasm, where they continued their struggle of death without interference from the outside world.

Drip drip drip

Khaslana felt like a different person each time he shed his mortal form. There was no need to undress and see if any part of his body had altered, but the clear golden ichor oozing from his black clothing was already proof that he had converted this time against his will. It was also a wonder how Aglaea's creation could withstand his scorching form. He couldn't help but silently marvel at the garments that she made for him; they didn't melt, much alone break, despite the enormous changes his demigod body had undergone throughout his battle with Georios.

The Chasm was such a dreary place and far too humid for his taste. To be honest, it wasn't an easy engagement, and it felt like he had just spent a day or two fighting the Earth Titan in the depths of his realm. All of that brute effort and embracing his power of Destruction and letting it free, he was fortunate that he was able to defeat Georios in the end, and this time he was only trying to find a way out to get out of the place.

Khaslana used his power to create balls of fire, which he let follow him and serve as a beacon to illuminate his way. Taking the Titan's scorched remains in his other hand, he strode through the empty space, pulling its enormous, lifeless body along with him. That was until he noticed a small crevice from above, light leaking through, and he knew without having to guess that the outside world was behind it. 

He summoned Dawnmaker in his other hand once more, and with a powerful thrust in the air, a burst of light blasted through the fissures, revealing Amphoreus' familiar, bright sky.

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

In the original history, it was a brutal war. As far as he knew from the records in his original cycle, at the end of the war against the Earth Titan, the Titankin of Georios, Terravox, killed the rampaging Titan and took the Coreflame that supported earth. 

But this time, with many eyes observing Khaslana as he left Chasm, he was met with a combination of disbelieving yet emotional faces of wounded but still living warriors. He even recognized familiar faces in the crowd, who appeared to be in stunned silence as they observed a new history unfolding in Amphoreus.

“W-we're not hallucinating, are we?”

“...I'm not sure…”

“Do you think it's a ghost?”

“I-I think not. Have you ever seen a ghost carrying a large sword?”

There were a few hesitant murmurs here and there until a sober soldier shattered the tension in the masses.

“I knew it! It's the Imperator's champion!” 

“What?”

“It's true! I won't ever forget that cloak and mask!”

“Are you kidding me? He's alive all along?!”

“T-t-the champion is alive!”

“Look! He's holding someone!”

“Does that mean….”

“REJOICE EVERYONE! WE WON!” 

Amphoreus encountered a turning point in its fate. Neither side suffered any losses. He was able to avert unnecessary deaths, and the gallant warriors who chose to fight alongside him were given another chance to live another day and return to the safety of their homes.

He wasn't really sure why the crowd was looking at him as if they had seen a ghost, but when Khaslana severed the Titan's head and raised the Coreflame high, the crowd gathered around the scorched remains of the god and roared in complete joy—cheering for the Hero of Destruction, who had ignited the faint spark of light for the first time.  

“Hurray to the Executioner! The Imperator’s champion!”

“Executioner! Hail to the Executioner!”

“All hail to the Flame-Chasers! All hail to the Imperator!”

“GLORY TO THE FLAME-CHASE!”

“ALL HAIL TO THE GOD OF CREATION!”

As he watched the crowd crying in pure joy, celebrating for their hard-earned victory, Khaslana thought in that flickering light he saw, the once-dark path ahead seemed to become much clearer. Behind his mask, he smiled weakly as he looked above the skies.  

He can do this. He can still save everyone. 

“In a time of grave desperation...” Khaslana turned to listen and discovered a wounded but alive soldier within the cacophonous throng, who was approaching him.

“....Kephale will open their eyes anew…”

Then the soldier suddenly fell to his knees before him and bowed, almost reverently. Upon seeing the gesture, the crowd around him had stopped rejoicing as they watched the events unfold.  

“...and lead mankind to overcome the Black Tide and rebuild the world once more,” he finished.

“Nameless hero, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for saving our lives.”

Rebuild the world once more… 

He wasn't Kephale and was simply their Coreflame bearer, yet for some reason, those words seemed to resonate with him. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

Khaslana was greeted with cheers when they returned to the holy city. From young children to adults, commoners to noblemen, everyone was ecstatic over their safe homecoming. They were all staring at him in amazement, reminding him of the looks he was used to seeing when he was recognized as "The Deliverer.”

But this time, instead of the title "Deliverer," he received a new title among the common people, which was quite opposite to the one he was most familiar with.

“Heh. Looks like you made it in one piece,” Imperator started with a satisfied smirk, “Executioner.”

Executioner. 

Quite fitting for someone who only passes judgment for Titans, all for the reason of halting Irontomb's ascension. He had to admit that it was much better than being called "Deliverer" over and over again, regardless of the cycle.

“I hope that was enough proof,” he murmured as he took off his mask, “that I am willing to tear through heavens for the sake of humanity's survival, Imperator.”

“Of course. I am not blind, you see,” she said with a snort. “According to the soldiers, during your fight with the Earth Titan, you were dragged into the bowels of the earth and remained there for almost six days.”

He blinked, taken aback by the unexpected revelation. "Was I stuck for that long?”

No wonder he felt like a day or two had passed in there, but in reality, he was stuck for a couple of days.  

That also explained the strange looks he received from the soldiers, as if he had just returned from the afterlife.

"Yes, you are," Imperator Cerydra flatly replied. "Dux Terrae was even concerned. There was no way a mortal could have survived in that abyss. Once you're stuck in there, you won't be able to see another day.”

“I see..”

“Have you seen anyone alive there?”

“....No.”

"So, this brings me to ask," the Empress began, looking at him from across her throne, hands crossed over her knees. "As a mortal, knowing that you could have died the instant you were drawn in, how come you are still here, breathing and fully alive?”

“...”

“Not unless you are not human yourself? A demigod, perhaps?”

Well, it was pointless to hide the most obvious aspect about himself, wasn't it?

“You are correct, Imperator.”

“Whose Coreflame is it?”

“Kephale's.”

"The Worldbearing, huh," she muttered with a distant expression in her eyes, seemingly unaffected by his statement. The Imperator could only tip her head to the side, her gaze falling on him as she concluded. "Hmph, no wonder.”

The last time he had a dream about his village was quite some time ago. In his dream, it was the Action Hour. He wasn't sure why he knew that specific detail, but he just did. Of course, it seemed unusual, but he figured it was normal for a dream.

He found himself in the midst of the golden fields, clutching a sickle and a bundle of wheat. He could even hear the birds flapping their wings in the sky and the other villagers' gentle chatting in the background. Khaslana merely stood there, silently admiring the one place he still holds dear to his heart.

He closed his eyes and breathed in that familiar sweet and earthy scent reminiscent of summer and fall; it was a warm and pleasant aroma that fully reminded him of home. He almost wanted to cry. It was such a vivid dream, something that he hoped was real. That familiar feeling. That kind of comfort. Aedes Elysiae, his beloved hometown—if only he could stay in that place forever and never leave.  

“....non…”

After all, it was his very wish.

“....come…”

But Khaslana knew he had to leave soon. 

“...let's go…”

Because this was only a dream. 

“....become heroes.”

Become heroes, huh. 

Huh? 

Khaslana opened his eyes and moved around, looking for the mysterious yet alluring voice that seemed to resonate all over the place.

He only saw the wheat field surrounding him; nothing had changed, and he couldn't see anyone. Was it all just in his head?

“...Phai…”

No, it didn't seem like it was only in his head. Someone was trying to call him.

But where did that voice even come from? 

Bzzzzt

“....non…”

Why did it feel like the voice was trying to reach out to him? 

Bzzzzt

Where...

Where....

Just where. 

After what seemed like an eternity of seeking amidst the haunting-like murmuring that distracted him, as if Oronyx had heard his desire to know, he glimpsed a golden silhouette in the distance.

The silhouette stood motionless. Even if he lacked sufficient evidence to back up his assertion, Khaslana had the impression that this entity was staring holes at him. He felt their gaze pierce his entire being. Who are they? 

Why are they looking at him with such imploring eyes? 

Imploring…? He didn't understand it. Why did such details start popping up in his thoughts as if it were the most natural thing to happen? He couldn't even tell what they looked like; they seemed like a faceless entity. A mere shadow. 

A ghost. 

For some reason, he wanted to reach out.  

“Who…are you?” He found himself asking towards the unknown. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

“Phainon.”

“...”

“Wake up.”

“...”

“Why are you even sleeping here?”

“...are you?”

“Agy, don’t you think Snowy’s dreaming…?”

“Should I try to wake him once more, Teacher?”

"Hmm. Must we? Why not let's take Snowy back to his quarters and let him sleep there? He must be quite exhausted.”

"I doubt that would be to his liking...”

"..." He mumbled as he regained consciousness. "I truly appreciate the thought, but I'm wide-awake, Lady Tribbie.” 

Khaslana gently opened his eyes to see the familiar faces of Aglaea and Lady Tribbie. As he discreetly observed his surroundings, he dimly remembered taking a rest on a nearby stone bench following his serious conversation with the Imperator. He remembered closing his eyes and soaking in serenity alone after all of the conflict. But what he hadn't expected was to fall asleep while reclining there.

As for Aglaea and Lady Tribbie, the two appeared to have just passed through the surrounding area, and they had not expected to see him there, let alone catch him sleeping.

He lowered his head. “My apologies, I didn't mean to sleep he—”

“It's fine, Snowy! We're aware that you're exhausted! It's understandable! Every time we are exhausted, we also find ourselves unexpectedly falling asleep! In random places too!”

Khaslana couldn't stop the awkward laugh from slipping out of his lips. “Haha, I guess…”

"We haven't seen you since you got back with the soldiers. So we assumed you went straight back to your quarters to recuperate," Aglaea mentioned with a slight tilt of her head. 

"I was about to do that after my conversation with Imperator Cerydra, but I saw this bench and couldn't help myself, so I rested for a bit," he replied, looking up at the sky. "I didn't do this much in my original cycle, so I had no idea it was so relaxing. If I knew, I would have done it more often back then.”

The Goldweaver and Lady Tribbie fell silent for a moment, until the latter spoke, if not softly.

"Snowy must have really missed this place. Absolutely. This is your home, after all."

"I sure do," he replied, smiling at them. "No matter what the cycles I was in, Amphoreus will always be my home." 

"I hope you're adjusting well?”

"I appreciate you asking, Aglaea. Yes, I am adjusting very well.”

So far. He added mentally. 

"How are the garments?" Lady Tribbie inquired eagerly this time. "Are they to your liking?”

Right. He forgot to express his gratitude to Lady Tribbie for the garments.

"Very much so. With the garments, I can move around easily. They're lovely and simple, like they were made just for me.”

“Of course, it’s only for you, Snowy! See, Agy?! We told you, Snowy much prefers no floral designs!”

Aglaea sighed, “Yes, Teacher. I am completely aware.”

“I know it's late, but it needs to be said now rather than never. Thank you so much, Lady Tribbie. Along with these garments, I'll cherish the mask and the letter as well.”

“You are very welcome, Snowy! We are happy that you like them. Snowy is not a stranger to us, so please let us know if you need assistance. You shouldn't bear things alone!”

“...”

“You shouldn't bear things alone,” huh? 

Khaslana found himself staring at Lady Tribbie as an unexpected recollection of her from his original cycle crept into his thoughts.

“Snowy, I feel like you're carrying too much burden. Not just your own wishes but also the hatred and expectations of others. Though we all have our own missions, I still get worried… Bearing everything alone is not a good habit.”

He opened his mouth for a moment, but nothing came out. 

“Snowy… No matter what the outcome is, please don't you ever blame yourself.”

His mood was dampened completely by the memories, which was enough to shatter any positive emotions he might have been feeling at the time. It felt suffocating all of a sudden, like his heart and chest were closing in on him against his will. As though he had swallowed lead, everything suddenly went numb, and his throat felt dry. It was enough to render him inwardly paralyzed. 

But again, Khaslana couldn't bear to expose any more of his vulnerability. He could never exhibit weakness before them. 

Even though forcing himself to speak at that moment made him feel sick for reasons unbeknownst to him, he responded with a flawlessly practiced smile. "I appreciate it. I'll keep it in mind.”

After his meeting and brief conversation with Aglaea and Tribbie, he politely excused himself under the pretense of "wanting to take a lot of rest." Both of them didn't say anything, with Tribbie seemingly understanding of his reason, while Aglaea most likely noticed his sudden bout of discomfort but chose to remain silent rather than express it. 

Patience. It was one of Aglaea's qualities that he admired; she never pushed when she noticed any changes in his behavior. She was simply observing and would wait until you felt comfortable enough to express your own concerns with her.

When he returned to his quarters, Khaslana began quietly removing his protective gear. His mask, gauntlets, boots, and other things. He was ready to remove his cloak when he became aware of an unknown presence lurking behind him, causing him to pause for a moment. Sudden goosebumps began to trail from his nape all the way down to his spine.

He felt watched. 

His hand hovered, ready to summon his weapon out of nowhere if necessary, but then as he turned around—

“I finally found you….” 

“—!”

“...Phainon.”

Chapter Text

Act IV.

“—!”

What was that? 

He was certain that his name had been uttered. He had been sure that only a handful of individuals knew who he had been before entering this period. Khaslana had always been reticent, especially around other people, and had never disclosed his true name or even anything about himself. Not even his other alias: Phainon. 

The presence he happened to sense, that unknown presence, was absolutely unmistakable—he knew there was someone behind him; his heightened senses could never be wrong. 

However, as he turned around, Khaslana was surprised to see the empty space in front of him—completely devoid of any intruder or unlucky individual who would immediately come into contact with his blade. He peered around, his eyes scouring every nook and cranny of his chamber, and was taken aback when he realized he was completely alone. But what about the voice? He knew he had heard a voice. The voice was far too real for him to even imagine, let alone hear in his thoughts. In addition, he was certain that he had sensed someone behind him. His keen senses couldn't be mistaken.

But then, he also couldn't disregard the possibility that…maybe he was hallucinating. Did stress and restlessness finally get to him? Khaslana had no idea, and no matter what the answer was, he couldn't say it made him feel better.

It was his first cycle where he was participating in this era's fate's design, and even if as an outsider, he couldn't afford to be mentally compromised. Not now, when he was just getting started on his mission, not in this cycle, where he had a chance to see a faint spark of change.

Not when he felt this kindling of hope within him that perhaps everything would turn out differently, where it would hopefully lean towards a positive light. 

It was way too early for him to get crazy with all of these responsibilities. He knew he needed to carry on as much as his demigod body could bear.

Khaslana let out a long, burdened sigh as he sat at the end of his bed, hunched over with both hands on either side of his head. He could feel an impending headache that would come to pass soon. 

Rest. He simply needed to rest.

Following the subjugation of the Earth Titan, Okhema hosted a seven-day victory celebration under Imperator Cerydra's command. The extended festivities taking place in the holy city were undoubtedly a first for Khaslana, but after learning from Aglaea the primary reason why the Imperator had to throw a lavish celebration, he had to admit that it was well-deserved.

After all, it was the Flame-Chase's first ever victory over a Titan, and if he had been the Imperator, he would have done the same—if not more. They deserved at least that. As a warrior, he was aware of the gravity and true horrors of warfare. It was frightening and overwhelming. The thought of not knowing if they would survive and see another day after all of that battling could make anyone question whether becoming a warrior was really worthwhile.

He remembered asking the same question when he first became a soldier. Of course, he felt fear. It was all natural for a human to feel frightened. There was a time when he was afraid of risking his life, but after a long period of internal deliberation—asking the same questions over and over—Khaslana was convinced that no matter how scared he was of the unknown, wielding a sword made him feel truly like himself, where every brandish of his weapon felt like he was truly happy, alive, and free of inhibitions. He didn't think he could ever give up on that feeling, no matter how much burden he had to carry, and he was left as the only sole protector in a broken world. 

“Hey brother, what's with the glum face?”

He blinked, somewhat taken aback. ”Yes…?”

"Where have you put your tankard? You should consume loads of beer! Or maybe some wine! Whichever suits you best!" A delighted middle-aged Okheman soldier smacked him on the back, forcing him to sit up straight on his seat. "I refuse to see someone looking like a dejected puppy on this momentous occasion! Did your lover abandon you following the war?”

“Not really…”

“What?! Married then?!”

“Uh,” He scratched his cheek awkwardly. “No.” 

"Well, marrying during a war isn't the best decision. But don't waste your good looks either, brother! I really think you can snag a beautiful lass without even trying so hard!”

He shook his head inwardly. If only he could gather some energy to match this intoxicated soldier's cheerful attitude, but he was much too drained to consider entertaining a soldier's enthusiasm. 

It made him wonder why he would even bother attending a banquet when his thoughts were carrying him elsewhere.

Right, he almost forgot. It was all just for formality. 

He cleared his throat, “I am fine just the way I am. But thanks for telling me.”

It was not like he could afford to do all of that when the whole world is still at risk, could he? And lover? He couldn't even imagine himself having one, with all these Deliverer and Worldbearing responsibilities he had to carry. 

"Now that I think about it, your face appears to be new among the crowd. What's your name?”

He wasn't really sure how to respond to that. With obvious reluctance, he murmured. “Well, that's—”

“Little white fry,” the sight of one stoic Sea Siren Knight Commander suddenly appeared right in front of him, much to his inward relief. “The Imperator would like you to join her on the dais.”

Forget the relief, now looking puzzled, he repeated. “Dais?”

“...The Imperator wants this young man to join her on the dais?” The soldier murmured to himself while squinting at him and then at Lady Hysilens. 

“May I ask why?”

"Why else? Of course, the Imperator wanted everyone to know who the Executioner is. Isn't that obvious enough?" she responded, deadpan.

"You are the Executioner?" The Okheman soldier spluttered on his beer as he looked him over from head to toe, stunned by the revelation. "The same individual who marched all the way to the battlefield like a valiant warrior dressed in black?”

Embarrassment was starting to crawl up into his innards. He clearly didn't want this kind of attention, let alone exposure. "I—”

“Pfft.” Lady Hysilens seemingly found amusement in his discomfort as she continued. "Yes, he is the same person who led us to victory. Isn't he cool?”

To be honest, Khaslana didn't think she was someone who reveled in other people's misery. Who would have guessed? 

“Oh, dear Kephale! This man truly has the looks beneath that intimidating mask!”

The other jubilant bystanders who witnessed the entire scenario nearby had begun to rave about the shocking discovery of the Executioner's identity. Everyone was crowding around him, with some trying to get a close look at his face.

“So… that's the face of the one who defeated Georios?”

“Could he be a nobleman?”

“Where do you think he comes from?”

“Do you think he's unwed?”

“He appears to be young, but he is definitely strong!”

“Executioner! Where did you learn that incredible swordsmanship?”

“...”

Khaslana was surrounded by admiring gazes on all sides, but for some reason, he got extremely anxious. It had been much too long since he had received the same kind of admiration from the general public that he had forgotten what it was like to be the single recipient of all positive remarks and glory.

Something was wrong with him. What was this feeling like? Each compliment felt like a weight, amplifying the internal struggle he desperately tried to hide. The very sight of their admiration for him only made him feel nauseous.

His days had transformed into months, and his months into years. Since his official introduction to the masses as the Imperator's new champion, his existence as a former icon in his initial cycle appeared to replicate itself in the current period. However, rather than being recognized as the Deliverer, he was revered as the Executioner of Gods. He couldn't really care less at that moment, though, because he knew that everything had been planned out by the Imperator from the beginning, even if it meant using him in that way, like a sort of trophy. Even if Khaslana didn't desire such attention (not with the gaudy title that makes him cringe inwardly at times), especially in public, he couldn't deny that his presence had helped to gather people from all over Amphoreus to support the Flame-Chase Journey.

The Black Tide was still as merciless as ever, and he and the other Flame-Chase soldiers had to fight day and night to keep its madness from consuming other lands into oblivion. Though he made every effort to keep other cities from succumbing to the tide, those cities ultimately met their terrible end, just like what he knew about in the past. Even though he was only aware of the history as it was written in scrolls, Khaslana was unable to overlook a single detail that no one in that era could have noticed.

The fact that the Black Tide invaded those cities much earlier than expected raised suspicions in him. It didn't help that every city he was tasked with saving gave him no chance to reverse their fate because it was far too late.

And every time he agonized about the aftermath behind closed doors, he couldn't help but think of Lygus. After all, it had been years since his arrival, yet he never confronted him directly by altering the existing timeline. The Antikytheran never revealed his face, much less his unsettling presence, and he had to admit that his absence made him extremely anxious.

Clearly, something was happening behind the scenes. This nagging feeling of smothering doom was something Khaslana could never ignore.

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

“Look, everyone! Balbina the Stutterer is here! She has flowers today. Do you think she stole it from somewhere?”

“I-I-I didn't steal it! M-my sister and I-I grew them in our g-garden! Y-you already know that w-we sell them in the M-Marmoreal Market!”

“She's at it again! She stuttered!”

“If you didn't steal it, why do you stutter?”

“She stutters~! She stutters~!”

“She's definitely lying!”

“Hahahaha!”

“N-n-no… I did n-not…”

“So, who died?” The oldest of the bullies looked at the flowers with boredom. "Aren't those flowers normally used to honor fallen soldiers? You know, to commemorate the deceased?” 

A series of laughing erupted among the rambunctious children. 

"Who is the unfortunate person who has to receive such poorly chosen flowers?”

"T-they're not awful," Balbina curtly denied. Defensively, she continued to hold the flowers in her hands.

"Hmm. Although the flowers don't seem bad, it certainly looks awful to watch you stuttering once more," said another bully.

“...”

“You know that your efforts are useless, right? I bet you couldn't even say ‘hi’ to them without running away. So, whoever you are planning to give that to—just save yourself from embarrassment, okay?”

"I-I'll try to meet him eye-to-eye without r-running away! So leave me a-alone!”

"Ah. Emil, it appears that your sweet Balbina has once again rejected you in favor of someone otherworldly. That's really sad."

“I couldn't blame ‘ya! Executioner is cool as hell, though!”

The other child, Emil, just hissed in response. "Shut up. Especially you, Rufus, you are simply getting on my nerves.”

Rufus, another bully with distinctive red hair, answered. "If this is about the Executioner again, you are definitely hitting a wall. He rarely even goes out, let alone in public. He's like a ghost," he muttered, shrugging. “Why do you even like that old man? I still don't understand why ladies like him.”

"H-he's a really c-cool and k-kind man! He is greatly a-admired by everyone! He looks like a h-hero! He fights the Black Tide!"

Emil yawned, clearly no longer in the mood to bully her. "Yeah, but Balbina, I'm not sure anyone wants to receive that. After all, it is a flower to honor the dead.”

“True. Not unless you decided to give that to our poor Emil instead, we won't consider it as a flower of death. Heh, I bet he'll absolutely appreciate it.”

The bullies snickered. 

“Y-you all are so cruel…” She sniffed, “I picked these flowers because they remind me of his eyes. I-it was easy for you to say that because you d-didn't even know the real meaning behind these flowers…”

“...”

"These f-flowers are not the only flowers used to commemorate death. T-they are also given to those who d-demonstrate loyalty and resilience! Unlike all of y-you who bully others because they want attention! Y-you never deserved such meaningful flowers! Not even you, Emil!”

“Balbi—”

“Just leave me be!” Balbina sobbed and yelled. “I hate all of you!”

“Oh no..”

“Yikes, we made her cry again—”

“...”

“Emil?”

“...Let's go,” Emil murmured, “This is not fun anymore.”

As the bullies eventually left, the youngster wailed and cried, stammering a few broken words under her breath about how she didn't deserve to be bullied for no apparent reason. As a result of her breakdown, the flowers in her hands no longer appeared appealing. Some of their stems became crooked, and some petals took a battering, turning them a darkish hue.

The sight of the flowers in bad condition made her cry even harder. "I-I-I can't give these anymore.”

"Are they meant for me?"

Balbina glanced up at him with watery eyes. "...?"

"Hello." His simple greeting worked like magic, as it stopped the girl from sobbing.

Khaslana only witnessed the whole exchange by accident. In all honesty, he just happened to return from his mission when he heard some one-sided exchange between children on his way back to his living quarters. A group of kids were simply ganging up on a poor girl, even mocking her stuttering problem, which he found irritating. He was planning to make his presence known in order to stop them from tormenting the girl further—but the mention of his moniker caused him to pause and become slightly curious, so he listened for a while.

What he didn't expect, though, was to hear such mixed sentiments among youngsters pertaining to himself. Both negative and positive. 

“I didn't mean to listen, little lady, but your friends are quite rude.”

“T-they are not my friends! They're m-mean people!” Balbina quickly denied, “A-and these f-flowers… I can't g-give you them. They're already b-broken. I-I'm so—hic—rry.”

Khaslana fell silent for a moment, watching the young child make the saddest face as she looked at the worn flowers in her hands, appearing far too dejected.

Her innocence brought up memories of a childhood friend from his past. He remembered Livia loved flowers as well, and she used to cry when they wilted too quickly after being plucked.

He crouched down, smiled, and met the girl's large eyes before speaking. "Who says they are broken?"

“C-can't you s-see, Lord Executioner? I-I held the flowers too tightly and b-broke them. They're going to wilt soon.”

He carefully peeled her fingers open, allowing him to hold the flowers instead. Khaslana noticed the flowers' delicate form; the baby blue color of the petals and the golden rings in the center seemed to match his own eyes. 

Just….how uncanny. 

If he had to recall what the young girl had said earlier about him. Those flowers are being given out to people who have demonstrated loyalty and resilience.

"These flowers are...?" He murmured.

Balbina brushed away her tears and replied, "T-they're Myosotis! Also known as S-Scorpion Grass!”

Scorpion Grass.. 

“I see. They're beautiful. Can I keep them?”

“B-but they already look f-far worse. I-if you l-let me, I'll give you a-another new one! Much fr-fresher!”

"If they are for me, I will see to it whether they look worse or not." Khaslana couldn't help but pat the stuttering child's head consolingly. "But as far as I can see, they haven't wilted yet, so have faith in this flower's resilience. No matter how damaged they are, I am confident that if given time, they will thrive.”

As if his words were like a command, the flowers seemed to vibrate softly as if they were purring in his hand. Their once crooked and drooping hairy stem straightened out, the battered petals were now standing tall and looking anew, with their leaves perking up in their usual minimal curve. “See?”

The child, surprised and amazed beyond belief, could only look at the flowers with a wide smile on her face. "They seem alive!”

There were times when he kind of appreciated his divine power. Even if the Antikytheran claimed that his true power came from the Blemished One, there remained a hidden flaw in the power of Destruction that he had inherited.

He also took comfort in learning that, as the bearer of Kephale's Coreflame, he had the ability to momentarily give life to various other living forms, especially vegetation.

It was as if it was telling him that while having the power of Destruction meant ending all living forms, there was also a chance of recreation.

If there is an end, then there is also a beginning. 

"They are very much alive," Khaslana smiled, oddly captivated by seeing a child's pure innocence, something he couldn't seem to recall when was the last time that he had it. After all, he had lost his innocence way too early, as far as he could remember.

"Let me walk you back to the plaza; your sister might be worried about you." He extended his other hand, which made Balbina beam like a light bulb, as if she were receiving some of her favorite sweets. She clutched his hand, filled with excitement and unfettered joy. "As for the flowers—thank you. I'll do my utmost best to treasure them.”

His dreams varied from time to time, but no matter how mundane they were, they were always set in the comforts of his hometown. From catching himself sleeping in the middle of the wheat fields after what seemed like an eternity, to playing tag and hide-and-seek with Piso and Livia, to Cyrene nagging him to help her find her tarot cards that the fairies had hidden again, to his father trying to pitch him into another fishing session that would undoubtedly last hours—where his mother would come to fetch them both with a light scolding afterwards. 

And for some reason, Khaslana stopped seeing the golden silhouette in his dreams. Despite his curiosity, the thing vanished like a mirage. Of course, he was perplexed and disturbed, but he reasoned that it could be a result of his subconscious, which was causing him to imagine beings resembling ghosts. Khaslana recalled hearing the same word over and over in the material world; perhaps it just manifested in his dream? Well, it could be. Who knows? 

To be honest, everything was exactly the same. It felt like he had simply stumbled upon a memory from his past that he happened to relive, even if only through a dream, and he was way too homesick to complain about how truly repetitious they were. Even if he was trapped in a loop within Aedes Elysiae, Khaslana thought he actually didn't mind. If he was given a chance to choose between his current life and the life that he once had in his village, he knew deep inside him that he would always choose the latter over the former. Again and again. 

This time, Khaslana opened his eyes in a world that seemed familiar yet foreign. It was still the same Aedes Elysiae he knew, but there was something about it that he couldn't seem to point his finger at. 

He was used to waking up in a soft wheat field, but this time he was lying down on a cold, hard surface, which he subsequently discovered was the wharf by the sea. Khaslana couldn't help but inwardly frown. It was a strange location to wake up, but he couldn't find a moment to complain. The happiness and pleasure were palpable in his bones. He felt liberated, as though he was truly happy to be there.

Which was strange enough in and of itself. 

Pop! 

Pop!

Where did that sound even come from? 

Pop! 

Pop! 

He forced himself up to search for the noises, and he was profoundly rooted in his spot when he noticed a person a few feet away, with their back to him, humming an unfamiliar tune, but the voice was obviously all too familiar to him.

“Which one should I pop…?”

They were wearing such interesting, foreign clothes. He saw high-heeled boots and then a hood covering their head, where the fabric stopped in the middle of their thighs. A color combination of gray and gold….

“One, two, three, four, five….”

Khaslana could only stare at them as they began singing. 

And for some reason unknown even to himself, he found himself very endeared. 

“███ ████ and ██████████ jive…”

"Heh." He chuckled to himself.

What…What the hell was that? He was certain he did not laugh in any way, so why was he laughing?

And what was that word that they uttered? 

"You're finally awake," they remarked as they turned their head for a moment, but Khaslana could still not see their face. But at least now, he realized this person was a woman.

“I don't think ███ ████ would really appreciate that,” he suddenly said, adding to Khaslana's confusion. He did not say that! But that was definitely his voice, which was even more bizarre the more he thought about it. 

Was someone attempting to manipulate his body or something? Did Lygus mess up his dreams? Did he screw up Amphoreus again by chance?

Just…what was going on? He became increasingly perplexed as the situation between him and this mysterious figure went on.

“Hah! ███ ████ adores me, so I doubt it! I sang this song way back in ████████, and he tried to chastise me by modifying the lyrics. But it doesn't bother me; I bet he likes it.”

Khaslana burst out laughing, amused and hearty, and responded. "That's very much like him. But, hey, have you forgotten that I might have adored you more than him?”

Oh dear God Kephale… 

Hearing those words come out of his own mouth shook him to the core. He felt the embarrassment sneak up on him, accompanied by utter confusion in the midst of his inner turmoil.

He didn't say that. He could never say that. THAT WASN'T HIM AT ALL. 

The woman finally turned around to face him, and all he saw was her warm smile beneath the hood, followed by a hooded pair of golden irises that he would never forget.

“I know you are. After all, I am the—”

Bzzzzt. 

Bzzzzzzt. 

A sudden static noise began to fill his ears, and his eyesight became fuzzy, to the point where he could no longer differentiate things, and the warm hues appeared to fade. He was certain the woman was still speaking to him, but the static noises became more intense with each passing second. They continued, like bothersome warning signals.

Bzzzzzzzzt. 

After that, he sensed a familiar, warm touch. Khaslana was able to recognize that simple touch coming at any time to his body. Carefully, delicately, he felt those slightly smaller hands cradle his face.

He was surrounded by her familiar scent. A pleasant smell that seemed completely unreal, something unattainable and unearthly. Even though he was unable to identify the fragrance, he was certain that he would never get tired of it. He had to say he was probably even enraptured with it.

This woman's presence, her warmth—even her whole existence—was enough to make him feel light and delirious. He just wanted to stay there, probably in her arms—

And think of it as his home. 

Bzzzzzzzzzzt. 

But…Aedes Elysiae was his home. He was still unsure about the identity of the person in front of him. He was still confused.

Then he felt something soft touching his lips, and Khaslana could taste a bit of salinity, almost akin to seawater. 

“Please, wait for me. I'll be there soon.”

He wanted to ask, but it looked like his time was up and his dream had to come to an end.

Just what was there to wait for? 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

The familiar bleak ceiling that he had become accustomed to seeing for years had greeted him. Khaslana had finally come to wakefulness, but this time, he woke up with tears in his eyes. 

Chapter Text

Act V.I

He was staring blankly at the ceiling before him. It felt like he had slept for far too long, and he couldn't even feel some areas of his body, as if his own body was also asleep. Khaslana was attempting to recall what he had dreamt, but for some inexplicable reason, he was unable to recall all of the specifics. It was way too hazy.

There were a couple of things he could vaguely remember in the following sequences: the orange tones of Aedes Elysiae, the wharf, the sound of popping, and then the color of gray and gold…  

But after that…he couldn't recall what happened next. He had trouble remembering. He thought, thought, and thought—if not a little too hard—but it seemed like every time he pushed harder, he hit an imaginary wall.

Khaslana let out a slow blink. Something wet was sticking to his temples until curiosity got the best of him and he reached out to his own face, where he came into contact with some wetness gathering in the corners of his eye.

Tears? Are they mine? 

They were real tears that came from his own eyes without warning. The simple realization caused him to stare at the glistening wetness on his fingertips, filling his entire body with utter disbelief and discombobulation.

Was it just him, or did he happen to shed tears while asleep? But why?

What transpired in his dream that prompted him to awaken in such a state of gloom? He couldn't even cry properly in his current body, yet he was able to release tears out of his eyes without him knowing. It was as if his emotions were trickling out despite his mind's confusion. Each tear carried a weight of vague memories and feelings he struggled to comprehend, leaving him both bewildered and oddly comforted.

What made his chest feel strangely heavy? Why did he feel such an immense pang of ache in his core, making him yearn for something that he couldn't even bring to mind? He couldn't believe that this feeling of mystifying longing had begun to take root within himself once more. Khaslana remembered having a similar experience in the past, which he had to confess was extremely frustrating.

But whatever it was, he would take his time figuring out who the mysterious figure in his dream was.

The person behind the gray and gold. 

No matter how long it would take. 

Following that strange dream, Khaslana had been seeing a series of interconnected glimpses of himself in various settings. From being a humble farmer in his village like his father, to becoming a famous general in Okhema, idolized by many for his countless heroic feats, to becoming a renowned talented appraiser in Amphoreus—where his talent to detect counterfeit artifacts was sought after by noblemen and other professionals alike who also required his skills as an authenticator. 

If he had to ask himself, those dreams were far too good to be true, and every time he awoke from his slumber, he couldn't help but feel resentful. They seemed too perfect, normal, and free of worries. There are no Titans or Black Tides, no sacrifices to be made, no uncertainty, and, most importantly, no sense of urgency in trying to fight the unknown.

It was unclear why he had such dreams. Was it because they were unattainable? Was his subconscious telling him that he could only dream about them since he could never achieve such a state of contentment that was devoid of incertitude? And that he was bound to suffer significantly more on his quest, thus he could only find solace in the illusions he secretly wanted in life?

"You seem lost in thought." The Goldweaver's familiar voice jolted him out of his reverie. "Is something alright?”

“Just thinking…” He trailed off for a moment, somewhat hesitant, but then he realized there was no harm in sharing his thoughts with Aglaea, and he continued. “...about my dreams.”

“Bad dreams?”

Khaslana shook his head, "I wouldn't say they're bad dreams per se, just confusing.”

"If you're willing to share, I wouldn't mind listening," Aglaea said with a small inclination of her head. "Talking them out could help you ease your troubles.”

That is so Aglaea to say, he mused to himself. He smiled in return, “Thank you.”

She curtly nodded. “So, what troubles you?”

“Well, I kept dreaming about different versions of myself. They are not unpleasant at all; it's just that….”

“...”

Silence reigned.  

“...”

“They make you uncomfortable. Is that it?” She finished it for him.

He remained completely still and silent, staring at a particular spot behind Garmentmaker as he asked the same thing to himself. 

Did the visions he saw in his dreams make him uneasy? He had to admit that they made him feel bitter; yet, in terms of making him uncomfortable, Khaslana was unsure—not even to himself—whether they had a total effect on him.

It was quite….complicated. Understanding his own feelings about those matters perplexed him beyond reason, and it didn't help that no matter how hard he tried to persuade himself, he still considered those illusions of what he desired for himself meaningless.

Perhaps, they kept showing up in his dreams because Khaslana never deserved them. 

It was like a nasty ribbing, all for the purpose of planting a minor discord within him, confusing him with images that he would never, ever attain in life, no matter what cycle he was in. 

"Aglaea, do you dream?” He asked instead.

The Goldweaver gave him a brief glance before speaking. "I guess I still do, sometimes.”

“What do you make of them?”

"Let me see..." Aglaea paused, "My dreams are quite repetitive. It's always about being in a tailor shop with Teacher and Cifera, and they never stray beyond that.”

She went on, "But every time I dream of opening a tailor shop for everyone, in a world so peaceful with no strife," she added with a slight flourish of her hand, her golden threads appearing in her silent command. Khaslana could only observe. "Honestly, they make me feel so hopeful, like how these threads vibrate with life, hopefully waiting for me to be used.”

He kept listening, and the Goldweaver carried on with her words. 

"There are times when I dream of having a normal life as well. I know this sounds ungrateful, but when I woke up, they made me feel disappointed and greedy for similar dreams.”

Aglaea silently dismissed her golden threads; her lightless eyes watched her hand bereft of those threads. She softly inquired, "I have to admit they made me wish they were all true. They seem too wonderful to be true, don't you think?”

“Yes, they are,” he agreed without much of a second thought. "Very much so."  

"As you can see, I have found that my dreams are invariably linked to my wishes. And I think yours are similar to mine. To be honest, they made me uneasy at first, but I eventually came to accept and even appreciate them.”

She closed her eyes and smiled, albeit somewhat sadly. "I might never have that perfect scenario in life, but at least they're giving me a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to live through them even in dreams.”

Live through them, huh? 

"But you know, Phainon, wishing does not have any negative consequences, and it's not bad to have hope either.” Aglaea moved around in circles, observing her mannequin in her new creation with a comfortable ease, her heels clicking on the polished tiles with an elegance worthy of her noble-like character.

"For how long have you lived that way?"

"What do you mean?"

"By making an effort to be brave or strong.”

“I….” Khaslana hesitated for a moment, obviously unable to speak. "I don't know…”

“Bravery has its downside; it makes you think you do not deserve to show any weakness whenever you feel lost,” Aglaea said as she eyed him from across. “Don't be ashamed of your vulnerability,” she continued. “Believe me, no one will shame you for feeling that way.”

“...”

"And those dreams were just a part of you that you wanted to hold onto. No matter how impossible they may seem, strive not to let them go.”

Something was completely different this time, unlike the previous dreams he had. Khaslana opened his eyes to a vision that initially bewildered him, but when awareness hit him full force, he became thoroughly flustered—too disturbed by the mere sight before him.

He faintly saw a catching, fair-like skin, with a few visible scars dotting their back like badges of honor for every hard battle won. He discovered that his palms were sweeping through the curved plane as if he were worshiping every trail his fingertips could reach. His body felt like it was on fire from head to toe, but for some inexplicable reason, it felt extremely good, and he was almost embarrassed to admit that he might become addicted to such warmth. In all honesty, this was the type of warmth that did not appear destructive—quite the contrary of the scorching heat he always felt whenever he shed his mortal form.

His body made a sudden movement, and Khaslana could only gaze in scandalized fascination as he listened to every breathy and sweet murmur produced by this figure underneath him.

He was… He wasn't trying to force himself on anyone, was he? He knew he wasn't a saint, but he would never force himself on anyone like that! What the hell was going on, anyway? He couldn't think of an appropriate explanation for why he was drowning in such fluffy and cozy sheets with someone beneath him. And the fact that his body, or he himself, was reacting so terribly to every moan, and even to every arch of their body, was enough to destroy any remaining sanity in him at that moment in time.

His dreams became increasingly unsettling as time went on. Even though he didn't want to confess it, he was dreadfully, obviously turned on by each contact of his nether regions with something he didn't want to name, and he was utterly embarrassed to have such a very naughty vision playing before him. 

“Ngh!”

Khaslana didn't think he could take in much of this, fearing that another repetition might torment him while sleeping behind closed doors in the material world.

But then, he couldn't dismiss the weird sensation and even the nagging thought telling him that this no longer seemed like a dream. He could feel, touch, and taste. He was inwardly disturbed by how ravenous he appeared in this vision; it was as if he was seeing a hidden side of himself that he was completely unaware of.

Was this really him at all?

He felt some of his muscles crackle, but not in an unpleasant way. Again, he was inside a body created by his own dream—one that he could feel, sense, and enjoy as if it were his own. This sense of urgency he felt was slowly consuming him. Every deep thrust and rough grind of his pelvis against a soft mass caused his mind to stutter with only thoughts of that sweet completion. 

Khaslana witnessed as he snaked his other arm beneath their torso, almost like a vice grip that he was sure would leave red bruises in its wake. If he had to question himself, this did not feel forced, just like what he had been apprehensive about. It felt as if he consented to do this, as if he genuinely desired it. There were no feelings of regret whatsoever, and there was even a hidden part of himself thinking that he wouldn't even mind doing this frequently. Of course, only with this person beneath him. He couldn't even see himself doing this with a different person.  

Suddenly, he heard them cry, not out of hurt, but out of pleasure, until he saw gray in the midst of his hazy vision. He wasn't sure why he was thinking all of this. He felt like something was beginning to overlap in his mind.  

Why did he forget it? This was the same woman in his other dream, the one he had talked to in the wharf of his hometown. Someone that he was sure he was quite familiar with but at the same time foreign for some reasons that he couldn't even bring himself to explain. 

"Phainon," she uttered his second name. Of course, she knew him for certain, but how come he couldn't recognize her?

Who exactly was this woman? The one with silvery gray tresses and—

“W-wait…!” The woman cried as she clung to his arm. Again, the feeling of urgency had increased tenfold, leaving him breathless and even more desperate in his thrusts.

"My apologies, I don't think I can stop—" he heard himself say, his voice hoarse and nearly spent—heavy with pleasure. Pleading. "Please bear with me for a—ngh—while. Please.”

Khaslana felt it approaching, the pleasure that his body was attempting to chase along with the woman in his arms.

It was his time to hold her; her head had tilted sideways to meet his own. Then he saw those beguiling golden pairs staring at him with their familiar imploring eyes.

For some reason, the sight simply made him thrust with greater intensity. And he could see that both of their bodies were already close to completion. 

“Slow d-down!”

Alas, he simply couldn't.

“Y-you're going to ruin me…!”

Out of nowhere, he heard himself say it, almost akin to an oath.

“Let it all out. I will fix you in the same way that you fixed me. I promise.”

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

Khaslana awoke with a number of questions swirling around in his mind. The aftermath undoubtedly disturbed him, but he also couldn't deny the strange sense of satisfaction he felt. He couldn't claim to be a prude who was prim and pristine, but he had never had such stimulating dreams before either. Not even when he happened to come across some banned literature about the pleasures of the flesh from his days in the Grove. He was constantly occupied with the pursuit of his objectives, which is why he never engaged in any activities of that nature, despite the fact that there were occasions when he was also overcome with curiosity.

He took pride in maintaining his chastity. His Deliverance responsibilities, after all, were considerably more significant than sexual gratification.

Until his attention was drawn to something he had already anticipated. His gaze fell on the apparent tent visible on his pants. He was appalled as he reflected on his own healthy constitution. For a dream in which he could no longer remember every detail except for the fact that it represented his having an intimate relationship with someone unbeknownst to him, it must have made his nethers extremely hard in the material world as well.

But then, as he remembered Aglaea's remarks from their last encounter, Khaslana couldn't help but groan, seemingly distressed and in utter disbelief.

"Are you saying that wild delusion was a part of me I wanted to hold onto? That has to be a joke.”

"The sea comes first. The earth follows. Could the sky be the next?" As she looked over the most recent report she had gotten that day, the Imperator spoke in a sarcastic manner.

"I heard something is going on in the North," Hysilens commented. “Is it the Black Tide again?”

"North…?" Tribbie paused, "But isn't that where the Little Imperator's…” she trailed off. 

"Well, I received a report from the other Chrysos Heirs stationed to the North. Signs of Black Tide are slowly forming in the earth's fractures on the outskirts of my hometown, Hyperborea.” After taking another quick glance at the entire report, Imperator Cerydra went on. "The thing is, they have been investigating the area for days since it appeared, but the Black Tide hasn't progressed to the point where it could cause widespread devastation, unlike the other cities that have been hit by it in the past few months.”

With her arms folded, Aglaea spoke. “The Black Tide has always been relentless; it never stopped progressing once it appeared. I have to say this is quite suspicious.”

"Highly suspicious, but I'm not really worried," She said as she rolled up the scroll again. "They must have already evacuated the people in there to a secure location before analyzing the situation. The corruption levels may have been bearable because they did not state that they required substantial reinforcements for the investigation.”

Tick tick tick tick

Shhhk

Click

Several sets of eyes followed the sound of the door opening, and the familiar figure of one exalted Executioner entered the council chamber with his usual commanding gait.

Knowing the Imperator detested the unnecessary theatrics of bowing down to her, especially in her presence, Khaslana just nodded from across the room—with a hand over his chest. "I sincerely apologize for my tardiness; I had some minor issues along the way.”

"At last you're here, Executioner. I was nearly concerned that none of my summons had reached you.” The Empress gestured toward Hysilens with the scroll she was holding. “If you may, Dux Gladiorum.”

Upon Hysilens' graceful approach to the Imperator's throne, the latter merely gave her the scroll. “Give it to him,” she curtly instructed. 

The Sea Siren Commander nodded in acquiescence, and after several moments of silence, when Khaslana received the scroll, he looked at the Imperator with questioning eyes. "May I know what this is?”

“Read.”

Without further ado, he opened the scroll as ordered and started reading the contents. Everyone could only watch him as he silently read, and as the time went by, Khaslana's once questioning look changed into something far more somber. 

It was about the Black Tide, so he wasn't surprised, but there were some interesting parts of the report that prompted him to double-check the contents, and when he discovered the legitimacy of the report coming from the soldiers in the North, Khaslana looked up only to meet the Imperator's awaiting gaze.

"There have been Black Tide sightings, but no progressions since its appearance?" he murmured, almost uncertain, as if he was seeking confirmation from the Imperator herself. "Is this the most recent report from the North?"

"You have read it right. Isn't it unusual?”

How was that even possible? Whenever the Black Tide emerged, the corruption levels increased throughout the day. Depending on how vast the area was—for example, a city—it only took a day and a half to completely envelop everything, leaving nothing except the abysmal depths of the corrupted waters. After countless fights of pushing back the Black Tide by repelling those corroded monsters, Khaslana was a living witness to how totally unforgiving the tide was.

So it was quite suspicious to hear such befoulment in stagnation lasting for days.

“There must be something going on with the Black Tide.”

The more he thought about it, the more anxious he felt. Something was not right; he could feel it in his bones. That sense of foreboding he had felt that he couldn't seem to shake had returned, causing him to feel signals of dread as it attempted to break free from its cage within him.

The Imperator spoke unexpectedly, unaware of his internal turmoil. "So you have not experienced a comparable case in your previous cycle?"

He shook his head abruptly. "I'm afraid so. This is a completely new situation, Imperator, even for myself.”

“Hm.”

“Please, send me to the North. I must see for myself what's going on in there.”

“Denied.” She refused without even having to filter her words. “You’re staying here. You're not going anywhere.”

“But—”

"I understand your responsibilities, including your concerns, lad. But, if I may be so direct, you are not needed there," Imperator Cerydra remarked in a more serious tone, leaving no place for any rebuttals on the tip of his tongue. “I have my utmost trust in my subjects in the North. I didn’t raise a weak nation, adorned by flimsy soldiers. Do not mock my judgment, Executioner. My word is the law.”

Khaslana was absolutely stunned; the others were stuck in their place, forced to watch and listen to their conversation.

"You are going to stay here. That's a command.”

"What if the Black Tide suddenly worsens? Imperator, you probably don't realize how fickle their nature is!” He still tried to argue, but instead of Cerydra taking offense to his words, she seemed to be listening without stopping him as much. "The tide may be in a state of stasis right now, but what if it suddenly shifts and begins to progress quickly when our people are most vulnerable?”

"White fry," the familiar voice of one Sea Siren called out to him with that unusual moniker, "What would you do if the Imperator had permitted you to set off to the North?”

"I'm going to look into it myself, Lady Hysilens, and will stop it, no matter what, before it causes harm to people."

"Do you believe that is your role as an indispensable soldier like yourself? Really, to investigate?”

“Protecting the weak is my responsibility, isn't it? Investigating is the next step, so what’s stopping me from performing that aspect of my job?”

"How annoying," Hysilens remarked, shaking her head. "You simply don't understand, do you? I understand you're concerned about all of mankind, but if you allow your paranoia to get the best of you and try to carry everything again on your own, you won't be able to recognize what's most important.”

Now taken aback by her words, he trailed off. Paranoia? “What….?” 

"Snowy, Big Sis Hysilens, please calm down." He could hear Lady Tribbie calling out to both of them worriedly, but Khaslana could only stare at Lady Hysilens as if she had just told him something so incomprehensible.

“What do you mean by that?”

"This is what I dislike about you. You didn't appear to care much about yourself, which I don't care about; after all, it's your life. But to charge head-on without regard for other people's feelings and opinions?"

He seemed to be tongue-tied. "My apologies, my lady… But I don't seem to follow…”

“The Imperator doesn't want to send you out there because she believes you are much needed elsewhere, and that does not include investigating mere stagnant traces of Black Tide. Some other people need you here. Do I have to spell it for you?”

"I believe so as well," Aglaea added. "There are many crucial factors to consider. If our Northern allies did not seek any kind of assistance, it must be because they could handle the situation on their own.”

“...” 

"Listen, white fry, we are not just decorations. We are also fighting for the survival of all mankind. It is not only your responsibility to bear all the weight.”

Silence. 

“Remember, you might have the role of the Deliverer, but you are not the Deliverer of this cycle.”

She was right. He wasn't the Deliverer of this cycle; he didn't have to—

“...”

She sighed, “How impulsive. We can't have you get killed before you can even retrieve all of the Coreflames. Learn to remember that you still have subordinates who are willing to help you.”

“That's enough,” Imperator Cerydra stated abruptly. “I think you scolded him enough, Dux Gladiorum.”

"Well, I hope that was enough, because I don't think I'll be able to stop myself from talking sense to him. My apologies.”

"Executioner," the Empress spoke to him one more time. "For years, I didn't stop you from helping us push back the Black Tide because I know you did it out of good will from your heart, but don't you ever forget that your main role is to slay the Titans.”

He murmured, “I understand, Imperator.”

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

The Imperator quickly dismissed them after that lengthy meeting in the council chamber. He had to say it felt like it was the longest meeting he had to forcibly attend along with the other Chrysos Heirs. In addition to that, it made things feel a bit awkward between him and his fellow subordinates after that heated exchange that transpired between him and Lady Hysilens. Aglaea then seemed to look at him with pity in her lightless eyes, while Lady Tribbie's anxious gaze followed him wherever he went. The latter appeared to want to speak with him, but she couldn't find a good opportunity to do so because he swiftly departed the council chamber when the meeting finished.

He felt ashamed for some reason, and Khaslana couldn't figure out why.

Did it seem like he was solely focused on his objectives and had never considered the people around him? Did he appear to be selfish in some way? But what could he do to correct it? Even if they assisted him in retrieving all of the Coreflames, it was still his responsibility to bear such a burden. He did not want to impose himself on them. In fact, he refused to give them even a quarter of the responsibility. He just wanted them to be safe. Were his methods really that bad?

"Lord Executioner." A young messenger, whom he recognized as someone who carried the Imperator's menial tasks in the palace, called out to him. “The Imperator summons you to the council chamber.”

He momentarily frowned. The council chamber again? But why? 

“May I know why?” he asked. 

"I believe there is a high-ranking individual following the Imperator who wishes to speak with you, but I am not certain who it is. It was private. I apologize.”

"Ah, no, everything is fine. Don't be concerned.”

High-ranking individual… 

Who would that be? 

“Please follow me. The Imperator abhorred tardiness.”

Khaslana cleared his throat awkwardly. Well, he had been late when he was summoned. He hoped the Imperator didn't take offense at his minor blunder back then.

Of course, it didn't take long for him and the messenger to arrive inside the palace. In just one turn right at the corner, he would find himself arriving in front of the large, familiar doors of the Imperator's council chamber soon. 

“I'm afraid I'll be leaving you to your own devices starting from here, Lord Executioner,” the young messenger remarked politely and gestured his hand to the chamber's direction. “The Imperator is already expecting you there.”

He could only nod to express his gratitude, “Thank you.”

With a final bow, the messenger departed, leaving Khaslana alone. He began to walk again, and each step he took made a clicking sound on the marble floors, and the sound of his heels clicking reverberated along the almost deserted hallway.

At that moment, he was directly in front of the automated doors. He observed the locks moving in a puzzle-like pattern until they came loose.

Shhhk

Click

When it opened, his greetings were abruptly cut short when his gaze fell on a person he knew quite well, particularly from the previous cycle. Khaslana was sure that the Imperator had said something upon seeing him arriving, but for some reason, those words seemed to fall on deaf ears because those very organs were suddenly ringing with such higher intensity, as if they were giving him a warning. 

“Imperator, I am truly honored to finally meet the champion who turned the tempestuous tides of the Flame-Chase to a favorable one.”

“Executioner, come inside. Meet this honorary and distinguished gentleman from the Council of Elders.”

The Antikytheran made a graceful and dignified bow as he introduced himself. “My name is Lygus; I am also known as the Theoros who once communicated with Kephale during Era Chrysea. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Executioner.”

Khaslana swore he was about to see red, and he was this close to summoning his Dawnmaker, but he was doing his best to contain his rage. After all, the Imperator was watching his every move. 

He clenched his fists instead, “...Lygus.” 

This blustering fool…!