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Summers in Okhema bring vibrant flowers, the scent of honeycakes, the squeals of playing children, and the distant roars of the dromas.
Phainon prefers to spend his summers indoors.
Sure, he'll go out on occasion to shop at Marmoreal Market or to the Garden of Life to play with the chimeras—not to mention his all-too-frequent spars with Mydei, but, most of the time, he's cooped up in the palace, spending his days in the library and the baths.
The warm air, the cries of the children, the hustle and bustle of the market, everything seems to remind him of home.
Home, which no longer exists. Home, where he knew everyone like family. Home, where his parents and Cyrene were.
He's too old for this, too old to be homesick with grief every summer. It's been years since Aedes Elysiae burned down, and years since he lost everyone he loved. He has the flame-chase to think about. He needs to focus on the growing relationship between Okhema and Castrum Kremnos. But he wants and wants and wants to go home.
☼
He dreams sometimes. So rarely do these dreams come, much rarer than when he was a kid. An adult Phainon talks to Cyrene and chases after Snowy as the ball of fluff bounds through golden fields. His parents laugh and serve him smoked fish, and he eats and laughs too, until that man cloaked in black shows up and ruins everything. Every dream, no matter how sweet, that man shows up, and so do the flames.
When he was first brought to Okhema, Phainon would flinch at the sight of a mere candle, his skin seeming to burn just by looking at it. He eventually forced himself out of the habit—you can't participate in something called the "Flame-chase" if you're afraid of fire, literal or not.
He tried his best to push everything aside, to forget the sounds of friendly greetings as he strode through cobblestone paths, to forget the smell of saltwater air, to forget the feeling of spearing fish and triumphantly bringing it home for dinner.
In summer, the dreams are the worst—so vivid, so fond, so perfect they couldn't possibly be real. And they weren't.
Needless to say, he never sleeps well in the summer.
☼
Phainon is in the Garden of Life, where Mydei finds him with his hands tangled between stalks of wheat. It was an impulsive decision, the half-bushel lying beside him. It's that sweet, earthy scent lingering around that forced him into the purchase, and now his purse has become considerably lighter.
"Deliverer, what are you doing?" Mydei asks, and there's something in his voice Phainon can't quite make out. Incredulousness? Worry? Probably both.
"Mydei! How nice of you to join me out here. I'm making a basket, wanna see?"
Mydei settles down next to Phainon, and immediately, the chimeras flock toward him, rubbing against his legs and flopping onto his lap. Phainon's jealous.
Curious, Mydei leans over Phainon's shoulder, and Phainon suppresses a shiver at the proximity. He focuses on his own fingers, deftly weaving stalks of wheat together, until a basket begins to take form. He doesn't need to pay attention, really—he's done this enough times as a kid that it's become second nature.
Next to him, Mydei begins to weave some stalks too, cautiously emulating Phainon's motions.
"Mydei, what do you say we have a competition? Whoever weaves the most baskets wins."
"Heh, you're on." Mydei agrees easily.
Phainon snorts. Little does Mydei know, they'll likely be there all day. Basket weaving isn't a quick task, after all.
…
"How have you made so many?!" Phainon grins at the sulk in Mydei's voice.
"Practice, my dear Mydeimos. Practice."
Mydei grumbles and swats at his shoulder, eyeing his own two baskets with slight contempt.
Phainon grins, and he feels much, much lighter. The chimeras on Mydei's lap still remain, so he takes to rubbing one on the head as Mydei struggles to finish his basket. Parting Hour has long faded well into Entry Hour, leaving him and Mydei as the only ones left in the Garden.
Phainon stretches languidly, a yawn escaping his lips. "Hm. Perhaps it's time we call it a day."
Mydei finally looks up from his basket. "Hmph. I suppose you've won then."
Phainon laughs, and he feels more at home in Okhema than he's felt in weeks.
☼
The sharp clang of metal against metal and the thump of bodies echo across Okhema's many training grounds. The warm light of the Dawn Device makes Mydei glow in brilliant gold. He looks beautiful, like a human depiction of Nikador. Phainon gazes up at him, and he can only hope he hides the adoration threatening to creep up on his face. Yet another spar lost, but he doesn't expect anything different today.
He practically throws himself into their spars these days, putting more effort and strength than usual, and the effects are starting to show. He wakes sore and exhausted—even Hyacine has struggled to fix it.
He can't help it; sparring with Mydei was just so addicting. The rush of adrenaline that makes him forget everything else, the thrill of the fight, and the surge of overwhelming affection afterwards. Even Mydei's begun to call him out on it, saying he needs rest, but Phainon can go on.
"You lost yet again, Deliverer. Perhaps you'd win one of these days if you actually got some sleep."
"Worrying about me, Mydei? How sweet."
Mydei turns his head, grumbling. "…HKS. Let's go."
Phainon yelps as his arm is seized and he's practically dragged to Marmoreal Palace. Mydei kicks open his door, and Phainon winces at a very familiar sight of scattered books and antiques. He didn't exactly plan to have guests over. Mydei's fault, he decides, and feels much less guilty.
"Take a nap, Phainon. The circles under your eyes could become the new name for evernight."
"Hah, very funny." Despite his dry words, Phainon does, in fact, collapse onto his bed.
Mydei lingers for a moment—perhaps to make sure Phainon really does intend to sleep.
(Hours later, Phainon wakes to find a stack of golden biscuits sitting innocently atop his table, and his kitchen suspiciously clean.)
☼
There was a sort of careful familiarity Phainon had with Aedes Elysiae that he is yet to find in Okhema. Maybe it was the presence of his parents, who taught him so much about life. He misses them. A lot. He misses his mother's loud laughter as he tracked mud inside his home, and those days spent with his father in the market, trying his best to refuse free extra food.
His hometown was so small—everyone practically knew one another. Perhaps he had simply gotten used to the cozy intimacy the village carried, but he's felt drawn to similar environments ever since.
The Nouspores were small like that, too. Not many in the Grove could put up with Professor Anaxa, and the man always had a penchant for choosing favorites. It was no secret how much he favored Phainon and Casotrice over his other students. And despite his… sharp edges, Anaxa had always felt like a parent to Phainon. He was standoffish and eccentric, but beneath it all, Phainon knew he cared deeply for his students. And for him.
He hasn't seen Anaxa in a long time—not since he graduated from the grove. Between the Scholar's blasphemous nature and his suspiciously tenuous rivalry with Aglaea, there isn't much reason for him to visit Okhema.
Phainon sits on a balcony, back to Kephale's burning Dawn Device, and stares into the distance where he knows the Grove sits. He wonders what Anaxa's doing. He misses him. Phainon has many regrets in life—not spending enough time with his parents is one of them.
He thinks he'll pay Anaxa a visit soon.
☼
Among other things, one of Phainon's favorite traditions of Aedes Elysiae was its ballads. Soothing and gentle to the ear, his mother often sang them to him when he was a child. They told stories of brave warriors and fearless priests, and of Oronyx's gift of time.
Often, he sings them to himself. To remind himself of his home, his roots, who he is. His favorite is of a man separated from his beloved, whom he holds dearest to his heart. He likes to imagine the man as himself, sometimes.
He sits in the garden for what's looking to be the fourth time this week, singing that same song under his breath. He hears footsteps behind him and quiets—it would be embarrassing to get caught singing.
"Snowy!" Tribbie runs up with her usual cheer, plopping down beside him. Phainon was never good with children (or in this case, immortal children), but Tribbie never seemed to mind.
"Lady Tribbie. What brings you here today?"
"We were playing with the chimeras when we saw you! What were you singing?"
Phainon mentally curses. There goes his reputation. "It was a… song from my hometown."
Tribbie blinks at Phainon, wide-eyed. She knew exactly what she was doing, and Phainon was weak.
"…Would you like me to sing it to you?" Phainon offers, less reluctant than he pretends to be. It's nice, sharing a part of him with someone, and Tribbie is wise and childish and all too earnest to know more parts of him.
Tribbie claps her hands, smiling. "Yes, please! We didn't know you could sing."
"Er… It's not exactly something I tend to advertise."
Despite his hesitance, Phainon sings to her. Gently, the way his mother used to. He sings his favorite song and many, many more. He sings until his voice starts to go raspy from overuse. Tribbie falls asleep like that, head pillowed on his lap, with the Dawn Device's light shining gently on her face.
"Singing?" A scoff, and Phainon whips his head around at record speed, trance broken. "That's not something you see Okhema's Deliverer doing every day."
"M-Mydei!" Phainon tries not to cringe at the octave his voice jumped to. "I- that-" He fumbles for words for a few seconds, before he's cut off.
Mydei takes his position at Phainon's unoccupied side, staring off into the distance. "You have a nice voice."
Much to his horror, Phainon feels heat color his cheeks as he buries his head in his hands. "Please, don't tell anyone."
Mydei elbows him, sighing in that resigned way of his. "I won't, this once. And I mean what I said."
Phainon falls quiet at that, leaning back on his elbows. The garden hums softly around them, chimeras rustling through the grass and the Dawn Device casting everything in gold. Tribbie sleeps peacefully against him, and Mydei remains quietly at his side, close enough that their shoulders nearly brush.
He misses Aedes Elysiae dearly, and he misses Cyrene with all his heart, but he thinks he'll be alright.