Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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The lights of the Upper City shone like a crown, spilling over streets lined with marble and glass. Towers stretched high into the night, their windows glittering gold, their domes plated in white stone that caught even the faintest star. Here, harmony was more than a dream—it was sculpted into the very skyline. Bridges arched like veins of light, railways hummed clean through the air, and every corner was ordered, polished, untouched.

The city belonged to beings who were not gods, though the people often mistook them for such. Six rulers, each commanding their own state, each hailed as a figure of divinity. They were admired, feared, obeyed. And above them all stood Fuli—the name whispered with reverence, the one who bound the six into one and kept their city shining, ever-pure, ever-guarded. Under their watch, no threat was meant to touch this holy ground.

But nothing was ever fully white. Where there is sunshine, shadows always follow.

Beneath the clean streets and towering spires, there was another city.

The Underground City. Not truly below the surface, but it felt that way. A contrast carved in the shadows, where the outcast and the unwanted sank. No ruler fully claimed it, no divinity graced it. The air was thick with smoke and neon, alleys twisting like veins beneath the stone foundation of the paradise above. It was a haven of rot, a marketplace of sins, a graveyard of forgotten names.

And yet, chaos never fully reigned there either. Seven factions rose to keep the underground city from devouring itself whole. Outcasts were rarely peaceful—left unchecked, they would have burned themselves out long ago. The factions were balance, brittle though it was. Until one by one, that balance broke.

Three of the seven had already fallen, swallowed by a single name.

Nanook.

A conqueror, ruthless and absolute. One who thrived in destruction, who carved their path through the city without hesitation. Nanook’s will was not for survival, nor for control, but for ruin. For the overthrow of the white-and-gold city above. For the day its towers would crumble into ash and its so-called holy rulers would be buried in dust.

That was the dream whispered in the dark.

The day destruction would rise.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Downtown was the beating heart of the underground city—a labyrinth of smoke-stained alleys, neon signs that buzzed more than they glowed, and crowds that never slept. Deals were struck in whispers at bar counters, and knives flashed quicker than handshakes in the backstreets. It was alive in the way rot was alive, feeding on itself, never-ending.

Buried within its veins sat a two-story rust-eaten building. From the outside it looked forgotten—iron bars clinging to broken windows, paint flaking in long strips, its roofline sagging like a tired spine.

The air around it smelled like oil, rain, and old money.

Mydei stepped inside as if he owned the place. His boots cut quiet against the damp concrete, each stride measured, unhurried. The overhead lights hummed, flickering across exposed beams and crooked staircases, but his eyes didn’t miss a thing.

He scanned the shadows first—corners where men could hide, blind spots left carelessly unguarded. Then the crates—labels peeled, smuggler’s marks scratched half clean. The rain or whatever the clear liquid leaking through the broken panels above hadn’t dulled the scent of gasoline clinging to the walls, nor the faint musk of sweat and blood that said someone had been here too long, waiting.

And he knew exactly who it was.

A glint of white caught in the shadows—strands of hair that refused to stay hidden, gleaming even under the guttering warehouse light.

A white calamity.

Phainon.

The man was already inside, perched atop a rusted crate like it was a throne, like he’d been waiting half the night. His legs swung lazily, boots scuffed and still stained. Blood streaked the black collar around his neck—fresh, drying.

Not his.

“Finally,” Phainon drawled, grin curling as his head tipped back against the metal wall. His voice was bright, too casual, the kind of light that always carried teeth. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten our little date.”

Mydei didn’t look at him.

He walked past, straight to the back wall, eyes skimming the blueprint pinned there with a switchblade. A rough sketch of the building. Two floors. Eight armed. Only one target.

Gorgo’s orders had been clear enough: Nanook’s eyes are on the brat. End him clean before their dogs get there.

Which was precisely why Nanook must’ve sent him.

Not just a dog, the ruin author had send their favorite dog.

Well. So much for the second part of that order.

Mydei debated firing off a quick ‘sorry, Mom’ reply but didn’t bother. Instead, he scoffed.

“You’re early,” Mydei muttered, irritation flickering in his tone as he tugged his gloves tighter around his hands.

“You’re welcome,” The being made for destruction—referred by many as ‘Phainon’ chirped. “I even cleared the lower level for you. Thought I’d leave the fun part upstairs.”

“That’s where the target is.”

Phainon smiled, all teeth and something wicked. “Exactly.”

Mydei shot him a look, a flat, unimpressed look, it’s a kind of stare that had made grown men flinch and beg. Phainon just stretched, arms up, shirt riding a bit too high flashing a tad bit of skin—like he meant to annoy him.

Which did. Always.

“Don’t get in my way.”

“Aww,” Phainon cooed, sliding off the crate to stand a little too close. “You never say please anymore.”

Mydei stared down at him, gold eyes sharp under his lashes. “Try me.”

Phainon’s grin widened. “You threatening me or flirting?”

Mydei didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

“You know Nanook’s gonna be mad that we are delaying their pray for you”

Mydei still was silent. The way he looked at him, eyes so razor-sharp—made Phainon’s stomach twist in that deliciously doomed way. Dangerous men shouldn’t look at you like that. Like they know exactly what you’d do for their approval. What you’d beg for.

The mission began with silence.

They moved like quick—Mydei leading, well not really, he was just going through his orders while Phainon was just slipping through the side doors as he pleases completely ignoring his own mission. They were not even on the same team…Two destroyers with too much history and not enough space between them.

Phainon, of course, couldn’t help himself—admiring the way the tight leather clung to Mydei’s muscles, biting his lip until it nearly bled gold as he trailed behind like an obedient dog.

And when Mydei shoved one guard into the wall with a crunch of bone, Phainon leaned in close behind him.

“Hot,” he whispered.

Mydei didn’t pause. Just drove his elbow backward, missing Phainon’s ribs by a hair. A warning.

Phainon laughed under his breath. “You always so affectionate on our dates”

“You’re not cute enough to joke like that,” Mydei growled, already moving.

Phainon clicked his tongue. “That’s a lie. And you know it.”

By the time they reached the upper level, the target was already on his knees. Not just from fear—but from

Yet another white calamity.

Khaos.

The figure, similar in build to the white-haired man behind Mydei, stood in the hallway like a shadow carved from cold iron, hands slick with crimson, likely from crushing the last man’s skull. Yet unlike the bubbly one trailing after him, this one’s eyes were dark and expressionless.

Mydei slowed.

“Messy,” he muttered.

Phainon beamed. “We learned from the best.”

Khaos didn’t speak. He only gave a blank, bored look before turning away, leaping straight out the window without a care, leaving the rest to them.

In a flash, Phainon was behind the terrified man on the ground. He fished a red ribbon out of his pocket—who knew why he kept it there—and hummed as he looped it neatly around the man’s neck. The poor man was already trembling, more horrified by this white haired calamity than the one before.

Phainon tied a perfect bow, resting his hands lightly on the man’s shoulders like he was presenting a gift.

“Ta-dah,” he cheered, proud of his little masterpiece.

Mydei only shook his head as he signed in disappointment, used to these childish acts.

The kneeling man paled immediately at the touch, sheer terror flooding his features then his eyes landed on the blond-haired man before him. For a fleeting second, his gaze flashed with hope—yet little did he know that ‘Queen’ Gorgo herself had already labeled this man a lost cause.

“Help—” The plea barely left his lips before it caught in his throat, strangled as Phainon yanked the ribbon tight.

“You know presents don’t speak,” Phainon whispered, no longer smiling, voice suddenly flat.

The man’s face started to turn blue as he clawed for air, hands scrabbling at the ribbon, eyes rolling. Desperation made him ugly.

But Mydei moved fast. His eyes flashed red, tattoos burning through his collar as red-blood crystals erupted under Phainon’s feet, forcing him back and tearing the ribbon apart.

The man flinched as the shards circled him, but he could breathe again, gasping raggedly.

“Hey! What was that for?” Phainon pouted. But Mydei could see the way his hands twitched at his sides—so eager, so excited.

And as much as he liked the chaos, he wasn’t about to let the mission collapse into games. Unlike a certain someone who played with his prey.

“This one’s mine,” Mydei said almost unkindly. And he caught the way the white-haired man grinned, all anticipation.

Later, after the cleanup, Phainon found Mydei in the alley behind the the old building, leaning against his car. Rain had started, a little cold. Mydei’s coat was still dripping blood, but his hands were clean.

Phainon sauntered up beside him, bumping their shoulders.

“You were almost gentle in there,” he teased.

Mydei gave him a look that said. Don’t push it.

But Phainon just leaned in, hands wrapping around Mydei’s neck with a soft smile. Voice lowering.

“I like it when you’re rough, though.”

A pause. The rain fell harder.

And then barely audible over the storm, Mydei muttered.

“Get in the car.”

Phainon shivered.

“Bossy,” he whispered. “Knew I liked you for a reason.”

“Holy shit, Mydei—you’re in so deep—slow down! Ah—“ Phainon spluttered, a moan tore through him, his back arching like a bow as the man behind him slammed into him with a relentless pace, driving deep into his already abused cunt.

The car parked in the alleyway shook and bounced, its black-tinted windows fogged with mist as hot breaths and ragged pants filled the space. Shamelessly, the vehicle showcased the unholy act they were performing in Mydei’s red Porsche backseats to anyone who might pass by.

“Shut up,” Mydei growled behind his neck. His hand gripped tightly around Phainon’s muscular bare thigh, keeping it lifted as he pounded into him, unyielding, striking that spot that made Phainon see white.

Phainon’s hands clawed at the leather seat, something to ground him as his mind slowly got consumed by the pain and pleasure. His cheek pressed against it, only to be dragged with each brutal thrust. His glassy eyes blurred with pure, tearing pleasure, mouth hanging open as drool ran freely—not that he cared. Moans were all he could manage, his mind too occupied with the way Mydei’s fat length dragged mercilessly through his walls.

“Hnggh—M-Mydei I’m—” Phainon could barely get the words out, cries of pleasure filling the air, warning Mydei that he was approaching his fifth climax. Smirking, Mydei reached down with the hand resting on Phainon’s bruised hips, and rubbed his swollen clit, sending the other over the edge with a shattering scream. His pussy clamped down on Mydei’s cock, milking him as waves of ecstasy crashed over him. Mind numbing and body twitching, the hand kept rubbing, pushing him past overstimulation. The sensation was too much; his eyes tightly closed shut as he squirted hard, twitching with each lurching spasm. His mouth hung open, letting out nothing but moans.

Mydei continued to thrust, driven by his own surging need. “Where’s that sweet talk of yours now?” he rasped, lifting Phainon’s head by gripping the man’s white hair. “Can’t speak?” he whispered teasingly against the other’s ear.

Phainon turned slightly, glaring at him with glossy blue eyes, face flushed with a golden hue as tears streaked his cheeks. His lips parted to speak, but nothing came out but a gasp, Mydei had interrupted him with a low groan, hips snapping forward as he buried his cock to the hilt, brows furrowing and eyes snapping shut—spilling deep inside Phainon with a guttural growl.

Phainon’s eyes rolled back in bliss as he felt Mydei fill him, hot spurts triggering aftershocks of pleasure. The hand withdrew his grip on his head, letting it fall limply against the seat. He could only drool, inner walls fluttering around the other’s length, sounds leaving his lips in garbled moans.

Mydei leaned down, holding him close, still pulsing with each spasm of release. “That’s it,” he whispered, nuzzling his neck. “Take it all, my perfect, filthy slut.”

Rain fell slowly outside, lightly tipping against the windows. As they caught their breath, Mydei slowly eased out of Phainon’s quivering pussy, a satisfied smirk on his face. He watched the way his cum leaked from the abused cunt, which twitched and a soft whimper followed after.

Seating himself, Mydei lifted the limp man resting on the seat, who made a quiet noise in protest, likely still sore. He made him sit on his lap, cradling him gently—a sharp contrast to the brutal way he had punished the other, but he knew this was exactly what Phainon wanted.

Like clockwork, the taller man cuddled onto his chest, ignoring his sore bottom and the sticky, messy aftermath. Cheek resting against Mydei’s bare shoulder, they settled into a position they were used to after most of their erotic encounters. Mydei let his mouth wander over the markings he had left earlier, lips brushing past them, occasionally leaving a kiss here and there. His hands gently massaged Phainon’s back, easing the tension. Phainon simply melted under the care, silently enjoying the light touches.

Until a soft knock interrupted them. Phainon groaned, but Mydei’s head snapped to the window beside him. A hand reached up to clear the fogged glass, revealing Khaos standing outside with an umbrella. His expression was as plain as ever, and through the tinted window, he merely rolled his eyes, gesturing with a thumb in a direction—basically saying they needed to leave.

Mydei simply opened the door and yanked the man inside. The umbrella fell and rolled away outside as Khaos stumbled in, immediately wrinkling his nose at the mess. Mydei moved the man settled on his lap on to the empty seat beside him. Sitting comfortably, Phainon leaned toward Mydei to rest, blushing, as if already understanding what was about to happen. Mydei’s attention shifted to the figure kneeling between his legs, seemingly trapped. The poor guy was on the car floor after the sheer force, shock he had been pulled in with.

Dark blue eyes met his golden heat coated gaze.

Mydei was infact already hard again, and for a moment, Khaos seemed as though he was supposed to help, his blank face coloring faintly with gold. As his hands reached to wrap around the hard shaft, Mydei stopped him, pulling him up onto his lap instead.

Unlike Mydei and Phainon, Khaos was still fully clothed, the fabric soaked with rain and blood. When he tried to protest, Mydei only shook his head.

So the bloody, wet Khaos settled atop Mydei, eyes wide, legs instinctively bracketing the blond’s lap. His hands went to rest on Mydei’s strong, bare shoulders.

“Mydei—“ Khaos warned, but Mydei silenced him with a kiss. Gentle, not harsh, their mouths met and melted together. As the kiss deepened, Mydei’s passion grew, yet he maintained the delicate balance. Khaos’s tongue peeked out, tracing the seam of Mydei’s lips, accepting him. Exactly what Mydei had been waiting for, and he responded, entwining his own tongue with Khaos’s.

The kiss intensified, a fire igniting between them despite the tender care. Mydei’s hands slid to Khaos’s neck, fingers tangling in his white hair as he pulled him closer. Their bodies pressed together, heat and desire palpable.

Khaos gripped Mydei’s shoulders, savoring the sensation of his soft touches against his body as Mydei’s hands wandered. He broke the kiss, breath ragged, eyes burning with adoration and a newfound hunger. Mydei smiled at the eagerness emerging from those usually lifeless eyes. It was rare to rouse Khaos like this, but only Mydei knew how to break down those walls. He had already let him in. It was endearing, watching Khaos eagerly ask for another kiss, dark blue eyes wide and wanting.

~~~

Mydei's slender fingers danced along Khaos's inner thigh, teasing the sensitive skin while his other hand played with the plush folds of the wet hot cunt. Khaos’s legs spread and lifted, draped over Mydei's lap, clothes now discarded somewhere.

A soft moan escaped Khaos's parted lips as Mydei’s fingers slipped inside, caressing the warm, slick depths. His body arched into the touch, seeking more of the exquisite sensations only Mydei could provide.

Mydei’s movements were deliberate, each stroke calculated to drive Khaos wild with desire. He curved his fingers, brushing against sensitive spots that made Khaos's breath hitch. The gentle pressure and relentless pace had Khaos’s hips rolling in time with Mydei's ministrations—a sensual dance of pleasure and submission, yet Mydei was still painstakingly gentle easing his tense muscles, kissing occasionally for comfort.

”Just like that” Mydei whispers hotly, pressing soft kiss agains his cheek. 

As Khaos’s moans grew louder, his body began to tremble, overtaken by mounting intensity. Mydei’s fingers worked in harmony with Khaos’s quickening heartbeat, each pulse mirroring the rhythm of his strokes.

"Mydei," Khaos whimpered, voice thick with need. "I’m close..." Mydei’s grip on Khaos’s thigh tightened, pushing him past the edge. With a deep thrust, his fingers brushed against that elusive sweet spot, and Khaos’s world almost shattered. But the hands froze mid-motion and he whined, so unlike his usual tough demeanor, nuzzling back at Mydei almost pleadingly.

Mydei kissed the man’s soft white hair. If this were Phainon, he might’ve slapped him hard or offered a snarky comment to provoke a bite back—but Khaos was different. It was rare to ruffle him, so Mydei was always careful, tender, as though he might break under the wrong touch. He guided Khaos to his still-hard cock, showing him what to do. He watched the way other nodded immediately, his gaze and mind clouded with need.

Slowly, deliberately, Khaos lowered himself, impaling himself on Mydei's thick shaft.

A low moan escaped him as he felt Mydei’s girth stretching him wide. He sank down inch by inch, reveling in the sensation of being filled to the brim. Phainon, almost asleep beside them, made a soft chuckle, admiring the wrecked state Mydei had driven Khaos into.

Fully seated, Khaos began to move, his pussy muscles gripping Mydei's cock in a gentle, tantalizing embrace. He rose and sank with a playful rhythm, sending shockwaves of pleasure through both their bodies. Each descent was met with a grunt of satisfaction from Mydei, hands tightening on Khaos’s hips to maintain control.

The car shook again, filled with the lewd sounds of skin slapping and the wet squelch of Khaos enveloping Mydei. Yet amidst the carnal noises was a tender quality—Mydei still ensured that he was gentle, not reckless.

As the pace quickened, Khaos’s climax approached, his walls clenching rhythmically around Mydei’s pistoning cock. Mydei’s breath came in ragged gasps, movements growing erratic, his tattoos flaring red and casting a dim glow across the car’s walls as he neared his own peak.

With a final, powerful thrust, Mydei sent Khaos over the edge. The man threw back his head, a scream of ecstasy tearing from his throat as his orgasm crashed through him, the moon tattoo on his neck pulsing a deep, electri blue. Walls painted in streaks of red and blue as Mydei followed, pulsing deep inside Khaos as he spilled his seed.

When the aftershocks subsided, Khaos collapsed onto Mydei's chest, bodies still joined. They lay there, catching their breath, the warmth of each other’s skin a soothing balm.

An annoying whistle sounded beside them. Khaos ignored it, turning his head to rest comfortably on Mydei’s shoulder.

“Now that was hot”

Mydei looked over to see the naked man beside them grinning ear to ear, clearly enjoying the show. The blonde raised a brow at the glistening thighs. Phainon had undoubtedly touched himself somewhere along the line, seemingly aroused by watching his lover fucking his other half. As crazy as that might sound. That was the only way to put it.

“Slut,” Mydei mumbled to Phainon.

Then his hands reached to caress Khaos’s head, threading fingers through the soft, snowy-hair. He kissed at his temple gently before whispering lovingly, “You did so well.”

He heard a dramatic whine beside him but ignored it, focusing on Khaos’s contented hum, tired yet satisfied.

~~~

After Mydei had finally pulled out, Khaos immediately went to clean himself, then promptly began tidying Phainon as well, mumbling something about how gross it all was. He searched the car floor seated between the pair, for their scattered clothes, taking his time sorting—pairing Mydei’s and Phainon’s together as the rain subsided.

He leaned over to give Mydei a soft kiss on the cheek, then opened the car door and wordlessly slid out.

Mydei waited a moment, feeling Phainon shift. Finally, the man settled onto his lap, eyes half-lidded as he grinned, pressing gentle kisses to Mydei’s forehead, nose, and both cheeks before capturing his mouth. The kiss wasn’t heated—just a brief brush of tongue to catch the other’s breath, a gesture Phainon always did before they parted.

How strangely familiar these small gestures had become, Mydei thought, gripping the man’s hips.

Then Phainon scrambled upright, wincing slightly as the soreness flared. He cast Mydei a final glance, shooting a quick wink before slipping out of the car and the two white calamities disappeared into the night.

“Boss—Khaslana failed the mission.”

The words tumbled out as the man burst through the grand wooden doors, breathless and pale.

Nanook turned slowly in their chair, the motion deliberate, their gaze cutting through the dim-lit room like a blade. their eldest, Zephyro stood beside them, silent, unmoving.

The air thinned.

“G-Gorgo’s brat was involved,” the man stammered, voice cracking under the silence.

Nanook’s stare pinned him where he stood.

“H-he ended the target before Khaslana could… g-get any information.” His voice trailed off, breaking as he dared glance away from the gold eyes burning through the dark. The silence stretched, heavy as steel. His throat tightened. His knees nearly buckled.

Nanook turned back to the glass wall, calm and cold, dismissing him without a word. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass, the city sprawled below—alive, glittering, and utterly beneath them.

Without turning, they spoke to Zephyro.

“Bring me Khaslana.”

The mission had gone smoothly. Mydei propped himself down in his mother’s expansive office without an invitation, leaning back in the plush chair as if he run the place.

Gorgo smiled faintly from behind her desk, reading something. Her expression shifted behind her glasses, though only slightly, before returning to her usual sharpness.

“Nanook had sent him,” she doesn’t ask but demands, and Mydei immediately knew who she meant. He just shrugged, reaching for a sweet cookie on the tea table.

Gorgo, already at his side, swatted his hand away before he could touch it. Her hands gripped his red shirt, yanking him upright from where he sat. Mydei only smiled, relaxed, as her eyes and hands searched for injuries—but found none.

He rolled his eyes and guided her to sit beside him on the large plush couch. “Come on, Mother, we’re immortal,” he said.

“But we still feel pain,” she said lightly, swatting his hands away again like a scolding parent.

“You have so little faith in me,” he huffed.

Gorgo shrugged in return, a gesture Mydei had done few moments ago. A family habit, or mockery—he wasn’t sure which.

“It doesn’t matter. I succeeded, you see,” he said, slumping back into the couch.

Gorgo stood and reached for an envelope resting on the tea table before them, waving it toward his face.

“An invitation to a ball,” she said before he could ask. “Hosted by that strange man, Lie-bus.”

“You mean Lygus?” Mydei corrected as reached again to get himself a cookie but the serious mother pulled him back by his collar.

“Every faction of the underground city is invited, including their families,” she added, ignoring as his son’s muttered curse.

“We will be attending,” Gorgo concluded, finality in her tone.

Chapter Text

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The Seven Factions of The Underground City.

The underground city wasn’t truly underground. Not buried, not hidden beneath the earth—but shadowed, existing in the cracks of the greater metropolis above. Smaller, yes, but still sprawling.

It was vast enough to split into seven ruling powers. Downtown sat at its center, a pulsing core of smoke and neon, while six smaller empires surrounded it like wolves circling prey. Together, these factions kept the city alive—and strangled it, ensuring its doomed fate could never truly be undone.

First Faction was by a group called ‘The Masked Fools’

Betrayers of the upper city, cast down for their heretical and unpredictable methods. They found refuge below and embraced chaos as creed. Their philosophy is simple: existence is random, so why not laugh as it burns?

The Masked Fools interfere in events not to win, but to watch the fireworks. Their loyalty changes with the toss of a coin. Today they may stand beside you; tomorrow they may cut your throat—for the comedy of it.

Second Faction was led by a team called The IPC.

Less a faction than a machine. A faceless empire of glass towers and sharp suits. Their skyscraper pierces the smog, a cold eye staring down at the chaos below.

The IPC is the “Eye from Above”—overseers of the underworld’s economy, auditors of sin. They tax every trade, skim every weapon deal, and siphon from every smuggling route. Refuse to pay, and collectors come knocking. People vanish that way.

Everyone resents them, but no one dares erase them. Without the IPC, business doesn’t flow. Their ledgers are said to weigh heavier than the corpses in Nanook’s empire.

Third Faction was Castrum Kremnos.

A ‘kingdom’ ruled by a immortal kind, led by a single monarch: Gorgo, the Queen of the Doomed.

They were cast out of the upper city for their refusal to bend to death itself. Thick-headed savages, the whispers say—but none dare speak it within earshot. Gorgo’s rule is simple: protect her people, at any cost.

She does not fear the IPC, nor bow to Nanook. Her hands are red, her voice law. And for all their ferocity, her people worship her in secret prayers. No one has yet managed to topple Kremnoen—for how do you conquer a nation that cannot die?

Fourth Faction was Nanook’s Dominion.

No one knows where Nanook came from. Only that his name is whispered like a curse: the Ruin Author. A god of calamity clothed in mortal form.

His empire is ruin incarnate, led by the Lord Ravagers—monstrous beings forged for destruction. They refer the ruin author as Father and worship him as god. Family, if one could call such a thing family.

Nanook has already devoured three factions, leaving only four independent. He waits for weakness, and when he finds it, his Ravagers strike. Few can withstand his hunger.

Seventh Faction: Downtown (Zandar’s City)

The heart of the underground. A maze of smoke-filled streets, neon temples, and endless noise. Downtown belongs to Zandar One Kuwabara, the faceless founder of the city itself.

Rumors claim Zandar was once creator—or perhaps rival—of one of the upper city’s rulers, before being cast aside. His face is never seen, his voice heard only in echoes. Yet his will binds Downtown together, keeping the other factions from tearing it apart.

Beneath him stand another name The Chrysos Heirs, guardians of Downtown’s fragile balance. Different in blood, but united in purpose, they are the only force that stops the city from collapsing. Unlike other factions this faction is opened and welcoming to anyone.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The annoying gold lights of the chandelier in Nanook’s large grand office flashed above his head, and Khaslana just stared at them. His hair mirrored the color, shining under the light. He blinked slowly. His back felt odd, fabric of his hoody clinging against the absence of his two appendage. He hated hiding them. Truly, it was an inconvenience. But he preferred them out, rather than tucked away.

The clock ticked somewhere in the room, but he didn’t care. The room was dead silent. Nanook’s gaze pinned him from in front, demanding attention.

Yet Khaslana found more interest in counting the dead bugs stuck inside the bulbs above him. They were fascinating, in their own way. He was more interested in those bugs than his creator, really. To the point where his eyes blurred from the flashes, but still he stared.

You see, he hadn’t exactly walked here. He’d been dragged. He was inside a tunnel earlier, safely tucked within the shelter of his wings, curled in his wing cacoon, snuggled to the harsh concrete floor. Uncomfortable but comfortable enough.

He was asleep.

Until Zephyro, his obnoxious older brother who always finds his hiding spots like some skilled riddle solver, barged in and kicked him. Right in the wing cacoon. Ripping him out of his peace.

He wasn’t hiding—he was just… existing in his own way. Not his fault nobody else understood that.

Of course, he hadn’t gone down without a fight. He launched himself at Zephyro with anger, wings flared ready to hit. His brother had muttered something about “father being mad,” and dragged him ‘home’. Home, which was no more than a prison. A place he’d always be forced back to.

Khaslana didn’t go quietly, no. He kicked Zephyro a few times—revenge for breaking his sleep—and might’ve blasted apart the tunnel walls in the process. Another hiding spot lost. He’d given it a mournful goodbye as he was hauled off.

And so, here he was. In the middle of the large office. Without his wings. He hated it. Nanook never liked it when he hid inside them as well, so they were always ordered away. The emptiness at his back made him anxious. Powerless. Like a part missing.

He thought about running, but like the countless times before, he knew he’d be dragged back again. With or without his limbs.

The silence stretched long.

Too long.

Nanook wouldn’t speak first. Khaslana knew that, he should. But the words wouldn’t come. He already knew the outcome.

He wasn’t surprised when Zephyro stepped in front of him. A warning. Harsh fingers grabbed Khaslana’s face, yanking it down. Gold eyes flared with anger, heat spilling from his body, raising the room’s temperature. Enough to burn the hand holding him. Enough to make a normal human stumble breathless for the door.

But Zephyro didn’t flinch. The veil on his face only shifted slightly. His grip tightened like he’d crush him at the wrong move.

“What,” Khaslana snapped finally, voice sharp, anger dripping in his tongue. Oh, how much he wanted to burn this place to the ground.

Nanook only stared. They were good at that—gazing, pinning people in place like ants.

At his word, Zephyro stepped back.

Now it was only the ‘gaze’. The gaze of destruction. The one that made men break, made cities tremble. To Khaslana, it only looked like a disappointed old man.

He crossed his arms, heat rippling the air, but Nanook’s gaze froze it back to ice.

“You failed,” Nanook said. Flat. Emotionless. More accusation than statement.

Khaslana’s just rolled his eyes, “So? Disappointed that your perfect weapon failed once more?” he grumbled, “This isn’t the first time it happened and don’t expect it to be the last—“

“Gorgo’s son.” Nanook cut him off calmly used to his tantrums, but the name fell like a weight. Nanook’s gaze didn’t even stay on him, sliding back to the papers on their desk. “Was he a formidable foe?” Pages turned. As if this was small talk.

Khaslana’s chest tightened. Something akin to fear crawling up upon him Nanook never mentioned the people. Never gave weight to the pawns. And never Mydei. Only Gorgo. Always Gorgo. So he tried to play it cool, though he could already feel the noose tightening.

“Him?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes, faking boredom. “He’s just another Kremnoen. Just like his mother.” His voice landed sharp, but he didn’t dare look up when the gold gaze cut back, pinning him like a knife through glass.

“Interesting,” Nanook murmured. Calm. Always calm. “Then why have your missions involving this particular Kremnoen always ended in failures?”

Shit. They’d seen it. He thought he’d hidden it—spreading his deliberate screw-ups wide, burying the pattern under his usual chaos. He’d always made sure to fail just enough. But the way he lunged for missions near Mydei… maybe it had been too obvious. Too greedy.

“He might’ve been faster than me,” he blurted. The words hit the floor dead.

Nanook’s brow rose, faintly amused. “Faster than you?”

Fuck. He’d dug himself deeper.

“N-not really!” His tongue tripped over the denial. “He just—he just happens to be there before me, a couple times—that’s all. Next time, I’ll make sure he doesn’t get the chance to slip past—It’s because he’s Kremnoen, you know how they—” The nonsense crumbled mid-babble. He cut himself off, too late. Heat flushed under his skin, betraying him in a faint gold shimmer. Even Zephyro was staring now, a wide eye peeking through his veil, watching Khaslana choke on his own excuses.

“Did I offend you, Khaslana?” Nanook asked, head tilting just so. Their tone wasn’t sharp—it was worse. Interested. Amused by his fluster.

Which was unacceptable. How dare they.

“No!” he snapped, voice cracking like claws against stone. He bristled, every line of him a cornered cat, tail puffed, ears back, the room thick with the absurdity of him actually defending himself. Because he never did. He always wore failure involving destruction like a crown. Always smug. Always mocking. He’d burned Nanook’s files, melted their shoelaces, drowned their coffee in sugar, and laughed in their face. Never once had he bothered to explain himself.

Nanook only turned a page. Seemingly considered their judgement.

“For your punishment: just forty-eight hours of confinement.” They dismissed.

Khaslana stared gaping, Zephyro turned too, surprised.

That was it?

Not crueler?

Not harsher?

For the first time, Khaslana felt genuinely, personally offended.

The underground banquet hall was alive with noise and heat.

Chandeliers hung from black iron beams, gently swaying above the crowd. Smoke curled through the air, softening the lights and blurring the edges of everything. The walls were made of dark stone, streaked with glowing quartz that pulsed faintly—like the veins of something alive, buried deep below the city.

Men in suits and women in glittering dresses walked around with glasses in hand, laughing too loud, smiling too sharp. Everyone here wanted something. Power, respect, fear. You could feel it in the way they stood, the way they stared at each other like a challenge.

Mydei leaned against a cold marble pillar, standing just apart from it all. Not out of place, but never really with them either. He wore his usual expression unbothered, annoyed, like nothing in this room could touch him.

Because honestly, he hated these gatherings.

Fake smiles. Forced small talk. Everyone acting polite while secretly planning how to stab each other in the back. Gorgo had dragged him here and said, “Be present.” Which translated to: Let them remember who you are.

So here he was. Present. Unimpressed. Bored.

He took a slow sip of his scarlet drink, not wine, just simple promogate juice, as the mood in the room suddenly shifted.

The laughter faded in an instant. The buzz of conversation stilled into whispers.

Someone must’ve arrived.

He glanced at the grand doors. Massive slabs of black oak, carved with old sigils that crawled across the surface like scars. They opened slowly, deliberately, as if the weight of them was meant to set the tone.

And behind them came another group.

Their masks told Mydei enough.

A short girl entered first, wearing a thin-line dress. A brunette with ponytails far too long, she hopped into the ball as if it were a game. Some wicked aura surrounded her, sharp enough to warn Mydei never to engage her in conversation. Behind her came a man with blue-ish-colored hair and an offbeat gait, spinning a dagger and gesturing dramatically with one hand. Then came the entourage.

The Masked Fools.

Mydei understands why they called themselves that. They wore masks, and they looked like fools. So he turned his attention away. What clowns.

A little after that came another group.

Dressed in wealth that practically screamed money, the IPC made their entrance. Mydei could only make out two of them, a tall woman with purple hair, a wide-brimmed hat and a evil grin…Jade and the other, a short man with blond hair and a smug, practiced smile. Aventurine. Two he knew well enough. He’d encountered them during missions, or seen them hanging around his mother at these same kinds of parties. Always ready to chat, always fishing for information, always eager to test the waters.

It took some time, but last came the group that silenced the room entirely.

Nanook had arrived.

He didn’t need a spotlight or an announcement. His presence alone was enough.

He walked in like a storm, wearing a long black coat stitched with cold silver that shimmered like ice. Tall, tanned skin, with eyes that didn’t feel human. The room bent around him without effort. There was no warmth to him. Just power, heavy and quiet.

And behind him came the ones everyone talked about in whispers. All his so-called pets. Well, not all of them. Seems some were missing tonight.

They who were the most inhuman faction amongst all of them, consisted with the most inhuman creatures, in literal sense. Hidden under human disguises. Blending in just right.

First was Zephyro, calm, unreadable. The oldest, and it showed. His face always hidden by a veil. Mydei had been curious once, even asked Phainon what Zephyro looked like beneath it. Phainon had grinned so widely and said: “Imagine a dick with eyes and a mouth.”

Mydei had smacked him hard while the other collapsed in laughter. He hated that memory. And the image.

Then came Phantylia, clearly annoyed. She looked beautiful and bored at the same time, eyes rolling like even existing here was beneath her. Mydei could hear her voice from across the room, already complaining that the wine was cheap.

Celenova followed—youngest daughter. She walked quietly, gracefully. Not a hair out of place, not a wasted step. Her gown trailed like water, and she looked as if she floated rather than walked. But Mydei knew better. That silence was a blade.

Asat came next. A man wrapped in mystery, hidden under a tilted hat, expensive clothes precise. He didn’t bother showing emotion, just tossed dice from hand to hand as though the entire hall were his game board.

And finally, at last.

Came the two white calamities.

Phainon and Khaos.

The youngest. Always last.

They moved together, similar but impossibly different. Phainon wore light silk, cuffs stained with scarlet—probably intentional. Secretly showing who he belonged to. He smiled as if innocence clung to him, like he wasn’t scheming something inside that pretty head of his.

Khaos didn’t smile. At all. Dressed in black, his patterns matched Phainon’s, but there was no warmth in him. No expression. Hollow eyes, the kind that said the light inside died down with no flame to ignite it. And Mydei knew better, though. Behind that emptiness was a storm kept locked too tightly.

They were something else entirely.

Some whispered that they were twins. Maybe they could have been, if anything around Nanook was ever normal.

So no.

They were two people, two bodies yet they shared a single soul.

One soul. Chose to be split onto two. To be controlled, A weapon waiting to be used.

Khaslana.

Mydei’s grip on his glass tightened slightly.

“Wait—so Lord Khaslana isn’t here today?” whispers stirred nearby. Gossip, inevitable. Anything with power here was treated as ‘celebrities.’

“Oh, how disappointing! I wanted to see him in a suit—better yet, dancing!”

“True, that would be so hot.”

Mydei nearly laughed.

“Relax, we have the twins.”

“Oh yes, they look stunning!”

“But Lord Khaos is scary. He’s always glaring.”

The whispers stacked like smoke. Mydei shifted against his pillar, already planning to find his mother.

He didn’t need to hear what he already knew.

Khaslana was his.

He knew those bodies better than any eyes in this room. The way they moved. The way they carried themselves. Every scar, every twitch of muscle beneath silk or leather. Priceless. Untouchable.

Except to him.

He had touched.

More than touched—he had memorized.

Every freckle, every breath, every place his hands had pressed like he belonged there.

What others saw as spectacle, he had already stripped bare.

And that made it worse.

Because he never looked at them as weapons.

He looked at the man who crawled to him in the dark, begging for love. The one who’s said to laugh while destroying cities. The one the world swore was heartless, hollow, only a beast.

The same one Mydei would still open his arms to without hesitation.

Hatred given flesh. A creature built for destruction.

What a joke.

Someone made to bring Chaos—yet Mydei had lost his heart to him completely.

No one else needed to know that. And they wouldn’t.

Because Mydei saw the boy behind the monster. The one who cried in silence, who bled in his sleep. And no matter how far he ran, or how much he burned, Mydei would stand there, catching those pieces.

Because they were his.

Across the ballroom, Mydei finally found his mother.

So did everyone else.

Because Gorgo laughed.

Not the kind of laugh people liked to hear. The kind that made old men grip their glasses tighter.

She stood near the head table, her red and gold gown rippling like firelight, a dozen rings gleaming on her fingers. Her crown—a simple circlet of braided gold—looked heavier than Nanook’s entire coat.

“Well,” she whistled, one hand on her hip. “You brought the whole zoo, huh?”

Nanook didn’t blink. They never did. Their gaze slid past her, to the man standing a pace behind.

Mydei.

“Your son,” Nanook said coolly.

They looked too long. Long enough for silence to settle between them like glass.

Gorgo sipped her wine and curled her lip, that sharp smile she wore whenever she knew she had the upper hand—or wanted them to think she did.

“Yes,” she said smoothly. “My son. A little more refined than your pets, wouldn’t you say?”

“Just curious,” Nanook cut her off. No smile.

And that was that.

~~~

Behind Gorgo, her soldiers muttered irritably.

“I’ve seen statues blink more than that one,” Hephaestion grumbled.

“Ugh, the ego,” Perdikhas sighed, glaring at Phantylia.

“Tell me how much longer we have to stay here,” Potemly muttered dryly.

Mydei didn’t answer. He didn’t even look back. But a ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. They had his back, always.

“A circus,” he murmured, just loud enough for his team.

Hephaestion smirked.

Perdikhas twirled a hidden blade, let it vanish again. Potemly gave the faintest nod, half a smile threatening to crack wider.

And across the room—Phainon’s wild white hair caught Mydei’s eye.

A stupid smile.

Then a wink.

It was soft, subtle and infuriating.

Khaos didn’t move. But if you looked close, you’d see it—he shifted an inch closer to Phainon. Just in case.

Mydei didn’t react.

“Look at that, your puppies look happy to see you,” Hephaestion muttered, amused.

The others chuckled.

Mydei only sighed, shook his head, and left the corner.

Somewhere near the back, Lygus leaned in the shadows.

“Gods,” he whispered. “They’re excellent.”

No one answered. He was alone. But Lygus didn’t care. He was here for the show—and oh, what a show it was.

The air itself was holding its breath.

It was Power, Rivalry and Danger.

The room didn’t stay tense for long.

Power had its rhythm, and the underground knew how to dance around it.

Before long, Lygus—smiling like he wasn’t scheming in 33 million different languages—slid in between Nanook and Gorgo with a gloved hand raised in false diplomacy.

“My stars,” he said warmly, “if I’d known you two were this civil, I’d have sold tickets.”

Nanook didn’t say anything.

Gorgo grinned like a knife.

But Lygus only bowed theatrically and offered his arms. “Come. My honored guests, our other guests are dying to hear your thoughts on the future of our dearly rotting empire.”

Neither refused.

Because of course they wouldn’t—not in front of a room full of predators.

So they followed, The crowd shifted to let them through, all nods and silence and carefully measured glances.

And the moment they were gone,

The kids scattered.

Zephyro drifted toward the gambling table, Phantylia declared the wine unworthy and started mixing her own drink with whatever she stole off the tray. Celenova found a shadowed corner and leaned into it.

And Khaos…disappeared—of course he did.

Then there’s Phainon.

Phainon was looking around the room with wide eyes. Searching. Almost like a lost puppy.

This white calamity was looking for someone.

It took him longer then four minutes to find the balcony.

He stepped out into the night. The doors shut behind him. Cool air hit his face, and so did the scent—the scent of cold air and something very familiar.

Mydei.

He stood with his back to the city, hands on the railing, gold eyes watching the skyline. The lights of the underworld city stretched behind him—hazy and chaotic very much alive.

And when he turned,

Phainon’s whole face lit up.

“Found You,” he said, grinning, a little breathless like he’d been running.

Mydei blinked once. “You’re late.”

He practically bounced out onto the stony rail. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging, shoulder just brushing his. Something Phainon does all the time. Invading his personal space.

“I had to pretend I wasn’t looking for you,” he said cheerfully. “Takes time to act casual when you’re a known menace.”

Mydei huffed a laugh. “Pretty sure it might’ve looked obvious”

“I’m adorable,” Phainon corrected.

For a moment, they stood in silence, the sounds of the party behind them muffled by glass and stone. Mydei looked out.

Phainon looked at him.

Mydei always looked good like this—under cold light, dressed in black, wind teasing his hair, shoulders finally eased when no one else was watching. Except Phainon. Not when he was here.

He looked so free.

“You’re glowing,” Phainon said quietly, playful but honest.

Mydei glanced at him. “Says you”

“Maybe. But you—” Phainon tilted his head, studying him. “You’re so...”

A beat.

“…I am?”

Phainon shrugged, grin softening into something smaller. “I don’t know.”

He didn’t say, ‘You look free, like your not carrying the whole world tonight’. He didn’t have to.

Mydei looked away.

Instead, he let his hand fall just slightly—enough that it brushed against Phainon’s on the railing.

Phainon’s grin returned, like the sun peeking back out.

He didn’t move away.

He beamed at Mydei.

“So?” Phainon asked, eyes wide. “Miss me?”

“No,” Mydei said flatly.

Phainon gasped. Put a hand to his chest. “Heartless.”

Mydei’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile.

Phainon inched closer, practically vibrating with suppressed energy. If that invisible tail wagged any harder, it might take out a window.

Mydei finally sighed and turned his head. “You’re annoying you know that.” he said instead of ‘your cute’

Phainon grinned. “You like it.”

And—because it was true, because no one could see, because Phainon had that damn puppy look in his eyes—Mydei always had a soft spot for it, so he lifted a hand.

And patted him.

Right on the head.

Phainon melted immediately. His smile widening. Imaginary tail was on hyperdrive. He made a soft hum of satisfaction, like a happy puppy finally praised by its chosen god.

“You never pat me in public,” Phainon said dreamily.

“You’re lucky I didn’t throw you off the balcony,” Mydei muttered.

“But then who would annoy you?”

Mydei said nothing.

He only leaned slightly back against the rail, fingers brushing Phainon’s wrist.

Phainon leaned in instinctively, For a long, quiet moment, they stayed like that.

Only the city below buzzed.

Inside, people kept drinking. Betting and Whispering.

Nanook and Gorgo held court with their enemies. Khaos watched from afar as a shadow near the hall. Even brush of a hand on Nanook ment, kill. So he watched waiting and observing.

The wind shifted.

Just slightly. Enough for Mydei to know someone else was there.

Phainon didn’t notice—still rambling about how the crab cakes tasted suspiciously like squid, warmly pressed into Mydei’s side like he belonged there.

And then,

Khaos stepped onto the balcony.

Silent. A faint trace of blood clung to his sleeves, he must’ve been busy looks like.

Phainon turned at once.

“Khaos!” he chirped.

Khaos blinked. “Nanook is looking for you.”

Phainon straightened instantly. Eyes wide. “Wait—really? Now?”

Khaos nodded, expression unreadable.

Phainon glanced back at Mydei like he was being ripped from the best spot in the room. “Be right back,” he whispered, squeezing his arm. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Mydei didn’t say a word.

Phainon dashed off like a golden retriever hearing a treat bag.

A beat passed.

Then another.

Then Khaos walked over and pressed his face directly into Mydei’s shoulder.

For a long moment, Mydei didn’t move.

Then he sighed. And lifted his arm just enough for Khaos to rest more comfortably.

No words. Just the weight of a body that rarely sought comfort leaning into him.

Mydei rested a hand on the back of his head. Patted once. Then again, slower.

“You wanted pats too?” he murmured.

Khaos didn’t nod.

Didn’t respond.

But he didn’t move away either.

Which, for Khaos, was as good as a yes.

Mydei stood with him like that—watching the smoke drift over neon lights like clouds, the faint thud of bass from the ballroom vibrating under their feet.

His palm slid down slightly, smoothing over the back of Khaos’s coat like he might press out the knots of the day. His voice was quieter now.

“You didn’t have to lie. I’d have sent him away anyway.”

Khaos blinked slowly, cheek still against Mydei’s shoulder.

“…it was funny,” he said after a moment. “For me.”

Mydei didn’t comment. A bit surprised at the response but he just kept his hands. Sometimes these two’s humor aligns perfectly, then again they are the same person. Only difference was the energy.

“Your tail doesn’t wag,” he blurted eventually.

Khaos made a soft sound—almost a scoff. “I don’t have one.”

Mydei almost smiled.

“Shame,” he said, “you’d look good with one.”

Khaos did not dignify that with a response.

But his hand curled lightly in the hem of Mydei’s coat, and Mydei let him stay.

The balcony remained quiet and Mydei took Khaos face lifting it towards his face, leaning in and Khaos waited—until the door burst open again.

“You lied to me!” Phainon announced, storming in with all the grace of a puppy that got tricked out of its snack. His cheeks were puffed with indignation, white fluffy hair slightly ruffled from the wind, imaginary tail dragging low in betrayal.

Mydei didn’t even blink.

Khaos tilted his head, entirely deadpan. “Correct.”

Phainon’s mouth dropped open, one hand on his hip. “You’re not even sorry!”

“No,” Khaos replied. Then, after a pause—his lips curled.

The sound that left him was small, almost imperceptible—a faint huff of amusement. But it was unmistakable.

Khaos had laughed.

Phainon froze mid-tantrum.

His brain caught up a second too late.

Then his entire face heated. “W-what—oh my god did you just laugh? You—! You—how dare you—”

“You were so eager,” Khaos murmured, faint grin still visible. “You even tripped on the carpet.”

Mydei looked up at that, barely smirking. “Did you?”

“I did not!” Phainon yelled, voice cracking halfway into a squeak.

Khaos gave a look that said ‘you absolutely did’

Phainon grumbled like a kicked kettle, marched across the balcony, and dramatically flung himself into Mydei’s back. His arms wrapped around the prince's waist with all the subtlety of a barnacle.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

Mydei rested a hand over Phainon’s arm without looking. “But you made him laugh,” he said quietly.

Phainon blinked.

Then leaned his head forward, pressing his face into the space between Mydei’s shoulder blades.

“…Yeah,” he murmured, voice soft now. “Guess I did.”

Khaos had tuned, but the faint smile still lingered at the corner of his mouth. He was looking down at the city lights now, still embraced in the warmth of Mydei, hair ruffling in the wind.

Phainon closed his eyes and let his breath settle into Mydei’s spine.

“You’re warm,” he mumbled.

“You’re loud,” Mydei muttered back, but his hand gave a small, absent squeeze over Phainon’s arm. Turning his head enough to land a kiss the other, the man behind eagerly leaned in from above his shoulder.

Khaos sighed.

But his voice, quiet and rare, floated out like a hush of wind.

“…You’re both exhausting.”

And somehow, that meant he cared.

A few days prior, the Grand Ball

Zephyro wouldn’t say he was surprised.

After turning the lights on, he found Khaos curled up in the corner of the confinement chamber. A dark room—no light, no food, nothing once the door closed. Just four walls pressing in. Barely enough air to breathe.

And in that room, Khaos sat.

Face rested against his knees, eyes fixed on nothing. He didn’t even flinch when the lights came on. His dark blue eyes were open, but it was like they hadn’t registered anything in hours. Maybe days.

Zephyro wasn’t surprised. He’d expected this.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

At the sound of his voice, the curled-up man lifted his head at last. His face was expressionless, his eyes hollow. Lifeless. And yet—beneath all that inhuman stillness Nanook had hammered into him, there was still something fragile. Something weak. Something painfully, stubbornly human.

For a long pause, Zephyro just stared. Almost pitying.

“Where’s Phainon?” he asked.

Khaos broke his gaze. Slowly, he tried to stand.

His hand scraped against the wall, reaching for support. Movements stiff, awkward—joints cracking after being locked in one position too long. He managed to rise but only to stumble. His vision swam, the floor tilting and doubling, limbs too heavy to hold, he sagged back against the wall, forehead pressed to the cold stone, dragging in shallow, uneven breaths.

Zephyro didn’t help.

He knew the other wouldn’t accept it. Khaos would most likely bite the hand offered than take it.

No matter the state he’d be on.

So Zephyro just watched.

And Khaos just tried to keep breathing, his head bowed, as though he could tether himself to reality by sheer will.

Finally, his eyes flickered open again.

Zephyro was still watched him. Waiting.

If he had the strength, he might have scoffed. Instead, a faint rasp slipped from his throat.

“He’s not here,” he croaked.

And Khaos knew—that’s not what Zephyro would want to hear right now. Yet he had said. He tested the other’s temper.

Zephyro stepped forward without hesitation, yanking Khaos up by the collar. A soft, broken cry escaped him. His knees nearly gave out as he clawed at Zephyro’s fist, legs trembling, desperate just to stay upright.

“Where is he.”

Not a question this time. A demand.

But Khaos said nothing.

He turned his head aside, eyes shut tight, refusing.

Zephyro’s grip tightened. He should already know the truth. He always found Khaos like this—alone. Only Khaos. Never Phainon.

It was almost pathetic, the way the pattern repeated.

One half locked in punishment, suffering, alone.

While the other half slipped away, running, hiding.

Hiding was all Khaslana seemed to do these days. Hiding from Nanook, from punishment, from the weight of destruction itself. As if he could ever hide from what he was. As if he could ever carve out some piece of peace in a world that had already decided what he was meant for.

It was ridiculous. It was disloyal. It was… human.

Zephyro didn’t know what Khaslana thought he’d protect by doing this. What realization had cracked inside that think stubborn head of his to make him stop destroying, even for a moment. What he thought he could keep safe by running.

Khaos couldn’t answer that either.

Too weak under Zephyro’s fury, too small, too hollow. He wasn’t whole. Not without Phainon. Never without him.

Without Phainon, there was only emptiness. Weakness. A hollow echo rattling inside his chest.

Without one, they weren’t Khaslana.

And still, he’d sent him away. He’d stayed behind.

Because that was what Khaslana did.

He bartered with himself.

One half punished. The other half spared.

One half would clutch all the unwanted emotions, carry the weight, bleed for it.

The other half would thrive—if only a little—in stolen fragments of normalcy. A fragile scrap of happiness.

It was stupid. Ridiculous.

But at least this way, some part of him—some version of him—got to smile.

Even if it meant the rest of him rotted in the dark. some of himself gets to be happy.

Zephyro cursed under his breath and shoved him down.

Khaos didn’t fight it. He just fell. Knees cracking against the stone, palms slapping weakly down, gasping for air. He watched through the blur of his vision as Zephyro turned and left.

It was better this way.

He wouldn’t find Phainon. Not now. Not yet.

Khaos would make sure of that.

Later—later they would deal with it.

For now, one half suffered in quite. While the other half went searching for warmth that would never last.