Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was approximately 3:46 A.M. when Anaxagoras was called out of his snugly lit apartment to investigate a feral chimera appearance north of Okhema. He blinked blearily at the vibrating screen of his teleslate, a mixture of annoyance and indignance bubbling in his chest. Not that it mattered– there was no time to spare for a proper night’s rest, a breakfast, or even a drop of caffeine as he grabbed his coat and left the building– he would know, because Aglaea had so lovingly specified.

Her voice crackled over the line, deadpan. “It's specified as a code red, so do try to arrive on-scene as soon as possible. We have reports of severe injuries.”

“For the chimera or the imbecile who called animal control?” Anaxagoras hissed and flicked the sleep-ladden crust from his eyes out the window of his car.

“The chimera,” she said, then the line went dead.

Typical Aglaea. His grip on the wheel tightened, white-knuckled as the screen went dark, before it suddenly relaxed. A small chuckle left his lips as he flexed his fingers over and over, paying little heed to the blinking lights of other poor slaves of capitalism that had been so cruelly dragged from their beds at such an abysmal time. She wasn’t even his superior; Anaxagoras was the head of the Dromas Department at their lovely little ‘research institute,’ which really was just a glorified zoo for the entertainment of Amphoreans. He knew it and so did she– even if she’d never admit it from her elaborate chair at the top of the Chimera Department.

So why did he have to follow her orders?

He didn’t, but Anaxagoras still found himself going ten miles over the highway’s speed limit regardless. Air whipped through his hair, and if it wasn’t already messy from his pillow, it would be now. He’d never fix it, rather, he’d specifically like to keep it that way so all of his coworkers can see exactly where they dragged him from. His cheeks stung from the night air, pinching him awake. Though not as good as caffeine. Never as good as that.

Code reds were certainly not a common sight, even in his line of work. And as eccentric and cold as Anaxagoras had been dubbed over his time at the institute, he loathed to deny the wounded and vulnerable his care. Some called it noble; he just called it practicality.

Besides, even more so, his interest was piqued.

The scenery slowly shifted from dense greenery to auburn trees scattered amongst dry grass and Anaxagoras was forced to pull off the highway in favor of a dirt road. It was littered with gravel and potholes, bouncing both the car and the unfortunate man inside from side to side. Nausea wracked his empty stomach, but he’d worked with less before. The scene shouldn’t be far now, and despite the way the trees pressed closer, glimpses of headlights flickered from in between their thin trunks. Anaxagoras mentally prepared himself for what he was about to see– was it already dead, guts spilled out and cold? Was it actually aggressive, feral, like the caller had described? Logically, none of that.

His car sputtered when he parked it, the engine slowly falling asleep beneath his fingertips, still warm and comfortable. Ah, to be a car engine right about now. Anaxagoras was almost jealous as he stepped out, took a deep breath, and flashed his flimsy badge towards the awaiting guards.

“Aglaea,” he greeted, sour on his tongue, “care to disclose the full situation?”

The woman turned towards him, pen held tight in her hand, but her expression was carefully schooled. However, for a moment, he caught a brief grimace of disgust as Aglaea took in his appearance– the exact opposite of her own, pristine image, even during those early hours.

She pursed her lips and sighed, “Indeed, it’s a chimera hybrid as the caller described. Aggressive, as well, but not in a troublesome way– we eventually got it into the truck for immediate treatment.” 

“Couldn’t Hyacine have handled this?” Though decades younger than him, his assistant was more than capable of treating a mere feral.

“Hyacine has been, ah, incapacitated of sorts. It bit her during transit and she immediately sought the necessary treatment for rabies. She’s fine, of course, time is precious for this one.”

They stood in front of the large doors of the medical truck, propped open as assistants and guards alike jumped in and out frantically. The smell was what hit Anaxagoras first, a musky and stomach-rolling combination of mud, blood, rot, and the unmistakable scent of death. If he’d been any less experienced, he’d have turned right back around and hurled, right there in the grass. Regardless, as they stepped inside, he made a mental note to breathe strictly through his mouth.

“Hm. Well, I see what you mean.”

Sprawled limply out on the stretcher was one of the largest chimera hybrids Anaxagoras had ever seen, caked with mud, pieces of grass, blood, and slime that he didn’t even want to think about the origins of. Some of it pooled underneath its barely moving chest, shaking with each breath, though most of its features had been skewed by whatever hell it’d been through. Its mouth was open and its canines glinted in the harsh overhead lights, stained with crimson, but it was slack. Drool dripped down the corners.

Aglaea spoke from behind him, tone slightly lilted, “Don’t be nervous; we administered the tranquilizers after Hyacine was injured.”

Anaxagoras scoffed and stepped forward, snapping on gloves without even glancing her way, “Don’t kid yourself. Even if it was chewing on its own bonds with those teeth, I’d still get my work here done.”

His eyepatch felt all too stuffy on his face, but he grit his teeth and dealt with it. As he wiped away the grime, several deep gashes made themselves apparent, screaming for attention as they steadily leaked an odd mix of blood and puss. The edges were puffy, pink, and obviously infected, because of course they were. That wasn’t even acknowledging the broken ankle nor the plethora of bruises that littered the chimera hybrid’s pale skin, like a mottled sort of degenerate art piece.

This, he decided, was going to be a long day.

——

Incessant beeping filled the air as his consciousness came back to him, slowly but surely, waning in and out as the hours passed. At least, that’s what he assumed. He actually didn’t know how long it’d been– it’d felt like only a few minutes at most, but the full-body ache told him that at least a day had to have passed since he’d collapsed on the side of some road. The pain hit him like a smack to the face, sudden, too sudden, and he had to fight the urge to curl in on himself. It sent shivers down his spine and Titan’s above, he never knew multiple parts of his body could have a heartbeat before.

Though his eyes were firmly shut, light still managed to sneak its way behind his eyelids. Even through the pain, it reminded him of his best days, lounging about in the sun after hours in the fields, stretching the ache of his muscles out. But this kind of ache wasn’t the same. 

The sun in Aedes Elysiae was nice, warm, and bountiful. This light was harsh, unforgiving, and far too cold to do anything but send pulses of agony through the front of his skull. He wasn’t in Aedes Elysiae– no, he couldn’t be there, because Aedes Elysiae was… it’d been…

Against his better judgement, he cracked open an eye. Immediately, light flooded in from somewhere close above him; his teeth bared on instinct. It was artificial, that much was certain, and suddenly the metal table beneath him was frost to the touch. Everything was cold, why was everything so cold? There was nothing familiar here, not even the walls, not with the blindingly white color of them. He hated it. It made him want to scratch at his skin until it was pink and numb, but warm with the swell of blood, not cold, anything but this cold. 

But as he reached to do so, straining to prop his torso up against gravity, he found tight bindings held him securely in place. They dug deep into his skin when he moved, even more so when he thrashed. It hurt, by the gods, it hurt.

Where was he? His territory wasn’t possible, which meant he must be in someone else’s territory, and that would ultimately explain his situation, right? That idea only made his heart pound harder in his chest. When he had fled, nursing wounds too great for his body, he never stopped to think about whether the place he’d end up in would be worse than his home.

The memory made him shudder; anywhere was better than Aedes Elysiae now.

Whatever. It was clear that he would be going nowhere with these bindings holding him down. He propped his shoulder up as best he could, drawing the closest binding a hairsbreadth away from his teeth, ready to tear–

In the corner farthest from him, a door clicked open. He paused mid-bite and snapped his jaw closed, staying frozen in that position despite his wounds’ screams of agony, his attention drawn solely on the noise. Or who made that noise.

As two figures, one pink and the other green, entered the room, the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. He could dwarf both of them easily, but that meant nothing in the world of the desperate and determined. One of them, the green one, had an eyepatch and a scowl that hissed a warning from even there, across the room. He much preferred the smaller, pink girl, who had a small albeit nervous smile on her face as she sat arm’s length from him. The green man murmured something to her that he couldn’t quite catch over the ringing in his ears, but she only shook her head in response– then, the attention was all on him. He couldn’t decide if he should shrink away or lunge.

“Hello, there,” she greeted, “my name’s Hyacine. What’s yours?”

…His name? This Hyacine girl, she was asking for his name? It was such an outrageously unexpected question that he simply couldn’t help the way his eyebrows furrowed.

But, even in all this frenzy, he knew. As much as he wished he didn’t, that he could just forget everything that was his life in the past few days, he knew. In the back of his mind, a memory played and taunted him.

“Phainon,” a pink-haired girl– much like the one sitting in front of him now– admonished above him, shadowed against clear blue skies, “now’s not the time to sleep, silly. There’s still work to be done.”

Phainon shuddered, nausea twisting his guts into a knot. This… this was simply too painful. It was too early. 

Instead, he met Hyacine’s wide, expecting gaze with silence. The girl allowed him that much, sitting in that awkward space for several more minutes before eventually sighing, just slightly, “That’s okay! You must be very confused right now, but I can assure you that we have nothing but your best interest in mind.”

The green one didn’t even pretend to hide his scoff, nor did he flinch when Hyacine shot him a pleading stare. Phainon shuffled closer to the wall behind the bed, ignoring the bites of the bindings.

“Your files have you dubbed as Neikos496,” she continued and almost cheekily added, “because you had quite the memorable admittance! It’s been a while since we’ve had a chimera hybrid as, ehem, brave as you, not since–”

“We came in here for a check-in, not to catch up. Please keep yourself on track before it fancies itself another taste of you.”

When Phainon squinted, he could make out the bold-lettered ‘Anaxagoras’ typed on the flimsy card around the green man’s neck. Ah, what a tongue-twister that was, indeed– no wonder the man was such a grump.

“Not it, Professor Anaxagoras–” why not just Anaxa– “but he. This is a male chimera hybrid, and telling from his size, an alpha as well.”

Hyacine hummed a cheerful tune as she wrote something down, then leaned closer. Phainon tilted back, but the attempt for space was futile, because he was eventually forced to a halt while she hovered over him. Absentmindedly, he noted that she smelled faintly of strawberries; the kind he’d easily confuse for pheromones if not for the painstakingly artificial notes blended with it. Phainon sniffed the air and his suspicions were proved to be… odd.

Ignoring the perfume, it smelled sterile and empty, devoid of any scent trails. He blinked down at where her hands skimmed over his worst injuries, leaving every once and a while if he got too prickly or to jot more notes down– for what reason, he didn’t know. One of them was bandaged, and that only caused Phainon to sink deeper into the table, cheeks burning. Ah.

He’d really overreacted, hadn’t he?

Anaxa peered over Hyacine’s shoulder with pursed lips. “Discharge is plausible in a few days, but other than that, I don’t have high hopes. You said there were no regional markings, yes?”

“No, I’m afraid not. He’s definitely not Kremnoan, nor from Dolos, either– but he’s certainly not aggressive still! It was likely just fear and pain that caused him to lash out.”

Phainon went limp on the table as if to prove her point, trying and failing to steer clear of Anaxa’s assessing gaze, “Hmph, if it were up to me, which it should be, I would keep and study him myself– but unfortunately for everyone in this establishment, it’s not. He’s a feral with a bite record; Caenis is already calling for his head.”

She tapped her pen on her cheek in time with her foot, glancing between Phainon and the professor. “He’s already showing remarkable progress, though. Can’t a rehabilitation effort be in order?”

“If he belonged to a recorded subspecies, it would be, but the Council can’t see past their own greedy, stubby noses enough to realize that this is a scientific breakthrough. They say funds are too lacking to give him his own enclosure, pfft, but what a pitiful excuse that is.”

Most of those words made no sense. Phainon bit his own tongue to avoid snarling at Hyacine when she poked a needle beneath his skin, the taste of iron a strange comfort in that strange place. She took it out as quickly as she had inserted it– a rather mild pain, really– with an apologetic smile, dabbing the wound with a small cotton pad. He felt a little woozy, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the needle or what was in it, and simply stared as the two humans packed up to leave.

“But wouldn’t the successful recovery of a feral tug on the heartstrings of the public?”

“That,” Anaxa grumbled, “depends on the chimera. It’s a gamble. With Fovos’ misbehavior lately, I doubt they’ll take the bait.”

Ah, it was definitely kicking in now. If Phainon hadn’t been limp before, he would be forced to now, the ceiling spinning above him whenever he shifted an inch. Their voices became wobbly and distant, devolved mere whispers he struggled to make sense of.

However, when Hyacine paused with her hand on the knob, pleadingly staring back at her mentor, Phainon managed to piece something together. “Can you at least discuss the matter with Ms. Aglaea? I know you two don’t see eye to eye, but surely for this…”

A sigh. “Fine.”

The door clicked shut and Phainon finally allowed himself to sink into the darkness, letting it envelope him once more. His body was exhausted, but he had a dreamless sleep, not haunted nor graced with the beautiful scenery of his home. In truth, Phainon hated being alone. He’d almost reached out to the retreating figures and begged them to stay, but only a croak escaped him. Perhaps… that was for the better.

Humans were fickle creatures, high and mighty as they were, and they didn’t seem keen on him. Ah, death, just take him now.

Unfortunately, death was frustratingly elusive and, as it turned out, did not take him during his rest. Nor did it the next time. Or the time after that. Strangely, for all the humans’ flowery words that seemed to truly discuss disposing of him, that disposal never actually came. Agalaea visited him once, though she only watched him from the doorway with an unnervingly knowing gaze. It kept Phainon on edge whenever he was conscious, teetering on the precipice of a canyon, waiting for the moment the humans would get bored and flick him off. 

He was at least amicable with Hyacine and Anaxa, and though he never spoke, Phainon let them satisfy their curiosities whenever they visited. Hyacine still chatted with him like he was just another human, always with a smile on her face– so when one day, she trailed behind Anaxa with an unsure expression, Phainon’s heart lurched.

Today, she wasn’t carrying her needle kit, and the fabric of her skirt rustled as she took her usual spot before him. Blood pounded in Phainon’s ears, but he stayed perfectly still. Her fingers fidgeted from their place in her lap.

“I have good news and bad news; do you have any preference on which you’d like to hear first?”

Bad news, then the good news to end on a hopeful note, he’d always insisted, ever since he was a pup. But Hyacine was much too used to his silence, because she only paused for a second before continuing, “The Council agreed to rehabilitation! You’ll be under my care, mostly, but you’ll see Ms. Aglaea occasionally, too.”

Phainon blinked, then blinked again. His heart threatened to soar, but he stomped it down– Titans, when had he become so easy to please?

When life became balanced on a wire, his mind unhelpfully supplied.

“As for the bad news… Well, you won’t be getting your own enclosure. Instead, you’ll be sharing one, which I do understand can be rather fickle for chimeras.”

Well, if he was under Hyacine’s wing, then it couldn’t go too badly, right? It was better than the alternative, surely. Thus, Phainon eagerly nodded his head, smiling to himself. She clapped her hands and matched his energy, pulling him up alongside her with a cheerful bounce to her step. Anaxa rolled his eye– or, at least Phainon thought he did, it’s kind of hard to tell– and packed up his own belongings, not that there was much in the first place. Hyacine dusted off the simple robes Phainon had been given over his recovery, and though his limbs were still more or less bound, they no longer bore red marks.

“This is a glorified sacrifice,” Anaxa grumbled, “even for the Council. I would hate it if a stranger appeared in my apartment one day and they smelled.”

He frowned slightly at that last comment, but then his eyes snapped to Hyacine, who was now tugging him towards the door. There was something undiscernible in her eyes, something that clammed up his palms and made them stick to where they gripped his pants, and her smile no longer reached her eyes.

Hyacine’s voice was tight when she responded, “Yes, as anyone would be, Professor. But the Kremnoans accepted a lonesome chimera before, didn't they?”

“And that’s gone stellar since, hasn’t it?”

The venom that clung to Anaxa’s every word made the question rather ominous for its wording, but Phainon was still reassured. That means he wouldn’t be alone and he… really, really loathed isolation.

Yet despite that, when he stared at the door in front of him, Phainon hesitated. A plethora of new scents and sounds poured from the ajar crack like wine, rich but so, so bitter when he tasted it. It spread on his tongue, that insecurity, thick and nasty as he tried to swallow– but swallow he did. Phainon forced it down and took on a broad smile, allowing himself to be led out with the careful precision Hyacine always carried. Anaxa fell into step close behind. 

At that, Phainon tensed, his breath hitching uncomfortably as the human became an almost imperceptible shadow in his blind spot, following him, breathing down his neck like it was about to strike–

But then Hyacine squeezed his hand again, Anaxa took coffee from one of the droning assistants, and everything was almost fine again. Phainon was present; he was grounded. And now, he could properly admire the sights.

To some degree, he knew the ‘research institute’ had to be well-off, for it sounded quite prestigious to his ears. Everyone conversed in language and accents unfamiliar to him, just like their clothes, but what Phainon didn’t expect was for it to be twice the size of Aedes Elysiae alone, maybe thrice. The tiles he walked on were sleek, white marble, complimenting the flowing greenery that hung off of hanging pots alongside tall walls. Phainon craned his neck to look higher, up to where there were carved statues laced with gold, all of which depicted a human holding up a strange sphere.

Slowly, as they traveled deeper within, the walls transitioned into smooth, almost crystalline glass. Behind it lay even more sprawling plants, rocks, and terraces of rich soil– not just the inanimate, either. Phainon squinted his eyes, trying to make out the humanoid figures lounging inside, but it was only when one’s ears flicked that it finally clicked.

The air was fresher here, but also came with its own assortment of new smells, ranging from sickeningly sweet to something more buttery. There were less tense scientists with flowing lab coats around, as well, replaced instead with human children and their parents. The parents looked at him oddly as they passed, while the children giggled in delight and pointed their fingers; Phainon sunk deeper into himself either way. 

Eventually, they approached a large and rather ornate enclosure. Even from his position outside of it, Phainon couldn’t see the end, not with at least a little over two kilometers’ worth of land sitting an inch of glass away from him. Hyacine motioned to the guards with a flick of her badge and then they were through, Phainon stumbling along. 

It was only then that Hyacine broke the long-held silence. “It’ll be strange at first, I’d think, but it’s my job to help you succeed– and nothing would make me happier than to see you do so.”

Darkness swallowed them, then, from the overarching pillars of the hallway they’d entered. Carts littered with unfamiliar technology, fabrics, and glinting needles greeted Phainon, but he focused onwards, where Hyacine was tugging him.

“You’re in there to rehabilitate, so behave and try your best to get along with the other chimeras,” she said; it was an order, not a question, “if you do that, you’ll be okay. Think of it as making new friends.”

He hummed in response, eyes flicking from the door in front of them to the blinking, glowing red sign that read ‘employees only’ in large font. Back in the village, he was good at making friends, he thought. But now, he could only really remember spending the majority of his days with–

“Neither of us have all day, you know,” Anaxa tutted, an exasperated expression on his face, “so do get on with it. I can already feel the Council’s impatience on the back of my neck– and truly, it stinks.”

“Just… there’s already an alpha in there, surely he’ll be civil if you’re respectable. Either way, know that Professor and I will have your back from out here.”

With that and a slide of her badge, the door chirped an agreeable sort of noise, allowing her to push the heavy metal inwards to expose an elevator, a little ways down. The lights closest to it flickered and the pattern made Phainon’s head throb. Nonetheless, he stepped forward, barely flinching when the door slammed shut behind him. He clenched his jaw and felt the vein pop from where it wrapped around the bone, forcing himself to keep his eyes open, trained on the elevator. Phainon never really had a choice, did he? In all his discomfort, he pushed it aside– he had to, for… for them, all of them who were but ghosts in his thoughts.

As Phainon disappeared into the room, Hyacine turned to Anaxa, no longer masked with a professional smile. “Shouldn’t we have gone with him, just to dispel any worries from the Kremnoans?”

“I brought that concern to Aglaea’s attention, but as always, she refused to indulge much. Just that knowing smile. Frankly, this is just a colder, crueler euthanization of my specimen.”

“Fovos isn’t brutish,” she murmured, “so I think hope will do us both good.”

——

Dark.

It was dark, but only for a short while. The only signs that Phainon was, in fact, moving were the pulsing lights near the bottom of the elevator and the uncomfortable roll of his own stomach. He briefly registered that this was his first time in a moving human contraption conscious, and with the next jerk of his guts that threatened bile, he almost wished they’d stuck him with a needle beforehand. Almost.

Because soon enough, the doors slid open, seamlessly transitioning from sleek steel to a landscape Phainon could only dream about in the prior weeks. His breath caught in his throat, even when he yearned to take a deep huff of nature. And that bile? Forgotten underfoot as he stepped out, taking in the abundant plants that practically toppled on one another as far as the eye could see.

It was all foreign, of course, but still priceless to Phainon when he stumbled about. Unlike in Aedes Elysiae, the air was practically steam, clinging incessantly onto him until his bangs stuck to his forehead. As uncomfortable as it was, he licked his lips, if only to grasp the floral hints of the air and the aftertaste of his own sweat. 

Soon enough, as he trotted about, it became all too easy to fall into old habits. Their return was like an embrace, and it emboldened him– Phainon, indeed, had not lost his spark. Whatever challenge that awaited him, he would face it head-on, and he even had started to look forward to meeting these mysterious, peculiar chimeras. He’d heard of the wars and destruction that raged between the different groups and listened with childish curiosity, back when he was a wide-eyed boy, with no intentions of ever leaving his simple life.

But Aedes Elysiae was gone and so was that little dream– with that in mind, can’t a man indulge a bit?

Even so, Phainon had no clue how long he’d been walking for, and yet, these chimeras were nowhere to be seen. Out of instinct, he glanced at the sky, only for the light above to be at the same spot it had been when he first arrived. Frustrated, Phainon kicked a stone pillar with a grunt.

“Is this what they’ve bent to sending me now?” A rumbling, disembodied voice scoffed.

Okay, this time, Phainon couldn’t help the way his shoulders jumped, not with how every hair on his body scrambled to warn him of a threat he had definitely, most certainly not seen coming. His head whipped around, looking around wildly before his eyes landed on a shadow draped over nearby branches.

At this angle, he couldn’t discern much, but that worry was quickly replaced– his ears barely had time to flatten before the shadow moved. Like a bullet, it appeared in full light. Right in front of him.

Now, Phainon knew he’d always been a rather large chimera, even when he was young. Immaturely, in those days, he’d use it as an excuse to eat his parents out of house and home. But this chimera practically matched him in size, standing just a sliver below eye level– not that it mattered. Golden eyes seemed to pierce right through him, and if Phainon had been a lesser alpha, he probably would have whimpered. And maybe pissed himself, too.

That size wasn’t for nothing, either. If he let his eyes wander down– which he didn’t, truly, he didn’t– he’d see a rippling expanse of pure, tanned muscle, rather pathetically half-covered by rich-looking red fabrics. Not to mention that scent–

It was a little sweet for his expectations, but this was undoubtedly the alpha Hyacine had warned him of. Warned he was, indeed, but something about this alpha made Phainon want to play nice, anyway.

“What a disappointment.”

With those arrogant words, spilled from plump lips, every thought of Phainon’s ground to a halt. His eyes widened, but he hadn’t a moment to spare for indignation before a fist, adorned in sharp, glinting gold, flew towards his face.

Still high off of instincts, he tilted his head to the side. A hiss escaped him when a jagged point grazed his cheekbone; the sting only fed the boiling pit of his adrenaline. Phainon used that opportunity to dash backwards and force space between them– not that the other alpha seemed keen on allowing that. He followed close behind.

But this time, Phainon was ready. His bones creaked from the force of blocking the next blow, not giving up, not even close. During those precarious seconds before the next punch, he swung his own fist low and felt the bumps of the alpha’s ribs blossom in a bruise.

The alpha only scoffed in his face at that, lips twisted into something cocky yet venomous– still goadingly handsome– and kicked him square in the chest. It sent Phainon flying back, his mind a jumble of panic as dug marks into his spine. Pain shot like lightning through his back, stunning him, and the impact was as loud as thunder, too.

Still, when the alpha approached to deal a final, devastating blow, he rolled to the side, splinters flying through the now-empty space. The tree whimpered as it fell with a bang, impaled pathetically on a fist with nothing to show for it.

Phainon managed to wheeze as he stumbled to his feet, “Have I misunderstood the human meaning of ‘civil’?”

“Civil?” his opponent parroted with a sneer, pressing in close enough for Phainon to catch a whiff of tart pomegranates, “Is that what they told you? Perhaps, to those undeserving of my fury.”

“Fury? What have I done to infuriate you, pray tell, if I may plead my case?”

He huffed, “Haven’t they learned I loathe the innocent act?”

Phainon sputtered and the alpha took the weakness as it was, rearing his head back only to bash it forwards– the tartness turned into something metallic, and then all Phainon could smell was blood as it splattered on both their faces. It clouded his senses, but the other looked as feral as ever, if not even more so, his smirk even more imperious with crimson flecking it.

His head throbbed and his nose leaked like a broken faucet, dripping a crude mixture of snot and blood down his chin. Definitely broken and definitely crooked, he noted with a wince.

When the alpha lunged again, Phainon twisted his body to land a kick on his side, his foot curling into the joint of his opponent’s knee. It threw him slightly off kilter, but instead of punching, Phainon did something dirty– he tangled his fingers close to the other’s scalp and tugged. 

A noise was forced out of his opponent at that, but Phainon was too caught in the slide of his own blood as he punched to care much. And punch he did, with all his might, his brain screaming a million different tidbits of information that he discarded just as quickly. His head hurt. It seared with something red-hot that wasn’t quite rage, wasn’t quite anything, really. In the very back of it, there were shrill screams, though they were just echoes forgotten by everyone but him. Everything but him.

In Aedes Elysiae, even the trees had burned.

Moisture slid down his cheeks. Whether it was blood, sweat, or tears– he couldn’t quite tell anymore. His lips were moving, but he couldn’t hear his own voice. Only his opponent’s face below him was inflamed in a flush, eyebrows furrowed, and his left eye had started to swell from the blows. That was the last thing Phainon saw before he was thrown off, tossed by those strong arms off, off into the unknown. Phainon didn’t know that, either.

Everything was a blur, there in the air. Grass smudged against his cheek as he rolled, and this time, there were no trees to catch his fall. Only a thorny brush, whose branches pricked and pulled at his robes until gravity eventually tugged him free too. 

He was sent downhill; that much he could tell. 

When the curve flattened and he finally laid still, facing the sky, Phainon finally allowed himself to relax. There was no flurry of red chasing him for his transgressions, nor any scientists coming with glinting needles to put him out of his misery for good. Everything ached, but Phainon thought it’d be his nose that’d kill him, if anything at all. His vision swam, his breath whistled, and, for a moment, the artificial light in the sky felt like the sun again.

…

“…akey, wakey, snowball,” a feminine voice drawled, lulling Phainon into a consciousness he hadn’t known he’d lost, “sleep any longer and the wolves might get ch’ya!”

His eyelashes stuck to one another as he struggled to open his eyes, wincing at the pounding headache behind them– even when he managed, the figure above him was blurry. The colors of her outfit, mostly blacks and golds, swirled into a mess he wasn’t even going to try to decipher. Phainon closed his eyes again, haphazardly throwing an arm over his face.

A softer voice spoke, “We don’t want to frighten him, Cifera. Lord Mydeimos already did quite the number on him already.”

“Ah, what a buzzkill.”

Peeking open one eye, Phainon took in his surroundings. If the cold seeping into his back and the uncomfortable stretch of his limbs were any clues, he’d been propped up against a tree like a doll while he was out, and that idea made him frown. The sky was still bright, but the leaves underneath him were now dry, curled up, and trekked through. That woman from before– Cifera– was still standing above him, hip jutted out with a hand splayed over it as if she owned the place. The other, rather kinder one was but a mere shadow, sitting politely on a half-rotten stump a few paces away.

When Phainon reached a shaking hand to feel his nose, she shook her head. “I wouldn’t recommend doing that. We’ve already realigned the cartilage as best as possible, so you needn’t worry.”

“Who… are you?” he coughed, wincing at how dry his voice felt.

“Princess Homebody over there is Castorice and my name’s Cipher,” Cifera butted in, smirking down at him with an undiscernible gleam in her eyes, “and we saved you from a rather unfortunate demise. You’re welcome!”

“Don’t mind her, she’s exaggerating– you would’ve survived, albeit more painfully, but that’s a first for chimeras like you, nonetheless.”

Chimeras like him?

Phainon tilted his head, ignoring the agonizing sparks that shot through his neck at the movement. He sniffed the air, then again, and again when he couldn’t make out anything except the leftover iron tang of his injuries. Otherwise, the air was eerily desolate.

“Are you… human scientists?”

Cipher barked out a harsh laugh at that, “It seems snowball had his brains scrambled too! If you want me to fix that, you’ll have to pay me extra.”

Her laughter caused her hood to fall off, flopping over her shoulders to reveal short, tapered locks and a pair of perky ears. They were surprisingly small and cat-like, for a chimera at least, nimble like their owner from where they twitched on her head. Castorice, too, had them when he peered closer, albeit more droopy, blending almost seamlessly into her cascading hair.

The realization made Phainon sit up straighter, digging his nails into the moist earth as if he was capable of shooting to his feet. He wasn’t, his tortured muscles reminded him, but when had he ever listened? Memories of a grin flashing dangerously in the dark pressed his mind and Phainon’s breath quickened. If he could just…

“You’re looking at us like we’ll,” she snapped her fingers gleefully, “switch on a whim and bite you! I didn’t get my hands dirty just for you to be so ungrateful, you know.”

Castorice, however, looked at him sternly, “You couldn’t smell us, could you?”

When Phainon shook his head, Cipher whistled, “Sheesh, the princess is right– the little lion really did do you dirty! You already looked odd enough, but now you’ve got a defective nose, too?”

“Little?” he couldn’t help but ask, stumbling to his feet and biting down the groan that threatened to spill. Pointedly ignoring the nonsensical insults, Phainon leaned over Cipher, his gaze flicking between the two women every once and a while. The sarcasm wasn’t lost on him, even if the inclusion of it made him lost.

“But a big personality, as I’m sure you’re well-acquainted with. Too much of a grump for my taste, honestly.”

“He tried to kill me and insisted it was justified.” Phainon’s fingers curled around his dirtied robes, then chuckled bitterly, “Taking the needle would’ve been much kinder, it seems.”

Cipher mouthed over his words, as if tasting them, then her lips slowly formed an ‘o’ before they split into another infuriating, toothy smirk. But whatever conclusion she had come to, she had no intention to share, because she simply looped a lazy arm around his shoulders and led him in a new direction. Something instinctual in his hindbrain– for whatever reason– made Phainon want to shove her off, to lick his own wounds in private safety, but he shoved those desires deep, deep enough that he tensely allowed himself to be pushed forwards. Castorice followed distantly, and as always, stayed several paces behind.

Around a steep corner, hidden by a jutted overhang, was a tattered, stained tent barely held up by half-rotten branches. It was only about a foot taller than Phainon himself and was surely barely enough to fit him inside, but Cipher patted the stones beside it nonetheless– if she touched it directly, Phainon worried it would fall apart in a puff of dust and mold. She purred in that faux-sweetness he was quickly becoming familiar with, “Yes, yes, I suppose it would be better for you to stay away from the main Kremnoan post until the scientists can give the big, bad Mydei a stern talking to.”

“...‘Mydei.’ So, that’s his name?” It rolled surprisingly naturally off his tongue.

And he was Kremnoan, apparently. Phainon was in Kremnoan territory, which made an unfortunate amount of sense, considering the little he’d heard of the great empire in childhood. Fierce, loyal, daring, and dangerous to match– though why anyone would match him with them during rehabilitation efforts, he wasn’t so sure of. So much for civility; Phainon was starting to doubt Hyacine’s advice.

“Indeed. But I advise you to stay out of sight for now,” Castorice replied with an oddly embarrassed expression, “don’t go… chasing after Lord Mydeimos again. You’re not the first to do so, but as you can tell, he doesn’t take kindly to it. Your next attempt will certainly be your last.”

The warning hung oppressively in the air like smog, but it did nothing for Phainon’s confusion. “Chasing? Me? Why would I–”

Cipher wasted no time in interrupting him, just as a horn sounded in the distance, echoing amongst the landscape, “And that’s our queue to leave! Toodles, snowball, don’t melt while we’re gone!”

And then, as quick as a blink, the two women vanished, leaving only wisps of rot amongst the roots and the faint jingle of a cat’s bell in their wake. Phainon wildly looked around, their departure so abrupt that he almost considered he’d had some kind of feverish psychosis if not for the bandages still wrapped firmly around his wounds. The horn sounded again, deafening, and Phainon took it as a sign to retreat inside his tent.

Thus, with droplets of water leaking from the fabric onto his head, kicked off the strangest few weeks of Phainon’s life. And that was saying something.

The first week fried his nerves, if that was even still possible. They were probably charred black by now, fraying further whenever that dreadful horn sounded. Whenever it did, he ducked back into the safety of his corner, the fear of bloodlusted claws and an early death doing well enough with keeping his curiosity in check. It controlled his initial days and his instinct to survive won over his ego more often than not. Phainon barely got any sleep; he barely ate, too, not with the concern of leaving a trace at the forefront of his mind.

Yet, that wasn’t to say he learned nothing. Phainon liked to think of himself as an observant man– except in history class– so when the horn blared and the bright light dimmed, then shut off soon after, he noticed. He noticed that the flickering lights north, near the horn, also followed its lead hours later.

By the beginning of the second week, Phainon became braver. He hunted more, chasing skipping rabbits and elk, but never in excess, and dragged them back to feast on during those lonely evenings. He’d even begun to fix up the tent a little, starting with replacing those pesky rotten poles. No one bothered him, not even his… saviors, and it was halfway through the week that Phainon started to ponder the possibility of being forgotten. Frankly, would that be such a bad thing?

His brain said no, but his heart ached a resounding yes.

Sometimes, he felt a pair of eyes on his back that quelled his worries, dreadfully enough– even if they disappeared like smoke whenever he turned around.

His wounds started to heal, despite the occasional trouble they gave him. That included his nose, albeit it was slightly more crooked than before he’d been attacked, though his sense of smell was staying stubbornly repressed as the days passed. Phainon stared longingly down at the piece of meat cooking by his feet, smoke and delicious crackles rising through the air to caress his face.

The meat was juicy on his tongue, flavorful as he savored it, yet it was dimmed significantly by his injury. Frustrated, Phainon tugged on his hair– and truly, he did try to catch scents, he really did. Even now, when he focused so hard on the world around him that he could feel the beginning of a migraine pulsing beneath his temples, Phainon could only pick up mere hints of smoke amongst the endless clouds coming from below. The fire only crackled again in response to his complaints. He sighed, leaning back against a log in defeat.

Really, the only positive aspect of the situation was the fact that his other senses had advanced, as if to make up for their wounded companion’s fall. His ears twitched at the slightest sounds, and Phainon bet that if any of his childhood friends saw him like this, they’d call him a scaredy-cat, then pull a prank on him. Absentmindedly, he chuckled at the thought. There was a lump in his throat he couldn’t quite swallow.

Like now, where the soft rustles of approaching footsteps made Phainon jolt to attention. His breath hitched and his heart pounded– immediately, he kicked dirt into the simmering coals of his elderly fire, praying to whatever Titan who’d listen that the dry leaves wouldn’t catch aflame and end them all. Phainon glanced back at his tent, but no, that’d be too obvious; they’d surely find him there–

Without much thought, he threw himself into a nearby bush and winced at the awkward position it forced him in. His ears twitched again.

The footsteps were louder, closer. Perhaps it was Cipher? No, there were multiple, varying in weight– Cipher and Castorice? Also no, because Phainon doubted Castorice was heavy enough to make the grass whisper warnings. 

As Phainon peered through the leaves, several men emerged from the brush, a mixture of lean figures and tall walls of muscle who were all donning a familiar shade of red. There weren’t many, perhaps five, at most. He froze, ready to bolt, but another sweep of the men revealed that none of them had the mane worthy of a lion, nor the same sheer power coiled in a conspicuous, toned body– 

He relaxed, if only a little.

They snooped around the area, kicking the half-buried fire and murmuring amongst themselves like they had nothing better to do– or worse, were ordered to do. None got close enough to find his tent. Some sniffed the air, some teasingly, and others with their noses wrinkled afterwards. Phainon tried not to be offended, but when a powerful alpha tried to murder him for merely walking on his land, apparently chasing him– whatever that means– then possibly sent disgusted soldiers to his doorstep, it was hard to take it any other way.

Whatever the soldiers wanted to find, they didn’t, because they gathered up their weapons and began their journey back soon enough. Their armor broke through the terrain like machines of destruction, but also machines that were exactly where they were supposed to be. It left a trail in their wake. 

And, well, Phainon had always been an opportunist. Few would call him brave; most would ridicule him. But he’d argue back that it was only good strategy to know of your enemy, especially when it seemed they had finally realized he hadn’t died in a ditch. His list of disadvantages was endless– couldn’t he even out the scales, just once?

So, in a fit of recklessness, he quickly followed after the men, heading north, further and further until the trees thinned into an uncomfortably vast clearing. The grass transitioned into hard stone and marble, crumbling pillars dotted here and there amongst scattered bushes, lying close to a plethora of tents gathered closely. Some had stains that curled the edges of the fabric. And as they entered the Kremnoan detachment, he found himself snuggled into a bush once more– along the way, the men chatted to one another.

Phainon caught only a few words from his distance. “This is befitting of one of your scrolls, Ptolemy! I doubt I’ll ever see Lord Krateros bounce in joy like this for the rest of my days.”

“Mm, a rarity indeed,” the man he could only assume was Ptolemy sighed, “but his Highness does seem to be genuinely fascinated. Now that would be interesting to inscribe into history, if only the object of his intrigue would quit being so slippery…”

Ah, yes, Phainon would certainly stop being so slippery during his final breaths and during his final breaths only. 

“Why not both?” was the responding laugh as their voices faded into the distance, towards a large, formidable tent near the center.

He released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. A few seconds passed– enough for their voices to have dissipated completely– until Phainon made his first move, crawling out from under the bush and ignoring how rocks scraped his knees. 

The light above was still as bright as ever, illuminating the bustling Kremnoan settlement he’d broken into, against all his expectations. Yet, also against all his hopes, it became obvious that blending in would be simply impossible. To his right, children played with wooden swords, wrestling each other and proclaiming themselves odd, heroic names. Phainon couldn’t help the soft smile that stretched across his face at the scene. Oh, his childhood memories, wrapped in nostalgia like tea-stained paper.

To his left, men and women alike scrubbed away at laundry, weaved, cooked, or just teased each other, all in jest. Their laughter was loud, bold, and unapologetic, carrying far across the wind. And behind him was a stone wall, crumbling, obviously aged and shadowed by–

“Cowardice,” Mydei grumbled, staring down at him from his seat on the wall, “is discouraged by all Kremnoan teachings. And so is this pathetic attempt at eavesdropping.”

Phainon suppressed a yelp, his ankle practically folding in half when a rock rolled underfoot in his scramble to face the great prince, but face him he did. He frowned at him, but Mydei only watched him with an unimpressed, almost bored expression, lounging on that wall akin to a big cat watching a mouse struggle in its claws. Frankly, it was magical that he managed to make any surface look like his personal throne.

“Aha… What else is new? And I’ve been told I’m quite good at eavesdropping, by the way.”

Mydei narrowed his eyes at his comment, and if Phainon was any stupider, he’d claim the prince was smirking. “One of your horns was sticking out of that plant; anyone with sight could detect you from meters away. Myself included.”

A hand fumbled to touch his own horn, brushing the leaf that had been tragically impaled by the second, non-broken one. Phainon spluttered, his cheeks and ears burning at the realization, quickly tearing it off and throwing it to the side. Titans, he could only imagine how idiotic that appeared.

“I don’t know where they sent you from, but here, eavesdropping is a crime punishable by a hundred lashes and a swift execution.”

“As expected from the mighty Kremnoan empire,” Phainon murmured, never letting his gaze stray from Mydei– not even down to where his chest bulged between crossed arms, “taking a stroll seems enough to warrant a ‘swift’ execution.”

Mydei slid off the wall. “Hmph. My fury is detached from the common Kremnoan law.”

Before he could do more than open his mouth to respond, Phainon was cut off. “But, if you were curious, harassment of royalty is deserving of three hundred lashes.”

“Is that why you sent a group of soldiers to my doorstep?”

A red ear flicked and its owner jutted his chin high, scoffing, “Are you so arrogant as to assume I sent my Somatophylakes for you specifically? Any leader worth their title would investigate a feral alpha encroaching on their territory.”

Of course. Even Phainon would be suspicious if another alpha lurked on the outskirts of Aedes Elysiae, and though he couldn’t smell himself, his scent was surely displeasurable for Mydei to have imprinted in his home. Regardless, to attack someone out of the blue…

The use of the word ‘feral’ made his heart burn red in his chest, but he masked it with a tight-lipped smile. “With all due respect, I believe we got off on the wrong foot– no pun intended. Surely, with a calm discussion, we can clear up any misunderstandings between us.”

“You Okhemans and your silver tongues,” Mydei said, though he was no such thing, “prove your sincerity with your blade or meet a dishonorable end. I have no use for empty rhetoric.”

Phainon shrugged, but caught the wooden sword thrown his way. “They’re far from empty, but don’t think this distraction will shut me up!”

His teasing only worsened as he leaned into a defensive stance, much to Mydei’s chagrin. It may have been a bad idea to poke the one man here who could easily– and almost did– send Phainon to an early grave, but it rolled off his tongue so naturally that he loathed to stop. With a shift, Mydei matched his stance, his mighty armor preening in the light. Except… he didn’t pick up a wooden sword himself, even as they continued to circle each other.

“No sword for the prince?”

Mydei chuckled disparagingly, and flexed his clawed fingers, “What? Scared I’ll still manage to beat you?”

“So sure already? And you claimed I was the arrogant one between us!” Phainon tested his grip on the sword. It was well-made, despite being wooden, though lighter than the greatswords he trained with at home.

“There is no ‘us,’” were the last words uttered by Mydei before he tired of the circling, dashing forward with impressive speed for his size, not lost on Phainon’s memory.

Phainon swung, but Mydei tanked the first hit, rapidly closing space until they were practically nose to nose. The prince huffed in his face– he wasn’t sure whether he was gladdened by his lack of smell or surprisingly mourned it– and his eyes glinted in the shadows cast by his bangs. They were trained on Phainon like a predator’s to prey; Phainon doubted he broke eye contact once. Mydei was envisioning his bruised and bleeding skull behind those irises, probably.

But Phainon was no prey and it would do him some good to remind Mydei of it. Like a moth to flame, unable to resist the temptation, he grinned cockily in the face of the other and tilted his head so he gazed through his lashes.

“You wound me deeply, dear Mydeimos!” Those eyes sharpened into something darker– fury, he thinks– and the man in question seemed ready to spit acid.

Unwilling to receive it in the face, his biceps burned with the effort of shoving Mydei away. He twirled into the now-empty space and laughed merrily, escaping his chest like popping candy as dust clouded around his grace. Honestly, it surprised him– the feeling of it was as foreign as the territory he stood in. But laugh Phainon did, even if the reasoning eluded him, joy bubbling under his skin, the air lightening with every clash of metal on wood.

Perhaps in a moment of mercy, Mydei pointed out nothing, attacking him with the same ferocity Phainon had come to expect of him. He almost swore the prince’s shoulders lost some of their tension as the spar wore on, and for a brief second, he allowed himself to hope– but then, the next time they parted, Phainon noticed the steadily-growing crowd of Kremnoans observing them. Ah. Should he be concerned about being jumped?

Mydei answered with a punch to his sternum.

In this dance of two, Phainon found himself frequently on the defense. Mydei was ruthless. Every centimeter of space Phainon managed to grasp, Mydei was there, fighting for it back like a blazing wildfire. All sharp claws and teeth, forcing him out of his comfort zone– Phainon found he didn’t quite mind. He liked it. No, he loved it. It proved to Phainon that Kremnoans were, indeed, worthy of their reputation. Or maybe just Mydei.

It was like a conversation of sorts. Whenever Phainon bargained space, whether further apart or pressed close in, Mydei would shove back with passion and fury unique to him, and him alone. Then, Phainon would respond with matching fervor and perhaps a taunting trick or two.

There was loud cheering to the side, whoops and goads that rose above the thumps and cracks, from the same group of men he’d trailed earlier. One held a goblet overflowing with wine, splashing stains on the sand as he rocked back and forth. A person of great interest, clearly, because Mydei paused his assault to throw a glance his way.

Phainon grinned, a dirty, lopsided thing, and pushed forward. Now, Mydei was on a steep defense; he could only raise his gauntlets to deflect blow after blow. He grunted after a particularly rough hit to the exposed flesh of his waist, and Phainon discovered he wanted to hear that noise again. And again, and again, and again.

He was getting greedy, he realized. But he just couldn’t help himself. Kephale, what has been wrong with him as of late?

Before this, Mydei fought brimming with confidence, as if he truly believed that Phainon would never be able to bring him to his knees. However, as he steadily lost footing, his glare bled further into attentiveness and if Phainon was arrogant enough, he’d dare say interested. 

Damn the rivers of the nether, damn them truly, because something in the very depths of his core preened at the attention. Preened. What was this, a kind of odd courting ritual? No, never.

But oh, it still felt intimate in ways he couldn’t describe, but could still feel thick like honey on his tongue. He’d savor it, if he could.

Phainon let out a grunt of his own as a fist landed firmly along his jaw– enough to bruise, not break. His head flung to the side and he knew that was all the time Mydei needed. Probably less. The pounding of approaching footsteps was clear and even the rowdy audience seemed to hold their breath in anticipation– surely close to breaking out in cheers, because that would mean their prince had won, that Phainon had failed, left to lie face-down in the dirt for dead–

The wind whistled with the oncoming assault and in a moment of clarity– or perhaps desperation– Phainon ducked. He dug his feet firmly into the ground and blindly launched himself forward, head throbbing, arms outstretched.

They wrapped around something firm and warm, moments before full body weight crashed into it, dragging it down, down with him. Together, Phainon and Mydei tumbled into the dirt as a tangle of limbs and fabric. 

Belatedly, Phainon realized it was his cheek that pressed flush against the beginnings of the prince’s abs, each heaving breath stolen moving his head slightly up and down. Mydei was warm, so warm, and for a moment, he cursed whoever was lucky enough to hold this man at night.

…The adrenaline of battle sure did wonders for a soldier’s mind.

He shot up, placing his forearm on Mydei’s chest to keep him there– despite the claws tearing into his sleeves in an attempt to save dignity. Though, eventually, even those tired as Phainon kept firm in his victory.

“What a disappointment,” Phainon parroted and stared down at the prince, eyebrows raised as a loose grin practically melted onto his face– nevermind the heat burning through his cheekbones.

Logically, he knew the crowd was going wild around them. But the noise was completely cut off into hazy static the moment Phainon laid eyes on Mydei’s face.

Beneath him, Mydei’s chest swelled, a pretty pink stain one would typically attribute to a shy maiden slowly crawling up from his collarbones and onto his face, settling there like it belonged. Phainon thought it did. His lips wet themselves, glistening, slightly parted, and all too tempting– however, that wasn’t the part that made Phainon’s breath stutter to a halt.

Mydei stared up at him wide-eyed, freed from the cover of his bangs that were splayed across his forehead. He didn’t even blink, just stared, and his pupils were blown out far enough that Phainon could see his own reflection in the darkness. From that alone, Phainon could tell that he was in a no better state, and that shot boiling blood through his veins like a drug. The prince’s claws were no longer trying to pry him away, though they were still curled tight around his forearm– no, instead they rather sat there, just like that. And that’s how they stayed.

Phainon shifted closer, and suddenly, his pants felt suffocating. Oh. Oh no.

Yet still, the prince didn’t push him away. If anything, his grip tightened, pulling slightly on his sleeve. Phainon swallowed at the sight of Mydei so pliant beneath him, even though it was wrong, so wrong. Mydei’s instincts should be screaming at him to tear Phainon apart, that he was being so clearly threatened by another alpha, but Phainon saw no such storm in the other’s eyes. Only something deep and wanting, beckoning him closer, closer still. As if in a trance, he obliged. Surely, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing… to indulge…

As he leaned in, Phainon’s leg happened to brush against Mydei’s crotch, barely a touch– but the touch was enough. Instead of feeling a tent there, an aching hardness matching Phainon’s own, there was nothing of the sort. Nausea suddenly rolled heady and uncomfortable in his gut– Mydei was completely, utterly flaccid.

Self-awareness sucker-punched him worse than Mydei ever did and Phainon jerked back, blinking rapidly. Bile rose in his throat; Mydei didn’t want this. Didn’t want him. Phainon had gone way over his head and somehow deluded himself into thinking otherwise, Titans, how could he? The prince had tried to kill him just the other week. Kephale above, he’d even talked about his execution a mere few hours ago!

The moment was broken, snapped like a thread. Mydei’s eyebrows furrowed in a frustratingly adorable way, his lips now pressed in a scowl, most assuredly in disgust. He propped his torso into a sitting position, his mouth opening as if in complaint, but Phainon knew orders to ready the whip would ring out instead.

Words struggled to wiggle their way by a tongue that felt too big for his mouth. “Mydeimos, you– I’m–”

What, sorry? Ready to grovel for forgiveness?

Surprised noises burst from the crowd when several people were pushed to the side to make room for a bulky man with a furious expression and dark, greying hair, glaring in their direction. Both their heads whipped to face him.

“What is the meaning of this?” The man bellowed, ears flattened, and Phainon took that as his cue.

Phainon, the coward he was, ran. One moment, his weight was perched above the prince, and in another, he was halfway across the clearing with speed he hadn’t known he still possessed. He ran and ran until even the birds could not keep up with him, until the trees had long accepted him into their embrace. Somewhere behind him, the horn blew, but it didn’t sound far enough, not nearly far enough. His feet naturally took Phainon back to his impromptu home.

——

The early dawn of the third week was spent transporting all of his meager belongings to another discreet location, one that no one, not even Cipher, knew of.

…The rest of that portion of the week was spent steeping in guilt.

A few days passed of him barely eating and by the end of them, his claws had been chewed to bluntness. He scavenged for fruits, nuts, and vegetables, but never meat; he was too spineless when faced with the thought of smoke wafting high into the air and giving away his position. His own cowardice only made him curl further into himself, disgusted. As if reading his mind, Phainon’s stomach growled.

…

In his foggy reverie, two childish legs swung, perched comfortably on a log across from him. The girl they belonged to giggled, her short, pink hair drifting in the soft breeze of nonexistent wheat fields, “I found you, sleepyhead. Why did you run off like that?”

“...I did something bad,” Phainon mumbled, his cheek squished into the back of his hand.

“Mm, I understand,” she hummed and shuffled to sit beside his body, fingers carding gently through his hair. “It’s never easy to stay calm when you make a big mistake, is it?”

“No. What if Mrs. Pythias strikes me a hundred times with a ruler for it?”

“Oh? From what I can recall, you ran before anything became set in stone, silly.”

“...But Cyrene, she was going to, I swear!”

Cyrene– because that was her name, how could he forget, how could he ever forget– exhaled at his whines, amused, and reached down to pinch his cheek, “So you can read minds now? If you could, you’d know running away only makes things worse for yourself– and who knows, that ‘mistake’ could’ve improved things!”

…

If only things were as simple as childhood days spent in the sun. Phainon grumbled and turned on his side, cradling his head as if he could catch the ghost of her touch there, but there was nothing except the lingering heat of Mydei’s body pressed against his own. He tossed himself onto his other side, trying and failing to push down the conflicted emotions churning inside him.

For a brief moment, Phainon allowed his thoughts to wander once more, admiring the false stars that hung above him. Had Mydei’s best soldiers been sent to his doorstep again; what had they done with it? Were they still searching? What was the state of his temporary home now? But most importantly…

What was the state of Mydei?

He knew he was arguably the most undeserving chimera in existence to worry about the prince, but worry he did. His self-hate battled with his concerns, that soft, weak, selfish part of him, but somehow, it was winning.

There was that lump in his throat again. Phainon knew that if a random alpha pounced on him, unable to take a hint, he’d be disgusted if not distressed. He’d loathe to look them in the eye without blazing, passionate rage, fueled by the dissatisfied screams of his instincts. Was that what Mydei felt towards him, now– disgust? For some reason, the idea made him clench his teeth, suddenly disgruntled over the bluntness of his nails.

Words echoed in his mind in incessant chants, repeating over and over even when he tried to tug his thoughts free. “Aggressive,” the scientists had called him. “An unworthy investment”, the council had said, and then in the same breath, “a risk.” Then, from Mydei’s own mouth, “feral.”

Well, he just had to go and prove them right, hadn’t he?

Phainon sat up, a scowl on his lips. An age-old feeling, yet one he hadn’t felt since the fall of Aedes Elysiae, rose like violent waters in his chest– Mydei deserved better; he deserved justice. He deserved to feel comfortable in his own territory, without a feral alpha like Phainon encroaching on his people’s supplies and state of mind. Even… even if that meant suffering through several hundred strikes of a whip.

And so, with the last of his energy, Phainon hunted a large elk that could easily feed the whole detachment for a night or two. It wasn’t like he needed it– for once, he wasn’t going to fight, not unless Mydei wanted to see him struggle. He ignored the saliva that pooled underneath his tongue at the proximity of food in his state and instead continued to drag the carcass towards the clearing. It was heavy, weighty enough that an average-sized chimera would require a partner to carry it, and Phainon’s muscles burned with the effort of carrying it. Likewise, he could feel the power once curled in the muscles that shifted beneath the elk’s hide, now slack with the taint of death. 

Surely, this show of strength matched with his capture would prove his sincerity to the prince.

The camp was unusually quiet when he arrived at its gates, bloody footprints marking his arrival for anyone to see. Phainon adjusted the elk’s weight on his shoulder and he was almost tempted to whisper out into the silence, if only to see who would respond. The large tent in the center of the camp was formidable as he approached, one step after another, and he tried his hardest to avoid dragging his feet in the dust.

Admittedly, when he got close enough to grace the flaps of the tent with his fingertips, he hesitated. He could’ve easily blamed it on survival instincts– after all, nobody ever wants to die. But Cyrene’s words echoed through his memories, and he knew that would be lying to himself. Phainon chewed his lip; anxiety bubbled in his gut. Not of dying, no, but something far more humiliating: rejection.

Nonetheless, he reached his arm out and entered the tent.

 Immediately upon his intrusion, two guards were upon him. They forced his arms behind his back, all rough hands and calluses, despite the way it bruised. Unable to help himself, Phainon hissed and dropped the elk to his feet. 

He watched, a little crestfallen, as its stunning hide rolled in the dirt, fighting back the urge to bite and claw as he, too, was forced to kneel in the dirt. In the back of his mind, he recognized one of the guards– Ptolemy, he’d been called. The other, with pinkish-brown long hair and surprising strength for his outward frailty, he wasn’t so sure about. Their claws pressed into his skin with not enough force to pierce, but certainly enough to threaten.

As he pursed his lips, the sound of clinking footsteps rang, slow and prowling in their approach, like the resounding claps of Thanatos against the floor. Several pairs of eyes blinked at him with curiosity from the sidelines– all familiar, but none belonged to who he was searching for. Phainon peered through his bangs when the steps stopped just short of the fallen carcass, though he knew exactly who it was before his gaze truly landed. He had to strain his neck to lock eyes with Mydei from where the prince towered above him, but even that failed to prepare him for the stormy look in those recesses. It took Phainon off-guard.

“So,” Mydei started, crossing his arms over his chest, “you finally deigned to show your face here once more? Your boldness will be your undoing.”

Phainon chewed on his lip to prevent his eyes from nervously wandering. “Yes, it seems it has.”

“What is it that you want from me? Speak plainly.”

“I brought an offering in hopes of improving our relationship, in truth– but, if it dissatisfies you, I’m willing to receive the punishment you deem most fitting.”

In the few following seconds, it almost seemed like the prince hadn’t properly registered his words. It was painfully, awkwardly silent, enough that Phainon could hear the crickets chirping outside the tent and the slightly labored breathing of the stranger that gripped his bicep. Mydei’s eyes flicked repeatedly from Phainon’s kneeling form down to the elk, lips slightly parted, then pursed; his hands tightened into fists at his sides.

“Four hundred lashes and a ‘swift’ execution, isn’t that what you said? Three hundred for royal harassment and one for eavesdropping.” Phainon couldn’t help the nervous smile that stretched Mydei’s attention.

That broke whatever trance Mydei had been in, and though a flush still clung to his cheeks, he pinched the bridge of his nose. With a wave of his free hand, he angled his body away from Phainon and instead acknowledged the others, “Please, leave us.”

There was a murmur of protest throughout the tent, but he stood firm in his decision. One by one, the men filtered out; some threw unsure glances over their shoulders, while others smirked almost mischievously at where Phainon remained seated. In return, Phainon only raised his eyebrow, feeling one of the pairs of hands sliding off his body and retreating, too. However, the stranger– with furrowed brows masking puzzled eyes– still clutched onto him.

“Are you sure about this? What if…”

Mydei sighed, long and drawn out, as the man’s words trailed off, “Yes. Rest now, Hephaestion. I can handle this.”

Hephaestion paused, and briefly, Phainon doubted he’d obey. The fingers holding him down tightened, yet the man gazed at Mydei with such tenderness and trust that suddenly, there was a slight bitter taste beneath Phainon’s tongue. Eventually, however, Hephaestion shook his head, chuckling to himself as he relaxed and stepped away, towards the flap.

“Okay, okay. Just take care to keep the noise level low; Peucesta requires his beauty sleep!” A goblet was chucked in the cackling, retreating man’s direction, hitting its target somewhere along the way.

Phainon gulped, and instantly, he almost missed Hephaestion’s presence. Mydei still had the top half of his face buried in his hand, mumbling aggressive words in a language that was most definitely not the common tongue– if Phainon had thought the prince was red before, it was nothing compared to this. His ears were almost flattened, but his tail was swaying back and forth leisurely.

…Like Phainon wasn’t a threat at all. Oh, he could hear the funeral bells ring in the distance.

“You are a fool, for that I’m certain,” Mydei grumbled and detached his hand, “but your persistence is… adequate.”

His knees ached. “I would hope so.”

“Your proficiency with a blade is salvageable.”

Why did any of that matter when he’d be dead by the next sunrise? Regardless, he couldn’t help but indulge him, and huffed out in a laugh, “I’ve been told I’m quite handy with a scythe, too, if you happen to have any wheat fields nearby.”

Mydei’s eyebrows rose and his lips lost their stiffness, his ears flicking forward. “Wheat fields? In Okhema?”

“No, not in Okhema. I hail from Aedes Elysiae, a village north of the Holy City.”

“I’ve not heard of such a place,” Mydei murmured and stepped over the elk, almost sounding embarrassed, “though it explains some oddities about you.”

Despite the obvious insulting intentions, those words, spoken with such– Phainon didn’t even know how to describe it. All he knew was that it made amusement poke holes in his composure.

Phainon suppressed a shudder when he felt prodding, callused hands against his horns. It nearly distracted him from the aching void in his heart as he said, “It matters not.”

The prince released him, but not before he scoffed, “Self-flagellation will only weaken you; I have no interest in hearing it. Now, get up before you stain the floor of my tent.”

A bone in his joint popped as Phainon scrambled to his feet, never taking his eyes off of the man that had loomed over him. Mydei’s arms were still crossed in that endearing way of his, contemplative– he stared down at the elk at their feet like a butcher would assess a cut of meat and it made Phainon’s heart race. His eyes were narrowed, but not tense. And now, Phainon was all too well aware of the emptiness of the tent outside of their little circle, frozen in time.

Though, in the end, the mighty Mydeimos seemed to come to a decision. Peeling his eyes off of the carcass, he gazed at Phainon, as if he was trying to light his very soul on fire. It wasn’t violent, no, far from it. Moreso, it carried the passion and pride of royalty, a king who knew, without a doubt, what he desired. And yet, beneath that fire, rested a gentle acceptance that made something indecipherable in Phainon swell.

“Your audacity astounds me.” A pregnant pause. “But, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, I accept your offering. It’s a fine prize.”

Perhaps something possessed him, something without a survival instinct, because Phainon smiled. In the face of such an intimidating ruler, though Mydei was a prince that acted anything but, he smiled, bigger than he had in weeks, if not months, by now. There was no protest on Mydei’s end when Phainon slid closer, allowing their skin to brush– hot, almost feverish in its intensity for a moment so brief, yet addicting still– as he leaned down to hoist the carcass off the ground.

Together, they skinned it, and Mydei tasked Phainon with cleaning the hide while the large pot in the centre of the tent was prepared by the prince himself. The idea of a prince cooking surprised Phainon, so far-fetched from the fairytales of his youth that he simply couldn't help but watch, intrigued, as those crimson tattoos seemed to dance under the labor. In the heat of the fire, Mydei’s tanned back had a sheen of sweat and– well, looking at it, Phainon was starting to feel the heat, too. 

Admitting such aloud was unthinkable, though.

He sat on a nearby bench with his legs spread comfortably wide, taking a knife to the fur in his lap. Methodically, Phainon scraped the excess fat and flesh away. In the distance, the chatter of the camp were but murmurs here, interrupted periodically by the clinking of pans by Mydei’s side. Neither man spoke; they didn’t need to. It was a comfortable silence, almost natural, oddly enough. For once, Phainon didn’t feel the need to break it.

However, it became so comfortable that words slipped from his mouth without real thoughts behind them, for his mind was preoccupied by the task, “What do Kremnoans use hides for?”

“Whatever the detachment needs most– shoes, most likely.”

“Ah?” Phainon absentmindedly questioned, letting his fingers run through the luscious fur, “But it’d make a stunning blanket for pups, don’t you think?”

Instead of a response, there was a choked noise. He whipped his head over to Mydei, who was now hunched over the pot, broth from the stew he’d begun dripping unceremoniously to the floor. His tail trembled. The ladle was held tight in his hand like a lifeline, and maybe it was the effect of the pyre, but his upper body seemed to darken– had he burnt himself?

Phainon placed the knife down, reaching a concerned hand forward, only to be interrupted by Mydei’s hiss, “You speak mindlessly.”

This time, he put both his hands in the air and backed up a step. “I had no intention to offend you! The hide would make for excellent shoes as well, I’m sure.”

“Cut the vegetables instead of standing around without purpose. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Of course; you were the one who said I was proficient with a blade, after all!”

Frankly, it was a miracle he hadn’t been thrown out before dark. Phainon filled the silence of the evening with idle chatter, chopping vegetable after vegetable, and Mydei occasionally responded with grunts of his own. The fire lit the tent into a comfortable ambiance, shadows dancing across the fabric alongside the boiling soup. His stomach growled at the sight, but whenever Phainon tried to sneak a taste, Mydei would smack him with the burning hot ladle– it was torture, it really was. By the time the meal was ready, the skin on his wrist was pink and painful to the touch. For some reason, Phainon didn’t quite mind.

Alas, he must have winced one too many times while touching it, because the prince wordlessly passed him a small bowl’s worth of cooled water. He uttered a thanks, but Mydei’s back was already turned towards him and he’d started harshly scrubbing a pot.

The horn blew and the detachment lined up in front of the tent for dinner– women and children were served first, then soldiers. Mydei’s… friends, Phainon had come to realize, whooped and hollered when they saw him, but none moved to hurt. They simply took their meals and walked past, though all traded strange, knowing looks as they did so. He ignored them, too preoccupied with the steaming bowl of soup placed in front of him.

Mydei was a good chef; he knew this much. Children squealed in delight around them, couples hummed appreciatively as they dug in, and even the stern old man from days prior ate it without complaint.

So why did Phainon’s serving look so… different?

Where other bowls contained smooth, brown broth drowned in noodles, vegetables, and tender meat, Phainon’s was grey. No– perhaps just a muddy brown? He couldn’t quite tell the color; when he tilted it towards the lamplight, it shifted, none too appetizing. The vegetables were limp and the meat refused to be impaled by his fork.

A body blocked out the light, casting Phainon in shadow. “Well? How is it?”

Phainon flashed a polite smile up at Mydei, but the nervous swallow that bobbed his throat was automatic. Was he crazy from hunger, or was there a faint trace of a smirk on Mydei’s lips?

Regardless, under the prince’s stern gaze and the judgement of all those around him, Phainon closed his mouth around the spoon. Mydei’s smirk only widened at that, canines glinting down at where he was currently fighting down a gag. If he hadn’t known Kremnoans better, he’d have assumed this was a poison attempt. Phainon thought he tasted every ingredient in the soup except the delicious ones– how Mydei accomplished it was unclear, impossible, even. Yet, he fought through it and forced the bite down, promptly ignoring the loll of his stomach.

His answer was muttered through gritted teeth, “Delightful.”

 “Watch your tongue, next time, and perhaps I’ll treat you to a better meal.” Mydei patted his shoulder, as if Phainon was a sore loser after a spar.

Despite the venom and obvious distaste from the prince, Phainon’s slowly healing nose caught the oddly sweet, pleased scent of pomegranates wafting in the air. It was distant enough that clearly, this creation Mydei dubbed ‘soup’ had hallucinatory side effects, for there was no omega anywhere near him.

“Next time? Does that mean you won’t be executing me?”

Suffice to say, Phainon was sent back to the forest for the night and the next meal brought to him by Mydei was of the exact same caliber as the last. He’d argue it was worse– but he still ate it, every single time.

Regardless, as the rest of the week passed, spending time with Mydei became the opposite of breathing in fresh air. No, it was sweaty, grimy, and even bloody at times. When they weren’t sparring– “It’s too difficult to find a decent partner, fool,” he’d claim– they were cooking, training soldiers, gardening, or spending time amongst the camp’s children. Phainon eventually realized he hadn’t seen his tent in days; he could only hope it didn’t smell rancid by his next return. When he’d brought up the subject to the prince, he’d only looked at Phainon with a scowl and a sigh, then gave him a tougher workload than usual.

It made no sense, but then again, nothing did with Mydei. He knew he’d offended the man– Phainon had spent enough time around him by then to read him– but why he’d be so disgruntled over his departure was beyond his knowledge. Titans, it’d be more like a mere visit than an actual departure at that point.

Phainon beat away the inner instincts that wilted at the idea.

Nonetheless, Mydei certainly knew how to put him to work– not that Phainon minded, that is. But it was enough that, when he was dragged to his first check-up with Hyacine, aching muscles and all, he was eager for the break.

That eagerness was dimmed when he was transported to a small, white room, the one he’d forgotten how much he despised. The sterile, cold metal of the table felt wrong underneath his hands, too used to the humidity of Kremnoan territory and the feel of dirt squishing between his fingertips. So much so that Phainon almost flinched when there was a flash of familiar pink outside the glass door.

She entered the room with a poof of strawberry perfume, sliding in on a rolling stool donning the same professional, yet sweet, smile she always wore. The smile only widened and became more sincere when Hyacine properly took in his appearance– roughened, but healthy. A far cry from the condition he’d entered the institute in. 

It was true that he’d always been muscular, but under Mydei’s iron fist and spatula, Phainon practically popped out of his old clothes. Now, he stood before her in Kremnoan-style robes, one of the few that Mydei had insisted on commissioning for him. Phainon was also pretty sure it’d been the prince’s way of telling him that he stunk, or something of the sort, because sewn in the collar by his nape was a strip of the elk hide he’d hunted, chronically perfumed with the faint scent of pomegranate.

“First and foremost, how are you? I know that on paper, your rehabilitation is going wonderfully– ignoring the rough start– but I wanted to ask you personally.” Hyacine’s pigtails bobbed when she spoke.

He nodded, shrugged a little, “Well.”

“It’s good to hear you speak, Neikos! Do you have any concerns, questions?”

Phainon shook his head, but didn’t flinch when Hyacine moved closer, nor when she started prodding at him. “That’s okay; the first check up is always the hardest, but you’ve been doing well. I was relieved to see that you and Fovos have been getting along better than before.”

“I don’t blame him. Just was an alpha protecting his people.”

Hyacine hummed thoughtfully, feeling his ribs and pressing on the pulse of his neck, “About that– new research from observing you two has…”

Her words trailed off into silence on their own, her attention stolen by the apparent interest that was Phainon’s nose. He chuckled and leaned slightly back nervously, “Has…?”

“Shush!” She held up a finger to his lips, the touch akin to a ghost on his skin, and leaned closer. It made him cock an eyebrow, but his transgressions were soon paid back tenfold because like the cruel, cruel doctor she was, Hyacine pressed a thumb to the bridge of his nose.

The reaction was immediate. Phainon couldn’t suppress his flinch at the sudden pain, nor the growl that rumbled out of his chest. At first, it was searing– it was like she somehow knew where the hit landed– then dulled into a manageable ache. It throbbed, oh, how it throbbed. But as quick as it happened, Hyacine pulled back, a contemplative look on her face.

“Hm. It seems whoever repositioned your nose didn’t do it exactly right,” she murmured and pulled out her clipboard, “though as best they could with what they had, I’m sure!”

She scribbled something down, then placed it into an envelope to be sent off to who knows where. Phainon watched her questioningly, still cradling his very vulnerable nose out of view. It was only when she spoke once more that he relaxed.

“I know this was supposed to be just a quick check up, but I can do a mild reposition surgery for you that’ll help with the pain and the crookedness. Are you perhaps having olfactory dysfunctions? It would fix that up, too; it just needs to be approved by Ms. Aglaea!”

Without much further ado, Hyacine ran out into the hallway with the envelope, then returned without it. After that, she sat with him– for that, Phainon was extremely grateful. The small room was starting to feel utterly suffocating the longer he stayed in it. And the longer he did, the more his mind started to wander.

What was Mydei doing at the moment? The dinner horn had definitely gone off; what kind of dinner was he serving? As all those questions danced in his mind, Phainon’s stomach growled. Painfully so.

He hadn’t even known a few minutes had passed until Hyacine quietly gasped from where she had, at some point, set up her laptop. For a moment, as her eyes flicked from side to side, Phainon almost thought that the surgery had been rejected. Lack of funds or whatever. However, she didn’t give him time to hold his breath, because then her eyes twinkled with mirth and he knew. Phainon knew.

That was the last thing he recalled before his memory failed him, skidding to a stop and falling on its face. There was a mask somewhere, he thought, and gas that made everything blurry and his eyelids too heavy. It made him feel like he was on a blanket of clouds instead of hard metal, but at the end of it all, he found he was still looking towards the ground for a glimpse of red and a whiff of pomegranate.

Phainon sat up in a second flat, his cheeks burning and pushing down the throbbing of his skull. He’d had a dream of some sort, but the details were muddy and chronically out of his reach. Only the wisps of wheat in the wind remained, and even that quietly slipped away from his mind as Hyacine came into view once more.

Even he could tell she was smiling underneath her surgical mask. She waved, and in the same flurry of movement, Phainon spotted Anaxa camping out in the corner, appearing as bored as ever, flipping through a magazine. But that wasn’t the most surprising thing– Hyacine’s perfume hit him like a freight train and whatever leftover ache from the surgery was quickly replaced by a stinging sensation. He winced. It’d been easy to forget just how potent everything was, all the time. His only saving grace was the sterility of the room he was in, but even then…

“As I’m sure you’ve likely already noticed, the operation was a success! It only took fifteen minutes to fix the issue itself, but the anesthetic took far longer to wear off. While you were asleep, I took the liberty of utilizing more recent Okheman technology to ease your recovery.”

Anaxa mumbled from his corner while sipping a cup of potent-smelling coffee, “You were on the later side of recovery, anyway. Expect it to be fully healed in a few days.”

“Indeed,” Hyacine chimed in, “and usually I’d encourage a patient to rest here for the night, you’ve already been here longer than expected. I suspect you’re feeling quite antsy by now!”

“And do refrain from getting into fights that require either surgery or a post-mortem report late at night, or you might wake up without a nose next time.”

That was a threat. Phainon didn’t like threats, even though he respected the knowledgeable professor. But despite that, he couldn’t even begin to form a clever retort, because Hyacine chose that moment to slip his robes into his lap. They both exited the room quietly, presumably to let him change, but Phainon could only stare down at the fabrics in awe.

Softly, almost reverently, he brought the collar to his bandaged nose and inhaled, deep. Tendrils of pomegranate, honey, and jasmine bloomed and wrapped around him, sweet, rich, and so, so addicting– his eyes fluttered shut. Saliva pooled under his tongue and wet his canines. Phainon let one sink into his tongue, the taste of iron tainting the warmth of the scent, yet even the pain couldn’t quell whatever the hell was wrong with him. If anything, it only worsened it; it joined the heady mix like it belonged.

And Phainon was only a man.

An alpha, too, and while Phainon believed that any good warrior could rise above their secondary gender, this scent made his instincts scream like none before it. It shocked him to his very core, for not even in Aedes Elysiae had he ever experienced anything quite like this. Undoubtedly, it belonged to an omega, but that only added an unpleasant drop of confusion in his haze. Mydei had never let him get close to any of the Kremnoan omegas.

A knock on the door shoved him out of his thoughts. “Neikos, are you ready to go yet?”

“Yes!” He shoved the fabrics to the side, hurriedly stripping and then, finally, he managed to make himself look presentable. In the pleasant buzz of his mind left over from the scent, Phainon apologized to no one in particular for his brief disregard for his clothes. Something in him relaxed as he felt that scent envelop him once he properly straightened his collar out.

Outside the door, two guards awaited him. They were familiar escorts and regarded Phainon with a subtle gentleness– clearly, they no longer saw him as a threat. If anything, the walk back to the enclosure was nice, comfortable, even.

The hustle and bustle of the morning had faded, replaced instead with a few scurrying scientists donning eyebags and skewed ties. Everything was cast in shadows, stretching from the floor up to the most impressive statues of the institute, perched like crows. Stars dotted the visible sky; Hyacine had been right, it was late. A strange howl of impatience from his hindbrain made Phainon quicken his step.

Gone were most of his uncertainties and what-if’s, though perhaps that was because whenever anxiety started to prickle up his spine, that scent would tighten like a vice around his neck, cutting it from going further. It was why his transport went far faster this time around, and soon enough, he found himself back in the Kremnoan camp. The guards bid Phainon farewell, to which he saluted. Huh. They didn’t seem like bad people, after all.

His feet naturally carried him through the camp. Sworn on his own name, Phainon seriously thought he could do it with his eyes closed, with only his instincts to guide him. But alas, that was a challenge for another night, because his mind was on one, singular track and repeating one, singular name: Mydei.

Mydei, Mydei, Mydei.

In the distance, he could hear laughter and the rustle of people moving about in their own tents, but the noises were just petty distractions that served no use. Ptolemy’s lectures, Hephaestion’s quiet chuckles, someone’s drunken ramblings, the lullabies, all naught.

Cipher’s cackles as Phainon reached for the royal tent’s flaps– wait, what?

Phainon faltered, hand paused at where it barely brushed fabric. His breath refused to leave his lungs, even as they burned, and like a stubborn mule that never learned his lesson, Phainon did the most sensible thing. He eavesdropped.

“Aw, what’s with the sad face, little lion? Is my company really that horrendous, or is it because you have no puppy to preen?”

“You have no clue what you’re talking about,” a rumbling voice, Mydei, huffed, “and besides, your ‘visits’ are never random.”

Cipher whistled, “Oh, do I? If I’m recalling correctly– which I most certainly am– my last visit spared your puppy from being put down by none other than you! Why don’t you thank me with some spare change?”

Something akin to metal creaked. “He proved himself worthy long ago; I see no reason to dwell on the past.”

“You’re real funny when you’re trying so hard to be tough, it’s almost cute!” Phainon could practically visualize the smirk playing on her lips. “You’re so confident, but is it really me who doesn’t have a clue?”

“You know something.” It wasn’t a question.

“I may, or maybe not. Depends on how much you’re willing to pay.”

An aggravated sigh, then a rustle of fabric. It was silent for a moment and Phainon could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Suddenly, it felt like eyes were burning holes into him.

“I do have to say, you drive a nice bargain… but you’ll have to double it for me to say a peep.”

“I don’t concern myself with scams.”

Cipher laughed, sharp and loud, “Scam? That’s a strong word, but unfortunately for you, this kitty doesn’t do buy-two-get-one-free sales! I’ll be paid for every ear privy to my services.”

“No amount of riches will make you stop talking like a fool.” Phainon caught a whiff of rotten fruit and rust, his nose wrinkling as best as possible in response.

“It’s all in good fun, little lion! Maybe let loose with the dog currently scratching and whining at your doorstep while I make better use of my time, no? Toodles!”

The scent of incense, smoke, and leather was the only warning Phainon got before a body, as quick and bright as lightning, barreled through the tent’s exit. Cipher almost knocked him over– not that she cared– and left the flap wide open. He stood awkwardly in place, his hair disheveled, his crimes painfully exposed to none other than the Kremnoan crown prince. Mydei stared back at him, mouth slightly agape.

Phainon prepared himself for a beating.

A beating that never came. Instead, Mydei only looked a little embarrassed before roughly pulling Phainon inside the tent, the security of it only an afterthought to the two men, now face to face. It was through this proximity that he got a bigger mouthful of that rotten, soured scent that seemed to cling to Mydei like a cloak; it was practically choking Phainon. When he thought it couldn’t get any worse, Mydei’s stoic face crumpled into something dark and the scent, his scent, followed close behind. The urge to nuzzle, to comfort, was overwhelming. Phainon settled on just resting his hands on the prince’s shoulders.

“I wasn’t–”

“What did you–” They spoke at the same time, and unable to help himself, Phainon chuckled softly.

“–eavesdropping,” he finished, “please don’t serve me mush tomorrow.”

Unceremoniously, Mydei tugged him forward by his collar without a word, shoving his face in Phainon’s nape. Phainon froze and his fingers dug bruising marks into the other’s exposed shoulder. “Um, Mydei?”

When he didn’t respond, Phainon tried to sniff himself. How odd; Mydei had never reacted like this to his scent before. Did something change while he was away? Had Mydei tired of him–?

Suddenly, Mydei pulled back and poked a sharp nail into his chest. “Who was it?”

“Pardon?”

“Not pardoned.” Mydei growled, “What omega did they take you to? You stink of one, you fool.”

Phainon blinked, his mind running at both a snail’s pace and a hundred miles per minute. It seemed like the Titans had taken his brain and shook it like a gift box. His eyes narrowed. He thought he smelled nice, despite how his own scent was diving into offense, especially with the accompanying scent sewn into his very clothes. The only mildly disturbing part was the fact Hyacine’s perfume still clung to him faintly, as it tended to do, all-consuming like the pet she’d always cooed over. Phainon’s breath hitched.

Oh.

“Hyacine?” he intelligently stammered.

“And do you prefer her?”

“Mydei, I pride myself in my familiarity with you, but even I can’t decipher what you’re saying now–” The rest of his words never saw the light of day because they were cut off– without an ounce of shame– by a hand fisting his collar and tugging.

Now, Phainon had always thought of Mydei as a heavily restrained man. Countless delegates had tried, and failed, to rile the prince up, he kept his cool in battle, scolded children for their misbehavior despite their jelly eyes, and most satisfying of all, never glanced the way of anyone, no matter their secondary gender. Even his closest friends failed to taunt rage from Mydei, and the little indulgences Phainon had managed to wrestle out of him during their spars still had Mydei’s emotions kept under strict lock and key.

‘Restrained’ is the last word he’d use to describe Mydei at that moment. His jaw was firmly set as he violently shoved Phainon on his bed, and he’d be lying if he claimed he couldn’t hear the creak of it. In the darkness, Mydei’s eyes practically glowed– with fury or something else, something darker, he wasn’t sure. Mydei’s scent spiked again, still sour, but with an underlying sweetness that made Phainon’s mouth water. It smelled like… like…

All the while, Mydei muttered Kremnoan curses under his breath. Rough hands tore at his robes and Phainon yelped, snapping his hand up to grip Mydei’s wrist, white-knuckled. “Woah, hold up– what’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” the prince parroted with a scowl, but at least he’d halted his stripping efforts for now. “Are you feigning ignorance on purpose? If so, Nikador should lend me their strength, or so help me strike you down where you stand–”

Despite his venom, his scent only got sweeter, like the aroma of ripened fruit. It struck a chord in Phainon and his free hand tightened its grip on the sheets, though they were jumbled with an array of different textures. He couldn’t afford to glance down, but one of them felt suspiciously similar to the fabrics that made up his robes.

Phainon chuckled nervously, “No, no, I can assure you it’s nothing of the sort. I was in my medical appointment for longer than expected, so I can admit I’m a bit… confused.”

“A ‘medical appointment’?” Mydei scoffed, “Is that what they call their mating campaigns now?”

He choked on his own spit at the crude words, which Mydei took as an opportunity to slip into his lap. His muscled thighs caged him in and made it impossible to wiggle free. 

“What impatient cowards. I give it a chance and a week later, they try giving you to another omega– was I not quick enough?” Whatever response Phainon had ready was dissipated by Mydei’s finger dipping under his own robes to let the cloth flutter off his shoulder, down to where it pooled by his hips.

“Hmph. It’s no matter. Come, boy, and claim your prize.”

Phainon could feel how his ears burned hotly and his cheeks weren’t faring much better. He wasn’t even going to think about his crotch lest he explode from the shock of it all– was he still passed out on that surgical table, dreaming of Mydei’s sweaty pecs as they were now, currently, being practically shoved in his face? With much struggle, Phainon managed to keep his eyes strictly on the prince’s scowling face, his cheeks slightly puffed out and moisture beading over furrowed brows.

No, this was definitely reality. Phainon couldn’t ever dream up a scent like this, the scent of an omega chimera in the beginning of heat, of Mydei in heat, because no mortal mind could conjure up something so addicting. It made his cock twitch in interest and the prince must have felt it, because the notes of distress faded almost completely, replaced instead with a more seductive, tart aroma. Phainon’s hands flew to grasp at Mydei’s hips, claws digging into rich threads and embroidery.

A pleased purr rolled from deep within Mydei’s chest. He ground his hips down and Phainon could feel something wet leak between the rubbing fabrics, but that was where reality clashed with logic, because Mydei wasn’t–

“You’re an omega?” he exclaimed, tightening his grip so the prince was forced to stop moving. Which, what a pity that was, because Phainon had liked the needy little noises that’d started to spill from those kissable lips.

Mydei looked at him like he was dumb. Perhaps– he was starting to realize– he was.

“...Yes?”

“Oh. That– I didn’t know,” Phainon muttered, embarrassment prickling at his throat.

The prince froze and his scent slowly started to sour again. “Have you been walking around with your nose plugged? Were you not sent here for a mating campaign?”

“What– no! I don’t even know what a ‘mating campaign’ is!”

“...”

At Mydei’s judgemental silence, Phainon hurried to continue, “Hyacine– my human caretaker, I suppose– said it was either rehabilitation or euthanization for me. And as for the scent ordeal–”

He gestured to the bandage on his nose. “–whose fault is that?”

Mydei’s eyes widened, and for a moment, said nothing. Then, he released Phainon with pursed lips, tucking a stray hair behind his ear as he started to slide out of his lap. His hands curled into fists at his sides. Despite it all, a flush still painted his cheeks and Phainon found he yearned to catch the drop of sweat that trickled rather obscenely down the curve of the prince’s neck, into the dip of his collarbone, on his tongue.

“I apologize for my bold assumptions.”

“Wait!” Phainon caught his wrist, and in a show of uncharacteristic shamelessness, he roughly yanked Mydei into his lap once more.

If he’d been in Aedes Elysiae, he would’ve been scolded and sent out to the fields under the enraged sun for such a brash move, against an omega, nonetheless. But reason and propriety be damned, he thought, because Mydei had since stripped him of all his honor and left him an animal between his thighs. 

Besides, it seemed Kremnoans operated differently, because instead of pushing him away, Mydei’s eyes only grew half-lidded and dark with something he could only describe as hunger. The prince’s canine sank into his bottom lip from where it jutted out; Phainon wanted to kiss the puncture wound until it numbed.

He swallowed and willed his tongue to work. “I apologize, too, for my wrongful assumptions of you, Mydei. There is no other omega for me. Just you. Only you– and I desire you, I always have, even before I knew.”

A powerful, suffocating cloud of pheromones bloomed from the man settled comfortably on top of his crotch. The wet spot grew larger.

Mydei huffed, landing a solid punch on his shoulder, “You’re an idiot. A walking, talking buffoon.”

Phainon chuckled, but the noise was full of uncertainty, and his hands had loosened, if only slightly. Mydei raised an eyebrow at that. With warmth– and impatience that made Phainon’s mind cloudy with lust– he took Phainon’s hand in his own, clutching onto it like a lifeline.

“So idiotic that you clashed blades with me, pinned me to the ground, and looked at me like you were brave enough to claim your spoils right there, right then.” He urged Phainon’s hand forward until it was splayed over his abdomen. “Krateros had bad timing, as he tends to. But he’s reliable. Yet, like a quaking ghost, you ran.”

“I–” Phainon began, however a stern glare was enough to silence him.

Mydei forced his fingers to press deeper into the tender skin. “You left me there, bruised, aching, and only dishonor followed in your wake. That much was clear– but you were the only one worthy of being called my equal.”

“You were a lowly parasite in my mind for those few days of separation, distracting me constantly, then you had the audacity to return with gifts and mindless words about pups.”

His breath hitched as his hand was guided lower, lower, until it breached the waistband. “All that taunting, all that careless teasing. Haikas– do you even know how wet you made me?”

Two of Phainon’s fingers slid through slick folds. “Take responsibility.”

Oh.

Oh.

Heat rushed to his groin, and in Mydei’s hold, he felt like he’d been lit on fire. His mind narrowed to contain only the man in front of him, and with a growl, he flipped them over. Fresh slick gushed onto his hand as Mydei was pressed onto the bed, almost completely shadowed by Phainon crouched over him. 

Logical thinking was null, drained from him until all Phainon could feel was Mydei’s legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him even closer. Robes were kicked aside somewhere along the way. He didn’t care– all he cared about was feeling Mydei’s flesh underneath his palms, plump and salty to the tongue. It shot sparks of energy down his spine like lightning and, emboldened, Phainon slowly dragged his tongue up the ridges and delightfully rough edges of the man’s abdomen, reveling in how he squirmed beneath him. 

However, Mydei wasn’t the only one struggling with patience. With a strained chuckle, Phainon finally moved to capture the other’s lips and pushed until they were chest to chest. The close proximity made every twitch, every whimper of Mydei obvious for Phainon to feel, even the full-body shudder that ricocheted through his pliant body at the kiss, and it was nothing except enthralling.

The kiss itself was everything Phainon never expected from a royal– messy, passionate, and fueled with a burning hunger that sung through the nibbling of his lower lip– Mydei was trying to coax Phainon’s mouth open, to let him taste him, too. And Phainon responded into the slick and slide like he wanted to devour the prince, and in a way, he did. When Mydei’s canine nicked his lip, he also did so in turn, and their blood mixed into a heady, addicting taste as they only sunk further into each other’s embrace. 

Needy, desperate noises spilled into his mouth and Phainon greedily swallowed each and every one. Shame was far from the forefront of his thoughts; his mind was a constant mantra of give and take.

Eventually, Phainon pulled back– not to part from his beloved, no, for that would be downright blasphemous at this point. Blasphemous to which Titan, he didn’t know, but he decided they should smite him if he dared. Instead, he peppered kisses across Mydei’s cheeks and only paused when a hand was placed on his chest.

“Quit teasing,” Mydei growled, but the way it broke off into a breathy gasp as Phainon grazed his teeth over his pulse made it far from intimidating.

As if to taunt him further, Phainon sucked a mark nearby, where it was impossible to hide. Mydei was a quick healer, but he chose to live in ignorance and bliss until he was forced to face that fact. To make up for it, he left another mark, then another, until his throat and chest were littered with blooming purples and reds. Phainon thought they paired beautifully with the tattoos that leaked into the swell of Mydei’s chest and further, leading him to two, flushed nipples.

“Mydei, My Dei, you look so pretty like this,” he whispered against the soft flesh before rolling a bud between his teeth.

The man in question’s hands flew up to tangle in Phainon’s hair, tugging at white locks not to push away, but to press closer against his chest. “Shut– shut up, ah–!”

At the same time, he ground his bulge between Mydei’s thighs. He could feel those muscles quiver and by then, it was impossible to tell whether the wetness between them was just Mydei’s slick or if Phainon’s precum had joined, too. In a depraved train of thought, he hoped so.

He gave one last bite to the nipple before leaving it be, admiring how puffy and shiny it’d become under his attention. In his palms, Mydei’s breasts filled them out nicely, and he gave them a testing squeeze. “These are… quite perfect for pups, aren’t they? Beautiful, just like the rest of you.”

“Nonsense.” Mydei scoffed, but his tone was rather whiny and his scent spiked, and he tugged on his hair again, “Didn’t I tell you to quit teasing? Chickening out, are you?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. But it’s also well within my right to treat you how you deserve.”

“I–” Phainon didn’t allow him to finish, cutting him off with a swift thrust of his cock between Mydei’s folds.

Mydei’s back arched and he keened, high-pitched, as the head of his cock pressed firmly on his clit before sliding back once more. Phainon kept his thrusts slow and well-paced, taking care to press against that nub yet only brushing past where Mydei was most eager to have him, denying him. When the prince’s hips bucked, he pushed them down with a hand and forced Mydei to feel every single, last, torturous thrust.

And with each passing second, Mydei only looked more and more wrecked. Swollen lips were nursed between teeth and tongue in a futile attempt to stifle the soft moans that bubbled from deep in his core, his bangs plastered against his forehead and unable to hide watery, heated eyes. A flush was high on his cheekbones and it deepened with each failed effort to get Phainon to push inside– and, interestingly enough, each time Phainon’s forearms flexed with the labor of keeping Mydei pinned helplessly.

Phainon laughed in equal parts affectionate and disparaging, “And you claim I’m the tease. Look at yourself.”

Though, even with his confident facade, he could tell his control was quickly slipping. Mydei’s pheromones were suffocating where they were intertwined with his own, and they were asking– no, pleading– for him to get on with it. From underneath all that muscle, Mydei’s tail shivered, and Phainon couldn’t help sliding a hand down to press a thumb at its base. The reaction was instant– Mydei whimpered and his legs feebly kicked out, something Phainon would definitely file away for later. He swallowed the saliva that had collected in his mouth; his own instincts were screaming at him to take, take, take.

Carefully, he took his hand away from Mydei’s tail and dipped it between them. He watched, enraptured, as strings of slick stretched on his cock from where it’d been nestled. With one finger, he scooped some up and swiped it with his tongue–

If anyone had asked him a few days prior if it was possible to get addicted to something from only one taste, he would have laughed in their face. He wasn’t so sure now.

His index finger followed the curve, rubbing circles briefly around Mydei’s clit before slipping a finger inside, to the first knuckle. The legs clinging to him trembled slightly, but the whimpers didn’t cease. Phainon let it sink deeper, deeper, until it was fully in– a fresh wave of heat was sent to his groin when he felt Mydei clench around his finger, as if beckoning for more.

There eventually was little resistance as he pumped the finger in and out, a sign he took to insert another. But, he reasoned, he wasn’t done having his fun with Mydei just yet. He wanted to make this last, wanted to sear the image of the prince panting and writhing beneath him, lips shiny with spit, into his brain permanently. As if in agreement, his nape burned with a need he’d quickly become familiar with since Mydei first slid into his lap.

Thus, when he finally started to slide in another finger, Phainon pressed forward until his mouth was tucked comfortably by Mydei’s ear. The man hissed at the sudden stretch, both in his crotch and thighs, but Phainon paid him no mind. He was close enough to feel the ghost of his breath bouncing back against his face as he murmured, “You’ve thought of this, haven’t you? Tell me I’m not the only one.”

Mydei’s breath stuttered when Phainon started scissoring his fingers. “So what if I have? There’s no need to be a pervert–”

Phainon curled his fingers and faked a pout, leaning back to watch a startled moan rip itself from Mydei. “You wound me, dear Mydeimos! If anyone here’s a pervert, I believe it’s you. But we can compete to see who’s better, no?”

“Filthy–” the words were cut off by a loud whine, clawed hands shedding silk sheets with a rip– “cheater!”

A bit to his inner thigh and a third finger shut his insults up for good, it seemed, as Phainon continued to push his fingers against that spongy, sensitive spot. The firelight made the fragile dew on Mydei’s eyelashes practically sparkle– Titans, if only he could keep him like this forever.

By the time he’d gotten to a third, Phainon was about to snap. Mydei’s hands encircled his neck and the man himself looked up at him from under thick lashes, arching his back like it would make Phainon go faster. And curse him– because it worked. Phainon’s breath came out more akin to a quiver than a sigh as one of those hands traced down his chest to reach where he needed to be touched most.

A callused hand wrapped around his cock with a debauched sound and Phainon couldn’t help but curse, unable to look away, “Fuck, Mydei, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Put it in. Now.”

Phainon chuckled, and though it physically pained him to do so, he wrenched that hand off. His breath was uneven, heavy, but it matched Mydei’s pace as he pinned both hands into those ruined sheets above Mydei’s head. The prince fought back, but it was only in jest– Phainon knew full well that he could throw him off like a sack of flour if he so desired. But he didn’t, only pushing back against his grip for a few seconds, like he was testing it, before falling limp once more, lips slightly parted.

In those glossy eyes, Phainon could see how feral he looked– how he felt. His hair was a mess and his canines glinted in the lowlight, yet Mydei didn’t flinch away. He only looked at him like he was the sun that arced the sky.

Perhaps Mydei had been right, after all.

“You’re so spoiled,” Phainon tutted, “but you’re lucky I need you just as much.”

He watched as Mydei’s hole fluttered around nothing; his eyes followed a pathetic glob of slick that trickled out and slowly, pitifully slipped down the curve of his ass. Unconsciously, Phainon licked his lips, as if entranced– but a buck of Mydei’s hips and a high-pitched whimper snapped him back to the present.

For all his confident talk earlier, Phainon took it surprisingly slow. He inched in, bit by bit, until he was fully seated inside and even then, he paused to allow Mydei time to adjust. To busy himself– and to distract from the temptation that was Mydei’s swollen nape, exposed now that his hair had been brushed to the side– he bent down and began to litter more marks over Mydei’s chest.

This was much to Mydei’s chagrin, because there was soon a hiss in his ear accompanied by a wiggle that, for its brevity, made Phainon clench his teeth, “Ngh, do you think of me as fragile? I can take whatever you can give me, if only you’d stop being such a coward and move!”

Nails raked down his back, leaving stinging, red lines down the expanse that weren’t entirely dissimilar to the tattoos streaking Mydei’s own. The pain was like an electric shock, and, accompanied by the personal offense his instincts took at Mydei’s still-faring ability to speak, Phainon sprung into action.

Growling, he braced himself against Mydei’s body, leaning in, closer, even closer, until the man was practically bent in half–

A slow, testing thrust. Then another. Then another, again and again until Phainon found a comfortable, fast pace. Mydei was gasping, but the noises were not nearly loud enough, so he changed the angle until the man was practically writhing beneath him, unable to stifle even a single whimper. Skin slapped against flushed skin and slick lewdly splattered anything it could reach between them, from the sheets to Phainon’s abs– it made them glisten more than his sweat already did, dripping down the harsh divots like it, too, wanted a taste. Even if the world was burning around them, Phainon doubted he could will himself to stop.

A red haze painted his vision, but not once did it cover up the beautiful man he’d get to call his mate. Mate, what a funny, invigorating word. After the destruction of his home, he never thought he’d ever have one, much less the privilege of Mydei, of all people, wanting him back. And he did– Phainon tried to commit every jostle, noise, and stretch that painted such a bewitching picture, just in case he soon woke up alone and cold.

Before his brain caught up– if it could– Phainon started to ramble, spit soaking his chin as he kissed up Mydei’s neck, “Mydei, Mydei, you’re so beautiful, wish I could keep you like this forever, right where you belong–”

“Haikas,” Phainon had expected the prince to scoff, curse, or punch him until he apologized for his shamelessness. But the admonishment never came.

Instead, a moan took its place and claws dug deeper into his back, pulling him impossibly closer as he kept up the pace. The sound vibrated, deep and desperate, in Phainon’s ears and, in his surprise, paused his laving affections on Mydei’s jawline.

Sure enough, salty moisture slipped down reddened cheeks and landed on Phainon’s tongue. One by one they dropped, and Phainon could only imagine just how beautiful it looked. It only spurred him further, for something in him purred with content.

“Do you like that idea, sweetheart?” The nickname earned him a light punch to the chest, but he could feel Mydei’s head jerk. “I’ll be a good mate, I promise, I’ll always make sure you’re– shit– satisfied, I swear on Mnestia’s will.”

The hand that had been holding one of Mydei’s legs let go, instead trailing down to splay across the man’s abdomen, where Phainon could feel the bulge of each thrust; he pressed down. “I’ll always keep you full, and look at that– you’re taking me so well. Perfect, you’re so perfect, especially for our pups–”

Mydei keened and clenched down like a vice, fat tears now trickling endlessly, like a landslide from the pleasure. A spurt of slick, especially thick, splattered between their combined bodies and then, with the grace of a falling swan, went pliant in his hold. His limbs jerked and twitched from the onslaught and the aftermath, but Mydei’s delightful noises didn’t stop, so neither did Phainon.

If anything, the coil in his gut tightened. His pace finally faltered and his breath stuttered– his eyes wanted to squeeze shut, but Phainon fought to keep them open, trained solely on Mydei. The man’s body jolted slightly with each thrust, yet still, he looked back at Phainon, panting and whimpering from overstimulation. Then, sluggishly, Mydei tilted his head to the side, bearing his nape.

“Want it, please–”

Those words were jumbled and simple. But they were his undoing.

With one final slam, Phainon buried himself inside to the hilt. His vision whited out except for Mydei, never Mydei, and at the back of his mind, he faintly registered the taste of blood. Pleasure crackled and popped like fireworks in his brain, and not just there– even his muscles seemed to be affected by the high and they drew in taut like a bow before… before…

The pleasure dulled into a smooth current through his veins and Phainon’s vision returned, albeit blurry. His knot chubbed up at the base, thus, he was officially, completely satisfied. 

A sigh escaped him and he slumped on top of Mydei, ignoring the way it tugged where he was now attached to the other. His muscles had their party and now they felt like lead. He blinked, slowly, and nestled further into Mydei’s neck. Gold smeared on his cheek from the bite mark now sitting where he lay, but he simply licked at it and returned to his comfort. The skin would knit together to form a permanent mark there soon, anyway.

Beneath him, Mydei’s bare chest rumbled with a purr, and together, they fell into a deep sleep. It was only belatedly that Phainon realized that they had, in fact, not kept the volume down.

——

It had been almost ten months since that fateful, annoying late night call. Anaxagoras would have liked to claim it’d gotten better, but he’d only be lying to himself and whatever poor soul that decided to bother him. Frankly, it wasn’t all bad; the coffee in this department was decent, he’d come to learn. And through all the chaos, he’d gotten used to it. 

Sort of.

He still grumbled in defiance whenever it happened, just to be an annoyance to Aglaea. Speaking of…

Apparently he’d gotten too comfortable, because now, thanks to her, Anaxagoras was juggling work in two different departments– Droma and Chimera. He’d say it wasn’t worth it, but frustratingly so, the almost endless new data from the past few months made it definitely, irrevocably worth it.

Still, seeing her name plastered in bold on the corner of the little posters strewn all across the streets of Okhema gave him a headache. What was almost worse, however, was the title of said posters.

“Coconut Beagle and Fig Stew Welcome New Arrivals to Endangered Chimera Species!”

The news wasn’t the problem– in fact, it was rather old news to him. Anaxagoras had been there when the pups were delivered, after all. 

Nevertheless, news aside, just who gave his specimen such a downright appalling publicity name? He sighed and adjusted the several birth certificates scattered across his desk until they were properly straightened. They were penned and authorized by him, of course. And may Anaxagoras help himself, because this would certainly be a long day.

——