Work Text:
Nestled between endless fields of golden wheat and flanked by low, mist-covered mountains, Aedes Elysiae looked like a scene from an old painting. A peaceful place where days moved slower, where the biggest events were harvest festivals or the occasional runaway cow blocking the main road.
Eons ago, Mydeimos descended, graced the said town with bountiful harvest. Since then, the people of Aedes Elysiae praised the powerful deity, worshipping him as their God. The silent guardian said to dwell in the mountain, watching over the crops, the rivers, the seasons. Thus, they built a shrine for him on the highest peak, left offerings of pomegranate, whispered prayers into the wind.
But time moved on. Beliefs changed.
Technology arrived, though late and unevenly. Towers were built, internet cables laid, phones replaced prayer slips. Children no longer knew the old songs, and adults found comfort in logic and data. The deity's name faded into folklore. Nothing more than a quaint story to scare or amuse tourists.
Only the shrine remained.
Tucked deep within the forested slope of the eastern mountain, it stood crooked, half-swallowed by ivy and age. The path leading to it was barely visible, worn down by rain, wind, and silence. No one climbed up anymore. Not even the old priestess who used to leave offerings.
And Mydeimos was still there.
Behind the moss-covered stone walls of the forgotten shrine, he lingered, not as the almighty god he once was, but as something smaller. Fading.
He used to be radiant.
Once, when the name Mydeimos was whispered with reverence across the fields and rivers, he stood tall. Shoulders broad, muscles chiselled like art, golden eyes gleaming beneath a crown of woven wheat. His voice could call the rain, his feet could stir the wind. Offerings filled his altar. Children giggled as they laid flower crowns by the stone steps. Farmers left baskets of harvest and said thanks before sowing.
But all that had long passed.
Now, he looked like a boy no older than ten. A small frame barely holding itself upright, unruly blond hair falling into dull gold eyes. His once-magnificent robe hung off his shoulders like a curtain of dust, the hem dragging over the stone floor, frayed and colorless.
The deity gradually lost his brilliance alongside the fading faith.
He sat in the middle of the shrine with his legs tucked under him, arms wrapped around his knees, and stared blankly at the floor. Wind whispered through the broken slats of the shrine walls. The offering box had been empty for years.
He could leave. He knew that.
He could return to the sky, back to the divine plane where forgotten gods went to sleep. There, he could rest. Maybe even recover a fragment of what he used to be.
Or he could pack up and leave, going on journey to enjoy his remaining power before perished.
But he didn’t want to go.
Because this town, Aedes Elysiae, was the only place that ever acknowledged his existence and believed in him.
It was the first place where children danced under the moon calling his name. Where weary mothers prayed over sick infants, and old men lit incense before storms. This town had sung his name and trusted him to keep them safe for centuries.
So he stayed.
Weaker with every season. Smaller with every silence. But still there.
Waiting in the shrine on the mountain, as the world forgot he ever existed.
One day, he heard footsteps.
Not the rustle of a stray fox, nor the creak of an old branch bowing in the wind. These were deliberate, human footsteps. Slow, steady, careful on the uneven trail.
It had been a long time since anyone climbed this far.
Mydeimos stirred, instinctively shrinking back into the shadows behind the shrine’s sliding door. A reflex, born not of fear but of habit. He wouldn’t be seen, not unless the visitor was a pure-hearted child, someone with a sharp spiritual sense, or he used his divinity to be visible. Still, he waited in the shadow.
And then he saw him.
A young man, maybe in his early twenties, stepped into view. His silvery blue hair shimmered like winter clouds under the sun. His eyes were an unusual cyan blue, bright and curious, framed by long lashes. He wore a casual jacket and carried a leather camera bag slung across his shoulder. His steps were light, as if he didn’t want to disturb the earth beneath him.
He stopped in front of the shrine. His gaze swept over the weathered wood, the overgrown steps, and the worn-out offering box. And still, he smiled. Warmly. Genuinely.
Something inside Mydeimos stirred.
His fingers clenched the edge of his robe. There was a tingling flutter in his chest, a strange feeling he hadn’t known in centuries. His heart, if he still had one, skipped a beat.
The young man stepped closer. “I’m glad,” he said aloud, however the tone was soft, far too gentle. “At least the shrine is still intact.”
Then, from his bag, he pulled out a small, round fruit. A pomegranate. Ripe and red like a drop of sunset. He placed it gently on the altar with both hands, almost as if offering something sacred.
“I’ll come back tomorrow." He said.
And just like that, he turned and walked back down the mountain path, camera swinging lightly at his side.
Mydeimos remained frozen, staring after the stranger until the forest swallowed him whole.
He let out a breath. Then a soft chuckle escaped him, more a puff of air than a sound. “Humans always say that,” he whispered to himself. “But they never come back.”
And yet, deep inside the sliver of what power he had left, a fragile hope bloomed.
He hoped this time, maybe this one would return.
True to his words, the young man returned the next day.
But this time, he wasn’t alone.
Two others came with him, both around his age. One had short dark hair, had a taciturn look on his visage. The other bounced with energy, gray hair tousled by the wind, his eyes widened with curiosity. From their casual banter and complaints about the hike, Mydeimos quickly learned their names.
Phainon, the one with silvery-blue hair, the one who brought the pomegranate and now pulling a cart with ease.
Dan Heng, calm and reserved, carrying a toolkit on one shoulder like a man on a quiet mission.
Caelus, chaos incarnate, shouting about bees and ghosts and nearly falling into a bush five times.
Together, the three of them set to work.
They cleaned the shrine.
Dan Heng climbed onto the creaky roof with quiet efficiency, replacing worn shingles with ones they brought from the town. Caelus pulled weeds and cleared vines while talking to the old stone like they were long-lost relatives. Phainon swept the inside, dusting every surface with a cloth tied around his mouth to keep out cobwebs, muttering apologies to the mice.
Mydeimos watched from atop a tree, sitting on a thick branch. His small legs swung idly, bare feet brushing against the bark. From there, he could see everything. He tilted his head, eyes narrowed in thought.
“What are they trying to do?” he murmured, more to himself than anything. “Trying to revive the shrine? For what?"
Still, it was hard to stay suspicious when the air around them buzzed with good intentions. Laughter bounced off the mountain walls, the kind that softened even stone. The shrine, once still and sorrowful, felt just a little more alive.
And before they left, just as the sky dipped into golden evening, Phainon walked up to the altar again. His expression gentle, almost fond. He placed another pomegranate, still fresh and glistening like a ruby in the fading light.
He stepped back, brushing his hands on his jeans.
“See you tomorrow.”
For a moment, something warm fluttered in Mydeimos' chest.
He leaned forward slightly from his perch and, though no one could hear him but the trees and the wind, he whispered back with a small smile:
“...See you tomorrow.”
The visit soon became a routine.
Phainon showed up just before noon most days, carrying a bag slung across his shoulder and a drink in one hand. He’d settle down on the wooden veranda, dusting off a spot with the sleeve of his jacket before sitting cross-legged. The mountain breeze tugged gently at his hair, sunlight scattered through the leaves, and birds chirped faintly in the distance.
He always brought something with him. A sandwich, a notebook, a book of old myths, or sometimes just his camera. He never stayed long. Just long enough to eat, rest, and talk a little.
Talk to no one.
Or so he thought.
“Your roof’s holding up,” he said one afternoon, looking up toward the newly replaced tiles. “Still proud of that job.”
He stretched and sighed. “Dan Heng says I get too attached to places. Caelus says I’m just weird for coming here so often. I mean, they ain't wrong.”
Inside the shrine, sitting just beyond the paper door, Mydeimos hugged his knees and smiled faintly.
“Yes, you're weird. What's so interesting in visiting this old shrine, anyway?”
Phainon unwrapped a rice ball, chewing slowly. “Still feels peaceful here. I don’t know why. Maybe because it’s so quiet?”
“You’re deep inside a forest, of course it's quiet,” Mydei whispered.
Phainon leaned back on his palms and looked up at the sky. “Sometimes I wonder how old this place is. I tried to find records in the town archive. Nothing concrete. Just whispers about some deity in the mountain. No name, even. Weird, right?”
Mydeimos pressed his forehead against the post, eyes went into hiding behind his lids.
“They’ve forgotten, haven’t they? Even my name...”
Phainon sat upright again, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the wood. “I keep thinking about this one statue. The one behind the shrine. You can barely see the face anymore, but something about it feels I don’t know. Familiar? Like I've seen it before."
The wind stirred through the trees, scattering old leaves across the step.
Phainon stood and brushed off his pants.
“Well. I’ll be back tomorrow. The light’s good around noon. Might take more photos.”
He reached into his bag and pulled out a pomegranate, placing it neatly on the altar.
“Thanks again,” he murmured. “For the quiet.”
And with that, he left. His steps slow, deliberate, already part of the mountain's rhythm.
Mydeimos stood a little straighter, the glow in his eyes dim but warm. The pomegranate glowed faintly in his palm when he picked it up. Warmth blooming in his chest as he tasted the gentle faith laced in it.
Another cloudless day.
Phainon arrived with a familiar rhythm. His steps soft along the path, camera bag slung across one shoulder, and a paper bag from the local bakery in the other. His hair shone under the sunlight as he hummed a tune, brushing a stray branch aside before climbing up to the shrine’s veranda.
He took his usual seat.
"Mydeimos," he said quietly, gazing at the offering table, “that was your name, right?”
Inside the shrine, Mydei froze mid-step.
“You know,” Phainon continued, placing a red-wrapped pomegranate beside a small cup of water, “I grew up here. Well, partially. I left when I was eleven. My parents wanted better work in the city, but I always remembered this place. Especially the stories.”
He unwrapped a small melon bun, taking a bite and chewing slowly.
“Used to run past this mountain when I was a kid. Everyone said not to go up too far. That the mountain was sacred, protected by a god with golden eyes who could hear thoughts and walk the wind.”
From the shadows inside the shrine, Mydei leaned against the wooden frame, expression unreadable. His robe still hung loose and oversized on his smaller form, but there was more color to his cheeks now. A flicker of warmth in his tired eyes.
“I didn’t even know the name back then. Just rumors and half-stories. My grandmother used to tell me the shrine would grant luck if you left pomegranates. That’s why I bring them.” Phainon smiled faintly. “It’s silly, maybe, but I like to believe there’s still something, or someone, listening.”
“I’m listening,” Mydei whispered under his breath, fingers curling into his sleeves.
Phainon sighed and leaned his back against one of the wooden beams.
“Y’know, I tried asking people about you when I came back. No one remembered. It’s like all those stories just vanished.” His voice dropped slightly. “Honestly, that hurt. It’s like no one even tried to remember what this town used to believe in.”
He took another bite of his bun, chewing thoughtfully.
“But I remember,” he said with a smile. “I remember there was a cool god protected a small town. That he wasn’t distant like the ones in big myths. He lived here. Watched over people. Quietly. Like a guardian.”
Mydei fell silence, his ears turned pink.
“You must be tall. Strong. Maybe had wings or floated off the ground or something,” Phainon chuckled. “And golden eyes, obviously. You’d be stoic but secretly soft. And really beautiful.”
Mydeimos, still hidden by the thin wooden screen, was now a warm mess of red ears and narrowed eyes.
“I still think it was kind of true,” Phainon said, scratching the back of his neck.
He looked up at the shrine quietly, as if something weighed on his chest.
“I just wish someone else remembered too.”
The wind stirred the branches overhead.
And from behind the door, Mydei slowly sat down, heart thudding louder than it had in centuries.
Phainon kept coming with stories to tell.
And each time Phainon left, he placed a pomegranate on the altar.
One after another. Day after day.
A quiet offering. A ritual of his own.
And slowly, with every fruit, with every word spoken into the wind, Mydeimos changed.
It wasn’t much, not yet.
But the gauntness of his face began to fade. His limbs grew stronger. His form steadier. The robe, once hanging off his too-small frame, now started to fit more naturally. His reflection in the old mirror stopped looking like a ghost and more like the deity he once was.
Still far from his full strength but no longer a fading shadow.
Each day, he sat a little closer to the veranda, just beyond where Phainon could see him, if he could. Each day, his heart beat a little louder.
He wouldn’t say it aloud.
But he looked forward to Phainon's visit.
That day too. The afternoon light mellowed into gold as it filtered through the leaves, casting soft, dappled shadows across the shrine's veranda. The cicadas had gone quiet, replaced by the gentle rustle of wind brushing against the grass.
It was peaceful, so much so that Phainon, who had come with every intention to journal, to photograph, maybe even to complain a little about town gossip, had instead dozed off.
He curled himself on the wooden veranda, half-covered by his jacket, the pomegranate he brought nestled quietly in a paper bag beside him. His lips were slightly parted, breath slow and even, lashes brushing his cheeks. The early morning breeze ruffled his hair, cool and persistent against his skin.
Mydei had been sitting on the shrine roof, swinging his legs idly and half-listening to the wind. But the moment Phainon slumped slightly, head tilting to the side, Mydei leapt down without a sound.
He approached cautiously, as if afraid his presence might shatter the serenity. For a long time, he just stood there, gazing down at the sleeping young man.
“Why do mortals insist on treating their fragile lives so carelessly?” Mydei murmured. “They burned fast and bright, unaware of how brief the flame was.”
He sat beside Phainon, robe rustling against the wooden floor. His hand hovered over the air, summoned a subtle current of wind, just enough to cool the temperature, not enough to chill.
For a long time, he just watched.
Watched how the sun slipped lower, painting orange along Phainon’s cheek. How the lashes cast faint shadows under his eyes. How his lips moved ever so slightly in sleep, as if dreaming.
A flutter of something unfamiliar stirred in Mydei’s chest.
After a long hesitation, he reached out, fingers trembling just slightly and raised his hand, casting his shadow over Phainon’s face to shield him from the encroaching sun. A moment passed then clouds gathered with the softest of calls, drifting to cover the sun. His hand didn’t move away. Instead, it shifted, fingers brushing gently through Phainon’s hair. Slow strokes. Almost hesitant.
Almost fond.
Then, without thinking, he hummed. Just a lullaby. A tune from long, long ago, back when the fields were full of prayers and the shrine brimming with offerings.
He hadn’t sung it in centuries and barely noticed he was humming it aloud.
But Phainon did.
His body stirred with a breath. His brows furrowed faintly. And when his eyes slowly cracked open, groggy and unfocused, the first thing he saw was Mydei.
Bathed in dawnlight, singing a lullaby, fingertips in his hair.
“Mydeimos,” Phainon murmured. His hand touched the lingering hand as if to confirm what his heart already knew.
Mydei held his breath.
Then Phainon smiled. Soft, wistful, a little dazed. “I’m so glad,” he whispered, “I get to see you again.”
He sat up slowly and before Mydei could react, Phainon leaned in, closing the distance and pressed his lips gently to his.
It was warm.
Too warm.
Way too real.
Phainon gasped softly. His eyes opened mid-kiss, and in that instant, Mydei’s golden ones widened in alarm.
The spell broke.
Mydei pulled back sharply, breath caught in his throat. Their gazes met, and for one blink, there was nothing but silence between them.
Then Mydei fled toward the shrine without a word, his form shimmering, fading, dissolving into mist as he vanished beyond the veil of the altar, leaving only rustling wind in his wake.
Phainon remained frozen in place.
He touched his lips. The sensation still lingered, tender and divine.
“That... that wasn’t a dream?”
He sat there for a moment, eyes wide open, face dyed in deep crimson. Then slowly, carefully, he took the pomegranate from the bag and placed it reverently on the altar’s edge. He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and whispered:
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cross the line.”
A pause.
“But, thank you.”
From within the shadows of the shrine, Mydei watched him go, fingertips brushing his own lips.
“...W, why he could touch me?” he whispered.
For the next few days, Phainon came back.
Always with something to offer. Usually a pomegranate, sometimes a small handmade charm, sometimes sweets he claimed were "too good not to share, even with a god." He sat by the steps, legs crossed, shoes off, and his voice filled the quiet like birdsong.
He told stories. Of his photo project, of the flea market where he found lots of interesting antiques, of his friends. Of his broken toaster and how he almost set off the fire alarm. Some days he laughed too loudly. Some days, his smile wobbled a little. And every day, every single day, he looked up at the shrine and said, “See you tomorrow.”
And left, never once expecting an answer.
Mydei never gave him one.
Not with words. Not even with a breeze this time.
But he listened. He always listened.
Until one night, something changed.
Gods do not sleep. They do not dream.
But Mydei, distracted, perhaps, or caught off-guard, felt himself slip.
His vision blurred. The incense smoke curling through the room seemed to slow, and for a moment, the world turned hazy at the edges.
A memory.
He didn’t summon it. It summoned him.
In that memory, his believers started to decline. However, his name was still remembered by lips of the elderly and scrolls. He still stood proud beneath the moon, power humming in every breath.
That night, he heard it.
A thin, sharp sound. Mydei turned, his gaze piercing the treeline. It came from the forest beyond the shrine, a small voice, hiccuping through sobs.
Curious but not yet concerned, he walked down the steps. His first instinct was to shift into his feline form and lead the child out the forest.
But just before he could, the child looked up.
Blue eyes. Pale hair. Tear-streaked cheeks.
And he saw him.
Mydei froze.
The child was looking straight at him not through him, but right at him.
And for the first time in decades, Mydei felt the unmistakable spark of recognition pass between god and mortal, except this boy shouldn’t be able to see him at all.
He wasn’t supposed to when he didn’t even make himself visible on purpose.
The boy sniffled, rubbing his face with the back of his sleeve. “A, Are you here to help me?”
Mydei hesitated. As a deity, interfering directly wasn’t usually his way but the tears on the boy’s lashes were real. So was the fear in his voice.
He nodded. “Yes. Don't cry, you'll be okay.”
The boy blinked up at him. “I, I wasn’t crying,” he added quickly. “It’s just... sweat.”
A laugh escaped Mydei before he could stop it, amused.
“I see,” he said, crouching beside the boy. “Then let me help you find the way home before you're drenched in sweat.”
The boy pouted at him but didn’t argue. Mydei offered his hand, and the child took it without hesitation, small fingers curling into his palm.
They walked together beneath the branches, moonlight casting dappled shadows on the mossy earth. Cicadas chirred, soft and low in the distance.
After a long silence, the boy piped up again, steadying. “What’s your name?”
“I don’t really use names,” Mydei said. “You can just think of me as someone who lives around here.”
The boy blinked. “So you live in the forest?”
Mydei nodded. “You could say that.”
“Then,” The boy looked up at him. “Do you know the god who lives here?”
Mydei’s step faltered briefly. “There’s a god in this forest?”
“Yup!” The boy’s grip tightened with excitement. “Grandma said there used to be a really pretty god here who helped the village. She said not many people remember him now, but he’s still around.”
Mydei glanced down, the barest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “...She sounds like a wise woman.”
The boy hummed proudly. “She is.”
They walked further, the soft moss muffling their footsteps. Mydei watched the boy carefully skip around stones and low roots, as if the night wasn’t so dark at all.
“I came to give him cookies,” the boy said, holding up a small paper pouch. “But then I got lost.”
Mydei peered at the flattened, slightly crumpled pouch with a faint look of amusement. “A noble reason to get lost.”
“Right? I thought maybe he was sad,” the boy added innocently. “I would be, if people forgot me. So I thought cookies might help,” the boy said with an honest shrug.
Mydei exhaled a breath, feeling warmth poured into his chest.
“...That’s very kind of you.”
They walked a little longer, the distant flicker of torchlight just barely coming into view through the trees. Then the boy turned to Mydei again, looking him over curiously.
“You might not be the forest god,” he said slowly, “but you’re really, really beautiful.”
Mydei turned his head, raising his eyebrows.
“Like, so beautiful. You're the most beautiful person I ever seen! Even more than my mom.” the boy continued. “I think I wanna marry you.”
That startled a laugh from Mydei, genuine and soft.
“Is that so?” he asked, amused.
The boy nodded, completely confident. “Yup.”
“Well,” Mydei said gently, “I think marriage is a little early for you.”
The boy pouted. “How early?”
“Maybe a decade or two.”
“Hmph,” the boy said. “I’ll grow fast.”
“I’m sure you will,” Mydei chuckled.
They reached the edge of the forest. Lanterns flickered just beyond, and adult voices echoed faintly in the distance.
Mydei slowed and gently let go of the boy’s hand. “Go on. They’re waiting for you.”
The boy lingered for a moment before rummaging in his pocket to pull out the cookie pouch and held it up.
“You helped me, so it’s yours now.”
Mydei accepted it with both hands, his chest felt warmer as a smile softened his visage. “...Thank you.”
The boy’s cheeks went pink. “Also...” He shifted on his feet. “Can you bend down a bit?”
Mydei tilted his head but leaned in.
The boy kissed his cheek quickly, just a press of warm lips and sugar scent, and then darted off before Mydei could react.
“I’ll come back! Wait for me!”
And just like that, the boy disappeared into the village light.
Mydei stood still, one hand rising to touch his cheek. It was warm, strangely warm.
And somewhere, deep in his ancient chest, something moved.
Something that hadn’t stirred in centuries.
The leaves rustled quietly that day, but the wind carried no chill.
Mydei sensed him before he arrived. The human, Phainon, always walked with a rhythm, with the kind of presence that stirred the air and made the birds pause.
And just like before, he came smiling.
But something was different.
The curve of his lips was softer, the light in his eyes a little distant, as if weighed with something unsaid. His fingers brushed along the weathered torii gate as he passed beneath, reverently like always. Still carrying that paper-wrapped pomegranate in both hands, like an offering he never forgot.
“I need to go back to the city,” Phainon said, after a quiet moment of sitting on the stone steps.
He looked straight ahead. Mydei watched in silence, cloaked in wind and shrinewood, unseen but impossibly near.
“I’ve got a job. And responsibilities.” Phainon’s laugh was small. “Can’t keep running to the mountains forever.”
Something heavy settled in Mydei’s chest. He didn’t speak. He never did. But this time, he almost wanted to.
Phainon looked down at his hands. “When I was little, I got lost here.”
The forest held its breath.
“I cried, loudly,” he admitted, lips twitching. “I thought I’d die there. But someone found me. Then, I came again to the forest, again and again, looking for my saviour but he never appeared again. I had to move to the city months later but I promised myself I'd return to this forest again.”
He raised his gaze, toward the trees, toward where Mydei stood unseen.
“You were the one who saved me, right?”
Mydei didn’t move.
“When I first came here,I wasn’t so sure it was you,” Phainon said softly. “Not until you showed yourself that day."
He smiled faintly. “You were always on my mind, Mydeimos. Like something about you got stuck in me. Deep. Tied to my memory with red string.”
The pomegranate was placed gently on the altar. “You didn’t change at all, you know?” Phainon added with a lopsided grin. “Still ridiculously beautiful.”
His eyes softened.
“And... It’s been over a decade,” he said, brushing dust from his pants. “So I guess it’s okay if I say it again, right?”
He glanced at the sky, then down, as if expecting something.
“I still want to marry you.”
The silence that followed was thick. The shrine whispered nothing.
Phainon chuckled to himself. “Figured you wouldn’t answer.”
He stepped back, gave a slight bow to the altar and murmured, “Wish I could see you again. Just once more. I'll come back later so, please think over it.”
And then he turned, walking down the steps, back through the forest path where sunlight slipped through the trees like melted gold.
Mydei stood beneath the boughs, watching him go.
And his cheeks were burning.
Still.
Even after all these years, even after centuries of prayer and wars and silence and fading names...
He still couldn’t understand mortals.
Not truly.
Especially not this one.
Phainon didn't come for the next three days.
It was nothing, Mydei told himself. Humans were fickle. They had lives filled with urgency, with endless distractions. It wasn’t unusual.
Still, his ears perked at every sound. A shifting leaf. A crunch of gravel. The rustle of grass.
But each time, it was only the wind. Or a fox. Or a bird darting from one branch to another.
He didn’t care, of course. He told himself that every morning, arms folded in front of the altar. And still, he would pause, just in case.
But on the fourth day, late in the morning, when the sun filtered soft through the shrine curtains, he felt the shift.
Phainon was back.
Only this time, he didn’t linger outside. He didn’t sprawl across the porch like he owned the place, talking to the wind with his usual cheerful rhythm.
Instead, he stepped inside.
His footsteps were slow. Careful. Reverent.
He knelt before the altar like someone who understood the gravity of silence. The boy who once laughed too loud, now sitting with his shoulders tucked low and his hands folded on his lap.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to disappear. I was just, busy. I had to prepare a lot of stuffs.”
He took a breath. Mydei remained hidden in the back chamber, watching, listening. The wind stilled at the doorway, as if it, too, was holding its breath.
“I’ll be leaving the village today.”
A pause.
“I don’t know when I’ll come back. Maybe not for a while. Maybe longer than I want. But I will come back.”
He reached into his bag and laid out five perfectly round pomegranates, their reddish skin shining in the morning light. And beside them, a familiar box. The same cookies he once gave, sugar still dusting the corners of the paper.
He stared at the altar, lips pressed into a wavering smile.
“Can I see you, Mydeimos?”
He waited.
Silence answered.
“Just one more time?” His voice softened.
Still, no reply.
Phainon exhaled through his nose, nodding slowly. His smile stayed, but the bitterness tugged at its edges like rain on paper.
“I get it. Maybe there’s a rule. Maybe you can’t. Or maybe...”
He looked down, fingers curling slightly over his knee.
“Maybe you’re mad about the kiss. I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to make things harder.”
He swallowed, then looked up one last time.
“I just... I’m really glad I met you. Even if I was the only one falling.”
He stood slowly, brushing his knees off, and lingered a moment longer by the altar.
“See you again someday,” he whispered.
And then, with that same quiet grace, he turned and walked away.
As Phainon descended the shrine’s steps, blinking against the sun that filtered through the trees, something moved near the mossy stone path.
A cat.
Orange-furred, thick-coated, regal.
It sat with quiet dignity beneath the shade of a tree, its golden eyes watching him like it understood more than it let on. Fur long and silky, like a living flame rippling with every shift. A massive tail curled around its paws, too elegant for a stray, too majestic for coincidence.
Phainon blinked, then crouched down slowly, hand outstretched.
“Hey, kitty,” he murmured. “You lost?”
The cat tilted its head, then padded toward him, graceful, deliberate, until it reached his hand. It leaned in with a soft nuzzle, pressing its cheek to his palm.
Phainon smiled as he rubbed behind its ears. “You don’t have a collar,” he said, gently searching the thick ruff of fur around its neck. “No tag, nothing.”
The cat’s purrs rumbled deep and steady, warm against his fingertips.
He laughed softly. “Guess you’re a free spirit, huh?”
The cat bumped its head into his hand again, fur as soft as spun silk. Phainon scratched under the chin, then under the jawline, watching golden eyes squint shut in bliss.
“If no one in the village knows you,” he murmured, “I’m taking you with me. That's okay with you?”
The purring didn’t stop. If anything, it deepened, vibrating into Phainon’s palm.
“Adorable little guy,” he said fondly, slipping his arms under the large cat and lifting it gently. “You’re really fluffy. Gonna get fur all over my shirt, huh?”
The moment he brought the cat close, a subtle scent caught his nose.
Pomegranate.
Phainon froze.
Not artificial. Nothing overwhelmingly sweet.
But faint and real. Sun-warmed. Subtle. The scent of fresh fruit split open in temple shade.
He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing a little with wonder.
“You smell like someone I...” He chuckled, the words trailing into his throat. “Someone I adore.”
The cat let out a soft mewl, barely audible.
Phainon pressed a kiss into its forehead, smiling.
“You ever heard of the god who lives here?” he asked. “They say he’s beautiful. Elegant. Kind of cold, though. The kind of person who pretends not to care, but actually cares too much.”
The cat didn’t answer, only leaned heavier into Phainon’s chest.
He held it close, warmth blooming behind his ribs. “I guess I’ll name you Meowdei,” he said with a grin.
In response, the cat gently bit his finger.
Not hard. Just a nip. As if to say don’t push it.
“Ow, hey,” he laughed, pulling his hand back slightly. “Okay, okay. You don't like it? Well, even if you hate it, I’m still calling you that.”
Phainon took a sigh, then turned his head towards the shrine. His gaze was still so fondly, with a gentle smile curved on his lips. The cat turned his golden gaze to the shrine, now abandoned and up to Phainon's visage.
(You still smile like that,) The feline thought, (Even after I shut you out. Even after I ran from your lips, from your voice, from the way you looked at me like I was still something divine...)
(Even after all those silences, you still look at the shrine like I matter.)
"Let's go." Phainon said, more to himself than to the feline. "Let's find your owner."
Cradling the warm, heavy weight in his arms, Phainon started down the steps. The forest air smelled of pine and late summer, and the orange-furred cat didn’t resist, even when he was brought around the village.
“Anyone know this little guy?” he called to every people he passed by. “Big, orange, majestic? No collar, but he purrs like thunder and smells like... pomegranate.”
A few elderly villagers paused, peering at the ball of fluff clutched in his arms.
“Nope, never seen him.”
“Maybe from the mountain?”
“I see. I guess he's really a stray." Phainon smiled, his fingers idly scratching under Mydei’s chin. The cat leaned into his palm with a pleased rumble.
( I never understood mortals. All my years, centuries, really, I watched them beg, cry, offer and forget. You were different. Not because you gave more than others, but because you never asked anything back. )
(You just... came. And stayed. And told me stories. And smiled. Lots of smiles. )
He cupped Mydei’s furry face, rubbing behind one ear, eliciting a low purr. “Looks like you’re coming with me then. Can’t leave you alone up there. You’ll be lonely, and I’m kind of selfish.”
( Selfish? You? No. I am selfish. I have region to look after but now I am furred and pawed, tucked into your arms. A god reduced to a creature that can only purr, nuzzle, and bite your fingers when you tease me too much. )
He kissed the top of Mydei’s head and whispered, “Hope you’re not allergic to city life.”
Mydei didn’t move. Only his golden eyes blinked, slow and thoughtful.
They passed the old bakery. Then the schoolyard. Then the bus station.
The bus that would take him to the city might arrived anytime soon but Phainon kept walked.
He stopped by the small pet store, and soon he was sifting through essentials.
“Brush, food, a litter box. You look high-maintenance,” he muttered with a grin. “And, ooh, what about this collar? Black leather with a gold bell?”
(...Pick whatever you want. I’ve worn crowns before. I’ll wear your tacky choices too.)
He paused at the name tag machine and slowly typed five letters.
“M-E-O-W-D-E-I,” he said aloud, eyes twinkling with mischief.
Mydei would’ve rolled his eyes if he could.
( ...You're incorrigible. )
Back at the counter, Phainon carefully loaded Mydei into the carrier. “Sorry, buddy. Temporary. You’ll be out in ten.”
The bus was already warm when they boarded. Phainon chose a window seat. Barely five minutes passed before he unzipped the carrier, pulled Mydei onto his lap, and opened the curtain.
“There,” he whispered. “That’s the coast. You’d like it. It's a good place to run around.”
He let the cat sit on his lap, one hand cradling under the front paws, the other stroking the long, thick fur along the spine. Mydei’s tail curled contentedly around his wrist.
( You still talk like I can answer. )
( Do you like speaking that much or you're just a fool? )
The bus bumped. Phainon smiled and tightened his hold slightly.
“I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I won’t let you get lonely again.”
( Lonely, huh? )
( I told myself I wouldn’t interfere. I still don't know how you could see and touch me when I didn't even let myself seen and I thought it would be wise to stay hidden against an anomaly like you. But...)
( You looked too pitiful when I ignored you... )
Mydei mewled softly, nuzzling against Phainon's palm. The human grinned, tickled the space under his chin.
"Aren't you cute one, Meowdei?" Mydei blinked slowly, then purred contently.
( Alas, I don't have enough power. I may not speak again, not with words. I may never stand before you in full divinity. But in this form, I can stay. I can follow. I can protect you without rules or consequence. )
( I’ll guard your steps in shadow. I’ll curl on your bed and chase the spirits that linger too long. I’ll sit beside you on lonely nights and warm you up when the world turns cold. )
( And when the day comes, I wish it never come, but when you’re truly lost or broken, and you need more than what this body can give... then I’ll use what’s left of my divinity for one final miracle. )
( Even if it burns me away, I'll protect you. )
( After all, you're my only believer now. )
Phainon gently stroked between his ears, one hand cradling his middle as he let the cat curl into his lap. Passengers nearby glanced over, smiling at the cozy sight. Mydei closed his eyes, lulled by the gentle hum of the road beneath the wheels and Phainon’s voice quietly narrating whatever crossed the window.
Until his hand, without warning, shifted down and groping around.
“Hm? You only have two nipples. That's strange. Is it hidden under the floof?"
He leaned closer, brows furrowed, and began gently stroking downward, fingers combing through the fur like an overconfident biologist.
That was when his hand landed on something that was definitely not a nipple.
Soft. Round. Warm. A little too firm.
There was a moment of silence.
Then the cat’s purr stopped like someone had cut the power.
Phainom tilted his head, stroking the newfound space with a smile.
"I touched your balls.”
Mydei's paw whipped up and slapped his wrist with a sharp little thwack, claws sheathed, but with enough offended force to scream “you absolute idiot" in cat's language.
“OW—okay!! I'm sorry, that's a harmless accident!” Phainon yelped, jerking his hand back.
( Maybe the only danger I can’t save you from is my claw. If you keep groping me inappropriately, I will show you divine wrath. )
Phainon laughed through the sting, cradling the cat closer. Mydei meowed loudly and flopped his tail across Phainon’s face.
“Fine, fine,” he whispered, hugging the cat in his arms. “I’ll behave, Meowdei.”
The cat closed his eyes.
Purred.
And in his heart, Mydei whispered back.
( You better be. )
**