Chapter Text
Phainon knows three things about the Kremnoan Detachment;
1) Mydeimos is his kindred spirit; a soul that knows his own.
2) Krateros doesn't think too highly of Phainon, and fair enough.
3) Little Gorgo is the jolliest, most doe-eyed Kremnoan Phainon has ever met.
Not that Phainon has met a lot of Kremnos-folk. Back when he was younger, when he was more boy than man and fool more than warrior, Phainon had meant to head for Castrum Kremnos. Meant to chase down the lumbering fortress and join with the children of Strife and hone his skill with the sword. But that dream sort of… fell to the wayside. Not when Aedes Elysiae fell around Phainon, and he wandered, lost in heart and with his feet, until Lady Aglaea and the Teacher Tribios found him near what is now Okhema and took him in. Called him Phainon and dressed him in fine Okheman garbs.
He didn't meet any Kremnos-folk until a few years after his own arrival to Okhema.
The infamous Kremnoan Detachment; red and gold they are, though they flew no banners, and walked with no mobile fortress. Headed by the so called 'Crown Prince'; the one they called Mydeimos the Undying.
Phainon stood at the gates of Okhema alone, greatsword in hand, and met the Kremnoan Detachment. The Kremnos-folk approached the Kephale-lit gates like blood spreading through cloth; red, slow, but sure. Phainon remembers their leader, the golden haired prince himself. More lion than man; regal, fearsome, daunting and beautiful .
Then a little copy of him steps out from behind him. Doe-eyed, with that same spiky head of gold, and dressed in rich reds and well-worn armor, fitted for such a short and slight form. The little golden lion beams at Phainon, before tugging at the bigger golden lion's arm and chattering away in a language Phainon can't hope to parse. The tongue of Kremnos, most likely.
Whatever the little lion said made the bigger lion laugh; full-bodied and free and honest, and Phainon saw the prince's cold and austere mien go warm , eyes softening in affection as the bigger lion looked at the little one. He brought a gauntleted hand up, more claws than human fingers, but the playful brush he gave the little lion's chin is gentle and playful . The younger squealed, tried to jab at an exposed side (that Phainon wasn't ogling at, thank you very much). The prince took the mild rough housing with just an amused snort, not even moved a milimeter at that frankly fawn-weak blow.
Phainon was smiling at the scene before he can stop himself.
The Prince of Kremnos had caught him smiling at them, and probably took offense, because when he spoke - and he spoke common, with just the faintest growl of his Kremnoan accent - his voice was thunderous. Defensive. An armor clad arm herded his little copy closer to his side, hiding the little one from Phainon.
"Okheman!" Thundered the undying prince, the golden warlord, the son of Nikador. Phainon didn't bother correcting the wrong assumption on his nationality. "Who dares stand in the way of Kremnos?!"
Phainon had replied by lifting his sword, offering a mild smile, and proceeding to meet the prince in a brutal fight lasting ten days and ten nights.
Throughout those ten days and ten nights, the little one - Gorgo - had cheered and hollered for the both of them in equal measure. Not quite understanding what's at stake, but merely enjoying because there is a fight, and it is a good fight.
As a general rule, any Kremnoan enjoys a good fight. 'Tis a phrase on the same surety as Kephale bears aloft the Dawn Device and that the Black Tide ebbs ever closer. Kremnoans enjoy a good fight, but even then the children of Nikador are merely human, and even their spirit can be chipped at, weathered down, damaged. Most Kremnoans meet has a particular air to them; the slightly rigid line to their proud shoulders. A tenseness at the corners of their eyes and lips. Eyes that refuse to be still; flickering every which way in a constant state of watchfulness.
Even proud, sure Mydeimos is just as battle worn as his kinsfolk, though he wears his experience like a well-worn cloak. He takes the burden easily, with nary a complaint nor break to his world-stopping face. It's both awe-inspiring and terrifying, really, Phainon thinks.
However…
However, there is one Kremnoan who seems to be almost an exception to this rule.
And it is Gorgo, daughter of Mydeimos the Undying, princess and heir to the throne of Strife after her father.
Phainon has always liked curiosities, and he can't deny he is most curious over this unexpected father and daughter duo. And despite what Professor Anaxa says, Phainon is a good student, and thus the white haired Elysiaean does the only thing he can do in this situation.
He tries to get to know them.