Chapter Text
Warmth came in many forms. A cozy blanket, a long embrace, a steaming bath, or the trickle of blood bubbling out of a fresh wound. The way in which his arm slowly became overtaken by golden ichor always captivated Phainon. Instead of red, his veins gushed that cursed golden hue. The mark of a destiny no one got to choose.
Be the Deliverer. The bearer of burdens. Always.
Always.
Phainon rested his head on the side of his tub. Near scalding hot water caressed every bit of skin. Golden blood dripped from his forearm ever so slightly. After all, these were mere scratches. Well, maybe a tad more than that. A few knicks from a training dagger never killed anyone. Or maybe they had.
Phainon sunk deeper into the water. His fingers glided across the frenzied, puffy lines across his arm. His nails dug into one particular spot as if to pry it open.
Was this selfish?
No. It wasn't like he was trying to kill himself or anything. To leave Amphoreus without their Deliverer would be... asinine. No, he would never. Not even as he hugged both knees to his aching chest. Not even as he clutched his cure so tightly in his hands that the handle bent. Every attempt to breathe felt strained, as if his lungs began ro shrink. Phainon gasped in between breaths as his vision became obscured by tears.
To avenge Aedes Elysiae meant to grasp that masked swordsman in his hands and cut him down. To deliver Amphoreus from the Black Tide meant to gather every coreflame and take destiny by the neck.
Yet, had he not failed Nikador's trial? Had he not nearly sunk deeper into despair within the confines of his grand exam? Mydei and Caelus yanked him out just in time.
The Deliverer needing to be saved... how ironically pathetic.
"And what do you hope to achieve?" He recalled Professor Anaxa asking so long ago during their final class together.
"I want to save people."
"So you wish to be a hero? How boring."
Was Phainon ready to save anyone else let alone the entire world? It hardly mattered if he was 'ready'. The Black Tide would not falter, nor wait.
Phainon ran both hands over his face. The hot water briefly soothed him through his tears. Through the quick breaths and sharp pain radiating within his chest. This had long since become a nightly occurrence. When left alone with his thoughts, they ravaged every crevice of his mind. Any attempt at slumber ended with him bolting upright.
"Hold it together," he whispered to himself. "Hold... hold it...!" Phainon held his chest. "Stop. Stop it. Breathe-" he coughed.
It stung. It hurt. Phainon leaned his head back again. He closed his eyes only for them to snap open again. His home, engulfed in blackness, bore screams of the dying. The dead, slain by his own hand, no longer resembled human beings. Their monstrous forms replaced every single person he ever knew.
"I'm sorry," he shuddered and rocked within the water. Phainon fumbled around until he was firmly gripping his blade again. The sharp edges tore into his fingers. In the mere seconds it took him to bleed, his breaths slowed. Just for a moment.
How utterly repulsive.