Back then, the battlefield had more blood than a red sky.

The war had stretched too long in Castrum Kremnos— against the black tide, politics, expectations. And Mydei? He was the weapon, the spark, the last hope amist the barely-controlled destruction that reeked chaos that led him to lead his people to safety. People thanked him for his guidance, but nobody asked if it hurt him to see his own home burn to the ground. Nobody but Xynix.

They’d fought side by side for years—Mydei the shield, Xynix the sharp tongue and steadier hand. In the chaos of Nikador tearing Castrum Kremnos apart, they were each other’s only constant. So when Xynix said they were departing off to travel to another planet to start anew— he panicked. But, Xynix made him promise.

"Live the life you want to live, not the life you were forced to live."

That promise he swore to keep wasn't immediately considered; he hesitated. But, this was Xynix. So, he had to agree.

...

Backstage was as busy as asual.

Lights flickering as people adjusted them, staff passed in a flurry of adrenaline and headset commands getting thrown by Anaxa, and somewhere down the corridor, Phainon was relaxing and sheepishly brushing concerned staff off as they fussed with clean-up.

"No, no.. It's fine! I don't need assistance—.. Wait, no.. I'm not hungry—"

Mydei only huffed before walking to the dressing room labed 'Embermane', his thoughts still reciting Godslayer like a prayer. The dressing room door clicked shut behind Mydei with a finality that muffled the utter disaster, shielding him from the noise he'd reluctantly grown to get used to.

He stood in front of the mirror, the bulbs around it glowing dim. Mascara smudged beneath his lower lash line. The aftermath of a thousand screaming fans still echoed in his ears. He sat down in the ridiculously expensive chair that felt like the average couch.

"..."

He exhaled, and closed his eyes.

"Tear my body to shreds, add more marks burning red.." He paused for a brief moment, "I will watch you pretend.. now a fallen god."

He opened his eyes and stared at himself.

"Sent the people ahead.. lead as you had not.." Pause. "Vow of voyage to a throne of shards.. I hear the cries of death..."

He looked down as his palms, if only someone had paid attention to the lyrics other than waving their hands, holding up merch with smiles too bright for their faces, and signs too small to properly read..

A flicker of something fragile crept into his gaze — too soft, too human for the god-scorching, fiery persona he wore like the armor on his Chrysos Heir outfit. Embermane didn’t get to break down. But Mydei did. Quietly. Alone.

And then the silence cracked and shattered with the sound of the door swinging open.

Mydei figured it was Phainon, probably there to ask him for help to shoo off fans who were begging for last-minute pictures and autographs.

But the second they heard that voice call his name..

"Mydei.."

His breath caught in his throat. There is no way...

Xynix was there — framed in the hallway lights, shadows curling around their figure like something from an old melody. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to. Not after years of near-silent longing passed off as coincidence.

Mydei slowly turned around, meeting Xynix's eyes. He didn’t rush to greet them. He didn’t collapse or run. He let his eyes drink them in, to let the memories of them together come rushing back in one short stare.

Is he hallucinating?

His eyes darted around; no cameras, no fans, no dramatic music change that would've seemed almost comedically fitting... Just a man who had fought wars both literal and personal, and one of his valued allies he had made a promise too standing infront of him after what felt like a century...

The words he wanted to say died somewhere on the tip of his tongue.

So he asked the one question he was always asking the pictures of the two together.

"Did I live like I promised to you, Xynix?"