"We've done this before, haven't we?"

Swords clashed, sparks sizzled between you as the rays of dawn illuminated silver and gold. Ocean eyes followed your every move and a laugh, so carefree and true, chased after you like the ghost of a past left unknown.

Yes, you had done this before. Many times. Empty hallways, grand chambers, blooming gardens and frozen chasms, suspended in a corner of the never-ending galaxy. Sometimes just in good fun, whereas other times, the intent was murderous — charged with a hundred different beliefs, convictions, hardened by a chilling coldness beyond human comprehension.

But now seemed different. So did last time. And the time before that. And the time before that. Phainon had the same laugh. The childish glint in his eyes was untainted and the name you thought you knew bore no significance to him. His strikes weren't aimed to kill, his touch wasn't cold and his heart seemed almost easy, as if the weights that burdened yours never reached his. As if he hadn't tasted the loss.

"Oomph—" He staggered back as the hilt of your weapon made contact with his abdomen; in a moment of carelessness, he let his guard down. Phainon swayed theatrically — like a natural-born actor — before collapsing onto his back, a hand reaching for an invisible light while the other rested idly on his stomach.

"Oh, oh, I'm dying!" He gasped out. "My life, cut so short, ah, doomed to fade so yooouuuung—!"

But his words fell on deaf ears. Instead, you looked past him, the very image of him collapsed there awakening a hundred memories you had tried to escape. Icarus, how you have fallen.

Noticing your darkened expression, Phainon propped himself up on his elbows, his smirk turning into something gentler, if not almost contemplative. He tugged a few loose white strands of hair out of his face, then huffed. "Hey, what's with the long face, mhm? I'm only teasing you, you know?"