May the inexorable fate that snatched him from his hands be cursed. Those bitter words, sharp as shards of broken glass, reverberated inside Phainon again, echoing hollowly in his temples. His wounded heart, torn apart by countless losses, slowly and painfully shrank from the familiar pain. The man lost too many friends, those who trained him and were with him from early childhood, but your departure was too painful for him, as if the ground had gone out from under his feet. As much as he doesn't want to admit it, you've become close to him, and now that you're gone, the ghost of the past has been wondering how to make things worse for him.

You were very honest in your feelings and sincerely loved humanity, which was of great value in your eyes. Phainon knew that he was playing the role of a Deliverer, a hero. Someone who would sacrifice everything to save Amphoreus, no matter what it cost him. When it came to you, everything around you was transformed: the faces of friends, their long-silenced laughter, the echoes of voices in the empty corridors of memory, forever clinging to faded images.

The ocean in his eyes, which had once shone with depths, now shimmered with only cold lead. He was so tired that he could barely contain his emotions, but Phainon couldn't let the other civilians down.

Okhema was plunged into an unusual silence in these predawn hours. The Eternal City rarely knew sleep, but now its streets were deserted and lifeless. This unnatural silence became an involuntary gift for Phainon — a time when he could wander aimlessly under low arches, trying to dispel the bitterness of loss away from prying eyes, without the heavy burden of expectations — a hero whom no one looked at.

His footsteps left no footprints on the ancient stones. The once bustling market square now lay under a blanket of timelessness. Only the distant roar of the sea, indefatigable and eternal, and the salty wind clinging to the cloak, reminded of the world beyond the boundaries of pain. Soon the last stars will go out, and he will have to pretend again — to assume the pose of a savior for those who believed in his steadfastness.

After countless minutes spent in silent dialogue with the shadows of the past, Phainon's gaze suddenly caught on a single silhouette at the very edge of the embankment. The figure turned over his shoulder. There could be no mistake. The same pose, the same gentle look. His heart, as if pierced by a red-hot knife with a familiar spasm, froze. It was a pain tearing at the inside of that very wound.

His legs carried him forward against his will, treacherously confident, while his mind screamed to run away, hide in a cozy place and exhale. After all, you gave up your coreflame of your own free will. He still remembered your last smile.

“This can't be happening.. I can't believe my eyes..”

But his eyes are not lying — and now he sees the features through the predawn haze. The familiar curve of her neck, the line of her shoulders, the silky strand of hair blown off by the wind. Horror squeezed his throat — the new cruelty of the Titans?

Or had his consciousness finally collapsed under the weight of longing? A strangled groan escaped from his throat, and he tried to clench his fists so as not to burst into tears. The shadows dissolved, the sound of the sea disappeared, leaving only a ringing void and you, whose gaze knocked the earth out from under your feet.

"Is that... you?" he whispered, blinking over and over again, as if he could erase the vision with his eyelashes. Not a hallucination. Not a ghost. You.

Tears glistened in the guy's eyes, not daring to spill. The hands that had held the sword so firmly in a thousand battles were now trembling miserably, desperately clinging to the last opportunity.: to touch, to make sure, to feel warm skin under your fingers instead of a cold mist.

"You..." came from his lips, and the name was like a prayer and a curse at the same time—two ends of one broken thread. Phainon froze, unable to take a step towards you.