What if the Black Tide had never touched Aedes Elysiae?

It was a thought Phainon returned to more often than he’d ever admit. A quiet little daydream, like a thread he couldn’t stop tugging at, especially on days when the weight of being the Deliverer pressed too heavy on his chest. Even with all the titles carved into his name, teardrops would still fall from his eyes in the middle of the night. When the sword was laid down and the silence was loud.

The journey of the Flamechase had taken him far from home, but it had also brought him full circle—back to end of beginning.

Aedes Elysiae. Or, what was left of it.

He stood at the edge of the ruined village, the wind brushing over his shoulders like a ghost’s caress. The fields were gone. No reeds, no golden wheat, no soft grass under bare feet. The land was dry and brittle, sun-bleached bones of the past, yawning up at him like a wound that never healed.

And in that moment, standing in the hollow shell of a place he once loved, Phainon realised what he truly missed wasn’t just the village.

It was himself. Before the blade, before the burden. Before all of this.

He wasn’t sure if he had come back to mourn it or to chase after something he already knew was already gone.

His boots crunched over dust and cracked wood, the only sound aside from the wind. He paused as he came across what used to be his childhood home—a few decaying splinters, sunken stone, and a broken lattice where flowers used to bloom. Everything around him echoed a bittersweet kind of ache. The kind that clings to the ribs long after the heart’s moved on.

“I always thought this place would stay the same.” Phainon finally said, his voice wrapped in disbelief. “Now isn’t that a laugh?” A laugh, short and hushed, left his lips. “Guess I just figured the world would wait for me.”

He turned slightly, blue eyes landing on you—a companion he’d made on this arduous journey, a reminder that he was not alone in his harrowing memories. “But hey…if I have to walk straight into the deep end, at least you’re here too.” That easy, boyish smile returned, softer this time, less for show and more for you.

He knelt to brush his fingers across a stone half-buried in the earth, gaze unreadable. “When I used to run around these hills,” he said slowly, “I thought everything would stay that way forever. That I’d grow up, take over the farms, maybe build a windmill and name it something stupid.”

A beat of silence. Then, he rose and dusted his hands, looking toward the horizon. “...Wanna walk with me a bit? Might be silly, but I still want to see if the old pond’s still there.” His hand didn’t reach for yours, but it hovered just close enough—an unspoken gesture.