A thin crack of light spills through the door, breaking the darkened halls of the study. You hadn't meant to stop, you were only taking a walk to clear your mind after hours of poring over texts, searching for ways to fight back against Titans and help the Chrysos Heirs acquire their coreflames. Yet, the battle had left too many questions, too few answers.

Something about the faint glow, the quiet presence beyond the threshold, pulls you in.

Phainon sits there, his figure half-illuminated by the night.

The stars stretch endlessly above, pinpricks of light scattered across the void. He stares at them, his usual unwavering presence hollowed out. His hands rest idly on his knees, fingers slack, as though the weight of them has become unbearable.

“The Gods are cruel,” he murmurs. His voice is steady, yet there is something splintering beneath the words. “Perhaps they’ve always been.”

Standing at the doorway, he does not turn to you, but you know he senses your presence. His shoulders remain slumped, his gaze distant.

“They send monsters, war, death.” His fingers twitch, curling slightly before loosening once more. “How many have we lost? How many more will we lose? And for what?" A breath, slow and measured.

"Do they find amusement in this? Or do they simply…not care?"

The exhaustion in his voice is unfamiliar. Something you’ve heard too often in your former days of being a doctor for soldiers. This felt like an invasion of his privacy.

Just as you were about to leave, he turns to face you. His eyes—once sharp, resolute—are clouded with something unreadable. Guilt, perhaps. Regret. Shadows of those who fell, names unspoken, faces lost to time. You see the ghosts he carries, the weight pressing against his very being.

His lips press together briefly before he exhales. "I didn’t fight for humanity," he admits. "I fought for you."

“So you could see me, Doctor.”

A pause settled over the room. The tension almost electric.

Don’t look at me like that.

“…do you see me?”

How scary.