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Honestly, Stelle doesn’t even know how it happened.
She, Dan Heng and Castorice were strolling in Marmoreal Market checking out the newest wares. Stelle was inspecting goods from Theodoros’ shop, determined to prove that he was indeed a quack.
I mean really, who could tell what thousand year old Kremnoan brushstrokes looked like?
And so it truly was unexpected when the “ totally legit” lava lamp from Oronyx themself actually started glowing.
Stelle’s first reaction was: ‘Wow. It really wasn’t a fake!’
Her second reaction was: ‘ Oh shit.’
Assuming that it wasn’t a fake, Stelle was expecting to be turned back in time. To be transported, for some reason to a time before she arrived in Amphoreus. Maybe she could meet Gorgo or Tribios. That’d be neat.
Honestly, she was getting quite excited herself.
In a moment that lasted eternity but passed quick enough to be a second, the light flashed before disappearing again.
Stelle blinked, “Huh? Nothing happened”
She flexed her fingers and patted down her coat, yet nothing seemed to be missing.
Theodoros breathed a sigh of relief.
Dan Heng shook his head as Castorice hid bashfully behind his knee.
Wait.
Stelle’s eyes snapped to the floor, fast enough to give a lesser man a headache. Sitting there was indeed a very tiny Castorice with the most adorable short bob she’s ever seen.
She’s expectantly looking up at her with big doe eyes and a confused expression on her face. On her hands are rudimentary gloves, moreso cotton wrapped around her hands with string. Castorice’s dress and accessories seemed to disappear as well, as she was dressed in…priest clothing?
Okay. Maybe it wasn’t a fake.
“What the fuc-”
“ Don’t,” Dan Heng slapped a hand over her mouth, horns glowing on the top of his head from the speed, “not in front of a child .”
Castorice tilted her head, affirming that she was indeed not a hallucination. She was shorter than she expected, coming around knee height.
Stelle blinked.
“Aglaea is gonna kill us.”
Aglaea, did not in fact, kill anyone on sight.
She took a long look at Castorice, then at Stelle, then briefly locked eyes with Dan Heng who merely gave her a long-suffering sigh. Aglaea shook her head.
“I can hazard a guess as to what’s happened, but would you care to explain yourself, dear guest?”
Stelle looked at Dan Heng who averted his eyes. She cleared her throat, “You see. There’s this relic appraiser in Marmoreal Market. Theodoros. Great guy, but I never liked him, really, always felt like he had something weird going on y’know?”
“Trailblazer, please, get to the point.”
“Right. Well there’s this lamp that may or may not be Oronyx’s secret relic and Cas may or may not have taken the brunt of its power to shield me?” Stelle smiled, pained, “Assuming it was real, of course!” She added hastily.
Aglaea sighed, head in her hands.
“I’m familiar. The artifact was indeed one of Oronyx’s treasures, but its powers had long been inactive which is why it was in civilian hands in the first place. It seems the concentrated memoria you hold has…reactivated a portion of its powers.”
If looks could kill, Aglaea might’ve died. Simply from how dejected Stelle looked.
“So Cas is stuck as- sniff, mini-Cas forever? Because of me?” She wailed.
“...Trailblazer, I assure you, this transformation is not permanent,” Aglaea patted her back awkwardly. “She should return by the week, at worst.”
Stelle’s eyes shined as Aglaea cleared her throat.
“If you’d like, you’re more than qualified to look after her as well, though the other Heirs would be happy to aid as well. The only thing to be mindful of is that Castorice’s curse remains even as a child. So even if she’s weakened, do make sure to keep your…”
She trailed off, watching as Stelle hesitantly, deliberately, slowly bring her pointer finger to Castorice’s cheek, already falling to cuteness aggression.
“Ah.” She gaped, “keep my distance, got it.” She said as she turned around to face Dan Heng.
Castorice blinked as she rubbed her cheek, right where her fingers hovered over it, and smiled.
Anaxagoras is a busy man.
Even in Okhema, the scholar had no time to dilly-dally. Pouring over his own research and analyzing the coreflame within him, he’s made quite the mess of his own temporary home.
He crossed his arms as he looked through his board, sprawled with ramblings and scrolls and texts and equations, befitting of the mad scholar the Okhemans believed him to be.
It didn't matter- his research was groundbreaking. He was making strides in fields that even his peers thought were dead ends. And he has to admit, the Reason Titan themself wasn’t too bad a discussion partner.
“I heard that, child,” Cerces scolded from within his mindscape.
Anaxa groaned. That was certainly a downside.
Pointedly, responding verbally would only make him seem like a madman. Cerces hummed, “more than usual, certainly.”
In any case Anaxa was making good progress on understanding the coreflame. That was until a certain blonde-haired demigod showed up at his doorstep with a child.
Anaxa blinked, then considered slamming the door.
“Good day, Mnestia’s Successor,” Cerces greets instead.
Aglaea smiles, a cold, distant thing, “Good day, Cerces,” she says, before casting her glance at him, “and you too, I suppose.”
“You suppose?” He scoffs.
Both titan and demigod ignore him.
“Is that Thanatos’ heir? How peculiar,” Cerces says as they manifest, kneeling to Castorice’s height, “One of Oronyx’s tricks, I presume?”
Castorice gapes as Cerces conjures flowers in her palms, gently offering them as they reach out.
Instinctively, Castorice backs away, but Cerces’ hold remains firm yet gentle as they place the buds in her hands.
“Do not fret. Your affliction will not hurt them nor me, child,” they said as golden flowers bloomed from the buds she created. Castorice gasped.
Anaxa scoffed as he looked away.
“This is what you’ve decided to disturb my time with?” He snided.
“Perhaps I required your dissenting opinion, Anaxa.”
“ Anaxagoras,” he corrected. “I can tell that she’s fine , spiritually and physically. So take your child and go on.” He shooed.
She hummed, smiling. “I don't believe it's quite that easy, Anaxa. Your titan seems quite attached already, though.”
Sure enough, Cerces was holding the child like one would do a Chimera. One hand under each armpit, holding her to the sky. Cerces smiled as Castorice giggled at the contact, making wing-like motions through the sky.
Anaxa sighed. Titans were all fools. “Being smug is unbecoming of you, weaver.”
“Smug? Is that what I’m experiencing now, fool ?” She smirked, “I’ll collect her by next dawn. Do have fun.”
The door slammed shut before he could get another word out.
“Child, I do hope you don’t turn out like my Heir,” Cerces whispered, just loud enough to be audible. Castorice nodded seriously.
This damn city was going to be the death of him.
“What is it now?”
“Dromas,” She pointed.
“...Do you mean to say you fancy my onesie?”
“...yes?”
“Hm. Come, child. There may be hope for you after all.”
The next time Aglaea comes over, it’s Cerces who lets her in.
“Impressive. You’ve captured its eyes quite well.”
Anaxa is watching over Castorice, doodling on the floor. With surprisingly large dromas plushie in front of her, she hums as she draws, colours mixing on her scroll.
Aglaea watches in amusement.
Anaxa was well known for his love of dromas, evident by the oversized blue onesie he was wearing. Castorice, however, was the bigger surprise.
“I hadn’t known such garments were made for children as well,” she smirked.
Castorice had been fitted in her own lavender purple dromas onesie, complete with comically large flaps on either side of her head.
“A top heavy design, with enlarged eyes to boot,” Aglaea continued, “how cute.”
Cerces chuckled as Anaxa glared. “You asked to watch the child, did you not?”
“Oh, pay me no mind. You certainly seem to be enjoying yourself.”
He scoffed. “You exaggerate.”
“He’s been like this since you left,” Cerces whispered. Aglaea smiled.
Once the two had bid goodbye and Castorice attempted to return the onesie, Anaxa simply declined, and excused himself.
Cerces watched as his board, full of equations and theories and ramblings a like, was pinned with a slightly lopsided portrait of a blue dromas. It was messy, with eyes too big and a smile far too wide, even the colours were falling off the lines.
“What a masterpiece,” Cerces commented.
Anaxa froze, before he resumed looking through his scrolls.
They smiled. What a charming child, indeed.
After years of cohabitation, Mydei had successfully learned what each Heir prefers in their food.
Aglaea preferred more bland tasting meals, something convenient and quick enough to eat so that she may leave at a moment's notice. Tribbie, Trianne and Trinnon similarly did not care much for what they ate, so long as it ‘looked cute!’
Hyacine, every time she visits, insists on cooking for herself, but really prefers sweets and little treats so that she may give them to her patients as well. Anaxa, he’s learned, was appreciative enough of anything he prepared, though he always requested a vegetarian meal.
Castorice was similar, in that she would happily eat anything he gave her, never complaining nor requesting anything special.
As for Phainon, he couldn’t give a damn what the Deliverer preferred or liked. He refused to cook for him on principle, anyway.
In any case, he’s gotten good at cooking meals tailored to each Heir. He’d never admit it, but he indeed took great pride in knowing his comrades were well fed (except for one).
Which was why it was so distressing that Castorice, or at least the younger version of her, refused to have his cooking.
“Is it not to your liking?” He asked, glancing at the plate.
Everyone else had left for the day, each with their own paths and duties to follow.
That’d left Phainon and Mydei in charge of watching Castorice for the day, as the two were recuperating from a scrimmage.
Castorice had a pinched expression on her face as she looked at the star and flower shaped honeycakes on her plate.
Mydei had made it according to how Tribbie preferred, with wildberries and honey, and a glass of milk on the side. Maybe he should’ve asked her what she wanted, first. He wasn’t quite sure what other children might like.
He sighed.
“I could make something else, if you’d prefer.” Maybe congee? He’s heard that Castorice was from a region much colder than Janusopolis and Kremnos. It could be that she preferred warmer foods.
“Ah- you don’t…have to…” Castorice shook her head as Mydei motioned to take her plate.
“Nonsense!” Phianon exclaimed from where he stood unhelpfully from the stairwell. “Mydeimos here is our resident culinary expert,” he said, winking at the girl, “I’m sure he’ll be happy to oblige with whatever you request.”
Castorice blinked, before hurriedly glancing back at Mydei. “The- the honeycakes are fine, sorry.” She stuttered.
Mydei’s brow pinched as he turned away. “...Alright.”
Phainon settled in the seat next to her.
Castorice ate the stack hesitantly as he watched, a comfortable silence enveloping the kitchen.
Naturally, Phainon wanted to break the silence. “How do you fare, Castorice?” He started, hoping to ease the tension in her shoulders.
It’s been about two days since Castorice was de-aged.
He’d heard the news from Aglaea, that Oronyx’s relic had gone haywire and Castorice was simply unlucky enough to bear the brunt of it. He hummed, leaning against his palm as she averted her eyes.
“I’m…alright,” she finally settled on.
Castorice knows what happened. That her older self had been reverted to…her, the weaker, more cowardly version of her. The one who can’t yet fulfill her duties, the one who cowers even when the extent of what she must do is simply touch.
It’s frustrating, somewhat, that she feels like a burden to her fellow Heirs when they already have their own duties to attend to.
A bowl clinked in front of her.
“I didn’t know what you liked, but I assumed warmer foods would be to your taste,” Mydei said, as he nudged a bowl of congee towards her. “Careful. It’s hot.”
Two eggs and ham were placed on top, a surprisingly strong smell of herbs and spices wafting off from it.
He placed a pepper grinder next to the bowl as he coughed and looked away. “I’ve heard that some prefer it with the pepper. You can add it, if you’d like.”
Castorice’s eyes glistened.
( Her hands were cold. They were always cold.
There was no warmth to be found on her fingertips, and no living warmth could ever reach her, either.
All that heat could be, was the embers of communal bonfires. The remnants of celebration and dancing, and dinners, she clutched to the scraps of a world she would never be a part of.
She would only show herself once everyone had left, once the fire had long been put out.
Those days, she’d clutch the embers, and dig into whatever leftovers she’d found, and hope that the warmth would seep through.)
“Mydei you brute you made a child cry!”
“Castorice. Are you alright? Sorry, you don’t have to eat it-”
She took a hurried bite, the porridge trailed down her throat and had certainly burned her tongue, but she couldn't help how truly warm it made her feel.
“It’s delicious,” she said between bites, laughing at the truly confused expressions on the others’ faces.
She cracked the pepper as black covered the congee and interspersed into white, breaking up the winter and snow.
“Thank you,” she muttered, clutching her hands to the bowl.
( Yet some days, someone else would reignite the fire.
And those days, warmth would be a friend.)
“Dan Heng. I’m getting cuteness aggression. Please restrain me.”
Dan Heng sighed, forlorn. “If only Mr. Welt was here,” he muttered.
Castorice smiled awkwardly and Hyacine just laughed.
The four were at the Heir’s baths. It was both outlanders’ turn to watch over Castorice, and Stelle just had the most brilliant idea to bring them to the baths.
Castorice, at this age, had never even gone for a soak, and Stelle was far too excitable at the idea.
She sighed as she soaked in the water, slightly cool in comparison to Okhema’s constant dawn.
“I need something like this in my room,” she sighed, “do you think Pompom would let me renovate again?”
“For the sake of the express, please halt your impromptu modifications,” he shook his head.
Hyacine lowered into the pool as she gestured Castorice to follow, her feet soaking by the sides of the pool. “Dannie, are you not joining us?” She asked.
Dan Heng shook his head, “I’m only here as her keeper.” He gestured. Stelle stuck her tongue out.
It was a surprise, really, how much better behaved Castorice was compared to an actual child .
Hyacine smiled at Castorice as the two nameless were bickering, her eyes glinted as an idea sparked in her head.
“Hey,” she whispered, giggling, “have you ever played with water guns? ”
“Eh? Where’d Cassie and Hyacine go?” Stelle wondered as she looked around.
Dan Heng turned and shook his head. “As long as the two are together they’re fine. The Heir’s baths are restricted, anyway.”
Stelle shrugged as she soaked deeper in the water. “You sure you don’t want a soak?”
“I’m fine. I’d rather not get-”
SQUIRT!
“...wet.”
On the other end Castorice’s eyes widened in shock.
Hyacine was showing her how to shoot, but she hadn’t intended to hit the outlander who…wasn’t even bathing today.
“Ah-” she stammered out, guilty, “sorry-”
“HOLY SHIT!”
Stelle doubled over in laughter as she produced a camera from who-knows-where, snapping pictures of Dan Heng, frozen shock still like a statue. “Cas that was incredible!”
Hyacine giggled, “Ah, sorry Dannie, Cassie didn’t mean to aim at you,” she laughed, offering him towels, “are you alright?”
Dan Heng huffed, cloudhymn magic gathering the water and leaving him bone dry in an instant. “I’m quite alright, thank you-”
SQUIRT!
He slowly turned to Stelle, giggling maniacally on the floor, Castorice’s slightly guilty but playful smile next to her.
“I- wheeze, it wasn’t even me this time! I swear! It was all Cas!” Stelle said as Dan Heng chased her with the fury of a vidyadhara and cloudhymn magic by his side.
Dan Heng didn’t reply, an inhumane glow in his eyes.
“Eek!” Stelle ducked as a whole pillar of golden water was shot at her. “That’s not fair! I didn’t shoot! Cas did! I’m innocent!”
Castorice turned around, shaking her head as she laughed. “That big sis was the one who shot you!”
The betrayed look on her face spoke magnitudes as she froze, surrendering herself to the water. Castorice laughed as dragons formed out of the water, clapping her hands as it twisted in the sky and landed on its target.
Pretty, she thought, as the water fell once more, golden rain in the sky.
Dan Heng walked over, a wet racoon-like Stelle left face down on the floor by the baths as he patted Castorice’s head with a hand enveloped with water.
It was a strange sensation, water that wasn’t wet. In fact it was firm, much like a large hand would be. Unconsciously, she leaned into it as he huffed.
“Don’t listen to that , alright?” He smiled, attempting to reassure her, “She’s a bad influence.”
Castorice nodded seriously as Stelle groaned from where she laid.
Stelle hadn’t even known how to fire the thing.
“...Anaxagoras?”
“Call me Anaxa, child. Here.”
“...?”
“It’s the flower that titan gave you. I’ve modified it to last. Keep it.”
“One~ Two~ Three~ Four! Ready or not, here we come!”
Castorice giggled from her hiding spot.
Tribbie, Trinnon and Trianne had offered to play hide and seek with her. Trianne was seeking while Castorice and the other two hid around Marmoreal Market.
She was hesitant at first, about going somewhere so crowded, but the triplets had assured they’d be fine.
And so she wandered around looking for somewhere to hide, until she decided on a spot by the scrolls.
It was far enough from the wandering chimeras and secluded enough for any passersby not to see her.
It was perfect.
She heard cheers as the triplets quickly found each other, their bond always keeping them aware of the others, until it was only her left.
Of the many games children would play back at the temple, hide and seek was one of the few that Castorice could participate in.
The other children wouldn’t have to touch or even get near her, and so she’d always be the one to hide.
In any case, it was only natural that she’d be the best hider. When they played in the temple it didn’t even feel like playing at all, since she was already the most familiar with its layout.
Her childhood was made up of the nooks and crannies behind every hall, the echoes of conversation she’d hear through the walls and the peepholes she’d use to gauge when the other children would come, so that she could evacuate herself from the common grounds and rooms.
She was good at it, at not being found. Not until she was needed.
“Cassie~” a voice called.
That was Tribbie, she thought, “Where are you~” she sing-songed.
Castorice shuffled back, muffling a gasp when her hand almost came in contact with a sleeping Chimera’s tail.
It blinked blearily at her as it yawned, instinctively reaching out to her.
Her hand jolted as she backed away.
She wanted to run, far away from any animal or anything that she could hurt.
“Cassie?”
Yet she froze.
Because Castorice was good at hide and seek, but she wasn’t good at being found.
Being found by the priests meant a new animal to slaughter, or another man begging to be let free. Being found meant taking her gloves off, and feeling just how cold they’ve gotten.
When they played hide and seek, the children never found her.
Castorice being found meant something would die. It meant something would die because of her .
Sensing her sadness, or out of the duty to comfort, the chimera licked the ends of her fingers from where she was clutching her palms. She flinched at the warmth.
No.
Her eyes widened in horror as the chimera blinked drowsily, tilting its head as it nuzzled her leg, chirping softly as she could feel it fading away.
The spot where it licked her burned, warmth, living warmth that she shouldn’t ever have come into contact with.
The touch of death was never meant to be human. Because it, by any means, is painful.
Her touch, even moreso.
Because the touch of death done by a wavering heart does not rip life out immediately. All she can do is pull, as gently as she can, coaxing the soul from its shell. It is a slow, agonizing process- one that forces all to face Thanatos with the knowledge that they are dying , not dead.
(It is a mercy, the priests tell her, and it is you who grants it to them.)
But her hands are cruel, to embrace and promise only nothingness.
She wanted to comfort it. She wanted to tell it that she was fine , but getting any closer would only…speed up the process.
But she wanted to. So badly she wanted to deny the inevitable.
“Cassie!”
She was found, but she did not want to be found.
( It is a mercy, the priests tell her, only when they beg for death.)
And so she runs.
“Castorice, would you like to try cooking?”
“No…I’m not sure anyone would eat what I make.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll try it. You know I can’t die.”
“I-I can’t ask that of you.”
“But you’re not,” he said, “because I’m offering.”
(The reaper is a personal threat.
Not all view death as a mercy, as not all view it as a friend.
When faced with it, some tremble in tears while some pass with a smile.
Some curse death, yet some beg for it to come faster.
But there is a response that every living being has, when the reaper comes knocking:
And that is the fear when it calls your name.)
Castorice runs.
She runs away from the city she is not yet supposed to know.
She runs from the people she is supposed to protect.
She runs, because nobody wishes for death to approach.
She runs until she finds herself in its outskirts, barren and lost, and only then does she finally stop.
In the city of eternal dawn, daybreak and nightfall mean little to its citizens, but they shut themselves in their homes and draw their curtains and pretend the moon is out instead of the sun.
They pretend of a night that does not exist, and Castorice is ever more grateful for the silence.
Death was cold and unfeeling. She had to be.
Yet she shut her eyes and mourned for a creature she did not know, and she pretends the night is falling, as well.
She sobs into the metal, the cement, the pottery. Her tears mar the only things she is allowed to touch.
She’s tired of the cold in the middle of the day.
She’s tired of the death she brings, unwittingly.
She’s tired of the curse they herald as a blessing.
And so she hides, like Thanatos themselves, locked away where no one could reach them.
She brings her arms around her as she cries.
“...is he okay?”
“He’s…resting, in the other room. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine by daybreak.”
Contrary to popular belief, Mydeimos can actually die.
His deaths, however, are not permanent.
His heart may stop and his soul ripped out, but his body will drag it back, every time. It is a surprisingly lengthy process, and one he is blessedly unconscious for.
Though it is quite inconvenient that he’s out of commission for half a day cycle when he recovers.
Mydei remembers every one of his deaths. Be it assassins or titans or Nikador themself, though his latest death was certainly the most surprising.
When Tribbie had called to every Heir in Okhema that Castorice was missing, he was not worried for the citizens or wildlife, no, he fretted for Castorice herself.
Children were…sensitive.
Despite the death heir’s rationale and caution, the two traits were not quite as hardened in children. Of course, it’s not that he expects a child to be as careful and cunning as an Heir ought to be, but regardless it was a fact they had to work around for the moment.
And so he ran, fast as he could, scrambling as citizens retired for their ‘night’.
The children would point to the girl with purple hair and purple eyes, and ask if she was alright.
And he’d tell them to go home, and he’d bid them a good night.
Mydeimos would not say that he was good with children, but that does not mean he doesn’t care .
So when he finds Castorice, crying by the pillars, he does what any man would do.
He drops his gauntlets and hugs her, wipes her tears and tells her she’s alright, for fear holds power even when alone, for even the cold may cause death to shiver. She’s shocked, he knows, her heartbeat stutters as she sobs. His arms wind tighter around her shoulders.
“Tribbie found…the owner of that Chimera.”
The chimera she’d found was an old, dying thing. One that was retired from its work with therapists of the Garden and had been missing for days.
It was a miracle that she had found it, and a blessing that it could comfort another child.
He tells her this, as she heaves.
“She wanted to thank you,” he says, for death is not always unwanted, he means.
Pain shoots through his heart as he feels Thanatos themself takes their grip. Most cannot deny death when it calls. Few hold on long enough to say their goodbyes. Mydei grits his teeth. He cannot go, not yet.
“The Heirs- hah , they’re looking-”
( Because even if you do not want to be found,)
“And that owner doesn’t fault you, either-”
( Because even if you do not want to be seen,)
“ So please,”
( And even if some may turn you away,)
“ Will you come back?”
( There is a home for you here.)
Thanatos turns the prince away, but he must come to meet them, first.
So when he feels his conscience slipping away, the last thing he tells her is this.
“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’ll be back,” he promises.
And then, he falls asleep.
When he awakens in the Courtyard in the room designated for Heirs, he flexes his fingers as he feels a subtle dip on the side of the bed.
Castorice lays, her head to the mattress, seemingly having fallen asleep waiting for him. He notices the darkened bags under her eyes and scowls.
From experience, he knows just how uncomfortable waiting chairs are, the pinch in her brow proof of her fitful sleep.
He huffs, gently smoothing the crease of her brow.
A modicum of comfort is well worth the extra half-day.
“Finally awake, sleeping beauty?”
Mydei is evidently awake, but he stays still just to be petty.
“Aw come on, don’t be like that. I know you hate sleeping in.”
He cracks his eye open and he is greeted by Phainon, head resting on his hands as he smiles. “Morning!”
Mydei rolls his eyes and turns to face the other side. “Too close, try again.”
And so Phainon taps on his shoulder until he turns around. “Morning?” He tries.
Mydei huffs. “Fine.”
Phainon smiles to himself all smug and Mydei rolls his eyes. “I thought you disliked when I am…recovering,” he says. He does not say dead .
“It was for Cas,” he counters, “and I know you must’ve touched her somehow after you awoke for the first time! You were asleep for a day! A whole day !”
Mydei sighs as he flexes his fingers. “Is she here?”
“Downstairs, yes. Hey- you owe her an apology, you know! Little Cas dragged you all the way from Marmoreal Market!”
He freezes, before continuing his descent.
“I’ll make sure to apologize.”
Mydei is…for lack of a better word, an awkward man.
“...Morning.”
He had not grown up in the etiquette and world he should have. And, despite his and Krateros’ best efforts, it remained evident that he was unaccustomed to such customs.
“Good morning.”
Thankfully, his comrades are gracious enough not to mind.
He makes his way into the kitchen, recounting stock of what they have. Most Chrysos Heirs live together, unless you were Anaxa or off on a mission, it was most effective to convene at a moment’s notice. He starts getting to work right away.
“Did you like the porridge I’d made?” He asks, as he readies his ingredients. The batch he’d made last time was similar to how Okhemans preferred it. Slightly bland but hearty. “I wasn’t sure how they’d made it back in your hometown.”
Her eyes widen, as if half-caught on saying something else. “Ah- that’s- you don’t have to do that,” she replies, “whatever’s convenient is alright.”
He raises his brow.
Never had he thought cooking or taking requests to be bothersome in any way. Just as Anaxa may request packaged meals or as he often aids Aglaea in reheating her own meals, there was nothing ever inconvenient about accommodating needs.
Could this be, he wondered, why she had never asked for anything before?
He shook his head, “Alright,” he said, as he turned around.
It was silent, then. Just the faint sizzling of his pan and the fire. Castorice seemed to gather herself in the in between. “I wanted to thank you. For…indulging my younger self, and I’ apologize for the trouble I’d caused,”
Mydei furrows his brow. If he were a more eloquent man, he would have been able to comfort her better. If he were any better at words, maybe she would not have apologized at all.
As it is, his offering of porridge is all he could give.
“Good things,” he starts, “aren’t reserved for children.”
He knows of Castorice’s past, somewhat.
Bits and pieces he’s heard from Aglaea, half-truths Phainon’s babbled about. He knows of the weight on her shoulders, to be a herald of death that embraces the helpless. While warriors take lives, it is the reaper who ferries the blind.
“You were no trouble. The others, I’m sure, have shared this sentiment.”
You were no trouble. You were simply a child.
“...Pepper, if you’d like,” he says, sliding the grinder over as he clears his throat.
Castorice’s eyes are watery and Mydei makes haste to apologize before slowly, she lifts her arms out. “...Please.” She says, averting her eyes.
She does not need to ask twice.
When he wakes again and Phainon teases him for being soft, he simply smirks.
He’s hugged Castorice twice now. A record Phainon couldn’t hope to match.
He thinks it’s a victory in its own right.