Archive of Our Own

The air is warm and dry when he breathes it in. Hot blood clings to his skin, still sluggishly oozing from where he had torn out the IV from his arm. Wings drag heavily behind him, scraping across the dirt. There is no time to waste. He has made it out.

He has made it 𝘰𝘶𝘵.

But the field stretches endlessly, golden grass reaching too far from where he can see. The edge of the forest is a vague silhouette in the distance. His vision blurs at the edges. His knees buckle, and he feels weak from weeks – months? – of captivity. The world spins. He falls onto the ground.

𝘕𝘰. 𝘕𝘰, 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨.

He pushes himself up, arms straining under his weight, lacking strength due to whatever substance had been pumped into his veins. Dirt and dried grass sticks to his fingers and knees.

Footsteps.

His breath catches. No, he has to go, he has to keep moving, he can’t be caught, not again, not again-

“Oh, Phainon.”

His stomach twists violently. He feels like he’s going to throw up what little he has in his system.

No. No, no no no 𝘯𝘰 𝘯𝘰 𝘯𝘰-

“You had me.. worried for a second,” Lygus’ shadow looms over him. “I mean, I expected you to run.. That is what you do, isn’t it? But this?”

He crouches down next to Phainon, resting a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t have the strength to push him away.

“I thought we taught you.. better than this,” he continues. Gloved fingers run over the drying blood on Phainon’s arm. “You should know by now, you won’t make it far.”

Phainon pulls his arm away, only to lose balance and fall to his side. His head hits something hard. He distantly wishes the stone killed him.

“I’m not upset,” Lygus says, watching Phainon’s expression shift into something pained. “I’m just… disappointed.”

A chill runs down Phainon’s spine. Disappointed is so much worse than upset.

“Come now,” a cold hand closes around his wrist. As his vision begins to black out, the next words sound distant. “Let’s bring you back, shall we?”

~~~~~☆~~~~~

His head throbs when he wakes up. His eyes are still closed, but the air is too sterile, and he knows. He doesn’t need to look to recognize exactly where he is.

There’s cuffs restraining his wrists and ankles to the bed rails. The bright lights overhead greet him when he opens his eyes. He recognizes the room, regardless of which one he’s in. They’re all the same anyway. The steady 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘱 of the heart monitor is his only company until the door opens with a hiss.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Lygus’ voice grates his ears, worse than the feeling of a new IV in his vein. He really wishes the rock in the field killed him when he fell on it. “How is your head? Not too painful, I hope.”

Phainon manages a muttered curse, turning his head away from the doctor. He doesn’t want to hear him, and he certainly doesn’t want to see him either.

“You’ve been out for a few hours now,” the doctor walks up to check the monitors. “Do you remember what happened?”

Phainon strains his brain to think back, but all he gets are vague images. He remembers hearing objects clatter to the ground, and the sound of the staff yelling orders at each other. There was a pain in his back and the heavy feeling of his wings dragging behind him.

…

Wings?

When he gives no indication that he’s going to answer, Lygus explains it for him. “After we finished up your second form, you fought your way out of your restraints. You’ve gotten quite far with your little one-man escape attempt. Further than your previous tries.”

Phainon goes still again. He got further than before. This new form Lygus mentioned, he’s more powerful in it. He can try again. He can escape, he has the strength-

He can barely finish the thought before fingers roughly grab his face, forcing Phainon to look Lygus in the eyes.

“You will get off with a warning this one time,” he says, as if he had heard Phainon’s thoughts. “Only because this new form is, well.. new, and your body needs to get used to it. But do not try this again. You will not like the consequences.”

“Yes sir,” Phainon manages with a small nod, his words squeezing past where Lygus’ fingers are pressing in his face. He lets out a small sigh of relief when he’s released, and Lygus undoes the restraints on his limbs.

“Return to your room. You are free for the following two days.”

~~~~~☆~~~~~

There’s footsteps in the hall. They’re hurried, irregular. Like someone is running for their life. Phainon thinks they might be.

He leaves his sketchbook open on his desk, stepping closer to his door. He curls his fingers around the handle, unsure if he should look. He’s halfway through his free two days, and while Lygus hadn’t specified, he doesn’t know if he could leave his room for something other than food and the bathroom…

But he 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 to know who’s there. A kindling of hope flickers in his chest, maybe someone finally came to save them all. He opens the door and steps out into the hallway.

The body that crashes into him is solid, knocking the air out of his lungs and sending both falling to the cold tile floor.

Phainon pushes himself up, rubbing his fingertips over the stinging pain in his arm. He doesn’t expect them to come back bloodied. The other man – Blade, if he remembers correctly – looks up, eyes unfocused. The scalpel he carried lay on the ground a few feet next to them, blood marking where it’d clattered. It’s not his. Blade never bleeds, not for long anyway. The other patient quickly reaches out to grab the metal object tight, like Phainon would steal it.

More footsteps echo around the corner. Blade scrambles to get up, rushing past Phainon to get away. He stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet as he runs. The white haired man can only sit there frozen as the guards run past to catch up with the escapee, like they’d see him if he moves even the slightest bit.

Only once their footsteps recede, long after they disappear from his sight, does Phainon get up. He rushes back into his room, slamming his door shut. The cut on his arm from Blade’s stolen scalpel has already stopped bleeding, a nick to his skin rather than an actual wound, but blood had still stained his clothes and fingertips.

He has to clean it. Maybe if he cleans it, then they won’t know he was outside of his room, they won’t know he saw Blade run with the scalpel, they won’t know he saw anything-

He knows it’s pointless. They already know. Even though he logically knows he didn’t do anything to aid Blade’s potential escape, Phainon is still paranoid that they’ll somehow blame this on him. He makes his way over to the sink next to his desk, washing the dried blood from his fingers and arm. He switches his plain white shirt for another one, one without blood stains on the sleeve. His movements are mechanical, practiced. Phainon’s working on autopilot until he sits down again, picking up his pencil.

His page is still blank, though his thoughts are everything but.

Phainon has seen Blade a few times before, usually during lunch and occasionally passing him by in the stark white corridors. A man of few words, but with a tendency to get violent quickly, either with the staff or with two of the other patients he currently forgot the name of. He usually hangs around a girl called Firefly, though the logic was lost on Phainon, and from what he overheard from the staff, this wasn’t his first attempt at escape. They weren’t so different from each other in that regard.

The sound of pencil on paper soothes his ears, distracts him from the feeling of dread curling in his chest. Phainon is still not fully back to himself, his mind still wandering back to Blade. Wondering what’s going to happen to him. Did he make it out?

No. It’s foolish to even entertain such thoughts. No one had ever made it out, and no one ever would.

When he places the pencil back down, there’s a drawing in his sketchbook. It’s a white dog, Phainon saw it a few days ago in a documentary the staff played when all the patients were having dinner, though he can’t recall what kind. He might ask Arlan, he had watched the film with him.

The cracking of a speaker interrupts his thoughts, a familiar mechanical voice talking through it.

“Patient 33550, please make your way to the cafeteria.”

He closes the sketchbook, placing it neatly back in the drawer of his desk. Phainon stands, stretches his fingers, and leaves his room. The hallways are blinding as always, bright white lights reflecting on the tiles. He knows the way by heart, and soon he finds himself standing in line for food. They switched up the menu again, but it will be tasteless all the same. Phainon has long grown used to the bland meals they’re provided.

He sits down at the table with Arlan, near enough to hear the television running another documentary. This time it’s about sharks. Arlan doesn’t seem as interested as he was during the one about dogs. Phainon would pay more attention if he hadn’t noticed Blade’s absence.

“Phainon? Hello? Earth to Phainon?”

He snaps out of his thoughts to see Arlan’s hand waving in front of his eyes. He shakes his head and turns his attention to the patient sitting across him.

“Are you okay? I think you’re making Firefly uncomfortable,” the boy points his thumb. Phainon follows the gesture with his gaze, watching the gray haired girl in question shift in her seat. She’s alone at her table. Blade is supposed to be there too.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, idly prodding at his food with the plastic fork. “Just.. thinking.”

“Clearly,” Arlan sighs. He had already finished his dinner. “Your food is cold.”

“I lost my appetite.”

“You should still eat.”

Phainon drops his shoulders. He knows Arlan is right; if he doesn’t eat now, his next meal will be breakfast, at least if Lygus doesn’t drag him to the lower levels in the morning as he so likes to do. Wordlessly, he picks up the see-through knife, and begins to eat.

When he falls asleep that night, it’s with his thoughts wandering to what might have happened to Blade.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘦.

“𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨,” 𝘢 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵. “𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵. 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯.”

𝘏𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳. 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘶𝘱.

“𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶?”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. “.. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘐 𝘢𝘮, 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯.”

“𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵,” 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥. “𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦? 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦?”

“𝘚𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴,” 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥. “𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺? 𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭?”

“𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶?” 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺. “𝘛𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦.”

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘐 𝘢𝘮.”

“𝘛𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦!”

He shoots upright, clutching at his shirt. Sweat drips down his temple, sliding down his neck uncomfortably. He uses the fabric of his shirt to wipe it off. Taking a deep breath, he tries to get it back to normal.

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵?

A glance to the alarm clock on his bedside table tells him it’s 05:48, and he feels a sense of relief. He has more than an hour before Lygus might get here.

More than an hour to wipe the strange dream from his memories.

He remembers the sweet smell, and he vaguely wonders if he once knew it. Maybe they once served something with actual flavor in the cafeteria? It’s unlikely, but it’s the most logical explanation he can conjure up.

He’s dressed by 06:14, though both night- and daywear is the exact same thing. There’s still some time left where Phainon can keep to himself. Not that there’s much to entertain himself with, other than the nearly full sketchbook on his desk. He spends his time idly pacing around his room, simply waiting for either the mechanical voice telling him to go to the cafeteria for breakfast, or for Lygus to come fetch him for another test.

He is not surprised when it turns out to be the latter.

Phainon follows the doctor wordlessly, padded shoes quiet on the tiled floor. Lygus shows nothing of his intentions, and he has no idea what he can expect from this next experiment. He hopes it’ll be an endurance test. He’s good at those. He can handle those.

There’s commotion down the hall, and Phainon steps aside to let the guards pass. Two of them are carrying a wounded third, blood trailing behind them as they make their way to the medical station, dripping from- well, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 on his body. He looks like he’s been mauled by an animal.

Phainon’s question from last night is answered when the next people pass him. They’re pushing a bed, and Phainon recognizes ashy blue hair. Blade had either gotten pretty far or he’d put up a great fight if he was only brought back now. He figures the straight jacket they put him in is a precaution.

“Phainon,” Lygus calls him out of his mind, and Phainon quickly catches up to him. He doesn’t ask questions, he knows Lygus will answer vaguely, if he answers at all.

His body moves on muscle memory when they enter one of the rooms in the lower levels. Arms and legs move without thought, allowing Lygus to strap him to the chair in the center.

“You’re especially quiet today,” the doctor comments, back turned to Phainon as he looks over his table of medical tools. “Why is that?”

“No reason,” Phainon mumbles, but he knows it sounds unconvincing. Lying is, unfortunately, not one of his strong suits. He has to deflect Lygus’ attention somehow. “Just.. wondering what’s going to happen to Blade.”

Lygus pauses, but it only lasts half a second before he picks up one of the syringes. “Ah, I suppose that is a fair question. You needn’t concern yourself with that.”

“Right,” Phainon sighs. Of course. Lygus is his overseer, not Blade’s. And he doesn’t know the man enough to know what kind of tests he endures. The sound of Lygus flicking his finger against the syringe to get any air bubbles out is distant.

“We will be beginning a series of tests,” Lygus explains, surprisingly. He usually never tells Phainon what he’s planning. “Now that we have given you this second form, we need to know what can draw it out.”

Phainon gives a nonsensical mumble. He doesn’t remember much from the one time he’s been in said second form. He only knows he made it out, but not further than a few dozen meters before he was taken back to the facility.

“This is a… new test we’ve prepared,” Lygus goes on while cleaning his face and placing electrodes on his temples and forehead. “A hallucinogen, of sorts. We’ve enhanced its properties to see if mental stimulation can be enough to draw out your alter shape.”

He doesn’t flinch at the coldness of the needle pressing against his lower arm, then pushes into his vein. He can feel the hallucinogen the doctor had prepared seep into his bloodstream, and he’s sure the effects will soon make themselves known.

Lygus keeps his eyes on the monitor in front of him, likely showcasing his mental state. He furrows his brows and mumbles, more to himself than to Phainon. “You’re showing quite some brain activity already..”

He hopes the doctor won’t pry into it. He still hasn’t forgotten about the dream.

He’s not given a chance to dwell on it for too long. Phainon’s vision begins to blur at the edges, but he’s still awake, still conscious. He still recognizes the room, though the colors of the interior shift. The gray tools on the table gain a greenish hue, the white walls bleed into unnatural purple. The shelves warp, stretching wider than they are. There’s a static in his ears, constant and annoying. His skin prickles, like countless bugs crawling up his arms and legs. The restraints on his limbs are heavy and yet Phainon feels like he’s not even attached to the ground, unbound by gravity.

The static bleeds into something softer, something with a tune. The lyrics sung along are warped, spoken in a language Phainon doesn’t understand. Lygus’ form is but a silhouette, turning pitch black as the rest of the room fades away. The doctor shifts, the shadow of his being branching in an antler-like fashion, stretching higher and wider, the ends morphing into razor-sharp points, spiraling up, moving towards Phainon. It’s dangerous, he’s in danger, he has to run, he has to 𝘳𝘶𝘯-

Sharp pain erupts from his back, the feeling of extra limbs trapped between his body and the chair only adding to his distress. His chest hurts, as if some beast is dragging its claws over his skin, tearing it open.

He screams, maybe. Everything sounds muted. He doesn’t know what’s real and what’s phantom pain anymore. Time feels like a vague concept. He’s not sure how long he’s been there.

When he comes back to himself, Phainon is lying on his bed again. A headache pulses behind his eyes, his entire body feels sore, like all his muscles had locked up for hours. Perhaps they did.

He forgoes his meal that evening in favor of closing his eyes to sleep.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

The atmosphere at the facility is different. It feels like something big is going to happen, and Phainon, along with the rest of the patients, is left in the dark of what it could be. Every member of staff seems tense, even the overseers who are usually the most in their element here.

Every patient is in the cafeteria for breakfast, trying to act as if everything is fine, like they’re not all on guard for whatever storm is brewing. Phainon notes that while Blade is no longer in the straight jacket, he’s still wearing clothes with straps on his shoulders, likely for easy grabbing when he tries running or fighting again. He’s calm, at least, for now.

One by one, each patient is picked and taken away from the cafeteria. There’s no explanation, no words of reassurance, nothing. All they can do is wait until their patient number is called by that same monotone voice over the speakers.

“Patient 33550, please make your way to the medical station.”

Phainon exhales slowly, standing up from the table. The documentary hadn’t been able to calm his nerves, no matter how much he usually likes watching them. He nods at Arlan’s quiet ‘good luck’. He thinks he’ll need it.

The medical station is empty, save for the head medic. Phainon is given a regular examination. The medic checks his eyes, ears and mouth, his hydration and his blood pressure. He’s asked the general questions about how he feels, if there had been any side effects from the tests performed on him. Nothing that warrants as much stress as everyone has today.

The daunting feeling only worsens when he follows the medic’s instructions to head down to the lower levels. Although he’s walked the way many times before, doing it alone is not a common occurrence. He’s usually accompanied by either Lygus or a guard, sometimes both, but very rarely does he descend the stairs on his own.

He passes another patient on the way – Dan Heng – and pauses.

“What’s going to happen?” he can’t help but ask. Dan Heng looks as calm as he usually does, but there’s a tension in his jaw, a shift in his posture that does nothing to calm Phainon down. His long hair looks tangled compared to how it was that morning.

Dan Heng regards him with an analyzing gaze. He doesn’t answer immediately, as if telling Phainon anything will have repercussions. When he does speak, it’s quiet.

“Just do what they say,” he says, turning to continue walking. “Don’t try to fight back.”

Phainon doesn’t like how ominous that sounds. Who the hell are 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺? Why is this one instance where Dan Heng goes out of his way to warn him not to fight back?

Shaking his head, he keeps walking. Best not to be late, right?

When he enters the room, Phainon recognizes Lygus. With all the uncertainty, the familiar face brings some warped sense of relief. At least he knows someone here, unlike the stranger standing next to him.

They’re tall, taller than Phainon himself. Long white hair frames their tan face, a few braids falling over their chest and back. Golden eyes scrutinize Phainon like he’s a lamb inspected before the slaughter.

He certainly feels like one.

Phainon stands tall, refusing to look intimidated by the stranger. Considering the staff’s mood today, he assumes they’re their superior of some sorts, here for an examination. Why else line everyone up to send them here?

“Phainon,” Lygus breaks the silence, motioning for him to step closer than where he stands in the doorway. “I trust the medic did not have anything noteworthy?”

“.. No,” Phainon answers slowly as he walks further, his eyes trained on the examiner. He doesn't care if it’s rude to stare. They don’t seem to care for those manners either.

“Phainon, this is Nanook,” Lygus motions at the stranger. “They will be… checking how your progress is going.”

“Progress?”

“The progress of your abilities,” Lygus explains. Phainon scoffs.

“So that’s what you call pumping me full of God-knows-what and forcefully drawing something out?” he ignores the way Nanook’s gaze sharpens. Over the past few weeks, Lygus had figured out some ways to draw out his second form, making him shift with the need to defend himself. He’s tired of it. “You know damn well I can’t switch between those forms willingly, you have to torture it out!”

Dan Heng’s warning is thrown out the window by Phainon’s anger. He doesn’t know how much Nanook knows of what happens at the facility, and for the slim chance that they don’t, Phainon wants to make sure they know exactly what the overseers do to the patients.

But they remain eerily silent. Lygus doesn’t look concerned. That ember of hope snuffs out now that Phainon knows Nanook is very well aware.

“Well then,” they finally speak, a deep rumble in their voice. “I suppose we should ‘torture it out’, then.”

Phainon isn’t given the time to regret saying those words when a strong hand grips his hair, pulling him along by his head. He can only see the floor like this, and there’s water on the tiles, likely from the tub that appears in his vision soon after. He can vaguely recall Dan Heng mentioning that his given ability had something to do with water.

That’s all he can remember before he’s pushed down face first into the tub, held there by that firm grip. He grips the edge of the bath, trying to push himself up, to get air he didn’t manage to get before being forced down. He’s pulled back up soon after, coughing and gasping for air. Phainon manages a deep breath in right before he’s submerged again.

He has never felt so powerless in the years he has spent at the facility.

Sure, he’d been strapped to a table, poked and prodded with needles, dragged along kicking and screaming and struggling. But now? Now, he was held under water by one person, one hand, and Nanook didn’t even seem to break a sweat no matter how hard he fought back.

Water slips past his lips, trickles down his throat, and Phainon convulses, growing desperate to get oxygen into his lungs. He begins to black out when he’s suddenly out of the water again, coughing up what had gotten in, fingers twitching where he holds the edge of the bath in an iron grip.

“He isn’t shifting,” Nanook comments, and Phainon strains to hear the conversation happening around him. His ears are ringing and his throat is burning.

“He can take more,” Lygus answers calmly. Phainon isn’t so sure.

But he can’t protest before his head is pushed into the water again.

He’s not sure how long it takes. Nanook gives him the mercy of air at the last possible seconds every time, and Phainon doesn’t know how many of those he can still take. It’s only when that sharp pain burns in his back, when he can feel feathered wings emerge from his skin, that he’s released. Scrambling back on the floor, Phainon doesn’t even care about the clawing sensation in his chest, or his rising body temperature. All he cares about is coughing up the water and getting air back into his lungs.

Lygus and Nanook are talking, but he only catches bits and pieces of their conversation. His airway burns, he’s shivering despite his heightened euthermia. They’re speaking of more ‘training’ and ‘conditioning’, but that’s all he can really understand.

Phainon is distantly aware of how dazed he must look when that now familiar hand threads through his hair to tilt his head back up. He’s stopped coughing by now, at least, but his body still feels worn out. Nanook’s eyes are still cold and stern, and Phainon refuses to acknowledge the flicker of interest on their face.

“Send over the next one,” they say, turning away and releasing Phainon’s hair. “I’ve seen enough of this one.”

Phainon is barely aware of anything when two guards step into the room to take him away.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴.

𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯.

𝘈 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳.

“... 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴. “𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘦.”

“𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵.”

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭.”

𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘱, 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴.

“... 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦,” 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘷𝘶𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯.

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦,” 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴. “𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦.”

“𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴?” 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

“𝘛𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘦,” 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳. “𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘺. “𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦,” 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴. “𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘴.”

“𝘠𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰,” 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦. 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘵. “𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯.”

“𝘏𝘰𝘸? 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸?” 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴. 𝘏𝘦’𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵. “𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳.. 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦.. 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥. 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦.”

“𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵,” 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨. “𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯.”

Tears line his eyes when he opens them. The dim light from the night-setting of his ceiling lamp shines on the interior of his room. The warmth from the dream leaves his body, bleeding into the feeling of sore muscles. He looks at his alarm clock. 06:35.

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯, the person in his dream had said. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯?

In an attempt to distract himself, Phainon moves to get out of bed. He dresses himself, then sits down at his desk. He opens his drawer and takes out his sketchbook.

Maybe if he draws the person from his dreams, he’ll remember them more clearly.

Lines appear on the paper, but the person remains largely featureless. Phainon can recall the general shape of their body, the style of their hair, but everything around the face is a blur to him. Despite how hard he tries to remember, he can’t conjure anything up.

Perhaps in the next dream?

He can’t linger on it when the speaker crackles. “Patient 33550, please make your way to the cafeteria.”

After getting his breakfast, Phainon sits himself on his usual spot across from Arlan. Today’s documentary is about tropical birds, and Arlan is invested enough to only give him a short greeting.

Phainon lets his eyes wander. Everyone is still present, and the tense atmosphere of yesterday seems to be gone. He has no idea what Nanook got from his examination, but it looks like he’d left, and Phainon hopes everything will be a bit calmer from now on.

Or well, as calm as it can be when Blade gets up from his chair. Phainon doesn’t need to know who he’s walking to. Jingliu is sitting in the other direction.

There are no words spoken, there never are. Blade doesn’t do threats. He simply starts the fight.

To his credit, Dan Heng is good at defending himself, especially considering their differences in strength. Blade is physically stronger than him, but what he lacks in force, Dan Heng makes up for in speed and strategy. He dodges Blade’s attempts to grab or hit him, but he doesn’t fight back, only moves enough to stay out of reach.

The guards are either sleeping or curious about the ending of the fight, because none of them have intervened yet. Phainon honestly doesn’t really want to get in between them either, but he does pay closer attention when he sees Blade grab one of the plastic knives. Even with the fragile material, it’s still a weapon in his hands.

Dan Heng ducks under the strike aimed at his head, and before Blade can try again, Phainon grabs his wrist and twists it, forcing Blade to release the knife and hopefully make the guards step in.

Blade, unsurprisingly, isn’t a big fan of being interrupted when he’s in the middle of something. While Dan Heng takes the chance to get himself out of Blade’s radius, Phainon focuses on keeping the man’s attention on him. At least Phainon can keep up and fight back, he thinks.

Knowing that Blade can regenerate freakishly fast, Phainon doesn’t hold back. He puts his full strength in his punches while dodging Blade’s as much as he can. His fellow patient gets a few hits on his ribs and one on his cheek, but Phainon is gaining the upper hand. Blade seems to realize this, his movements growing in force. When he grabs both of Phainon’s wrists to keep him from punching, he knocks his forehead into Blade’s nose as hard as he can.

Stumbling back, Blade lifts a hand to his nose, his fingers coming back bloody. Phainon tries not to shudder when he visibly sees the bone in Blade’s nose put itself back into place, fixing the break within mere moments. Blade wipes the blood from his philtrum with the back of his hand, though a smudge still remains.

By now, the guards have finally decided they should probably put a stop to it. A few of them step forward, two of which grab Blade by the straps on his shoulders. Despite his struggles, Blade is eventually dragged off to somewhere he can calm down. Phainon remains still, watching it happen, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

Dan Heng walks up to him only when Blade disappears around the corner. “Thanks,” he says softly. “I appreciate your help.”

Phainon knows he probably would’ve been fine. They’ve fought countless times already. As long as Dan Heng kept evading, Blade wouldn’t be able to do more than surface damage. But Phainon had seen that Dan Heng was tired, that his movements were less graceful than they usually are. And since the guards weren’t doing anything, he figured he could at least help his friend.

Or, well. Whatever you call someone you only talk to every once in a while.

“Don’t mention it,” Phainon gives him a short nod. Now that it’s over and the adrenaline begins to wear off, the pain from the bruises blooming on his ribs makes itself known. He winces, covering the area with a hand. “I’m going to get these checked. Don’t get into any more fights.”

The joke lands flat, he knows that much. Dan Heng shakes his head and walks next to Phainon through the halls. “You helped me out. The least I can do is keep you company at the medical station.”

Phainon can’t help but smile softly. “Thank you.”

~~~~~☆~~~~~

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘴. 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬.

𝘏𝘦’𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭.

𝘗𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘧𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘎𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘫𝘰𝘺.

𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.

𝘛𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥.

“𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰,” 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘴. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. “𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭,” 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬, 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵. “𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦.”

“𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵?” 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴, 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵. “𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪, 𝘐-”

“𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦,” 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦. “𝘚𝘦𝘦? 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦.”

𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯. “𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪,” 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘴. “𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦.. 𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪.”

“𝘐 𝘢𝘮.”

“𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦, 𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪..”

“𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯.”

Phainon’s eyes open to the familiar sight of his own room. He quickly sits up, leaving his bed and rushing to his desk, the sketchbook laying near the side.

The dream is quickly fading from his mind. He has to draw, has to sketch, has to note down 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨-

Mydei.

The name echoes in his mind, a whisper rapidly dissolving in his mind. He writes it down as if it’s sacred.

𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪. The person in his dreams. The face he keeps seeing yet fails to remember each time he wakes up again. It’s maddening.

His sketch looks the same as those from the last time. He already can no longer recall the color of Mydei’s eyes.

Pale blond, he thinks, quickly jotting down the color. Mydei’s hair is pale blond, and there was another color.. Orange? Red?

He should ask Lygus if he can have colored pencils. He’s been good these last couple of tests, right? Surely he can request another reward, his sketchbook had been the last one and it’s already been some months since he got it.

He’s not satisfied with his drawings, but it’s really all he can remember at the moment. He hadn’t bothered checking the time when he woke up but it’s already late enough for breakfast, and so the voice from the speaker informs him appropriately. Phainon gets dressed and leaves his room to go eat.

Phainon is in a considerably better mood that morning. So much so that Arlan goes out of his way to tell him about it. Phainon tells him it’s because he slept especially well that night.

After all, word travels fast within the facility walls, and Phainon can’t risk the staff knowing about his dreams for the slim chance they become a problem for them.

There’s no chair in the room where the guard drops him off, and it takes a few moments for Lygus to take his eyes off the monitor to beckon Phainon inside. It’s not an entirely strange sight. They already figured out he shifts to his second form – now dubbed his demiurge – from severe psychological or physical distress. They are now simply training so that he can switch between the states on command.

The sessions are long and tedious, and Phainon is always tired by the end of them, and the shifting hurts, his body aching with every change. But there’s no pain involved, at least not the type that’s inflicted on him by someone else. And he’s getting better at it, he thinks. The thought of being able to break out with his demiurge is motivation enough for him to try. Lygus seems pleased with his cooperation as well, ignorant of the reason behind it. Phainon hopes he can keep it that way.

“You’ve shown quite some progress these past few weeks,” Lygus says when Phainon slumps to the floor, wings retracting into his body and the golden tear on his chest closing up. “You may return to your room now. You’re dismissed for the rest of the day.”

Phainon doesn’t get up immediately. He rarely does, needing a moment to regain control of his limbs again. But even once that happens and he stands, he doesn’t leave for the door. Lygus takes notice.

“Is there something you wish to speak of?” he asks. Phainon hesitates, but when else is he going to ask? He barely sees Lygus outside of the lower levels.

“I..” he starts, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “.. Can I have colored pencils?”

Lygus’ fingers pause on his keyboard, but he’s not shutting him down at least. That’s a start. Phainon will take anything, even if he hadn’t turned to look at him.

“You 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 been behaving especially well lately,” the doctor muses, slowly resuming his typing. “I will see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” Phainon nods, finally turning on his heel to leave. It’s not a promise, but it’s not a no, and that’s all Phainon had hoped for. Now all he can do is wait and hope.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

𝗘𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝗴 𝟯𝟯𝟱𝟱𝟬, 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝟲𝟮

Patient 33550 has been showing incredible progress over a short period of time. Though uncomfortable, 33550 continues until the desired test result is achieved.
33550 can remain in demiurge for approx. 4 hours at a time.
Cooperation has increased. No escapes have been attempted.

Notable differences: 33550 occasionally experiences increased brain activity in the morning. This does not hinder any progress. Continue monitoring.

Estimated time of track completion: 90 days

Special requests: 33550 has asked for colored pencils. Request is up for consideration.

𝗦𝗶𝗴𝗻𝗲𝗱: Dr. Lygus

~~~~~☆~~~~~

Mydei has been appearing more frequently in his dreams.

They’re always different, but fundamentally the same. They’re sweet words and comfort and Phainon looks forward to sleeping, even if he might not dream of him.

Oftentimes they’re alone, just the two of them. Sometimes there are more people. Phainon draws them too. He’d received his colored pencils a few days after he asked Lygus. Every person had a color assigned to them. The woman with golden hair is yellow. The girl with long braids is purple, and the man with minty hair is green. There is also gray, pink and red. Mydei is the only one he can color more accurately.

Every dream brings forth new details about him. The sun motif around his pupil, the braid resting over his right shoulder, the deep red tattoos inked into his skin. Phainon draws them all, trying and failing and trying again until he gets them right.

His dreams have so far been kept secret from the staff members, but how long will he be able to keep that up? Lygus had already commented on his brain activity in the mornings, it’s only a matter of time before he begins fishing for the cause. So far, Phainon hasn’t noticed anything strange about him, though. He keeps hoping.

“My sketchbook is almost done,” he complains to Dan Heng, who arguably cares little about what Phainon does in his free time. Arlan had been whisked away by the guards earlier, so now he’s paying half a mind to the documentary. Dan Heng was interested enough to join his table, so he has some company at least. “Do you think I can ask for another? I just got colored pencils though…”

Dan Heng sighs, barely glancing at his soup when he eats another spoonful, eyes fixed on the screen. “You can argue that you have no use for them if your sketchbook is full. I don’t know what Dr. Lygus will say, though.”

“Hmm, that sounds logical enough.”

“It doesn’t hurt to ask. The worst he can say is no,” Dan Heng shrugs, turning his attention back to his food when the program nears its end.

Phainon smiles and nods. “Alright. Yeah, I’ll ask him. Thanks, Dan Heng.”

“Anytime,” the other answers. He picks up his now empty tray to return it to the appropriate rack. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Phainon.”

“See you tomorrow, Dan Heng,” Phainon waves after him as Dan Heng walks off to return to his room. He gets up a few moments after, nods a bye to Firefly when he makes eye contact with her, and then makes his way back to his own quarters.

His pace slows as he nears his room. The door is slightly ajar.

Their rooms are 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 closed.

Carefully, Phainon approaches, as if something lurks behind the door to attack him. He pushes it further open. His stomach churns.

“I knew you were… artistic,” Lygus speaks slowly, like Phainon can’t understand the words he says. “I didn’t know it was to this extent.”

Phainon’s throat is dry. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before he can find the words to respond, and even then it’s only a single one. “... Why?”

“These colored pencils you requested,” Lygus explains, flipping another page in Phainon’s sketchbook. He recognizes the drawing he made last week, both Mydei and the woman he’d colored yellow. “They were the first thing you’ve asked for without being prompted. I was simply… curious.”

It’s a sound explanation, though Phainon feels like he swallowed a brick. Of course Lygus would look through his room sooner rather than later. He’d gotten his sketchbook because he was asked if he wanted something to keep himself occupied in his room. He’d never asked for anything else. The colored pencils, however, had been a request of his own. In a facility where everything gets checked, it’s no wonder Lygus would want to know exactly why Phainon wanted them.

“The human mind can’t make up its own faces,” Lygus continues. He flips another page. “Where have you seen these people?”

His tone is deceptively calm. Phainon has long since figured out the underlying hints in Lygus’ voice. He would sound normal to anyone, but Phainon knows.

He is not at all happy about this.

Despite having been asked a question, Phainon can’t bring himself to answer. What does he even say? 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴? He’d still have to have seen their faces somewhere.

“Mydei,” the doctor reads out loud when he doesn’t receive an answer. “And… C. Does this lovely lady not deserve a full name?”

Phainon swallows the lump in his throat. “I… I don’t remember her name…”

“You don’t remember her name,” Lygus looks up from the pages. “From where do you remember their faces, then?”

“... From my dreams,” Phainon can feel himself growing dizzy with the admission. His dreams, the one thing he had managed to keep a secret, the one thing that was entirely his own, laid bare.

Lygus is quiet for a bit. He closes the sketchbook and places it down on Phainon’s desk. He barely holds back from rushing to grab it, to protect it from Lygus. Just barely.

“I see,” the doctor simply says, though his tone is clipped, his expression tight. “That would explain your increased cerebration.”

Phainon can’t move, frozen in place when Lygus walks to get past him. He barely hears the ‘goodnight, Phainon’ and the door falling shut.

He fucked up.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

𝗘𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝗴 𝟯𝟯𝟱𝟱𝟬, 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝟲𝟯

Patient 33550's increased brain activity is caused by vivid dreams. 33550 documents his dreams in the form of art. The people in 33550's dreams are consistent, particularly a male named Mydei.
Cooperation remains the same. No escapes have been attempted.

Notable differences: 33550 seems more defensive of his sketchbook.

Estimated time of track completion: 83 days

Special requests: Further information about 'Mydei' requested.

𝗦𝗶𝗴𝗻𝗲𝗱: Dr. Lygus

~~~~~☆~~~~~

𝗥𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗘𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝗴 𝟯𝟯𝟱𝟱𝟬, 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝟲𝟯

Request for investigation of 'Mydei' has been accepted.

Instructions: Continue monitoring 33550's dreams. Continue testing as normal. If dreams or 'Mydei' hinder testing, eliminate the problem.

𝗦𝗶𝗴𝗻𝗲𝗱: Nanook

~~~~~☆~~~~~

Phainon barely sleeps that night.

His sketchbook is tucked beneath his pillow, a vain attempt to hide it even when Lygus has already seen everything. His last shred of privacy had disappeared when the doctor had looked into his drawings.

The minutes tick by, Phainon watches the red lights of his alarm clock change with the passage of time. He feels cold, even as he lies curled up under his blanket. He dreads the morning, dreads whatever Lygus might have planned. Phainon honestly doesn’t even know what he did wrong, all he knows is that Lygus was unhappy about his drawings and the implications of his dreams, and he’s sure he’ll pay some price for it.

Although… there isn’t really any reason for Lygus to be so upset, is there? Not unless he thinks this will hinder the testing he does with Phainon. And since Phainon knows for a fact that the people in his dreams have never been at the facility, that means…

He sits upright with the realization.

𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦.

Phainon lets the thought sink in before the next one follows.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦.

Why else would Lygus have reacted like that? If they were no longer alive, there wouldn’t be any problems. He wouldn’t have to be scared of Phainon wanting to meet them.

Lygus is 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥.

It shouldn’t make him feel so satisfied. Lygus already knows Phainon is strong enough to escape in demiurge. He had no real goal the last time he tried fleeing, but now?

Now Phainon has motivation.

And for the first time in months, he feels stronger than Lygus.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

The air in the room is sterile as ever. When Phainon appears in the doorway, Lygus is busy organizing his tools. The electrodes lay ready near the chair.

“Ah, good morning, Phainon,” he says, but doesn’t look up from his work. He sounds perfectly normal again. With a motion towards the chair, he adds. “Please, sit down.”

Phainon doesn’t move. Doesn’t even look in the direction Lygus gestured at. At the lack of the sound of clothes shifting, the doctor frowns.

“Phainon,” he repeats, glancing back over his shoulder. “Sit down.”

His tone is more firm. Phainon remains still for a moment longer, and when he does make his way over, it’s slower than usual. He sits down, not bothering to place his arms and legs appropriately.

Lygus walks over, still furrowing his brows as he takes Phainon’s left wrist to strap it down. “You are being difficult today.”

He doesn’t deign Lygus with an answer, simply lets him manually adjust his limbs to be tied down. Phainon might still be riding the high of the idea that Lygus is scared, and he might be pushing the limits a little, but so far he hasn’t been actually reprimanded. He’ll take a win when he gets one.

The electrodes are cold against his skin when Lygus sticks them to his head. Once they’re all attached, he returns to his monitor.

“No shifting tests today?” Phainon asks. Lygus shakes his head.

“We’re doing something a little… different today,” he answers, the keyboard of his laptop clicking under his fingers. His eyes are trained on the screen, occasionally flitting between it and the monitor to his right, showing Phainon’s brain. “A request from higher up. It shouldn’t take very long.”

𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘶𝘱. Phainon barely suppresses the shudder when he remembers Nanook, and the way he was looked at like he was a piece of meat, a lamb for the slaughter.

Lygus types something down the second that thought crosses Phainon’s mind, likely documenting the activity in his head. He tries his best to keep his thoughts in check with that in mind.

Not thinking of anything doesn’t seem to stop his brain from showing anything on the monitor, though, seeing as Lygus keeps on typing. The silence stretches on for a while before he finally says something to break it.

“Have you drawn anything this morning?” he poses it as a question, but Phainon knows he’s prying. He can’t help the mild scowl on his face.

“You can go check if you want to know so badly,” he mutters. Lygus simply hums in response, and Phainon doesn’t know what to make of that.

“Can you tell me about these dreams you’ve been having?” he continues. Phainon hesitates. He can, sure, but he doesn’t want to. So far, all Lygus knows are the faces appearing in his mind at night. He has no idea what happens in the dream. Frankly, Phainon has forgotten the majority of them already, but he won’t say that to Lygus.

“I could,” he shrugs to the best of his ability with his wrists still tied to the armrests. When he doesn’t elaborate, Lygus glances up, only to turn back to his laptop and jot yet another note down.

“You seem to be fond of this Mydei.”

“Mhm.”

“I take it your dreams are pleasant, then?”

“Maybe.”

Phainon can tell Lygus is getting agitated with his short answers. It’s not outright anger, and it’s not disappointment either. Not like he shows much emotion during either of those, but still. Phainon picked up a thing or two for reading the doctor’s body language.

“We will be getting another inspection next month,” he changes the subject, and Phainon’s expression sours with it. Inspections are held by the higher ups, and he’s not jumping to see them again, knowing how aware they are of the experiments held in this facility. “I’m hoping we can improve your shifting ability by then.”

Phainon doesn’t say a word. He also hopes that, but not for the reasons Lygus does.

“Nanook will be reviewing everyone’s progress again.”

𝘎𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵.

Phainon scoffs, and it seems to be the reaction Lygus was looking for. He types in another few words before seemingly closing the document he was working on. After standing up, he makes his way back over to Phainon to take off the electrodes and untie him.

“That’ll be it for today,” Lygus informs him. “We will be continuing our normal testing tomorrow. You are dismissed until then.”

Phainon gets up, nodding once as he leaves.

Maybe if he gets his shifting under control by the next inspection, he can deal with both Lygus and Nanook in one go.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

𝗘𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝗴 𝟯𝟯𝟱𝟱𝟬, 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝟲𝟯 𝗳𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄-𝘂𝗽

Patient 33550 shows distaste during conversations about future tests and people in higher command. While not unusual, previous documentation of 33550’s insular cortex do not show such amounts of activity.
33550 appears to be more at ease when talking about the subject of his dreams, namely ‘Mydei’.
Cooperation has lessened. No escapes have been attempted.

Notable differences: Particular hatred towards mentions of Nanook. Avoiding usage of the name Nanook is advised.

Estimated time of track completion: 82 days

Special requests: Updates about investigation regarding ‘Mydei’.

𝗦𝗶𝗴𝗻𝗲𝗱: Dr. Lygus

~~~~~☆~~~~~

He counts the days, despite knowing it would make him more anxious. Two weeks passed before the end of the month, and as Lygus had said, the testing remained normal. Phainon is getting better and better at controlling his demiurge, but Lygus’ satisfaction leaves him cold.

Nothing happens the first week of the new month. Phainon only knows when it starts because the kitchen staff switches up the food at that point. The second week remains uneventful as well, as does the third week. Halfway through the fourth week, Phainon begins to grow doubtful.

Did Lygus just say that to rile him up? He obviously dislikes Nanook, and he puts no effort into hiding that. So, what, that was just an attempt to get him frustrated? It certainly worked, but what did that achieve?

His doubts are quelled when the speaker crackles during lunchtime. “Patient 33550, please make your way to the lower levels.”

He leaves Arlan to continue watching the documentary and walks over to the guard already waiting by the exit. He follows them down, unable to get rid of the heavy feeling in his chest.

It’s just an inspection. It’s nothing new.

But the inspection in question is held by Nanook, the person who nearly drowned him countless times just to force a shift out of him, the one who not only allows but 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 these experiments. Phainon blames Lygus for the tests, but Nanook takes the responsibility of 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 he has gone through.

He immediately zeroes in on the commanding presence in the room. He doesn’t notice the guard leaving, not when his focus is taken by the one person he hates more than Lygus.

“33550,” Nanook starts, watching Phainon with those sickeningly golden eyes. He feels his skin crawl at the calling of his patient number. “I heard you’ve been progressing steadily.”

Phainon merely narrows his eyes in response. He doesn’t grace Nanook with a response, not even a simple nod. They stare each other down for a while until Lygus clears his throat.

“Phainon, if you could,” he motions vaguely towards him, but even then he does not move an inch. “Please show the results of your training, will you?”

Phainon still hasn’t looked away. Without breaking eye contact, he focuses on the feeling of power, the sensation of wings sprouting from his back. Lygus had him train to call upon it using negative feelings, and the anger bubbling under his skin is enough to draw it out. Molten gold seems to course through him as he shifts, not once breaking eye contact with the person before him.

Lygus doesn’t get a chance to say anything after that. The moment he’s in demiurge, Phainon knocks him back with one of his dual-colored wings. With the doctor temporarily dazed, he charges at Nanook with his fist pulled back.

His hit is dodged with a sidestep, and so is the next attempt. Nanook grabs Phainon’s outstretched wrist, their grip firm enough to bruise. They turn, and Phainon needs a moment to regain his footing before he tries once more. He manages to connect a few punches to Nanook, but they barely make him wince.

He’s not sure how long he fights, but with each passing second, Phainon begins to realize that he’s only still moving because Nanook is allowing him to. They could easily overpower him, but they don’t, and Phainon isn’t sure why. Is this a test? Do they want to see if he can fight in this form? Is this simply entertainment for them?

The room spins around him when he’s turned, and then his face makes hard contact with the cold tiles of the floor. He grunts, pushing himself up on his arms only to be pushed back down flat on the floor by a foot between his wings. The heel digs into his back and Phainon bites the inside of his cheek to save Nanook the satisfaction of hearing a pained noise.

“My apologies,” he hears Lygus’ voice from somewhere behind him, but he can’t turn his head comfortably to see where he is. “I know I said he becomes agitated at your name, let alone your presence, but I didn’t anticipate he would become so… violent.”

“It’s no matter,” Nanook hums, taking their foot off Phainon. Before he can try to get up again, fingers tangle in his hair to pull his head upwards, and Phainon has to place his hands on the ground to hold himself up in the cramped position his torso is forced into. “I can get that fight out of him.”

Phainon doesn’t even want to begin theorizing what 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 means.

Nanook crouches down, one hand resting on their knee while the other remains in Phainon’s hair. They look like this is just a typical afternoon for them. There’s not even a sign that Phainon tried to fight them.

“You turned out better than I had hoped,” they tilt their head, white hair falling sideways. “I hadn’t expected you to be so full of fire anymore, but fire can be extinguished.”

Phainon glares at them, ignoring the harsh sting in his scalp. “Go to 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭.”

Nanook huffs in what Phainon assumes is mild amusement. They release their grip on his hair, so suddenly he can barely prepare his arms to hold himself up. At least his head doesn’t knock too hard against the tiles.

Nanook rises to their feet again, turning their head towards Lygus. “Finish up your last rounds of testing, then prepare him to move.”

“Yes,” Lygus bows his head. “If I may ask, have you made any progress on the investigation of Mydei?”

Phainon freezes.

“I will send you what I have found,” Nanook answers, already making their way back to the door like they can’t stand to be here a second longer than they have to.

Nanook found something about Mydei. He could be- no, Mydei 𝘪𝘴 in danger, and if Phainon doesn’t at least try to do something to stop it he will never forgive himself. He forces himself to stand and rush at Nanook.

He manages about four steps before a sharp pain erupts from his shoulder and he falls to the floor, his vision turning black.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

𝗜𝗻𝘃𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗴𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘂𝗹𝘁𝘀

Investigation subject ‘Mydei’ results:
Full name: Mydei Kremnos
Sex: male
Age: 27
Additional information: ‘Mydei’ resides in the city of Okhema. ‘Mydei’ works as an independent baker.
Investigation conclusion: ‘Mydei’ does not form a hindrance.

Instructions: Finish up testing. Prepare patient 33550 for movement. Patient 33550 may take one item of importance.

𝗦𝗶𝗴𝗻𝗲𝗱: Nanook

~~~~~☆~~~~~

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦.

That’s what Lygus had said to him when they finished that morning’s test. That was all the information Phainon received when he was sent back to his room.

He really only had a single thing he could take along. His sketchbook, even though almost all of the pages are already used. Would a pencil come with it or would that be a second item? Maybe if he takes a single one, it’ll be fine.

The guards are silent when Phainon opens his door, carrying his book and pencil under his arm. He’s led through the hallways he’s walked countless times before, only this time, he feels like it’ll be the last.

That thought makes him stop in his tracks.

“Wait,” he says, trying to ignore the unhappy way the guards turn their heads. “Can I at least say bye to my fr- to some of the other patients?”

The guards remain silent, and one begins to shake their head. Phainon can hear the start of a word before someone beats them to it.

“You get twenty minutes,” Lygus says behind him. “I would like to stay on schedule, but if this is so important to you, then you may.”

Phainon nods, and that is all the gratitude he will ever show the doctor. He rushes off to the cafeteria, hoping to find at least Arlan. Luck might be on his side for this one, as most of the patients are already there.

“Arlan,” Phainon approaches him quickly. He doesn’t want to waste too much time.

“Phainon?” Arlan stands, frowning lightly. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m… leaving,” Phainon’s shoulders drop. “I don’t know where or for how long. I’ve come to say bye.”

“Oh,” Arlan blinks. Phainon guesses this is as much of a surprise to him as it was to Phainon himself. “Are you sure you can’t stay?”

He shakes his head. “No, they’re waiting for me to finish up here. I didn’t want to go without at least telling you.”

Arlan stammers, beginning sentences only to stop them when he speaks, like he can’t figure out what he should say. Phainon reaches out to pull Arlan close into a hug.

“I’ll miss watching documentaries with you,” he smiles softly. “And… I’ll miss you, too.”

Arlan wraps his arms around Phainon as well to return the embrace. He’s short enough to tuck his head under Phainon’s chin. “I’ll miss you too. Good luck, Phainon.”

“You too,” Phainon steps back after a moment. “Goodbye, Arlan.”

“Goodbye.”

Phainon turns to look around. There’s really only one other person he wants to say something to. He finds Dan Heng at a table near the wall.

“Phainon,” he greets him, expression as schooled as ever. “You’re leaving?”

Phainon gives a somber smile. “I am.”

Dan Heng rises to his feet and places a hand on Phainon’s shoulder. “Good luck, then. And, thank you for the times you’ve helped me. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” Phainon chuckles, and he hates how sad it sounds. “I’ll miss you, Dan Heng. Don’t die while I’m gone, alright?”

“You stay alive too,” Dan Heng nods. “We’ll see each other again, I’m sure.”

Phainon isn’t so sure. Still, he takes a deep breath and steels himself. “Right. We’ll see each other again.”

Dan Heng gives him a somewhat reassuring smile. With that, Phainon turns on his heel to leave the cafeteria, likely for the very last time.

The guards and Lygus are still waiting where Phainon had left them. When he returns, they simply turn back to continue leading Phainon away from the facility he’d lived in for the last year.

The air is ice cold when the doors open. Phainon remembers how the fields around the building shone golden in the sun. Now, it’s a barren wasteland, the ground covered in melting snow. The winds are sharp, unlike the warm breeze he felt back when he’d made it outside for the first time since being brought here.

There’s a truck waiting for them. One of the guards slides the door open, motioning for Phainon to climb inside. He’s careful, the surface of the vehicle slippery under his plain white shoes. He stares at the chair in the center of the space.

“Sit down,” one of the guards pushes against Phainon’s shoulder with their weapon. He knows it’s only filled with tranquilizers, but the threat is still there, and it is enough to get him to listen. The sketchbook rests in his lap as his limbs are secured.

Lygus and the sixth guard are the last to climb into the back of the truck. The door slams shut, and they’re not even fully seated when the driver starts the engine. There are no windows, so he’ll probably have to kill time with sleeping.

“How long is it?” he asks after a while.

“We will be driving for a few hours,” Lygus answers, face lit up by the tablet in his hands. He taps his finger against the screen, but Phainon can only guess what he’s doing. “You’re free to rest until then.”

Phainon sighs. His sketchbook nearly slides from where it lays on his thighs when the truck makes a turn.

“Can you hold this?” he turns his head towards Lygus again. The doctor glances up, then looks at the guard to his left. They unbuckle their seatbelt to get up.

“No,” Phainon shakes his head. He can’t believe the words he’s about to say, but the guards are the last people he wants to touch his single personal item. “I want you to hold it, doctor. I don’t trust them with it.”

The idea of trusting Lygus, even the tiniest bit, is laughable. Still, it’s somewhat the truth. The guards have been nothing but cold or violent towards him, and Lygus has put him through so much pain, but at the end of the day, it’s still Lygus who made sure Phainon made it through everything.

That, and there isn’t anyone else besides him and guards in the truck. Phainon tells himself that’s the main reason.

Lygus sighs, then holds up his hand. The guard who stood takes the sketchbook and hands it over to the doctor, who places it on his own lap to rest his tablet on top. Phainon wants to comment that it’s not an armrest, but it keeps the sketchbook from falling when the truck drives over relief or makes turns, so he keeps his mouth shut.

He’s not sure how long they drive, but it feels like it’s been a while already, and Phainon is beginning to grow nauseous. He hasn’t been in a car since he was brought to the facility, and he can’t remember if he ever drove in one before that.

The car is much too warm, even with the cold temperatures outside. He has to swallow more often to get the excess spit out of his mouth but his throat feels tight like he’s going to throw up. They’re driving straight, he thinks, but there’s still a few bumps the truck drives over. He groans at a particularly big one.

The noise makes Lygus look up, but his face looks as neutral as it always does. “Are you motionsick?”

“What?” Phainon glances at him, but the words process before the doctor can repeat himself. “I think so…”

“Do you need to vomit?”

“Mhm…”

A guard – the one who’d stood up for his sketchbook earlier – reaches for something under their seat and gets up again. They make their way to Phainon and place a bucket on his lap. He frowns.

“It’s gonna fall…” he mumbles. The guard turns back to Lygus, who makes a vague hand motion. They disappear for a second, then return with a second bucket. That one is turned upside down and placed on the floor for the guard to sit on while they hold the bucket still on Phainon’s lap.

“Don’t puke on my hand,” they mutter.

Phainon is seriously tempted to throw up all over them.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

The stench of vomit fills the inside of the truck. There are no windows to open, so everyone is relieved when the vehicle stops moving and the door can slide open to let in some fresh air.

Phainon had made good on his mental promise to throw up on the guard, an ‘accident’ when the truck swerved on the way. He had to hide a self-satisfied smile when the guard cursed in disgust.

His limbs are freed and Phainon rubs at his sore wrists. He uses his still clean hand to take his sketchbook back from Lygus, then waits for the order to leave the truck. Looking around is the first thing he does when his feet meet the ground.

Pine trees loom over them, their branches intertwining above their heads. The sky is gray, snow falling down around them. It’s still cold but the trees block most of the wind so it's not unbearably so.

Phainon isn’t given much time to take in the sight of the forest before he feels the steel of a gun between his shoulder blades. Wordlessly, he follows the silent order and walks towards the single building tucked away between the trees.

It’s large, arguably about the same size as the facility he just came from if it didn’t have the lower levels. The weather makes the dark colors of the mansion look all the more menacing. Phainon feels as if he’s walking straight into his doom.

The cold bites through the clothes he’s wearing, still the plain white shirt and pants from the facility. They walk across the driveway, then cross the dark wood of the terrace. There are large mirrors on the wall that he thinks are one-way windows. There’s a pool with clean water though Phainon doubts it’s ever really used. They’re made to wait in front of the door for a few minutes before it’s opened and they’re allowed inside.

Once out of the cold, Phainon takes a look around. The interior is just as dark as the exterior, and he was right about the windows. The lights are relatively dim, a stark contrast to the bright white lamps from back at the lab. A young man who Phainon figures is a servant of some sorts gives a respectful bow to Lygus, speaking in hushed tones. Phainon doesn’t even try straining his ears to hear what they’re saying.

Stepping in front of the windows, Phainon gazes outside. He watches the snow fall, melting when it hits the forest floor. He could escape right now. Shift into demiurge, break through the glass panes, and run.

But how long will he have to keep running?

The pine trees seem to stretch on endlessly. It feels just as hopeless as it did when he escaped into the field back at the facility. He doesn’t heal fast, unlike Blade, so even if he would be fortunate to not have shards sticking into his skin, the guards still have their tranquilizer darts at the ready. He’ll never be able to dodge those in time, and he’ll just be dragged back here, to whoever’s house this is.

“Phainon,” Lygus’ voice pulls him out of his mind, but he doesn’t turn to acknowledge him. “You should clean yourself. The servant will show you the way.”

Phainon sighs and follows after the young man who’d let them inside the mansion, one of the guards trailing behind them. He takes in everything he can as they pass through, an eerie silence hanging in the halls.

“There are new clothes for you,” the servant says when they reach the bathroom. After that, the door is closed behind him. He’s left to his own devices, but they’re likely just outside in case something happens.

He places his sketchbook down on the small table, next to the pile of clothes. They’re black, and when Phainon brushes his clean fingers over them, they feel more expensive than the basic material of his current outfit.

At the sight of the bathtub, he’s reminded of the icky feeling of the now dried up contents of his stomach clinging to his shirt and skin. He pulls the white clothes off, looking for a place to put them before deciding to simply drop them on the floor. Surely there’s a staff member who will clean that up, right? They did at the facility whenever someone would bleed or vomit.

Used to the common showers from the lab, Phainon takes a bit to figure out how the tap works. He turns the left handle both ways and nothing happens, but the right one makes water come out. When he turns it to the other side, the stream comes out of the showerhead above his head, soaking his hair. He’s used to showers, so he steps into the tub to let the water wash over him. There were no instructions given apart from cleaning himself, so surely he could use one of the soap bottles?

After washing up and then drying and clothing himself, Phainon grabs his sketchbook again and opens the door. Like he guessed, the guard and servant are still there, holding idle conversation though the servant seems to answer shortly. When Phainon appears in the doorway, the young man turns to him.

“I will bring you to your room now,” he says, already walking off and making Phainon catch up to follow. The walk is once again silent, and while the guard doesn’t trail after them this time, Phainon is too curious to entertain the idea of running for now.

They come to a stop in front of a closed door, which the servant pushes open to reveal the interior. Phainon peaks inside, then enters after a short motion of the young man’s hand. It’s as somberly colored as everything else here, but it’s more decorated than his room at the facility ever was. A window looks out over the forest, positioned above the bed. There’s a closet to his left and a desk against the opposite wall. Several shelves line the walls, but they’re empty. It doesn’t look lived in but there’s not a single speck of dust in sight.

“I will come get you for dinner later, but please do not leave your room until then,” are the servant’s last words before the door closes once again. Phainon is too distracted with looking around to pay it much mind. His sketchbook is placed neatly on the surface of the desk as he wanders around.

This is his room now, right? The servant had said so. Phainon figures that even if he’s moved later, the room would just be cleaned up again, and there would be no signs of him ever having been there. With that in mind, he makes his way to the bed and sits down, surprised at the mattress. This, like pretty much 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 else, is much better than the beds at the facility.

Phainon ignores the feelings of worry about who wants him here and why in favor of enjoying his new room now that he still can. If the owner of this house has anything bad planned for him, or if this will all be taken away soon, he allows himself at least this little moment of reprieve.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

A knock on the door makes Phainon look up. He stands from the chair and closes his sketchbook, placing it back on the desk. They never knocked on their doors at the lab. He’s not used to it anymore.

The door doesn’t move until Phainon himself pulls it open, revealing the same servant from earlier. He’s still as neatly clothed as then.

“Please, follow me,” he says, turning on his heels to wander off. Phainon closes the door behind him and follows close behind.

The dining room is spacious, but Phainon still thinks the room is barely even used by more than a select few people. He’s still wondering who lives here, but the servant motions for him to sit down.

“Dinner will be brought shortly,” the young man announces. He takes a paper from the table and hands it over to Phainon; it’s a list, if his first glimpse is correct. “These are the rules, if you have any questions, feel free to ask them.”

Phainon eyes the servant warily before his eyes flit over the paper, carefully reading the printed words.

𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘴:

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦.
𝘓𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯. 𝘋𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧-𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘴.
𝘋𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝟩𝘱𝘮 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘥. 𝘉𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳.
𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘧𝘧 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘩𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥.
𝘋𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥.

𝘍𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺. 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘺.

Phainon frowned, looking back up indignantly at the servant. “What is this? Am I some sort of pet here?”

The servant doesn’t look surprised by the question. “You are not a pet, however you are not a guest either. The master has brought you here because they have a particular interest in you. It would be in your best interest to comply.”

Phainon only grows more agitated at the indifferent way the servant answers. “I am not some 𝘥𝘰𝘨 your master can play with.”

The servant’s expression doesn’t change, and Phainon doesn’t know what infuriates him more; his neutral face or the rules. He narrows his eyes at the young man and they stare each other down for a few moments, before movement interrupts them. Looking to the side, Phainon’s entire body locks up, stuck between the need to flee and fight. Nanook seats themself at the head of the table like nothing is wrong, and Lygus sits down on his left.

Of course, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 it’s fucking 𝘕𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘰𝘬 of all people who lives here, who he has to share a space with now. Why the hell Lygus is still here is lost on him, but Phainon hopes he’ll leave soon otherwise he might break one of the rules. Does Lygus count as staff? He supposes so, considering he works at the facility Nanook oversees.

“I trust you understand the rules?” Nanook sounds calm as ever. Phainon doesn’t know if he’d rather punch them in the face or make good on his idea to break through the window and run. Their mere presence makes his skin crawl uncomfortably, and the way both Nanook and Lygus are acting completely civil and calm is making his blood boil.

“You act as if I can’t read,” Phainon mutters, if only to see if he can get a rise out of them. Though if physically fighting hadn’t worked when he tried, he doubts words will. “But I can’t help but feel like you’re treating me like a dog.”

“Oh please,” Nanook waves their hand dismissively. “If I wanted to treat you like a dog, I wouldn’t ask for your approval.”

That doesn’t help in making Phainon feel any better. He’s not given a chance to reply though, when a girl Phainon guesses is no older than twenty walks in carrying three plates of food. He doesn’t recognize it, but practically anything would be strange and fancy compared to the bland meals from the cafeteria he’s used to.

Nanook and Lygus eat their meals in silence, but Phainon spends a few minutes prodding at his food with his fork. It looks the same as what the other two people at the table are eating, so he’s their equal in this aspect at least. Phainon’s appetite had lessened when he realized he’d have to share a meal with them, but he forces down the food despite it.

The silence that stretches on is uncomfortable, but Nanook and Lygus don’t seem to be affected. Maybe it’s just Phainon and his distaste for both of them. He finishes eating before them, which surprises himself, considering he started later.

“So,” he clears his throat, unable to bear the quiet much longer. “How big is the forest?”

It’s obvious what Phainon wants to know exactly, and Nanook knows it too. They don’t even look up from their plate when they answer. “Large enough for you to lose your way in.”

They say it so dryly that Phainon struggles to figure out if they’re lying to discourage him or if they’re telling the truth. He pushes that line of thought to the side for now, though. “Why did you bring me here?”

Nanook takes a few seconds to answer, Phainon thinks they’re chewing longer on purpose to make him wait. “Because you intrigue me.”

Something in his gut tells Phainon one should not become something Nanook finds ‘intriguing’.

But he remembers the words they’d said during the last inspection. 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥. Is that why he’s here? What did that even mean? The only fire inside Phainon would be the burning feeling in his veins whenever he shifts into demiurge.

He doesn’t ask about that, though. He’s not sure if it’s because he’s afraid of the answer or if he does it to keep from reminding Nanook of it. When they and Lygus finish their food, the same servant girl returns to take their plates away. Nanook stands up, sparing Phainon a single glance.

“You’re free to go,” they say. “As long as you follow the rules, you shouldn’t be worried about anything. You may take them to your room if you wish.”

Phainon was already standing when they said he could leave. The atmosphere in the dining room had felt suffocating towards the end, and he wants to get out of there as soon as possible. Wordlessly, he takes the paper from where he’d left it on the table, taking it along when he returns to his room.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

𝘈 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘸𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘦, 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. “𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐’𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨,” 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵. “𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘺?”

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴,” 𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵.

“𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘺,” 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵. “𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴.”

“𝘗𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘩?” 𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘸, 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘯. 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺. “𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘺𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.”

“𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴,” 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴. “𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨.”

“𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘊𝘪𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘳.”

“𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶,” 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴. “𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦. 𝘋𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘮?”

𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴. 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦.

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩,” 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘴.

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦,” 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴.

“𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰,” 𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥. “𝘐 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵.”

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰- 𝘮𝘱𝘩!”

“𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦,” 𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴. “𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦?”

“𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯,” 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘺, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨. “𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴.”

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵?” 𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪’𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩, 𝘪𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘱 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴.

“𝘉𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶?” 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘴, 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥.

“𝘉𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘐 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘵,” 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺. “𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.”

“𝘈𝘸, 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦,” 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦. “𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵.”

“𝘚𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘱,” 𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. “𝘖𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

“𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘰,” 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴. “𝘔𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘴.”

His eyes are wet with tears when he opens them. Phainon sits upright, moving to his desk to grab his sketchbook. Mydei has been a clear image in his head for a while now, but he still sketches him as soon as possible whenever he wakes up from another dream about him. His pencil is growing smaller and he has four pages left, but in the two weeks he has been living with Nanook, he’s been following the rules set, so maybe he can ask for new ones?

He’ll have to ask during dinner though. So far, nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Dinners are tense and silent, but other than that, Phainon barely sees them. It’s something he’s relieved about.

It’s not the first time he’s dreamed of Mydei’s bakery, but it’s the first sketch that captures it most accurately. He doesn’t precisely remember the shape of the pastries he was making but that’s okay, because most of the drawing’s attention is on Mydei anyway. Mere pastries could never compare to his beauty.

Phainon admires his work for another few moments before gently closing his sketchbook and standing. The clock on his wall tells him it’s just past ten, so he leaves his room to shower and then find a servant to ask for breakfast.

Once he’s eaten, Phainon wanders around for a while. The locked doors are always the same ones, and the ones that aren’t off-limits are mundane. There’s a room with workout tools, though, and it’s probably the space he spends most of his time in apart from his own room. He decides to kill some time there.

When Phainon returns to his room, there’s a neatly written note on his desk. He slowly closes the door behind him and cautiously makes his way over like it’s going to attack him, picking up the paper to properly read it.

𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘋𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝟪𝘱𝘮. 𝘐 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳.

Phainon crumples the note and tosses it onto his desk to throw away later, turning his attention to the aforementioned clothes. They feel expensive under his fingers, and he’s tempted by the thought of finding out what Nanook would do if he damages them. That idea is quickly pushed away at the reminder of punishment, because if it’s anything similar to almost drowning repeatedly, he would rather avoid that.

He waits on the bed, watching the minutes tick by as he picks at the fabric of his pillow with anxiety gnawing at his stomach.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

There’s a strange voice coming from the dining room. Phainon recognizes Nanook’s, of course, how could he not. It’s the one that accompanies theirs that he doesn’t know.

It seems they’re not eating alone tonight. He’s never seen this person before, but by the way they’re conversing, Phainon assumes they’re friends of some sorts. Nanook doesn’t even glance over when he appears in the doorway, but like any other night, Phainon simply sits down in silence. To his dismay, it’s next to Nanook.

The outfit is somewhat comfortable, at least. The top part is white, with hilled shoulders and long, flowy sleeves and tight buttoned cuffs. There’s ruffled frills down the front collar and two holes in the back, which Phainon assumes are for if he shifts. He’s wearing form fitted black pants with polished black shoes, and a corset to finish the picture. He feels like a dressed up doll.

“So, this is the little pup you were talking about,” the stranger interrupts their conversation to smile, but there’s something poisonous in it. They sound somewhere between a man and a woman, and their appearance is neither fully masculine or feminine. Their long, light blonde hair falls over their shoulders when they prop their jaw on the back of their hand, venom green eyes shining with mirth.

Their clothes are simpler than his own, though no less fancy. Beige fabric covers their flat chest, flowing like water and tied loosely at their sternum. Their upper chest and midriff are left bare, golden jewelry with floral motives and red gems for accent adorn the exposed skin as well as their slender arms and neck. Though now hidden under the table, Phainon had seen the long pants in the same sandy color and the heels they wore when he had entered the dining room. Something about this person reminds him about beautiful but poisonous plants. “He looks prettier than you described.”

Phainon just barely keeps from grimacing at the derogatory tone in their voice.

“I didn’t take him for his face,” Nanook responds bluntly. Painted in white and accented with gold, their clothes laid flat against their body, neatly pressed by an iron. A tuxedo coat with gold pins pressed into the open fold, the tail of the coat splitting at the lower rear of their body and the ends meet the ankles of the simple dress pants. The inner coat dripped with golden jewels that connected the buttons together. Their inner shirt with flattened vertical folds bore golden accessories, too, with a pendant that matched the color of their eyes.

It makes Phainon feel even more like he’s a decoration at the table. That might have been Nanook’s goal. He never gets the chance to properly read them like he did with Lygus.

“A shame. I would,” the blonde person shrugs their lithe shoulders. Phainon almost misses the way Nanook’s jaw ticks. Maybe they’re not such good friends after all?

“Did you not have your eyes on a different one?” Nanook looks at their nails like they’re more interesting than the topic at hand. The other person chuckles.

“Oh yes! The one who heals fast, what was his name again?” they lift their head from their hand to instead press the tip of their manicured index finger to their cheek.

“Blade,” Phainon supplies without thinking. When those vibrant green eyes flit over to him, he tenses under their sharp gaze.

“Ah, right! Blade,” they nod as if they remembered it on their own. “I like him, when did you say he’d be ready again, Nanook?”

“When he stops trying to tear out the staff’s arteries,” Nanook answers simply. The way they’re speaking about Blade like he’s a product to be bought makes Phainon feel uneasy. Sure, their last interaction had ended in Phainon breaking Blade’s nose, but even still, he’s not even sure what Nanook wants from him. A small voice in his head tells him he’s lucky Nanook was the one to take him to their home instead of this person.

“I’d have expected you to have dealt with that already,” they purse their lips, but before Nanook can respond to what must’ve been a successful attempt to rile them up, they turn their head towards the direction of the front door. “Ah, look who has decided to join us at last! Finally, good evening, Tayzzyronth, I was beginning to fear you wouldn’t make it.”

“My apologies, Yaoshi, I had some… last minute business to attend to,” the newcomer, Tayzzyronth, answers. Phainon doesn’t turn his head to look but he does glance over to see what they look like.

The first thing he sees are their shoes and pants, black and form fitted like his own. A corset frames their narrow waist, the buttons colored pink, purple and blue. The ones on the tuxedo they wear above it are pale in color, their design similar to hands in prayer and vibrant against the black fabric. White pads on their shoulders make Phainon think of insect wings, ending in a sharper tip just over their broad shoulders. Their cape splits in the center, reaching down to their calves. The inside of the clothing piece is deep red.

It feels like it takes Phainon an eternity to finally look up at Tayzzyronth’s face. They’re about as tall as Nanook, maybe a little bit shorter but no less intimidating. Harsh red eyes regard those already seated, vibrant blue rings circling around their pupils. Their hair is jet black, with the exception of two symmetrical strands colored in a pink to blue gradient.

Phainon averts his eyes again. He doesn’t think he stared for long, but best not to take the risk and be called rude.

“You’re late,” Nanook doesn’t sound happy, but their tone is the only indication of that. Tayzzyronth rounds the table and sits down next to Yaoshi, seated opposite Phainon.

“My apologies to you too, Nanook,” Tayzzyronth doesn’t look sorry. “Did you hold off on dinner because of me? You shouldn’t have.”

“Yaoshi insisted,” Nanook grumbles. As if that’s their cue, two servants enter the dining room carrying plates of food. A third goes around the table to pour a bubbling drink into their glasses. Phainon doesn’t dare break the silence that falls over them.

The food is hardly a meal, more so an appetizer. Phainon assumes it’s normal for dinner parties, if this can even be called that. When the servants leave, Nanook and the other two continue speaking. Most of it is about what he thinks is their work.

Phainon doesn’t yet touch his plate, unsure how to eat it. He’s not even sure what kind of food it is. The pink must be some sort of meat, right?

Yaoshi is the first to reach out and pick up one of the five tarts, popping it into their mouth before covering their lips with their fingertips. Phainon glances from them to his own appetizer, slowly moving his hand to eat one himself. What he still thinks is the meat tastes slightly sweet. He doesn’t know how to ask what it is without seeming stupid.

He tunes most of their conversation out. The only thing he knows is that both Yaoshi and Tayzzyronth are business partners of Nanook, and that they do occasionally hang out outside of work. Phainon keeps his mouth shut except for putting food into it.

He makes sure he’s not the first to finish eating the tarts. Yaoshi can’t seem to get enough of them, even swiping one from Tayzzyronth’s plate when they’re not looking. Once they’re all done, their empty plates are whisked away and replaced a short while later with the main meal.

This looks more like meat, and when Phainon takes a bite it feels and tastes like it too. He decides to eat the vegetables on the side first, not liking those as much so he can use the meat to overpower that taste. The topic of conversation shifts to more mundane things, though none of it is of interest to Phainon. He cleanses his palette with the fizzy drink and moves to stand up.

“Stay,” he freezes at Nanook’s command. When he turns his head, he’s met with a harsh look in their golden eyes. Slowly, Phainon sits back down, never breaking eye contact, a wordless challenge. Nanook stares at him until Phainon begins feeling uncomfortable enough to look away first.

“So you did train him?” Yaoshi pipes up, head tilted and blonde hair falling over their face.

“I didn’t train anything,” Nanook shakes their head, picking up their tall glass to swirl rather than drink. “He just knows better than to push my buttons.”

“I’m not a pet you can order around,” he mutters, almost regretting his words at the stern glare Nanook shoots at him. Phainon fixes his gaze on a point in the distance to not look at anyone. They fall into an easy conversation once more as their plates are brought back to the kitchen. After a while, they stand up, and Nanook motions towards the living room. Phainon takes it as a sign to leave.

Tayzzyronth and Yaoshi are barely past the corner when Nanook firmly grabs hold of Phainon’s arm, turning him around to face them. Their expression is calm as ever, but their tight grip says otherwise.

“Do not talk back to me like that,” they say, eyes narrowing sharply. “Or were my instructions not clear enough?”

“Crystal,” Phainon rolls his eyes. 𝘐 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳. It was arguably the easiest task, but because it was Nanook who had given it to him, Phainon doesn’t mind rebelling. Even if it’s only a little.

“Good,” Nanook releases his arm, and he instinctively moves his hand to hold where they’d gripped. “Do not make me repeat myself. Now come on.”

Nanook walks past Phainon to join the other two in the living room. Phainon remains still for a few moments longer before following behind them. Nanook had taken the single chair while Tayzzyronth and Yaoshi shared the couch. There’s still some space next to the latter but Phainon isn’t in the mood to find out just how ‘pretty’ they find him.

“Where do I sit?” he asks, arms crossed over his chest. He’s doing it on purpose now, looking defiant. Unfortunately, he doesn’t catch a hint of annoyance in Nanook’s body language.

Phainon isn’t sure what answer he was expecting. Maybe 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦, or 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘠𝘢𝘰𝘴𝘩𝘪. Instead, Nanook gestures at the floor between the chair and the couch. That answer might be the one that infuriates him the most.

“I am not sitting on the floor,” he scoffs. Nanook merely raises a brow.

“If you will not sit here, you will not sit at all,” they reply, voice even as ever. “It’s your choice.”

Phainon weighs his options carefully. The last thing he wants is to bring himself so low as to sit on the ground in front of Nanook’s guests. On the other hand, it looks like they’ll be here even longer than at the dinner table, and he’s not sure if he can stand upright that long.

After what feels like an hour-long staredown, Phainon reluctantly drops his arms and walks over. He lowers himself between the chair and the couch, sitting cross-legged on the tiles.

“No,” Nanook shakes their head again. Phainon wants to protest, how else would he sit on the floor?

“On your knees.”

If looks could kill, Nanook would be incinerated on the spot.

Slowly, like he’s dragging it out to annoy them, Phainon shifts to sit like instructed. The tiles are cold even through his pants, and his feet fold uncomfortably under his weight, but he doesn’t want to give Nanook the satisfaction of having that knowledge. So instead, he bites through it, staying still as they continue their conversation.

He must’ve spaced out at some point, because when Phainon regains his focus there’s fingers threading through his hair. His first instinct is to move away from it, but the owner of the hand tightens their grip to keep him still. Phainon glares at them.

Nanook doesn’t even seem to be paying him any attention. The hand they keep in his hair feels more like an absentminded touch than a purposeful action to make him upset. Phainon tries to pull away again, only for that tight hold to return, stinging at his scalp.

“Are you 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 me?” he asks indignantly. Nanook merely glances down.

“Oh, you’re still there,” they mumble. “I thought you had dozed off.”

Phainon doesn’t know what’s more upsetting – Nanook’s unbothered answer or the quiet chuckle that he thinks comes from Yaoshi.

“I’m not your 𝘥𝘰𝘨,” he hisses.

“Are you not?” Nanook raises a brow. “You seemed to be enjoying this.”

The implication that they’d been doing that for a while makes Phainon’s blood boil. “Don’t treat me like some sort of pet.”

He hears shifting to his left, Yaoshi shifting in their seat on the couch. A quick glance tells Phainon they’re watching this go down with amusement.

“If you don’t want to be treated like a pet, then perhaps you shouldn’t act like one,” Nanook is still looking down at Phainon like he is beneath them, not only physically but also in terms of equality. He knows he can’t beat Nanook in a fight, and it seems they’re playing into that power dynamic to get Phainon to react.

It’s working.

Phainon really is trying his best not to lash out. He clenches his jaw, forcing himself to take deep breaths. His fingers curl into fists on his lap but they stay there, even when he desperately wants to move from the increasingly uncomfortable position. He won’t be surprised if his knees are bruised.

With no more response from him, Nanook turns their attention back to the other two. They return to whatever they were speaking about, only this time, Phainon is too aware of the hand on his head to let his mind drift.

“So Phantylia is keeping you updated, right? Can you tell her to send me those emails too?” Yaoshi says. “I’ve been waiting for quite a while now, you know.”

“I’ll let her know,” Nanook agrees with a light nod. “Anything special you want her to do with him before handing him over?”

Yaoshi taps their chin with their index finger as if in thought. “Hmm, no. He’s pretty as it is, just be sure to keep his hair long! It’d be such a waste if it was cut. Do you think it’d grow back like his wounds?”

Phainon doesn’t like the way they’re talking about who he assumes is Blade.

“I doubt it,” Tayzzyronth cuts in. “Bodies don’t see cutting hair as being injured.”

“In that case, make sure not to cut it,” Yaoshi points a finger at Nanook before turning to the other guest. “Didn’t you also like someone from their lab? That boy, the smaller one?”

“The one with the gray hair?” Tayzzyronth leans back against the backrest of the couch. “I’m still thinking about it. I doubt anyone else would want him, so it’s not like I’m in a rush.”

𝘈𝘳𝘭𝘢𝘯, Phainon realizes with a start. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘈𝘳𝘭𝘢𝘯.

Yaoshi seems to notice his reaction. “Oh? It seems like they knew each other.”

“Stay away from him,” Phainon glares at Tayzzyronth. They merely regard Phainon with mild amusement, like his anger is something for their enjoyment.

“I don’t think you have a say in that,” they shrug.

Phainon can feel the skin on his back itch with the need to attack. He doesn’t like the way they’re talking about his friend one bit, but they don’t seem to take him seriously.

No matter.

It’s sudden, his shift. Wings unfurl through the cuts in the back of his clothes, spreading open. Phainon gets up from the floor to charge at Tayzzyronth, arms outstretched with the urge to choke them. He’s pulled back by one of his wings, and then Nanook’s hand squeezes the nape of his neck. He’s led away, keeping his body lower than comfortable in an effort to ease the pressure.

The door to his room is opened and Phainon is roughly pushed inside, but he’s released now. When he turns, Nanook looks visibly agitated. At least he knows they’re capable of that, now.

“One simple instruction, and you could not even do that,” they mutter. Straightening up, they turn back towards where they came from.

“I will deal with you later,” Nanook simply adds, closing and locking the door behind them, leaving Phainon in the solitude of his room.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

Phainon flinches when his door connects to the wall with much more force than necessary. He stands up from his bed on instinct, ready to defend himself if Nanook decides to physically harm him. A few hours have already passed after he was dragged back, so he assumes Yaoshi and Tayzzyronth have left.

“Was that really you on your best behavior?” they ask though obviously won’t like any answer Phainon gives. Despite the fact that they nearly destroyed his door, they look and sound perfectly calm.

“They shouldn’t talk about Arlan and Blade like that,” he mutters in response. They’ll dislike anything he says anyway, what’s the point in picking his words carefully?

“I believe the rules were clear,” Nanook crosses their arms over their chest. “Or do you need me to draw them out for you?”

“I’m not a toddler,” Phainon narrows his eyes. He’s not backing down, even though his rational mind screams at him to do so. But any sense is squashed at the memory of how Yaoshi spoke of Arlan and Blade like they’re replaceable toys. “Your rules don’t say anything about talking back.”

“But they do say something about behaving,” comes the response. Phainon remains still as Nanook makes their way over to his desk, picking up his sketchbook and holding it up. He doesn’t dare breathe.

“Consider this your only warning,” their voice turns sharp, cutting. They hold the sketchbook up for Phainon to see. “The next time you do something I don’t like, this is going into the fireplace.”

“You…” Phainon can feel his heart sink as he stammers. “You… You said privileges would be taken away, not… not 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘥.”

“I never said with which method I would take them away,” Nanook tosses the sketchbook over, and Phainon catches it before it can hit the ground. He holds it close to his chest, but his glare has less fire behind it.

“Keep that in mind, Phainon.”

The door closes again, and while it doesn’t lock this time, Phainon feels even more confined.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

He hides his sketchbook from then on.

First simply in his desk drawers. Then under his pillow, then under the mattress. At some point, Phainon began moving it every day. Once in the closet, after that behind his curtains. It’s never in the same place for longer than two days.

The idea that his one most personal possession might be getting ruined if he slips up fills him with enough paranoia to walk on eggshells. The staff will surely tell if he does something wrong, but even when he’s alone, Phainon doesn’t want to risk it.

It’s only after a few weeks have passed that Phainon begins allowing himself to relax a little more. Nothing has happened to his sketchbook, and he doesn’t seem to have angered Nanook enough to prompt any punishment.

Until Yaoshi comes back, that is.

It’s midday when they arrive. They're dressed more casually but no less elegantly based on the glimpse Phainon had caught when they entered. He’s not sure why they’re there but he doesn’t really want to know. Phainon has told himself he will stay clear of them for the duration of their stay.

They’re talking in the living room, so Phainon avoids it like the plague. His original plan was to go to the gym room to get rid of some leftover energy, when he notices a door that’s usually locked is left slightly ajar.

Quickly looking back, he confirms Nanook and Yaoshi are still engrossed in their conversation. Quietly, he pads over to push it further open, stepping into the garage. The two cars parked inside are of no use to Phainon, since he can’t drive one anyway. It’s not what he’s interested in, though.

Underneath the garage door, he can see a thin line of light.

Phainon checks again, but their voices are still distant. Then, he sneaks over, stopping near the wall where a keypad is attached. The thin strip of light suggests that it’s not locked, so maybe…

He presses the button with an arrow pointing up. Nothing happens for a second before the garage door gives a low hum, slowly rising up. Phainon can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

It’s open. He can leave. He can 𝘳𝘶𝘯.

How big had Nanook said the forest was? Large enough to get lost in? It should discourage him, but the hopeful part of him suggests that if he can get lost in it, he can lose them if they follow him, too. It’s a risk he’s willing to take.

With that in mind, he doesn’t look back.

The driveway is easy to cross, but soon Phainon finds himself between the trees. Pine needles and sticks cut into the soles of his feet, piercing through his socks. He can hardly return for shoes now, though.

Cold air burns his lungs, and his feet are hurting but he can’t stop, he 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 stop. Not until he’s out of there, not until all of this is far behind him, not until he’s found someone who can 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

The ground tilts, and now Phainon is running downhill. His foot catches on the root of a tree and he trips, bracing his arms in front of him to somewhat brace his fall. He rolls to a stop only because a tree blocks his way, and he grunts of pain.

Pushing himself up on trembling arms, Phainon looks around. The only indication of which way he came from is the ground moved by his tumble. Everything else looks exactly the same. He can feel the hope seep out of him with every tree that looks precisely like the next.

How naive had he been, believing he could ever make it far?

He manages to stand using the tree he crashed into as support. The forest is silent, no one present to hear the way Phainon struggles to breathe normally, no one to see the way he’s shaking all over.

He has to keep going.

His feet drag over the forest floor, painful and bloody, socks ripped to shreds so badly he might as well be barefoot. Phainon isn’t sure how long he’s been moving, but the sky is starting to turn dark, and there is no shelter in sight.

𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵.

His knees buckle and give out, and Phainon falls down into the snow. The forest grows darker and darker until eventually, his vision does too.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

The warmth around him is heavy, suffocating. He can hear the crackling of fire and the rustling of fabric when he moves to sit up. Several blankets slide down with the movement, and he lifts a hand to cradle his forehead to stave off the dull pain.

“I see you’re still alive.”

Phainon wishes he died in the snow.

Nanook stands up from the living room chair, stepping closer to the couch. They lean down to pick up a steaming mug and hold it out towards Phainon. He slowly reaches out to take it, staring at the tea inside and lifting the drink to his lips to take a sip.

“You’ve made it quite far, considering the state we found you in,” they add, remaining standing at Phainon’s side. “I’m almost impressed.”

Phainon doesn’t respond, drinking his tea in silence. He gets halfway through the beverage before he doesn’t want it anymore, shifting to place it back on the coffee table. Nanook takes it from him to do it instead, like Phainon is unable to lean over himself.

“How did you find me?” he asks, the first words he’s spoken in a while now. With a glance towards the windows, he can see the light gray of the sky. He’d probably been out for the majority of the night.

“You left a trail,” Nanook supplies as an answer. Phainon furrows his brows. At most they might have seen the direction he ran in, but he didn’t leave such an obvious track, right?

He moves his legs to fold them under himself, brows furrowing at the strange feeling. He lifts the blankets to look under them, only now noticing the bandages on his feet.

𝘈𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘴, Nanook found him by his fucking 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥.

Phainon shifts, placing his still hurting soles on the tiled floor. He winces lightly, hands placed at his sides to stay upright. Through unfocused eyes, he recognizes the shape of his sketchbook next to the mug. His muscles lock up, he feels like he’s back in the cold again.

“I told you what would happen the next time you do something I don’t like,” Nanook picks up the item Phainon holds most dear when they notice his tense posture. “Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”

“No,” Phainon shakes his head. He forces himself to stand, ignoring the sharp pain in his feet. His heart feels heavy and his stomach drops at the mere idea. He steps after them when Nanook walks over to the fireplace. “No, you can’t, I- I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, don’t-”

Nanook does not seem to give second chances. They simply toss the book into the flames.

“No!” Phainon moves before he can think better of it. He kneels down next to the fireplace, breathing picking up with panic as he watches the pages smoulder. He reaches out his hand, pulling it back when the heat of the fire comes too close.

He has to get it back, all of those drawings, all of his dreams, he can’t just let them burn like this. Clenching his jaw, he sticks his hand into the flames, biting through the searing hot pain. He manages to grab hold of his sketchbook and pulls it out just as quickly as it had been tossed in. Patting it down, he desperately tries to save as much as he can. Nanook doesn’t even try to stop him.

Once the last of the fire is out, Phainon cradles the book close to his chest, holding it like it's sacred. He doesn’t realize he started crying, silent tears streaming down his face from the sheer panic. The pain in his hand doesn’t register, not until Nanook grabs the injured wrist with a hiss from Phainon.

“Such attachment to a mere object,” they murmur, eyes flitting over the blistered skin. Phainon’s unharmed hand keeps a knuckle-white hold of the single item with significance to him. “Let’s get this fixed, then.”

Phainon doesn’t even think about protesting when he’s tugged up, another small hiss leaving him at the pressure on his burns. He allows Nanook to take him to the kitchen, pouring lukewarm water over the injury. They then push him back to sit on the couch. The way they take care of his hand is gentle, and Phainon can almost mistake it for tenderness.

Almost.

“There,” they pack the salve and bandages back into the first aid kit, likely still nearby from having to tend to the wounds on his soles. Phainon turns his hand around to inspect the way it was treated. He hates to admit it’s done well.

“Why do you keep me here…” his voice sounds distant, even to his own ears. He’s still coming down from the terror of almost losing the only thing that’s still mostly 𝘩𝘪𝘴. “Why did you bring me back…”

Nanook’s expression doesn’t change. “Because no one wants you.”

Phainon shakes his head. “You’re lying.”

“Why would I?”

“Because you want to keep me here.”

“I want to keep you here because no one else wants you with them,” Nanook continues. “You were brought to the lab because you were alone. You had nothing, still have nothing.”

“No,” Phainon clenches his fists. “No, you’re lying. I have- I had Mydei, he wants me around, he-”

“Does not care about you,” Nanook cuts in, though their voice hasn’t shifted in tone. “Don’t you think he would’ve come looking for you if he did? When Lygus told me about your dreams, he requested more information, so I sent someone to investigate. Do you know what they reported back?”

They wait for Phainon to answer. When he doesn’t, they continue.

“Mydei is not missing anything,” they say slowly as if to make sure Phainon hears every word clearly. “He is not missing you, he doesn’t even seem to think of you. There is no one out there who wants you around. You can try to run, but no one will help you. Do you know why?”

Phainon remains silent. He’d block out Nanook’s voice if he could.

“Because they will think that you are broken,” they add. “They will only see you for what you can turn into, and they will call you a monster for it. You wouldn’t make it out there, not without my help.”

“I don’t need your help. You don’t care about me.”

“So you would have tended to your injuries yourself?” Nanook raises a brow. “Would I have done this if I didn’t care about you?”

Phainon scoffs, trying in vain to push down the small voice telling him that Nanook is 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, that he really is nothing more than a broken freak. That no one is looking for him, that the only place he can belong now is here. Not even at the lab, because why would they simply let Nanook take Phainon along? Had he also become useless for even their experiments?

“You should go to your room to get some rest,” Nanook stands up again, casting Phainon another glance. “Dinner is at the same time, but I will have it brought to your room if you don’t come out.”

Phainon waits until their footsteps recede before he also rises to his feet. The pain in his soles is more dull now, and he can barely feel the blisters on his hand. When he reaches his room, he closes the door behind him and sits on his bed.

The sketchbook, now decorated by scorch marks, lies before him. He uses his uninjured hand to gently flip burned pages. Most of the edges have been eaten by the fire, leaving a charred outline. He trails the tips of his fingers over the sketches he’d made of his dreams.

Maybe Nanook is right, maybe the images he sees in his sleep is just his brain trying to cope with the fact that there’s no one waiting for him, searching for him. He flips another page. It’s the dream where he’d sat on the counter, with Mydei baking a new pastry.

A tear drops onto the page, and then another, soaking into the paper.

Phainon wipes his face with the back of his hand. Despite blinking, he can’t push back the tears, and neither can he stop the quiet hiccups that follow.

When he goes to sleep that night, there are no dreams to sketch.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

This is stupid, this is stupid and he’s going to get caught and who knows what will happen to him then, he should just go back to his room and forget about this stupid plan of his because it’s going to bring him nothing but trouble-

Phainon’s eyes flit over the screen, trying to make sense of what all the icons mean. Nanook had been working on their laptop during dinner but when they’d gotten up, the device was left open. Phainon had moved without thinking.

He had to know the truth. He had to know if they were speaking the truth, if Mydei truly isn’t looking for him.

But he doesn’t recognize nearly all of the apps, opening and closing at random, desperate for anything substantial, anything to give him hope. He clicks on a red icon with a P. It gives him something to make himself. He shuts it down again.

Phainon gives the doorway an occasional anxious glance, trying to hear if Nanook is coming back. When the house remains silent, he continues searching. He’s pretty sure he has opened every single app on the laptop, and he takes a deep breath.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚.

Phainon gives the icons another, more careful look. Pauses at a white and red one. M for messages? Nanook did say they received a report back. He had clicked on it already but it had taken too long to load.

The red circle keeps going for what feels like an eternity, Phainon’s leg anxiously bouncing as he waits. When it finally loads, he begins reading over the subjects of the messages.

Experiment log, experiment log, accountancy, experiment log, updates Blade, experiment log… 𝘐𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘴 '𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪'.

Phainon clicks open the message and reads over it.

“Twenty-seven… Lives in Okhema… Has a bakery…” Phainon mumbles to himself, reading the report out loud. He already knows the last part, though. “Large social group… Gather once a week, reasons unknown… ‘Mydei’ is not believed to be a hindrance…”

He trails off, staring at the screen. The words sway in front of him. One part of him keeps repeating that he was stupid for ever believing he’d be sought after, but another, albeit small voice tells him that those ‘unknown reasons’ for these gatherings are to find him. He can’t tell where that idea comes from. He figures it’s a gut feeling.

A second too long passes before he hears the footsteps returning, and Phainon scrambles to shut everything off. He leaves the laptop on like when he began snooping through it and moves to try and make it seem like he was just getting up to leave to his room.

Phainon likes to think he nailed that when Nanook appears in the doorway. They don’t even spare Phainon a glance before they return to the table, their hand resting on top with the intention of closing it. He tries to convince himself he only imagines the furrow in their brow as he makes his way to leave.

“Phainon.”

There goes his plan.

“Yes…?” he slowly turns his head, looking back at Nanook. Their back is still facing them, face lit up by the screen.

“Did you go through my laptop?” they ask, as if questioning Phainon about the weather outside.

He freezes. He shut everything off, right? Yeah, he’s sure of it. He did.

“No,” he answers after a moment’s hesitation. Nanook simply hums and closes the laptop, leaving it on the table as they turn to face Phainon.

“No?” they repeat. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Phainon nods with what he hopes is enough certainty to convince both of them.

“I could have sworn I left the search engine open,” they hum.

Phainon glances away from their scrutinizing gaze. “Maybe you accidentally closed it.”

“Maybe,” Nanook shrugs. “Or maybe you closed it in a hurry.”

Phainon feels his heartbeat speed up. There’s no point in denying what Nanook clearly already knows, so why try? He turns back around, putting up an annoyed expression.

“So what if I did? Maybe I was just curious. There’s only so much I can do here.”

“There’s plenty of things you can do here.”

“Oh yeah?” Phainon raises a brow. “Like what? I’m on my own most of the time.”

“You can ask the staff to keep you company,” Nanook suggests bluntly.

“I don’t want someone who’s only here because they’re paid to be,” Phainon scoffs. “I want 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 company.”

“And what is ‘real company’ then?” Nanook crosses their arms over their chest. “Do you want me to bring someone else from the lab here?”

“Maybe,” Phainon nods. “Can’t you bring Arlan or Dan Heng here?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Do you really think I would give you a companion after this?” Nanook raises a brow. “I thought it’d have sunk in by now that doing things I don’t like has consequences.”

“I checked your laptop once to see if I could maybe find a companion!” Phainon lifts his arms in an exasperated movement. “You just keep me here for yourself, I see no one else but the people 𝘺𝘰𝘶 bring over. This isn’t caring about me, you isolate me!”

Nanook’s jaw ticks. Phainon steps back, already regretting his words. They uncross their arms, slowly walking towards Phainon until his back hits the wall and he has nowhere left to hide.

“I’ve been 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 tolerant to your attitude during your stay here. You think this is isolating you?” their eyes are harsh when they look down at Phainon. “I’ll show you isolation.”

They don’t give Phainon even a second to try and figure out what that means, before they have a death grip on his hair and all but drag him along. He’s too focused on keeping up and making sure his head isn’t torn off – because it feels like that’s Nanook’s goal – to notice the way they’re taking.

The stairs are hard to descend when he’s not released, and combined with the fast pace Phainon barely makes it without falling down the steps. It’s dark and colder here, but he’s holding Nanook’s wrist in an attempt to pry their hand off or at the very least loosen their grip.

Phainon stumbles and falls down onto the cold concrete when Nanook forcefully lets go of his hair. He moves to sit up on his knees, turning his head to look at Nanook.

“Let’s see how you find real isolation,” their tone drips with venom before the door slams shut. Phainon hears the lock click into place and their footsteps ascend the stairs.

The silence that follows is deafening.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

“What do you think I’ll get to eat tonight?”

…

“Yeah, probably the same thing I got yesterday… or the day before that… It’s been three days now, right?”

…

“Probably. I don’t really know when a day ends and a new one begins. Not like there’s many windows here.”

…

“Speaking of, how do 𝘺𝘰𝘶 survive here with no windows?”

…

“Alright, keep your secrets. I’m sure I’ll see how eventually.”

He sighs, looking away from the corner. The spider he’d been talking to remains still in its web. It’s been his only company since he was brought down here. Food had been pushed through a slot at the bottom of the door, as well as regular bottles of water. It was nothing to look up from, all of it tastes plain.

So far, Phainon’s circadian rhythm has been regular, so he has been able to somewhat count the time. He’s not sure how much longer that’s going to last, though, with no windows or clocks to indicate the hour.

There is nothing in this room besides Phainon himself, and maybe the sorry excuse for a bed in the corner of the room and a bucket. He has nothing to entertain himself with.

Hence the spider, who has been lovingly dubbed Charlotte.

It’s not 𝘢𝘭𝘭 bad, really. He’s not constantly around staff that doesn’t care about him, he doesn’t have to share dinners with Nanook, he doesn’t have to meet whoever they bring over…

He just doesn’t have anyone but himself and Charlotte to talk to. That’s fine. He can handle that. Surely Nanook isn’t planning to keep him down here for too long, right?

The sound of metal moving makes Phainon sit upright, a dull ache in his back from lying on the floor. He’s just in time to see the slot close again, a new plate of food having been pushed inside. He stands up and walks over, only to sit down next to the plate. Plain bread and soup, again. With another deep sigh, he starts eating, and then goes to sleep to kill some time.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

“You’re humming.”

“Hm? Oh, sorry. Did you want me to stop?”

Mydei regards him with a soft smile. “No,” he shakes his head slightly, flame tipped hair falling over his eyes.

Phainon turns his head to look back up at the ceiling. The floor is still cold and uncomfortable but he’s gotten used to it now. His arms lay spread on either side, and he’s not sure how long he hasn’t moved.

“I don’t even know where I heard this song from,” Phainon continues. “I just… know it. Maybe I heard it when it was played somewhere. I like the tune.”

Mydei remains quiet.

“Do you think maybe I learned it from you?” Phainon glances up at him again. “You know, before I… before…”

Mydei reaches out, brushing the backs of his fingers over Phainon’s cheek. “Maybe.”

“It’s a nice thought,” Phainon murmurs, leaning into the little amount of contact. He’ll take anything at this point.

“Is it still snowy outside?” he asks, if only to fill the heavy silence.

Mydei waits for a second before he answers. “I don’t know.”

Furrowing his brows, Phainon sits upright. He turns his upper body to look at Mydei. “What do you mean ‘you don’t know’? You’re outside, you can see it everyday.”

“Phainon,” Mydei begins, a somber look overtaking his eyes. “You’re right. I am outside. Not in here. I can’t tell you.”

Oh.

Disappointment flashes over Phainon’s features but it’s gone within a blink. “I see.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s my own fault that I’m down here,” Phainon gives a forced smile. “I’m glad you’re not stuck in here too.”

The muffled sound of footsteps catches his attention. Phainon looks over at the door, watching the slot open and another plate shoved in. “Looks like dinner is here.”

When he turns back to look at Mydei, there’s no one to be seen.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

Mydei’s hand is warm as it cups his face. Phainon can only imagine how comfortable he would be to lay with. He’s pretty sure just his body heat is enough to fight back the cold in his bones.

“Let go, Phainon,” his voice is a soothing murmur. “You’re hurting yourself. Come on, let go.”

Phainon releases the death grip he had on his arms. He doesn’t bother looking at the bruises, already aching where his fingers had dug into his skin. He reaches out, palms hovering over Mydei’s cheeks but not quite touching, never touching.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t… I don’t like the dark anymore…”

Mydei leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Phainon imagines it’s also warm. “I know. It’s okay. Just hold on a little longer, okay?”

Phainon nods, slowly. “Okay.”

Mydei’s fingertips skim over the bruises, but they don’t hurt when he touches them. Phainon can almost forget they’re even there with how gently Mydei treats them.

“Try not to hurt yourself, alright?” his tone is tinged with worry. Phainon feels bad for making him concerned.

“Alright,” he echoes. Mydei raises his hands to Phainon’s face again, running his thumbs over Phainon’s cheekbones. Phainon leans into the touch, starved from it. He closes his eyes and murmurs.

“Please don’t leave me…”

“... I won’t.”

~~~~~☆~~~~~

The days start blending into each other, and Phainon can’t even begin to guess what time it is. Every meal seems to come at different intervals, sometimes hours apart and sometimes only minutes later.

How much longer does he have to stay here? Did they forget about him? No, he’s still getting food and water… Did 𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪 forget about him? Has he stopped looking?

… Has he 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 looking?

Phainon pushes himself up. There he sits, like always, next to Phainon like he’s keeping watch.

“You’re still here,” he mumbles tiredly. Mydei looks at him, soft as ever.

“I told you I wouldn’t leave you.”

“Hard to leave something when you’ve never been with it.”

Mydei frowns. “Phainon, I-”

“Did you ever look for me?” he interrupts. “Did you even notice I was gone? Or were you just glad I wasn’t burdening your life anymore?”

“You never were a burden, Phainon,” Mydei answers. “I’ve been searching for you since the day you went missing.”

Phainon can’t take it anymore. He stands, and with him so does Mydei. “Then why haven’t you found me already? Why didn’t you try harder? I was waiting for you!”

“I 𝘢𝘮 still looking for you,” Mydei takes a step closer, only to pause when Phainon steps back. “It’s just more difficult than I thought, but I promise-”

“Liar!” Phainon snaps. “You’re not looking for me, you never were! Fuck, I was so 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 for ever thinking you cared about me, I-”

“Phainon-”

“No! No, you don’t get to ‘Phainon’ me!” he grits his teeth. “I’ve been waiting for 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, and you never showed up! 𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳! You left me to rot while you continued to enjoy your life!”

“That’s not how it is!”

“You’re just saying that!” Phainon covers his ears like it can stop the thunderous heartbeat in them. “Well, I hope you’re happy, 𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪, because I never want to see you again!”

Mydei pauses, the hand he’d reached out dropping slightly. His voice is too soft for Phainon to take. “You don’t mean that.”

“Get out! Leave me alone!” Phainon continues, sinking to his knees. He clutches at his head, fingers roughly threading through his own hair. “Get the fuck away from me! Leave!”

There’s no response. Phainon remains motionless for a few long moments. When he finally realizes what he’d said, he gasps, quickly looking up. “Mydei, I-”

The room is empty, and he is alone again.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

Charlotte hasn’t moved much from her spot on the web. Phainon has been staring at her since breakfast and she hasn’t so much as twitched.

Maybe she really couldn’t survive down here.

Slowly, Phainon extends his pinky finger. He gently taps the web, making it tremble. Charlotte doesn’t react.

“No,” he whispers, feeling his throat close up. “No, don’t leave me too… Please… 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦…”

It’s been too long. He’s already lost Mydei, he can’t lose this too. No one has entered his cell, and he doubts anyone will. His vision grows blurry, the shape of the web distorting through the tears filling his eyes, streaming down his face. He lifts a hand to cover his mouth, to muffle his hitching breaths.

He shouldn’t be crying over this, Charlotte was a 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 for fuck’s sake. And yet she was the one who’d kept him the most company.

He weeps long enough to miss both lunch and dinner.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

It’s dark and it’s so, so cold, it seeps through his clothes and into his bones. The shadows crawl towards him like they want to take place in his head, take over his mind. He’s so tempted to shift into demiurge purely for the warmth but he doesn’t even have the energy for that left.

Phainon presses on the sides of his head hard enough to hurt.

He has nothing. No one to talk to, no one to turn to for comfort. Only the barren walls of his cell and the meals shoved inside every day keep him company. Charlotte’s web is still there, collecting dust.

He cries, he thinks. His body is shaking and shivering and he feels so very alone.

The silence is loud and filled with unintelligible whispers that murmur in his ears no matter how much he tries to cover them. They seep into his brain and settle there, nearly drowning out the noise of the slot opening. He perks up at the sound.

Maybe if he’s quick-

“Wait!” he rushes over to the door, the food left untouched as he knocks loudly on the surface. “Come back! Please!"

There’s no response. It’s deathly silent, the whispers having died down when he’d moved to get up. He slides down to his knees. “Please…”

He doesn’t try to hold back his sobs. Why would he? There’s no one who can see. His food grows cold as he cries, hunched over as small as he can manage.

“𝘔𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘪, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦… 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬…”

~~~~~☆~~~~~

𝘛𝘩𝘶𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘶𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘶𝘥.

Phainon’s head hurts but he doesn’t stop knocking against the door. He hasn’t slept in who-knows-how-long, and he hasn’t touched his food either. Every time he thinks he hears someone approaching, he yells and claws at the door until his fingers bleed. He pleads, 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘴 for whoever is outside to let him out, that he’s sorry, that he’ll do better, that he’ll behave, that he’ll be 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥-

He is always met with silence.

He’s had enough, he just wants to leave, he’ll do anything to leave. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, weeks or even months- He’ll even take Yaoshi’s affection if it means having contact with 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦.

But no one answers his pleas, and Phainon is left to rot in the dark.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

The lock opens with a click and it’s enough to pull him from his half-slumber.

Phainon scrambles upright from his slumped position near the door. He doesn’t stand, doesn’t think he has the energy nor the will to.

The light is too much for his eyes, even when it’s relatively dim. He’d cry of relief if he had any tears left in his body.

Nanook crouches down in front of him, reaching out a hand to card through his hair. Phainon melts into the touch, a small sob escaping him.

“Think you learned your lesson now?” they ask quietly, but even that sounds loud to Phainon’s ears. He lets out a soft whimper and nods.

“So, you know your place, then?”

Phainon nods.

“Then tell me, Phainon,” Nanook looks down at him. “Where do you belong?”

His breath hitches, and a quiet whine makes its way out of his throat.

“Say it.”

He couldn’t fight it even if he wanted to.

“... I belong with you.”