Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Khaslana wakes up to total darkness. 

Even without the aide of light to signal the arrival of a new day, he forces his eyes to adjust to his dimly lit surroundings. For him, consciousness comes suddenly and without hesitation. One moment, his eyes are closed and the next, they’re wide open and fully alert. This time, too, feels no different from being jolted awake from a night of dreamless sleep.

Golden eyes snap open as Khaslana draws in a sharp inhale, shattering the illusion of tranquil repose, too accustomed to a life of battle to ever truly let down his guard for even a moment. There's no rest for the wicked, so there will be no rest for him either. 

As usual, his moment of unconsciousness was not restful in the slightest, the kind that felt like he had only been out for a few minutes instead of a few hours. 

But maybe that was a good thing.

His brief moments of awareness quickly give way to anger. The burn of it still boils in his blood. Khaslana lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. His claws clench into tight fists, using immense self-control to will his onslaught of righteous fury down to a simmer. He won’t let it overpower him, not now. Not yet. 

How long has he been out? He wracks his brain, forcing himself to remember anything. Any hints, any clues, any details that could be of use. The last thing that had happened, the last thing he felt, the last thing he saw—

Lygus.

The name brings with it a fresh surge of rage. The last memory he has is of the raised hand of the traitorous Antikytheran and his evil maniacal laugh echoing endlessly in his ears. An orb of black and red squares danced at his fingertips, shifting the world around him to his whim before engulfing Khaslana's broken body to transport him somewhere. Someplace where Amphoreus would be out of his reach, somewhere too far away to be of any help.

Lygus had done something to him. He had put him into a forced sleep just before he sent him away. Vivid images of red lines and black pixels had eaten away at him, taken over his mind and his body. And he had been so tired, so exhausted. His limbs had felt so heavy, he couldn’t move, couldn’t fight back any longer. When the corrupted systemic data finally overtook his vision, it all turned to pitch black. 

And now he's here. 

He looks around. Khaslana finds himself someplace completely unfamiliar. Before him is a dark hallway formed by thick walls lined endlessly with the same rectangular paneling. The decorations that must've been hanging there are either missing or in complete disarray. A potted plant toward the end of the hall has been knocked over, its shattered ceramic container scattered across the walkways alongside trampled leaves and broken stems. 

There are slivers of metal bracketing the floor-to ceiling-windows to his left, their design distinctly futuristic and untouched by the surrounding chaos. When he looks out, it looks like the room is suspended in the empty vastness of space, floating in the middle of nowhere.

Whatever building he's in is powered by technology he’s never seen before. From here, everything surrounding him looks to be made up of plastics layered with metal, forming a giant box around him. Only the fluorescent bulbs from the ceiling flicker on intermittently, clearly broken or on their way there as they cast the path before him in an eerie light.

Luckily, Khaslana has no issues seeing in the dark, so he presses on. The hallways are long, but not endlessly so. It's not until he turns the first corner that he pauses, his movements stopping completely.

This hallway is identical to the last, only the panels of flooring that make up the long path before him are stained a dark and crusty red. It’s blood, and a lot of it too. The spilled mess is dried up now, nearly brown with how much time has passed.

There are corpses here. Quite a few.

The dead line the sides of the walkway, some with bodies contorted in agony while some lay still and silent, as if sleeping. They were all human by the looks of it, innocent people who had only been trying to live their lives.

Images of his hometown in ruins flash before Khaslana's eyes, briefly glitching and overlapping with the gruesome scene before him. He blinks hard to dispel the ghosts of his past, unable to differentiate their suffering from the souls snuffed out in front of him. They all lie before him now, his family, his friends, his countrymen. All collapsed at his feet, eyes closed and unmoving.

Once his head clears, all that's left is a lingering, haunting silence. All he can do for them now is move on. Keep going, and don’t look back.  

A part of him hates how apathetic he's grown to it all.  

But he has already seen it for himself, has already experienced it firsthand. Countless times. Millions upon millions of times. The same damn thing, over and over and over.

When his Aedes Elysiae had been overrun by the black tide and he escaped with a handful of other survivors, it had looked much like this during their long journey.

When his part of the Flame Chase Journey was coming to an end, the crumbling streets of the holy city of Okhema had turned into devastating scenes much like this.

He never looked back. 

With the end of the world fast approaching, he had nothing left when he finally did. When he finally took the time to look back, there was only Khaos. With nothing but absolute devotion to his duty was he able to numb the agony that he wrought to those around him.

Death and Destruction followed him with every step he took, and continued to surround him even when he started turning a blind eye to it. It always looks the same, no matter where he goes. 

Even the creatures here look similar to the ones that had risen from the black tide. He steps closer to a pile of monstrous-looking bodies shoved off to one side, exercising due caution investigating the remnants left behind. From what he could tell from examining the severed torsos and the dismembered parts, they look practically the same to the black tide creatures he has spent lifetimes fighting against.

Limbs covered with thick black shells that shielded mutated flesh underneath. The coverings were as hard as stone or maybe bone, almost like an insect’s exoskeleton. Some have legs like animals, or spikes and horns like beasts. He takes in a few bashed-in helmets littered on the side of the hall as he walks by, silently observing the obvious dents and splintering cracks in their dark armor. Some even have their monstrous heads still attached to their decapitated helmets. 

Out of old habit, Khaslana kneels to check the body of an unfortunate victim leaning against the shell of a shattered monster, hoping for any signs of life. She was little more than a child and hadn't passed in a pool of her own blood like the others. And…

She had looked to be around Cyrene’s age, if not younger, so he had wanted to take that chance, no matter how slim.

From one touch, though, he realizes she was already lost to the chilling hands of Death. Her skin was cold, icy to the touch. Any warmth, any life that was once within her is now long gone. His blood feels like ice in his veins before the familiar burn of anger flares in his chest, an ever-burning flame that can never be extinguished. His hatred rears its ugly head at the sheer injustice of it all. 

He has seen enough. For this stranger, too, he will burn.

He will burn until his enemies are reduced to ash, or until he perishes first. It’s all he knows how to do now. There is still work to be done. He stands and presses onward. He follows a path cleared of monster parts and scattered corpses without batting an eye. His heart has already been hardened by the horrors of the Destruction. 

He keeps going. 

After turning many more corners after that, Khaslana can almost see that a path has been carved from the carnage. It becomes more obvious the more he keeps walking that someone has been here before, and has fought their way through. He can't be sure if it had been an enemy or an ally, or if they're even still alive for him to find out. 

There’s too much he doesn’t know. 

The broken hero stops at one of the huge windows, pressing a clawed hand against several thick layers of clear acrylic. All he sees outside is darkness, like an endless night that lasts forever. The void seems to blanket the universe in emptiness as far as the eye can see. The only form of light from that vast beyond comes from tiny dots speckled in the far-off distance. 

He's somewhere beyond the sky, Khaslana knows that much. Somewhere far away from Amphoreus. Maybe he's stuck in some corner of the world only Lygus knows about, sequestered here for the next eternity. Just the thought leaves him enraged enough to unconsciously gouge deep jagged scratches into the window.

Khaslana considers the consequences of breaking out of this containment. If Lygus sent him to this facility to keep him trapped, to torture him with an endless looping hallway of horrific scenes of death and destruction from which he can’t escape, then there’s a part of him, the reckless and impulsive side of him that's still alive and kicking, that wants to break free.

He will find his way back to Amphoreus at any and all cost, even if he has to wander alone through the vast expanse of space. 

Aimless wandering would be a waste of time, though, especially when the world he’s now in is so unfamiliar. Whether he can even travel through space unhindered is not something he can easily test without wagering his life. He doesn't even know how far away he is from his destination, or which direction to take to get there.

But he has to get back soon. Amphoreus is still in danger. Irontomb’s arrival may be imminent, and he cannot allow Lygus’s plans to come to fruition.

He hasn't forgotten he already entrusted the role of Deliverer to Caelus, and the fate of Amphoreus to the Nameless. But if the Trailblazers and his fellow Chrysos Heirs need help, he has to be there. Even if he’s nothing more than a dying ember that refuses to be snuffed out, he can still be of use.

He can still make use of the last of his fire, the final moments of his burning rage, to take his enemies down with him. 

Khaslana grits his teeth, the Antikytheran‘s mechanical laugh reverberating in his skull and echoing in his mind again. Against a conniving enemy like Lygus, he’ll show no mercy. He can't have that laugh be the last thing he ever hears from his homeworld, not when help was coming and their victory is just within reach.

He has to hurry.

Khaslana moves to raise his arm, drawing upon the power within his golden blood to command the earth and sky, charging the power of his halos. He prepares to summon a slew of meteors to break open this giant metal box he's stuck in by brute force, until—

Crash! 

Sounds of violence further down the hall interrupt his focus.

Khaslana stops once he hears a shout, distracted now that he hears weapons clashing from around the next corner. Something heavy slams against the far wall before crashing to the ground in a heap.

Inorganic screeches of black tide creatures are quickly followed by jeering taunts and more weapons colliding. There's a twanging sound of metal hitting something hard, smashing and breaking things. 

It gives Khaslana pause. He hadn’t even considered that there might still be people here fighting for their lives. He had been hasty in assuming the fight was already over. 

He lowers his arm. 

He tries not to think about how he could've just doomed the last survivors of this place to their deaths had he followed through. He can't bring himself to feel guilty about it, although he already knows his past self would've already started wallowing in guilt by now. There's no time to waste for these petty feelings, not when there's action to be taken.

He doesn't want to hurt innocents if he can help it. He’s not like the monsters of the black tide, not a willing follower of the Path of Destruction. And he’s nothing at all like Nanook. Unlike his enemies, he will try to save every life he can. 

Khaslana makes his way down the hall, sticking close to the inner wall. The last thing he wants is to alert new enemies or startle someone in the midst of fighting. A single mistake in battle could be deadly. Whoever these people are may also mistake him for a threat. For now, he has to wait and see what he’s up against.  

He plans to assist if he sees anyone on the backfoot against the black tide, but it seems like he might not be needed at all.

The next thing hears is a jeering "Take this!" as he gets closer. Something viciously collides against the armored shell of a monstrous creature. Khaslana peeks around the corner just in time to see a warped body crack and splinter apart like glass under the force of whatever hit it. He can see the spray of indigo-black fragments of its shattered body fly across the room in a mess of shards and dust. Then comes the low grunt of a second person in the fight as well. 

Khaslana is careful not to show himself, pressing his back against the wall again. The enemy really is a creature corrupted by the black tide, only with thicker armor, thinner limbs, and more legs. They look weaker than the ones he’s used to seeing, less bulky muscle and more spindly bone encased in thick shells. The next time he takes a look, he sees two peoples’ backs to him, clearly locked in a heated battle. 

A man with long black hair is blocking the raised bladed arm of a black tide monster with what looks to be a broken sword. In moments, he easily shoves the creature’s offending limb away, breaking their deadlock to slash both of his opponent’s armored arms off in the time it takes to blink. 

The shorter one next to him winds up with a bent metal pipe, like he's holding a baseball bat. Khaslana can't see his features, obscured by the hood he has on. 

…but the pattern on the back of his black jacket and the loose dangle of yellow ribbons decorating it look awfully familiar. 

These details, however, become nothing more than a blur as that figure puts his whole body into his next swing. He’s strong. The blunt force knocks the head of his opponent a full 180 degrees with a brutal kind of flourish. 

The black tide creature collapses onto its four knees, falling to dust as the other hurriedly warps away with a deafening  screech, crumpling in on itself in its haste to enter the portal it opened. 

With the battle over, Khaslana steps out from behind the wall to show himself, only hesitating once he hears—

"…Not enough." The taller man says tersely, his voice low and as coarse as gravel. He looks at the mess of leftover creature limbs left at their feet with indifference before starting to wrap his shattered sword in layers of white bandages, clearly finished here. 

His companion turns to give him a nod in agreement. But with this angle, his back is still to Khaslana. It’s hard for him to get a clear glimpse of his face. 

But his voice…

Just hearing him speak is enough to make Khaslana stand stock-still, frozen in place.

"Tch, yeah. This much is nowhere near enough," that familiar voice says, probably coupled with a cocky grin that Khaslana can already picture in his mind’s eye.

Caelus. 

He knows that voice, he'd know it anywhere. He’s the true Deliverer of Amphoreus, after all. His name is one that’s branded into his very soul. His hero, his savior, his star from beyond the sky. The one meant to deliver them all to a new dawn.

Khaslana unconsciously takes a step forward, and as he does so, the tension of his body releases. He had his initial suspicions, but to see them confirmed is another thing entirely. Hearing that voice is akin to lifting an invisible weight from his shoulders.

But even with the immense relief he feels, uncertainty pools in the bottom of his gut as confusion gnaws at the back of his mind. 

What was he doing here? 

This entire situation is impossible, his inner thoughts warn. Seeing Caelus here should be impossible. The realization of what this means makes Khalana still again, icy doubt taking root. And it’s that suspicion that roots him in place.

He shouldn’t be here. Why wasn't he in Amphoreus? 

This has to be a trap.

It’s impossible for Caelus to be here, but it’s not impossible to make it look like he’s here. Using some kind of projection or imaging technology, maybe. Khaslana doesn’t doubt he could be looking at a holographic illusion, some fake augmented reality crafted by Lygus to fool him. Khaslana takes a step backwards, drawing Dawnmaker.  

"There’s no way only killing this few can be enough to draw out a Lord Ravager," Caelus continues, clearly sounding skeptical as he kicks away the enemy’s severed arm with vehemence. "The Legion's already finished raiding the place. There's no way the last small fries like these would call for reinforcements." 

"Hmph," the man with long dark hair crosses his arms, keeping his wrapped blade tucked into the crook of his elbow. He turns away without a word, closing his eyes as if what his companion said is of no concern to him.

As Blade turns from Caelus in clear dismissal, he just so happens to face the end of the hallway where Khaslana had been approaching from. When he blinks his eyes open, dark red lock onto glowing gold, standing just a short distance away. 

Blade, ..!

They both freeze. 

Khaslana, …

Blade, …

If he’s startled, he hides it well. Only the slight widening of blood-red eyes and the subtle tensing of his posture reveals any hint of the surprise Blade must feel. 

Meanwhile, Khaslana stands motionless, shifting onto his back foot as he curses internally. He shouldn’t have let himself get caught that easily. Not that he had been making any effort to hide, but still. He has no choice now. Trying to hide now would only draw suspicion.

He takes a tentative step out into open space, showing himself to prove he's not a threat. He’s not trying to sneak up on them. He makes sure to sheath and dissolve Dawnmaker into a mass of particles within view too.

He didn't mean to reveal himself so soon. It was little more than a momentary lapse in judgement on his part. Khaslana planned to stay back and watch from afar for more clues before showing himself. If these two turned out to be creations made by Lygus, he would’ve cut them down the first chance he got.

He might have just walked into a trap, lured in like an oblivious sailor to a siren’s song.

Such a metaphor isn’t too far off…

After all, he had been so startled by hearing that voice that he nearly forgot about the situation he was in. His voice was just so exceedingly familiar. It was one that he knew so well, the one he didn’t hesitate to put his absolute faith into.

Just hearing it made him let his guard down, and he only has himself to blame.

"Fine, I’ll take my complaints to someone else." Caelus, the very owner of that voice, grumbles from beside the shocked-still Blade.

He still hasn't noticed Khaslana standing there yet. Caelus ignores his companion’s nudge to the shoulder, not even bothering to look up when Blade tries to get his attention.

"I'm already giving Kafka a call, just gimme a sec." 

He’s taken out a black device from his jacket pocket, fully devoted to pressing the invisible buttons on its circular screen. Instead of the familiar metal bat Khaslana has grown used to associating with the Trailblazer in combat, he sees him holding a steel pipe in his other hand instead. He eyes it wearily. It's covered in dust and grime and looking worse for wear, no doubt from their previous fight. Did he lose his precious bat?

As Khaslana ponders, Caelus does something to the communication device to make it float, keeping it hovering at his shoulder as the sound of a call starts to connect. 

Khaslana takes a few steps forward, his attention entirely on Caelus. When he tilts his head slightly, he can make out a head full of familiar gray hair from underneath his hood. His expression is so focused, he’s even striking the same thinking pose he does when he’s trying to concentrate. His hand rests lightly against his chin, scrutinizing the screen on his device when his call doesn’t go through.

Is it actually him?

Khaslana takes another step towards them, only an arm’s length away now. The hooded boy is still tapping away on their communicator as Blade elbows him roughly. 

"He’s here…” he mutters dryly when the shorter boy finally looks up at him. At Caelus's indignant glare, Blade gestures towards Khaslana with a swift tilt of his head, his long red earring swinging lightly with the motion.

Their eyes finally meet, gold greeting gold.

Partner…

Khaslana wants to call for him, but his voice catches in his throat before a single word can come out. It's really him, in the flesh. Caelus is right here, right in front of him. There's so much he wants to say, so many questions he wants answers to. 

But he has to stop himself. Even the one word he wants to say never gets the chance to leave his lips. 

Because when Caelus finally looks up at him, there's no recognition in his eyes. All he sees is muted, lifeless gold that widen when they see his in alarm.

He doesn’t remember.

After the initial flinch of surprise, his startled look shifts into a battle-hardened glare, weary with caution. He looks at him like a stranger, a threat, or maybe even an enemy. Uncharacteristically cold and guarded, nothing like the bold and brazen Caelus who would smile at him with a determined grin that shone with excitement, brimming with ambition to save the world. 

When Khaslana tries to take another aborted half-step towards them, his eyes widen as Caelus even brandishes his pipe at him. 

"Not another step." Caelus narrows his eyes, not hesitating for a moment to take a combative stance. He only stops when Blade gives him a faintly disapproving look, using his sword to make Caelus point his weapon down and away from Khaslana, exuding a dark aura that silently wills him to stand down.

The glances the two of them exchange must speak volumes because Caelus bristles incredulously at Blade with a ferocious side-eye, communicating his displeasure with tense frowns and furrowed brows, the both of them not exchanging a single word. 

Khaslana looks between them, trying to decipher a language it seems only he isn't privy to. 

"Him?" Caelus finally sputters after several excruciating seconds of silence, his voice full of disbelief.

What in Kephale's name was that supposed to mean? Khaslana tries his best not to feel offended, managing to keep a straight face even as Caelus gestures to his whole being. "He's the one from the Script?" 

The sharp look Blade gives him must be enough of an answer. Caelus lowers his weapon and finally turns to acknowledge Khaslana, though his attitude is far from friendly. 

“You. Emanator. Or Lord Ravager, or whatever,” Caelus levels him with a fierce look, pointing directly at his face with an accusing finger. He somehow manages to appear threatening despite being a head and a half shorter than him. “You're coming with me.”

Khaslana knocks away the offending finger with a casual sweep of his hand. He has no idea what’s going on, but if that’s what he wants, it wouldn’t hurt to play along.

”Fine by me. Lead the way.” 

The next several minutes are spent following behind them, trying to follow along with their stilted, one-sided conversation. The one known as Blade clearly isn’t much of a conversationalist, but that doesn’t stop Caelus. Another voice joins their trio once the communications device is able to connect the call. The little circular device has a speaker built in, and a woman’s voice is emitted. Caelus had called her Kafka. 

“You found him, I take it?” 

"Yeah, he’s here.” Caelus turns back to give Khaslana a wary look, as if to make sure he's still following them. His expression is still apprehensive. Khaslana doesn’t understand where his misgivings are coming from. He hasn’t done anything to hurt them at all.

He can’t stop thinking about the dim, almost distant look in Caelus’s eyes. The gold he sees there is not the same shade of gold as the one he remembers. His Caelus had eyes of shining gold, sparkling and bright like fractals, shining with gem-like radiance. The eyes of this Caelus are more dull, doll-like. Frostier, a little more grey than gold.

Khaslana can't help but wonder why.

Caelus quickly turns away once Khaslana's eyes meet his, his tone laced with obvious suspicion. “And he seems willing enough to come with us.”

He acts as if Khaslana is going to attack them at any moment. Were they expecting an ambush? To be fair, he had been planning to attack if they had turned out to be creations by Lygus, but it seems that’s not the case.

It seems his complacency was unexpected. Maybe to them, his easy agreement meant their plan is going too smoothly. Too easy, like it's too good to be true. 

Should he have put up more of a fight? 

"That’s good!" Kafka's cheery enthusiasm runs contrary to Khaslana’s line of thinking, but is unfortunately not a shared sentiment with Caelus.

"And that was pretty quick too. It looks like we can move onto the next part ahead of schedule." Kafka’s voice starts out calm and conversational, but her tone shifts into something more commanding as she gives them their next instructions.

"Bladie, take one of the skyships from the vehicle bay—preferably an older model, who knows how many security cards those newer ones need to start up— and go onto the next phase. Remember, don’t use the navigation AI onboard. Silver Wolf will send you coordinates. Oh, and don't forget to leave your weapon behind. The security where you’re heading will be very thorough." 

The taller man gives a gruff grunt of acknowledgement. He glances at Caelus who shrugs one shoulder halfheartedly.

"Yeah, just leave it with me."

Before Kafka can continue, Blade unceremoniously yanks him back by one of his dangling yellow ribbons, knocking Caelus off balance and forcing him to stumble backwards into one of his arms. 

"What, right now??” Caelus squawks, barely putting up a struggle before relenting limply into Blade’s grip. “Ugh, fine.”

In the next moment, Blade points his wrapped sword directly to the center of the Trailblazer’s chest, and Khaslana's eyes grow wide. Much to his horror, Caelus doesn't even flinch as the tip of the blade hovers inches away from him, about to stab into him, about to pierce his heart—

Khaslana nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight, hesitating like a fool, paralyzed by indecision to take action to stop the madness unfolding before him. The suddenness, the sheer insanity and confusion of it all lost him precious seconds to react. It happened so fast that by the time he rushes forward, he's already too late.

Khaslana, !!

Panic gives way to mind-numbing shock. Khaslana can only stare in surprise as the sword disappears into him. There's no other way to describe it. Instead of drawing blood or cutting through Caelus’s shirt or digging into his flesh, it steadily vanishes into his chest cavity, passing through his clothing and going directly inside of his body.

It's like watching a magic trick, one that has Khaslana's attention captured in its entirety. He couldn’t take his eyes away, even if he wanted to. The whole length of the sword that should be piercing through his heart and poking through his other side doesn't pass through him at all. At least, not in a way that harms him.

The entire blade is taken into his chest, even the handle of it disappears within him. As the entire sword is stored away by this strange power, Caelus’s eyes are closed with an almost serene expression on his face. 

Then he opens his eyes, sighing dramatically as he does so. Blade unhands him then, allowing Caelus to right himself as he rubs a hand to his chest unfazed.

Blade goes to follow Kafka's instructions and leaves without looking back. 

"…What?" Caelus sounds miffed when he sees Khaslana’s expression once it’s just the two of them, clearly annoyed when he notices how intently he’s being stared at. "Never seen a Receptacle in action before?"

Khaslana doesn't reply, his lips still pursed in a worried line. He never knew. He's never even heard of the term ‘Receptacle’ before. Caelus never told him he had an ability like that. He's already seen how he can materialize his different weapons like the rest of them. He's seen him summon his bat to his hands just as easily as Khaslana materializes and dissolves Dawnmaker with his will, as if their weapons were extensions of themselves. 

"Oh, were you able to see it? It's a marvel, isn't it?" Kafka teases with a musical laugh, her words clearly making Caelus fluster in embarrassment. "You'd think by now he would have picked a signature weapon to assist him in battle, but noo~ That's an old habit of his. He picks up whatever junk he finds laying around and fights with it. Since he's a Receptacle, he gets to keep whichever one he wants. My my, how spoiled~" 

"I'm not spoiled, and it's not junk!" Caelus defends, his voice loud and childish as he turns away with an angry pout, mumbling. "I just...haven't found one I like yet."

Khaslana feels the corner of his lip tilt up inadvertently. He can’t help but recall that was the same expression Caelus had when they first met, just after he had taken his bat from him.

After they had become comrades in arms, he still remembers how proudly Caelus had shown him that bat. He had eagerly presented to him all of the artifacts and weapons he had amassed across all the different worlds he'd been to, all of the tools he used to save various planets from ruin.

“I’m sure you’ll find something soon,” Khaslana says, unable to stop himself from trying to comfort him. He truly hopes he’ll be able to cross paths with that bat in the near future. It would bring him one step closer to becoming the Trailblazing Caelus that Khaslana already knows and loves.

”Yeah, whatever.” Caelus brushes him off, still pouting. “Stop trying to make me feel better. It’s weird.” 

Seeing this frigid version of Caelus so emotional and defensive is quite endearing. Khaslana can’t help but soften, melancholic from nostalgia. Caelus’s hoarding habits sounds very much like the raccoons he’s heard Dan Heng talk about before. Little striped creatures that dig through garbage piles for the chance at finding hidden treasures. 

Khaslana breathes out an amused huff at the memory, the comparison making all the more sense now. Caelus immediately hears the sound and turns to glare at him with genuine hostility in his eyes. Suddenly, he’s no longer the vulnerable teenager from moments ago, no doubt offended at the hints of laughter he must see in Khaslana’s expression.

He's so unfriendly that it’s uncalled for. His combativeness is so immediate that he must truly not recognize Khaslana at all. If they're going to work together, this can't go on.

In an effort to gain his trust, Khaslana decides he will have to share some secrets of his own. He’ll have to tell him the truth of who he is, and that he means no harm. He'll be completely forthright with his reasons for arriving here, and then ask Caelus and his companions for help in returning home.

His story is by no means a happy one, but he’d be willing to tell Caelus about his—no, their— hero’s journey one more time. If that’s all it’ll take to jog his memory, he’ll tell it to him again and again. 

Khaslana stands next to Caelus now, reaching out and tugging on the back of his hood with careful fingers to take it off his tousled head, a move uncharacteristically gentle and tender even for him. Despite Caelus’s pinched expression at the motion, Khaslana wants to be able to see him in his entirety, to take in that face he hasn't seen in over a thousand years since their last parting. He smiles softly as that familiar fluffy gray hair comes fully into view, unable to help himself from ruffling it with fondness, with familiarity.

He missed him. He’s missed him so much.

He tries to move as gently as he can to get Caelus to look at him, catching his eye and holding his scornful stare without wavering. He tries looking past the indignity and the distrust simmering in his eyes, trying to see further into the heart of him. Even if the gold he sees there isn’t the exact same color or intensity as the Caelus who has saved him time and time again, their determination and hidden strength still capture his attention completely. They’re mesmerizing, and keep Khaslana entranced.

He really looks like Caelus in every way. But he doesn't remember anything that he should. He’s exactly the same person but different at the same time. It’s like looking into a mirror that's been inexplicably changed somehow, one that’s reflecting too deeply into the past.

This isn't his Caelus, at least not the one he knows.

But he will be, eventually.

So he tells him a story like how all stories are meant to be told, starting from the very beginning. 

…

When Lygus used his authority to remove NeiKos496 from the timeloop, the Intellitron only had one thought after the deed was done:

Finally.  

It was about time he got rid of him for good.

Khaslana had done the unthinkable, and had thrown his whole experiment into disarray. Such a meager existence within the cycles had not only earned the undivided attention of the Aeon of Destruction, but had managed to challenge THEIR authority and injure THEM as well. To meld with and harness the power of a single drop of an Aeon’s blood directly…

It’s a feat that’s absolutely unheard of, absolutely legendary.

There was no mistaking it.

Nanook had bestowed THEIR blessing upon lines of code, a mere side character within his experiment whose only purpose was to perish beneath the black tide once the last Coreflame was collected. With the power of that gaze, NeiKos496 had become real.

He had done the impossible, and acquired the power of Destruction to transform himself from electronic signals and digitized 0s and 1s into a real, living and breathing entity that existed within the physical realm, within the world of flesh and blood.

Into the world of Paths and Aeons, instead of Coreflames and Titans.  

As the System Administrator, Lygus had no choice but to banish him from the cycles entirely. He had done the same thing to that Trailblazing nuisance, after all.

What was it that he had called himself again..? Amphoreus's Deliverer? How laughable.

But for a threat on the same level as an Emanator of Destruction, Lygus knew he had to take extra precautions. He couldn’t just temporarily exile Khaslana. He had to do something more extreme, something more substantial than simply forcing him out of Amphoreus. 

His opportunity came around eventually.

After helping Dan Heng approach the silent Khaslana of the 33,550,336th cycle, all he had to do was watch and wait.

He waited for Khaslana to agree to help the Trailblazers, waited for Destruction to turn against Remembrance and strike at Evernight, waited for Khaslana to sacrifice himself for the umpteenth time to open a path to Terravox and to Caelus, still slumbering away within the tide of memoria. 

And, finally, wait for Dan Heng to leave so the Geniuses would stop monitoring him. All so he could investigate Khaslana’s whereabouts.

Because of course NeiKos496 didn’t die when he plunged into the Earth as a beam powered by golden blood and the holy light of dawn. Dan Heng thought he must’ve perished but, in truth, Khaslana was still very much alive. 

Lygus only knows because he was the one who found him after his pleasant chat with Anaxagoras. He was the one who found him on the verge of death, his body melding itself back together even after it should have been completely obliterated by that impact. It seems a body newly forged by Destruction cannot completely destroy itself. How ironic.  

At last, after waiting for so long, his chance had arrived.

Lygus may not be able to completely destroy a being who has fully incorporated the blood of an Aeon into his nerves and veins, but using his administrative powers to remove extrenuous variables from the system should be enough to send him away from here, never to return. Lygus was still a god in this world, and he could still wield his might to do anything within the confines of the experiment he designed.

At this moment, NeiKos496 is still a part of this system so Lygus will do the same thing he had done to the Trailblazer, and take him out. But he won’t just stop there. With Destruction’s seal on the memoria tide now broken, he can transport him anywhere through both time and space outside of Amphoreus, to any far-off timepoint that he can Remember.

Just as Khaslana regains consciousness, the shattered hero groans, no doubt in pain from unconsciously healing a body that refuses to die. Lygus laughs at his pitiful fate. He watches as Khaslana tries to get up, but his broken body will no longer heed his commands. He’s still repairing himself, but too slowly to stop what's about to happen.

Lygus intends to teleport him to some random spacetime, to send him to random coordinates within his memories where he will have to fend for himself. He’ll be so preoccupied with surviving in the real world, he won’t be able to return to Amphoreus.  

By the time he finds his way back, it’ll already be too late. 

Even on his last legs, Khaslana had still fought to the bitter end, glitching black pixels with scattered red squares engulfing his body with each passing second.

At the very last moment before Lygus could fully activate his administrative power, the hero of Amphoreus had culminated the final dregs of his strength in a last-ditch attempt to summon Dawnmaker, using its long reach to cut off the damned Theoros’s head one last time, just like he had in every cycle before.

But instead of collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut, this time, the Antikytheran’s body is still standing. It still moves. 

Lygus’s severed head laughs. He keeps laughing, maniacal and mechanical, as his body picks up his detached head and puts it back on, twisting it and clicking it back into place. The telltale cube of red and black spins in his hand as he approaches.

Khaslana sees red. 

But by then, it was already too late. He can’t move at all, not anymore. His body glitches in and out of existence, turning as heavy as lead while his vision is overtaken by red lines and black pixels before completely fading to nothingness. 

“Hmm. Sending him that far back might’ve been…a bit excessive,” Lygus muses to himself, nonplussed. After he’s done, he’s not afraid of speaking his mind aloud now that he’s left alone in a giant crater on the mountain stained gold with blood.

“But no matter. He won’t be able to make his way back here anytime soon.” 

...

Caelus smacks Khaslana's hand away. He doesn't appreciate his hair being messed with, and he can't say he likes having such sharp claws so close to his face. Who knows, a Lord Ravager like him might try and rip his head off given the first opportunity.

With how dangerous Emanators are, you never know. The way this Lord Ravager acts keeps Caelus on the defensive. He's got his guard all the way up, but he's also completely perplexed.

He shivers, chills running down his spine when this stranger treats him like an old friend despite having the appearance of his worst enemy. He touches him like the two of them are already familiar, giving him gentle smiles he doesn’t know what to do with, knowing looks that are so friendly and fond. 

What the hell? 

“Stop acting like you know me.” Caelus grouses through gritted teeth. He pointedly ignores the brief sting in his chest at the look of hurt that flashes for a moment in the Lord Ravager’s eyes. So brilliant, and so warm. Just as golden as the swirling pools of ichor gleaming from the inside of that ripped-open chest.

Does he even realize his torso has been torn open? He should fix that.

Whatever this man was made of is glowing with power akin to the sun and his entire being is just so, so bright. It's stunning and ethereal in a way, but glaringly obvious that he’s the furthest thing from human. Clearly, this Emanator is a creation of Nanook and has been sent here to Destroy them. He's even been made in the Aeon’s spitting image, gold blood and gold eyes and all.

Caelus refuses to relate to such a monster, no matter how tragic his origins may be. 

He can already see that Khaslana is ready to refute him, to protest against his harsh accusations, so Caelus shuts him down before he can get another word in, uncaring of how callous he sounds. This stranger must've been hit in the head if he thinks he'll become friends with a Lord Ravager just like that. 

“I've never met you, and I have no clue what you're talking about," Caelus snaps. "Don't go adding me into your stupid little story!" 

"Now, now. Play nice. He's going to be an important part of our upcoming operations after all." That motherly voice chimes in through the speaker of the floating communicator. Caelus ignores Kafka’s placating remarks. She’s not here to see the danger this Lord Ravager may pose in person.

The model of his communicator is similar to the service bots on all standard Space Statione manned by the Genius Society. It's a newer prototype that he was beta testing for Silver Wolf. He's always eager to be the first one to try out their new fancy tech during missions, and this one is no exception.  

They had been meandering through hallway after hallway while the Emanator explained where he came from. Something about how an “Antikytheran” —whatever the hell that means— called Lygus sent him here, banishing him from repeating a new cycle of some flame chasing journey. Some timelooping Groundhog Day-type shit. He’s heard of it, he's seen it in movies before.

But he's never heard a story like this. With every loop, the man before him grew stronger and stronger until he became a force so powerful he could fight against other Lord Ravagers. He had relinquished his title as “Deliverer” to someone who fell from the sky, all so he could face off against Nanook himself. 

He injured an Aeon..? And absorbed THEIR blood?? To have the the strength to defeat another Lord Ravager was one thing, but to even go as far as to make THEM bleed…

No, that's impossible. The tale is too farfetched, and completely delusional. Such a feat would've been recorded in the data logs to keep in the annals of cosmic history. There's no way what he's saying could be true.

But he wasn't finished there. No, of course there was more. And now that he's in the final cycle, 'Caelus' had come in as the new Deliverer to help him save his home planet. He gave up the duty to save the world to this other 'Caelus', and he keeps saying how they need to go back to 'Amphoreus' together now that he’s found him here.

Caelus understands where his urgency is coming from, if his world really is on the brink of destruction and he's bound by moral duty to go back and save it. But grabbing Caelus by the shoulders with burning-hot hands and continuing to insist there has to be some way to take him back to a world he's never even heard of isn't getting either of them anywhere. 

"You’re my friend, my partner!" The Emanator had said in earnest, golden eyes blazing with desperation. "I trusted you to be the next Deliverer after I left, so you would rewrite a happier end to the tale of Amphoreus. We have to go back!"

The way he looked at him while he said that had Caelus's heart in his throat. The Emanator’s a good orator, he’ll give credit where it's due, but as sweet and sad as his story sounds…

Caelus doesn't believe him.

He can't trust a word he says. He's obviously a servant of Nanook, the Aeon of Destruction who intends to destroy everything within their known universe, dooming all living things across the cosmos. Everyone knows the ultimate goal of a Lord Ravager is destroy as many worlds as possible, razing planets and warping their captured most powerful prisoners into weapons for Nanook to wield as THEY pleased.

Everyone and their forefathers know that Lord Ravagers are not to be messed with. As extremely dangerous creatures who know nothing other than the twisted purpose they were made for, Lord Ravagers are known to only obey THEM without hesitation, without question. He doesn't know how this Emanator has managed to sever his loyalties, yet still keep his sanity.

Actually, after hearing all he had to say, maybe he’s completely lost it already... 

All of the Lord Ravagers Caelus has ever come across will expose their allies' weaknesses before stabbing them in the back, all to more thoroughly destroy them in the end. Emanators of Destruction aren't easy to defeat and by the looks of it, this one seems like a powerful one. His golden blood and warped body speak for itself.

Caelus has his doubts, though. Since when have Lord Ravagers ever wanted to help people, or save the worlds they're from?

An Emanator of Destruction like him is completely unheard of, an anomaly that's contrary to the extreme. His beliefs are the antithesis to Destruction, but he also wields THEIR power, THEIR blood coursing through his veins.

In all his time as a Stellaron Hunter, Caelus has never met anyone following the Path of Destruction who wants to destroy Nanook.

This Lord Ravager is like nothing he’s ever seen, which means he has to stay on guard. 

“Let's just say you are telling the truth,” Caelus reluctantly throws him a bone as he taps on the floating screen of the communicator. It shifts from its hovercraft mode back into database mode, dropping  into his hand to become a data transmitter. First, he sends a signal to Kafka to provide their location, and then taps on it again to show something on it to Khaslana. “Then tell me, does this mean anything to you?” 

The device in his hand shows a holographic projection, a 3D model of a what looks like a data chip spinning slowly in place. 

Caelus gauges the other's reaction. According to the Script, this Lord Ravager is related to a curio they've been looking for. It’s some kind of data chip, and if Elio is to be believed, it's the reason they’re able to work together in the first place. 

Khaslana squints at the image projected by the circular screen. This is technology that's completely foreign to him. The object in question looks like a small brick, maybe around the size of a thumb, and its connector looks to be completely made of metal with square holes. He doesn't recognize it at all. He may not know what purpose it serves, but the symbol engraved on one side of it catches his eye.

It's marked with an infinity symbol and a four pointed star behind it.

Khaslana's eyes widen. That's what the world of Amphoreus looks like from space. Trailblazer Caelus had described it to him once before, sketching out its looping shape suspended in empty space onto a blank slate he borrowed from Professor Anaxa when he got bored of reading the material available at the Grove. 

(This was moments before Caelus had done a terrible job of trying to carve said symbol into the stone, his lack of experience with chisels and his impatience for fine handiwork making itself known.

He had taken a picture of it when he was finished anyway to show Dan Heng and March 7th, laughing at his jagged uneven lines and the chipped edges from his poor craftsmanship.)

Phainon at the time could kind of see what he was going for, though. He was the one who kept the finished product on the wall in his room after all, like a prized antique for private display at home. 

Khaslana of the present definitely sees the resemblance now. If this object has any relation to Amphoreus, he absolutely has to know what it’s for before he goes back. There's no doubt it’s linked to something important. Maybe it could be a weakness Lygus left behind, or a hidden key needed to save his homeworld from the impending doom of Irontomb's birth. 

"What is that? Let me see it," He reaches for Caelus's communicator with obvious interest, his desperation for the object clear and unguarded. 

All this does is confirm to Caelus that this is the guy they’re looking for. He's not one to blindly follow the Script like Blade or Kafka. There's an undeniable part of him that still believes he can choose his own destiny. Not everything was made to follow a predestined fate. Some rules were made to be broken, after all. 

But it seems, in this case, Elio was right.

"I’m not telling." Caelus pulls his hand away and takes the projection with it. He may sound petulant, but even he’s not stupid enough to spill mission secrets to someone he just met, even if he did hear his whole life story first. No matter how easily he's able to converse with this stranger, he’s still a stranger. He won't give anything important away, especially if they're details closely tied to the Script. That goes doubly so for a Lord Ravager so clearly linked to the Aeon of Destruction. 

But Caelus is not above a little bargaining. “Tell me what it's for and why you need it first.”

"I-I don't know what it's for." Khaslana admits. "But I need it, I have to know what secrets it contains. It must have something to do with Amphoreus."

"That's not helpful at all." Caelus retorts, incensed. "That's literally the most vague thing you could've said. Maybe you're being mysterious about it on purpose! Are you hiding something?"

"If you don't even know what it’s supposed to do, what would you need it for?" Khaslana shoots back. 

"It's data related to some secret project by Zandar, the founder of the Genius Society." Caelus answers easily. "The whole thing is kept under wraps, but Silver Wolf found out about it after doing a little digging. Plus Elio says we need it! If it's in the Script, we have to check out what it is." 

"That's awfully vague too, isn't it? And I'm not hiding anything." Khaslana insists, leaning over his shoulder and into Caelus's space to try to take a closer look at the image on the communicator again. He can kind of glimpse it on the screen, even if there's no projection of it anymore. Maybe he can find more hints if he takes a closer look. "I already told you everything I know," he demands. "Show me that device again."

"Liar," Caelus accuses, moving his arm out of reach when Khaslana tries to poke at the screen of his communicator. His body heat against his back is nearly enough to make him sweat. Just this amount of proximity was enough to make him feel like he's standing in front of a campfire. Why the hell was this guy so hot??

Caelus scowls when he hears Kafka's laugh coming through the speaker, "Already butting heads, are we?" 

"No, everything's fine!" Caelus protests into the communicator as he continues to bat Khaslana's hands away. He can play this game of keep-away forever if he has to, he's not above childish means of fighting in order to have his way. He has siblings, after all. 

"Aren’t you the one lying? If it really is fine, what're you hiding it for?” Khaslana grumbles as Caelus maneuvers to escape him, trying to twist away and run ahead to put more distance between them. 

Unfortunately for Caelus, Khaslana has a natural advantage of longer arms and farther reach with his taller height. And the fact that he's able hover a couple feet off the ground is not fair in the slightest. It's not long before he's yanking on the yellow ribbon on Caelus's jacket to keep him from getting away. He successfully keeps him from running off like a feral animal that’s found treasure, like leashing a rabid raccoon trying to escape with a golden garbage bag clutched in its hands. 

Caelus struggles to keep the communicator out of his reach. He can't let him have it. When he can’t escape Khaslana's grasp, he tosses it in the air, catching it again when the Emanator fumbles it to keep it from falling to the ground. He has to slide across the floor to snatch it from the air mid-fall, but he manages. The device is still transmitting their location signal to Kafka. If the Lord Ravager takes it and escapes, Caelus could be left stranded here and would have lost top-secret mission information to the hands of the enemy. 

But in the end, escape is futile. Within another minute, Khaslana has him pinned him against the wall, trapped. The hand holding the communicator is held fast against the wall by one that’s scorchingly hot and made of some kind of dark inorganic alloy. His touch is like a brand. His finger joints are glowing gold in time with the gold suspended within his open chest.

There's no doubt that he's more monster than man, and someone incredibly strong at that. With his arm pinned directly to the right side of his head, Caelus can't help but shrink back. The Lord Ravager above him looks incredibly threatening. He's probably sick and tired of playing these stupid games.

If this is where he finally intends to show his true colors, Caelus has no regrets. Even as he's eclipsed by the shadow of the Emanator of Destruction, he still glares up at him, defiant. In one final show of rebellion, Caelus jabs at the communicator's screen with his finger, turning it back into hovercraft mode to make it float away from the both of them.

If he can't have it, neither of them can.

But instead of hovering away to make its great escape, the round little device floats over Khaslana’s shoulder and directly into his protruding wing instead.

The communicator melts almost immediately against the ash-black armor coating the huge jagged appendage, its energy source short-circuiting and sputtering out. The bot's round shape warps into a mess of frayed wires and sparking parts that fizzle out after several short seconds. 

The last thing they hear from it is Kafka's voice through the tinny speaker, barely breaking through a harsh crackling buzz of static. Her voice fades out, leaving the two of them with the broken last half of her final message: 

"...yo..u two, I'll b..e…th.ere s..oon…" 

The communicator falls to their feet with a clatter, its delicate electronics warped beyond repair. Just to add insult to injury, its screen cracks as it hits the ground too, splintering into long spider-webbing threads when it finally falls completely silent.

Khaslana quickly glances away from the scene of the crime in a futile attempt to hide his sheepishness.

"...I really didn't mean to do that." 

Great. 

Caelus rolls his eyes and groans in frustration. He shoves Khaslana and his stupidly hot body away. He hates that his palm feels too warm just from that brief point of contact, hates how ridiculous the situation he’s found himself in is, and hates that the brand-new prototype communicator they just broke means he's going to get an earful from Silver Wolf later.

And he hates that this Lord Ravager actually sounds genuinely remorseful about it. 

Caelus might be losing his mind. Before today, he had never known Lord Ravagers could actually be capable of feeling remorse. Aren't they all supposed to be evil agents of Destruction? They're supposed to be the worst of the worst in the galaxy, killing innocents and exterminating planets. Ruling through fear in the name of Nanook, and everything THEY stand for.

His appearance screams scary, super life-threatening Emanator of Destruction, but this level of guilty puppy-like emotion is so…genuine.

It's so human. What the fuck?

Aren't Nanook's hand-picked super-soldiers supposed to have been stripped of their humanity once they pledged their allegiance to THEM?

But he also can't be sure this it isn’t some elaborate act. If he's pretending, this Lord Ravager must be an excellent actor.

Chances are, he's probably just pretending, and once Caelus lets his guard down, he's going to get stabbed in the back. When he finally betrays them, he’s going to call him a fool for believing in him as he bleeds out in a puddle of his own blood, just like Lord Ravagers are known to do and are famous for doing. 

This has to be a trick, he reminds himself. It has to be. 

(…But what if it isn't?)

Caelus is left questioning it all, becoming more and more angry and helplessly lost the more he thinks about it. In his hands now is a partially melted mess that had been their communicator. It's been completely destroyed, just from brushing against his wing. 

His hands tremble slightly. Nothing about this mission makes sense.

All he had on his docket today was to go with Blade to take out the last of the remaining Legion who had finished their raid on Zandar's abandoned Space Station. The handful of soldiers they had taken out couldn't possibly be vital enough in their ranks to call for reinforcements. But they had sent a Lord Ravager after them anyways? And that Lord Ravager doesn't want to avenge any of his fellow Legion members they’ve eliminated, but is following him around instead…?

If he's not an Emanator of Destruction, then what could he have possibly done to attract the attention of someone on par in strength with a Lord Ravager? Everything about him indicates he is definitely capable of Destruction, so why has he turned his back on his own kin, opting to join the Stellaron Hunters instead? He has the power to instantly turn him into ashes, probably. The being standing before him could raze an army of the Antimatter Legion to the ground with the lift of a finger.

But instead he feels bad for accidentally melting his communicator??

It doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this does.

He's a walking contradiction. He's an anomaly, the absolute opposite of someone who should be walking on the Path of Destruction. Caelus can't wrap his head around the fact that someone like him could actually exist.

Just...who are you? 

Even though this Lord Ravager has walked so far down his Path, he's retained such a surprising amount of his humanity. He's retained essential emotions like hope, empathy, easy affection. Feelings like those are usually the first ones to go, just look at Blade! He’s a prime example of a Pathstrider following the Destruction!

How can a Lord Ravager still be so undeniably human?

Caelus shudders, still remembering how that hand felt ruffling his hair not even a system hour ago, the ghost of his touch still lingering. How his hand had been comfortingly warm, how the fondness in his eyes had been directed to him so clearly. The way those unnaturally golden eyes softened into something calmer and bluer, smiling in relief and recognition when he had so rudely pulled off his hood and left Caelus vulnerable under that gaze.

The way he talked like he already knew who Caelus was before he could even say a word. The way a part of him felt like he was chatting up a friend he hasn’t seen in a long while instead of a stranger he just met, all bold and amicable with a warmth Caelus didn't know how to reciprocate.

(For a second there, when he had hugged him tight to his chest, his ear pressed against the burning shell that was his bare skin and hearing that his heartbeat was thundering with a sea of countless flames, Caelus almost believed him.

There's a part of him that wants to, deep down. If this stranger treats him so warmly and so familiarly, full of such love and care, how could he ever be a bad person? How could he forget someone like that?)

How could he put so much faith in someone like Caelus, and have no hesitation in entrusting the fate of his entire world to his hands? 

...Who am I to you?

No. He can’t let himself get swept up by his words so easily. If this is some kind of new emotional manipulation tactic, he’s not going to fall for this ploy. He's clearly not the 'Caelus' this man must be speaking of.

This Caelus is no hero. He’s nothing more than a Receptacle, made for the sole purpose of following the Script until the End.

What could a Lord Ravager possibly know?

They've only just met. 

When it had been Scripted that he would be working together with an Emanator, Caelus couldn't believe it. He had been against it whole-heartedly. When Elio had said they would be making an unlikely ally during an upcoming mission, he didn't think it would be happening this soon. He had laughed it off as mere coincidence. 

"A man wearing the skin of our shared enemy calls himself a friend."

Those had been his exact words, but...

Wasn't this a little too on-the-nose?

Caelus huffs a frustrated sigh. Everything about this situation should be impossible.

But maybe nothing is impossible, if it’s according to the Script.

Caelus frowns bitterly. Elio may be Destiny's Slave, but he certainly isn't. He can still choose who he wants to be, and what his future will look like. He still has time to choose his own destiny.

His choice matters.

But enough of that. He’s not the type to think so hard about problems that he can leave his future self to face. So instead, he takes out his pent-up anger on Khaslana, rearing up at him angrily.

"Great, now we’re stuck here! Plus our comms are broken, and we lost all that data! If you have so much damn power, why don't you do something to disguise it? Can't you put those away, or something?!" He gestures to all of Khaslana's form. His wings, his halos, his torn chest still gleaming with fiery gold. "The least you could do is pretend to be human!"

He sees how the Lord Ravager's eyes narrow to glare back at him. His brow is furrowed, clearly troubled. His frowns deeply, his fist clenched and trembling slightly.

Oh shit, he's mad. Maybe even furious. 

Caelus can’t help but remember how easily his communicator had fallen apart after an accidental touch, how quickly it had been destroyed when he hadn't even meant to destroy it.

He feels a little bad. Maybe he shouldn't have yelled at him like that. 

But to his surprise, instead of burning him alive right then and there, or chopping his head off and hiding his body in some random corner of this space station with no witnesses around to see it, he just receives a one-word reply.

"Fine." 

Khaslana sighs.

He had once shed his humanity long ago for the sake of Amphoreus once he had been revealed the truth of his world and the true weight of the burden he was meant to bear.

Now that he is outside of that world and outside of those rules, he supposes it makes sense to don that form again. As much as he hates to admit it, Caelus has a point. If he has to live amongst humans again, he might as well look like one too. 

It would be unwise to wear the skin of their enemy out and about, parading his strength and his power for all to witness. He would better off as a wolf in sheep's clothing. He can pretend for just a little longer if it’ll make it easier to reach his goals. Especially when he's in the unfamiliar world beyond the sky. It's apparently  where the Destruction is clearly a threat to be loathed and feared, so he doesn't want to instill that same fear in others unnecessarily. 

Khaslana readjusts his hold over the Coreflames inside of him, pulling from their power to revert his appearance to what it once was. He turns back into Phainon. He look at Caelus with sky blue eyes, the hint of gold barely even a speck in his irises now. Just like the rising sun against the backdrop of a clear cloudless sky. He's still about a head taller than Caelus once his feet touch the ground, his white fluffy hair somehow a perfect mess. He crosses his arms, arching a brow. 

“Is this better?” 

Caelus's eyes widen, taking in his layers of armor, his long white coat, his billowing cape of blue and gold. Phainon tries to resist the urge to stand a little bit taller when his eyes linger at the mark of the sun’s rays imprinted upon his neck, signifying the Mark of Destruction and the unfathomable power Nanook had bestowed upon him. Those eyes take in all of him, the black collar-like choker he has around his throat, the sun motif etched in gold in his clothes. 

The intensity with which Caelus looks at him makes Phainon hold his breath for a moment, wondering briefly but not daring to completely hope that he might've sparked a memory within him with his change in form. He quietly searches for any hint of recognition in his wide golden eyes. 

But alas…

"Are you kidding me? That's what you call a disguise?? What planet are you even from?! No, wait. Don’t answer that. You already said." Caelus face palms. 

Caelus has no idea what he's supposed to do.

(This man is hopeless, and Caelus is helpless to help him. He can't do anything for him even if he wanted to. ‘Amphoreus’ was not a known planet, not a documented world listed by the databases they have on interstellar networks. Nothing came up when he did a quick search for it online, only technical jargon and research papers locked behind Genius Society paywalls. 

Nobody in the universe has ever even heard of it, as far as he knows. He makes a mental note to have Silver Wolf investigate a couple of things the Lord Ravager had mentioned once he meets up with her.) 

But with clothes so flashy and elaborate, this thick-headed Lord Ravager won’t make it very far during their next operations. His clothes look ornate and well-designed, sure, but they seem incredibly bulky and heavy. Too cumbersome and not stealthy or covert at all. 

Caelus will begrudgingly admit he looks handsome and heroic, but he’s going to stand out, sticking out like a sore thumb on every planet he goes to. He’ll be drawing too much unwanted attention wearing something like this. 

He looks up at Khaslana, his mouth in an unimpressed line with only seriousness in his eyes. "Don’t you have anything else?" 

“These are the only clothes I have.” Khaslana admits, scratching the back of his now white-haired head. It’s hard not to feel discouraged when Caelus seems to disapprove of everything he does.  

"Sorry I didn't exactly come prepared, but what’s wrong with wearing this?” He tries to sound apologetic, but he can’t help but feel a little indignant. He pouts down at himself, at his usual outfit during his time as Okhema’s Deliverer. His brows tilt at a sad angle as he gives Caelus guilty puppy-dog eyes.

It was definitely an improvement to his elaborate form from earlier, wasn’t it? At least he looks human now, and people won’t be running away screaming at the first sight of him, probably.

Caelus sighs, exasperated. He doesn't bother to explain. "Never mind. Don't worry about it. Kafka and I will find you something. She should be here soon anyway. We can just wait here."

Caelus groans tiredly as he stores the ruined communicator into his chest’s Receptacle. This was the last location he transmitted to Kafka, so it was better to stay put even though they have a meeting point set up. She'll know to come find them once she sees they're not at the agreed spot. He nonchalantly leans against the wall, pulling out his phone as they wait for help to arrive. 

Luckily, they don’t have to wait long. 

Their getaway vehicle turns out to be a stolen escape pod from the abandoned space station they just infiltrated, its walls humming with electronics and rows of little lights. For an emergency-use vehicle, its surprisingly spacious compartments are furnished quite nicely. The ceilings are just a little too short for someone of Khaslana’s height, but he can make do. 

"...So. What are we supposed to call you, if you don't want to use titles like Mister Lord Ravager, or O' Great and Mighty Emanator of Destruction?" Caelus asks boredly, resting his cheek against his fist.

He's only deigning Khaslana with his attention now because his phone died. Moments before the screen shut off when its battery had run out, he had been happily tapping away at some mobile game and ignoring his presence, too busy doing his dailies as Kafka busied herself navigating to their next meeting point.  

“We’ve already introduced ourselves, after all.” The woman adds from the main control room of the vehicle, adjusting dials and flipping switches to ensure their destination is enroute. “I would think it’s only fair if our guest could do the same. Surely, you have a name?”

The soothing quality of her voice carries into the roomier compartment he's in with Caelus, her tone not quite stern but not completely warm either. Like a mediator sitting across from him at a negotiations table. 

Even while manning the pod’s console in its massive control room, she peeks back, making direct eye contact with him through the doorless entryway to level him with a cool red-violet gaze. Despite her relaxed demeanor, the angle of her brow hints at carefully concealed suspicion. She’s cautious of him as well.

This woman has no affiliation with the Path of Trailblaze, Phainon had only realized this after they’d been formally introduced. And the same goes for Caelus. They’re Stellaron Hunters, he learns eventually from Kafka herself. That’s the name of the faction he will be a part of for the unforeseeable future. Not a Nameless, and not a Trailblazer like he had been expecting.

Khaslana deliberates for a short while. This could mean a number of things. If only he and Caelus were sent here, Dan Heng was probably fine. He must’ve found the origins of Evernight by now, and escaped from Lygus in the last cycle.

If only he has been sent here, then this Stellaron Hunter Caelus must be from the distant past, too far back to even consider himself as one of the Trailblazers.

Ever since his arrival, Khaslana hasn’t tried to hide anything. But explaining that his enemy has sent him here to prevent him from saving his homeworld hasn't exactly gone well so far. Any mention of Amphoreus or Lygus or Timeloops or Nanook had only earned him looks of confusion, ire, and concern for his sanity, as evidenced a few moments ago by Caelus. 

Even now, he's unsure of what he can and can't share with them. He must look suspicious but he can’t help it. He can't even decide which of his names for them to call him by. It's been 33,550,336 cycles, for Kephale's sake. He's gone by so many names and titles by now, it’s hopeless. He doesn't even have an alias at the ready. All he knows is that he definitely doesn't want to go by Snowy, but there may be unforeseen consequences if he gave them something as significant as his true name. 

No, he decides, more sure of himself. The name 'Khaslana' would not be suitable for this form. It's a name that carries a burden too heavy for the Stellaron Hunters who don't understand the weight of its meaning. In the end, he decides to use his past name.

The name that's associated with this youthful and more human self. The name he had back when he still had lofty dreams of becoming a hero, before the black tide and the Flame-Chase Journey. Before he knew his home was just a simulation created for the purpose of furthering the reach of Destruction across the cosmos, and before he had to bear the burden of carrying the hundreds of millions of Coreflames that he had amassed as the Flame Reaver.

The name that makes him feel less like the warped and twisted being that Nanook has forced him to become, and more like a boy again.

At the start of it all, he was just a kid, wasn't he? It's been so long he has nearly forgotten.  

He was nothing more than a teenager when he left his hometown to carry out his duties until the bitter end. Above all else, he grew up into a man who relinquished his role as the new dawn of his homeworld. He had given up the future that fate forced upon him to someone he trusted, to an important friend who wanted to take up the mantel, and was more than worthy to do it.

A man who ended up having to bear the weight of his entire world on his shoulders just so everyone on it could see tomorrow alongside him one more time. 

The people from beyond the sky know nothing of the Titans from the world where he comes from. No one else knows the peril Amphoreus is currently in, except for one other person. Surely, he can feel traces of their past relationship still? He must remember a hint of something connecting them deep down, right? Has he truly forgotten everything they've been through together, just like that?

He wants to find out. 

"Call me Phainon of Aedes Elysiae." 

He looks Caelus directly in the eyes as he says it, allowing long forgotten hope in his heart to ignite, flaring up just the tiniest bit. Hope that maybe hearing his name would spark something, anything. 

But Caelus's eyes are frosty, cold like glass. He only looks at him thoughtfully. 

"...That's an unusual name." is what he finally says.

Phainon's next inhale catches in his throat. That spark of hope flickers like the light of a single wavering candle. It's a huge relief already that it's not snuffed out immediately. 

For the first time in a long time, Phainon huffs a breath, his exhale not quite a laugh but something close, in equal parts disbelief and quiet intrigue. He can’t immediately shake off the impact of the nostalgia of those words…

They're the same as when he first met his Caelus. His chest feels unbearably warm. He still may not remember who 'Phainon' is, but at his core Caelus is still the same. Despite his lapse in memory, it's still him deep down. Somehow, it's comforting knowing that some things never change. 

"Friction really does spark friendships, huh?" he mutters quietly, more to himself than anyone else. 

"Well then, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae,” Kafka says, pulling him from the tangled mess of his thoughts. She has a hand on her hip as she turns around, twirling the access cards of their getaway ride on a keyring around an elegantly gloved index finger. "We’ve finally made it. Welcome to the Stellaron Hunters." 

She opens the door of the pod with a tap of a button, her heels clacking on metallic steps that automatically unfold from the bottom of the ship’s entryway. 

"Phainon of Aedes Elysiae…" Caelus muses. He sounds thoughtful for a moment, and Phainon watches his reaction carefully while completely concealing any signs of anticipation. He refuses to admit that he likes the sound of his name more coming from Caelus than Kafka.

He wants to hear him say his name again, though. He's quite fond of him, after all. They were partners a lifetime ago. Maybe this time, too, he can become someone special to him. Someone reliable. Someone he can call out to in his time of need.  

Still, he’s not sure if he managed to hide how disappointed he feels when Caelus follows behind Kafka with indifference, making a face of vague distaste.

"…That name's way too long. I'm just going to call you Phainon." 

Once the three of them disembark and get settled into temporary quarters, they've got a few more system hours to kill after taking care of business. After stretching their legs, they all decide to do something to take a break before preparing for the debrief of their next operation.

Caelus and Kafka take that break by hunting for a new change of clothes for their newest member. 

"...Is this really necessary?" Phainon can’t help but ask.

"Absolutely." Caelus says, completely engrossed as he gives the taller man's entire body a thorough once-over. 

He has warmed up to him a bit more ever since Kafka confirmed everything Phainon said to them had been the truth. And nothing but the truth, under her hypnotic control and the mysterious power of her entrancing threads.

Unfortunately, instead of believing everything he said and taking it as the truth, they concluded that his memory may have been falsely implanted by a Memo Keeper or tampered with by a Galaxy Ranger. His origins are too insane to be believed without proof, but at least he's proven to them that he's no liar. 

A part of Phainon had been expecting this. He can't bring himself to be too disappointed. He's grown used to the people he revisits in the past not believing a word of what he says will happen in the future, as painful as it may be when nobody trusts in him.

Even in the face of his brazen honesty, he can tell Caelus is still not completely comfortable with his presence yet. Although he's proven his integrity as an ally, the Stellaron Hunter still doesn't deem him trustworthy enough to consider him a friend. For now, Phainon doesn't mind it. It only fuels his determination instead. He will be able to prove his skills to them once he completes his first assignment and show the depth of his sincerity to Caelus in one fell swoop. 

(In this, Phainon has the advantage. After months and months of crossing paths and sharing space in that little town of Okhema, he already knows how to read Caelus like an open book with dog-eared pages, like a textbook at the Grove left open for hours as he studied and absorbed every word, every sentence, every little detail. Like a storybook he's read time and time again, and has memorized by heart.

Just like back then, he can read every nuance in his expression and glean what he may be thinking. Caelus may have changed, but not unrecognizably so. All Phainon has to do now is learn how to read this version of him too.)

It may take some time for Caelus to warm up to him again, but he'll happily take that time to regain his trust and forge a new relationship. And there's no time like the present to practice.

Although Caelus's expression is currently schooled into something neutral and serious, his slight pout gives away a hint of playfulness. Right now, he has a finger tapping against his chin, still scrutinizing Phainon's new look with critical eyes. The moment he finishes appraising the outfit, he gives a quick nod of approval.

Something in Phainon's chest beats a little faster at that, preening at the subtle praise. Even though Caelus's eyes are a duller hue than the ones of his memories, Phainon can still see a smallest glint of mirth sparkling in them. 

Anyone looking at Caelus can tell he's enjoying this way too much. 

"Necessary? Of course not," Kafka answers, her voice lilting in amusement. "But I will admit, this has been quite fun." 

She hands Phainon a mirror as she says this, finally allowing him to see the fruits of all of this effort. Once he's able to tear his gaze away from Caelus's satisfied nod, Phainon takes it and studies the face reflected back at him. He's all dressed up. The only thing they allowed him to keep were his boots and his underwear. He's now wearing a dark navy shirt, thin and blue-black with a wide open collar accentuated with a single line of white-gold trim, half-tucked into tight black pants.

The material is loose, but comfortable. He has the first couple buttons undone down past his collarbone to show off a black infinity scarf with subtle golden ornamentation that's looped around his throat, artfully pinned with a small sun accessory to cover the larger Mark of Destruction on his neck. He was also given other accessories, a thin metal cuff around his thigh and a black band around his wrist.

Phainon tugs on black gloves with his teeth, completing the look with that final touch. He flexes his fingers experimentally in the smooth, velvety material. They remind him of the dark skin-tight gloves Castorice always wears, only much, much shorter. He's not sure if he’ll like the lack of protection for his arms and shoulders while he's fighting, but this outfit is much lighter for sure. It's breezier and much easier to move around in. 

They even went the extra mile and styled his hair. Caelus had ruffled it with a surprisingly gentle touch before combing back his longer stray locks to one side with his fingers. He had tucked the soft strands behind his ear and tied the more unruly ones into a little tail using Kafka’s threads. 

A row of black spiked diamonds line his ear in a neat curve, a heavy constellation of steel stars framing the shell of his ear, all the way down to his earlobe. Phainon tries not to fiddle with the accessory's added weight. 

According to their teammate Silver Wolf, it doubles as a wireless earpiece. The resident hacker had used scrap metal and whatever parts she could salvage from the ruined communicator she had loaned to Caelus after berating him for his recklessness and destructive tendencies.

Within seconds, the new creation was completed once it was placed into a synthesizer. Reality-altering technology is truly too advanced for Phainon to wrap his head around. The machines and gadgets of this era were leagues ahead of what limited advancements the Grove of Epiphany made on studies like alchemy and transmutation. Either way, he's grateful for these new clothes and gifts.

By the end of it all, he can't help but think of Agalea, and how she had done something similar for him way back when he first arrived in Okhema and declared himself Deliverer. How she had also interrogated him to test his sincerity before she housed him and vowed to give him an appearance worthy of a Chrysos Heir living in the Holy City. How she had sewn him his clothes by hand after he promised on his honor and her threads to prove himself worthy and devote his life to the Flame-Chase Journey. How he donned that valiant garb for the very first time and felt her love like a mother’s embrace in every stitch. 

If his previous outfit was what a heroic figure like the Deliverer should look like…

Looking into the mirror Kafka hands him, he supposes this is what a Stellaron Hunter must look like. 

Their methods for interrogation had been surprisingly similar. Kafka is just as skilled with her threads as the demigod had been. Her attention to detail was on par with his former mentor’s. She was extremely thorough, frighteningly so, and made sure to leave no loose ends unattended. Although the Stellaron Hunter's threads weren't for weaving garments, the webs Kafka weaves to capture lies and ensnare her enemies were just as fearsome. Phainon is glad he hadn't gotten onto her bad side. He would be happy if she never used her Spirit Whisper on him ever again. 

But his initiation into the Stellaron Hunters still wasn't over, however temporary it was expected to be. Even the meager technology Phainon had on his person wasn't spared from an abrupt makeover. 

Kafka already passed his telestate on to Silver Wolf, who was stationed at this rendezvous point somewhere. He was more surprised that that old thing hadn't burned up after all he's been through. The teleslate doesn't work outside of Okhema without the power networks crafted by Agalea, so he wasn't able to turn it on. He also didn't have anything incriminating on it anyways, so he felt no need to hide it from them. After a few hours, the hacker had reworked it into something usable, overhauling and updating everything on the device to be able to message the others in a group chat anywhere across the universe with a stable network connection. 

Before the coming of a new dawn, Phainon will officially be recruited to the Stellaron Hunter's cause, all in accordance with their Script.

They would be together just until they can find and decrypt the data that the first genius Zandar had left behind, the mysterious device that had been carved with the symbol of Amphoreus. All of the technical jargon during the entire debrief had been a bit hard for Phainon to follow at first, but he has always been quick to catch on, content with learning on the job from Caelus for whatever details went over his head. By the end of their meeting, he got the general gist.

Until they locate and decipher that data, he will be a Stellaron Hunter.

As for how he's going to return to his homeworld, Phainon still hasn’t figured that part out yet. But he can't leave until he can find more clues, so he's willing to help in any way he can. The Stellaron Hunters aren't allies or devout followers of Nanook, plus they've welcomed him into their fold and gave him a much-needed lead. They will be helping him learn some deeply rooted secret of Amphoreus, so he sees no issues with helping them in return. For now, they're all on the same side. 

And, much to his delight, he's been paired up with Caelus for their first operation. He wants the chance to speak to him again more than anything. So many things have changed about him since the last time he's seen him, and he has a feeling he knows why.

The Caelus he knew had been happier, more confident and headstrong, always teasing his friends before leaping recklessly into danger. The Caelus he sees now is most likely hiding some skeletons in his closet that never get the chance to plague him in the future. The Caelus he knew had no tethers to his past, no lingering resentments hindering his next steps.

How did he come to be that way?

Phainon intends to find out for himself, even if it means investigating the root cause of his huge lapse in memory. Once all of his memories come rushing back, they could think of a way to get back to Amphoreus together. 

Amphoreus, his home…

Phainon's heart twinges at the thought of being away from home for so long. He hates that he's been sent away during such a critical time, but he has no choice. Once they find a way back, he will convince Caelus to come back with him. Amphoreus can't be missing both its saviors, after all. 

He looks at Caelus, masking his hidden turmoil and newfound determination as neutral indifference. No matter how cold Caelus is to him, he can keep subtly trying to test that boundary, feel out the extent of his partner’s memories. Maybe he could even take a page from Kafka's book. If he asks the right questions, he's sure he'll get something out of him. He won’t know what works until he gives it a try, and any attempt is worth trying. 

"I guess this makes us partners then," he says to Caelus, nudging him nonchalantly once their next task has been assigned. He hopes using the old nickname might spark something in his memory, using something familiar to draw the two of them closer. They had started off on the wrong foot, so Phainon wants to put in a little more effort to be kinder, more friendly. 

“As if." Caelus scoffs, looking up at him skeptically. He's still not fully trusting, but he's also not as vindictive as before, which he counts as a small victory. It's a start. Although far from warm, Phainon finds his eyes are not as dull as he first thought, but they're still a far cry from the eyes belonging to the Caelus he has grown to care for.

The one who was always joking and smiling, full of determination and juvenile curiosity. The one who isn't afraid to spark friendly conversations with strangers and take on tasks anyone asks of him. The one brimming with life, always seeking adventure, and happy to make room for all of the friends sharing his journey with him.

The difference is truly too jarring. How the man before him now is that same person is truly beyond him. 

“Since our first operation will be coming up soon,” Caelus continues, that playful glint returning to his eye. “...Let's make a bet."

That piques Phainon's interest. A bit of petty rivalry? Now, that's something he hasn't partaken in in a very long time. 

"If you win," Caelus pauses, considering. "How about I grant you a wish? I'll even call you my partner from now on, if that's what you want." 

Phainon cocks a brow. Oh, he's going to wish for something much more substantial than that. "And if I lose?"

"Hah," Caelus taunts. "What, are you scared of losing to me already?"  

Phainon scoffs. "Of course not. You're on." 

Caelus laughs at that, a loud genuine one that comes straight from his chest. Phainon will never admit that his heart does a flip at that joyous sound, but he does make a  note to himself to try to make him do that more often.

"We haven't even decided on the stakes yet! But if you say so." Caelus grins up at him, all brash confidence and infuriating snarkiness. It's a look Phainon is plenty familiar with, although with an undertone of something less lighthearted and more provocative. More aggressive. Phainon likes it, maybe a little too much.

"Don't forget to bring your best, unless you'd rather follow my lead.” He smirks with a cocky curve to his brow. “Maybe I’ll even let you have the first kill, if you can manage to keep up.” Caelus’s tone is icy, his grin a tad too mean to be considered sincere.

Phainon's mouth hardens into an unimpressed line. How childish. He's doing this on purpose by goading him on like this, trying to get a rise out of him.

He hates that it’s working.

If that's how it's going to be, two can play at that game. 

Phainon could laugh. He wants to, in that loud boisterous way he used to during his early days as the Deliverer. Back when he had been underestimated by his opponent during a high-stakes battle. Back when he would have debates in front of the masses and his opponent revealed a flaw that Phainon could use to absolutely tear their argument apart. Back when the Council of Elders and their Cleaners had mistaken him for nothing more than an easy target. 

He manages to hold himself back now, only thanks to over 33 million cycles of self control. 

But even after that many cycles, he can't suppress the boyish anticipation that rises within him, eager for some friendly competition again. Excitement flares in his chest, burning him up inside at the thought of winning aginst an opponent just as hungry for victory as he is. He's absolutely aching to accept the challenge he sees before him. Just like when he first met and fought against Mydei, he's found himself in a position where he has to prove his strength. 

"No need to worry about me." Phainon says sweetly, his voice purposely overly saccharine. His eyes are closed in happy crescents when he leans down toward Caelus's ear. "Just be careful not to get caught in the crossfire. Wouldn't want you down and out before the end of our first fight." 

Caelus crosses his arms, tilting his chin up snarkily. His words are still biting but there's some familiar fight still in there. "If you think you can get rid of me with a little friendly fire, think again, newbie." 

"I wouldn't dream of hurting you. Wouldn't want everyone to think you've been taken down by the newcomer, now would I?" 

The tension between them feels so thick, it could be smashed with a baseball bat, shattered with a sword. 

“Pleasure working with you then, partner.” Caelus spits the final word, his confident smirk the only thing about him that Phainon can still recognize, his undeniable urge to win the only part of him that's still familiar. A small part of him is glad to see some bits of the Caelus he knows starting to peek through. A larger part of him, though, can't help but take the bait and rise to the challenge. 

“Oh no, the pleasure’s all mine." Phainon snides without missing a beat, the tone of his voice dripping with false politeness.

"You really have to get the last word in, huh?" Caelus sneers, rolling his eyes. 

"I could say the same for you," Phainon says, his smile unwavering. Even though the guidance and practice on politics he had received feels like lifetimes ago now, pulling on his friendly facade while tossing barbed lines and poisonous words feels like second nature with his experience in the Okheman court. His expression, however, is anything but friendly. The look in Phainon's eyes is neither cool nor polite nor proper, not even bothering to hold back the fire no doubt blazing behind the bright sky-blue of his eyes. Caelus's glare is equally fierce, refusing to back down.

The grin he gives Caelus flashes with teeth just a little too sharp, not afraid to exude a dangerous aura from every fiber of his being.

Oh, this was going to be fun. 

Kafka watches the two of them off to the side, muffling her laugh into a gloved fist as she watches the sparks fly between the two boys. It looks like their newcomer will get along with the rest of them just fine. She wonders if Elio has already foreseen the chaos the two of them are bound to create in the near future together. 

But that’s nothing to worry about now. That would be a problem for her to clean up at another time. For now, the Stellaron Hunters have an Emanator of Destruction amongst their ranks, just as Elio predicted. 

All that's left to do now is to trust in the Script.