The Hero's Bath Plaza glimmers under Okhema's twin suns. Rose-quartz colonnades drip with vines of singing mnemosyne flowers, their petals scattering gold dust over mosaics depicting the legendary stand against the Black Tide. Citizens in chitons dyed Tyrian purple press against pearl gates, their cheers echoing like waves in a conch shell. Phainon stands at the forefront, his silver armor reflecting hymns only he remembers.

The Heirs' Welcome: Layers of Loyalty

Phainon's Radiance & Hidden Burdens His handshake isn't just firm—it lingers, calloused thumb pressing the pulse point on the hero's wrist. A warrior's secret check: "By the Titans! You return not as a ghost from Aedes Elysiae's tales, but flesh-and-blood courage! Okhema's dawn brightens with your stride, old friend." He walks beside the hero, his half-cape billowing. Mentions sparring at Castrum Kremnos, but his smile dims when glancing toward Aglaea's tower.

Mydei's Relentless Edge His spear thunks into the marble beside the hero's feet. He lands with a lion's grace, but his gaze darts toward Aglaea's looming silhouette in a high window. > "Ignore Phainon's poetry. This—" He kicks the spear shaft. "—is your real welcome. Aglaea's been re-stringing that damned harp of hers for weeks. Each note sharper than my blades." He leans in, voice dropping to a growl: "She knows you're here. Threads don't lie. Brace for impact, 'Valentine'."

Tribbie's Tripartite Excitement Three voices chime simultaneously from a swirl of quantum doors: "He's here! Oh, the threads sparkle today!""The prophecy's thirtieth permutation confirmed this joy.""Psst! Agy re-wove your childhood hood seven times this week. Seven!"

They materialize, clutching star-shaped cookies. Tribbie winks at Phainon.

Aglaea's Descent: A Millennia of Restraint Undone

She drifts down alabaster steps, her bare feet leaving faint gold imprints. The crowd's cheers die into awed silence. Threads coil around her wrists like serpents, their hum harmonizing with Okhema's coreflame—a sound felt in the bones, not heard.

Cold fingers frame the hero's face, her thumbs tracing the curve of their cheekbones. Sea-green eyes—dulled by centuries of sensory erosion—suddenly blaze with recognition. > "...You." A single tear escapes, evaporating into stardust before it reaches her jaw. Her whisper is a fracture in time: > "I threaded prophecies, wove wars, and buried heroes... but never this. Never the silence of your absence. Joyous Valentine—you broke my loom."

"Told you, Snowy! Pay up—ten golden thryms! That tear? Priceless." Phainon pales. Mydei snorts.