Once their introductions and greetings were complete, Hector gestured toward the heart of the city, where the palace loomed. “Come. My father, King Priam, is eager to meet you both. He awaits your presence inside.”
Nathan and Astynome followed closely behind Hector and Aeneas as they strode through the towering gates of Troy, feeling the weight of the city’s gaze upon them. Immediately, murmurs rose from the people gathered around, their voices swelling with a mix of relief, reverence, and a rekindled hope.
“It is the priestess!”
“Lady Astynome has returned!”
“Apollo’s chosen! She is safe!”
“Thank the gods! We are saved!”
Everywhere they walked, eyes turned to Astynome, and faces once drawn with worry began to soften, overcome with the sight of her. The people, once haunted by fear of Apollo’s wrath at their inability to protect his priestess, now brimmed with a new resilience. To them, her return was a divine sign, an omen that Apollo was watching over them and that perhaps, in his favor, they would endure this relentless war. The streets, usually filled with the gloom of impending battle, now seemed to shimmer with newfound courage.
Astynome, with her calm grace, raised a slender hand to acknowledge their voices, her serene expression giving them silent encouragement. Her small smile, poised and gentle, was the same she always offered to the people, reminding them she would not falter in her role as Apollo’s messenger. She felt the strain of expectations, yet knew she must embody the spirit of the god for the sake of Troy. The glint in her eyes was unwavering, though Nathan sensed the weight behind it.
“I pray that Apollo continues to guard you, Lady Astynome,” Hector spoke up, his deep, steady voice a balm against the crowd’s fervor. A warm smile softened his face, betraying his own relief at her presence. He searched her face, hoping for any sign that Apollo’s wrath had subsided—a glimmer of divine approval that might ease the tension among them.
Astynome’s gaze flickered for a moment as she pondered Hector’s words. In truth, she had not heard Apollo’s voice for some time, and the silence troubled her. “I do not believe Apollo is angry with the Trojans,” she finally replied, her voice calm yet edged with a hint of unease. “His fury lies elsewhere… with the Greeks, and most of all, with Agamemnon.”
At the mention of Agamemnon’s name, a faint bitterness laced her tone. Memories of her father’s betrayal by the Greek king flared within her, and Nathan sensed her struggle to maintain composure. Hector’s expression darkened at this revelation.
“Agamemnon…” he muttered, his voice a low growl. “He is the heart of this war. If I find him on the battlefield, I swear, I will put an end to him.”
Astynome offered a subtle nod, though her thoughts remained clouded by doubt. In her mind, the image of Agamemnon loomed large, draped in the blessings of powerful goddesses—Athena, the unyielding goddess of war and wisdom, and Hera, the fearsome queen of Olympus. He was a formidable opponent, his path shielded by divine favor that rendered him almost untouchable. And there was Achilles, too, a warrior near-invincible, and Odysseus, sly and blessed by Athena’s cunning.
The power of these three loomed over her thoughts, casting an ominous shadow. So long as Agamemnon, Achilles, and Odysseus drew breath, the Greeks held an upper hand in this conflict, one forged and tempered by the hands of gods themselves.
But maybe this man…
Astynome’s gaze drifted to Nathan, who walked alongside her, seemingly oblivious to the bustling surroundings. His demeanor remained calm, almost indifferent, as though his mind was already elsewhere, perhaps anticipating his fateful meeting with Apollo. In that moment, Astynome found herself watching him intently, wondering about the enigma of his existence.
There was something elusive about Nathan, a shadow of destiny that Astynome herself could not penetrate. As Apollo’s priestess, she was no stranger to the future’s mysteries, but Nathan defied them all. Here was someone, she felt, who might indeed withstand the goddesses’ relentless hand over victory and fate, a man capable of breaking through the chains of predestined paths. Her heart stirred with a strange conviction; if anyone could challenge Athena’s calculated might and Hera’s imposing wrath, it was him. And perhaps, that was why he was her future now. Without him, she might never have escaped Agamemnon’s grasp; he had saved her, and she felt a fierce loyalty to him as a result.
Their journey soon led them to the gates of the towering citadel, the heart of Troy. Hector and Aeneas took the lead, guiding them past soldiers and noblemen who paused, bowing reverently as they spotted Astynome. Her presence commanded a respect that seemed to ripple through the air itself, each bow a silent acknowledgment of her link to Apollo. Yet Astynome hardly reacted, her face calm, only giving gentle nods as they moved forward.
At the grand doors of the throne room, adorned with intricate carvings of Apollo—depictions of his stern gaze, his harp, his arrow drawn taut—Hector halted and knocked, his fist echoing through the stone corridor. After a brief pause, the guards stationed inside moved to open the towering doors, the wooden panels creaking as they swung inward, revealing the throne room in all its grandeur.
Nathan’s gaze traveled ahead, taking in the royal hall of Troy with a critical eye. He couldn’t help but compare it to the throne rooms of other lands he had encountered. He hoped King Priam of Troy would offer more than the empty pleasantries and hollow promises he had received from others, especially those from the Empire of Light.
A voice, deep and warm, broke through the quiet. “Son,” the king greeted, his tone weary yet proud. Priam sat upon his high throne, his figure framed by the light pouring in from the high windows, his regal presence softened by age yet firm with authority. Hector and Aeneas immediately fell to one knee in respect before the aging king.
“You have done well,” Priam said with a nod, a faint smile crossing his lips as his gaze turned to Astynome. “And Lady Astynome… it has been some time.”
Astynome bowed her head respectfully. “Your Majesty, it is indeed an honor to be here once more,” she replied, her voice steady yet touched with warmth.
Priam’s gaze softened. “I am truly relieved to see you alive and unharmed, Astynome. Forgive me… for not intervening sooner to bring you and your father, Chryses, safely back to Troy.” A shadow of guilt passed across his face. “And… where is Chryses?”
Astynome’s expression became solemn, her eyes darkening as she spoke. “My father… is dead, Your Majesty. Killed by Agamemnon.”
The weight of her words settled heavily in the room, and Priam’s face shifted to one of remorse, lines deepening with grief and regret. For a brief moment, he seemed lost in thought, as though sifting through memories of his old friend.
“There is no need for guilt, Your Majesty,” Astynome continued, her voice soft yet resolute. “My father lived as he wished, and he died according to his own will. I hold nothing but pride in the life he chose.”
Though her tone was composed, her words held an edge of steel. She had been raised to endure loss, to carry herself with strength even when the world around her crumbled.
“You are a strong woman, Astynome,” Priam said, his tone weighted with admiration. His gaze lingered for a moment before shifting to the man who had returned his beloved priestess—a stranger who had, by his own account, acted out of curiosity and duty.
“You must be Heiron, yes?” Priam’s voice rang out, drawing every gaze in the room toward the silent, black-haired man standing near the throne’s steps.
Nathan, dressed in dark armor with a stoic expression that revealed little of his thoughts, took a step forward. He didn’t kneel as the others had; instead, he inclined his head respectfully, his posture both formal and indifferent. “Your Majesty.”
Priam seemed unbothered by the lack of formality. Unlike most kings, he appreciated genuine warriors who didn’t feel compelled to flatter him. Heiron, a mercenary by trade, was a free soul with no sworn allegiance to him. Priam liked the man’s grounded demeanor.
“You have the gratitude of every Trojan for rescuing our priestess, Heiron,” Priam declared.
“It was mere chance, Your Majesty. I crossed paths with her, and I brought her along,” Nathan replied, his voice even, neither boastful nor dismissive.
Priam chuckled softly, sensing humility in Nathan’s words. “Humble, I see.”
“Humble, indeed, Your Majesty,” Astynome interjected, a slight smile touching her lips. “Far too humble. Lord Heiron not only saved me but also managed to destroy a crucial Greek vessel.”
A ripple of astonishment spread through the court, murmurs of shock and intrigue echoing around them.
“Is this true?” Priam asked, eyebrows raised, his interest deepening.
“Yes,” Nathan replied calmly, unperturbed by the sudden attention. “The ship belonged to Agamemnon’s fleet, loaded with weapons intended for the Greeks. After gathering what information I needed, I set it ablaze and escaped with Lady Astynome.”
Priam’s eyes sparkled with newfound respect. Queen Hecuba, seated beside him, leaned forward, her gaze equally appreciative. “A remarkable feat, Heiron. You have not only our gratitude but our admiration as well.”
Hector, Aeneas, and Andromache, standing by the royal pair, exchanged impressed glances. It was clear Nathan’s bravery had made an impact.
“I merely did what any able man would have done,” Nathan said modestly. His words, though plain, carried a sincerity that seemed to resonate in the room. “Had Prince Hector or Lord Aeneas been there, they could have done far more.”
To some, his humility might have seemed false, a well-placed tactic to win favor. But there was an undeniable sincerity in Nathan’s voice and demeanor. He had no desire for fame or glory; he valued the alliance and goodwill of Troy. He was here, after all, for more than just the war.
As Priam and the others considered his words, two silent figures observed him with piercing intensity.
Helen of Troy and Princess Kassandra of Troy.