Atalanta.
Nathan’s gaze lingered on her, a surge of memories rushing back from his encounter with her in Colchis. Back then, she had stood among the Greeks, united with Jason, Heracles, and Orpheus in their quest for the Golden Fleece. A warrior of Artemis, fierce and untamed, Atalanta’s skills in archery and her loyalty to her ideals had set her apart. But now, she was here, on the side of the Trojans, bound by her devotion to the Goddess Artemis.
“Atalanta, it’s a pleasure to see you,” Priam declared, rising from his throne with arms outstretched in a grand gesture of welcome. His voice carried a note of genuine warmth, and the subtle creases around his eyes softened as he beheld her with respect.
Atalanta was a name that carried weight and inspired awe across kingdoms. As one of Artemis’s devoted followers, she was known far and wide as one of the fiercest warriors the Achaean continent had ever seen. Raised and molded by Artemis’s own hand, her skills were honed to perfection through arduous training and the goddess’s unyielding discipline. Artemis seldom allowed her chosen disciples to stray from her side, let alone to travel to foreign realms; so when Atalanta arrived alongside Jason and the Argonauts, it had been a momentous occasion. The goddess deemed the journey an invaluable experience for her beloved warrior, hoping it would teach Atalanta more of the world beyond Artemis’s own domain. And indeed, the quest had proven as eventful as it was perilous.
Though their mission to retrieve the Golden Fleece ended in failure due to an unexpected intruder, the journey itself left its indelible mark. They had ventured through dangerous waters, encountering monstrous foes and forces of nature beyond human comprehension. Few would forget the day they escaped the lethal clutches of Scylla and Charybdis, the divine terrors of the deep seas, whose wrath left many shaken but fiercely bonded. They clashed with warriors from distant lands, creatures of legend, and saw wonders that would haunt their memories for lifetimes.
Now, Atalanta stood before them once again, ready for another challenge—but this time, it was different. Artemis herself had taken a vested interest in the Trojan cause, choosing to stand with the kingdom she deemed worthy of her protection. Although Artemis hadn’t demanded Atalanta join her, she was pleased her disciple chose to do so of her own volition. And so, with loyalty and purpose in her stride, Atalanta had come to Troy, prepared to fight for the goddess’s honor.
Nathan’s gaze flickered her way briefly, before he looked away, his expression inscrutable.
“Yes, indeed, it is reassuring to have one of Artemis’s strongest disciples among us,” Hector said, his tone laced with a hint of reverence. His eyes shone with relief, for he knew well the power and resilience Atalanta could bring to their side. Nearby, Aeneas and Sarpedon exchanged nods, their faces mirroring Hector’s sentiment; each knew the value of her presence, and they took solace in her strength.
Penthesilea, the Amazon queen, cast her sharp gaze across the room, and her eyes landed on another familiar face. “Oh, isn’t that Heiron?” Her lips curved into a smirk, her tone a blend of surprise and admiration. “So you’ve returned… and alive on top of that? I am quite impressed.”
Her admission wasn’t lightly given; Penthesilea had not anticipated Heiron’s survival, let alone his loyalty. She had once dismissed him as a mere mercenary of little note, someone unworthy of her regard. But now, seeing him here, unscathed and resolute, she wondered if she had misjudged him entirely.
“Not only did he stay true to our cause, but he aided us in ways few would have dared,” Aeneas interjected, his voice firm as he looked at Penthesilea. The Amazon queen turned her head slightly, catching his steady gaze. Aeneas’s reminder was gentle but clear; back then, she had doubted Heiron’s loyalty, and he wanted her to remember the debt they now owed him.
“Yes, yes… my own misjudgment. I admit it,” Penthesilea finally acknowledged with a slight incline of her head. “I hope you don’t hold a grudge over it, Heiron,” Penthesilea said, her lips curving into a challenging grin, her sharp eyes studying him with newfound respect. The Amazon queen’s tone carried a trace of playfulness, yet she genuinely sought his answer, wondering if her initial dismissal had left any bitterness.
Heiron—or rather, Nathan, who wore Heiron’s guise flawlessly—returned her gaze with calm assurance. “Not at all. I may be a mercenary, but I am steadfast in my loyalty to my contract,” he replied, his voice carrying the tone of a warrior who valued his word above all. “Once I’ve accepted payment, I’m bound to fight for that cause to the end. No matter how much more the Greeks offer, my place is with the Trojans.”
Nathan’s response struck just the right chord, a speech fitting for a seasoned mercenary who lived by honor, and it resonated deeply with those present. Priam, who stood nearby, watched him with an approving nod, a glint of admiration warming the King’s normally stern expression. The old monarch was already deciding that, should they survive this war, he would call upon Heiron again if future battles arose. There was merit in a mercenary who could be trusted despite the tempting gold of enemies.
Penthesilea, too, was struck. She tilted her head ever so slightly, her sharp gaze softening with a hint of intrigue. For the first time, she was truly interested in Heiron, a man she had so easily overlooked before. There was a strength and conviction in his words she hadn’t expected, and it made her curious about the depths of this warrior she had once labeled as just another hired blade.
Hector’s voice brought them back to the pressing matter at hand. “Your timing couldn’t be better. We were just discussing the Greek armies,” he said, his tone more serious as he refocused the room’s attention.
“Indeed,” Atalanta chimed in, nodding as she cast a brief, appreciative glance at Nathan. “We need to eliminate their leaders, just as Heiron wisely suggested.”
“True enough,” Aeneas agreed, though his expression remained pensive. “But each of those leaders is a formidable warrior. They won’t fall easily.”
“They are strong, yes,” Hector acknowledged, his face hard with determination. “But we’ll have ample opportunity to study them in battle. Observing them in the thick of the fight, noting each weakness—those are the moments we must seize. Only then will we share our findings and devise a coordinated strike to take them down when the time is right.”
Nathan nodded subtly, his mind already churning over Hector’s words. While he agreed with the strategy, his thoughts kept returning to one man: Achilles. No other warrior struck as much seriousness into his heart as the son of Thetis, a warrior of near-legendary strength and skill. Achilles wasn’t merely a soldier; he was a force of nature, a living tempest born to dominate the battlefield. There was a reason tales of his prowess left warriors across the lands in awe.
The fact that Achilles’s mother had dipped him in the River in hell as an infant, rendering him nearly invulnerable to any mortal blow, made him an even greater threat. Only his heel, untouched by those mystical waters, remained vulnerable—a detail almost too fragile to believe. And while tales spoke of Paris’s fateful arrow piercing that single flaw, Nathan couldn’t shake the sense that in this world, that simple trick would not be enough. This was a world with magic after all.
No, Achilles would not fall that easily. Nathan could feel it in his bones.
He would have to again transfer all his Luck to strength to have a chance just like he did to fight a God of Light in the village of Uteska.
But it wasn’t as if Nathan was their only hope. He cast a sidelong glance at Hector, the crown prince of Troy. Hector, known throughout the lands as the finest Trojan warrior, wasn’t someone to be underestimated. Perhaps Hector alone had the potential to challenge the nearly invincible Achilles. Though, to truly stand toe-to-toe with the demigod, even he might need the blessings of the gods themselves.
Suddenly, a voice broke through the tension. “Leave Achilles to me.” It wasn’t Hector who spoke, but Penthesilea, her tone firm. The Amazon queen’s expression was fierce, her gaze steady as she looked around the room, leaving no doubt about the seriousness of her words.
Sarpedon, one of the mightiest Lycian warriors, eyed her with cautious concern. “Penthesilea, I know you’re strong—any fool can see that—but Achilles is on another level entirely,” he said.
She scoffed, a defiant smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I’m well aware of who he is, and that’s precisely why I intend to face him,” she replied. “I’m not just any warrior—I am the queen of the Amazons, and we were born to hunt the monsters that others fear to face. Achilles is exactly the kind of opponent I came here to challenge.”
Before a full debate could ignite, Hector raised a hand, his voice ringing with calm authority. “We’ll settle this when the time comes. For now, we must focus on preparation,” he interjected. “The Greeks will be at our gates within the week, and there’s much to be done if we hope to meet them in full force.”
Despite his composed words, Hector knew the dangers Achilles posed and doubted Penthesilea’s chances against the legendary warrior. But he refrained from voicing his doubts, knowing it would only fuel her resolve further.
With Hector’s firm command, the gathered warriors nodded and began to take their leave, dispersing to prepare for the battles ahead.
Nathan, too, rose from his seat, following a maid assigned to escort him to his new room inside the castle’s comfort.