After sharing a few comments about the Greeks, Nathan was guided to a vast, opulent chamber that exuded grandeur at every corner. The polished marble floors glinted in the torchlight, and intricate tapestries depicting Trojan victories hung from walls gilded with gold leaf. Despite his casual remarks earlier, he was mildly astonished that none of his companions had pressed him for more details. He hadn’t thought his comments were especially insightful, yet they seemed to have struck a chord. He chalked it up to the strange workings of his outrageous luck, a stat he had learned to accept but still found mystifying.
As he stepped into his room, Nathan began removing his armor, piece by piece, feeling the weight of the past week lifting off him as he did. His mind drifted to the relentless vigilance he had maintained every night, keeping watch in the shadows while the others slept. Agamemnon was a man known for his obsessions, and Nathan knew it was entirely within his character to dispatch men to reclaim Astynome. This was why he had gone without sleep, ensuring that they would not be ambushed. Astynome herself had been in no state to act as a sentry; she was still haunted by her recent trauma and had narrowly escaped Agamemnon’s possessive grip. The journey had taken its toll on them both, but Nathan had endured, driven by a sense of purpose he couldn’t quite define.
Thankfully, their week had passed without incident. But as the days had gone by, he couldn’t help but notice how close Astynome had grown to him. He sensed a shift, a silent reliance that had blossomed between them. He understood her clinging nature was born from gratitude mixed with the pain of her recent losses. In saving her from a grim fate, he had unwittingly become her anchor. And though Nathan wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, he couldn’t deny that her presence had started to mean something to him as well. But what that “something” was, he chose not to dwell on.
Once he had stripped off his armor and clothing, he moved toward the stone basin in the corner of the room, filling it with warm water. As he sank into the bath, the heat seeped into his weary muscles, washing away the grime and exhaustion accumulated over the long days of horseback travel. He closed his eyes and let the water envelop him, the steady warmth easing the constant tension in his body. For a moment, he could almost forget the unyielding ache that gnawed at his core.
After a long soak, Nathan stepped out and reached for a fresh set of clothes neatly laid out on a carved wooden bench. The fabrics were finely woven and unmistakably Trojan in design, yet they fit him surprisingly well, almost as though the maids had anticipated his measurements. As he dressed, he caught sight of his reflection in the polished silver mirror hanging nearby. He stared at his arms, which were slowly darkening, the skin taking on an eerie, inky hue.
“I’m nearing the end,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.
This was the cost he had agreed to pay nine months ago, the price of defying a goddess and tampering with powers that no human from his world should have even glimpsed. The darkness creeping up his arms was a constant reminder of that fateful choice, a slow curse spreading through him. His mortal body wasn’t meant to bear such power, and it rebelled against it with searing pain. Though he kept his face composed and unyielding, an agony burned within him that he had learned to hide from others. This suffering had become his silent burden, one that no one else could ever understand.
Just as Nathan’s thoughts drifted into the dark reflection of his choices, a sudden shift rippled through his senses. His vision blurred, and the room seemed to melt away around him. The lavish Trojan chamber, with its ornate tapestries and marble floors, vanished as if it had never been. The sounds of Troy’s distant bustle faded, replaced by an ethereal silence.
When his vision cleared, he found himself standing in an endless expanse bathed in a soft, golden light. A smirk teased the corner of his lips—a smirk he quickly stifled as he turned to face the presence he knew had summoned him here.
“God Apollo,” Nathan addressed.
Before him stood a figure who embodied the very essence of beauty and grace. Apollo, god of light, music, and prophecy, radiated an almost tangible aura of divine splendor. Tall and lean, with sun-gold hair that caught the light like threads of fire, his striking features formed the epitome of male beauty. His alabaster robe fell in effortless folds, edged with threads of silver, a vision of serene but formidable power.
“Heiron,” Apollo spoke, his voice smooth and warm as it reverberated through the golden silence. “I have long wished for this conversation.”
Nathan inclined his head slightly. “The feeling is mutual, Apollo.”
Apollo’s gaze softened, though it carried the weight of something unspoken. “Before we begin, let me first thank you. Saving Astynome… it means more to me than you know.”
Nathan studied Apollo carefully. “You could have intervened yourself, yet you didn’t. Couldn’t, rather?” His tone was respectful but edged with curiosity.
Apollo nodded, his expression briefly clouded with something akin to regret. “As a god, I am bound by laws—even more so now, with war looming on the horizon. Stepping in too overtly could bring harsh judgment upon me and leave Troy vulnerable.”
In that moment, Nathan felt a trace of understanding, though his personal code would always place his own above all else. It was now clearer why Apollo had watched from afar, choosing Troy’s protection over his priestess’s safety. If Nathan had known Astynome was Apollo’s own daughter, his judgment might have softened further—but Nathan’s loyalty was steadfastly to his own.
Apollo’s eyes flashed, a trace of admiration crossing his face. “I saw you at Lyrnessus,” he said, his tone carrying genuine respect. “You fought bravely against that Hero of the Empire of Light. Her strength was formidable, and yet you bested not only her but also her high-ranking spirit. It was… impressive.”
Nathan shrugged slightly, hiding any sign of satisfaction. “The Greeks and their allies are fond of their pride. They assume victory is a birthright. I merely used that against them.”
It was a calculated response, Nathan concealing the truth of his identity, unsure of how much trust he could afford to place in this god. Apollo, after all, was still a god, and Nathan had learned that most deities were unpredictable at best and treacherous at worst. Only a few had proven themselves worthy of his trust—Khione, Amaterasu, and, curiously, Aphrodite, though her motivations remained elusive.
Apollo’s laughter echoed around them, resonant and carefree, like a warm melody woven from sunlight itself. He seemed genuinely pleased, his eyes bright with amusement as he regarded Nathan. This mortal’s confidence, unbending even in the face of gods, intrigued him. Here was a human who, unlike others, possessed the strength to back his arrogance—a rare find, indeed. Apollo could already sense that he had stumbled upon a true diamond, unpolished yet dazzling in its raw potential.
“True enough,” Apollo replied, his tone casual but carrying a subtle undercurrent of anticipation. “The Greeks are backed by none other than Hera and Athena. Their arrogance stems not just from their victories but from knowing two of the most powerful goddesses stand behind them. And that pride, that reckless confidence… it will be their downfall.”
Nathan’s gaze sharpened. “Hera and Athena… Are they the only ones among the gods supporting the Greeks?” His voice was steady, unphased by the weight of the names, but within, he was calculating the depth of the threat. Hera and Athena were formidable—two of the strongest forces in Olympus, and both names Khione had warned him to be wary of.
Apollo’s smile was faint, a glint of pride and certainty mingling in his expression. “For now, yes. They are the only ones bound to the Greeks’ cause, the only ones who will directly involve themselves in the battle. But with those two, Troy is already faced with Olympus’s finest. Their reach alone is vast.”
Nathan gave a curt nod, the words settling heavily. Yet he noticed the faintest flicker in Apollo’s gaze, the quiet satisfaction that lingered as he watched Nathan’s reactions. Apollo wanted him invested in this war, wanted him to be more than a bystander. This god, it seemed, hoped Nathan would lend his strength to Troy’s side, aiding Hector and Aeneas in their struggle against the Greek forces.
A thoughtful silence settled between them before Apollo asked the question that had been hovering unspoken in the air.
“You don’t like the Greeks, do you?” Apollo’s voice was even, but his gaze was intent. “Am I wrong to think you don’t want them to win?”
Nathan’s mind flickered through memories of his recent encounters. Only two weeks prior, when Aphrodite had approached him about taking part in this war, he’d had no stake in its outcome. Whether the Greeks won or the Trojans prevailed, he hadn’t cared at all. He would’ve preferred to watch it all unfold from a distance, indifferent to the fates of men and cities he held no attachment to.
But… things had changed. Nathan’s gaze grew darker, and he closed his eyes, flashes of memory searing through his mind.
He saw Ajax, his brutish grin and his bold hand laid upon Aisha, daring to touch what was Nathan’s.
Agamemnon’s smug, loathsome face, the very sight of which stirred an anger deep within him.
At least for Astynome’s father whom Nathan respected for having sacrificed his life for his daughter.
Also maybe for Astynome as well since she was a good woman. He had traveled a week with her after all, affection was bound to happen.
Also Nathan had seen too many women, captives, torn from their homes, crying out for help within the Greek camps.
The Trojans, however, were different. In all his time with them, Nathan had seen no such horrors committed by their hands. They defended, they protected—but they did not enslave or brutalize.
Nathan opened his eyes finally.
“I want the Greeks to lose in the most humiliating and painful way possible.”