“What are you doing, Zeus?!” Hera’s voice rang out, sharply, echoing through the halls of Olympus. Her gold eyes flashed with anger as she stepped forward, her regal form tense and unyielding.
Zeus stood at the edge of the divine balcony, his imposing figure illuminated by the flickering light of the storm he had conjured. His lightning bolt was raised high, its brilliance illuminating his contorted face, which was twisted with fury.
Below, chaos reigned on the battlefield of Troy. Yet all Zeus could see was the lifeless body of his son, Sarpedon, sprawled on the blood-soaked earth. His vision blurred with a mixture of rage and grief.
“Zeus!” Hera shouted again, her voice cutting through the storm. “Have you lost your mind?!”
Zeus flinched but did not turn. His hand trembled as he gripped his lightning bolt tighter, the air crackling with its deadly energy. His anger boiled over, a rare and fearsome sight even for the gods.
The cause of his fury was undeniable. Sarpedon—his son, his noble, good-natured son—had been struck down in a cowardly ambush. Zeus’s heart ached in a way it hadn’t in centuries.
Among all his mortal offspring, Sarpedon had been special. Unlike many of his other children, who had inherited his pride and ambition, Sarpedon had embodied virtues Zeus admired yet rarely possessed himself: kindness, honor, and humility.
When Ajax, his grandson, had died, Zeus had barely spared a thought. But this—this was different.
“You are the one who decreed that we, the gods, are forbidden to interfere in mortal affairs,” Hera hissed, her tone laced with venom. She crossed her arms, her elaborate robes shimmering like the evening sky. “And yet now, you think yourself above your own laws? Are you so hypocritical that you would make exceptions for yourself?”
Her words struck a nerve, and Zeus’s grip on the lightning bolt tightened further. The blade of pure energy hummed ominously, the storm around him growing fiercer.
Hera watched him closely, her face a mask of righteous indignation. Yet deep inside, she felt a wicked satisfaction bubbling up. Sarpedon’s death was a strategic victory for the Greeks, and Hera had long favored their side in this endless war. With one of Troy’s most critical commanders gone, the scales of war tipped further in her favor.
She couldn’t deny the joy she felt at the sight of Zeus’s anguish. It was rare for him to show such emotion for his mortal progeny, and this moment of weakness was one she would savor.
Zeus finally exhaled, a deep and shuddering sound that seemed to carry the weight of his grief. Slowly, he lowered his lightning bolt. The storm began to subside, though the tension in the air lingered.
“Rest well, my son…” Zeus muttered, his deep voice laced with sorrow. His usually imperious expression softened into one of pain as he cast a final glance toward Sarpedon’s lifeless body.
Hera tilted her head, studying him. For a fleeting moment, she almost felt pity. Almost.
Her gaze returned to the battlefield below. The clash of swords and cries of war had halted. Both the Trojans and the Greeks stood frozen, their eyes fixed on Sarpedon’s corpse. The once-proud prince lay in a pool of his own blood, his face pale and lifeless.
The silence was deafening. Even the gods themselves seemed to hold their breath.
“Perfect,” Hera whispered to herself, a sly smirk curling her lips. Her heart swelled with satisfaction. The Trojans were stunned into inaction, their morale shattered.
And now, her chosen piece would move.
“Chiron,” she thought, her gaze narrowing as it settled on the centaur below. The legendary teacher and warrior stood at the ready, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the battlefield.
“He’ll finish the job. He’ll rid the world of the rest of these fools.”
°°°°°
Nathan reached the scene moments later, dropping to his knees beside Sarpedon’s crumpled form. He checked for a pulse, his fingers brushing against Sarpedon’s neck.
“No…” Nathan whispered.
The arrow had pierced Sarpedon’s chest with terrifying precision, striking his heart. His lifeless eyes stared up at the sky, a silent testament to the strength and courage he had displayed in his final moments.
“Dead.”
“What?” Aeneas stammered, his voice faltering as he stared at Nathan in utter disbelief. His eyes widened, a mixture of denial and dread flashing across his features. His entire body trembled as though his legs could barely support him.
“I… It can’t be… Heiron, check again,” Aeneas muttered, his voice barely audible, laced with a hollow, almost hysterical laugh. His words hung in the air, heavy with desperation.
He was breaking—crumbling under the weight of a truth too cruel to accept. His mind refused to process what lay before him. No normal man could survive with a gaping hole in his chest. Yet, the evidence was undeniable.
“He is dead, Aeneas,” Nathan said softly, his voice steady but devoid of warmth. He placed a firm hand on Aeneas’ trembling shoulder, his grip grounding him.
“R… Right…” Aeneas whispered, his fists clenching tightly. His knuckles turned white from the force, and his eyes grew red and wet, tears threatening to spill. He bit his lip as if trying to hold himself together, but his anguish was palpable, a raw and unrestrained thing.
Nathan’s gaze shifted downward to the lifeless body of Sarpedon. His once vibrant friend now lay still, his lifeblood pooling beneath him.
Sarpedon.
The name echoed in Nathan’s mind, each repetition twisting the knife of grief deeper. Sarpedon had been a good man—one of the few who had treated Nathan with genuine kindness. The kind of man who saw him as more than just a tool or a threat.
Sarpedon had become a friend, one of the few male friends Nathan had ever had. It struck him then, like a blow to the chest, just how much he seemed to have cared for him.
He thought back to the camaraderie they had shared: feasts that felt like celebrations of life, battles fought shoulder to shoulder, and conversations filled with laughter and sincerity. Those moments had been really nice ones.
And now, Sarpedon was gone.
Nathan knelt beside him. His hand hovered over Sarpedon’s chest for a moment before settling gently on it. “Rest well,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “May you reach the Elysium.”
Then he rose slowly, his movements deliberate and heavy. His soft expression, hardened into something colder.
“Aeneas,” Nathan said quietly, his tone firm now.
Aeneas, still shaking, turned toward Heiron as if clinging to the last shred of hope.
“Heiron…” Aeneas began, but his voice faltered again.
“I’ll handle this,” Nathan interrupted, his voice brooking no argument. “Take him away.”
Aeneas clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding audibly as he fought back a fresh wave of emotion. With a reluctant nod, he moved to Sarpedon’s side. Gently, almost reverently, he lifted the body. Tears streamed freely down his face now, but he said nothing, only giving Nathan a brief, pained glance before walking away.
Charybdis, standing a few paces away, watched Nathan closely. Concern flickered in her gaze, but she didn’t voice it. Instead, she hesitated, as if unsure whether to approach him.
“I’ll be fine,” Nathan said, his tone icy, dismissing her unspoken worry. “Do not intervene. That’s an order.”
Charybdis opened her mouth as if to protest but closed it just as quickly. She nodded reluctantly, her usual patience winning out. She understood the gravity of the situation—and the risks of revealing her identity. If it had been Medea or Scylla, they would have pushed back, but Charybdis, ever the dutiful one, held her tongue.
Satisfied, Nathan turned away from her and toward the culprit.
His icy gaze locked onto Odysseus, standing smugly amid the chaos. But Nathan’s focus shifted beyond the Greek hero, settling instead on the true architect of the attack.
A centaur.
The creature stood tall and imposing, its upper body that of a man—muscular and scarred from countless battles—while its lower half was that of a powerful horse, its hooves stained with blood.
The powerful presence Nathan had felt earlier was unmistakable. It was him.
Chiron.
The legendary centaur loomed over the battlefield, his massive frame radiating a calm yet overwhelming aura of authority. His upper body, scarred and muscular, was poised with absolute precision, while his equine lower half moved with an almost unnatural grace.
Nathan’s instincts screamed at him. This wasn’t someone he could take lightly.
“Ajax was strong, but this guy…” Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “He’s on a whole other level.”
Chiron’s expression remained neutral, almost detached, as though he were merely fulfilling a duty. In his hands, the enormous bow was drawn taut, its string humming with an unnatural energy. The arrow glowed faintly with celestial light, crackling like contained lightning.
Nathan followed the direction of Chiron’s aim, and his chest tightened.
It was Aeneas. Again.
The Trojan prince, still carrying the lifeless body of Sarpedon, was Chiron’s target.
Nathan’s sharp hearing picked up a furious voice echoing from above.
“I will kill him!”
It was Aphrodite, her rage palpable as she hovered invisibly over the battlefield. Her pink hair streamed like sunlight, and her radiant beauty was overshadowed by the sheer fury in her expression. She radiated divine power, her fists clenched, ready to rip Chiron apart herself.
Nathan glanced up, seeing her fiery form invisible to all but him.
“Calm yourself, Aphrodite,” came Artemis’s cool, soothing voice. Her expression as calm as ever. “This is not the time to lose your composure.”
“That bastard…” Aphrodite hissed, her tone dripping with venom.
Nathan, meanwhile, was no less furious.
His jaw clenched as he glared at Chiron. “Coward,” he muttered under his breath. The memory of Chiron’s first attack burned in his mind. Aeneas had been caught off guard, and in the process, Sarpedon had fallen and now, this centaur was trying to finish the job.
The bowstring snapped with a deafening BADAM!
The arrow shot forth, a streak of light so fast that even Nathan’s enhanced perception struggled to track it. Its trajectory was precise, deadly, and aimed squarely at Aeneas.
Nathan didn’t hesitate.
He activated his full speed, the world blurring around him as he appeared in front of Aeneas in an instant. With a sharp breath, he unsheathed his black blade, its dark surface gleaming ominously.
Nathan swung downward, meeting the arrow head-on. The collision created a shockwave that rippled through the battlefield, scattering dust and debris in all directions.
The sheer force of the impact was overwhelming. Nathan’s feet skidded backward across the ground, carving deep grooves as he struggled to remain upright. His arms trembled violently, and a sharp, searing pain shot through his bones.
“Damn it…” he hissed, his grip faltering for a moment. His hands felt numb, and he could hear the faint sound of cracking—his bones straining under the immense power of Chiron’s celestial arrow.
Through the haze of pain, Nathan’s sharp eyes caught movement.
“You have to kill him,” came the low, venomous whisper of Odysseus.
Nathan’s head snapped toward the Greek hero. Odysseus stood off to the side, his cunning gaze locked on Chiron. The words weren’t for Nathan—they were meant for the centaur.
Odysseus’s plan became clear in an instant.
“He’s doing this on purpose,” Nathan realized, his teeth grinding. “He’s targeting the others to force me to intercept. He wants me dead.”
Another BADAM! rang out, signaling the release of another arrow.
This one was even more terrifying. Its tip glowed with the unmistakable brilliance of celestial magic, its aura suffused with divine energy. It burned through the air like a falling star, roaring toward Nathan with unrelenting speed.
Nathan gritted his teeth and raised his sword once more, bracing himself for the impact.
But this time, the blow never came.
A towering figure appeared before Nathan, his bronze armor glinting in the light of the magic arrow. In one swift, decisive motion, the newcomer struck the arrow aside with a massive spear, the celestial energy dissipating harmlessly into the air.
Nathan’s eyes widened as he recognized the man who had saved him.
It was Hector.