To be entirely honest, Kemet was not a place Helen expected to become one of the stops on her voyage to Wilusa – assuming the latter is even still the intended destination. Even less expected was the involvement of a bona fide pirate fleet. Polydeukes and Kastor would have been amused to no end.

There are men from Alashiya, Lazba, a motley of islands the swan-begotten cannot name. There are new ships, captured by Paris by the grace of Aphrodite Euploia. Day by day, this fleet is growing. Recently, a crew of sea brigands joined, which has been waylaying trading vessels for several years. Five ships, although only two of those are any good. Their captain is an experienced man, used to the Great Green more than he could ever be to Gaia's embrace.

He has an excellent hideout – a tiny island with a natural harbour well protected by cliffs, with barely any inhabitants. Grazing goats, enough freshwater streams – perfect. The runaway queen spent several moons there with a small retinue, while her lover was away raiding.

Until, of course, he decided to show her Kemet proper, starting with the Delta. There had been a lot of boasting involved, including a promise to enter the capital itself. Tremble, o ancient land, as you never did before!

She longs to visit so many places. But most of all - the White-Walled city, Scales of the Two Lands, fabled and sublime, beloved by Ptah. Flamboyant palaces, magnificent temples, multistoried houses of noble families – hardly anything superhuman, unless one believes the most absurd tales. There is no shortage of wonders in Akhaia, on Krete, on Alashiya, rich in copper. But those, who have laid eyes upon Kemet's greatest jewel, speak of it as if they were spellbound.

The Two Lands have architects, sculptors, artists, goldsmiths of incomparable skill, and, for all the grandeur of hundred-gated Waset or the new capital's bustle, the city of white walls is their true masterpiece. How radiant you are, sacred Men-Nefer on generous Hapi!

They never see it, of course. Not even from afar. All the sailors, both those from the Troad and he islanders he picked up, laughed at Paris' delusions from the very beginning.

This did not, however, prevent them from going along with the plan. Why not? Excitement, rich plunder – everything young men dream of before the realities of a sailor's life teach them to be content with less. Besides, the merchant ships carry enough wondrous treasure for everyone, Kemetic and kushite items worth a fortune each. No need to be bashful!

Usermaatre Setepenre, the great ruler – may health, long life and strength attend him – could not help but take note of the nuisance. But dealing with it personally would have been beneath his dignity. The pirates were forced to retreat by regular soldiers, helped by neither the old hero of Qadesh his own grand self, nor his tame lion, named Slayer of his Enemies – just like he king's previous pet beast.

Failure led to a significant decrease in crude jests and drinking.

This place has unfairly capable bowmen, sharp arrows, biting sickle-swords. How many of those, who had recently feasted and drank with everyone else, now lie dead on the shores of Kemet? Nobody wants to count.

The king's officers, on the other hand, are only happy to tally their victims. The traditional method is cutting off every fallen foe's right hand, or, for some people who do not practice circumcision, penis. Very practical.

Paris is unperturbed. How was he to know he makes a terrible raider, unless he tried? And his time was hardly wasted, either. The fleet managed to acquire truly impressive riches – the lion's share for himself and his lady, many valuables to divide among the pirates, exquisite gifts for the royal family.

Aineias stays silent for now, brow furrowed, disapproving glare rarely leaving the oblivious lovebirds. It would have been better to bind them both and leave at Menelaos' doorstep, but how?

The dardanian feels like a dog that has changed a dozen of masters, every single one of them demanding something different. Perhaps barking at the full moon would suit him well by now.

Priamides, meanwhile, wastes little time deliberating on the future. The Great Green shines seductively, time itself is on their side: eventually, Akhaia will get bored of its own rage, while Wilusa is bound to forget all those ill omens, as Priam promised. But for now…

Naturally, the best garments and ornaments that fell into their hands ended up in Helen's possession. Whether those can make her more beautiful, or it is she that makes them shine, is entirely debatable. He sees blue lotuses blooming in her eyes, red ones on her lips. There is lapis-lazuli, turquoise and carnelian, but the former cowherd yearns for newer colours.

On a pleasant morning, having made up his mind, Paris lazily asks the swan-begotten lady what she knows of Phoenician Sidon, which is about to be honoured with her presence next.

Helen keeps the true answer to herself – but she thinks, a part of her – the greater part – remained on the banks of Hapi, perhaps intent on seeing ancient Men-Nefer at last.

The bear is young, strong and very frustrated. What beast would be happy to encounter an intruder near his favorite river? By Artemis, the fish catch had been so good this morning, too.

The intruder is swift, focused and soaking wet. Young - still not even fourteen. He is also hungry. For meat, blood, action, the taste of victory – you name it.

The bear is strong, but ridiculously reckless. When it lunges at the boy in blind haste, he evades the attack, leaps onto a slippery stone in the middle of the river – shallow, but so very rapid - aims his javelin at the angry ursine face. If he can irritate it even further…

Luck is on his side. The bear, fearful of the sharp stick but unwilling to retreat, eventually makes a wrong move, loses its balance and falls into the water with a giant splash.

The human was barely able to remain on his precarious perch, too. Before the water spray can die down, he finishes his luckless enemy off, giving it no time to regain its bearings. His weapon finds the animal's throat without trouble.

Of course, it gets stuck. The victim's wild death throes break the shaft in two, leaving only half of it in the killer's hands. Then – silence.

This unnatural, grey quiet is finally broken by a soft rustling in the distance. Very, very deliberate. Heavy breathing. Four feet… no, hooves. How familiar.

The young man doesn't turn around. Of course, his teacher is announcing his presence. Had he wanted to, he would have appeared without warning, as if out of thin air. He does that.

The youngster is busy. He drags the mass of flesh that used to be a living being out of the shallow stream. Smaller children treat old playthings this way, stubbornly holding on to something that has become useless.

Well, the beast can be skinned, at least. But first – a treat.

He cracks the skull open with a jagged stone, and slips his fingers inside to find something moist and sticky.

This used to be somewhat gross, but now he simply enjoys the taste. Besides, they say an animal's brain or heart hold all its strength and courage. You eat those, you get a share. The question is – does the same hold true for humans? Just an idle musing, honestly.

When the ancient kentaur finally energes from the forest, the boy looks up from his feast – face filthy, smile guileless and out of place.

- Khaire, teacher. Where have you been? It seems I need a new javelin.

- Sooner or later, you shall have need of a great deal more than that, Akhilleus. But for now, your mother requires your presence. You are to leave Pelion.

The boy gasps. Thetis does not visit often, true, but she never found Kheiron's teachings lacking in any way. Perhaps, she may have preferred to see her child among the undying, but Peleus had prevented his wife from burning away Akhilleus'mortality.

Offended, the Nereid abandoned them both to their fleeting fate. Yet, when the time came for her son to begin training away from home, she agreed, that the kentaur patriarch's knowledge and skill have few rivals.

Trust is not an issue, either, considering that Peleus owes Kheiron his life. So why?

- She would not be demanding this without good reason, I am certain. But let us go, dear student, you shall ask Thetis yourself. Perhaps she has foreseen something again.

- If she has, I bet it's even worse than the last time. Wasn't it bad enough?

Kheiron gently touches the copper-haired boy's shoulder, not entirely convinced he won't be bitten for his trouble. Ahh, if only he could honestly say there is no reason for distress.

Unhappy child. The Nereid has predicted for him a choice between two possible fates. One – glory bright as a falling star, and just as brief. Two – long and peaceful obscurity. He shall have to decide on the path he is to take eventually, but – now? Too early. Not ready.

Nereus' radiant daughter does not wish her own flesh and blood any ill. Her love may be a melancholy tune, but it is still very real. But once Akhilleus leaves Pelion, the oikumene shall claim him, mark him for death even as he begins to learn what life is, and there shall be no going back. Who knows, Peleides might well make the first step himself.

The old kentaur, child of Kronos, has taught far too many heroes. In a way, the tiny realm of wooded Pelion, with its streams, pines, that spacious cave – does not exactly belong to the world. It has changed little since the Golden Age, and is likely to remain so forever.

A dozen, a hundred, perhaps a thousand Akhilleuses shall come, only to leap back into the river of time. How many more shall surrender to the current, how many – redheaded, black-haired, golden – shall be buried beneath the waves before their locks go grey?

The teacher's fate, meanwhile, is bound to this timeless place, and the best he can do is prepare them, himself remaining on the banks of the great stream. How can this ever be enough?

Ah. There he goes. A student who excels at killing and singing of glory. He has learned other things as well, but with little passion. If only there was more time…

- Take heart, young man. She may have merely decided you need a different education.

- Well, I don't. I want you to teach me, do you hear?

Unfortunately, the kentaur can hear all too well. It does not matter.

- Akhilleus, please, before you meet your mother - make sure to wash the brains off your face.