Please note that the past 3 parts take place simultaneously in the same timeline.

The fastest way to Delos was horseback, and Cicero prayed that the tide had receded enough to allow him and Eros to pass through the canal with ease. His heart pounded against his silver chest piece, matching the beat of Eros's hooves. Something wasn't right, he could feel it. Thaletas was a free man with the ability to roam wherever he pleased, but it was unlike him to leave his troops for so long and without explanation.

Eros threw his head dramatically as if sensing Cicero's unease.

"Yeah, I'm worried too." Cicero sighed as he patted the horse's neck. They were close to the crossing point. The smell of saltwater was becoming more intense as they rode, a troubling sign that the tide had yet to fall below its usual level.

Eros skid to a halt at the water's edge, throwing his head while resisting Cicero's commands. He frantically stepped back, rearing up in the process.

"Damn it!" Cicero yelled. The water was still too deep to cross and finding a ferryman would take far too long. He frantically dismounted and took hold of Eros's reins, leading him towards the edge of the grass line. He started tearing off his heavy armor, concealing it within a thick patch of brush. Everything, from his silver chest plate to his grievers and gauntlets were removed. The only accessory he kept was his belt and sword.

"Come on boy." He called, looking over at Eros, "it's time for a swim."

The large horse pawed impatiently at the ground under him and whinnied in protest, but Cicero didn't hesitate to start untacking him. He was determined to find Thaletas before sun up, praying that if something had happened and he was injured, he could survive until then. But he was running out of time, and if finding Thaletas meant having to get a little wet, it was more than worth the sacrifice.

Cicero led Eros to the shoreline, surveying the water to find its shallowest point. He took a deep breath and exchanged a quick glance with Eros before leading the way into the frigid water. Thankfully, the pass was only as wide as the width of an armored ship. But that didn't make the swim any more enjoyable. The grecian water was cold but not unbearable, and by the time Cicero and Eros made it to the other side they were both shivering and fighting for their breath. But there was little time to rest. Cicero grabbed a handful of Eros's auburn-colored mane and hoisted himself onto his back. He looked over his shoulder at the crossing and prayed to Poseidon for a lower tide upon their return.

"Alright Eros," He soothed, " Show me what those legs can do." He patted the horse's soaking wet neck before giving him a light kick. Eros was quick to respond, he could sense Cicero's urgency from the time he had saddled him earlier that day and the feeling had yet to subside. There was a constant tightness in Cicero's legs that translated into fear and wherever he was headed there was bound to be a bittersweet relief upon his arrival.

They raced up the hillside, through the beaten paths and dense forest until they reached the main trail leading up to the Archgesion. Flashes of past memories began dancing in Cicero's mind. Memories of the first time he and Thaletas were together and the tension that lay between them. The power he felt as they spared together and the passion that consumed him once they had kissed.

Eros stopped just short of the top of the hill and stood absolutely still, his abruptness nearly throwing Cicero from his back.

"Malaka!" he yelled, He urged the horse forward, speedily spurring his side. But Eros refused to pass the threshold to the Archgesion, throwing his head widely and rearing back on his hind legs.

Cicero leaned forward, running his hand over the side of Eros's cheek in an attempt to soothe him. However, as he did he caught a glimpse of what the horse was seeing and understood why he refused to continue. A blood trail, leading down the hillside and towards the center of town had caught his attention, but there was more.

"Eros wouldn't have been unsettled just by the sight of blood." Cicero felt his stomach turn at the thought. He felt weak, stumbling off the massive horse and towards what he could have only described as something short of a massacre.

There was blood everywhere, scattered like seeds around the pillars and stones. Cicero tread lightly, unsheathing his sword in case of an attack.

"Thaletas?!" he called frantically, looking around for any sign of life. But the early morning was as silent as a grave, a haunting sound when you're desperate to find a sign of life.

Cicero examined the scene around him, following the blood and footsteps in order to reenact the battle that took place. Tracing every movement and every step with his own, " These were skilled swordsmen, both heavily armored." he said to himself. "But this one," he said changing his footing, " This one is favoring one side, an old injury no doubt…" His eyes widened, he sank to his knees and ran his fingers through the dried, bloodstained sand.

A flush of heat shook his body, he gripped his sword tightly as he rose to his feet, "Damn it Thaletas! Where are you?!" he yelled into the sunrise. Just then, the winds shifted, pushing Cicero back towards the cliffs. As he turned, his nose twitched with a familiar odor. It didn't take but a moment for Cicero to start tracking the origin of that scent, diligently searching behind every stone and every tree until he saw him. He was leaning against one of the massive stone pillars, facing the sea.

Cicero dropped his sword and sprinted towards him, "Thaletas!?" he exclaimed. But there was no answer, no movement, and his eyes were naturally closed.

Cicero fell to his knees, he did all he could to hold back his tears as he examined Thaletas's body. His armor had been removed and his red tunic was torn, revealing a small portion of his chest and back. There was bruising around his arms and shallow cuts near his face and neck. Whoever it was he was fighting, was consciously avoiding serious injury. Or so it seemed.

Running his hand through Thaletas's hair, Cicero found a significant gash near the crown of his head. Its location made it nearly impossible to see, but the blood that poured from it was enough to soak the length of his black tresses. Cicero's crimson hand trailed over the side of Thaletas's face, its warmth sending shocks through his body.

"Come on Spartan," his voice cracked as he smoothed his thumb over the dried blood around Thaletas's mouth, "This world is not finished with you yet," He paused due to loss of breath, he couldn't contain himself any longer. Cicero wrapped his hands through Thaletas's hair and pulled his limp body towards him, cradling him in his arms. Tears flowed down his cheeks and pooled over his mouth as he pressed his lips against Thaletas's forehead, unable to pull them away as he said, "I refuse to let you go."

It wasn't until that moment that Cicero realized just how much Thaletas meant to him. He saved his life after the battle on the beach solely because Aleera required him to. If not for her, he would have let him die without a second thought. But now, he would do anything, give anything to save him. Not because he knew it's what Aleera would want, or because he was key to avoiding a prophesied demise. But because Cicero couldn't bear the thought of living without him.

It was a difficult feeling to describe. The way Cicero cared for Thaletas was not the same as deep-rooted love for Aleera, but the thought of losing either of them pained him just the same. Like Aleera, Thaletas had become one of Cicero's very few weaknesses, and there was no denying that they had become more than just moonlight lovers. The passion and ecstasy they shared, stretched far beyond their sexual nature and was evident in even the slightest situations.

Perhaps, it was because they lived similar lives. Both were raised knowing only one true purpose and hardened by the inevitable future they would inherit. They understood what it meant to take risks, unphased by the radical obedience that was required of them. On the outside, the way Thaletas and Cicero were raised would seem cruel, but it made them into the men that they were and when they were together it felt as though they were unstoppable.

Cicero could feel the warmth of the sunrise creep against his back, his body was stiff and nearly all his muscles seemed to cramp. But he refused to let go. He refused to leave Thaletas behind. This was not how his journey was supposed to end. He was supposed to win the islands for Sparta, for his home, and for his people. He was supposed to die at the hands of war, surrounded by the Spartan soldiers whom he called his brothers, not alone on a cliff, staring at the vacant sea.

Cicero's hand fell slowly, gently grazing Thaletas's cheek and down his neck. That was when he felt it. The slightest drumming of a heartbeat pulsed against his fingertips.

Thaletas was alive

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