I awoke quickly. I do not remember the dream, but I remembered I felt…angry. Upon reflection, there were very few times in my life where rage and amnesia occurred simultaneously. Perhaps me forgetting the dream was an omen, a warning for later in life.

It was dawn. The goddess Aurora rode her chariot across the sky, telling the world her brother Helios was short behind. We sailed out to sea and have yet to arrive. The triremes my father procured for our voyage swayed back and forth with the waves. All our soldiers, oarsmen, craftsmen, supplies, gifts, and animals covered the entire ship with not a lot of places where one can self-isolate. Nevertheless, I found a place where I could sleep with no interruptions: from Father or the oarsmen.

That place was safe from Mother too until she returned to visit. Her presence she attributed to smelling my "nature" upon the ocean. She came to me at once, she said. She found her jewel, the little man of her eyes, she said. Her jet-black hair and dark skin paralleled the ocean itself. Mother and my aunts would swim along the ship at twilight. The oarsmen and soldiers ogled with delight; Father did not. He resented Mother's presence. Father was the leader, the controller. He did not appreciate a wife, even in name only, stealing status from him. His own men ignored his orders to keep distance due to my aunts' and cousins' beauty. The soldiers would boast how long they would last, what it felt like between their thighs. The nymphs and naiads responded in flirtatious manners, toying with the men like dogs do bones. They mocked the mortals, and the men lapped it up, pleading with them for an opportunity to couple.

Mother and Father briefly talked once again. As I surmised, he yelled, she yelled, she splashed into the water. Later that night, she called me to the side of the ship.

"My son, remember I love you. You are the best of the Greeks. You will be a god. Remember when I am not here by you, I work on that for you: so, we can be together forever. I will leave now, but I will return. Remember to focus on the hereafter. Am I clear, my son?"

I responded affirmatively, and she splashed beneath the waves.

The next morning was a relief: we had arrived at Opus. I could finally spread out, get away from these lecherous and crude men. My father summoned me to his side and told me we were to feast at Menoetius's Hall tonight. We were to go there now, so we could be properly presented to him and his family. This formally bound us as guests, and therefore be subject to the laws of hospitality.

It was Menoetius's duty to follow these laws of hospitality: I remembered the story of Lycaon in Arcadia. He had served his servant to a disguised Zeus: not to present, but to eat. Lycaon wanted to test if the visitor was a god. He killed his servant and served it…him…as a stew for Zeus. The Lord Thunderer knew the trick and raged. For the act of murder, sacrilege, and cannibalism, Zeus turned him into a rabid wolf. When I was younger, I was told when the moon was full, he would come to ransack the countryside. Children's stories are fables, but as I know now, there is a hint of truth in all of them.

We strode through the marketplace, following the path up to the palace. I saw the poorer or homeless children playing with each other. I wanted to reach out. But it would not end well. Due to my demigod status, Mother did not want me to join the other boys of Pythia often in their games, regardless of their status. She did relent sometimes but not as often as I would have liked. Father followed in suit: some boys were allowed to train with me. When I was done training, I would try to socialize. Since I had more likely than not publicly embarrassed them just before, they rightfully scurried away.

I bumped into a boy eating a fig. The fig looked delicious. The boy clearly did not have a home: his chiton was ragged and had not been washed.

Father noticed.

"You. Apologize." I started to speak, "My friend, I…"

"Not you, my son. Him. NOW."

The boy started to cry.

"Father, I bumped into him…"

"HE IS NOTHING." He turned back to the boy. "APOLOGIZE. NOW."

The boy whimpered out an apology and scampered, leaving his half-eaten fig behind. He went to other street children he knew. He pointed back at us. I had wanted to speak with them. That impression from my father doomed my chances. Mother and Father agreed on two things about rearing me: Achilles was to look to the future; he was to be alone while doing so.

Well, if they wanted me to be alone, I remember thinking, I would be alone. I left my father and his guard. I weaved in and out of the shoppers and vendors. I ran away from the city. I ran as fast as I could as far as I could before taking a breath. The first item you need to accomplish in a chase is to outrun your opponent while they were preparing to run. I had prowess for running in training, Father always said.

I stopped and started walking. I could relent on the urgency since they were not in pursuit. I was not sure they even noticed I was gone.

I wandered around, enjoying the native land Opus had. The fields bloomed with flowers, the trees with fruit. I ate some figs: the meeting had aroused a craving in me. A deep desire for figs. At least it was not something more dangerous for me to crave.

It was about an hour when I came to a barn and barracks. I know in Pythia that advanced cavalry guards were found outside the city walls. Looking back towards the city, it seemed to be the right distance for that to be the most likely case. I looked around the fields. I did not see any horses. They must be out at pasture.

It was then I heard something odd: sobbing. Not loud wails, but whimpers of crying, like one would hear someone whilst in another room.

There was only one place the noise could originate that I could not see: the barn. I opened wide the barn door, where I could find the source of the muffled noise.

I peered into the stable, and asked to the empty air, "Is anyone here?" The sunlight cast its glow upon the floor, spiraling from the ajar door I had just opened. I turned towards the noise.

That is when I first saw him.

He crouched in the corner, sniffling. His dark skin shone in the sun. his eyes glistened. His black hair spun from his head as a goddess weaves on her loom, ceasing around his shoulders. His clothes seemed rugged and dirty but were stained with his tears.

Now that he appears in my recollections, I do not feel I can say his name. I fear it for its power over me. He is gone and may he live forever in Elysium! But the Queen told me to write and so I shall. When it comes to that time, I will. Fear is for the weak.

I felt a surge inside, a surge saying I needed him to speak. Oh, how fortuitous: I thank the god behind that!

"Hello, I'm Achilles, who are you?"

He saw me, saying, as he quickly composed himself. He rose. I saw he towered over me. He eyed me up and down, showing a hint of confusion and reticence in his glance.

"Hello, stranger."