Disclaimer: some of the characters in this story are based off of the video game Assassins Creed Odyssey, some have their roots in Greek mythology, and others are of my own creation. The ideas and concepts lean more towards that of Greek myths and the events of this story take place after the main game, before Legacy of the Hidden Blade and in place of Fate of Atlantis.

Two of the four graves were empty. The bodies they were meant to hold could not be recovered, and only regret sat in the dirt beneath the stones. Though the necropolis was outside the city, Alexios had made the choice to put their memorials outside his home as a reminder of his decisions. It had felt like nearly a lifetime ago that he had killed his family, and yet the blood never left his hands. Nikolaos, Stentor, they were casualties of rage, an undying spark that had swelled into an uncontrollable fire. He was blinded by his anger with them and, with his grandfather's spear, had stolen their futures. Yet once their last breaths left the gory remnants Alexios created, he felt oceans of guilt swallow him whole. Even though his sister Kassandra was the one to run her blade through their mother, he still felt responsible for her death. He had tried so hard to redeem his sister, to bring her back and rebuild what was left of their family, but she was too far gone. As Deimos, Kassandra had taken so much from him. Yet when he pushed his spear through her throat, a futile attempt to avenge his mother, he felt only pain and sorrow for all that he had lost. Every night since the day he lost his mother and sister, he washed his hands before going to sleep. Whether he was in Sparta, Athens, or on the Adrestia, he would scrub his hands, always trying to cleanse himself of his sins, of their blood. It never worked. His days were long and often unrewarding; his nights were restless, filled with memories tainted by a broken spear.

It was as if Ares and Athena were constantly at war in his mind. One would stoke the fires of his rage while the other whispered patience and temperance in his ear. It was undeniable though that these two sides of him were connected by the same force; they were both gods of war, and Alexios was their instrument. It had been two weeks since Alexios had received the Staff of Hermes Trismegistus and had sought the comfort and introspection only solitude can give. Captain Barnabas had led the crew of the Adrestia on a short voyage to Kythera where they helped rebuild the temple of Aphrodite. Barnabas deeply revered the gods and when Alexios mentioned that Aphrodite's temple had been burned by one of the Cultists, the eccentric old man insisted on helping them rebuild. Alexios sent word on the wings of his faithful eagle Ikaros for the crew to return to Lakonia - he was ready to rejoin them. As he waited in the small harbor town in an inn that looked as if Menelaus himself had stayed there before the Trojan War, he sat and stared at his divine weapon.

The Staff of Hermes Trismegistus was powerful. He had seen how it had prolonged the life of his father Pythagoras, long past that expected of a human. Yet every time Alexios held the staff, it felt like nothing more than a poorly weighted spear, as if its true power had died alongside the previous owner. When he first held it, it felt like the gods themselves were yelling at him from every direction, but now it was hardly more than a small voice whispering in his ear.

A knock at the door at last pulled his attention away from the staff. A visitor? At this hour? He carefully reached for his weapon, the broken spear, still on his back despite the unending grief it seemed to have brought him. The door swung open, bringing him face-to-face with his dearest friend and only surviving father figure, the ever- optimistic and cheerful Barnabas.

"Commander!" He exclaimed, pulling the misthios into a warm hug. "I hope you've gotten enough rest." Alexios, finally letting his guard down since the Adrestia's departure, returned the older man's embrace.

"Barnabas, it's been a quiet two weeks without you." The mercenary smiled.

"We need to talk Alexios, I'm concerned we've upset the gods," the salty captain said, shifting tone and closing the door behind him. "I know you've been through a lot recently, but we lost almost half the crew on the last voyage to Kythera and it hardly counts as a voyage for a ship like our Adrestia! I fear the gods have abandoned us."

"Barnabas, you've always been a bit superstitious—"

"Dammit Alexios! We lost a lot of good sailors on that small trip, I need you to take me seriously. Half of our pay will have to go to hiring new crew members." The old man took a breath and collected himself. "Every morning when I look up at the sun, I thank Apollo for pulling it across the sky. Before I set sail, I ask Zeus for safe passage. When I'm on the water, at the mercy of the ocean, I pray that Poseidon keeps us safe. I need you to have the same faith that I do, if not faith in the gods, then faith in me."

Alexios sat back. Barnabas only had one good eye left, but in it was a true plead for Alexios to listen. The mercenary rubbed his temples and gestured to the chair across from the bed. He breathed in deeply and looked back at Barnabas. He nodded and spoke.

"You have an idea already, don't you–"

"Of course I have an idea!" Barnabas interjected with a smile. "Alexios I know you feel the gods have abandoned you, and perhaps they have, but you cannot abandon them. I'm not asking you to follow me blindly, I only ask for you to trust me one step at a time."

He chuckled. "Alright, old man. What's the first step?"

"We set sail for Aeaea in the morning!" He proudly proclaimed.

Alexios asked quickly sat upright. "What!?"