I.I The Weight of Truth (PT.2)
Kassandra's eyes locked onto Alexios, her brow furrowing beneath the weight of confusion. The name that had slipped from his lips lingered in the air between them. Her gaze searched his, dark and intense, trying to piece together the sudden mystery that unsettled her. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically uncertain.
For the first time in years, Alexios found himself struggling to speak. How could he possibly explain the years that had passed, the bloodshed, the separation? His heart ached at the sight of her, no longer the baby sister he remembered, but a hardened warrior—Deimos, feared and revered by the Cult. He hesitated, his lips parting but no words coming forth. There was too much to say, too much left unsaid.
Kamir, standing in the shadows, grinned widely at the spectacle, enjoying the rare moment of vulnerability in Kassandra. He had never seen Deimos falter, never witnessed even a flicker of fear in her—until now. Something in the way she looked at this masked cultist stirred unease in him, but also amusement. The mighty Deimos, shaken by a mere stranger?
"Go," Kassandra hissed, her voice sharp, barely masking her inner turmoil. The command snapped Alexios out of his thoughts, and he moved without hesitation, stepping back into the circle of cultists. His chest tightened with regret as he took each step, knowing he couldn't reveal himself—not yet. As he turned away, his heart sank further at what he saw next.
Kassandra, consumed by frustration, lashed out at one of the nearby cultists. Her fist collided with the man's face, a brutal strike that sent him crumpling to the ground. Her rage was palpable, seething from her as she continued beating him with relentless force. Her anger had nothing to do with the man before her—Alexios knew that much. She was at war with her own emotions, her own memories. He could see it in the way she fought, the way her fists landed with more fury than focus.
As the rest of the cultists backed away in fear of her wrath, Alexios' gaze drifted to the artifact. His eyes caught the glint of a small piece nestled within it—a shard of something important, something powerful. The piece gleamed in the torchlight, and Alexios realized with a sudden urgency that this was his moment.
While all eyes were on Kassandra, Alexios slipped closer to the artifact, his hand darting out to retrieve the piece. His fingers closed around the shard, and he quickly tucked it away. Every second felt like an eternity as he moved, his heart pounding in his chest. The room was filled with the sound of Kassandra's fists against flesh, her growls of frustration, the shuffling of cultists stepping away from her violent outburst.
Just as he made his move to slip away, Alexios felt the weight of another gaze on him—Kamir's. The man's sly grin had twisted into something more predatory. Kamir wasn't going to let him go that easily. He had seen the tension between Alexios and Kassandra, the hesitation in her movements, and now, the way Alexios moved toward the shadows.
Kamir's smile faded into something more sinister as he took a step toward Alexios, his hand hovering near the hilt of his weapon. He was watching, waiting. Alexios knew there was no way he would let him leave without a confrontation.
Alexios clenched his jaw, his muscles tensing as he prepared to make his escape. He didn't have much time. Whatever chance Kassandra had unknowingly given him, Kamir was ready to take it away. The question was—could he outmaneuver both Kamir and the chaos of the Cult before it was too late?
Kamir's voice cut through the tension, low and menacing. "Leaving so soon, friend?"
Alexios froze for a moment, his body instinctively preparing for a fight. But as Kamir stepped closer, the sharp edge of tension softened. Kamir's grin widened, and Alexios could see that he wasn't about to draw his weapon—at least not yet. There was something far more sinister in the way Kamir was studying him, an almost playful curiosity in his eyes.
Kamir circled Alexios like a wolf, keeping his voice low so the others wouldn't hear. "Interesting," Kamir mused, his gaze flicking toward Kassandra, who was still unleashing her fury on the helpless cultist. "Deimos lets you live while another dies in her hands. Quite the spectacle, don't you think?" His voice was smooth, filled with amusement, as though the chaos around them were nothing more than entertainment.
Alexios remained silent, every fiber of his being on alert. Kamir wasn't making a move to attack, but his words were like a blade, cutting deeper than any weapon. He was toying with him, playing a game. Alexios could feel it.
Kamir's eyes gleamed as he leaned in closer, his smile never faltering. "Why would she spare you, hmm? What makes you so special, I wonder?" He paused, letting the question hang in the air. "Ah… but perhaps I already know the answer."
Alexios clenched his fists at his sides, resisting the urge to strike. Kamir was baiting him, trying to force a reaction. But he wouldn't give him that satisfaction—not here, not now.
As Kamir stepped back, still smiling, his tone shifted, becoming almost casual. "Dakota," he said suddenly, the name falling from his lips like a challenge. "How is she faring, I wonder? Has she learned the truth yet? I suppose it doesn't matter. You'll both meet me again, soon enough." His grin widened, a flash of teeth in the dim light.
Alexios's heart skipped a beat at the mention of Dakota. He didn't let it show, but the weight of Kamir's words hung heavy in his chest. Kamir knew more than he was letting on, and whatever game he was playing, Dakota was part of it.
Kamir took a step back, motioning lazily toward the tunnel. "Go on," he said with a mocking bow. "I won't stop you. Not today."
Alexios didn't waste a second. He gave Kamir one last look, a silent promise that this wasn't over, and turned toward the tunnel. As he slipped into the shadows, his mind raced. He had the shard, but Kamir's words echoed in his thoughts. The Cult was more dangerous than he had ever imagined, and Dakota—she was tangled in it as deeply as he was.
Kamir watched him disappear into the darkness, a satisfied smirk still playing on his lips. The game had only just begun.
…
Dakota tilted her head toward the heavens, the stars shimmering like distant fires against the black velvet of the night sky. She tried to calm her restless mind, though the Oracle's words weighed heavily on her. The cryptic revelations had left her feeling unsettled, and despite everything she had learned, she couldn't shake the sense that some unseen force was weaving her fate closer to Alexios. Whether it was coincidence or something deeper, the connection between them seemed inescapable.
The cool night breeze kissed her skin, offering a brief moment of peace before the sharp cry of Ikaros pierced the silence. Dakota's gaze shifted upward just in time to see the massive eagle swoop down, landing gracefully on the wooden railing in front of her. His golden eyes locked on hers, and for a moment, Dakota could have sworn he was urging her to follow.
Without a word, she turned and made her way below deck, where the stable was housed. Phobos was already awake and alert, as though sensing the urgency of the night. Next to him stood Captain calm but watchful. Dakota quickly saddled them both, her fingers working swiftly as she prepared to ride. She led the horses out of the stable beneath the ship, and mounted captain, her hand gripping the reins tightly.
With Ikaros leading the way, Dakota rode through the dirt paths, the sound of hooves thudding softly against the earth. The trees that lined the road stood like silent sentinels, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. The path twisted and turned through the dense forest, and the further she went, the more she felt the weight of destiny pulling her forward.
After some time, a structure loomed ahead, bathed in the soft light of the moon. It was an ancient statue of a lion, majestic yet weathered by time. Broken pillars lay scattered behind it, remnants of a forgotten era. As Dakota drew closer, she spotted two figures standing beneath the statue, their silhouettes outlined against the night sky.
Alexios was one of them.
His expression shifted from focus to surprise when he saw her riding up with both Captain and Phobos in tow. Ikaros had landed beside him, and it was clear that Alexios hadn't even noticed the eagle had left his side. Dakota dismounted and approached, her steps purposeful, while Alexios, still slightly bewildered, met her halfway.
"Dakota," he began, his brow furrowed. "What are you doing here? I didn't expect you to—"
"Ikaros led me here," Dakota interrupted, her voice steady but laced with tension. "I thought you might need me."
Alexios glanced toward the eagle, who was perched calmly nearby, as though he had been in control all along. "I didn't even realize he was gone…" he muttered, shaking his head.
Behind them, Herodotos remained still, his eyes fixed on the statue of the lion, deep in thought. He had been silent for most of the evening, contemplating whatever wisdom or mystery the statue held. His presence was calm but seemed to carry the weight of knowledge, as though he had been waiting for Dakota's arrival too.
If you close your eyes, you can hear them," Herodotos said softly, his voice carrying the weight of history.
Dakota's grip tightened on Captain's reins as she guided him forward, Alexios moving beside her with Phobos. The sight of the lion statue caught her off guard, its majestic form glowing in the moonlight, a silent sentinel to the past. There was a reverence in the air, a quiet yet powerful reminder of something long forgotten by most, but still alive in the stories carried by men like Herodotos.
"Their final war cries," Herodotos continued, his gaze distant as if he could see the battle playing out before him, "before every last one of those brave Spartans perished."
Dakota's eyes flicked to the older man, her mind racing as she tried to piece together his meaning. Spartans. Was he referring tothatbattle? The one that had become legend across the Greek world?
"Their voices were silenced that day," Herodotos murmured, a faint sadness in his tone. "But their story… their sacrifice… will be sung for eternity."
A heavy silence followed his words, thick with the weight of what had been lost and what had been immortalized. Dakota's eyes returned to the statue, her chest tightening as the gravity of the moment settled in. The Spartans, their defiance against impossible odds, their bravery in the face of certain death—these were not just stories to her.
Alexios, visibly agitated, cut through the tension with a sharp edge in his voice. "You didn't bring me here to talk about dead Spartans. What's on your mind, Herodotos?"
Dakota almost smacked Alexios in the arm, her irritation bubbling just below the surface, but she stopped herself at the last moment. His dismissive attitude grated on her nerves, especially when they were standing in the presence of something so significant.
Herodotos remained calm, his gaze unwavering as he looked at Alexios. "The Battle of Thermopylae still echoes in our hearts, but to stand here is to feel it in your bones."
Alexios scowled, frustration clear in his posture. "There's nothing here but ghosts. My concerns are with the living. We have real threats to deal with, not the specters of past glories."
Herodotos didn't flinch at Alexios' harsh tone. "The past informs the present," he replied steadily. "The ghosts of history have their role, and they are not to be dismissed lightly. But I understand your urgency. We all face threats that require our immediate attention."
Hold out your spear," Herodotos urged, his voice firm despite the calm demeanor.
Alexios' eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "My spear? For what purpose?" he shot back, his tone laced with impatience. Time was slipping away, and every second counted in his frantic search for his mother before the Cult could find her first.
"I need to know something," Herodotos replied, his voice steady and unyielding.
Dakota stood nearby, unease crawling up her spine. Captain shifted restlessly beneath her, sensing her growing tension. Phobos flicked an ear in Herodotos' direction, mirroring Dakota's own anxiety.
With a resigned sigh, Alexios lifted his spear, holding it out before him. As he did, Dakota noticed a faint, ethereal glow emanating from the weapon. Herodotos stepped closer, his hand reaching out to touch the spear's shaft with deliberate care. The moment his fingers made contact, the glow intensified, casting a soft light across their surroundings.
Herodotos closed his eyes, focusing intently on the spear. For a long moment, the only sound was the quiet rustling of leaves in the night breeze. Dakota's curiosity deepened, her mind racing with questions about what this ritual might reveal.
The glow of the spear began to pulse gently, as if responding to an unseen force. Herodotos' expression remained unreadable, but Dakota could see a shift in his demeanor—an intensity that suggested he was uncovering something significant.
Dakota's body trembled violently, as if the very air around her had shifted into something thick and oppressive. The moment Herodotos touched the spear, the energy it unleashed was unlike anything she had felt before. A deep, primal force seemed to ripple through the ground, vibrating up through her legs and into her bones. It took everything in her not to bolt from the spot.
The pulsing glow of the spear intensified, casting eerie shadows across the broken pillars and the lion statue looming behind them. The air hummed with unseen power, thickening with tension that wrapped around Dakota's chest, making it hard to breathe. Her heart raced as fear gnawed at the edges of her mind.
Captain, sensing her distress, nudged her arm gently with his muzzle. Dakota's hands instinctively moved to stroke his nose, her fingers trembling against his warm, familiar skin. His presence was an anchor amidst the chaos, grounding her when everything else around her seemed to be unraveling.
She glanced toward Alexios, who stood unwavering, his eyes locked on the spear as if he, too, could feel the surge of power coursing through it. But where he stood resolute, Dakota felt the overwhelming urge to run—every instinct screamed at her to flee, to escape whatever ancient force had been awakened.