Someone grabbed Miltiades, took his arm on his shoulder, and pulled him forward. Miltiades struggled to steady his breath, each inhale burning his lungs. His escape had been nothing short of miraculous, and he knew his legs and arms were caked with blood, grime, and dust. His whole body ached as he leaned on the other person.

“Petrokles? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me. Get on board the skiff. We’ll talk later.” Petrokles was a teenager and Miltiades’ trusted right-hand man.

Once the prince stepped onto the boat, Petrokles scanned the darkness for signs of pursuit. None. He guided the skiff into the waters of the Timoros River before climbing aboard. Grabbing the oars, he rowed toward the far shore, where the surviving citizens of Ekkos eked out a miserable existence.

“It’s bad. Worse than I thought. Worse than we ever thought. Gods help us.” Miltiades wept, eyes glued to his city's dark shape outlined in the pale moonlight.

* * *

The soft crackling of the campfire and the occasional rustle of leaves. The breeze from the Timoros River brought both coolness and warmth, easing the heat of the stones.

Miltiades and Petrokles sat on opposite sides of the fire, its light casting flickering shadows on their faces and the surrounding trees. The warmth of the flames provided a welcome comfort against the cool night air but did little to ease the heaviness in their hearts.

Miltiades poked at the burning logs with a long stick, his mind drifting back to the day that forever changed his destiny. He took a deep breath, the memories vivid and painful. "I was out hunting. Hunting, of all days." His voice remained low and haunted as his eyes never moved from the ruins. "I remember the morning clearly. As we exited the city gates, the sun shone a golden hue over the landscape. I inspected the men at the gates and told them to keep the city safe until my return. We all had a good laugh.” He let out a forced chuckle.

“That was what? Five, six years ago?” Petrokles asked.

“I’ve been rehashing that day over and over in my mind. I find no sign of it coming. No omens. No warning. It just… happened. I wasn't there to stop it," Miltiades muttered. "I should have been stronger. I should have done more to protect our people. I should have been there."

“There was no way to know. There is nothing to gain by torturing yourself. Let it go. Focus on what you can do. On what we can do.”

Miltiades looked up at his young friend. He may barely be a man, but his advice was as sound as that from a man decades older than him.

Petrokles smiled empathically at the prince, shades of orange painting and repainting his features. "What did you see?"

Miltiades sighed, the weight of the memory pressing down on him. "I saw the columns of smoke first. Thick, black, and white plumes merged into a dark grey pillar as they reached for the sky. I first thought a temple had collapsed. When more smoke formed up all across town appeared, my heart sank. Something terribly wrong happened in town. I turned my horse and kicked it to gallop home. But my bodyguards ran me down and stopped me, forcing me back as I reached the outskirts. By then, the horror was obvious. The city was already lost. Gone. Crushed. And I did nothing.” Miltiades clenched his teeth, fighting back tears. The fire flooded his mind with images of the last day of Ekkos. "The city burned. Century-old buildings crushed to rubble and ash. What few people I saw ran away. They tried to escape. Flee.”

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Petrokles nodded.

Miltiades continued, speaking to himself. “People were running. Screaming. Bleeding. If I ever have to describe chaos, I’ve seen it with my own eyes.” His voice trailed off. “What good is a Prince who cannot guide his people? I tried to rally them, organize a semblance of retreat…”

Miltiades poked the fire. A log broke in two, sending sparks in all directions. “And then I saw it. The Titan."

Petrokles’s eyes grew wide. “You did?”

"It was massive." Miltiades’ voice trembled. “Like a long caterpillar. No. Like a centipede with appendages like long spikes. Or crab claws. They flailed about hunting for anything that moved and destroying anything that came in contact with it. Destroying our town took no effort for it. A child crushing a butterfly in its grasp. There was no reason for it. No grand design. Just a thirst for destruction.”

A towering form that blotted out the sun. Its skin was like molten rock, glowing with an inner fire. And its eyes were like two burning coals, filled with rage and destruction. It moved through the city with unstoppable force, crushing everything in its path."

Petrokles shuddered at the description. "I saw it too. We were home when it happened. The house collapsed upon us! I remember smoke. Dust. A lot of dust. Like a fog. Then this hero pulled us out, and he drew his sword.” Petrokles stood, drawing an imaginary sword at his side. With a loud cry, he attacked an invisible target. “He charged the beast and hacked it. Like this. And this. A hero sent by the gods to save us. Once cut, he covered himself with the thing’s blood and challenged it.”

Miltiades gave an incredulous look.

“He did! The beast preferred to tackle easier prey. It left us alone to go after the people pinned under their homes, screaming in the streets, or stumbling about bleeding. All five of us made it to a barge and escaped because of it.” Petrokles returned to sit next to the prince. “I have never seen such fury since.”

“He chased off the beast?”

Petrokles nodded. “At least long enough for us to safely make it to the docks.”

Miltiades wondered what really happened. He would have heard of such a hero. “Are you sure your childish brain did not create such a man?”

Petrokles took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "Arakos saved us. His wife saved my father by stitching his leg. He organized the survivors, giving all of us a chance to survive. Without him, I would not be here. And there would be no Ekkosians anywhere."

“Arakos…” Miltiades repeated. Remembering his encounter with that strange man. He looked across the Timoros River at the ruins of Ekkos. The crumbling buildings and the eerie silence filled him with a sense of loss and determination. “Would you believe I ran after him, intending to arrest him for crimes against Ekkos? Oh, what a fool I was. Listening to these silver-tongued vipers telling me he was somehow responsible.”

Petrokles wanted to hear more about his hero, but Miltiades said no more. "In the chaos, people turned on each other. They wanted a culprit. They committed horrible acts, desperate to absolve themselves of any guilt. And in doing so, they did worse themselves. They were desperate and afraid. How else could they justify worshiping the Titan? Did they think it would spare them if they offered sacrifice to it? No, it took anyone who was not fast or strong enough and fed that thing."

Miltiades clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. "Cowards," he spat. "They betrayed everything we stood for. Human decency and righteousness.”

Petrokles ventured an answer. “Fear. Of the unknown. Of each other.” He threw another log on the fire.

Miltiades shook his head in despair. “What did they expect? A Titan has no loyalty, no feeling. It’s like petting an asp or kissing a shark. In the end, it devoured them, too, leaving Ekkos deserted. A shadow."

The two men sat in silence, the gravity of their situation weighing on them. The moon only provided a vague outline of where Ekkos once rose.

Miltiades spoke first, his voice filled with resolve. "We will reclaim Ekkos. We can't let our city be one of despair and ruin. We need to find a way to drive out the Titan and rebuild. Ekkos must rise. Erase the sins of its people. Become a shining beacon again; bring people from around to trade and meet."

Petrokles nodded. "We'll do it, Miltiades. Take back what's ours. What’s your plan?"

“We need a scholar who can help us. My father spoke of someone who helped him. But he’s in Athenion.”

“Perhaps we can convince him to join our cause."

Miltiades glanced sideways at his friend. He did not share his enthusiasm, but he was right. It was the best–the only lead they had. “We leave in the morning to find ourselves a sorcerer.”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t remember, we’ll have to ask. His shop is somewhere on Scribe Alley.”