The empire of man had long dissolved into a myriad of constantly fighting city-states. But perhaps the most well-known story of this age is that of the Amajan war, a tale of sacrifice, love, honor, and death. But it was more than just a tale. The Amajan war marked a delineation between the age of gods and the age of men. It was there Achillies fell, his fabled invulnerability pierced by the spears of men. Not even Gods are truly beyond reach. That’s a truth I would do well to remember.
Scattered around the myriad of low couches, drinking and eating, the most powerful men in the known world lounged. Achilles watched them, sighing as he noticed several grabbing drunkenly at the scantily clad serving girls, easily avoided by their nimble grace. Technically, he supposed, he was one of them now, but in his heart, he would always be that peasant boy, struggling to make it to the next day.
Still, his current situation had its advantages, he thought as he grabbed a goblet of wine off a nearby serving girl’s plate and took a drink, smiling in thanks and quietly chuckling to himself as she flushed and scurried away.
She couldn't have been much younger than him, perhaps 18 or so, but these days he felt many times that.
War did that to a man.
He scanned the room with the quiet attentiveness of a man used to staking his life on his observations, noting the various monarchs and high officials chattering away. The Decennial Council of Kings was a momentous event, a meeting of the most powerful men in the world to discuss new treaties and trade agreements, one with peace mutually enforced by all its attendants. They supposed it a dignified meeting of lions, but all Achilles saw was a pit of snakes, desperately wiggling themselves into striking position, waiting for an opportunity to tear apart another rival. He wondered how they were so blind to the consequence of their little games, to the mountains of corpses and crushed dreams looking behind them, a light breeze away from burying them. Achilles was well aware of his mountain.
Inevitably, however, he found his attention drifting away from the people and took the room. It was magnificent, a virtual repository of ancient treasures and tasteful arrangement.
Soft music drifted through the room, courtesy of the one of the last fully functional bands of automaton musicians in the known world, a wonder lost in the drunken conversation. The walls were decorated with intricate crafted weapons in sealed cases, weapons beyond anything that could be crafted now, enough weapons to arm a full unit. Various other technological and artistic marvels were scattered around the massive hall, from ever-flowing fountains to paintings that seemed to take one to lost eras, before war had claimed the world, but one dwarfed them all.
Along the back of that hall, a magnificent tapestry hung, depicting the god-king Micheal slaying the evil dragon tyrant. Even looking at it stirred something inside Achillies, touching on something hidden deep within his being, rousing the embers. He could feel it trying to invoke a sense of awe within him, trying to reach deep within him to grasp his beating heart. He refused, shielding himself in his characteristic invulnerability, and feeling the effect bounce off of him.
Instead of feeling awed, he felt… sad.
Sad that the techniques used to produce such miracles had been lost in the flames of war. Sad that perhaps that last band of automatons played and nobody could even be bothered to listen. Sad that so much had yet been lost, and sad that so much more would still be lost.
This entire hall was a window into the past, a time before war, when humanity had worked together to create marvels, marvels that were now being burned one by one to fuel the everburning forges of war.
In a rare moment of introspection, Achilles forgot his surroundings and trained his gaze upon his calloused palms. He saw the blood of his enemies in their lines, and the smiles of departed comrades. He saw the ashes of marvels, and the towering corpse of peace.
The death of humanity, and all its accomplishments.
But what could he possibly do? He may have fought his way to the rank of general, but to the scheming royal lounging on these couches, he was but a peasant still. He fought to ensure the survival of himself and his brothers in arms, and nothing more.
But perhaps. Just perhaps… he could find it in him to fight for something more.
Unconsciously he found himself stretching an arm towards the tapestry, wondering for a second what would become of him if he could feel even a fraction of the awe of past ages…
If only…
“Magnificent, isn't it?”
Achilles snapped back to the present and instantly, reflexes flaring, reached for the dagger in his belt while spinning, only to remember they had confiscated all weapons at the entrance. He reacted instantly, and transitioned his attempted dagger draw into a smooth uppercut, lunging at his assailant as he struck.
At the last second, his brian finally registering who exactly this “assailant” was, he managed to stop his punch, muscles screaming as he did so.
Right in front of him, so close their noses were practically touching, was the most beautiful woman Achillies had ever laid eyes on, clad in a simple dress of white cloth. She had shoulder length, curly black hair, framing an olive face with high-cheekbones and slightly slanted eyes.
Her violet eyes met his with perfect serenity, despite the violence and power of his reaction. For a long second, they stayed like that, their breaths warming each other with a perfume of wine, until Achillies finally realized what had happened and flushing, stepped back, anxiously checking to ensure nobody had witnessed his major breach of decorum.
If hadn't managed to stop his blow… he cursed his absent mindedness, shocked at how caught up in his thoughts he had gotten.
He had thought himself beyond that.
He realized he had been glaring at the wine cup still miraculously unspilled in his hand, and quickly redirected his gaze to the women in front of him, opening his mouth to apologize.
Only for her to beat him to it. “General Achilles, I presume?” she asked with a perfectly arched brow.
Despite the surprise of the whole encounter, it was nothing prepared to the chaos of war, and Achillies quickly recovered himself. “Please, just Achilles. I’m but a simple soldier, Lady…” he trailed off, unsure how to address her.
“Helena.”
“Lady Helena, it is a pleasure to meet you. Please forgive me for my reaction. You… startled me.”
She smiled, and it was like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Tell me, what could plunge a decorated general such as yourself into such deep thought.”
Achilles flushed, struggling to gather his thoughts. “Well, Lady Hel-”
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“Just Helena, please.”
“Well, Helena, I was just” he struggled to find the words, “...contemplating.”
That smile still danced at her lips. “Contemplating what?”
The brief struggle of whether or not to tell her was quickly ended by that smile. “About… all of this.” he indicted the room. “It's just… There was a time when such wonders were common. Now… These are among that last left. And for what?”
She was silent for a second. “Pretty deep thoughts for a simple soldier.”
Achilles flushed once more, unsure what it was about this women that put him so off balance.
Still, he forged ahead, and began to explain, slowly letting loose a side of himself he had kept largely contained since childhood.
Since his mother had died.
When he learned idealism had no place in this cruel world.
And dreamers were only crushed underfoot.
Without him noticing, hours slipped by the hall growing progressively quieter as more drunken kings were dragged off to their sleeping quarters.
“Let's go outside,” Helena said, her olive cheeks lightly flushed from the hours of discussion and steady flow of wine. She grabbed his hand. “Come on.”
He let himself be pulled forward, the dark entrance to the garden growing larger by the second. Just before they passed under the carved arch, a voice stopped them.
“Helena!” it yelled, a slight slur audible in its clarity.
They turned around and found a young man, around their age walking towards them, flanked by four other young men. He was tall and fit, like Achillies, but that's where the similarities ended.
His skin was a pale white, looking like it had never seen the light of day, completely opposed to Achilles deep tan complexion, earned from many days in the sun. His golden hair opposed Achilies’ brown and his blue eyes contrasted Achilles' hazel.
Achilles noticed Helena stiffening at the sight of the man, and instinctively positioned himself between them, noticing her small sigh of relief as he did so. Unfortunately, she wasn't the only one that noticed.
“Who are you?” The young man questioned angrily, “And what are you doing with Helena?”
“I am Ac-”
“Don’t care. Move.”
Achilles frowned, and prepared for a fight as he noticed the young man friend fanning out behind him. It didn't even occur to him to move. He relaxed as he noticed they were the only ones left in the chambers.
“What are you relaxing about?” the leader sneered.
Achilles said nothing.
The man’s expression darkened. “Move, or I will move you.”
Achilles didn't move.
“Very well.”
The man struck in an instant, moving with impressive grace despite his visible drunkenness. It was clear he knew how to fight very well.
But knowing how to fight and being able to fight are two very different things.
Achilles reached deep into himself, and summoned the principle that had become the foundation of his being, the truth he had learned so long ago.
Life was a thousand sword cuts, coming down from all angles, all places.
There was no running, no hiding, no avoiding it.
One could only bear it.
And to bear it one had to be something more.
Had to be
Invincible.
The young man bounced off Achilles like he had run into a wall. He looked at his broken wrist in shock. Then Achillies stuck, so fast it was nothing but a blur, and the man lay unconscious on the floor.
He fixed the rest with a level glare. A general's glare. “Anyone else want to try?”
They fled as fast as they could, barely stopping to grab their friends' unconscious body.
Helena grabbed his hand, and led him into the garden. Silently, they traversed its many paths, finally finding a spot tucked under a great oak. The second they sat down, she burst into uncontrollable laughter.
Achilles looked at her in surprise, not used to her so openly showing her emotions. The stars shone overhead like a thousand tiny lamps, the bits that filtered through the great oak’s canopy dancing upon her joyous visage, appearing to be stars in their own right.
He couldn't take his eyes off her.
‘I can’t believe you did that!” she finally managed to say.
“Who… who was that?” Achilles questioned hesitantly, somewhat afraid to finger out the answer.
She smiled, her teeth shining in the starlight. “That was Hector, prince of Amaj.”
She burst out laughing again at his struck expression, and after a long minute finally managed to reassure him. “Don’t worry. He knows it's his fault. And he's far too prideful to admit what happened. You're safe.”
Achilles let out a sigh of relief. Amaj was one of the most powerful kingdoms, and if it took issue with his, it could go very badly for him.
“But… Why was he looking for you?”
Helena froze up like a tear in torchlight, her good cheer abruptly lost, and Achillies immediately started frantically backtracking.
“I mean, if you don’t want to say, that's fine-”
“No. You deserve to know.”
She sighed and turned to him, and he idly found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss those lips before her next words abruptly brought him back to reality.
“He’s my fiance.”
He stared at her in shock, struggling to deal with the whirlwind of emotions surging through him. Shock, betrayal, hurt, anger, lust and a thousand others bloomed in him violently, and he wondered in shock why he was reacting so strongly.
Finally, he managed to choke out a heartbroken “oh”
Helena sighed once more, and brought up a hand, reaching for his cheek before pulling back. “I don’t want to. He’s a terrible man. But my father insists. And there have been… threats. Against my sisters.”
Achilles felt a surge of rage burn through him, like a newborn star.
“I…” he started, then stopped. He couldn't think of anything to say.
Suddenly, she turned to him. “I envy you.” she said abruptly. “You are free to do as you wish. Free to go where you want, and free to love who you want.”
It was his turn to sigh. “It's not nearly so simple. I have chains as well, same as you. Just different.” he idly reached down to grab a nearby flower, twirling it in his hand. “I wasn't born to power like you. I was born a peasant. Frequently starving, always desperate. But I was a dreamer. I heard stories of the earlier days, when nobody starved and everyone was happy. When ideas of truth and love trumped the mere facts of reality. And I wanted to bring it back.” he sighed. “How naive I was. So I ran amuck in the streets, refusing to work, preaching of days long past.” he paused. “Then my mother got sick. And in the end, my dreams didn't save her.”
Helena reached out for him gently, taking him in her arms. “I burned them that very day. My dreams. And I took up the instruments of war. Life was already a war I thought, how much worse could war be? I discovered I was good at it, and I rapidly rose up the ranks. And yet… I merely fight for survival, and with every blade I swing, every city I conquer, I feel another part of that dream withering away, locked in the deepest recesses of my heart.”
Tears quietly fell from his eyes as he looked at his calloused hands. “These are not the hands of a dreamer.”
Abruptly, he realized what had happened, and quickly shrugged Helena off, quickly rubbing the tears from his eyes, wondering how she had gotten past his guard so quickly.
He considered drawing on his path for protection, but decided against it.
Whatever was going on here was too valuable to stop.
“I’m sorry. I didn't mean to make it about me.”
“No, it's… its…'' she threw her hand up. “I don't know what it is, but I am honored you shared with me. I just… I just… I just want to choose for myself. I just want to be free.”
Achilles swallowed. “Me too. Me too.”
For a while they just sat in silence, basking in each other’s company.
Then Helena turned to him, a shy smile on her face. “Well there is one thing we can do.”
“Wha-”
Her lips silenced his. For a moment, there was bliss, pure bliss, then reluctantly Achilles drew back. “What about your fiance?”
Her face fell. “I just… I just want to choose one thing for myself before being condemned to a life of doing as others wish.”
“But-”
“Please, Achilles. You are like nobody I’ve ever met before. I just want one night with you. One night as myself. One night with someone I love. Please I ju-”
This time it was his lips that silenced hers.
They didn’t talk for the rest of the night.