> I will never forget the first time I saw him. The first time he saw me. The first moment our fates were forever intertwined. It was not a bang, nor explosion, nor grand trumpets of destiny. It was an aberrant reaction, a whimper of discordance, and a sudden crashing dive from full awareness to his being utterly insensate. It was the whisper of Doom, and the subtle gong of Armageddon. Something in him awoke. Something in me awoke. I have never felt such rage as I did at that moment. Oh, how foolish I was. I had no idea of the ways in which that man would break me. In that sense, I think; Humanity and I share common ground.

Passing through the Iris was a wholly mundane affair once all was said and done, and Arthur had experienced such passages innumerable times both at home on Albion and elsewhere in the Galaxy. It had been the Iris itself, and its design and parameters which Arthur had been truly interested and amazed by—and the sheer density of traffic that flowed into and out of it.

Traffic that not even its mid-Rim location nor new war-footing seemed to fully deter.

Once they were past the yawning maw of the massive orbital construct and under the protective barrier of the planetary shield, Arthur was already back in his seat and he heard as much as felt the tell-tale indications of gravity asserting control over the shuttle. The sudden sound of the engines transitioning from plasma to chemical thrust, and the hum of the anti-grav technology lifting the transport away from the terrain below filled him with an indescribable elation.

There was just something about the roar of engines in the atmosphere which spaceflight, for all its own mystique and wonder, could never truly imitate.

When the shuttle peeled away into the blue skies of Hellas, Arthur activated the omni-comp on his left wrist and pulled up a positional map of the planet. Based on the immediate registry of location supplied by the tachyon HoloNet, he knew with immediacy that they were headed for the easternmost supercontinent of the planet, which he knew to be named Laconia.

The supercontinent upon which the megalopolis of Sparta had been built.

The shuttle winged its way toward the colossal surface area with a clear destination in mind, and Arthur changed his omni-comp’s view to tourist information about Sparta and subordinate cities while sinking back to simply enjoy the primal roar of the engines and the jostling of turbulence that battered at the sturdily-built craft as Perseus guided them in.

He let his mind fully focus on absorbing what he read, and the minutes quickly blurred together as they made their descent through the azure expanse.

It was only when he felt the tell-tale sensation of final approach deceleration—something he could identify instinctively as a pilot himself—that Arthur closed the 2D projection from his omni-comp and looked outside his window.

The view below was a stunning overview of what appeared to be a blue-green body of water girding a colossal island-bound town built under the shadow of what he could only describe as an ancient Greek palace rebuilt from inspirational images of history and greatly enhanced by the capabilities of modern technology.

The palace sat upon a raised plateau that appeared at least partially artificial.

It was the center of the town, with multitudinous dwellings varying from large villas built in a ring within an area one kilometer in diameter from the furthest of the palace’s walls, to more reasonable and decreasingly ostentatious homes that expanded out toward the island’s watery surrounds. The entire island, which itself was a vaguely circular shape, appeared to be perhaps forty kilometers in diameter in total.

Dozens of boats from small dinghies to fishing trawlers and even luxurious yachts filled the waters around the island, and Arthur spied what he believed to be a full military base and naval facility built into the northernmost end of the island, facing toward the main body of Laconia visible in the distance.

Perseus seemed to have no doubts about his destination however, and Arthur observed the town ever-more-slowly passing by beneath him as the shuttle continued its deceleration toward what looked like a specifically designated landing area near the rear of the palace-proper, where several powerful-looking ground-to-air batteries were even then tracking their approach.

Arthur’s attention was pulled from his assessment of the palace’s defenses and the vague hints of people assembling to greet them by Atreus’ voice a moment later.

“House Leos is one of the most ancient and respected dynasties in Sparta.” The Myrmidón said, having turned to face Arthur with his helmeted gaze. “Despite their distance from the capital, and their current hardships; the family remains deeply and powerfully entrenched within the schema of Ascendancy politics, especially when it comes to the military.”

“Casandra made that clear.” Arthur agreed. “The Rear Admiral was quite impressive.”

“She’s cut from the same cloth as most of the clan, though I will admit she’s risen higher than most.” Atreus rumbled. “The rest are mostly officers aboard starships or serving in safer roles planetside. Some have chosen civilian pursuits, but the family chooses to treat that more as a tolerated eccentricity than anything else.”

“Not fans of civil service?”

“House Leos believes duty is how they prove their worth.”

Arthur nodded at that. The Knight of the Round Table within him could relate easily.

“And the Patriarch, Menelaus?” Arthur continued. “What of him?”

“Menelaus was a very talented Eidolon pilot until he was involved in an extremely ill-fated ambush during the last Parthian Conflict, and suffered irreparable radiation damage to his lower body. While most of his superficial wounds were healed, he was rendered incapable of having any more children as a result of the injury.”

“Which is why Circe, as the Heiress, can’t be risked even temporarily as an Hetairoi.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Your reiteration of the obvious makes this easier, at least.” Atreus said coolly while the shuttle commenced its final descent with a deactivation of its engines and a complete reliance on the steady depowering of its anti-grav coils.

“Why did Circe never seek military service, then?” Arthur asked while he readied himself to disembark.

“She is the sole heiress to the title. She needs to marry and birth an heir—probably several, in fact, before she could be considered able to risk herself, even if the posting might be a safe one. Which is unlikely, given her disposition.”

Arthur nodded thoughtfully at Atreus’ words. The political nuances of Aristocracy were something his memories told him he had extensive experience with.

Though in Zacaris’ case, Athur knew he had solved his issues with a sword edge.

“You would do well to remember your interactions with Lady Leos, and her implacable power of will.” Atreus warned him. “Circe takes heavily after her mother.”

“Any advice on dealing with her?”

Atreus turned his armored head away for a moment, and then turned back to him.

“Treat her like a warrior, not a silk-adorned damsel. Respect her as an Eidolon pilot. Do not simper nor veil your words with platitudes. Circe values directness, honesty, integrity—and more than anything else, she values strength. Not just physical, but personal as well. She will never accept a weak-willed Hetairoi, no matter what her parents say.”

“So she’s a regular warrior princess, then.” Arthur said half to himself.

“As much as it pains me to admit it, you have the right idea.” Atreus said while they touched down with a quiet thud. “I suppose I may not have cause to deem you an irredeemable waste of my time, if you continue with such insights.”

“Comedy isn’t your strong-suit, Atreus.” Arthur said with a look outside of the window at the people gathering beyond the clean white landing pad. He only had a few seconds’ time to steal glances at the blood red armor of what looked to be an honor guard among the greenery of the reception area before the flood of gaseous coolant obfuscated everything.

That was the problem with combustion engines and orbital descent, after all.

It made both the shuttles and the pads they landed on rather hot.

“Andino will handle your possessions, Arthur.” Atreus said matter-of-factly.” Your task will be to make yourself known to your soon-to-be liege, his staff, and his family. Before any of this can be made official, you will also need to demonstrate your skills with an Eidolon.”

“After I build one, you mean?”

“No. We have arranged for a training model to be delivered for your use.”

“I take it I’ll be granted time to look it over, first?” Arthur asked wryly. “I’m not exactly looking forward to piloting a strange Eidolon whose design and function I’m not familiar with.”

“Most likely.” Atreus said without acknowledging the event. “Lord Leos is by all accounts a reasonable man. I see no reason for him to deny you such.”

Arthur nodded and rose when the belts keeping him safe retracted, his eyes sweeping the shuttle interior once out of habit and then coming to rest again on Atreus.

“I suppose we should be about it, then?”

The Myrmidón’s head tilted slightly as if he were eyeing him up and down, and then he simply nodded. “The traveler’s clothes will suffice, poor though they are.”

“I had just stepped off an interstellar freighter, Atreus!”

“They possess some measure of ragged charm, I suppose.”

“You mean rugged?”

The Myrmidón simply glanced back at him silently before opening the hatch to exit the shuttle, and Arthur glanced down at his shirt and jacket before adjusting them surreptitiously. His boots were unmuddied. His jeans were well-made.

He did look presentable, damn it.

Atreus’ descent down the accommodating set of unfolding stairs set the path for Arthur to follow, and with a glance toward Endymion and Perseus—both of whom nodded to him with encouragement—he took a steadying breath and stepped out into the brilliant sunlight of the Hellenic day.

The first thing he noticed when he stepped out of the shuttle was how clean the air was. Even in an age of atmospheric scrubbers and environmental preservation, and even having benefited from the greatest advances of climate science in the humanosphere; the air on Hellas simply felt different.

There was a vitality and purity to its nature that no machine could ever truly, fully recreate. It was intoxicating in its own way. Enough so that he actually paused upon the edge of the first step down, and simply breathed in the air with a heartfelt smile.

It wasn’t until his eyes descended from admiration of the naked blue sky and the deceptively small metallic sheen of the Iris far above, to look down upon the assembled party of individuals awaiting him and Atreus—who had halted at the bottom of the stairs and was looking back up at him silently—that Arthur remembered himself.

His first steps down toward the surface of Hellas were accompanied by his first look at the people with whom his fortunes would be intertwined for the foreseeable future.

When Arthur’s eyes met the gaze of the man that must have been Menelaus Leos, judging by the black toga emblazoned with a rampant crimson lion, and the golden adornments on his wrists and biceps; there was a distant sense of immediate kinship between them. Menelaus Leos had golden eyes, silvery-golden hair the opposite of Atreus’ own, and olive skin natural for an island-born Lord.

His eyes, Arthur noted, were also bereft of haughty calculation or self-serving indifference.

In the Lord of Leos, Arthur saw a man that greeted him not as a tool to be used, but a possible friend worth cultivating.

It was when Arthur’s eyes moved to the tall woman to Menelaus’ right—Arthur’s left—that things went wrong.

He barely had time to take in her full lips, smoldering dark gaze, and athletic physique before colors exploded around her like the birth of a star.

A rainbow, a corona, a supernova of vibrancy erupted into being between them and Arthur felt something within his mind break. A metaphysical tendon. A muscle whose origins he could not have placed even had he attempted to for a hundred years.

A nebulous infinity of spectrums assailed his awareness, his vision was utterly obfuscated by the kaleidoscopic insanity of it all, and Arthur felt something deep within him uncoil from hidden depths he’d never known himself to possess.

Arthur’s equilibrium abandoned him, his stomach rebelled against his control, and he felt his legs lose strength and his feet lose purchase. His hands feebly sought the railing of the stairs in vain from under the drowning tide of pressure burning within his mind.

The sky became the earth, the earth became the sky, and Arthur felt himself slam into something steely and unyielding while voices lost to the encroaching void at the edges of his vision called out in alarm.

The last sight he could remember was the woman’s eyes.

A vibrant shade of emerald, like polished jade.

Two sets of warm fingers gripped his shattering skull.

Searing pain lanced through his mind.

The world turned white, and Arthur’s awareness fled deep within the peaceful void.