Episode 21 (478 B.C.):

Agatha and Demosthenes, now fugitives, were forced to abandon Athens, as their immortal friend Auxentius had done more than a lustrum ago. However, they could not follow his example and take refuge in another polis, for they knew that Zenodulos might be capable of sending people in search of them. Their only option was to flee outside of Greece.

Agatha's clairvoyant guidance led them northwest, where vast virgin lands inhabited only by barbarian tribes promised them a remote refuge. Massalia, a Greek colony, loomed on the distant horizon, a place they could turn to if the need arose. Then, they would formulate another plan.

They rode for days and nights, crossing untamed landscapes: rugged mountains, lush valleys, and mighty rivers. They passed through Greek cities, restocking supplies in brief stays that aroused the curiosity of the locals at the sight of a couple traveling alone to the north, away from Hellenic civilization.

Along the way, bandits and wild creatures lurked, but Demosthenes' military experience protected them. Finally, after an arduous journey, they reached a green and fertile valley in the region that would later be known as Gaul, although you might call it France. The place was surrounded by mountains that protected it from the wind and rain. On a hillside they found a spacious and cozy cave. It was the perfect refuge for that night.

The next day, drawing on Demosthenes' expertise, they crafted a simple shelter from branches and stones, nestled right beside the cave. While rudimentary, it offered ample protection from the harsh elements and lurking predators.

With the sewing skills Agatha had learned, she was able to cover the place with animal skins to attract warmth and with the same material also made new clothes, as theirs were already worn out from so much travel.

When it was day, the sounds of nature enveloped them: the song of birds, the whisper of the wind, and the passing of deer accompanied them while both took turns to forage for food, hunt, and care for the home. An idyllic life for some, a hell for Agatha.

—We can be whatever we want —Demosthenes said that when he noticed his wife's distaste for life away from the city. —You no longer have to hide from the gaze of others and I no longer have to kill anyone ever again. We will be happy just having each other.

But she did not share his enthusiasm. She hated wild life, mosquitoes, hunting, and gathering. She detested the scorching heat and the cold of the night. And, above all, she abhorred the lack of comforts and the constant struggle for survival.

The initial euphoria she felt upon escaping from Zenodulos and experiencing some freedom after being instilled her whole life that she was nothing more than the property of some man simply because she was born a woman, was marred by the realization that this was not the freedom she truly yearned for. They had left many valuable things behind, and the weight of the loss weighed heavily upon her.

Seeking solace in her husband's passion, Agatha yearned for the child they had longed for, but the desired offspring remained elusive. One day, many years after settling there, she confided her worries to Demosthenes. With his usual nonchalance, he reassured her:

— We'll have more opportunities to have our child, don't worry, my love.

But she couldn't shake the thought that they couldn't raise a mortal child in the midst of the wilderness.

One night, as Agatha lost track of the days, they sat by the fire in the cave, the cold and mosquitoes accentuating her discomfort. She couldn't fathom how anyone could romanticize such a life. Demosthenes, without a doubt, was running away from his problems.

— It's no use, Demosthenes. —She finally replied. Her husband's gaze was compassionate, the same one she still loved, but she could no longer keep hiding her complaints to make him happy. — Back in Athens, I tried every imaginable fertility method, potions with insipid and nauseating flavors, sacrifices to the gods... nothing worked.

—My love...

— No, enough is enough. Even if we had a child, how would we raise it in the middle of the forest? — Agatha interrupted him, her patience reaching its limit. — Besides, I've been thinking... maybe I don't actually want to be a mother.

Demosthenes could only stare at her in shock. After all, they had been so excited thinking about what name they would give their child and how they would raise it. But it was all a lie.

— You don't understand, but from the moment we're born, we're told that we have to be good mothers, wives, objects for men, so that you can continue your lineage. —She continued— I have always disliked that thought. I thought that if I had a child, things would be different. But... I was wrong. Since Pandora was created, we've been given the sole purpose of pleasing and cursing you, and I'm tired of it.

— I don't think you're an object, I love you...

Agatha stood up abruptly and turned her back on her husband. She knew he truly loved her. But his upbringing made him see her as a means to an end: procreation. That's why he insisted so much on having children. Even she had fallen into that trap, the one that said she was worthless if she couldn't be a mother. She even came to think that it was all a curse from the gods for the disastrous wedding night, but...

—I hate how society sees us —She added finally— But I miss it... I miss Kharma and the other servants.

—I'm certain she's alright, —Demosthenes replied, approaching his partner.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

—How can you be so sure? —She roared, turning away from him— It's Zenodulos we're talking about, not... we don't even really know him. All this time he's only been showing us a façade.

—Darling... You know we can't go back.

Agatha finally turned to face Demosthenes, tears streaming down her eyes.

—Kharma has done so much for me, and I've only treated her like an object, no... worse, —she sobbed— At least belongings are supposed to be taken care of. —She paused and took a deep breath— I don't regret taking her away from that monster the day the Persians ambushed us, but I... I can't take it anymore.

Agatha walked quickly out of the cave.

—Darling, don't do it. I don't want anything to happen to you.

—No…

Agatha's words stopped abruptly. Her body stiffened and her muscles began to harden in an unnatural way.

Demosthenes, about to beg her not to leave, froze in his tracks. The plea froze on his lips as he witnessed the transformation of his beloved. Her muscles hardened and her skin turned grayish, taking on the color of marble, like that of a statue.

And indeed, a statue was what now stood in Agatha's place: an unpainted figure, frozen in the woman's last movement, turning away from Demosthenes.

—Agatha... —the man whispered, his voice trembling.

Confused and terrified, Demosthenes approached the statue, tracing the outline of his beloved's face with his fingers. He didn't understand what had happened.

Remembering that most of the strange things that happened to them were the work of the same being, he instinctively shouted... my name.

—¡¡¡Angra Mainyu!!!

And summoned by his call, I appeared. A red smoke mist covered the entire forest, as if the spilled blood of a mythical beast had evaporated. Covering trees, animals, and the hut where these immortals lived.

From that ghostly smoke emerged my body.

—What have you done? —The war veteran asked bluntly.

I got bored with your couple's argument. So I decided to leave it for another time.

—Always interfering in our lives! Can't you leave us alone?

I see you don't understand. From the day you all appeared before the statue of the tyrannicides, you knew that your life would not be the same. You all sought a long life full of experiences that no one else can live, and that is what I granted you.

—I did not ask for this.

Oh, but you did. You wanted to be a brave war hero so your father's soul would be proud.

—Silence Leave my thoughts alone!

That foolish man swung his arm at me, trying to hit me, as if he didn't know my powers. So much I have done for them and this is how he thanks me. I turned him into a formidable warrior and like all humans, they always seek more and more.

Sobbing, he hugged the statue of his wife, an image undoubtedly deplorable.

I have decided that I will turn you into statues from time to time, so that you will wake up later in another era. That way they won't get bored with their eternal life so quickly.

Demosthenes was enraged by my words. He hit everything he found around him, branches, leaves, the earth itself, everything broke or deformed under his hands. His fury finally turned to Agatha's statue, but his fists only found a stone harder than marble. The skin on his knuckles tore and blood stained the white figure of the sleeping immortal. Red and white met on the smooth surface of what was once his wife.

Now you know you can't free her, good for you. Look at it as your blessing, so no one can do anything to her.

—Then free her!

This being was too impulsive and irrational for my patience, so I withdrew. It was useless to talk to him. Undoubtedly Zenodulos was easier to converse with. But the story is Demosthenes's now, no doubt they would appreciate it more, despite his lack of intelligence.

So, the immortal soldier was left alone by his petrified wife. He didn't know what to do without her anymore, he blamed himself because he thought that if they hadn't argued he wouldn't have turned her into a statue, but his story had to take a break at some point. After all, this is a story and it should be interesting to you, my dear readers.

Then, the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. Demosthenes, consumed by sadness and guilt, sat next to Agatha's statue, watching her in her stony silence. His face was a perpetual grimace of sorrow.

Demosthenes missed her voice and how she would talk to him about so many stories and works, which he would never have known about if it weren't for her. A void was in his stomach and he had no desire to eat or drink. Upon dying, he always revived beside that inert statue.

One day, while contemplating the statue with empty eyes, Demosthenes heard a noise in the undergrowth. He stood up, alert, and saw a group of armed men approaching. He was unaware, but they were the Ligurians, the tribe that lived in this area.

They carried crude spears and swords and wore sleeveless woolen tunics and trousers, an unusual garment in Greece. Their bronze helmets were as rudimentary as their weapons, and their small wooden shields imitated the design of those carried by Greek hoplites.

—It is true, this man seems to be Greek — One of them said to one of his companions in a strange language.

—What do you want? —Demosthenes asked them.

The men looked at each other, surprised that a Greek could speak their language.

—How do you know how to speak our language? —Asked another, pointing at the immortal with a sword with an irregular edge.

—I don't have to give you explanations. Just leave me alone —He replied, sitting down next to his wife's statue.

Then one who seemed to be of higher rank came out from behind them. His armor was less rough than that of the others, who moved away so that he could walk towards the Greek. In his gaze alone, the arrogance of a nobleman was evident.

—I am Cydnos, leader of this tribe —He said with a slight bow. — I do not want trouble with your people, but I have come because I have been told that a magnificent statue is located here.

He paused to search for it with his gaze, and quickly found it, lying next to Demosthenes.

— That is the work of art I am looking for. Such beauty could only have been created by one of the best artisans...

—Save your praise —Interrupted Demóstenes with a harsh tone—. It is not for sale.

—I understand —replied the "barbarian," taking a step back—. Then we will have to take it from you.

With a sharp order from their superior, the soldiers lunged at Demosthenes. Irritated, the immortal stood up. He did not want to continue killing people, but he could not allow his wife's body to end up in the hands of those strangers.

With a swift movement, he threw one of the Ligurians against a tree, snatching his sword. Then, wielding the weapon with skill, he threatened the others to stay away.

As one of them prepared to run towards him in a desperate attack, Demosthenes suddenly felt his consciousness cloud over. He tried to move to avoid the blow, but his limbs became heavier than stone. The enemy's sword struck his skin with a metallic sound, and the weapon broke in two.

And then, fate struck once more. Demosthenes, like Agatha, turned to stone.

Thus, before the astonished eyes of the Ligurians, two statues lay on the ground. As white as snow and more resistant than any known material, the figures that once belonged to that married couple lay in silence, waiting to be awakened in another time.