Episode 8 (480 B.C.):

Time is relative.

A scholar, very far removed from the era of our protagonists, revealed these words. For Zenodulos and Kharma, the distant epochs of Trojans and Odysseys were closer than the Great War that forced the scientist to flee to another continent.

But, without a doubt, time is relative. What for Zenodulos were a few minutes of visions and strange conversations, for other mortals was nearly half a decade.

Despite this, the newly awakened man was already able to catch up on the situation. Kharma, his slave friend, happily recounted recent events to him, filling him in on details the supernatural being hadn't shown him.

When the soup his friend had brought him gave him back some energy, he was able to speak and recount his own experiences.

—...And then I woke up here. — He concluded, still uncomfortable with his deep adult voice.

—Impressive. — Kharma said, astonished—. I've heard that dreams are created by some beings...

—The Somnia, yes. —His former colleague replied with certain arrogance—. But this was different. It was too real... I think I know who showed me those images.

— Angra mainyu?

Upon hearing that name from the young woman's mouth, the now freed man was shocked.

—How do you know about him?

— He also spoke to me the day Acacius wounded you, and I was not the only one who saw him. But we'll talk about that later

Ignoring Zenodulos' pleas to know more about the Persian spirit, Kharma continued to recount what had happened to her in recent years, and the now freedman had no desire to interrupt her, continuing to listen attentively.

—...And it's been several months since Master Demosthenes went to the barracks for his mandatory training. Did you know that all men must do it?— The young woman said cheerfully. Her way of speaking and her expressions were more like those of Agatha and Callisto. Four years had done a lot for her mental health.

—Yes, that spirit also showed me that —Zenodulos replied with effort. It had already been two hours since he woke up and his energy was increasing every time.

Kharma frowned.

—So the specter showed you that too... —she murmured in disappointment. She was no longer a child, and Zenodulos couldn't have grown up with her.

—I'm sorry.

—Why are you apologizing?

— I don't know... I would have liked to witness all that with you all.

—Don't be sad, you're awake now, aren't you? —Kharma said with a big smile, it was more radiant than the one she gave him that day in his rotten room.

Then the image of a girl flashed through Zenodulos' mind. She was a woman now too.

—Where is Agatha?

Kharma jumped up from her chair and spoke with great excitement.

—Oh, yes. She too must be pleased to know you're awake.

She ran to the door and turned to her friend.

— I want you to eat before you see her—she said— She must have a lot to tell you too.

She pointed to the half-empty (or half-full?) bowl that Zenodulos had on a small table next to his bed. Then, the door closed with a soft thud and the young man was alone again.

The now adult Zenodulos set about finishing the lentil soup that had been prepared for his recovery. To his empty stomach, it was the best delicacy in the world.

When he was finished, the Athenian looked out the only window in the undecorated room. The sun's rays caressed his pale complexion and his brain began to formulate one question after another.

What would his life be like as a freedman? Where would he work? Where would he live? Would he continue to have classes with Callisto? Could he visit Auxentius? What about the war against the Persians?

The man remembered the countless army of the Persian king. The Athenians and their allies had been able to defeat them at the Battle of Marathon, almost a decade ago, but now the king had brought to Greece a clearer demonstration of his tremendous military might. What could such a weakened subject do in the face of such a battle? Could he flee? Could he fight?

As anxiety built in his stomach, the door opened again. This time, a different girl entered the room.

It was the first time Zenodulos had seen Agatha (outside of a vision) without any veil covering her hair. Thus, he could appreciate her reddish-brown hair in all its splendor, tied in a ponytail that rested on her shoulder. After all, there was no need to hide her hair inside her own home.

Her face, which had lost its childhood roundness, had lengthened, showing a prominent chin and the same dark green eyes that captivated Zenodulos.

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The newly awakened man was breathless, the girl's body was also that of an adult, but the freedman preferred not to look at her much, his feelings towards her had not changed, but he could no longer desire her in that way. The time he was made public, Demosthenes beat him up and he was sold to Acacius's house.

His stomach churned, but he tried to forget that terrible place and focus on the present.

Agatha, seeing her friend awake after so long, showed a look full of tears of joy.

—Thank the gods! —Sobbed that girl.

Zenodulos didn't know what to say when he saw her, he was still shocked by her appearance, he had seen her vaguely in a vision, but that time he didn't have time to see her features in detail.

Before he could speak, Agatha threw herself to envelop him with her slender arms, just like her slave had done minutes before. Despite the shame that flooded him for his forbidden feelings, he couldn't help but return the hug, feeling the softness of her skin and the fragrance of her hair.

Kharma, with a shy smile, left the room, leaving the two of them alone. Then, his mistress sat in the chair that the slave had occupied, drying her tears with a silk handkerchief. She then began to tell Zenodulos everything that had happened during his long sleep, while he, with a pounding heart, narrated his visions and the events that he had already heard from Kharma's lips. Agatha did not seem surprised by the fact that Cleon's former slave had communicated with Angra Mainyu in dreams.

"Probably she also saw him that day," Zenodulos thought, wondering if she had also heard the offer of immortality. But he preferred not to ask yet, it seemed better to him to continue listening to Agatha's stories, her voice was like the sweetest bird song to his ears.

When his friend stopped talking, the weakened subject felt trapped by the passage of time.

—So it's true... —said that man sadly—. Four years have passed... four long years.

—The important thing is that you're awake — The girl murmured in a soft voice— And we no longer need letters to communicate.

—Demosthenes won't hit me again, will he?

Agatha couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

—No, silly —The married woman replied— Demosthenes has changed a lot over the years. He has become a responsible and mature man. He has even said that he wants to apologize to you for everything he did to you. He was very downcast when he heard what my father...

—There's no need to remember that now — The former slave of that house interrupted her, his voice trembling.

—I'm so sorry, but you two have suffered so much... I don't know how to make it up to you and Kharma.

—It's not your fault —Zenodulos told her calmly— Besides, Kharma is much more cheerful than before, and that's thanks to you.

They both fell silent for a few moments, lost in their own thoughts. Agatha looked down, perhaps wondering if what she had done was enough compensation. Then she turned to Zenodulos, changing the subject.

— My husband... Demosthenes will want to know that you've woken up.

—Maybe. — The bedridden subject replied. The memories of Cleon's son's brutality flooded his mind like a wave of pain. The beatings, the insults, the rough games... it all came back to him with overwhelming intensity.

"Although it was much better than Acacius' treatment" He thought.

— Did you see Demosthenes in the barracks in those visions? Didn't you?—Agatha asked him curiously.

— Yes... I also saw the Persians marching west... Is Demosthenes going to participate?

— It's possible. After all, he is in Salamis, that's where almost the entire army has gathered to await the Persian attack —Agatha murmured melancholy— So this is what it feels like to be a soldier's wife.

Agatha saw that Zenodulos looked worried and shook the bad thoughts from her mind, as if a wet dog were drying itself off. She smiled again and said:

—Let's go for a walk.

Zenodulos, obeying her, tried to stand up. However, his muscles still did not respond as before, and his body collapsed to the ground with a thud.

His friend, with a look of concern, helped him back to bed.

—Don't exert yourself— she said —. Your body is still very weak.

Then, the wife of the house's owner went out to seek help. Shortly after, she returned with Arsames, the imposing Persian veteran. Unlike the reactions of Agatha and Kharma, upon seeing Zenodulos awake, Arsames only smiled faintly.

His appearance was almost identical to that of four years ago, except for a few slight wrinkles that appeared at the corners of his eyes. Agatha immediately asked him to help Zenodulos walk, and the man, without a word, obeyed in silence.

Together, the two men accompanied Agatha out of the room and into the garden. Zenodulos, with the help of the Persian, sat on Cleon's favorite bench, where the afternoon sun's rays bathed his face in a soft light.

"Without a doubt, there are many things to talk about with Cleon," the freedman thought.

Agatha sat down next to Zenodulos, and under the shade of the tree, Arsames leaned against it, silent, watchful like a lion stalking. The pale man then told his friend about the great Persian army he had seen in his dreams, an unstoppable horde whose footsteps trampled over any grass and symbol of life they found. Those troops brought only death wherever they went.

—Without a doubt, Sahansah Xerxes has inherited his father's conquering spirit— the Persian remarked in his usual soft yet deep voice. The young ones looked at each other, intrigued by the curious title he had given the Persian king.

—Do the archons already know about the invasion? — Zenodulos asked. Agatha nodded, still with a face marked by concern.

—Yes, the government has ordered the construction of a fleet. Even the Spartans are supporting us in this fight. — Her voice was filled with disbelief as she recalled the unprecedented alliance between the two city-states.

—I'm surprised you know so much, did Kharma perhaps...?

—That's right, she tells me all the rumors from the streets— Agatha said with a smile.

After a brief pause, the Persian's voice was heard.

—You also wake up at a good time, Zenodulos — he interjected.

Zenodulos turned to look at him.

—And why is that?

—The rulers have ordered the evacuation of Athens. Women, children, and anyone unable to fight must flee to another town. No offense, but I think you fall into the invalid category.

—As direct as ever...

—Arsames, I would’ve told him in due time —replied Agatha, slightly annoyed.

—Apologies, my lady.

The girl turned to Zenodulos.

—It's true, most of the people have already fled to a city called Troezen. It's to the southeast, past Corinth.

—It's a long journey —The freedman replied.

Then, the aged face of his former master came back to his mind. He found it quite strange not to have seen or heard him mentioned. Perhaps he was sleeping.

Such a journey would be terrible for his health.

—How is Master Cleon preparing for the trip?— Zenodulos asked, forgetting that his master had freed him from slavery while he was asleep.

The mere name of that master made the atmosphere heavier than any human construction. Both Arsames and his mistress lowered their heads in sadness. That reaction could only mean one thing. But Zenodulos did not dare to admit it. There was so much he wanted to say to him, so much to thank him for, he wanted to show him how much he was going to do from now on thanks to his teachings.

—Mister Cleon passed away two months ago—Agatha said, her eyes welling up. — I'm so sorry.

Zenodulos petrified, his heart frozen in a sudden surge. The news hit him with the force of a hammer, and tears welled up in his eyes uncontrollably. Not even Acacius' terrible treatment had managed to wring a tear from him. He couldn't remember the last time something had saddened him so much.

In that moment, Zenodulos had not only lost his most cherished master, but also a mentor, a friend, the person who had given him his freedom. A huge void opened up in his heart, and a deep sadness took hold of him.