Episode 9 (480 BCE):

Cleon had passed away two months ago.

His health had already deteriorated greatly. A year earlier, Thanatos had taken his wife, Charis, due to a strange illness. The doctor only recommended rest and a sacrifice to Asclepius, the patron of medicine, but it was too late. Two weeks after presenting the symptoms, Charis died.

Cleon fell into the same disease six months later. At first, he did everything possible to cure himself: he consulted the best doctors he could afford, visited all the temples of the gods that could help him, and even meditated long and deeply in his room. But when he realized that it was useless, he decided to accept his death. In a last act of redemption, he freed Zenodulos and sought his son's forgiveness for the forced marriage.

The funeral was formal. All the pertinent rites were performed and he was buried in the cemetery of the Kerameikos district. That was two months ago and his absence was still noticeable in his old home.

Upon hearing such news, the weight of his afflictions ended Zenodulos' happiness. He asked to be taken to his room, but this time he was not taken to the place where he had rested for four years, but to the room where the men slept, since he was now a guest. Lying on a comfortable bed, he only had some soup and then fell asleep with difficulty.

Needless to say, he did not sleep well that night. His dreams were no longer visions of distant places, but of his master. The freedman dreamed that Cleon was alive and they were walking through the streets of Athens, this time not as slave and owner, but as friends. Cleon told him why the Kerameikos district had that name or how the god Helios was in a bad mood because the sun was not shining as brightly as the day before.

When he woke up, tears welled up in his eyes once again. It was the first time, as far as he could remember, that he had lost someone so dear.

In the midst of his sadness and self-pity, that supernatural moment came to mind: the time when Angra Mainyu promised him immortality. He wondered why his former master was not among the chosen ones.

With a soft sound, the door opened and Arsames entered. In his hands was a bowl of soup, from which hot smoke was rising. It was undoubtedly an exquisite dish, but Zenodulos had no desire to eat. The Persian left the food on a table near the freedman and sat on a bed next to him, the bed creaking under his weight.

—The day my father died was the worst day of my life —The Persian said suddenly. — He was a soldier and I was a child. He had left to put down a rebellion in the east, and months later a comrade-in-arms visited us. That man told us how brave my father was and how, while he was finishing off a horseman, an arrow took his life in the middle of the battle. —Arsames paused, his voice trembling —But I didn't want to hear that, I wanted to see him. I cried and cried and I asked that soldier where he was, to stop lying. But he had only told the truth: my father was dead and he was never coming back.

Zenodulos turned and looked at the Persian, whose eyes were at the brink of crying.

—Why are you telling me this? —He asked.

—I don't know, maybe I want you to feel better.

—How did you forget this pain?

—This pain is never forgotten. But after the tears there comes a moment when the anguish becomes more tolerable, and then you remember the good things. In my case, there was my mother and my brothers. Then... when I had my son, I decided to name him after my father: Rostam. That also eased my sorrow.

—I didn't know you had a family.

—Yes, well. I didn't want anyone to know.

—So why are you telling me?

...I guess I appreciate you.

Zenodulos remembered all the things Arsames had done for him: when he protected him from Demosthenes, when he warned Cleon about Acacius...

—You have done so much for me —He murmured — Why?

—Because you were a slave child, and you reminded me of my son. He must be your age by now — The Persian replied.

—Just because of that?

Arsames got up from the bed quickly and turned to avoid Zenodulos seeing the embarrassment on his face.

—I don't know. Just eat the soup and when you're done, call me and I'll take you to the living room. There's something you need to know.

And suddenly, the Persian left the room with a quickened step, almost trotting, and closed the door with a bang. It was the first time Zenodulos had observed this sensitive side of his former unpaid coworker.

Remembering his words about "something he needed to know," a single possibility crossed his mind: Angra Mainyu. Therefore, Arsames was also part of the chosen ones. Driven by great curiosity and aware of the uselessness of remaining motionless in bed, the freedman sat up with difficulty and hurried to eat his soup.

Then, with even more effort, he stood up. The wounds that Acacius had inflicted on his legs had long since healed, but the weakness persisted. Nevertheless, with slow steps and leaning against the walls, Zenodulos managed to reach the room where his former master and his son usually ate. Now, it was occupied by Agatha, Kharma, and Arsames. The three were surprised to see him, holding onto the walls with difficulty to move forward.

— Please, help him sit down — ordered an agitated Agatha.

The two slaves rushed to help their old colleague and each took him by one of his arms, although only Arsames' great strength was enough to hold him up.

— Didn't I tell you to call me to bring you? — The oriental scolded him.

— I'm sorry — Zenodulos replied. It was too tempting for him to test his strength the day after waking up.

Both the burly man and the little girl coordinated to carefully seat the freedman in one of the chairs.

— Don't do that again — Kharma murmured, with great concern in her gaze.

— Alright— The Athenian apologized, his eyes downcast, thinking that he should check how far his body could go on another occasion.

— The important thing is that you are here — Added the lady of the house — and you look better than yesterday.

Zenodulos gave them a weak smile, still marked by the previous day's revelation.

— Thank you — He murmured in a barely audible voice — So...

He hesitated for a moment, considering the words he wanted to say. He wanted to ask how his former master's last days had been, but he didn't want to feel that great sadness again, not at this moment. Besides, there was an even more urgent matter to talk about.

— Arsames told me there is something I need to know — He finally said in a serious tone.

— That's right, — Agatha replied, her gaze showing some concern— You witnessed these images while you were sleeping and you assure that a Persian spirit was the one who showed them and that, in addition, he spoke to you, isn't that right?

— Yes, although I don't fully understand his intentions.

— That being can only want bad things — Arsames murmured, with a certain rancor in his voice.

Ignoring her servant, the mistress of the house continued the conversation.

— I want to ask you something. That terrible day... The night my father almost ended your life. Did you see it too?

— That's right — Replied the weakened man, dryly. — So you are also part of his “distinguished actors”?

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— Yes, all of us saw him, — Kharma revealed, shuddering — His voice pierced my skull as if he were speaking directly into my head.

— Demosthenes also saw it at the same time as I did — Agatha added, with a tone of disbelief.

— It can't be, Demosthenes too? — Exclaimed Zenodulos.

"It would have been better if it had been Cleon," he thought bitterly.

— The lady who helped you escape from the house also saw it, and the merchant confirmed it to us in a letter — The Athenian woman added, interrupting Zenodulos' thoughts.

— Callisto and Auxentius, — Their names echoed in the freedman's mind, making him wonder where they were now. Only vague visions confirmed that they were still alive.

Zenodulos mentally reviewed the names of the seven "actors" to whom that specter was going to offer them eternal life and was surprised to find that all of them were known to the former slave. There must be a reason for all this...

Looking up to comment on his revelation, he realized that a sepulchral silence had fallen over the room. The tension was tangible, and that emaciated man immediately realized that everyone was waiting for the opportune moment to express what was going through their minds.

Was it advisable to follow the orders of a spirit with such a bad reputation in the far East?

— Angra Mainyu saved my life and kept me breathing all this time — he finally said. — His words are strange, but he has done a lot for me and I want to know what he has to say about this immortality.

— I assumed you would say that — Kharma added with a smile. — The truth is, we all stayed here for you.

Zenodulos was intrigued by that answer.

— What do you mean?

— For months now, Athenian citizens have been ordered to take refuge. The streets are almost empty as we speak — Agatha explained, with a melancholy tone in her voice — Haven't you wondered why the only slaves in the house are Kharma and Arsames?

The freedman felt ashamed. There were so many things to think about that he hadn't noticed how empty the place was.

— The truth is that I ordered everyone to go ahead with our belongings— she revealed, with a certain guilt in her voice — They must be in Troezen by now, waiting for us.

— But how could you have supposed that I would wake up before the Persians came? — The freedman protested. — That's very risky.

— We still have time before my compatriots... the army of the shahanshah Xerxes arrives—Arsames added — That is why the plan of these girls was to go to the statue of the tyrannicides with you, conscious or unconscious, and if nothing happened we would leave tonight.

— Tonight!? — Zenodulos replied. His voice was barely a whisper, still stunned by the revelations he had just received.

— That's right —Kharma said — Tonight marks four years since you fell asleep.

Zenodulos fell silent at such bewilderment. It was as if everything they had been telling him since he woke up had that effect. Without a doubt, one year less than a lustrum was a long time to catch up.

— We must go to the agora — Revealed the head of the servants. — It's the only way to know what Angra Mainyu wants from us and if what he says is true.

— I'm not sure if I should follow the orders of my god's enemy —Arsames replied with a trembling voice. — But I can't deny that I'm curious, besides it's true that he took care of you.

— I will go too — Added Kharma, raising her arm.

— Then it's decided — Zenodulos concluded.

And so, those four disparate individuals sealed their fate. They all ate lightly and then decided to prepare for the unknown.

Faced with the uncertainty, Arsames decided to take a small dagger with him, tying it to his belt. The others didn't need to make any major preparations. Agatha covered her head with a veil, an indispensable garment for an Athenian lady, even in the desolate streets. Society demanded that she hide from the "indiscreet stares of men," so she only allowed herself a simple piece of white cloth.

Zenodulos, for his part, needed help getting dressed, as he was still wearing the same tunic he had woken up in. To his embarrassment, Kharma was the one who helped him, and a revelation from her made him even more mortified.

— Who do you think has been dressing and shaving you all this time? — she said with a mischievous smile. — I've seen everything I needed to see.

Defeated, Zenodulos was attended to by the young woman.

With their preparations finalized, those four chosen ones gathered at the door leading to the garden and walked out slowly, with a certain fear.

An Athenian lady, her one-eyed slave girl, an enslaved Persian war veteran, and a freedman who had been in a coma for two biennia walked in silence through the streets of Athens. It seemed like the beginning of a joke, but it was the prelude to a tragedy.

The sun had shone brightly the day before, but that autumn afternoon was cold. The cloudy and threatening sky presaged a storm.

Zenodulos already knew about the evacuation, but the reality of the empty streets, once full of life, overwhelmed him. There was not a single other soul in those alleyways, as the only ones who had stayed to defend the city, the obstinate and the priests, were sheltered in the Acropolis of Athens. Wooden walls in the form of palisades protected the ramp that went up to the top of that mound from their future invaders.

Upon reaching Panathenaic Street, which divided the agora in two, and covered by the night sky, the weakened Zenodulos (supported by Arsames to help him walk) saw Agatha with her back to him talking happily with Kharma. Her presence reminded him of Demosthenes, who at this moment must be on that island, preparing for the inevitable battle.

— How will Demosthenes manage to come if he is stationed in Salamis? — Zenodulos asked with curiosity.

— In a letter he told me that he had devised a plan to pretend to help in the evacuation of the city — Agatha replied with a smile.

— And what about Callisto and Auxentius? — The weakened man inquired.

— The last time we saw... Miss Callisto was months ago — Agatha said with some discomfort, probably already knowing about her job — As for Auxentius...

— He certainly will have a hard time coming to the city — interrupted the small slave. — He's wanted for murder and we're in the middle of a war.

— wonder what the two of them will think about all this — Zenodulos sighed, with an obvious desire to see them again.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group. They were only a few steps away from the statue now. The sturdy silhouettes of those men who killed a tyrant years ago loomed through the fog. At their feet were already two people.

As they got closer, Zenodulos could recognize them.

It was Callisto, as carefree as ever. She was not wearing a veil, so her long, wavy chestnut hair was visible to all. Her appearance was almost identical to when the freedman saw her in that terrible house, with the only difference that now she seemed to have more makeup than usual around her eyes. The passage of time had indeed affected her a little. However, upon seeing the former slave in the distance, a smile took hold of her face and she greeted him with joy. Zenodulos returned the gesture.

The other man took away her joy. It was Demosthenes. The sturdy boy from long ago was now an imposing man, almost as tall and muscular as his slave Arsames. That Athenian now wore simple armor consisting of a breastplate, shoulder pads, and protection for his forearms and legs. A small sword was sheathed in his belt and his helmet with the characteristic inverted V-shape rested on one of his arms.

His face was quite similar to the one he had as a child: the same large brown eyes and the same small eyebrows. Only as an adult he now had a prominent chin adorned with a short beard and his hair shaved because of his military status. His gaze fell first on his wife, who ran to meet him.

Looking away, Zenodulos watched Callisto run towards him to give him a hug. As he should already be used to, the third woman who had hugged him in the last two days, wrapped him in her arms. Since he woke up, he seemed to be quite popular. He couldn't remember when a lady had hugged him when he was a slave. Needless to say, his heart raced, along with other thoughts that had no place at this time.

—You're finally awake— Callisto said with a trembling voice. —I am so glad.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Of all those present, she was the only one who saw how Zenodulos had been on the brink of death. So his past apprentice let himself be taken in her arms. Arsames let him go, knowing that this moment was only for the two of them.

—When did you wake up? — Callisto asked, letting him go a little, but helping him to stand. That woman was stronger than she seemed.

—Yesterday— he replied, blushing.

—You don't know how worried I was about you.

That man didn't know what to say. There was so much he wanted to tell her about the visions, about Angra Mainyu, about what he had seen in the last few days... But another man approached, interrupting his thoughts.

It was Demosthenes, with his hand outstretched to shake his former slave's hand.

—I'm also happy you're awake. I couldn't believe it when I read Agatha's letter.

"No doubt, those carrier pigeons of Agatha are convenient," thought Zenodulos bitterly, remembering the time that guy hit him when he intercepted one.

But he couldn't let his anger get the better of him, not now at least. So he shook his hand, and unexpectedly Demosthenes also put an arm over the freedman's shoulder in a strong hug.

—I deeply regret everything I've done to you these years.

His former servant was so surprised that he didn't know what to say. It was something he never expected to hear from that savage boy.

—If there's anything I can do...

—I... —Zenodulos whispered, before being interrupted by...

—Hello, everyone! —A recognizable voice shouted from a distance—Sorry I'm late!

It was Auxentius, the Athenian merchant of Persian objects. His plump body ran awkwardly towards the rest of the group from a corner of the square, a dark cloak covering his voluminous body and a large bundle covered by a cloth was tied to his back, possibly with his belongings.

—I had to run from Phalerum, it was hard to find a boat that wanted to come—The merchant said, panting with exhaustion—After all, only crazy people like us would be here in the middle of an evacuation.

—Don't you know how not to be impetuous? — Callisto scolded him, with her arms crossed and a look full of anger.

—Impetuous...?

—Zenodulos woke up yesterday and was catching up with his friends, and you interrupt by yelling.

—Is Zenodulos awake?!

Then, the merchant looked for the freedman in the crowd and his eyes lit up when he found him.

—Zenodulos!

For the fifth time, that skeletal being was hugged, this time by the strength and weight of the merchant, who lifted him up in a strong show of affection. The freedman understood that Auxentius was terribly worried about his friend, like the others, but he wanted to tell him that he was crushing him.

—Excuse me, sir —Demosthenes intervened— you're hurting him.

—Hurting? —He stopped to look at Zenodulos, who had a pained expression.

— I'm sorry, Zenodulos! —Auxentius said, lowering him gently to the ground. His former master approached to help him so he wouldn't fall.

— I'm also happy to see you... —He whispered, his deathly embrace had shattered his resistance.

Callisto approached to scold him, but a crimson mist suddenly enveloped them, obscuring the entire square. The seven actors were now assembled.

Confusion reigned among the crowd as an imposing figure over two meters tall emerged from the mist. His red eyes shone like bloody stars and could be seen through the fog.

Finally, the scarlet smoke slowly parted from that being, revealing his features, or rather MY features.