Intermission 1:

Without warning, his eyes snapped open, and he was back to his present, or at least that's what the male figure thought. He lay on a stone floor, with a simple piece of cloth as his only garment. He could only think about what he had just witnessed: as if someone was deliberately playing with his mind, interrupting him in the most abrupt way possible to revel in his confusion. However, this was no time to dwell on that. Now, at least one part of his life seemed to make sense: it appeared that these were his memories, those of a young slave who had walked through ancient Athens, who knows how long ago.

With renewed confidence, Zenodulos surveyed the room around him, looking for any clue that would reveal his location.

The vases, which had previously seemed enigmatic to him, now revealed familiar scenes to him: scholars debating, possibly about democracy and the changing world around them; heroes like Achilles and Heracles fighting fearsome beasts of old; and the gods of the Greek pantheon bestowing their favors and blessings on fortunate mortals. The brightly colored jewels also reminded him of those worn by the wealthy women of the upper classes of Athens, nothing like the fake jewels worn by Callisto.

However, the place was completely different from anything he had ever seen before. The columns and stone walls did not fit the architecture he remembered, not even close. The ceilings, adorned with a repetitive checkerboard pattern, seemed to come from another realm, a place completely alien to ancient Athens.

Suddenly, Zenodulos heard voices on the other side of the door. Two men were speaking in a Greek dialect that was not Attic, the one spoken in Athens, but one that seemed to come from another city, with some words that, even though the man had never heard them before, he understood immediately. Then, by some miracle, the confused being understood perfectly that these men had heard something break and feared being punished by the emperor and the princess, two terms completely new to him.

Before Zenodulos could react or hide, two imposing figures burst into the room. Protected by layers of armor, their height was such that their helmets brushed against the top frame of the door. The shine of their breastplates flooded the room, contrasting with the black leather and metal meshes that covered their bodies. That confused man had never seen such armors; his few memories only evoked hoplites and horsemen with rudimentary protections in comparison. Additionally, both men had differences in their clothes.

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A helmet of fine iron mesh completely covered the face of the first warrior, except for two narrow openings for his eyes. The second, on the other hand, wore a conical helmet adorned with strange blue feathers at the tip, which left his face uncovered. A man with a fierce green gaze and a chestnut-colored beard that gave him a foreign air but spoke fluent Greek. His cloak bore a pattern of crosses, a detail that intrigued Zenodulos, since for him crosses were the method of execution reserved for the worst criminals.

The two warriors quickly discovered the man and drew their weapons: one wielded a long sword sheathed in his belt, while the other has a battle ax ready for combat. These men were hardened by a thousand battles.

—How long have you been here? — Roared the masked one.

—That doesn't matter, idiot — replied his bearded companion. —Now that he's awake, we must take him to the emperor.

The man in the cloak approached Zenodulos.

—You! Monster! — He shouted. —Don't you dare make any strange moves!

—You must come with us— Added his companion.

However, Zenodulos was bewildered. His eyes darted restlessly from one warrior to another, seeking answers that never came. He couldn't understand why they were treating him like a criminal, or who the emperor was, not even how they knew he was going to be "awake." He didn't even have a clue where that strange place was, where warriors could bear such a weight of armor and wield such colossal weapons. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of fear and confusion. Taking breath, he tried to speak to them.

—W... wait — he stammered in a trembling voice. —I want to know how I ended up here. Who are you?

The iron-masked warrior didn't answer. The other, however, gave him a penetrating look.

—Silence! — He shouted. —We don't have to tell you anything!

Sweat trickled down in Zenodulos’ face. He didn't know what to think or do. But as soon as the bearded man, with his ax in hand, took a few steps, his instincts kicked in.

Without realizing it, he lunged with the speed of a sacred arrow of Apollo. In less than a second, his hand was against the man's face and the other against the axe. The next second, he had him pinned to the ground, his axe still in his grasp.

The downed warrior, stunned, tried to get up. But as if his body held the memory of a thousand battles, the amnesiac man raised his opponent's axe and hurled it with the speed of an executioner at his adversary. Even with the resistance of the iron mesh, his neck was slashed in an uneven cut.

The two remaining men were bewildered by such an action. The warrior instinctively took a step back. And Zenodulos, with the axe still in his hand, slammed it to the ground in disbelief. A loud thud filled the room.

Zenodulos had killed someone, and it felt as natural as breathing.

But before he could react to such a homicide, his mind turned an immaculate shade of black. Zenodulos' drama was far from over.