Intermission 3:

Awakening from that dreadful dream, Zenodulos found himself being dragged by a couple of soldiers in armor that was already familiar to him. Their attire was like that of the two men he had fought with a while ago, though for him it seemed like an eternity. The memories of that Athenian were so vivid that it was as if he had lived them himself.

The sensation of taking Arsames' life still lingered in his mind, like a curse. It was a memory he couldn't forget no matter how hard he tried. How could his past self have done something so horrible just out of spite? He was such a good person.

Suddenly, a very familiar voice spoke to him.

And what about the man you murdered? Didn't he have a family? Or did you just assume he didn't?

The man didn't want to admit it, but I was right. Of course I was right, I've seen similar situations since before primates walked on two legs.

Zenodulos ignored me, trying to suppress the anger my words had provoked in him. His eyes fell on the long corridor that stretched before him. The walls were adorned with candles that cast a dim, flickering light. Tear-shaped shields hung from the walls, along with paintings that the freedman had never seen before. With opaque colors and the same long-bearded man in a white tunic featured prominently in many of the images. The floor was carpeted with a soft, plush fabric of deep red.

The men who were carrying him like a freshly slaughtered animal were led by Kharma.

"At least she's alive," thought the Athenian.

He also considered freeing himself, but it was the perfect opportunity to find out who this emperor was, his new captor. Besides, if he could escape the fearsome Persian army, there was nothing he couldn't do, or so he wanted to think.

At the end of the corridor was the entrance to a room. The double wooden doors, adorned with intricate carvings of heroes and mythological beasts, creaked open slowly.

It was a large room, similar to the war camp of King Xerxes. Sunlight filtered through the colored stained glass windows, creating a blurry mosaic of various contrasting shades on the white marble floor.

The vaulted and majestic ceiling was decorated with winged beings of childlike appearance and in the center of the image the bearded man who featured in so many images was crucified, to the bewilderment of the newly awakened man. Why, if they worshiped him so much, did they put him in such a humiliating image, being executed?

But there would be time to introduce this Athenian to Christianity. A golden throne, raised on a three-step platform, dominated the room. The man who sat there was undoubtedly a monarch, judging by his strange and luxurious clothes. This was the Emperor of Thessaloniki.

That man... Zenodulos had seen him before. His clothes were different and his beard made him doubt for a moment, but there was no doubt: his sunken cheeks, his dark brown hair, his black and dull eyes, with a look that despised everyone. Just like Kharma had also lived up to this time, this man too.

The problem was that it was impossible for this man to be him…

For it was none other than Zenodulos.

— So you woke up — He said.

The two soldiers placed him in front of the throne and forced him to kneel before his majesty.

It was impossible, it couldn't be. How could he be Zenodulos if he was Zenodulos?

—Who are you? — the confused man asked him.

— In this time I am known as Theodore Ducas, descendant of the Roman emperors — He paused, enjoying the situation and staring at the humiliated man at his feet. — But you know very well who I really am.

—It can't be...

— It seems that waking up has confused you a bit. Let me remind you, scum.

The man rose from his throne and walked slowly towards the half-naked man, his face contorted in disgust.

—You knew me as “Zenodulos of Athens”.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

—No... impossible.

—You are starting to annoy me. If I am not Zenodulos, then who am I?

—I am Zenodulos, I have seen his memories.

— What are you talking about, bastard? How dare you use my name?

Suddenly, the "emperor" raised his leg with ferocious speed, driving his boot with all his might against Zenodulos’ face. The sole hit with such force that the Athenian's nose broke in an instant and a stream of blood gushed from his nose.

The impact sent him reeling backward, slamming into one of the walls with an audible crunch. The man crumpled to the ground, dazed and his face bloodied.

— I have hated many men in my long life, but none more than you. You are a creature inferior to the worms that writhe on the ground.

— It's impossible, I saw Zenodulos' memories. I saw how I told Angra Mainyu that I wanted the others to be immortal and I saw how...— His voice broke and he looked at his hands, as if they were stained with the blood of that day I killed Arsames with these hands. He was just defending himself and I...—His voice broke.

—What...? — That ruler seemed genuinely surprised. —How can you know that?

Kharma ran to her superior's side, pale as a corpse.

—Is all that true...?

—We'll talk about that later— Zenodulos replied angrily, his voice harsh, glaring at the guards with a chilling stare. —Get out of here!

The two men, bewildered and fearful, dared not reply. They hastened their steps and left the room in a sepulchral silence.

A tense silence fell over the place. The man was still dazed, not only from the brutal kick but also from that revelation.

The "nobleman" took a deep breath, trying to calm his agitated breathing.

—This can only be his doing...— He murmured with a trembling voice.

That's right...

Time stood still, like that time Zenodulos heard my proposal, to make them beings of eternal youth, so many years ago...

A shadow appeared before the bloodied man, one impossible to confuse: it was the king of lies and deceit. Or at least, that's what they said about me.

Did you miss me?

—What did you do? — The man asked bluntly, the only one who could hear me at that moment.

It's just as Zenodulos imagined, you saw his memories because I wanted you to see them.

—Why? Who... am I?

The Athenian rubbed his face with his hands, trying to ascertain his identity. A long beard covered his face, and his hair was long from having gone so long without caring for his appearance.

I invite you to see your true memories.

I raised my hand towards that frightened man and, suddenly, his mind traveled far away in time and space. It was time for him to know who he really was.

In a distant city, centuries ago. A boy played tag with a lady and her slave. He was in... the house of Cleon, the Athenian teacher.

The woman was Charis, she hugged him lovingly and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

Outside the memory, in the present; tears welled up in the man's eyes as he remembered that woman.

She was none other than his mother.

Then, more memories emerged.

The walks to school with Arsames, his father teaching him math unsuccessfully, that peculiar slave around his own age, the one his father vehemently tried to make friends with.

But he couldn't be friends with that boy.

He would catch the little birds by surprise and then slit their throats with a stone or hang them, with a macabre smile. That boy wasn't... normal.

That's what he once told that girl, his beloved Agatha. One day they were sitting in his father's garden, his head on his fiancée's lap.

— Are you sure? He seems like such a sweet boy—She said.

That was what Zenodulos wanted everyone else to think, as he was an expert at lying. With that and his status as a slave by birth, he won everyone's affection. Therefore, it was impossible for anyone to believe that boy, not even his father believed him.

That's why he had no choice but to keep quiet, maybe one day they would free him and he wouldn't have to see him anymore, that was his hope.

But something happened that night. The night of the wedding... Demosthenes and Agatha didn't go through with it...

Zenodulos...

The blood could still be felt on his fists, even though it was no longer there, but because of that monster, his wife took months to speak to him again. It wasn't until he was carried unconscious from his father-in-law's house that he felt any pity for his slave.

He really thought he had changed when he woke up from his coma. After all, he had undoubtedly gone through a terrible ordeal. But people never change, at least not him...

— Zenodulos... You forced us to carry this curse.

Congratulations on finally remembering who you really are, Demosthenes.

— You... are as ruthless and unpleasant a being as he is. No wonder you say he's your favorite.

It's true, I said that... but he's just one of the seven actors I chose, the seven most extraordinary people I've ever seen, and you're one of them too.

— Silence! Because of you I had to watch as this beast with human skin killed my friend... my dear Arsames.

You will have time to complain about all that, but now...

—I don't understand... Why...?

I hate to be interrupted.

—Why did you make me see his memories?

So that you understand everything that has happened, after all, he was never going to tell you, isn't wisdom better than ignorance?

—No... You have another motive.

Perhaps. But I'm tired of talking to you now, now I want you to see your memories, to walk your own steps again and glimpse everything that happened from that battle to the present day.

The man was about to say something else, but I silenced him. If I gave him the chance to keep talking, the story was going to get very repetitive, don't you think?

Now you may have many questions, but let's leave them for later. You already know how Zenodulos rose to power and how far he has come so far, an emperor. Who would have imagined it? But Demosthenes' story is a very different one.

Yes, different. But both men have a fate inherently intertwined.