The next week, Oleksandr and Thekkur wake before sunrise to pack barely anything but their swords and Thekkur’s bow. They take a quick bath, shave their stubble and wear their white church tunics. They leave the palace and wave down a carriage driver, and tell him to take them to a port on the west end of the Bosphorus. The carriage driver nods and sets off, taking the two brothers on a bumpy journey toward the western end of the river. Thekkur and Oleksandr sit quietly as they ride, their minds filled with anticipation and excitement for their upcoming trip to fabled Mount Athos. After a long drive, during which the sky grows lighter, the carriage rolls to a stop at the edge of a port, where several long passenger ferries are docked, bobbing gently along the river's edge as the water laps gently against their sides. The brothers search the port for the boat that goes to Mount Athos. Oleksandr points and nods towards the group of priests and monks standing nearby. He turns to his brother and speaks in a low voice.

"Over there, let's go speak with them, see if we can find out where the ferry docks for Mount Athos."

The dock worker, a wiry but muscular man with wild, unkempt hair, gives them a curious once-over, his eyes raking over their tall, imposing forms. He raises an eyebrow, clearly wondering why two such intimidating-looking men would be seeking passage to the island of Mount Athos. He speaks in a husky, suspicious tone, as if expecting some type of trouble from the brothers.

"What business do a couple of men like you have on Mount Athos?"

"We are Imperial Guards. Varangians. We have written permission, given by our priest..." Oleksandr responds, reaching in his belt pack to take out a folded parchment. The dock worker's expression changes, his skepticism shifting to intrigue. He looks at the parchment and then back at the brothers, looking them over with a more respectful eye. He takes the parchment and inspects it carefully, checking the seal and the signature before nodding in acknowledgement.

"Very good, your pardon. I didn't recognize you for imperial guards. I see your papers are in order. You may board the boat. Please mind your place." He hands the parchment back to Oleksandr, gesturing toward the waiting ferry. Oleksandr tucks the paper back into his belt pack, then turns to Thekkur with a smirk.

"That's the advantage of being a Varangian Guard. It gets you privileges like this." Thekkur chuckles and nods, a hint of pride in his tone.

"Yeah, who said being a guard would be boring?"

The two men walk over to the ferry, climbing on board and finding a seat among the other passengers. As they settle into their seats, they notice that the other passengers are indeed priests, monks, and religious travelers. The brothers seem to stand out, almost like sore thumbs among the sea of black-clad, bearded men. Some of the monks cast curious, guarded glances their way. They travel on the small boat for a few days, sticking close to the coastline of the empire.

The voyage is a peaceful one, with pleasant weather and smooth seas. Thekkur and Oleksandr sit among the other passengers, some of whom exchange polite glances and nods with the brothers, occasionally engaging in light conversation. Mainly though, they keep to themselves, spending their time reading, playing chess, and watching the scenery pass by. As the boat glided across the Aegean’s tranquil waters, Mount Athos loomed on the horizon, a solitary sentinel rising from the sea. The air grew still, heavy with an almost sacred quiet, broken only by the rhythmic splash of oars cutting through the blue. The mountain, crowned with mist, towered above like a great monolith, its slopes blanketed in deep green forests that clung to the rocky terrain. The dense canopy seemed untouched by time, an ancient wilderness that concealed secrets known only to the monks who dwelled within. Monasteries, perched precariously on cliffs and nestled in hidden valleys, revealed themselves as the boat drew near, stone fortresses of faith, their domes and towers shining faintly in the morning light. The shoreline was rugged, a jagged edge where land met sea, with steep paths winding upward into the thick woods. The scent of pine and salt mingled in the air, carrying with it the faint sound of distant bells, a solemn, echoing call to prayer. As the boat approached the small pier, the sheer, silent majesty of Athos pressed down on the soul, a reminder that this was a place apart from the world, where heaven and earth seemed to meet in austere embrace.

The brothers can't help but feel a sense of awe and reverence for the imposing mountain, Oleksandr, in particular, seems particularly affected by the atmosphere. Thekkur looks over at him.

"Quite a sight, huh?"

"It's beautiful," Oleksandr nods, his eyes still fixed on the monasteries in the distance, their domes and towers glittering faintly in the morning light. "Yeah," he continues, his voice almost a whisper. "It's like something out of a myth. I can see why people come here for spiritual guidance."

As they wait to disembark with the rest of the passengers, a young monk who's been sitting nearby during the boat ride approaches, intrigued by the presence of the brothers. He speaks with a soft, contemplative voice.

"Excuse me," he says, looking to Thekkur and Oleksandr. "You're Varangians, aren't you?" Thekkur nods, his expression friendly but cautious.

"Yes, we are. And you are...?" The young man takes in their tall, sturdy frames and their stoic expressions, clearly surprised by their presence in such a sacred place.

"I am Brother Stephanos," he responds, his eyes still on the brothers. "I can tell you are not monks or believers, and yet you come to Mount Athos. May I ask why?"

"We are believers. We were curious about the place. Consider it a pilgrimage of sorts." Stephanos looks at them with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. He can see that the brothers have an earnest faith, but it's clear that they may not be fully versed in the ways of the monks.

"I see," he says slowly. "And do you know what the rules are on Mount Athos? For visitors, I mean." Thekkur and Oleksandr exchange a subtle glance, realizing that they may be in for some culture shock. They look back at Stephanos, their expression still respectful.

"No, we do not know exactly," Oleksandr says. "We come here to learn, and to experience the spiritual life of the monks." Stephanos nods, seeming to respect their sincerity. He can sense their curiosity and their eagerness to learn. He sighs softly, considering his next words carefully.

"The rules here are severe," he says eventually. "You must be devout, respectful, and obedient while you are here. No alcohol, no smoking, no non-religious reading materials. Do not speak loudly, or act out of place. Do you understand?" Thekkur and Oleksandr exchange another glance. These rules are indeed strict, but the brothers are used to strict discipline and order.

"We understand," Thekkur responds firmly, his gaze meeting Stephanos with a resolute confidence. Oleksandr nods in agreement, his expression as stoic and unyielding as ever. He seems satisfied with their response, his expression relaxing slightly. He can see that the brothers are disciplined and obedient, and that they are sincere in their desire to experience the spiritual life of the monastery.

"Very good," he says, his tone softening slightly. "If you wish, I can show you around, and tell you more about the monastery and the daily life of a monk. Would you like that?"

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"Aye... Lead the way."

Stephanos nods and gestures for them to follow him. He leads them up a narrow, winding path that zigzags upward into the forest. The trees thicken and the air grows cooler, the scent of pine even stronger now. As they walk, Brother Stephanos begins to speak, filling them in on the history and the purpose of Mount Athos. He tells them about the ancient monasteries, some of which date back to the 7th century. He describes the daily routines of the monks, the long hours of prayer, meditation, and manual labor. Thekkur and Oleksandr listen intently, their eyes taking in the sheer ruggedness of the landscape and the ancient grandeur of the monasteries that peek out from the forest like giant stone guardians. As they reach the summit, they are greeted by a breathtaking view. The monasteries below them are an archipelago of domes and spires, spread across the steep, rocky terrain. Stephanos points to the largest one.

"That's Karyes," he says, his voice filled with reverence. "It's the main monastery, and the center of religious life on Mount Athos."

Thekkur and Oleksandr look at Karyes in awe, their eyes tracing the outline of the massive monastery against the clear blue sky. They can see the monks walking quietly between the buildings, and the scent of burning incense drifts on the breeze, the familiar fragrance of frankincense and myrrh. Stephanos glances at the brothers, noticing their expressions of wonder and awe.

"It's a very special place," he says quietly. "The monks here devote their lives to prayer and contemplation. They've renounced the outside world, and dedicate themselves fully to a life of solitude and devotion. They strive to achieve what we call Theosis, the idea that humans can participate in the life of God and become more like him.” He pauses for a moment, watching as a group of monks pass by, their dark robes billowing in the breeze. Thekkur speaks up, his voice calm and respectful.

"It must be a very hard life," he says. "Giving up everything, living in isolation, dedicating every moment to God. It must take a lot of strength and faith." Stephanos nods.

"It is a hard life," he says. "But it is also a blessed one. The monks here have dedicated themselves completely to God, and in return, they are able to achieve a level of spiritual enlightenment and peace that is rare to find in the outside world. It is a life of sacrifice and discipline, but also one of profound inner peace and contentment."

The brothers and Stephanos make their way back down the mountain, the rocky terrain and thick forest making the descent just as treacherous as the climb had been. Thekkur and Oleksandr move with caution, the monks they've passed on the way up now traveling past them in silence. The air is thick with solitude, the only sound is the soft crunch of boots on stone and the distant tolling of a monastery bell, along with the whispers of prayer. They pass by an old, weathered monk with a cane, who stops and turns towards them.

"You, there.." He says in a raspy voice, in Rus, causing the brothers to turn their heads around. They look at the monk, noticing he is blind. They're surprised to hear him address them in Rus, and even more so when they realize he's blind. They glance at each other, then step closer to the monk, respectfully lowering their heads. Thekkur speaks up, his voice low and respectful.

"Yes, elder? Is there something we can help you with?" The old man hobbles closer, his cane tapping softly on the stones beneath him. His face is weathered and wrinkled, his eyes milky white and unseeing.

"You are not from here," he says, his voice still hoarse but surprisingly strong. "Why have you come to this holy land?" The brothers exchange another glance, the old man's words taking them slightly by surprise. Oleksandr responds, his voice calm and respectful.

"We... We were curious about the life of the monks here. We've come to learn and to experience the religious atmosphere."

The monk weakly points his cane. "You are warriors…" Thekkur and Oleksandr look at the monk in slight surprise, his words taking them slightly off guard again. Oleksandr speaks this time, his voice steady and firm.

"How could you tell?"

The blind man smiles faintly, the weathered lines on his face crinkling with some sort of hidden wisdom, his blind eyes somehow seeming to fix on them.

"I may be blind," he says, "but I am not without sight. I still have my senses. I can smell the scent of blood and iron on you, and I can hear the sound of your steps. You move like warriors, with purpose and discipline. There is no mistaking it."

The brothers glance at each other again, slightly unsettled by the blind man's keen senses. They're used to being perceived as warriors, but this man's ability to deduce their profession from mere sounds and scents seems... otherworldly. The old man groans, slightly stretching his hunched, achy back. Stephanos leads the old man to a nearby bench, guiding him gently by the elbow. Thekkur and Oleksandr watch the scene with some awe, still trying to process the old man's cryptic words. Stephanos looks back at the brothers, gesturing for them to join them. They approach, taking a seat on the other end of the bench. The old man seems weary, but his voice once again regains that strange strength as he turns to address them directly.

"You are warriors," he repeats, his words slow and measured. "And yet you have come to this holy land, where peace and contemplation reign. Why would such men seek refuge in a place of prayer and solitude?"

Oleksandr hesitates for a moment before responding, his voice calm and thoughtful. Thekkur remains silent, studying the old man's face with a mixture of respect and caution.

"We... We are not seeking refuge, sir," Oleksandr eventually says. "We are here to learn. To understand. To experience the spiritual life of this place. Even warriors such as ourselves strive to be close to God."

"Why is it that you fight?" The question takes the brothers by surprise. They exchange a quick glance, unsure of how to answer. Eventually, Oleksandr speaks up, his voice measured and thoughtful.

"We fight... Because we have to. Because we are skilled at it. We used to fight for survival, because it was all we knew but... Now we hope to protect those who cannot protect themselves. To defend these lands from those who wish to harm it." The monk remains silent, contemplating. The old man nods slowly, his milky white eyes seeming to stare through them in thought. He says nothing for a long moment, the only sound is the distant tolling of bells and the soft rustle of trees in the wind. Eventually, he speaks again, his voice soft but firm.

"You speak of protecting those who cannot protect themselves," he says. "But have you ever asked yourselves what true protection means? Is it merely the act of violence, the ability to defeat an opponent through force?"

The brothers remain silent, considering the monk's words. They have always seen their skills as a means to protect themselves and those they care about, but the monk's question challenges their understanding of the word 'protection.'

"Tell me, brothers… Can a knife be evil?" The question catches them off guard again.

Oleksandr speaks up, his eyebrows slightly furrowing as he considers the question. "A knife is an object," he says. "It has no capacity for good or evil. It is merely a tool that can be used for various purposes." The monk nods.

"We cut bread with it, but in anger we use that same knife to spill blood. Evil comes from a man's heart, and defiles his soul." The monk pauses, his blind gaze shifting past the brothers. "Yes... God said, 'thou shalt not kill,' and he also said, 'greater love hath no man than this, than a man lay down his life for his friends.' Where is the truth?"

Oleksandr and Thekkur exchange a glance at the monk's words. They understand the contrast he's drawing, the apparent contradiction between God's commandment and his permission to lay down one's life for a friend. Oleksandr speaks up again, his voice measured and thoughtful.

"What are you saying, sir?" He asks. "Are you saying that violence can be righteous, if done in the name of love and protection?"

“When an enemy threatens you, you may bear it. But when our dearest are at threat, then your duty is to take up your weapon, and protect them... The power is not in the sword, but in God's truth..." Thekkur and Oleksandr listen intently to the monk's words, the deep meaning in them striking a chord within their warrior hearts. This was a perspective they had never considered before, the idea of violence and protection as part of a higher duty. They fall silent, contemplating the old man's words, their stoic faces hinting at the depth of their thoughts. That is when, in the distance, they hear a horn billowing, interrupting the moment. The brothers' heads turn to the source of the sound, their senses automatically alert and attuned to its meaning. Oleksandr and Thekkur exchange a quick glance, their minds instantly assessing the situation and preparing for any potential danger.

"What was that?" Stephanos asks. The brothers are silent for a moment, standing up.

"Naval ships." Oleksandr and Thekkur are both alert, their eyes narrowed and their bodies tense. They recognize the sound of a naval horn in the distance and without needing to explain further, they know what it means.

"Naval ships," Thekkur repeats Oleksandr's words, his voice low and serious. "The city is under attack."