Clio's face went pale, her eyes widening as Pythia's words sank in.
"Attack Calydon?" she whispered, her voice trembling. Confusion filled her thoughts. "But… my father hasn't said anything about a war. Why would Thebes—?"
Pythia tilted her head, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "Oh, sweet princess… your father holds sothing very precious," she said, her voice light, with a hint of mock sympathy.
"Sothing Thebes would love to get its hands on. The marriage? Just a nice distraction. But when that fails..." She paused, her eyes gleaming. "They'll take it by force."
Clio stumbled back, shaking her head, panic rising inside her. "No… this can't be true," she muttered, clutching her gown, her hands trembling. "There's no reason—"
"There's always a reason," Pythia interrupted, her tone light and almost playful. "Your father has sothing hidden, sothing valuable. And when Thebes cos knocking, you'll be right in the middle of it." She leaned in closer, her smile widening.
"Exciting, isn't it?"
Clio's breath caught, the panic swelling in her chest. What have I done? Her mind raced, filled with regret for leaving Calydon so hastily.
"I shouldn't have left!" she stamred, her voice thick with regret. "I… I already knew sothing was wrong. I… need to go back. We need to warn my father!"
Pythia straightened, her amusent never fading. "Oh, by all ans, run back if you must. But it won't change a thing," she teased. "Thebes will co, whether you're ready or not."
Clio's hands shook, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. War? How could she have left her city so recklessly? What could her father be hiding that would lead to such danger? How could I leave them?
"Clio…" Rhys stood beside her, silent. He glanced at Clio briefly, her panic clear on her face, but his expression remained indifferent. Her problems were real, but his focus lay elsewhere, on sothing bigger. But still, since the two of them have already shared sothing… incredibly intimate, he shouldn't be this cold to her.
"If you know this much, then give us more than riddles," he said, his tone flat as he turned toward Pythia. "What is it her father has? Why does it matter to Thebes?"
Pythia's gaze swept over him, her smile growing as though she found his calm amusing. "Oh, Rhys Wilder, showing concern over soone you've just t… as expected of soone… like you." she teased, a glint of admiration in her eyes.
"But the truth? It's not so simple." She took a step back, folding her hands. "Your answers are tied to your own journey. Your father's past is woven into this, in ways you can't yet understand."
Rhys remained silent, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. Sothing deeper was at play, but Pythia was enjoying her gas. His jaw clenched, but before he could respond, she spoke again.
"This isn't just about Thebes and Calydon," Pythia added, her gaze moving between them both. "The gods are playing their gas too. A war is coming, one that will shake the very foundations of your world." Her voice dropped to a soft, teasing tone.
"And wouldn't you know it? You're both at the heart of it."
Clio's heart pounded, trying to steady herself. "Then we need to stop it," she said, her voice desperate. "We need to—"
Pythia laughed softly, shaking her head. "Stop it? Oh no, princess. You can't stop what's already in motion. You'll face trials soon—tests of loyalty, strength, and your will to survive. But fate's already decided.
You're part of the… ga now."
Rhys's voice cut through the tension, indifferent but firm. "And if we refuse?"
Pythia's teasing smile widened. "Oh, you won't refuse, Rhys. The path has already been laid. All you can do is walk it."
"...And how do you even know who I am?" Rhys finally asked, "You've been speaking as if you've known for a while now."
"We already shared a kiss, no?" Pythia giggled, "Not many touch my lips, Rhys Wilder—and you ask questions, and yet you know that my answers will be vague, so why still ask?"
Clio's voice trembled as she interjected, overwheld with regret. "When… when will the war happen?"
"Soon, princess. Very soon. It might even be happening as we speak," Pythia's voice seed to linger in the air, her teasing tone growing colder with each word.
"Happ—" Clio's breath barely left her lungs, but the Oracle wasn't done.
"But for now, Rhys Wilder... your first trial."
"My first tri—"
"High Priestess." And before Rhys could finish his words, a familiar voice suddenly approached them, "I failed to kill the Princess of Calydon."
"Hm…?" Rhys's muscles tensed, his body already reacting to the shift in the air. His head turned slightly, catching the sound of footsteps from the shadows. A hooded figure stepped forward, his movents deliberate and calm.
It was the very sa figure Rhys had fought before right after they left Calydon.
"You…"
The air grew thick with silence. Clio's breath caught in her throat, her wide eyes darting between the stranger and Pythia, trying to grasp the weight of his words.
"You... asked him to kill ?" Clio's voice trembled, barely above a whisper, but her disbelief hung in the air like a stone.
"Well…" Pythia giggled, the sound too light, too casual for the mont. "I wonder why?" she mused, her eyes glinting with amusent, as though Clio's fear was just another puzzle piece in her ga.
Clio took a shaky step back, the sudden revelation sinking in, as for Rhys… Rhys didn't move.
Right until the point, at least, that Rhys suddenly rushed toward the hooded man—after all, his hand was already on his sword. And soon, the blade flashed as he lunged forward. The two, not even saying a word to each other.
Rhys t him head-on, his fist smashing against the flat of the man's blade, the impact sending shockwaves through the ground.
"Heh…" The clash of steel and strength reverberated through the shrine, dust falling from the ancient stone.
"Wait," but then, the hooded warrior stepped back, his feet barely making a sound as he slid into a defensive stance. And without a word, the man reached to his side, drawing a second sword. He tossed it to Rhys, the blade spinning through the air before landing at his feet with a dull thud.
"To make the fight more interesting than last ti," the hooded warrior said, his tone a low, dangerous hum.
Rhys's silver eyes flicked to the sword, then back to the man. His face remained unchanged. It wasn't arrogance—just acknowledgnt. He bent down, picking up the sword in a single, smooth motion, testing its weight with a flick of his wrist.
"Again, then." The man moved first, his sword cutting through the air with blinding speed. Rhys was faster, eting the man's blade mid-swing with a powerful clang. The battle beca a blur of steel and strength, each strike resonating through the stone beneath them.
Rhys didn't use all of his abilities, he relied on sheer force and speed, driving the hooded man back with each heavy blow. But his opponent was slippery, dodging, weaving, every movent precise and fluid. Every ti Rhys pressed an advantage, the hooded warrior slipped away, deflecting or redirecting the strikes with an effortless grace.
The fight raged through the shrine, the sound of their clash echoing through the ancient structure. He was stronger, undeniably, but the man before him had a level of skill that Rhys had rarely encountered. The hooded warrior's strikes were purposeful, each one a test of Rhys's strength and limits… it felt like he was playing with Rhys.
But then, all of a sudden—one of Rhys's heavier swings connected with a nearby pillar, shattering part of its base. The column groaned, cracks spreading like veins as it began to collapse.
The hooded man stopped. His gaze wasn't on Rhys anymore. It was on the falling column. Rhys followed his line of sight, realizing in an instant—a worker stood directly in its path, frozen in shock.
Without hesitation, the hooded warrior dropped his sword. He dashed forward with inhuman speed—sothing he hasn't yet shown during their fight.
The column crashed to the ground, but not on the worker. The hooded warrior had reached him in ti, pulling the man to safety just before the stone shattered across the floor.
"T…thank you! Thank you!" The worker, wide-eyed and shaken, lay on the ground, staring up at his savior in disbelief.
The hooded warrior helped the worker to his feet, his hands steady. "Go. Get out of here," he said quietly, his voice calm but firm.
The worker, still in shock, nodded and stumbled away, casting one last glance at the hooded man before disappearing into the distance.
Only then did the hooded warrior turn back to Rhys.
"Well, I guess our fight was interrupted again." Slowly, deliberately, he pulled back his hood, revealing his face.
Golden hair fell free, catching the light of the setting sun. The man's features were sharp, chiseled, his eyes filled with intensity that spoke of battles long since fought.
"My na is Achilles," he said, his voice calm, unwavering, as though the na itself carried the weight of centuries.
"What is yours, young warrior?"
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