Kryptic ↟ Deimos

thirty-eight: dread and destruction

i don't know what you had in mind, but here we stand on opposing sides.

DEIMOS BREATHES HER name, unwilling to let Lesya go on the eve of battle, but she must. His arms tighten around her waist, drawing her back against his chest as they sit at the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea —both watching the setting sun. Below them is the Athenian fleet, scrambling to set camp and rest before the morning light breaks and they are called to war. It will all be over by tomorrow's sunset, and the moment she leaves him, they will be enemies once more.

She shifts, heart aching and breaking for the hundredth time. "I'll see you when this is over," she promises, lips kinked into a fleeting smile not reaching her glassy laurel eyes. Deimos understands what she means by it —in this life or the next. He takes her face into calloused hands, thumb tracing the scar running through her brow and the one on her temple; both are his doing. Lesya squeezes her eyes shut, but tears still escape, streaking down her freckled cheeks. Deimos wipes away the dampness with his thumbs and leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers.

Lesya's fingers curl around the chain securing his stained pteruges to his gold-and-black cuirass. She tilts her chin up, feels the brush of his wind-chapped lips against hers. Deimos draws her closer, can taste the salt of her tears —and his. There's something different about this kiss, as though each of them knows there's no return —no going back. It feels too much like a final goodbye. Like they should have taken the chance to run, to stay on that beach all those years ago.

With a cry, Lesya pulls herself away and rises, taking the winding path down from the cliff and to the city. She will not let herself look back, not even when Deimos shouts her name. Drying her eyes, Lesya stills herself and presses on to find the leader of the Spartan forces. We will meet again tomorrow, Deimos.

"BRASIDAS!" LESYA HAILS. It is the first time he's faced her since Pylos —since she stopped him from facing Deimos. He's heard of her exploits in Boeotia too. Knows without her Spartan victory would not have been possible, even if it had come at the cost of Stentor's life. All of it is in the past though, and Brasidas has buried whatever conflict they may have had.

"It is good to see you." The Spartan general smiles as he meets her at the fort's entrance and clasps onto Lesya's arm, knowing what her presence means in the outlook for the coming storm —they fight with a goddess of war on their side. Then his expression falters with a glance over her shoulder. She has answered the call alone. His brows furrow. "Where's Kassandra?"

"She will be here," Lesya assures him, "soon." The Adrestia would have departed hours after Kleon's fleet. She's certain the Eagle Bearer will be among the Spartan army before the sun rises and the battle begins.

Brasidas nods, accepting the answer, and turns, facing Amphipolis. "The men fear what lies ahead," he admits. It is not an easy thing for a Spartan to admit, but he sees it in the eyes of his men. This war between Athens and Sparta has raged for nigh a decade already with no sign of ceasing, driving the Greek world further into turmoil.

Lesya looks at the small fires dotting the streets and the fort and the hoplites huddled around them. She clasps onto Brasidas' shoulder, leans toward him with a dangerous smile and glint in her laurel eyes. He wonders if this is the last thing men saw before succumbing to the blades of a ghost and goddess. "I'm not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep," she laughs, smile turning to a smirk.

THE SUN BURNS on the back of Kleon's neck, and the saddle turns his backside numb, but he will not dismount and be on the same level as the wretches around him —the same level as Deimos. All fodder for the war machine. He eyes the champion, standing on a hill's brow in gleaming gold, his gaze turned upward to the walls of the Spartan fort as though searching for someone. I do not need you any longer, dog, he thinks. The Athenians could win this fight by numbers alone —Deimos is only a liability now.