Wars Of Love

A Man and a Lion

Achilles had spent a sleepless night, tormented by the presence of two names that held contrasting emotions within him. One name, filled with love, brought bittersweet memories, while the other, dripping with disdain, ignited a fire of anger within his soul that could not be satisfied.

As the first rays of sunlight began to pierce through the tent, Achilles knew that the time had come. The soldiers around him slowly stirred from their slumber, awakening alongside the rising sun. With determination etched on his face, Achilles reached out and grasped his spear, its gleaming surface now adorned with Patroklos' dice bracelet, tightly wound around its shaft. With each step he took towards the city, the weight of those two names lingered heavily in his thoughts, like an unwelcome burden.

Some soldiers, aware of his purpose, trailed behind him at a distance, silently acknowledging the gravity of his mission. A few Myrmidons, who happened to be nearby, approached Achilles, their eyes filled with a mixture of concern and determination. They offered their assistance, eager to stand by his side, but he declined their offer, knowing that this was a task he had to undertake alone.

Achilles' grip tightened around his spear as he marched forward, his heart pounding with a fierce determination. As he reached the outskirts of the city, he brought his spear crashing down onto the ground with such force that the sound reverberated through the serene dawn, shattering the tranquility of the morning. In that moment, it felt as if the world around him ceased to exist, and he was transported into an unknown realm of nothingness. All he could perceive was an overwhelming expanse of blinding white, engulfing his senses.

Suddenly, a figure materialized before Achilles, his presence evoking little interest from the warrior. The man's long beard concealed most of his hideous face, while his unkempt hair cascaded down his back, partially obscuring his hunched posture. With a voice that carried an air of ancient wisdom, the man greeted Achilles, "Hello Peleus' son."

Achilles, his face twisted with anger and determination, forcefully confronted the figure standing in his path. His voice dripped with defiance as he spat out his words, "Step aside, God. I care not for your message. Hector will meet his demise at my hands today."

"And indeed, he shall," the man before him declared, his gaze unwavering. "I am Hephaestus, and as you are well aware, that gleaming spear in your hand is my creation."

Achilles squinted at the god, his confusion mingling with his rage. His voice laced with skepticism, he questioned, "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

Hephaestus, his tone matter-of-fact and tinged with a hint of detachment, acknowledged Achilles' disbelief. "Indeed, you are correct. This form you see before you is a mere semblance of my true self, a projection. Recently, I had a conversation with your beloved companion as well... and if you stand here now, facing me in this manner, it can only mean that he too has met his tragic end."

Achilles' eyes suddenly burst with life, his entire being ignited at the mention of Patroklos. His voice trembled with urgency as he bombarded the god with questions, his words tumbling out in rapid succession. "You've met Patroklos?! When? How?"

Hephaestus, his gaze fixed upon the gleaming spear in Achilles' hand, began to reveal the truth. "The power of this very spear lies in the depths of love, and it was your dear Patroklos who tapped into its full potential before you did. In that moment, as he fought valiantly, our paths intertwined and we engaged in conversation."

"So that's why I couldn't harness its power until Patroklos helped me...the spear felt our love." His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of revelation. Yet, a cloud of despair began to cast its shadow over his features, his voice growing deeper and tinged with a simmering hatred. "But now, he is gone, and the love I once felt seems to have vanished as well."