𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒔

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌 ⚡️

I woke up slowly, the dim light of dawn filtering through the thin fabric of the tent. The warmth I had felt the night before, the reassuring presence at my side, was gone. I reached out instinctively, but my hand met only empty space. A cold emptiness sank deep into my chest. Where was he?The camp was quiet, save for the distant murmur of voices and the clang of armor. Something was wrong. I dressed quickly, my fingers fumbling as I tied my cloak, and stepped outside, following the noise.

That's when I saw them. The Myrmidons.

Achilles stood at the center of a gathering just beyond the tents, his men surrounding him, their faces hard and unreadable. Opposite them, a group of Trojan soldiers, and at their head—Hector. My heart lurched. Our eyes met immediately, locking across the distance as though drawn together by an invisible force.Everything around me seemed to slow, the world reduced to the space between me, Hector, and Achilles. Achilles glanced at me, his expression cold and closed off, and I felt the shift—something sharp and unspoken settling between them. Tension crackled in the air, thick with jealousy and resentment.

Hector's voice broke the silence. "Sabryna, it's time to come home." His words struck me like a physical blow, clear and commanding. He stepped forward, his gaze never leaving mine. "In exchange for Helen."

I froze, the breath catching in my throat. What? Helen? I looked to Achilles, expecting him to refuse, to protect me as he had promised. Surely, he wouldn't let me go like this—not after everything.

Achilles' gaze flickered briefly toward Hector, and then to me. His face was hard, his jaw clenched. "I don't want Helen," he said, his voice sharp. "Take her."

My heart sank. His words hit me like a punch to the chest, leaving me winded. He wasn't talking about Helen—he was talking about me. I stared at him, disbelief coursing through me. No, this couldn't be happening. He wouldn't just give me up. Not after the night we shared, not after the way he had looked at me.

But he did.

"You can take her," he said, his tone as cold as steel. He didn't even look at me. It was as though I were nothing more than a token to be passed between them.

The pain in my chest was unbearable, tightening around my heart like a vise. I tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill, tried to keep my voice steady, but when I spoke, it was barely more than a whisper. "Why?"

He didn't answer. He didn't even look at me.

My heart shattered. I had believed him when he told me I was safe, that escape was impossible. But now, he was letting me go as if I meant nothing. The connection we had felt—the moments we had shared—was gone, snuffed out in an instant.

"Sabryna," Hector called softly, stepping toward me. His voice held a note of urgency, but his touch was gentle when he placed a hand on my shoulder. "You belong in Troy. You were never meant to be here."

I should have felt relief. I should have been happy to return home. But all I felt was heartbreak, a crushing emptiness as I turned away from Achilles and walked toward Hector. Each step felt heavier than the last, like I was leaving a piece of myself behind. I glanced back, hoping—praying—that Achilles would stop me, that he would show even the slightest sign that he cared. But his back was already turned, his attention focused on his men.

As if I had never been there at all.

—

The ocean stretched endlessly before me, but all I could see was Achilles, standing at a distance with his back to me. His words still echoed in my mind—"Take her." He had cast me aside like I was nothing, like everything we had shared meant nothing at all.

The breeze tugged at my hair as I moved toward Hector's chariot, the sting of the salty air biting against my tear-streaked cheeks. My steps were heavy, my legs weak beneath me, but I kept moving, willing myself not to collapse under the weight of heartbreak. As I climbed into the chariot, Hector followed, his presence beside me steady and commanding, though I barely registered it. The roar of the sea and the distant cries of gulls should have brought some peace, some comfort, but my chest was tight, suffocating with the pain Achilles had left me with.

The ride back to Troy was silent, save for the rhythmic clopping of the horses' hooves against the sand. I didn't dare look at Hector. I couldn't. My mind was consumed with the image of Achilles—of the man who had promised protection only to give me up without a second thought. Why had he let me go? The thought circled in my mind relentlessly, unanswered and agonizing. As the chariot bumped along, I hugged myself tighter, the cold creeping into my bones despite the warmth of the day. Every breath felt shallow, my body still trembling from the shock. My fingers gripped the edge of the seat, white-knuckled, trying to hold on to anything, to ground myself in the reality I couldn't accept. The wind whispered past my ears, carrying fragments of voices from the shore, but none of them reached me. I was alone in my sorrow, adrift in a sea of confusion and heartbreak.

After what felt like an eternity, Hector finally spoke, his voice gentle yet firm, breaking through the fog that had settled over me. "When we return, the healers will take you to a private room for treatment," he said, his tone measured, as though he had rehearsed these words.

I blinked, confusion tugging at me. "Treatment? I'm fine," I muttered, shaking my head slightly. "There's no need—"

Hector's gaze shifted toward me, his dark eyes unreadable as he interrupted, "You've been through enough. You need rest. And more importantly, it is crucial your purity remains intact. The healers will ensure—"

My heart skipped a beat at his words. Purity?! He thought that's what this was about. That Achilles had taken me, that something irreparable had happened. A wave of indignation surged within me, cutting through the numbness.

"I told you, I'm fine," I insisted, my voice breaking as I turned to look at him for the first time. His expression softened, a hint of pity in his eyes. He didn't understand—he couldn't. Nothing physical had been taken from me, but the emotional toll...I wasn't fine. I was shattered, crumbling from the inside out, and no healer could fix that.

"Sabryna," Hector said, his voice gentler now, but still filled with the authority of a prince. "It's not just your well-being that concerns me. It's your honor. After being in his possession, your place in Troy—"

"I don't care about my place in Troy," I snapped, my voice louder than I intended. Tears threatened to fall again, my hands trembling as I clenched them in my lap. "I don't care about honor or purity. I just want to understand why..." My voice broke, and I couldn't bring myself to say his name. The taste of it felt bitter on my tongue.

Hector fell silent, his brow furrowing, but he said nothing more as we approached the gates of Troy. The chariot slowed, the noise of the city creeping back into the edges of my awareness—footsteps, distant voices, the clang of metal in the marketplace. But all I could feel was the cold absence left behind by Achilles' betrayal, the sharp ache of a heart I had so foolishly offered, only to have it thrown aside.