𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 ⛓️‍💥

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As I stood there, staring at the back of Achilles, my heart twisted with a pain I had never known. How could he be so blind to what we shared? I had risked everything to come back to him, to prove that my feelings were real. And yet, here he was, dismissing me like a mere shadow in the flames of war. Does he even see me? My heart ached with frustration. I'm not just some distraction or a fleeting thought in his mind. I came back for him because I care, because I want to be part of his world, even if it's drenched in blood and chaos.

His words sliced through me, each one sharp and cold. "You're a woman. You're not going to understand."

Is that all I am to him? I thought, anger flaring within me. Just a woman? Just a fragile thing meant to be tucked away safely while he plays the hero? I'm here, standing in front of him, and he can't see the strength I possess. I've faced the darkness of this city; I've felt its weight. I've borne the fear of losing everything, yet I still chose to come back.

I could feel the heat of my resolve burning beneath my skin. I'm not going anywhere. I wouldn't allow his disdain to define me. I had fought through chaos and terror to reach him, and I deserved to be heard, to be valued.

"You think you're in love with me? You think this is about love?" he had said. What does he know of love? Love is not a game; it's a risk, a plunge into the unknown, a willingness to stand by someone even when they push you away.

My heart thundered in my chest as I took a step forward, the anger swelling within me like a storm. He doesn't get to make me feel small. He doesn't get to belittle the feelings that have driven me here. I will not be silenced by his arrogance or his fear of what we could be. He may be a warrior, but I am not just a woman waiting in the shadows. I am strong, and I will fight for my place beside him, no matter how cold he chooses to be.

"I won't go back," I thought defiantly. "I won't let you push me away without a fight."

The silence between us felt suffocating, heavy with unspoken words and a tension that threatened to fracture the air. My heart raced, the ache in my chest gnawing at my resolve. I stepped closer, desperation clawing at my throat.

"Achilles, please—"

But before I could finish, he cut me off with a sharp gesture. "You have to go, Sabryna. You don't belong here."

His voice was firm, almost cold, as if he had made this decision long before I stood before him. I could see the determination etched on his face, the way his jaw clenched, bracing against something deep inside.

"I'm not leaving you," I said, my voice rising in defiance. "You can't just send me away because it's convenient for you!"

He stepped closer, the heat radiating from him a reminder of the strength that both frightened and drew me in. "I'm not doing this to hurt you. I'm doing it to protect you. This isn't a game, Sabryna. This is war. You don't understand what's at stake here."

"Then explain it to me!" I shot back, my anger bubbling over. "I want to understand! You think I don't know what I'm getting into? I've been fighting for you since the moment I arrived!"

For a brief moment, I caught a flicker of something in his eyes—maybe recognition, maybe regret—but it vanished before I could grasp it. He shook his head, the weight of his decision heavy between us.

"I'll take you back myself," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You'll be safer in Troy, away from this chaos. This isn't where you belong."

My heart sank, anger twisting within me. "You think taking me back will solve everything? You think it will make me forget you? I can't just walk away from my feelings! You can't expect me to turn off my heart!"

His gaze hardened, but I saw a flicker of softness that made me hold my breath. "It's not about turning off your heart. It's about surviving. I won't risk your life because of my own desires or yours. You have to go."

"Achilles," I pleaded, desperation spilling into my voice, "I'm not afraid. I'm not some fragile thing that needs to be protected."

"Then you should be afraid," he replied, his voice low and resolute. "You don't know what you're asking for. I won't allow you to be a pawn in this war. You mean too much to me."

His words sent shockwaves through me, leaving me momentarily speechless. Did he truly care for me? But before I could delve deeper into those thoughts, he stepped back, signaling the end of our confrontation.

"Come on," he said, flat and unyielding. "We're leaving. Now."

I watched him walk towards his horse, every movement deliberate, controlled—cold. The weight of his words still hung heavy in the air, stifling the response I longed to make. But what more could I say? He had made up his mind.

His strong hands gripped the reins, and with a swift movement, he turned towards me, his expression unreadable. "Come here," he said, his voice low but commanding.

For a moment, I didn't move. My body was frozen in place, as though my legs refused to cooperate. The distance between us felt insurmountable, not in steps but in the growing chasm of emotion that threatened to swallow me whole.

"Sabryna," he repeated, his voice sharper now, snapping me out of my haze.

I stepped forward slowly, the crunch of the gravel beneath my sandals echoing in the silence between us. Without a word, he reached out, taking my wrist firmly in his hand. His touch was strong, unyielding, but there was something almost gentle in the way he pulled me closer to the horse. I felt my pulse quicken as his grip tightened, lifting me effortlessly onto the saddle.

For a brief second, I caught his gaze—those steely eyes locking with mine. There was something there, hidden beneath his hardened exterior. Was it regret? Guilt? Or something more? But before I could decipher it, he turned away, walking around the horse.

I sat awkwardly on the saddle, feeling unbalanced both by the height and the weight of emotions swirling inside me. The air was thick with tension, but the silence between us was louder than any words we could speak.

Achilles mounted the horse behind me, his presence looming like a fortress—imposing, strong, impenetrable. His body pressed against mine as he took the reins, his warmth seeping through the coolness of the night air. The scent of leather and steel clung to him, mingling with the faint scent of blood and battle that lingered on his skin.

The horse stirred beneath us, and with a quick nudge of his heels, Achilles set it into motion. The rhythmic thud of hooves on the ground filled the space between us as we rode away from the remnants of battle. Each jolt of the horse brought me closer to him, but still, a distance remained—one I wasn't sure I could bridge.

As we rode, I found myself leaning back ever so slightly, my body instinctively seeking the warmth of his presence behind me. His breath was steady, controlled, but I could feel the tension radiating from him. Achilles was a man of war, of bloodshed, but beneath that, he was still human. And somewhere, buried deep, I believed he cared for me. Or perhaps I was fooling myself.

The ride felt endless, the city of Troy still distant on the horizon. I wanted to speak, to break the unbearable silence, but the words caught in my throat, strangled by uncertainty. What could I say to change his mind? To make him see what was right in front of him?

But as the horse carried us closer to Troy, the city's walls rising up like a shadow in the distance, I knew the moment was slipping away. Soon, I would be sent back behind those walls, away from him, from the danger, from the war.

𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒔Where stories live. Discover now