Kryptic ↟ Deimos

seven: the great escape

ENYO TOSSES IN her sleep. A storm rages around her. Thunder claps and sleet lashes her cheeks. She's there on the infamous slopes of Taygetos —an invisible figure watching as the ephor lifts the babe above his head, stepping to the edge of the chasm. Then both the baby boy and Ephor plunge into the darkness, the girl too slow to catch her brother before the fall. Alexios! Deimos reaches over and grips onto her arm, gently bringing her from the dream. "Alexios," she breathes, eyes opening to the darkness.

A furrow knits his brows together. Somehow the name feels familiar, as though he's heard it before, a long time ago. The hand on her arm slips up to her cheek —thumb following along the silvery scar running through her left brow. "The artifact showed me you," he begins, softly, "as a girl. You were hiding with your brothers." She closes her eyes, remembering her childhood in Athens before the Cult had taken it away. Timotheus and Tundareos always did their best to shield her from Leandros' wrath. It's what siblings did —protect each other.

Enyo moves closer to him and runs her fingertips over the jagged scar spanning down his right side. It'd been there even when they were children. "I saw a baby boy," she starts, voice trembling, "they threw him off a mountain." Their eyes meet, and she's held in place under Deimos's tawny-gold gaze —the same eyes as the baby on the mountain. Alexios. Her breath catches.

Deimos cards his hand through her copper hair. "We leave for Megara at sunrise," he reminds her. They'd been tasked with keeping the Athenian forces at bay until the Spartans decided to strike. The Megarid was too valuable for Sparta to stand idle while Athens marched forward toward the Peloponnese.

"It'll be nice," Enyo whispers, lips kinking into a subtle smile. As of late, the Cult seemed to make it a point to keep them apart. It feels like ages since they've last fought side-by-side. "The two of us finally together again." She runs her fingers along his jawline. Deimos moves closer and wraps them both in a sheet of linen.

HE THROWS THE torch into the brazier at the center of the room and the dry wood and kindling takes to flames. Enyo shifts on her bed mat rolling toward the empty spot where he normally laid. Deimos hadn't been able to sleep and took to the training grounds when he overheard the group —they meant to slit her throat while she slept. She wakes with a start, eyes adjusting to the room, and focusing on the blade she holds at Deimos's neck. "Up, quickly," he orders, rising to gather her bow and quiver.

Shedding her nightclothes, Enyo reaches for the wide band of grey wool for her apodesmos and another for her loincloth. Once clothed in the black-and-gold striped chiton, Deimos settles the cuirass over her head and fastens the ties with haste, doing the same with her greaves and bracers. He is unsure how much time they have. A hundred questions race through her mind but she voices none of them. The chlamys he wraps around her shoulders is a dark, rough fabric held in place by a bronze brooch.

Tossing a sack with her bow, quiver, dual blades, and kopis over his shoulder, Deimos grips Enyo's hand and leads her into the night over rock and brook, through the forest, and away from the villa above the Temple of Apollo. "What is all this about?" She hisses, pulling her hand back when they reach a small clearing.

"They're going to execute you," he breathes. A cold chill slithers down her spine. Deimos turns around and takes her face in both of his hands. Enyo meets his eyes, shocked to see something she hadn't thought possible lingering in their dark depths. Fear. "I won't let them." She nods once, swallowing the lump in her throat and pushing back tears. Unable to grasp why it had come to this. I am a champion to them, a demigoddess. Threading his fingers through hers, Deimos turns back to the path ahead.

Halting at the main road leading into Kirrha, he turns, releasing her hand. "There's a ship in the harbor called the Adrestia. It sails at dawn," he says.