Therapon

She's sitting on a park bench, nursing a bloody nose, when she feels something like oil on water wash over her. Like a simmering feeling rising up inside her, and she glances around warily, then with alarm. Something is materialising next to her. Something that looks like an unconscious young man.

He's slumbering in the fields of Elysia, minding his own business, when he feels the tug and the pull and Athena's words, whispering and caressing in his ear. Achilles' soul is here, they say, you must protect and help it, and he reaches out eagerly and cracks open his eyes and- well. This is definitely not Troy, and that thing is definitely not the best of the Achaeans.

The gods had to be fucking with both of them.