THEMYSCIRA
In the heart of the Amazons' realm stood the grand palace—its archaic halls resplendent with carvings of myth, bathed in soft golden light from braziers hanging upon marble columns. Queen Hippolyta strode through its inner chambers, flanked by Agape and Lysippe.
This was the seat of their power
"Antiope has recovered, as we hoped. The wounded are regaining strength, and the prisoners are being interrogated," Lysippe reported, her tone crisp.
"Good," Hippolyta replied. "Have the warriors prepare for further engagements. I do not believe we've seen the last of the Athenians." She paused, then turned her gaze slightly.
"Agape, I want you overseeing reports from the shores—" she hesitated, her voice softening.
"On second thought… delegate the task. You need rest as well."
She exhaled—a rare sigh of weariness.
They passed several vine-draped archways, stepping into a chamber where warm mist coiled in the air. At its center lay a vast bathing pool carved from stone, guarded by two Amazons. Moonlight filtered in from an open dome above, silvering the rippling surface.
Without a word, Hippolyta began to undress.
Agape and Lysippe moved gracefully to assist, unfastening clasps and lifting pieces of her golden armor with ritual care. As the final piece slid from her form, Hippolyta stood bare—her body sculpted by war, yet divine in poise.
Bruises, scratches, and thin bleeding lines adorned her back and shoulders—testaments to the battle waged.
She stepped forward, skin glowing softly in the ambient light. With a whisper of sound—
Splash.
She entered the steaming water, the pool embracing her like an ancient lover. Her breath slowed. Her tension melted. She lowered herself fully beneath the surface before rising again, water cascading from her curves like liquid silk.
Behind her, Agape's fists clenched at the sight of her queen's wounds, fury twisting her lips.
"We have a chance to kill our enemy while he lies weak. I say we take it. Why do we hesitate?" she hissed through gritted teeth.
Lysippe said nothing, but the flicker in her eyes betrayed agreement.
Hippolyta remained silent, her back still turned. Then, with a small gesture, she signaled one of the guards.
The warrior stepped to a low stone altar and picked up a vial filled with a glimmering green elixir. She poured it into the water.
Hissss.
The pool began to steam more vigorously. Magical warmth seeped into Hippolyta's body. She submerged again, deeper this time, letting the healing brew draw out pain and fatigue.
When she surfaced, her voice was calm—but edged in iron.
"Do you think I want him alive? I want him dead more than you can imagine. But we have already earned Poseidon's wrath. Shall we now tempt Zeus to hurl his spear upon us?"
"But—"
"No. No more buts, Agape," Hippolyta snapped, finally turning to face them. Her eyes were sharp, yet wearied. "No harm shall come to him. Is that understood?"
Agape lowered her head but did not reply.
The Queen rose from the pool, droplets gliding down her skin. Miraculously, her wounds had vanished. Her form was untouched by fatigue, glistening under torchlight as though a goddess newly born.
She stepped to a waiting guard and accepted a towel, wrapping it with a slow, regal grace. Her beauty was radiant.
"You're all exhausted. Rest. That is an order."
She paused.
"Ah yes... how is our guest settling in?" she asked, her mind wandering back to the towering figure that had followed her in silence.
"He is in the cavern-dungeons, as instructed," Lysippe responded. Agape frowned at the confirmation.
"It feels... disrespectful," Agape said. "To place a being of such strength in a pit. He might be a god—for all we know."
Hippolyta pulled her robe over her shoulders and began walking, her companions following.
"Perhaps. But until we know, we must keep him neither too close... nor too far." Her voice carried both caution and curiosity. "He is a man—and that alone is a threat here. Yet I have seen gods, and none of Olympus wear such armor."
"The oracles are consulting Athena. I trust her wisdom. When we learn how to speak with him, we will know more."
"He might be a demi-god," Lysippe added. "It still astonishes me that he followed you here without resistance."
"He understood me. Not through words—but intention. As though he read my thoughts..." Hippolyta murmured.
"He fights with majesty," she continued. "Not like a savage... but like a king. Every movement held the bearing of someone born for command."
"He is powerful," Agape agreed. "Did you see how he cleaved through the trench-dwellers? They fell like insects."
The tension of war had passed. For now, their speech flowed freely.
"Enough," Hippolyta said. "We will find our answers at dawn. Until then, rest. With the enchantments active, he will not go far."
IN THE DUNGEON-CAVES
Far beneath Themyscira, in a vast cavern where the rocks glowed with ethereal blue light, a lone shadow could be seen.
Beside a still pond, the large figure sat silently. Cracks echoed faintly as the golden plates of his armor were removed, one by one.
Clank. Clang. Clank.
Atrius's breathing deepened. The air grew heavy as steam coiled around him.
With the final plate removed, he sat bare-chested in the dim glow—only his crimson eyes gleaming, flickering gold like twin suns drowning in dusk.
He inhaled long and deep. Steam danced along his skin.
Then, slowly, powerfully… he exhaled.
The cave filled with fog.
"Interesting," he muttered at last—his voice calm, deep, and edged with something ancient.