"Choosing me to go on this journey—you do realise you'll be left with no tribunes to advise your decisions? Caenus is still missing... and so is Atrius. It would have been wiser to choose one of the Companions to lead." Maloris stated once he was alone with Constantine Valdor.
He had been briefed on the mission's details. Though honoured to aid in locating Atrius within some unknown and uncharted star territory, he felt a deep discomfort at the thought of leaving the Captain-General without proper counsel. Tribunes were advisors—the uppermost rank of the Legio Custodes, followed by the fabled Three Hundred Companions of the Emperor. Though merit and competence mattered more than hierarchy among the Custodians, those elevated ranks still bore weight and authority. The rest did not dwell much on such things; to them, every Custodes who had passed the trials was an equal.
"This is more important than me. It is the Lord's greatest desire that he be found. Alpha_Omega is compromised—lost. Whatever plans He once forged, new situations are at hand. Atrius cannot be left adrift. It would put my mind at ease knowing you were the one there when he is found." Valdor said firmly.
"I... see. I shall do my best." Maloris nodded solemnly.
"I know you will. The Lord has returned and will require my presence here. Thus, you are free to choose whom you deem fit and capable for this mission. The Sisters are already aboard and will aid you in the Warp however they can."
"What of Caenus? Do we have any clue where he might be?" Maloris asked.
"Negative. I believe he may still be somewhere within the Warp... but that is only conjecture."
They walked together towards a grand balcony in the palace that overlooked what was once the Himalayas.
"Unfortunate... how I shall miss the glory of the Lord," Maloris said wistfully. "I hope Atrius has something worthwhile to show for when he is found, or I shall be terribly disappointed. He always had a way of seeking trouble. Then again... who wouldn't, with such power?"
He removed his helm. It hissed as the locks unclamped, revealing a masculine face weathered by time, though his eyes glowed with vigor—ageless and unrelenting.
"Valdor... tell me I get to choose the ship." Maloris added, gazing at the golden glow blooming in the heavens.
"No, you don't... I get to choose." A new voice cut in sharply.
They turned to see Malcador standing there, as if he'd been present the whole time. Maloris raised a brow and sighed.
It always unsettled them how this ancient man could move unseen around even the Custodians.
"Follow me. You won't be disappointed." Malcador said simply.
He raised his staff, conjuring a portal with a gesture. Without another word, he stepped into it. Valdor followed without hesitation.
Maloris lingered. He looked back at the palace—his face unreadable. With a resigned sigh, he reattached his helm, the hiss of the seal breaking the still air. Then, without another word, he stepped through the portal. It vanished behind him.
Silence returned.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
"I killed one of their scions," Hypolita stated flatly.
"He captured and nearly defiled my sister. In a fit of rage, I killed him. His father was the one who sent the army we warred with—those trench dwellers."
"If he is so wrathful over the death of his son," Atrius asked with a frown, "then why did the army turn back after reaching the shores?"
During his stay, Atrius had been quietly observing every corner of his surroundings, mapping the terrain in case he needed to escape. On his first night, he had detected warships approaching the island, but they had mysteriously turned away.
He had reported this to the queen as a gesture of good faith—a repayment of their hospitality.
"I believe it's because of the coming war," Hypolita explained. "Athena—the one who came before—told us a war was approaching from the stars, and Gaia would be caught in its path. She said we must aid in repelling it. But once that threat passes, I believe Poseidon will come for us again."
"And you want me to stop him when that time comes? What do I gain by helping you?" Atrius asked, noting the name of this world—Gaia—a name alien to him. He took care to conceal his ignorance.
"That depends on you. What do you want from us?" Hyppolita asked.
He stayed silent for a moment.
"There is nothing I want that you can give," he said finally, turning back to his armour.
Seeing an opportunity, Hypolita's eyes brightened.
"We could have new armour crafted for you. Not an equal trade, of course... but you could ask for something else later."
Atrius turned back, unimpressed.
"You believe what I wear can be forged by common men... women?" he asked, correcting himself upon recalling there were no free men on this island.
"No... perhaps not. But I know of a god who can," she insisted.
His fleeting gaze caught her off-guard, and she instinctively stepped back.
"Get me a forge and we may come to an arrangement. I need not the craftsmanship of gods." Atrius said, earning a confused look.
"Prepare it now. I'll need helpers in the forge. My preference is mortals of strong and sturdy stature." His meaning was clear from how he scrutinised her.
"What? You look down on our strength?" Her hands moved to her waist, defiant.
"I have seen all that needs to be seen. Your people are strong—stronger than most mortals. But for what I plan to do, I need more strength."
"Don't worry. We have plenty of that here," she replied proudly.
Her gaze turned to his armour. "Is that... gold?"
"Gold?... No." Atrius replied curtly.
"What is it made of? It seems heavily damaged. Our standard armour is made of Amazonium, a rare mineral found on the island. If you plan to reforge your gear, I suggest you use it." She pressed on, eager to unravel his secrets.
Seeing through her intent, Atrius chose to humour her.
"You wouldn't understand even if I told you. Its standard make is worth a planet in ransom—mine is worth more. Can you even begin to fathom its value?"
Hypolita fell silent.
"I can, actually. But if it's so valuable, why discard it? It still looks usable."
"It's not about damage. It's about functionality. If its precision and performance wane, it becomes a liability. My caste allows no margin for malfunction or decline. I lack the means to repair it properly, so I must improvise."
She approached and traced her fingers along the deep gashes across the chestplate. The two headed eagle insignia and runic markings were scarred and scorched.
Atrius watched her silently. To him, she was like a child—manipulative, perhaps, but harmless. If she wished to earn his favour, so be it. That would make it easier to study this world... and to one day leave it.
"What great beast left such marks on armour so priceless?" she asked, her fingers outlining a massive claw strike.
Atrius examined his helm. The burn scars and broken eye lens told tales he could not recall.
"I... don't remember." He said softly.
Hypolita watched his expression darken.
"Your arrival here... I find it fascinating. As if the Fates themselves wove your presence here." she offered, trying to lighten the mood.
He said nothing, brushing his hand over a tiny gem embedded in the helm's sharp crest—barely noticeable amidst the battle-worn surface.
"You've stayed longer than usual. Do you have more to say?" he asked without turning.
"Do you find my presence bothersome?" she asked quietly, still staring at the armour's craftsmanship.
"No." Atrius answered flatly.
"Can't you just read my thoughts to understand what I want?" she asked, her gaze shifting to his profile—his sharp jaw, the calm glow in his helm, the way the cave's light etched his muscles in shade and bronze.
For the first time, she looked at him not with caution, but curiosity. She had been braced for violence—but it had never come. Her fear had been instinctive, forged from the cruelty she had seen at the hands of men.
"I could," Atrius said, "but I choose not to. Not until I truly need to."
"A being of honour, then." Hypolita smirked, stepping closer.
He glanced at her sideways, intrigued.
She passed him and stepped toward the spring-fed pond at the cave's end—the source of the soft, trickling echo that filled the chamber.
Without hesitation, she unclasped the leather belt of her white tunic.
Flop.
It hit the ground.
Her tunic followed, leaving her clad only in metal bracers. She looked back at him, her hair now unbound and cascading down her back.
"You don't mind if I take a dip, do you?" she asked, freeing her sandals.
Atrius raised an eyebrow, puzzled.
She stepped into the pond, the water splashing gently around her. As she submerged, she glanced back.
But Atrius was already gazing at his helm again—lost in thought.
A frown tugged at her lips before she dipped beneath the surface once more.