Around seven, the ridges of Mount Ida began to glow, gold bleeding into the stone as the sun crested the peaks. The last of the mist over the Dardan Valley dissolved.
The land stirred, slow and ancient.
Olive trees whispered in the breeze. Damp earth breathed beneath his feet.
Far off, Troy shimmered—half mirage, half memory. Like something sung long ago.
Aeneas stood on the stone steps, linen tunic crisp and white.
Deep-blue crests stitched along the hem—family, legacy, weight.
Morning light caught his curls—black threaded with gold.
He looked young. But stable.
He drew a slow breath, pulling the dawn deep into his lungs, trying to taste the land itself.
Achates waited at his side. His leather armor shone, every buckle picked up the sun. Straight-backed. Alert. This was his first outing as named steward and chief guard, and the new weight sat plainly on his shoulders. He adjusted the short sword at his hip and spoke low.
"Master? We're ready when you are."
Aeneas nodded. A faint, amused smile touched his lips.
"Right. Your first expedition in charge, Achates. I'll follow your lead."
Achates coughed, a quiet sound that didn't quite mask the smile in his eyes.
The words had landed oddly, but he understood the humor.
His shoulders loosened, a breath's worth.
Nisus and Euryalus stood behind—clean linen, worn leather. Modest, yes. But they wore it like honor.
Nisus carried the tray: oak, polished.
The wooden sword lay across it, its cracks oiled to a shine.
Beneath, wool and linen embroidered with shields and serpents—symbols older than any of them.
Clean linens. Leather guards. Nothing flashy—just quiet pride.
The wooden sword lay across the tray—cleaned, oiled, its grain catching the light.
Beneath it, wool and linen folded neat, stitched with shields and serpents, old symbols still watching.
The whole thing felt sacred, solemn—a ritual made tangible.
His face was a mask of focus. He whispered to his brother, "Steady now. Don't let your mind wander. This isn't a hunt. It's the city's business."
Euryalus couldn't contain his excitement.
He tried for solemn. It came out excited, almost shy.
"I just... kind of... can't believe it. It's so unreal, isn't it? This sword's worth maybe more than my life. Like, if I trip and die, just save the sword."
Nisus shot him a sharp look. "It's more than your life. This is for the goddess. Not a toy."
Aeneas stifled a chuckle, glancing back at them.
"Easy! Respect the goddess, yeah—but no need to freeze like you're meeting your crush and forgot how legs work. The nobles just fake it better."
Euryalus grinned. "Understood, Master."
Nisus stayed tight-lipped, eyes alert.
He felt it—more than his brother. The hush, the weight, the way the wind held its breath.
"Alright, team—let's move!!" Aeneas grinned and took the lead.
The road lay smooth.
Scoured by years of feet, hooves, and weather.
Olive trees flanked the path, silver-green and still.
Like sentinels. Old ones.
Beyond, the forest waited. Shadows moved. Something called.
Cybele's sacred grove. Hunters skirted its edges, unwilling to risk the goddess's displeasure.
Achates kept close, steps measured.
"Master," he said, voice low. "I suggest the boat to Troy today."
Aeneas paused, eyebrow raised. "Boat? It's not far. Wouldn't riding be faster?"
Achates didn't shift, but his eyes flicked toward Nisus. The boy was cradling the offering, forehead beaded with sweat, terrified of a misstep.
"Riding would… shake him," Achates said patiently.
"And…" He paused, a knowing look in his eyes.
"You do remember—these two haven't been on a horse. They'd be slower on one than off."
Euryalus scratched his head, laughing. "True, that. We're hill-born. Trust our feet. Horses feel… risky. Like to break your neck just looking at 'em."
Aeneas laughed aloud, but inwardly kicked himself.
(Right. Saddles. Stirrups. Damn, how did I forget?)
He was so used to thinking of medieval knights, he'd blanked on the reality: no saddles, no stirrups. Riding was just balancing on a slippery back—an extreme sport.
Achates saw his distraction and added,
"Only noble sons and some herders learn it proper. Soldiers who ride serve as scouts—higher rank. Long trips? That's for chariots."
Aeneas pictured movie-Achilles charging on horseback and snorted.
(Hollywood. Even Homer's hero fought from a chariot, then jumped down to brawl.)
He looked again at Nisus and Euryalus. One tense, sweating, breathing shallow; the other loose-limbed, at home on the earth.
(Alright, Allen. Almost made another "assume too much" error. Recon. Observation. If there are horses, saddles and stirrups go straight to the top of the list.)
He drew in a breath—slow, steady. Let the noise in his head settle.
Then he smiled, quiet and real, and clapped Euryalus on the shoulder.
"Fair point. Safer on foot—no broken bones. We'll take Achates's advice. Ferry, then boat."
"Understood," Achates nodded.
Nisus relaxed his grip, just a little. Euryalus laughed. "Good! I've been wanting to try a riverboat anyway. Seems… tamer."
The group moved on, following the olive-lined path.
Aeneas pushed a low branch aside. The path wound down from Ida, dappled in morning light.
Achates gestured toward the valley.
"Master, the Kalippos outpost—first defense for your estate. A hundred men. Two horses for scouts. For riding, you'd need the bridge east, at the Scamander. Narrow. Three meters. Six horses there, from Thrasimenes."
Aeneas didn't break stride, mapping it in his mind.
"Three outposts, a hundred each, interlocking. Bridge is the choke point… makes sense to station horses there."
Achates watched him, then added,
"South of the hills, Zentharios outpost. Guards the Cebrenia village and the Maple Ridge. Also a hundred men. Two horses."
He paused, his look careful, almost avuncular.
"They work alone, but together. One drumbeat, all three can gather in half a day."
Aeneas glanced sideways, a teasing smile forming.
"Achates, you sound like you're lecturing on strategy. Maybe I should start a war college. Make you headmaster."
Achates blinked, then shook his head, a wry smile flickering.
"You speak in riddles sometimes, Master. But if you mean to cleanse Red Bean Forest of its shadows, you'll need to know the watchposts. And the roads that feed them."
"Yeah…" Aeneas murmured, his eyes on the distant river and bridge, his mind already racing—control points, resources, supply lines… the works.