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The moonlight spilled over the old temple, washing it in cold silver and long shadows. The ruins rose from the earth like the ribs of a fallen beast — broken pillars, half-swallowed by ivy and sand, reached toward a sky crowded with stars. The air was heavy with salt from the nearby sea, and the faint hum of cicadas echoed through the night like a warning.
Among the shattered stones, four figures crouched behind a cracked statue of Athena, her marble face split clean down the middle. The goddess's hollow eyes stared into the dark, as if judging what they were about to do.
Atlas kept his breathing slow, eyes scanning the open courtyard below. The temple grounds were lit by a scattering of torches stuck into the dirt, their flames flickering in the restless wind. He counted at least eight guards — armored, disciplined, and too close together.
Every few moments, one turned, and the brief flare of torchlight revealed another waiting pair of eyes.
"They're too close together," Atlas whispered, voice low and even. "We can't kill one without the others hearing."
Kassandra leaned forward beside him, her braid catching a stray beam of moonlight. "So, no sneaking?" Her tone was amused, not disappointed — like she already knew the answer and wanted to hear him say it anyway.
He gave a slight shake of his head. "Not unless you can make the sound disappear."
A sly smile curved her lips — half-grin, half-challenge. "Then we don't sneak. We charge. It's faster." She tilted her head toward the guards, eyes gleaming. "And I'm bored."
From behind them, Alexios snorted, his grin already feral. "Finally! No more hiding in bushes like cowards."
He rolled his shoulders, loosening his stance, the Sword of Damokles glinting faintly under the moon. Even crouched, his excitement made him look like a caged animal seconds before the gate opened.
Lukas, crouched beside him, hefted his Hammer of Jason and cracked his neck. "About time we get to break something instead of tiptoeing around it." His voice rumbled low, his grin wide enough to show teeth.
Atlas let out a quiet sigh — not angry, but tiredly fond, the way a teacher watches reckless students sprint toward trouble. "You two think this is a game?"
Alexios flashed him a quick look. "Come on, Atlas. You trained us to be killers. Don't be surprised when we want to prove it."
Atlas's reply came soft but sharp, like steel drawn from a sheath. "Killers? No." His eyes hardened, a glint of something haunted flickering there. "Survivors."
But the word fell on deaf ears — the fire in Alexios and Lukas's eyes wasn't something words could douse anymore.
Kassandra leaned on her spear, amused, her expression almost pitying. "You really have it hard, don't you?"
Atlas exhaled slowly, letting the tension in his jaw ease. "I'm used to it by now." A small smile touched his lips — half weary, half warm.
For a moment, the world was still — the ocean murmured somewhere beyond the trees, torches hissed in the wind, and the ruins held their breath.
Then Alexios broke the silence.
With a wild grin, he rose to his full height and charged, his boots thudding against the cracked stone, the Sword of Damokles flashing like a shard of moonlight. His battle cry cut through the night — a sharp, echoing sound that made birds scatter from the trees.
"By the gods—" Atlas muttered, already pushing up to follow.
Lukas threw his head back with a booming laugh. "Now this is more like it!"
He surged after Alexios, the heavy hammer swinging loosely at his side as he barreled into the open courtyard.
Kassandra shook her head, smirking as she unsheathed her blade and broken spear. "Let them have their fun," she said, her tone teasing but edged with respect. "Better they burn their energy on enemies than each other."
Atlas glanced at her sideways, adjusting his cloak. "You say that now…" His words trailed into a resigned sigh as he rose beside her.
Together, they stepped out from behind the shattered statue, the moonlight cutting sharp across their faces. Then, in one heartbeat, they burst from cover, boots hitting stone, weapons drawn, the sound of their charge rolling through the temple ruins like thunder announcing a storm.
The first guard barely turned before Alexios's sword flashed through the torchlight. The Sword of Damokles sang as it cut clean across his chest. Lukas barreled in right after, the Hammer of Jason connecting with a sound that made even Kassandra wince.
"Remind me not to stand near him," she muttered.
"Good plan," Atlas replied.
Two more guards ran in, shouting warnings. Alexios met them head-on, twisting, ducking, striking with rhythm and grace. Lukas fought like a storm — wide swings, sheer strength, raw chaos.
Kassandra's eyes widened as she watched them. "They fight like they've done this for years."
"They have," Atlas said, tone low and proud. "I made sure of it."
Suddenly, Atlas caught motion at the edge of his vision — an enemy using a bow, hiding behind a fallen column, an arrow already drawn. Alexios and Lukas were too focused to notice.
Atlas's mind calculated instantly: too far to intercept, too late to warn twice.
He snatched a discarded spear from the ground, took one measured breath, and hurled it.
"Alexios, duck!"
Alexios obeyed on instinct. The spear whistled over his head and struck the archer dead center, pinning him to the wall. The man collapsed without a sound.
Alexios turned, eyes wide. Then he grinned and lifted a thumb. "Nice throw, Atlas!"
Atlas exhaled and smirked faintly. "Don't make me use you as target practice next time."
Kassandra chuckled behind them. "He listens to you like a trained dog."
Alexios called back, "Hey, I heard that!"
"Good," Kassandra replied smoothly. "Means you're not deaf — yet."
The last three guards fell fast. Alexios's blade gleamed wet; Lukas's hammer dripped crimson. The temple fell silent except for their breathing.
Lukas dropped his weapon against his shoulder with a heavy sigh. "Now that's a workout."
Alexios wiped his sword and admired the blade. "This thing… It's perfect, Atlas. I swear, it moves on its own. It's like it knows what I'm thinking."
Lukas nodded. "Same with the hammer. It's… strange. It gives strength I didn't know I had."
Atlas's eyes darkened. "Then keep your minds clear. Power whispers sweetly before it takes."
Kassandra approached, studying the two. "You fight well. Better than most mercenaries I've met. Next time, you and I should spar."
Alexios's grin returned instantly. "You're on, Eagle Bearer. And when I win, next I'll challenge Atlas!"
Atlas walked past him toward the dark inner door. "Yeah, yeah. Like a new sword's going to change anything. Let's finish the mission first."
Alexios sighed, half-frustrated, half-amused. "He always kills the mood."
Kassandra leaned closer to Lukas as they followed. "Is Atlas really that strong?"
Lukas barked a laugh. "Strong? Ha—monstrous might be the word. When he fights, it's like you face a different man. When we were just kids he taught us to fight properly and hold a weapon. We spar sometimes but we could not beat him, not even together. He's another being. He's like Ares himself if he goes all out."
Kassandra nodded, but there was a flicker of scepticism in her eyes. She'd seen men who looked large in talk and small in action. Atlas was strong—clever, measured—even dangerous when necessary. But monstrous? She reserved judgment.
Lukas said proudly. "And every time, he beats us bloody and then lectures us about discipline."
Kassandra smiled faintly. "Maybe he just got tired of listening to you brag."
"Maybe," Lukas said, grinning, "but he's still the closest thing we've got to a god of war."
She gave a quiet hum of disbelief, though a flicker of curiosity remained in her eyes.
They pushed open the heavy door.
The air inside the inner sanctum was thick — incense, damp stone, and the faint metallic tang of old blood. Golden mosaics shimmered along the cracked walls, depicting gods and mortals locked in endless judgment. The flicker of torchlight made the painted eyes seem alive.
A calm, silken voice drifted through the darkness.
"Ahh… visitors. You must be the unwelcome ones."
The shadows parted, and a man stepped forward. His dark blue robe, trimmed with gold, caught the light as though woven from coin. Rings glimmered on every finger — the kind of man who measured worth by what he could buy.
Atlas took a careful step forward, his voice level. "Are you the one supplying both Sparta and Athens for the Cult of Kosmos?"
The stranger smiled, lips thin, eyes sharp. "So direct. You must be Atlas — the boy who rebelled several years ago. The Cult has whispered your name for quite some time."
Alexios's hand tightened around the Sword of Damokles. "You talk too much."
He stepped up, blade flashing in the torchlight until it kissed the man's throat. "Tell us what we what to know."
The man — Elpenor — didn't flinch. In fact, he chuckled softly, as if amused by the steel at his neck.
"Impatient… impulsive… Spartan," he mused. "You even sound like her."
Alexios frowned. "Sounds like who?"
Elpenor's smile widened. "Your mother. Or maybe I should say… your mother's ghost."
Kassandra, who had stood silent till now, straightened at that. Her expression hardened. "What are you talking about?"
Elpenor's gaze shifted to her, eyes glinting with interest. "Ahh… now that's interesting. Two Spartans — same temper, same eyes. How poetic."
He tilted his head. "You must be the mercenary they call the Eagle Bearer, aren't you? Kassandra of Sparta."
Kassandra froze, her voice cautious. "…How do you know that name?"
Elpenor spread his hands lightly, ignoring the sword still at his throat. "Because, dear Kassandra, I was meant to meet you here — to discuss business. You see, I have a contract for you."
Alexios's eyes narrowed. "A contract? With her?"
"Yes," Elpenor said smoothly, as though savoring the suspense. "To kill the Wolf of Sparta."
For a heartbeat, no one spoke. The only sound was the quiet drip of water from the temple's ceiling.
Kassandra's expression faltered. "The Wolf…?"
Her throat tightened as she whispered, "Nikolaos…"
Alexios blinked, confusion flashing across his face. "The Wolf of Sparta? That's… my father's title."
Elpenor's smile deepened, feeding off their reactions. "Ah. Now the threads begin to tangle."
Kassandra's eyes snapped toward Alexios. "Your—father?"
"Yours too?" Alexios demanded, the words spilling before he could stop them.
"I—" She hesitated, voice trembling slightly. "My father was the Spartan general Nikolaos. But he… he was. He—"
"—threw a child from the mountain," Elpenor finished for her, voice soft, serpentine. "First he watched his son be thrown from the mountain, and then he personally threw his daughter next, years ago. Both children were destined to die but survived. Funny how fate enjoys symmetry."
Alexios's breath caught. "How do you know that story?"
Elpenor's gaze flicked between them. "Because it's your story, boy, no, both of your story. The children were the two of you."
Alexios took a step back, disbelief clouding his face. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Elpenor asked lightly. "A mercenary who doesn't know the truth and continue to live on this Islands… and a boy who doesn't know his sister stands beside him. The Cult's threads bind tighter than blood."
Kassandra's fists clenched, eyes burning. "Enough games! What are you trying to say?"
Elpenor leaned forward just slightly, his grin widening. "Only this — that destiny enjoys irony. Two siblings, raised apart, guided by our hand, now hunting the same ghosts. The Cult merely nudged the pieces into place."
Atlas, who had been silent until now, stepped between them. His tone was cold steel. "You've said enough."
Elpenor's gaze turned on him, mocking yet almost admiring. "Ah yes, the heroic son of Argos. The healer who became a general. You know what I admire about you, Atlas? You play king better than any of us ever cou—."
Atlas cut him off, before he can continue, "I didn't play king like you, i did what i had to survive this madness you created, now, Tell me where the other branches of your Cult are," Atlas said, voice low, calm, deadly. "And I'll make your death quick."
Elpenor's smirk never wavered. "Quick deaths are for cowards. I've already lived mine." He looked back at Kassandra and Alexios, voice lowering into a hiss. "You both will see soon enough what war does to a family. You can't stop it. Even if I die here—"
He coughed suddenly, a wet, sharp sound. His grin twisted as black veins began to crawl up his neck.
Atlas's eyes widened. "Wait—!"
Elpenor's body shuddered; foam gathered at his lips. He laughed weakly, blood bubbling in his throat. "Even in death… we serve the order."
He collapsed at their feet, the sound echoing through the temple like a door slamming shut.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Alexios stared at the body. "He was lying… right? He had to be."
Kassandra's voice came quiet, almost shaken. "Nikolaos… the Wolf… if he really… If what he said is true…"
Atlas crouched beside the corpse, checking the mouth. "Poison capsule," he muttered. "Bit it before we could stop him." He looked up at them — at the confusion on their faces. "He's dead."
Lukas crossed his arms, voice grim. "Dead men tell no tales. But his words hit like blades."
Kassandra stepped back, gaze distant. "So called Cult sent him to me… to kill Nikolaos… then they knew who I was. They knew who he was." She glanced at Alexios, expression caught between disbelief and fear. "And that means…"
Alexios shook his head, voice rising. "No. It can't be. You— you can't be my—"
"Enough," Atlas said firmly, cutting through the noise. His voice carried the weight of command. "We'll talk outside. Not here."
He looked at them one by one — Kassandra still pale, Alexios trembling with confusion, Lukas silent — and turned toward the door.
The temple felt colder now, as if the shadows themselves had been listening.
"Let's move," Atlas said quietly.
They left the temple under the pale light of the moon, the night air thick with salt, secrets, and something else — a blood bond neither Kassandra nor Alexios was ready to face.
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