The Phoinix: Age of Demigods

By S. L. Mancuso

Breanna, a young Etruscan princess, comes from a famed bloodline of demigods. Since childhood, she has dreaded the nights of her birthdays when a full Blood Moon rises and her dreams are plagued with vivid, horrifying memories...of another's life. As her nightmares consume her mind, her body reacts, causing violent outbursts that jeopardize

• Language: English
• Publisher: Samantha Mancuso
• Release date: Sep 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9780999319116

Book preview

The

PHOINIX

Age of Demigods

S . L .  M A N C U S O

Copyright Pending 2017

All rights reserved.

ISBN:  9780999319116

ISBN:  9780999319109

Dedication

To my angel, you tethered me yet allowed me to soar. When you smiled, the world stopped to bask in your warmth. You were my guide that taught me grace.

It may have been a brutal war, but we were

the epic story in the eye of the storm.

Also to my old and new family, who support my dreams and many delusions. My friends who showed up and carried me when I could no longer crawl...

…Our journey has been captivating and treacherous. You all recognized

a life worth living when I did not. The best part, it is not over yet...

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.

-William Ernest Henley, Invictus, 1-4.

Edited by

Zachary J. Hisert

Contents

Guide to Pronunciation

Aeneos (Ah-nee-os)              Eoghan (Oh-wen)

Alina (A-lee-na)              Eversor (Ee-wer-soar)

Amulius (Ah-myou-lee-us)              Leora (Lee-or-ah)

Andraste (An-dras-teh)              Lupa (Loo-pa)

Annwyn (An-wen)              Nikolaos (Nik-oh-lous)

Arawn (Are-oon)              Phoinix (Fee-Nix)

Arelia (A-re-lia)              Pryderi (Pruh-dair-ee)

Aurora (Ah-roar-ah)              Pwyll (Poo-ill)

Bifrost (Biv-rost)              Remus (Ree-mus)

Cailean (K-ale-en)              Rhea (Ray-ah)

Cnaimh (K-nay-v)              Rhiannon (HRee-ah-non)

Cymru (Come-ree)              Romulus (Rom-you-lus)

Dyfed (Dif-ed)              Tyreneas (Ty-ren-ee-ous)

Elpis (El-pis)

Acknowledgments

Archway Publishing on referencing to formatting and designing

The Phoinix

Marian & Tim McGowan for naming the fire in my story.

1

The Vessel

I

n the year 1184 B.C., the world steeped in an era of war that promised to destroy humanity. The gods, concerned for the survival of their civilizations, sought to protect humans from their own destruction. In an attempt to restore order, the six pantheons ruling over Europe banded together to create a mighty force. They called it The Power.

The only limitation on The Power was its own imagination.

Five gods represented each pantheon, chosen to help govern The Power. Thirty gods in total assembled to create the War Council. The council convened on Mount Olympus guarding The Power until they unleashed it into the world.

The Power was a collection of godly attributes that each pantheon offered. Its raw form resembled a ball of bright white light. However, this new protector of humanity could not solely be a ball of light; it needed a definitive form, a form people can turn to in their time of need.

The War Council argued for days over the sex of the vessel.

Men are the heroes of history. It is fact, Ares, the Greek god of war, arrogantly addressed the group while playing with a dagger.

They are often hot-headed and impulsive. Men can do more harm than good, or have you not looked upon your own wars, Ares? the Norse goddess of the underworld, Hel, argued.

The gods sat in a giant throne room on Mount Olympus in Greece. White columns held up a swirling ceiling of blue skies scattered with white clouds. Violet silk draped in between the columns connected each giant pillar to form a ring around the room. In between each column, three marble steps led up to massive golden thrones belonging to the Twelve Olympians.

Ares slammed his dagger on the large rectangular marble table, which was long enough to seat the entire War Council. The Power floated above the table and shimmered at Ares’ aggression.

Leaning in, Ares spoke low and drawn-out as flames danced in his pupils. War is cruel and deceptive, Hel. That is the harsh truth.

Hel stroked a sleeping, emerald-green baby dragon in her lap without looking at Ares. Her long black hair hung in front of her face, shielding her purple eyes from the Greek war god. War can be just; look at Freyja’s Valkyries.

"Yes. Look at the women riding around on horses choosing men as heroes ordered by Odin. You have proven my point. Men are heroes and women cannot make sound decisions in battle without approval from a man," Ares replied smugly as he grabbed a golden apple from the center of the table. Just as he brought the apple to his lips, a spear pierced the middle of the fruit.

Ahhh! Ares roared as he tumbled to the floor in shock.

In the background the Greek goddess of wisdom laughed.

Athena! Ares shouted, stumbling to his feet and adjusting his black and red armor.

Yes, dear brother? asked Athena with a hint of self-satisfaction. She snapped her fingers and the spear rose from the ground, gliding back to her hand with the apple still attached to its head.

You call us men impulsive and irrational? Look at this, throwing your own brother on the floor for speaking the truth! Ares clamored, picking up his chair and taking a seat, annoyingly scraping the legs against the floor.

I did not throw you, dear brother. You fell. I merely tossed a spear in your direction. Some god of war you are, afraid of a little spear, Athena jested, continuing her laughter.

Ares clenched his fists ready to explode. Before he could, thunder echoed through the giant hall and lightning singed the table in front of him. He looked up and found a red haired, red-bearded man lowering a hammer across from him.

Thank you, Thor, said Danu, the Celtic fertility goddess. Standing further down the table, she grasped her enormous, pregnant belly.  Ares, you and death go hand in hand. My apologies, Hades, she added, quickly acknowledging Hades’ look of disdain, but are we not trying to avoid war and death? Is that not why we created this? Danu pointed to The Power hovering above their heads. As much as you hate to admit, the protector of the human world must be gentle.

At the end of the table, Minerva, the Roman goddess of wisdom, nodded her head as she recorded the meeting on her scroll. Without looking up she added, Out of all the abilities and knowledge the creature will have, kindness is not a power that can be given.

Kindness is weakness. This is a time of war, which is why we formed this collection, added the Celtic war god Camulus. I have seen many battles. I have seen ‘kindness’ play out first hand. It does not bode well for the deliverer of compassion.

Hades, dressed in black Greek armor with his long brown hair tied back, stood on the marble steps to address the table.

His voice was calm, yet authoritative. From what I have witnessed, men have the capacity for mercy, but often push it aside for personal agendas. History has portrayed women as merciful to end strife, which is exactly our goal.

Arawn, the Celtic god of the underworld, stood with Hades on the steps. Draped in a black cloak that hid his features he said, We see all who pass our gates. Right now death is sweeping the Earth, collecting more lives for the fields of the dead. Soon, there will be no one left to claim, male or female.

Hades and Arawn are right, said Pluto, Roman god of the underworld, as he shimmered into appearance next to Hades, wearing black Roman armor. My fields are full of men who have been slain. If men are ending life, then women should create it.

Hel and Osiris, the Norse and Egyptian gods of the underworld, stood by their counterparts. The five Underworld Lords towered over the other gods. With their ability to summon the souls of lost soldiers, they pushed their shoulders back daring the other gods to argue.

Finally, Loki, the Norse god of trickery, tilted his chair on its back legs and placed his arms behind his head, lounging. "Sooo glad we can afford to lounge here gazing at your five wonderful faces, but can we hasten the council? Some of us have actual jobs. We do not wander around like you five and body count. Ha-ha! Body count? Its war! Body count! Ha!"

A low growl behind Loki stopped his laughter and he carefully put his chair back on all four legs. Loki looked over his shoulder to see a snow-white dog with red ears and red eyes baring its teeth at him.

Good puppy. I meant no disrespect. Call your dog off, Arawn! Loki slowly stood with his hands out in front of him as he backed away.

Arawn called out, "Cnaimh, asgall!"

Cnaimh lunged at Loki, but the trickster god vanished before Cnaimh could catch him. Above Zeus’ throne, Loki turned the violet silk draping into a hammock. He laughed hysterically as the confused dog walked around the room looking for his prey.

Enough, Loki! shouted a god wrapped in a black and green toga. The god snapped his fingers and the hammock flipped over. Loki spilt to the ground, landing face first on the cold marble floor.

Arawn whistled and Cnaimh returned to his side. Arawn then asked, What say you, Mot?

The Phoenician god of the underworld stood and several female goddesses smirked as they admired his tall muscular physique. He clenched his chiseled jaw in annoyance with a cold stare commanding reverence. He stepped in front of his five counterparts, addressing the table.

We are six gods out of many, but we have seen more than all of your years combined. I have listened to intelligent debates and held my tongue during petty sibling squabbles, he said, glaring at Athena and Ares. Nevertheless, I agree with my brethren. Women bare a natural instinct to protect and heal, which is what our world needs. With our collective vote as lords of the underworld, we outrank any of your demands. A woman shall be the vessel: The Queen of all that is and all that will be.

Uproar ensued after Mot’s declaration. 

How dare you tell us what we will do! Finally! A male god with a brain.

The underworlds of this world will witness a war they have never seen!

Boom!

An explosion of a thousand thunderbolts erupted through the room. Screams drown out the clamor of knocked over chairs and the splintering cracks of pillars as the gods sought safety on the ground. Only the six lords of underworld remained standing; imposing their superior power. Scorch marks streaked across the floor, stone pillars swayed as they recovered from their missing chunks, and smoldering holes decorated the silk curtains.

The Power seems to agree with my decision, said Mot, raising an eyebrow. Now, let’s move on.

Mot’s tone dared the council to question him. No one uttered a word against the Lords of the Underworld. Finally, Aphrodite wiggled restlessly in her chair. Mot sighed, waving a hand motioning her to speak.

What should she look like? asked a giddy Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of Love, her curly blonde hair bouncing with her enthusiasm.

Always concerned with looks, aren’t you, Aphrodite? Loki called out after he fixed his hammock.

Silence, Loki, warned Odin. You have caused enough trouble here. Do not make Mot deal with you once more. Aphrodite is correct. Odin bowed his head to the goddess then stood to address the table. If the vessel is to be a woman, why not give her power over men? If she can subdue men with her looks then more lives may be spared.

The child should have mortal blood. Mortals have a love of life immortals will never understand, suggested Athena.

Thoth, the slender but tall Egyptian god of balance wearing a headdress of a baboon head, jumped up and sprinted to a sacred well across the room. He withdrew a silver bucket of water and hurried back to the other gods. In one swift movement, he tossed the water across the table.

The water streamed down from Thoth’s end of the table to where Zeus sat at the head, forming a puddle that met all edges of the table but did not drip off the side. Thoth placed one finger in the water and an image emerged in the ripples. As he swiped his finger side to side, different images appeared. The images moved so quickly they were nothing but colorful blurs.

Here! exclaimed Thoth. The images in the water were of a man and a woman. Meet, Tyreneas and Arelia.

Two images appeared in the water, a young, well-built warrior trained on the steep rocky hillside of Greece that overlooked the Aegean. The second image contained a soft, elegant woman wrapped in a tight toga, slightly worn out around the edges toga that left little to the imagination.

That’s my son! shouted Ares, violently tipping the chair backwards as he stood.

And my daughter! added Anath, gripping the table so tightly her knuckles were white.

Yes, yes. Now that you have claimed your children, allow me to explain. A child of War and a child of Love mate to create the perfect balance in one mortal being. All we need to do is give the two demigods a push towards each other and then we have our vessel for The Power. When we deem the vessel old enough, we grant her The Power, making her immortal. Thoth seemed pleased with his plan.

I’ll handle Tyreneas, Ares grunted, folding his arms across his chest.

Leave my daughter to me. Anath scowled; annoyed the council forced her to involve her bloodline.

A young Etruscan princess, no older than five years old, convulsed on the bedroom floor as cool hands firmly held her warm, sticky forehead still.

What’s happening to Breanna! a woman cried out in the background. Brian, what’s going on? Use your magic to heal her, a panicked man demanded.

A soft blue hue filled the room. The cool hands touching Breanna became hot, but returned to their cool state when the blue light disappeared. I can’t see into her mind. Something is blocking me. She is beyond my power right now, the man with cool hands replied, stroking her silk brown hair.

Breanna stopped convulsing and relaxed under the soothing strokes from the cool hands. Her eyes fluttered open to a calm, kind looking man with blue eyes that smiled down at her. His calmness quickly disappeared when he saw her usual bright hazel eyes change to liquid gold.

The women in the background gasped at the sight of the ill child.

Who are you? Brian firmly asked, still holding Breanna’s head. His hands trembled with fear, afraid to hear what he already knew.

Breanna answered in a raspy dangerous growl, I am Elpis. Who in Tartarus are you?

2

Love and War

T

he War Council played their part in getting Tyreneas to Phoenicia where he would meet Arelia. Ares convinced his son to travel to the ancient city of Troy by promising wealth and glory. With his father’s promise, Tyreneas immediately set sail with a small army to the shores of Troy.

Poseidon crashed huge waves against the Greek war ship to push them far south of Troy to Byblos, the seaport of Phoenicia. Zeus sent the Greek harvest goddess, Demeter, to spoil their food. Before long, Tyreneas and his men were starving and desperate for port.

In Byblos, Anath met with her daughter Arelia. You have to watch the horizon for a Greek warship. The men will need your help.

Arelia picked seashells as she walked along the seashore, waiting patiently for her mysterious Greek ship. Finally, after several days, a Greek war ship sailed into port. Arelia ran to greet the men but found them weak and barely able to stand.

Wait for me, I’ll bring food and water, Arelia said before rushing off to the market.

Thank you for your help, Tyreneas smiled as Arelia handed him a leather bladder of water. His chapped lips cracked and bled.

Arelia tried to hide her blushing cheeks beneath her curly blonde hair as Tyreneas gazed adoringly at her. Even in his weakened state, Tyreneas was attractive. With his scruffy dirty-blonde beard and aqua blue eyes, she could not help but care for him as soon as they met.

Are you able to stand? Arelia asked the soldiers while absentmindedly running her fingers through Tyreneas’ hair.

The men nodded as they unsteadily stood up to follow their savior back to her home.

Three months have passed, Tyreneas. We need to get back to our quest, one of the soldiers pointed out. We are strong enough now.

We’ve been strong enough, added another soldier.

The map-maker has not finished his drawings yet. We have at least two more days before the map is complete, Tyreneas informed his men.

All he may need is a little incentive to finish, said another soldier as he picked up his dagger and stabbed the air with a murderous look.

Men coming from Troy speak of the battle, Tyreneas. It is an epic war. We are missing our opportunity for glory. Glory your father, Ares, promised. We should be bringing pride and honor to our families, not sitting by like untrained novices. Our ship is packed, we should leave, argued another.

No harm will come to the old man and we will wait until he is done. Am I understood? Tyreneas glared at his men, his tone final.

The men nodded, annoyed and restless.

How is Arelia? a solider asked, breaking the tension among the men.

Tyreneas lowered his head and shrugged. It’s been two weeks since our wedding. I do not understand what is happening. The oracles refuse us knowledge and the midwives have no answer.

I am fine, dear husband, Arelia waddled through the doorway to greet the men. She smiled, holding on to her massive belly. In two weeks, she had grown to the size of an eight-month pregnant woman.

Look at you, Tyreneas forced a laugh to hide his fear. You look like you swallowed a horse.

Tyreneas helped his wife to a chair and pushed a strand of curls out of her eyes.

Please, I beg you, do not be so frightened. The Kathirat have blessed us with a child. Do you not hear their song every night? They visit us as swallows outside our window, said Arelia, smiling and rubbing her belly.

Your Phoenician fertility goddesses have a twisted way of giving blessings, said a soldier, handing Arelia a wooden cup of water.

It is done! an elderly man shouted as he limped over to Tyreneas and handed him a rolled up scroll.

Tyreneas unrolled it to reveal a recently finished map with the ink slightly wet. Surprised at the early delivery, he handed the mapmaker his payment. The men cheered and snickered at Tyreneas for his earlier remarks about waiting.

All right, all right. We leave at dawn, announced Tyreneas. His men continued to cheer and pack food for their journey to Troy.

That night a full Blood-Moon hung in the sky, illuminating the seashore in crimson light. All was silent: even the crickets were still.

Tyreneas could not sleep and walked outside to clear his mind in the fresh sea air. The silence sent chills through his bones, putting his senses on alert. Something was wrong, and he did not want to find out why nature seemed to be waiting.

Suddenly, Arelia’s screams woke the rest of the men. Tyreneas sprinted into their bedroom to find a woman kneeling between Arelia’s legs.

Get away from her, Anath! Tyreneas yelled, recognizing his Mother-in-law as he reached for his sword. He stopped at the sound of a baby crying. The woman turned to him, revealing his beautiful baby girl.

Anath wrapped the baby in a blue silk blanket and handed her to Arelia.

Listen to me carefully. I will give you a moment with your child but then I must take her. She belongs to the gods now. She will play a great part in the history of your world, as the savior of humanity, Anath told the new parents.

Tyreneas stood in front of his wife and child, pointing his sword at Anath. Get out of our house. Who in Hades do you think you are, claiming our baby?

A flash of red light lit up the room as Ares appeared in front of Anath. Put your sword away, Son, Ares warned Tyreneas.

You will not take my daughter, Ares, Tyreneas said through gritted teeth, his knuckles white from the tight grip on his sword.

You do not have a choice here. Our appearance this night is merely out of respect for the fact you are our children, Ares casually replied.

Standing his ground between the two gods and his family, Tyreneas growled, "I said you will not be taking my daughter."

Anath sighed. Enough of this.

Anath placed one hand on Ares’ bicep to allow her to pass. Appearing apologetic, she made a crisp snap of her fingers. From behind Tyreneas, Arelia wailed in anguish. Before he could face his crying wife, he saw the bundle of blue silk in Anath’s arms.

Do not cry, Arelia. Your daughter is the last hope for us all, Anath looked down at Arelia sympathetically. I understand you had thought to name her Photine. However, her destiny has changed in my arms. She will be named Elpis.

Anath cast a grievous smile at her daughter as she held Elpis close her chest. She vanished from the room leaving Ares behind to deal with his son. Ares laughed at Tyreneas, whose rage exceeded its capacity for containment. He placed one finger in the middle of Tyreneas’ forehead and effortlessly pushed the 5’10" Greek warrior to the floor.

I can feel your rage, Ares chuckled. It is good for the son of War to have such anger.

I will claim my daughter back, warned Tyreneas.

You will do no such thing. Every day she will grow a year older until the gods deem her beautiful and wise enough to cease her aging. By the time you meet her again, you will not recognize her as your own, but will bow down to her power.

We will always recognize our child, cried Arelia.

You two are so stubborn. I love it, Ares looked down at the pair laughing.

Tyreneas lunged at Ares with a bloodcurdling war cry. He knocked the god to the ground and pushed his blade against the god’s throat.

"Bre! Breanna! Stop! It’s me," Ares’ panicked voice pleaded, using a name Tyreneas did not recognize.

I’ll kill you for taking my daughter! vowed Tyreneas, his voice oddly feminine as the words escaped his lips.

It’s ok, Breanna you’re safe. Come back to me. Ares placed his large warm hands on either side of Tyreneas’ face, gently stroking his cheekbone with his bone.

Tyreneas overwhelmed by an abrupt change in scenery. The sweet smell of sea salt accompanied by the humid sea air vanished, changing to an earthy scent of rotting foliage and dirt. The bedroom lit with a red hue from the Blood-Moon changed into thick, damp woods with the hum of crickets and owls.

A group of Celtic warriors and a royal Etruscan convoy were standing around a young Etrusci girl on top of a Celtic boy, both thirteen years old. The Etrusci girl held a Celtic Long sword with a polished ivory bone at the hilt to the boy’s throat. The sharp blade nicked the side of his neck.

The boy gently pushed the girl’s brown hair out of her eyes. He spoke sweet and soft, almost a whisper, Shhh, Breanna. It is me, Eoghan. Where are you? Come back to me, now.

I swear I will kill you, Ares, Breanna spit at the boy.

I’m not Ares, Breanna. Please come back to me, Eoghan begged, his voice wavering in panic. The butterflies in his stomach zoomed sending a shiver through his body.

Bre gritted her teeth, pushing harder against the blade in response.

Tell me your name, Eoghan demanded, moving his hands to the blade to resist the attack.

You know full well who I am! Breanna yelled, her sweaty hands shaking against the ivory hilt.

Tell me your name, Eoghan repeated softly and drawn-out.

Tyreneas! Breanna screamed, pushing harder.

Eoghan’s hands bled from gripping the sharp edge: his hands the only grace between the blade and a sliced throat. A group of Etrusci soldiers moved to help Eoghan, but he ordered them to stop. Don’t touch her!

Eoghan’s protectiveness at his own peril sparked something familiar in Breanna’s chest. Her stomach sank as her mind cleared, as if from a fog, and she saw whom she was straddling.

Eoghan? Breanna blinked, clearing her vision to make sure what she was seeing was correct. Her voice was void of any malice.

Breanna sweat as every muscle throbbed in her body. Glancing around, she found her parents and a group of soldiers staring at her, afraid to move.

It happened again, didn’t it? Breanna asked Eoghan, ashamed. Tears filled her eyes.

No, listen to me. You have nothing to be ashamed of here. It’s the Blood-Moon, not you, Eoghan said and wiped away tears from her reddening eyes. Her painful embarrassment was like a sharp knife to his chest.

Breanna looked at the wounds on Eoghan’s palms and cried harder, her whole body shaking.

Oh, Breanna, I’m alright. You committed no harm. I am safe. Eoghan’s Gaelic accent relaxed Breanna and she fell into his body.

Eoghan loosened Bre’s grip on the sword and tossed it aside, wrapping his arms around the shaking girl.

These Blood-Moon nightmares are getting worse, Brian, one man in a general’s uniform and silver crown said to the Celtic warrior. Nothing we try is working.

I fear the gods are at play with us, Remus, Brian answered back, and if that is true, this nightmare is only beginning.

What does she dream of? King Remus asked Brian.

If I am correct in the recognizing the names in her dreams, she is reliving the history of the goddess Elpis. Tyreneas was a Greek demigod, the son of Ares and the father of Elpis, Brian replied, fear filling his blue eyes.

A tall woman with strawberry-blonde hair and a silver crown to match Remus’ stood next to him, wrapping her arm around his. Her body trembling, she said, She is only a child, thirteen years of age; it is too soon.

She is no child, Queen Alina. She is an heiress in many ways. During these Blood-Moon terrors, Breanna is reenacting Elpis’ memories as well as those who played a part in her life. She is reliving the tale of her powers’ creation. That is the only explanation for Tyreneas’ spirit to possess Breanna. I fear for the remaining characters, Brian sighed heavily. Her body is preparing itself. Breanna’s time as The Queen is near, warned Brian.

Remus sighed and bit his lower lip. Alina, take her to bed and see that she stays asleep.

Alina, forgetting her queenly presence, rushed to Breanna. She pulled her off Eoghan, who was still tightly cradling her. Alina supported her daughter’s weight as she guided Bre into the royal tent.

Let’s all get back to sleep, King Remus ordered the group.

Remus placed a hand on Brian’s arm before he could return to his tent. I want to know what the gods have in store for my daughter.

Mars came to you the night she was born, you know what she is to become, said Brian.

That is not what I mean, Brian. You can see the…

I know what you mean, Remus, Brian said, cutting off his friend. You do not want to know her future. It is light and happy yet dark and tragic. It constantly changes.

Alina can’t sleep until she knows, Remus said imploringly.

"Alina won’t sleep if she knows," warned Brian and abruptly ended the conversation by returning to his tent.

3

Truth and Deceit

S

tanding 5’7" with blonde, wavy hair that met the small of her back, Elpis glided into the throne room on Mount Olympus. Adorned in a white silk dress with a scarlet cloak, she humbly smiled as her grandmother at the doorway.

Look at you, Anath beamed. Twenty-five days since your arrival here and you are a master of the arts, history, war, and languages of the world. You have surpassed our greatest dreams and defied our naysayers.

Elpis lowered her blue eyes, blushing from her grandmother’s praise.

Don’t be coy, Anath laughed at Elpis’ shyness. Come, I want to show you something. Anath wrapped an arm around Elpis’ shoulders and pulled her close.

Anath and Elpis walked out of the golden gates of Mount Olympus and plunged downward through the clouds to earth, landing in a battlefield. Anath made them invisible so they could walk among the mortals unnoticed.

The goddesses of wisdom have taught you well in the history of the world and in the art of war, said Anath, pointing to the battlefields of Troy.

The metallic smell of the blood soaked dirt made Elpis scrunch her nose. She hid her face in the folds of her cloak, inhaling the floral scent left over from its wash in rose water.

What is this place? asked Elpis.

This will be known as the Trojan War: a war that soon must come to an end.

How?

That is yet to be decided, Anath gave Elpis a pitying look.

The unwarranted pity frightened Elpis. She could not help but sense that Anath knew her future and it was not a bright one. She refocused her attention to the battle to distract from her fear.

They walked into the thick of the battle where two men stood out amongst the soldiers. Both soldiers had tossed aside their helmets as they fought their way through battle, slaying men as they approached. One soldier wore bronze armor covered in black leather with a sigil of crossing gold spears on his chest. The other soldier dressed in similar bronze armor plated with gold. Attached to the shoulders of his breastplate, a purple cape embroidered with a rearing white stallion whipped behind him.

These two soldiers are the heroes Achilles and Hector. Neither will survive this war, Anath informed Elpis, pointing to each man.

Squinting, Elpis could see that the man dressed in black leather had a silver shimmer to his skin. I see Achilles bares the mark of the River Styx. How could he not survive? Can you not spare him?

The cost of saving a life marked for death is too great. To save a life you must take a life. It is better not to defy the wishes of Hades or any other Lord of Death. If they want a life, that life will be taken, Anath warned. Do you understand what I say?

Elpis nodded, but it pained her to know that these men were marked for the funeral pyre. She winced as she vividly imagined the bright orange flames engulfing their bodies against the night sky.

Anath returned Elpis to Mount Olympus where the gods held a giant feast in Elpis’ honor. Elpis tried to put the horrible images of war out of her mind, but they slowly crept back as she searched for a way to save the men.

As the festivities dwindled, everyone grew quiet and eyed Elpis suspiciously. Uneasy with the attention, Elpis stood to return to her bedroom. Suddenly, a bright white light filled the room,