ã€ŠDivine Interventionã€‹


 Prologue: The iron Door

    Second person POV

    A confounding network of hallways and rooms leads deep beneath the stronghold, with numerous chambers separated by oaken doors hung on ancient hinges. Prisoners wail behind them. Heavy iron braziers lend their crimson glow to otherwise umbral spaces, their meagre warmth a scant comfort here surrounded by frigid stone.

    The presence of humanoid bones does not escape your notice, sprawled across the flagstones, clutching their stomachs in forlorn hunger. The wrist of one corpse bears a silver band emblazoned with a long-forgotten family sigil. You are wise to disregard it and keep walking. Neither the living nor the dead can stray you from your path.

    Eventually, you reach the deepest, darkest part of the stronghold¡¯s dungeon. Here, two guards eagerly await your arrival. The first guard, pacing nervously, blurts out,¡°Finally! About damn time. They¡¯ve got us rotting down here with nothing but water and cold stone,¡± his eyes flicker uneasily toward the iron door. ¡°Haven¡¯t seen daylight in a week¡­You know how it is, shifts start and end in darkness.¡±

    You offer a tight smile, handing them their trays and cutlery, though the weight of the iron door behind you presses against your spine like an unseen presence. You shake it off and hold up the wine jug.

    The second guard chuckles dryly, showing his ugly yellow teeth, several of them rotted away, having left holes in his gums. You can smell the rot on his breath. ¡°Knew we could count on you to make this shift bearable,¡± he says, patting your shoulder with a rough hand. ¡°As promised, you may have a look at the prisoner. But I¡¯ll warn you, it ain¡¯t a pretty sight.¡±

    He grins again, the sickening state of his teeth making your stomach churn. You carefully pour their wine, keeping your focus forward as your eyes drift toward the iron door. Its surface glistens in the low light, covered with carefully engraved runes that pulse faintly in the brazier''s glow. Rumour has it that the general Valerius sought the services of a druid to put a ward on the door. You wonder what those runes could possibly do if the door can be opened with a simple key.

    The first guard slams a chicken breast into his mouth, making no use of his fork or knife. Burping loudly, he licks his fingers before clumsily reaching for the keychain.

    ¡°Alright little buddy, a few rules before we go inside. No blood. Not a drop, not a cut. Spill it, and¡­¡± The first guards voice falters, his eyes darkening. ¡°Well, just don¡¯t. Got it?¡±

    You bite back a scoff, feeling the hairs rise on your neck, and nod in reluctant agreement.

    The guard narrows his eyes. ¡°Secondly, no talking. No noise, got it? Thirdly, stay ten feet away from it. And lastly, whatever you do, don¡¯t make eye contact.¡±

    Your heart sinks into your stomach. Maybe this wasn¡¯t such a good idea after all. The prisoner sounds far more dangerous than the rumours suggested. If your-

    ¡°Cheer up, kid!¡± The second guard interrupted. ¡°It hasn¡¯t done a damn thing in years. We¡¯ve tried everything to get a reaction, you¡¯ll be bored. Still, thanks for the wine.¡±

    The first guard scoffs, shooting his partner a look. ¡°You know as well as I do that the thing in there is as malevolent as the day it was imprisoned. It¡¯s pure evil. The champion of-¡±

    The braziers flicker. You feel your sins crawling on your back. The guards go still, exchanging uneasy glances. You can see goosebumps on their arms. ¡°Thirteen years we¡¯ve watched that useless wall decoration,¡± the second guard mutters. ¡°The general tortures the shit out of it regularly, to get it to talk. If it reacts to the kid, maybe it¡¯ll finally give us something to report.¡±

    ¡°Open the door, Theull,¡± he says to the first guard, more irritated than afraid.

    Theull sighs and inserts the iron key. The runes on the iron door flicker and lose their shimmer. When the door opens, there is only pitch-black darkness beyond. The guards say nothing more, but Theull gives you a knowing glance, a silent reminder to keep your mouth shut. The second guard grabs a lantern, fills it with fresh whale oil from White Harbour, and lights it, casting a pale glow into the room.

    Your throat tightens, the metallic taste of fear clinging to your tongue as your gaze falls on the creature. The chains twist grotesquely, merging with the skin, as though they¡¯ve become a part of it. Its head hangs unnaturally low, hair matted with blood, hiding eyes that once burned with something terrible. It looks like a colourless, lifeless thing in this pale light. Wall-decoration is not a far-fetched description. The smell forces you to look away, bile rising in your throat. The chains that bind this creature dig into its flesh, too tight, too cruel. Its discarded nails, pools of dried blood, and heaps of teeth lie scattered around it like offerings to some forsaken god. This is not what you were promised. This thing is not powerful. It is pitiful.

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    The guards lead you out, closing the door with a hollow thud. The second guard sighs, disappointed. ¡°For a street rat, you sure can¡¯t stomach a little gore. Why were you sent to the stronghold?¡±

    You don¡¯t respond. They know you never respond.

    Theull pushes the jug of wine into the second guard''s hand. ¡°There, drink up Gerade. Fucking idiot.¡± Theull looks at you with kind eyes, ¡°Can you walk back on your own, or do I need to hold your hand?¡±

    You wave him off with a gesture, pointing to the wine you poured him. He nods and takes a sip. You turn and make your way back through the maze of hallways, the wails of prisoners fading into the background like a distant memory. Filth. They roll around in their own shit and piss. You had a goal¡ªcouldn¡¯t they understand that?

    Time seems to stretch as you wait, watching the guards from around the corner, cold seeping into your bones. The minutes crawl by, the air thick with anticipation. Eventually, their snores fill the dungeon. You move silently over the stone floor, your bare feet blackened with grime. You check the flask. Empty, as planned. They¡¯ll be out cold for hours.

    You grab a knife, licking it clean, and carefully retrieve the keychain from Theull¡¯s belt. With clammy hands, you unlock the iron door. The runes flicker once more before fading into nothing. Another chill runs down your spine, a presence pressing in from all sides. You step inside, one foot in front of the other, the darkness swallowing you whole.

    The creature¡¯s ragged breaths echo in the suffocating silence, filling the room with a decaying stench. Your heart hammers in your chest as you step closer. Now, only feet away, you can see it clearly¡ªits body a skeletal husk, skin clinging to bones in tattered shreds. How has it survived this long? Why hadn¡¯t it just died?

    Your eyes widen as the grotesque truth reveals itself: the flesh isn¡¯t still. It quivers, trying to mend. The chains, once thought to merely restrain, are embedded deep, fusing with the creature''s skin. It''s rotting, the regeneration slow and feeble, like decay fighting in vain against the inevitable. It¡¯s like its power is waning. Balancing on a knife¡¯s edge.

    You clear your throat, and wrap your fingers around your vocal cords to squeeze out a sound. Your voice is hoarse and barely audible as you press on. ¡°Champion of Bloodlust, bind yourself to me, and I will shatter your chains.¡±

    The creature stirs, its head lifting slowly as though the weight of the world pressed down on it, as if Atlas himself put it on the creature''s shoulders. A voice, rasping and broken, fills the room. ¡°Who¡­ dares¡­?¡±

    Its left eye, bloodshot with a faltering crimson glow, locks onto you. The other eye is ordinary. Just like the rotting pile of eyes at its feet. You swallow hard and force yourself to continue. ¡°If you lend me your strength, I will free you.¡±

    The thing laughs, its chains rattling as it shifts, blood pooling beneath it. The stench of rot fills your lungs, a foulness that clings to your tongue, making you cry. Its voice, low and jagged, cuts through the silence like a blade. ¡°Feed me your blood,¡± it rasped, each word a brittle crack of bone against stone. ¡°Seal our pact.¡±

    Its smile, sharp and too wide, split the decayed flesh of its cheeks. Even in ruin, its teeth gleamed¡ªa grotesque parody of nobility. ¡°Give me your life,¡± it whispered, ¡°and you will know my power.¡±

    You hesitate, holding up the knife, your hand trembling. The anguish in its eyes, the hunger, is palpable. Is this really a clever idea? What are you missing? Is this pact binding?

    A sudden breeze stirs in the dungeon, a presence pushing you forward, determination flooding your veins. Your heart beats faster than a racehorse. Before you can think twice, you drive the knife into your palm. Blood spills down your arm, warm and wet. The creature¡¯s eyes widen with lust as it watches your blood drip onto the stone.

    You step forward, offering your bleeding hand. The thing¡¯s mouth opens, and it greedily laps up the blood, gulping it down with a ravenous hunger.

    You pull your trembling hand back, bringing it to your throat to choke out the final words. ¡°Take me to the metropolis. There, I will take my revenge on a senator, their name is-¡±

    The creature laughs, with a sickening crack, it rips its limbs free, tearing muscle and sinew as though they were nothing. It collapses into the pile of discarded eyes and teeth, laughing¡ªa low, guttural sound that shakes the room. Blood from your hand is drawn out in torrents, fuelling its rebirth, your eyes widen and your lips quiver.

    Your body weakens as the creature¡¯s wounds heal, its flesh knitting together, its strength returning. It rises slowly, using the wall as leverage. It towers above you like a wiry monster. You look down at your arm and notice necrosis spreading, creeping towards your shoulder, draining the life out of you.

    The creature¡¯s hand grips your face, cold and slick with blood, forcing your gaze upward. Its breath is hot and foul against your skin as it leans in close, lips curling into a wicked smile.

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

 First chapter: The bronze Shield

    <u>Elanor and Valerius POV</u>

    Elanor paces Valerius¡¯s chambers impatiently, for someone with so much power, Valerius her bed-chamber does little to show it. A simple frame holds a low bed off the floor, the blankets just boring grey wool! At its foot sits an iron-bound chest. In the right corner stands a small writing desk, as a scribe in a monastery might use.

    The only object given over to vanity is a small mirror hung on the wall. Valerius¡¯s dual-wielding short swords and bronze battle armour stand polished next to the window. What did she call them again, gladius blades? In any case, Elanor will most definitely decorate their chambers to her liking, this will not do for the future. But there are more urgent matters.

    she had listened to the chaos that ensued below as the night progressed, it¡¯s been several hours since Valerius left, and it was almost dawn. Elanor decided enough was enough. Against Valerius¡¯s wishes, she descended the tower''s staircase, leaving their chambers. She passed by the dining hall where she saw the destruction that awoke Valerius from her sleep, Elanor is worried about her.

    She sees the many statues depicting Valerius¡¯s god, Clypeus. Each statue is destroyed. Tossed around like a toddler¡¯s plaything. The marble stone will be expensive to replace. Valerius¡¯s stronghold resides so far north near the wasteland¡¯s borders, there is nought but sand and dirt here. Elanor her steps echo through the great halls. Her shoes touch something wet pooling on the floor as she passes through the exit, she dares not look at the ground, but the metallic smell of blood does not escape her nose. Vile and unsanitary. That is not for noble eyes like hers to see.

    She asks around, every guard and legionnaire seems hurriedly mobilising for something. Her patience runs thin, she grabs a high-ranking centurion by the ear and pulls him down, ¡°Where is your general? If you don¡¯t know, find me someone who does.¡±

    The centurion seems hesitant but eventually mutters, ¡°The general is outside near the south gate, inspecting the fallen. She wishes to not be disturbed.¡±

    Elanor frowns, ¡°Will you bring me to her? I am sure Valerius does not wish me to remain unguarded.¡±

    The strong centurion seems hesitant. He looks over Elanor¡¯s shoulders towards a commotion in the courtyard, ¡°Fine, as the lady wishes. Follow me, avert your eyes from the escaped prisoners being. . . handled.¡±

    She smiles, ¡°Splendid! I am sure you will get a promotion.¡±

    The sound of sword meeting flesh makes her jump. But she occupies her mind with the conversation she¡¯ll soon have with Valerius.

    Elanor and the centurion reach the inner south gate. The wrought-metal gates are set sturdily in the huge and imposing wall that forms the redoubt of the stronghold, they look as if they could weather several dozen boulders launched from a siege engine with nary a scratch. Each rivet is uniform in its exactitude, the hinges of the gate cunningly armoured on the outside to ward off attacks against that weak point.

    Elanor yawns and spots Valerius inspecting a smaller body atop the mountain of corpses outside the wagon, Elanor averts her eyes not daring to look at the bodies. But she sees a smaller pile on the wagon next to the big pile. The centurion greets Valerius and kneels, ¡°General! Lady Elanor wished to see you, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Valerius straightens her shoulders, her muscles strain against her tunic, her short brown hair falls just past her ears. She towers over the feeble centurion and stares at him, ¡°Sebastian, look at this child. What do you notice?¡±

    Elanor hears him gasp. Sebastian sputters, ¡°The child is headless ma¡¯am, they appear malnourished.¡±

    ¡°Drained,¡± Valerius jumps down the wagon, ¡°The child was drained, and all their blood was taken. Half the body is necrotic.¡± Elanor cannot help but catch a glance of the corpse, tears jump in her eyes. It¡¯s the mute that brought them their breakfast every morning. Oh, poor sweet thing, what monster did that to you?

    Valerius continues, ¡°We lost fifteen brave legionnaires. Sebastian, would you be so kind as to travel down to the metropolis to inform the families of our fallen and deliver these bodies, so they may be put to rest? The sullen workers have already prepared the bodies, so you have no worries of rotting corpses. The wagon is ready,¡±

    Valerius whistles to the wardens atop the wall and the south gate slowly opens itself.

    Sebastian grumbles to Elanor, ¡°promotion huh?¡±

    The centurion does as he is told and sits atop the wagon. He looks at the contents in the wagon, alas each body is carefully wrapped. Sebastian thinks of Theull and Gerade, he swallows dryly at the thought of facing their families.

    Valerius hands him a sealed scroll of papyrus, and whispers something in his ear. His eyes widen.

    She then turns around and marches off, she is moving towards the gladiatorum where most legionnaires have gathered for Valerius her speech.

    Elanor walks alongside Valerius burning with curiosity,

    ¡°What happened dear? It isn¡¯t a siege; it wasn¡¯t an assassination. Did your men rebel?¡±

    Valerius ignores Elanor and keeps walking, her face is carved in stone, unmoving.

    Elanor continues, ¡°Val? By the gods is your tongue cut out? Why did you gather the legions? What¡¯s happening?¡±

    Valerius grunts and keeps walking. Lost in her own thoughts.

    Elanor has had enough. Her face flashes in anger and she steps in front of Valerius. She is nearly trampled by this unstoppable force of a woman.

    Valerius¡¯s bronze eyes dim in shock as she reflexively stops marching, not wishing to hurt her wife.

    Elanor angrily says, ¡°You will speak to me now or so damn you and the gods! You may be a general to them, but you are my spouse. Treat me as such.¡±

    Valerius her bronze eyes glow with fury. She looks down upon Elanor. For a moment they stand opposed, Elanor is determined to not let this slide.

    The gates close as Sebastian passes through them, he''s on his way to White Harbour. A battalion of men marches by towards the gladiatorum, some of their swords are bloody.

    Valerius clenches her jaw, her teeth grinding. She sighs and takes Elanor aside, ¡°I apologise, my love. I did not have time to see you, I barely have time now. All the prisoners were set free, and they caused havoc. I suspect it was a diversion set by-¡± Valerius hesitates, she has trouble finding the words, ¡°-our most dangerous prisoner, the champion of bloodlust.¡±

    Elanor gives her a puzzled look, trying to see if Valerius is lying to her, ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense. If you had the champion of bloodlust, why didn¡¯t you kill it?¡±

    Valerius¡¯s nostrils flare as she retorts, ¡°That is not of importance. Look all that matters now is that we need to catch that prisoner before it reaches the oasis in the wastelands. Even experienced sentinels cannot stand against the wildebeests for long in an open field.¡±

    Elanor¡¯s face retorts in a grimace, ¡°no, no no no! You are not going on a wild goose chase. You have several legions. You will stay at my side! Send them without you. Your uncle Hephast! Legate Hephast, he could lead the chase.¡±

    Valerius shakes her head, ¡°I need to lead Elanor. I cannot cower behind these walls while I send my men on a mission. They need me against any potential wildebeests. I will pass the canyon and we will track that monster on foot.¡± Valerius holds Elanor¡¯s hands and brings them to her chest, ¡°My dear. I will return unharmed. You have my word.¡±

    Elanor¡¯s eyes prickle, she embraces Valerius and hugs her as tight as she can, ¡°Why did I fall in love with someone who puts herself in such peril, I thought generals were too valuable to lose on the frontlines.¡±

    Valerius doesn¡¯t respond, and instead embraces Elanor too. Lifting her with the ease of a feather. Valerius twirls her around and smiles, her white noble teeth sparkling in the blazing dawn. Elanor blushes and grabs Valerius her mouth pulling her close for a passionate kiss. She puts her arms around her neck and bites Valerius¡¯s bottom lip, giggling.

    While panting after the long kiss Elanor whispers, ¡°Dream of what we would¡¯ve done had you stayed, love.¡±

    Elanor jumps out of Valerius her arms and begins to walk towards the gladiatorum. She looks back at Valerius.

    Valerius doesn¡¯t know what to look at first. Elanor¡¯s eyes or her body. She hates to see her go, but loves watching her leave.

    Elanor takes a seat behind the podium to witness the speech.

    Valerius puts her hand to her mouth, blushing. Her bronze eyes barely glow, almost back to her normal eye colour. She pushes out these ungodly thoughts and makes her way to the podium, two cohorts joining her at either side.

    Before Valerius can step onto the podium in the gladiatorum she hears a voice, ¡°ppstt! General. A word please?¡±

    She rolls her eyes and turns to face the ratty Senator named Norvegicus. Her mouth contorts in disgust as she stares at the oval bald spot on the senators head. It¡¯s supposed to represent an eye, but it looks ridiculous.

    ¡°I¡¯m quite busy Senator Norvegicus. Could this wait until after my speech? If you would be so kind.¡±

    The ratty senator sniffles, and shakes his head. His two hands resting on his belly, ¡°I¡¯m afraid not general. As you¡¯ve angered the senate tremendously.¡±

    A vein pops on her head. Valerius scoffs and says, ¡°They seem to do that a lot senator. They were angry when I became champion, they were angry when I made peace with the druid. They were angry when I became general. If you know what it takes to please them, be sure to let me know.¡±

    Norvegicus bites his mouth in thought. He has a large overbite. Thinking, thinking, thinking. He takes forever to respond. Valerius can¡¯t help but mock him in thought

    There¡¯s this saying, it¡¯s better to be suspected of stupidity and keep your mouth shut, than it is to open your mouth and erase any suspicion. This alleged eunuch sure as shit has erased my suspicion with every syllable he utters.

    Norvegicus finally responds, ¡°I understand your slight. We are hard to please, I cannot deny that,¡± he snickered, ¡°but let me remind you of your position. Everything of importance MUST be reported to the senate. The fact you held a champion imprisoned ¡ª even one of a false god ¡ª should have been reported. Due to your negligence, a significant amount of soldiers are dead. I find it admirable you are sending their remains to their families scattered across the eight Polis. One would only expect such treatment for nobility. You are lucky none of the prisoners perished or the senate might¡¯ve resorted to more drastic measures. Mhm.¡±

    The ratty senator pulls a platinum coin from his robe and holds it up for Valerius to see. A frigid breeze rushes past her neck, the bronze armour Valerius is wearing crackles to life, charged with static electricity. A sharp zap dances across her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Her hairs gently float.

    The Ratty senators eyes shimmer a faint silver, ¡°do you understand general?¡±

    ¡°Yes senator,¡± Valerius swallows dryly. Grinding her teeth. Her hair floats down. The static electricty fades.

    ¡°Marvelous! Now in your report we expect four points thoroughly explained. How you captured the champion, how you imprisoned it, how you kept it hidden, and how it escaped. If this report isn¡¯t done in a months¡¯ time, or we find it inadequate. We will be forced to summon you to the Metropolis for an investigation. And that may result in your immediate demotion. Is that clear?¡±

    ¡°Crystal.¡±

    ¡°Good. I cannot imagine what you would¡¯ve kept hidden had I not travelled henceforth to overlook your marriage and integration of lady Elanor. I bid you succeed in your endeavour to recapture our foe. In the meantime I will return to the metropolis momentarily.¡± The ratty senator turns away, but gives her one lasting remark, ¡°You and lady Elanor are a unusual pairing, be sure to make yourself worthy of her.¡±

    Valerius sighs and watches the senator hobble away. She looks at her sworn cohorts. Their bronze armour shines in the blazing sun. She trusts them, they¡¯ve been at her side since her ascension to championship thirteen years ago. Valerius nods to them both, and steps forward onto the podium in the sun.

    She looks across her legions with pride, her bronze eyes fire up, glowing with determination. She inspects her ranks, the majority of her troops stand before her, eagerly waiting for her, their general Valerius, the champion of valour, to give her speech. Her voice booms out, ¡°legionnaires!¡±

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    Every man and woman in her ranks kneels, the cohorts at her side kneel, the troops on the wall kneel, the archers in their towers kneel. Silence follows suit. Thousands of eyes were pointed at Valerius.

    She continues, ¡°Beyond human memory, we have been the bronze shield. Protecting the realms of men. The eight Polis count on us, entrusting their safety to our diligence, our duty, and our valour. No wildebeest horde has passed our canyon in millennia, and none will.¡±

    She marches from one side of the podium to the other, her bronze eyes flaring with anguish. She jumps down the podium, landing fifteen meters in the dirt below. Towering over her troops, tens of thousands of people hold their breath, one could hear a pin drop.

    she bows to them, her voice gentle and soft, ¡°Yet I have failed you. I have given those savages a chance to attain their coveted bloodshed. The champion of their false god escaped last night. I did not have the heart, the resolve to finish the champion of blood. I did everything in my power to sever its connection to their heinous god, but I failed. I should¡¯ve killed it when I had the chance. For that, I apologise. We lost fifteen brave men today. Fifteen souls that I could¡¯ve spared had I but cut its head off. I fear many more souls will have to be lost to redeem my mistake, my failure as your general.¡±

    One man stands up. A veteran commander, A legatus. He removes his helmet. His green eyes are relentless, he has seen the horrors of war. The man approaches Valerius and looks at her. The man reaches out to her hand while kneeling beside her. His demeanour changes and his voice sooths her ears as he tells her, ¡°You are far too hard on yourself young lady. Any man or woman in your position would¡¯ve failed to do that.¡±

    Valerius clenches her jaw, grinding her teeth, ¡°I am not any man or woman, uncle.¡±

    ¡°No, you are not. Champion at the age of twelve, Legatus at the age of eighteen, general at the age of twenty-five. Your father would¡¯ve been the proudest man in all the realms, in all of history.¡±

    her uncle Hephast raises his voice as he stands up, ¡°Legionnaires, for thirteen years that monster remained chained, a miracle! Only we can boast about such a feat! Keeping a champion imprisoned for longer than a year, let alone a decade. It has never been done before! In those thirteen years, we have essentially crippled our enemies, made it seem as if their god had abandoned them. And that is all thanks to your general, whom has proven herself time and time again. Beginning with imprisoning the damned beast in the first place! Now she¡¯s given us a chance to explore beyond these walls and face our foe head on. Are you prepared!¡±

    The legionnaires shout back yes.

    ¡°I doubt that cowards! Only me and a select few have clashed weapons with a wildebeest and lived to tell the tale. They do not seem so scary, do they? Dying by the hundreds in the Canyon below while you cower behind these walls. Nothing to worry about as long as you do not run out of arrows. Pathetic.¡±

    The soldiers chuckle, some elbow each other and whisper jokes, Hephast walks down the ranks, making eye contact with the newly trained soldiers, ¡°But you¡¯ll sing a different tune when they kill five of your friends with one fell swing from their blunt stone great axes.¡±

    Hephast sets his helmet back on, and stands back in formation, ¡°What is your command General!¡±

    Valerius smiles looking at her uncle with admiration, with inhumane strength she jumps back up on the podium, and with laughter in her voice she speaks, ¡°Our god Clypeus. The god of valour, victory, and righteousness gave us this stronghold long ago. He chose me to rule it. My father and his father before him lived and died for our cause. I am willing to lay down my life for the safety of our realm! For our loved ones, for our children! Are you with me!¡±

    The legionnaires rejoice. Spears hit the ground in unison mimicking a deafening applause, dust is kicked up, carried by the wind-over the wall to the north.

    Elanor frowns, she stands up in a huff. Valerius contradicts herself. She should stay alive, not sacrifice herself. Elanor walks to the northern gate while Valerius explains her war campaign to retrieve the champion of blood. Her boring tactics and battalion selection. She¡¯s making a mistake going after that thing herself. Elanor needs Val more than they do, she does.

    Some time passes while Elanor sits atop the wall near the gate, overlooking the great canyon below. The blazing sun has already given her quite the tan, and she¡¯s only been here for a few weeks. She puts her long blond hair in a braid with a blue ribbon to stop the wind from blowing it in her face.

    She thinks of her home.

    The ornamental architecture, the palaces, the gardens, the markets, the flowers. The beautiful metropolis. She wonders when she¡¯ll get to see it again. She sighs and pushes out the thought, it¡¯s no use thinking of something that¡¯ll make you sad.

    Elanor marvels at the design of the stronghold, how it ever could¡¯ve been built in such an inconvenient location. She wonders where they imported the stones from and how they carried them all the way here. Every time she asks Valerius a question about the stronghold she just smiles and says the stronghold is God-given. Ugh. Not everything is thanks to the gods. We carve our own path, if we hadn¡¯t, we would¡¯ve still been in the Stone Age like those savages on the other side of the canyon.

    What did Hephast say again? Wildebeest corpses fill up the canyon like sand fills up a beach. She doesn¡¯t see why this champion of Bloodlust makes a difference. The last champion charged the bronze shield when Valerius was no older than five and its army fell overnight. It barely broke news in the Metropolis. We have the advantage of the canyon, there¡¯s nothing to fear.

    Elanor can see several teams of legionnaires approaching the inner north gate, they appear to be scouts. Their attire is appropriate for the desert, they wear little to no armour. The wardens on the wall begin opening the inner and outer gates for the legionnaires to pass through. Elanor lets her eyes wander back to the stronghold, placing the canyon behind her, she can see atop the three towers stand monstrous crossbows ensconced behind a low wall.

    Their wooden frames are reinforced with darkened steel, and their arms and struts are taut with suppressed violence, eager to launch the heavy iron bolt held within their tight embrace. The ballistae creak as if alive, the torsion springs impatient, restless. Standing proud, the winch quivers with suppressed energy, waiting for its master''s hand. The soldiers manning the ballistae turn and point them at the other side of the canyon. These ballistae are loaded with long metal ropes attached to a bolt.

    She hears the soldiers shout as they fire the ballistae, the ballistae creak, and kick back as they launch their bolts. Dirt and debris fly up when the bolts strike the ground. Then they slide long wooden platforms down at an angle that has a connecting point above them to the three thick metallic ropes. These platforms slide in place allowing the outer gate that is already being lowered to overlap. It is now a sturdy ¡ªbut a very strange ¡ª bridge.

    This bridge ensures the scouts'' safe passage over the canyon to the other side, while also ensuring a fast way to disallow access to the stronghold.

    Elanor suspects Valerius will follow suit in the evening.

    She sighs and turns around.

    She descends the wall and wanders, passing the courtyard, and entering into the dining hall. Seeing the Legionnaires feast on what could very well be their last good meal.

    She roams the stronghold out of boredom, going in and out of corridors, visiting kitchens for a quick bite. The aromas of various dishes being cooked lure her in for a good meal. She considers interrupting Valerius her war council to eat with her spouse, but decides against it. She continues her journey until she ends up back where her day started. The staircase.

    Built into the stone of this austere stronghold, the staircase spirals between floors, emerging into foyers leading to different corridors. An architectural curiosity in this day and age . . . and one that encourages Elanor to watch where she steps. The stairs are sufficiently steep that any act of clumsiness could send her tumbling to the floor below. She sighs as she slowly climbs the stairs back up to her chamber. She reaches the second floor, and notices candlelight in the corner of her eye.

    It piques her interest. She quietly draws near. Not trying to make a sound on the cool stone floor. The candlelight is coming from Valerius her childhood bedroom. How odd Elanor thinks. This floor is where they kept the children who were trained from birth. It¡¯s been abandoned for thirteen years. Valerius has plans to repurpose it but this stronghold is so monstrous and vast there¡¯s honestly no need. Maybe she just wants to erase the memory.

    She peaks around the corner and spots Val sitting on the floor clutching a child-sized bronze shield in her arms, Val has her shoulders to Elanor. Elanor can see Val¡¯s shoulders jerk. Is she quietly sobbing?

    Elanor looks around the room and sees an array of toys. A bunk bed, two small desks, a world map, and children¡¯s drawings

    On one such drawing, there¡¯s a depiction of three figures, a tall brown-haired man in bronze sentinel armour with green eyes, a young strong brown-haired girl with green eyes and the third figure is crossed out in red. Elanor also sees that the left desk is filled with clutter: Books, papyrus, sketches, designs, and a perfectly set chessboard. The right desk on the other hand. . . is barren.

    She recognises some of the history books. Books of war, literature, mythology, and poetry. She focuses her attention back on Valerius.

    Elanor quietly speaks, ¡°Val, are you okay?¡±

    Val jumps up dropping the bronze shield. Her bronze eyes rise in luminescent glow, ¡°What are you doing here. Did I say you could come here, get out!¡±

    Elanor steps closer, ¡°I know we only recently got married but I can be there for you. I¡¯m-¡±

    Val interrupts, ¡°Did I stutter? Get. Out.¡± Valerius picks up Elanor and begins carrying her out of the room. Elanor catches a glance at the inside of the shield. It has an inscription. Valerius closes the door and locks it with a very, very old key.

    She says, ¡°Promise me you¡¯ll never go in there.¡±

    ¡°Val I need to know what¡¯s going on, I¡¯m-¡±

    Valerius clenches her fists, ¡°Promise me!¡±

    Elanor looks into her eyes, those damned bronze eyes. Unrelenting, ungiving, unloving. ¡°No. I won¡¯t promise you I¡¯ll never go in that room; I¡¯ll do so out of decency. What kind of person do you think I am?¡±

    Elanor pinches Val¡¯s cheeks, ¡°You¡¯re going to have to trust me at some point. I can¡¯t be there for you if your walls block my path to your heart. One day you¡¯re going to have to let me in and let those walls down. Or this marriage just won¡¯t last.¡±

    ¡°Is that a threat?¡± Valerius snarled.

    Elanor¡¯s mouth contorts, ¡°Did you even listen to what I said? Put me down.¡±

    Valerius puts her down. Elanor starts walking back to the staircase, turning her back on Val.

    ¡°W-wait! I-,¡± Valerius stammered, her bronze eyes dim. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s difficult to open up. I Shouldn¡¯t have reacted like that.¡±

    Elanor nods. She doesn¡¯t show pity, she doesn¡¯t show empathy or dismissal. She walks back and sits down on the floor, patting for Valerius to sit down beside her. Valerius does, plopping down, she¡¯s two heads taller than Elanor.

    Elanor speaks softly while caressing Val¡¯s hands, ¡°Would you like to hear some things about my childhood? We haven¡¯t really talked about our pasts that much. I think our pasts provide context for who we are, and why we do the things we do. And I can only imagine how different ours are.¡±

    ¡°I would love that dear,¡± Valerius says.

    Elanor looks up at Val. She sees her face, her strong features. the thick brow, the crooked nose, broken at multiple parts. The cauliflower ears, her unkempt hair. Elanor sees Valerius¡¯s eyes, the bronze glow is gone. In the darkness, she cannot see the colour. But it makes her smile, she hates those bronze eyes, they feel like a border between them. Now Val is just herself and Elanor can see her for who she is. Just a woman. Not some pinnacle of divinity, not some demi-goddess. A woman.

    An ordinary woman just like Elanor.

    Behind all the scars, muscles, and roughness she¡¯s only human.

    Elanor smiles sweetly and says, ¡°When I was ten my parents sent me to the academia to study history and set my career up in the senate of the eight Poleis.¡±

    Valerius grins, ¡°no way! You¡¯re kidding.¡±

    ¡°Why are you smiling, you think I¡¯m not cut out for the senate huh?¡± Elanor frowns sarcastically, ¡°I¡¯ll have you know I¡¯m an expert policy maker.¡±

    Valerius laughs, ¡°You were going to end up like Norvegicus with an oval bald spot? Yikes. No offense but I like you better as you are now.¡±

    Elanor laughs, the sound of her laughter gives Valerius butterflies. Valerius puts her hand on Elanor¡¯s thigh, squeezing gently.

    Elanor looks down at the ground blushing. She shakes her head and continues her story, ¡°Anyways. Around the time I was twelve years old, I started having trouble keeping up with the work. It frustrated me since everything came effortless to me the years beforehand. I slowly isolated myself from my friends. I ended up very, very lonely. Eventually, even the schoolwork became too much, and I had to stop. My parents were very supportive, but I could feel their disappointment. As an only child, I was responsible for our family¡¯s image. Both their careers took a hit when word got out I never graduated and couldn¡¯t attend the senate assemblies. As nobility, our expectations are higher than that of ordinary folk and I let myself, my parents, and my family down.¡±

    Elanor grabs Valerius¡¯s hand on her thigh and caresses the palm of Valerius¡¯s hand. Such rough calluses, scars all over.

    Elanor continues, ¡°Years later. When I was appointed as your guide in the metropolis. I was in a really bad place, and with every conversation, with every laugh. You pulled me out of that. That- that veil that had descended over my life. Your foreign eyes refreshed my perspective. And that¡¯s why I fell in love with you.¡±

    Silence falls over the hallway. They are both lost in thought. Dust swirls down, visible in the dim rays of light that cast down from the far away windows in the staircase. She continues, ¡°I think I would¡¯ve graduated had I not isolated myself and pushed my friends away. It would¡¯ve been more bearable had I kept some friends around to share the burden with and support one another. I tried to do everything alone and that was not smart. Eventually, I sank too far I couldn¡¯t ask for help anymore. It felt like I was drowning.¡±

    She looks at Valerius, ¡°When I saw you in your childhood bedroom, I assumed you were doing the same. You wanted to be alone. I just. I-I think I can relate to what you are going through.¡±

    Valerius remains silent, clenching her jaw and grinding her teeth like chalk on a board. She dare not to make eye contact with Elanor.

    Elanor doesn¡¯t understand her reaction. Isn¡¯t this what she is going through?

    Valerius spouts out, ¡°I apologise for reacting so strongly. That was not appropriate.¡±

    They can both feel a draft travel down the dark hallway. It''s cold. Valerius continues, ¡°I¡¯m not ready to share things with you yet.¡±

    Elanor looks disappointed. ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll respect your boundary, Val,¡± She breathes in with sorrow, a bitter taste in her mouth.

    She undoes the blue ribbon in her hair and says, ¡°Will you take this with you? Maybe it''ll grant you more luck than it granted me.¡±

    Elanor gently ties the bow in Val''s hair, grinning. It looks cute on the scary giantess. She takes one last look at Valerius before standing up. ¡°I¡¯ll wave you farewell on the wall tonight. Think of me while you¡¯re gone."

    "I love you.¡±

    ¡°I love you too.¡±

 Second Chapter: The ceramic Jug

    Sebastian POV

    The centurion Sebastian is seasick. The storm is rough, throwing the ship around like a toy boat. He travelled a day by cart to the White Harbour and bought passage there to the metropolis. This ship is bringing a cargo full of whale oil. It should only take two more days to arrive.

    He grins to himself thinking of how spooked the maggoty crew was to let fifteen bodies stay in their hull. As if the dead are a danger.

    The captain seemed to be cut from a different cloth. The way the captain¡¯s blue eyes peered into Sebastian''s soul reminded him of general Valerius.

    Sebastian pukes in the bucket again, he can barely keep anything in. Especially the stinking fish this crew eats. The ship keeps going side to side, side to side. Driving Sebastian to madness. He laughs to himself wondering why he thought this trip would be a breeze. He should¡¯ve risked land travel. Surely bandits are no match for an experienced centurion.

    He sighs and looks at the scroll that Valerius entrusted him with. He can¡¯t believe she gave him such a vital piece of papyrus. It was so important it couldn¡¯t be sent by pigeon or by any ordinary messenger. One of her most trusted centurions had to, and she chose him of all people. Him.

    He''ll keep that seal intact even if it costs him his life!

    Sebastian hears knocking on the door, it¡¯s the captain. This sweet man gave Sebastian the guest quarters. Usually reserved for nobility. Every ship had to have such a quarter, it¡¯s mandated by the senate.

    He hears the captain''s noble voice, ¡°Centurion Sebastian, is everything alright in there? The cook is serving our evening meal and you have neglected to join me. One would expect a soldier to be more mindful,¡±

    Sebastian could hear the amusement in the captain¡¯s voice. Sebastian responds, ¡°Y-yes, well uhm I have never been on a ship before, I think I am seasick.¡±

    The captain snickered, ¡°Yes, that seems painfully obvious. Come up to the deck. You¡¯ll only get sicker if you cower from the sea,¡±

    he could hear the captain scratch his fingers, a tick the captain doesn¡¯t seem to be aware of.

    The captain continues, ¡°If you stand at the bow of the ship and anticipate the waves your sea sickness might subside.¡±

    Sebastian sighs and hoists himself up from the ground. He opens the door, and follows the captain above deck. Exposing himself to the ongoing storm. The smell of the salty sea fills his nose and seawater is sprayed onto his face as he stumbles his way across the deck. The crew of thirteen is hurriedly working on the ship to stay on course. Some are working harder than others. But none get to have dinner at such a time. That is reserved for the captain and his guest.

    Sebastian feels the urge to puke again, he groans and clumsily grabs the railing of the ship to puke overboard.

    He peers into the dark waters below and sees four yellow eyes staring back. The size of fists. All the colour drains from his face.

    He runs from the railing screaming, ¡°Monster! Monster in the water! Ring the bell!¡±

    The crewmembers turn pale when they hear the bell ringing. Some run, some hide, and a few grab weapons to stand and fight.

    But a moment passes, and then another. Everyone holds their breath. A sigh of relief can be heard on deck.

    Some laugh at the centurion for seeing things that aren¡¯t there. Sebastian is baffled, and begins swearing up and down that he saw what he saw. The crew returns to work, putting their weapons back down.

    In the meantime the second in command passes by, he¡¯s retrieving something for the captain. He¡¯s an old friend of the captain and a damn good sailor.

    He laughs and walks towards the captain¡¯s quarters. Tossing a keychain up in the air and catching it with his other hand.

    Sebastian stubbornly walks up the stairs to the quarterdeck where the helmsman is steering the ship.

    The helmsman screams over the loud storm, ¡°You know! It¡¯s better to be on edge than to relax! If oil wasn¡¯t so damn valuable none of us would risk our lives! Surprised you did!¡±

    Sebastian grumbles to himself and then says, ¡°Yeah well, I hadn¡¯t known sea creatures were such a threat until the ship departed. The captain failed to mention that!¡±

    The helmsman looks puzzled, ¡°what??¡±

    Sebastian looks irritated, ¡°I SAID-¡°

    The helmsman laughs, ¡°I¡¯m not deaf you idiot! You blame the captain for your stupidity? Take some blame you spineless land rat! Do you live under a rock??¡±

    Sebastian fumes and gets in the helmsman face to give him an earful when below on the deck a huge crustacean climbs up the side of the ship.

    In the blink of an eye, the second in command is gobbled up whole, Keychain and all.

    Another crewmember is mangled by the monsters¡¯ pincers. Sebastian can hear the helmsman shout out, ¡°ASTAKOS! Starboard near the mainmast!¡±

    The helmsman grabs the rope attached to the clapper in the bell. He rings the bell as hard as he can.

    A crewmember near the bow of the ship hurriedly winches his heavy crossbow trying to get it ready to fire at the huge monstrosity. The creature charges at the brave man, seemingly understanding the contraption. Does it know it can pierce armor?

    The creature tramples the man under its weight, the sound of snapping bones can be heard across the ship.

    Sebastian¡¯s sea sickness is gone, he wonders how they¡¯re going to kill this thing. It looks unbeatable.

    He turned in his weapons and equipment at the captain¡¯s request, even if he did have his bronze sword, he¡¯s not sure if he could do any significant damage. All he can do is watch.

    Four crew members climb the nets to escape the monster. One of them throws their last remaining whaler spear at the crustacean. It screeches at them; the spear bounces off its hard shell without a scratch.

    The crustacean reaches for one of the closest crewmembers and grabs her foot with its pincers, it seems this poor woman didn¡¯t climb high enough. With its other claw, it breaks open the metal hatch to the hull and disappears into it, taking a alive hostage with it. Whom screams as they are being dragged down into the dark. Everyone holds their breath. Anxious, anticipating the creature to come back up. But it did not.

    Ten minutes or so later, the crew is gathered under the fore castle.

    ¡°I believe this to be the only fair way,¡± The captain said.

    Standing beside the captain is Sebastian holding out a bundle of straws the cowardly crewmembers were meant to pick from. But no one stepped forward. No one dared to go first. The captain looked at the crew. His piercing blue eyes scanning them up and down.

    His eyes finally rest on Imbellis. The cabins boy. A frail, small, and weak little boy. The captain then tilted his head towards Sebastian and the straws, ¡°Imbellis. You go first.¡±

    Imbellis trembled, his eyes tearing up, ¡°Y-yes sir. Certainly.¡±

    He inches forward with shaky hands. The poor boy picks a straw. . .  ten centimetres long. He sighs with relief, and sits back down.

    Then an older woman steps forward.

    The captain nods, ¡°Thank you madam Vluchtig, you set a good example.¡±

    Sebastian hears a hint of nobility in the captains voice. An accent belonging in the metropolis.

    Madam Vluchtig is steady, her eyes cold. She stares directly at the captain as she picks a straw. . .  nine centimetres long. She steps back silently.

    The ship''s boards creak as the biggest and bulkiest crewmember steps forward, pushing aside Imbellis and two other crewmembers.

    He saunters forward, towering over both the captain and Sebastian. The crewmember grins, a sly smile plastered on his face. Sebastian thinks he looks a little bit like a donkey in the dark, but he¡¯s human in the lamplight.

    The captain stares at him with a frown. The bulky crewmember sighs loudly letting his hand hover over the straws. He takes a second, then another, and another.

    Outside the forecastle the storm rages on. Everyone can hear the dripping water hit the deck.  They are huddled around in open forecastle.

    The ship is two days removed from the coast and found a nearby sandbank to anchor. They can hardly continue without planning a course of action with this. . .  creature in the hull.

    Sebastian wonders if the monster would eat the bodies he was meant to deliver. Surely crustaceans don¡¯t eat mummified corpses?

    The captain looks annoyed, ¡°Mr Cimball. Please pick your straw. We do not have all day.¡±

    Mr Cimball smiles. He¡¯s missing a couple teeth, he grabs a straw. Four centimetres. Shit. That could be the shortest.

    His expression doesn¡¯t change. He turns around towards the crew, throwing the straw to the ground., ¡°Well then, now that we¡¯ve picked a leader. I¡¯ll choose who goes into the hull.¡±

    The captain protests, ¡°Mr Cimball, have some honour. Of anyone here, you are most likely to survive the-¡±

    Mr Cimball grabs the captain by the neck and throws him out of the forecastle towards the gaping hatch, his head peters over the edge.

    The crew hesitate for a moment, but the dice are cast. They¡¯ve mutinied. They now advance as one with Mr Cimball in the lead.

    Sebastian resides in the background, too cowardly to intervene. He feels sicker at the moment. The captain concedes and speaks, ¡°Very well! Enough, enough. You needn¡¯t manhandle me further,¡±

    he stands up and straightens his jacket, ¡°I go willingly. Not through the hatch but through the staircase. And give me a spear. You wouldn¡¯t let a poor old man go defenceless, would you?¡±

    Mr Cimball grins. The crew parts way, letting the captain walk across to the deck towards the narrow canted double doors near the foredeck. The crew observes, semi-circling the captain. Ready to grab him if he dares turn tail and run.

    But without recourse, the captain goes in. One of the whalers tosses a spear at the captains¡¯ feet and they swiftly shut the doors behind him.

    The captain sighs in pitch-black darkness, ¡°Wonderful.¡±

    The captain descends the stairs, emerging through the narrow stairwell. He looks out through the darkness unable to spot the ginormous crustacean. The hull is not that big, filled to the brim with barrels of whale oil and a cart of bodies.

    He hears click-clacking in the darkness.

    Rows of side-stacked barrels, some left open, form a labyrinth along the outer walls. Upright barrels, secured to posts, flank the wide, blood-smeared space beneath the hatch. The captain sees a decapitated foot.

    From under a raised platform at the aft end, a sinister silhouette began to emerge, casting a foreboding shadow across the moonlit hull. The captain backpedals, reflexively throwing the spear. The rusty implement bounces off the charging monster''s flat face as its jaws gnash.

    The captain runs back up the stairwell as the creature slams into the opening. Wood splinters and the bottom four steps disintegrate as the creature desperately tries to grab the captain. But its huge form is unable to breach the tight staircase.

    The creature recedes, one of its pinchers extends out of its body and the captain can see the woman that was abducted. She desperately sucks in air while choking on seawater. She is missing her lower half, severed from the ribs down.

    The crustacean hoists her onto its antennules near its flat face, the woman shrieks. The captain swallows a lump, horrified by this display.

    ¡°C-captain. Safe me. It¡¯s so cold. It¡¯s so cold. Please don¡¯t let it make me cold again. I can feel it inside me.¡±

    ¡°Miss Frigidus. I-¡± The captain is at a loss for words. He can¡¯t help her. It would take a miracle for her to walk away from this alive.

    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    The crustacean¡¯s antennules slither through her neck, they sink in her flesh. Puppeteering her face. Her voice warps, and the crustacean breathes in causing a guttural noise to bellow out of the woman, ¡°Land, take me. Take me.¡±

    ¡°I- don¡¯t. . .  With all due respect¡ª¡±

    He can see her jaw dislodge and her eyes pop out, little tentacles writhe in her sockets. The puppet continues, ¡°We go, now. Now. Small time.¡±

    The body spasms for a moment, and the neck snaps. The crustacean now fully controls the woman.

    The flabbergasted captain leans forward, speaking to himself, ¡°You¡¯ve gone mad. Haven¡¯t you? The years have finally caught up to you.¡±

    ¡°Realm of men, islands. Go.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I understand. The archipelago is close by. It¡¯s on route to the metropolis, but-¡±

    ¡°Aarchipel-¡± The creature breathes in, the captain sees the woman¡¯s chest crack and contort- ¡°Agooooo. Yessss.¡±

    The captain stands on the stairs; his brow furrowed in concern as he faces the peculiar creature before him. The Astakos, its eyes glazed with hunger, repeats its disjointed chant about the Archipelago. The captain shakes his head, trying to make sense of the situation.

    "The islands. It''s just..." he trailed off, his thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. He glanced towards the fore, contemplating his next move.

    "Will take some... convincing," the captain finally muttered, uncertainty creeping into his voice.

    The creature interrupted his thoughts with a sudden declaration of hunger.

    "Hungry," it declared, its voice echoing with a bone-chilling undertone of the woman it¡¯s puppeteering.

    The captain''s eyes widened in realization. "Oh."

    he gasped, his mind racing to comprehend the gravity of their situation.

    "Me eat. Meat," the creature continued, its words dripping with a primal desire.

    The captain felt a chill run down his spine as he grappled with the implications of the creature''s words. "Oh my," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the sound of the sea.

    "Me eat meat," the monster repeated, its gaze fixed on him with unsettling intensity, the creature''s four yellow eyes peering from the dark.

    The captain scratched nervously at his fingers, his mind whirling with fear. He knew he had to tread carefully if he wanted to survive this encounter.

    "You and I... we''ll need to come to an agreement," he declared, his voice trembling slightly as he held out his hands in a gesture of surrender.

    In the dimly lit hold of the ship, he cautiously approached the fidgety, clicking Astakos. His heart pounded in his chest as he stepped into the scant moonlight seeping through the broken hatch above. His senses are on high alert.

    "Most importantly, I''m the one who can keep this ship on a straight keel," The captain began, his voice firm despite the tremor of fear that lingered within him, "me... you need alive. Unconsumed. Understand? Otherwise, you get nowhere. You''ll end up drifting in circles."

    The drooling creatures¡¯ eyes bobbed up and down in what he interpreted as a nod of agreement.

    "Good," the captain continued, his confidence growing as he pressed forward. "Now... at the moment, there''s something you possess which I require."

    Above deck Sebastian hears the crew speak about the captain, they all mutter and moan. Complaining that he doesn¡¯t share the bounty of oil fairly. Complaining that the risk of death is too great, that they do all the work while he gets to walk away with the coin. All because he owns the ship.

    Sebastian pulls back from the conversation. He thinks to himself, Mr Cimball seems very happy with himself. The idiot. Don¡¯t they understand they¡¯ve doomed themselves to outlaws if word gets out they send their very own captain to his death? Of course, they¡¯d try to silence each other. . . they¡¯d silence me. I¡¯m most likely to report their crime. By the gods why did the captain need to lock my weapon away?! How do I get out of this alive. At least the storm has stopped.

    In the hull the creature emerges from the aft end. Illuminated by the moonlight, its feeding appendages unfurled like the petals of a deadly flower.

    The captain watches in horrified fascination; his forearm pressed firmly against his mouth to stifle any involuntary gasps. The monstrous creature heaved; its grotesque form illuminated by the faint glow of the moon.

    Suddenly, with a gut-wrenching expulsion, the crustacean disgorged a large ball of sand and seashell fragments. Within this grotesque mass lay shreds of clothing and pieces of human bone, a macabre testament to the creature''s insatiable hunger. The captain recoiled in horror, his stomach churning at the sight before him.

    As the crustacean slowly backed away, the captain felt a mixture of revulsion and morbid curiosity compel him forward. With trembling hands, he dug into the heap of detritus, his fingers brushing against the cold, lifeless remnants of a dear friend of the captain. The second in command.

    A portion of the pile crumbled beneath his touch, revealing a shining object nestled within. With a mixture of trepidation and grim determination, the captain extracted the object from its sandy tomb. It was a large, brass key, glinting softly in the moonlight as if mocking the darkness that surrounded them. He wondered where the rest of the keychain and keys is. It mattered not.

    Above deck Mr Cimball stands arms crossed. The mortified crew all watch Imbellis whom has his ears pressed to the double doors. Imbellis lifts his ear from the door, shaking his head. As he shrugs to the crew, three knocks are heard, startling all.

    The crew share astonished looks. Mr Cimball grins.

    Five loud knocks are heard.

    Mr Cimball removes the plank they put through the door handles, he steps back.

    One door is pushed open, and the captain emerges, ¡°Thank you, dear.¡± The captain nods casually to them, walking past them, across the deck. Confidence exudes from the captains demeaner. They all stare, dumbfounded. In disbelief. The captain whistles to himself, trying to remain nonchalant. His pace quickens towards the aft deck.

    Mr Cimball realises what he is doing and launches himself forward, the deck creaks as he gains speed. He yells to the others to capture the captain.

    Sebastian doesn¡¯t understand, but he wants to protect the captain, so he runs after the captain, meaning to stand in between him and Mr Cimball.

    Sebastian outperformers the slow and out of shape Mr Cimball.

    It angers the behemoth so he grabs Sebastian by the shoulder and shoves him towards the railing. Sebastians ribs slam against the side and he tumbles over the edge. He catches himself on the railing hanging by his fingertips, holding on for dear life. His shoes quickly fill with seawater.

    By the time he¡¯s climbed back aboard the entire crew is gathered in the captains¡¯ quarters. Sebastian can hear the captain''s voice, ¡°I negotiated with it. . . As you now must negotiate with me.¡±

    Sebastian hurries over the deck to see the crew at a distance from the captain. He¡¯s holding a candle to a ceramic jug. This jug looks old and the lid is taken off. Sebastian can see the captain grabbed this thing from the locker that contains all the other weapons, including Sebastian''s sword and shield.

    Mr Cimball booms out, ¡°I swear to you. If you use that. . .I¡¯ll make sure you burn first. You are nuts old man.¡±

    He takes a step forward.

    The captain retorts, ¡°One more step and I¡¯ll ignite the Thallas¨ªon. If you are in need of a reminder. this sea fire can only be extinguished by sand. Our wooden ship, in addition to the whale oil. Will be set ablaze and explode.¡± The captains piercing blue eyes contort, ¡°now listen!¡±

    The crew settles down, Mr Cimball grunts while the captain continues, ¡°I¡¯m in no mood to repeat myself, so listen well. The thing speaks-¡±

    Miss Vluchtig interrupts, ¡°Ain¡¯t possible.¡±

    ¡°-Which I haven¡¯t the patience to explain beyond saying it wants passage to the nearest island. The archipelago.¡±

    One crewmember leaning in the doorframe speaks up. Her name is Maril, ¡°You had a conversation with a crustacean?¡±

    "Go yourself and ask, if you care to. It''s hungry again. Were I you though, I''d place your trust in me, if you wish to survive."

    The crew''s reactions were varied, ranging from disbelief to resignation. The captains¡¯ words hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the grim reality they faced.

    Sebastian stuttered in disbelief, "Y-you said it was. . "

    Imbellis snorts, ¡°said its hungry.¡±

    Mr Cimball voiced his scepticism, "We saw that monstrosity do as it pleased. You''d have us believe you''re the one to go up against it?"

    The captain¡¯s response was measured, his resolve unyielding. "Thank you again for the unsolicited opinions, Mr Cimball. As a matter of fact, if we do transport it in the hope that it will spare our lives, we still have nothing substantial to feed it. Unless it craves whale oil. And since it actually seems to have acquired a taste for...¡±

    The captain trails off, ¡°well...¡± He sighs, ¡°I probably shouldn''t have implied we might all live through this."

    The tension among the crew reached a breaking point, with voices raised in protest and fists clenched in anger. Maril spits on the floor, and stares the captain down.

    Mr Cimball points at Sebastian, ¡°what about him, then? We don¡¯t need him. He¡¯s no sailor. He¡¯s sick anyways.¡±

    Imbellis agrees, ¡°Yeah fuckin¡¯ hate em. Nothing but loyal dogs.¡±

    Sebastian moves forward, and Imbellis immediately cowers behind Mr Cimball who straps up his sleeves.

    Sebastian bites down on his cheek and looks up at Mr Cimball, ¡°Fight me then, man to man. Sword to sword.¡±

    Mr Cimball laughs, ¡°Who said anything about a sword?¡± His rough hands raise to the sides of his face in balled fists, ¡°Let¡¯s fight like nature intended.¡±

    The captain''s voice cuts through the atmosphere, ¡°Enough! We reside together in this misfortune.¡±

    Miss Vluchtig says, ¡°Which puts us right back where we started, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    The crewmember Maril coughs, ¡°Yes well except for uhh,¡± she jerks her head at the captain and the jug of sea fire, ¡°an important distinction.¡±

    The captain holds up the jug, ¡°Resorted to against any further dissolution of chain of command. But you are correct, Miss Vluchtig. We find ourselves again with a grim and terrible choice before us,¡± he slowly lifts the candle away from the jug, ¡°or... or has it already been made?¡±

    As the crew absorbs this, realizing the captain''s meaning... Everyone looks to the as-yet-uncomprehending Mr Cimball.

    A minute later Sebastian and two other crewmembers drag Mr Cimball across the deck. The hulking man puts up quite the fight. But with some effort, they throw him down the hatch. The crew quickly retreats. No one dares to linger by the hatch, except for the captain. With the jug and candle in hand, he leans down to peer in.

    Mr Cimball¡¯s pleas of help and mercy, become cries, which then turn to screams. The captain quietly mutters to himself, ¡°The larger the meal, the more time in between. One would hope.¡±

    He grimaces as flesh-tearing and bone-crunching noises can be heard from the hull. He averts his gaze, closing his eyes, but opens one eye to take a last peek.

    The captain takes Sebastian aside and arms him with his bronze sword and ordinary shield, ¡°I have need of you. I cannot trust my crew. But you are a man of honour, a man of valour. We are strangers you and I, but that fact rings true for us both. Protect me. And I will make sure you survive this.¡±

    Sebastian hesitates, but nods, ¡°Of course. The chain of command must remain unsullied.¡±

    The captain lingers on Sebastian''s response. His piercing eyes dissecting Sebastian to his soul, ¡°Yes. You mentioned you were transporting fallen soldiers. Why the sealed scroll? Why not an ordinary one? What makes these soldiers special? Why weren¡¯t they buried at the Bronze Shield.¡±

    Sebastian stammers, ¡°That is classified sir, my general entrusted me with this secret.¡±

    The captain smiles, his eyes gleaming as if having solved a puzzle, ¡°ah, I see. That makes sense.¡±

    The captain is lost in thought. Muttering to himself.

    ¡°What makes sense sir?¡± Sebastian begins walking back to the captain¡¯s quarters, where the crew is waiting.

    ¡°Mhm? Oh, not to worry. Just the ramblings of an old man,¡± He pats Sebastian¡¯s shoulder, ¡°Now let¡¯s get some things straight with the crew, shall we?¡±

    The captain meanders through the quarters, Sebastian in tow. The crew eye them both suspiciously. They notice Sebastian''s sword and give each other looks.

    The captain unfurls a map and places it on the navigation table. His index finger travels over the parchment until it reaches the archipelago next to the metropolis, ¡°here, the Archipelago, heavily populated. As you all well know.¡±

    The captain lets his eyes travel across the crew, only eight remain of the original thirteen, excluding Sebastian, ¡°this is where it wants to be taken.¡±

    Maril speaks, ¡°Sounds good.¡±

    Then Miss Vluchtig, ¡°Sounds like a plan.¡±

    Imbellis speaks as well, ¡°The sooner we get there, the better.¡±

    The captain regards them with a furrowed brow.

    A crewmember who has remained silent for the most part speaks up now, it¡¯s the helmsman Sebastian spoke to, ¡°With the wind in our backs, it¡¯s another day and a half.¡±

    The captain says, ¡°Except, to allow this Astakos ashore would mean unleashing it on unsuspecting citizenry.¡±

    The crew murmurs, ¡°Yeah, well. . .¡±

    ¡°uh huh.¡±

    Maril looks around, ¡°it¡¯s not like any of us have kin there, am I right? Those rich fucks.¡±

    Miss Vluchtig and the helmsman nod, ¡°They¡¯ve always been kind of-¡± the helmsman finishes her sentence, ¡°-snobby.¡±

    Maril says, ¡°They¡¯d as soon spit on you as a nod. Pricks.¡±

    Imbellis tilts his chin, acting tough, ¡°happened to me! Twice!¡±

    The captain sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, ¡°Nevertheless. I propose a different possibility. These nameless islands, further on,¡± His finger travels down the map, past the metropolis and the nearby Archipelago to a grouping of small islands, ¡°the islands are deserted. We may be able to take the monster there without it realizing it. This would, however, require additional travel. And, yes, while the farther we go the more likely we may perish... this course of action offers a chance at sparing countless innocent lives¡±.

    He sees that the crew is lost in thought. The captain continues, ¡°We could also try to enter the metropolis ports. Their ballistae and heavy crossbowmen can make short work of the Astakos. But I¡¯m positive they¡¯d hang us all for endangering the lives of the capital. Even in a controlled environment.¡±

    The captain looks to his crew and is met with crickets as they all stare back at him, ¡°I sense the slightest reluctance amongst the ranks. Fine. Let''s see here...¡±

    He walks to the captain¡¯s desk and grabs a few folds of papyrus. He says, ¡°We will put it to a vote. Each of you shall have equal voice.¡±

    The captain begins tearing the paper into rough squares, ¡°It will be a secret ballot, with no one knowing any other persons choice. I want you to privately mark and fold your ballots, then return them to me.¡±

    He then begins handing out the irregular ballots,

    ¡°A circle means you vote to sail beyond the peopled shores, despite the risk. X is a vote for a shorter voyage to the Archipelago. X means you fulfil the creature¡¯s wish.¡±

    The grim crew, accepting ballots, cast sidelong glances. The captain sees their looks and adds something on top, ¡°I implore you: let conscience be your guide.¡±

    Sebastian swallows a lump in his throat. And marks his choice in the ballot, and he quickly folds it. Not wanting to show the others his choice.

    An ornate wooden box sits open on the navigation table as folded ballots are tossed in, one after another, till... all the votes are in.

    The lid is slammed shut.

 Third Chapter: The ivory Horn

    <u>Valerius POV</u>

    Valerius stands proudly at the vanguard of her army, ensconced in her chariot. A zandleeuw is harnessed to the chariot, its mandibles click with a menacing rhythm that sends vibrations rippling through the earth beneath them.

    Towering above conventional mounts, these formidable creatures reach six meters in length and stand three meters tall, their bulk weighs in at a staggering nine hundred kilos.

    Their sleek bodies are encased in a smooth exoskeleton, at the belly of the beast sprout pseudopod limbs adorned with shifting plates, granting them unparalleled agility in traversing the rough sands. Atop their fly-like heads are eyes resembling a myriad of reflections, each glance akin to peering into an endless kaleidoscope of perspectives.

    People tend to avoid looking at a zandleeuw''s eyes. It is unnerving. These zandleeuws, are not merely beasts of burden but esteemed companions, sustained by the algae and mold that grow beneath the desert''s surface in its endless cave systems.

    They were tamed and domesticated hundreds of years ago from the wasteland north of the canyon, alas they do not fare well south where it is colder. They do have a southern counterpart called sand fleas. But these miniscule beach critters pale in comparison.

    Sixteen zandleeuws pull caravans filled with supplies and rations.

    Legate Hephast approaches Valerius¡¯s chariot. He pets her zandleeuw, scritching it under one of its plates, ¡°who¡¯s a good lion! Yes, you are! You deserve a treat, don¡¯t you Athana?¡±

    The burly brown-haired Legate pulls out a chunk of moss from his pocket and feeds it to the zandleeuw. The creatures sucks up the moss, it¡¯s exoskeleton convulses as the food passes through, a myriad of colours shimmer over the surface.

    Valerius regards her uncle distantly, even though she wished she could jump in his arms like she did when she was younger.

    Her uncle grins hardily at her and says, ¡°as discussed, I¡¯ll flank the West side of the canyon, and legatus Theresia will flank the East. Once either of us gets word of our scouting party or we reach the fiftieth kilometre we will turn around and head back. From there we will support you depending on how the next few weeks develop. We have to cover all our bases. You will head straight towards the Oasis in pursuit of the prisoner, all the cohorts and high-ranking centurions agree with that notion. That is most likely where it would¡¯ve fled. If it did decide to hide in the canyon - or gods be great - travelled south. Either me or Theresia will catch the prisoner.¡±

    Hephast grumbles and places his hand on the chariot, ¡°You are a rash young lady. This is a risky plan and the legion of soldiers you are taking with you will pay the blood price. The decision has been made. But I would¡¯ve let it go and kept our legions here. We¡¯re leaving our advantage behind.¡±

    Valerius grins, ¡°Uncle, you forget yourself. You did the exact same thing when chasing after the previous champion of blood. My father bested them at the stronghold, and you gave chase after they fled back to their barren wasteland. The current one is weakened, disorientated, and has no army to speak of, it might not even be able to gather one. I do not see the risk.¡±

    Valerius straightens her shoulders; she stands proud and tall with her bronze armour. The blue ribbon in her hair is neatly bound. Valerius gently touches it before putting on her helm.

    Hephast looks up at Valerius, his gaze is far away, ¡°There are many details me and your father did not share in the telling of that battle. It is with good reason you are the champion of valour, and not I.¡±

    Hephast puts on his helmet and begins to walk away, with a hollow voice he gives her a few parting words, ¡°Go for the kill Valerius. We¡¯ve given it enough chances to let go of its piety. Clearly, it would rather die than repent.¡±

    Valerius solemnly stares at the reigns in her hands. Imagining them to be the shackles she drove into that - that possessed thing. For thirteen years she¡¯s desperately searched for a way to sever its connection to Sanguinem, that heinous god. She bought the services of a druid, spend hours upon hours in the strongholds library searching for a solution.

    It was all for nought. Valerius tried to spare the monster for thirteen years. No more. It is time to end this.

    She looks back at her army. Hastati, principes, triarii, and camp workers. A legion under her command, four thousand souls.

    She clenches her fist as she looks down at the reigns controlling her zandleeuw Athana. Her eyes glow as she calls forth piety from her soul. The strength compresses the leather with so much force it snaps and shoots out of her palm like a whip.

    What need for an army does she have with strength like this? She can move mountains; she can cause earthquakes. She can pulverise diamond.

    She will charge ahead when she sees the prisoner. Valerius can¡¯t let her men get involved. They bleed too fast; they¡¯d die like flies. Her initial idea was to leave with the scouts. The sooner the better. Every second counts. But her council advised patience.

    Clypeus would condone. She is his champion. She¡¯s worked all her life for this. She was chosen. All these great legates, cohorts, centurions, and warriors. Yet she ¡ª a twelve-year-old girl ¡ª was chosen to be their gods'' champion and only she got to manifest piety. She chose the strength of a god so none could oppose her.

    She¡¯s unbeatable.

    Valerius blows her war horn, signalling her legion to march. She lets her eyes travel up the gate, where she sees Elanor waving her goodbye. Valerius blushes when Elanor blows her a kiss.

    How lucky she is, to be wed to such an intelligent, tough, courageous, wonderful, beautiful girl. She hopes she can be worthy of such high nobility.

    Valerius never realised how different men and women can be until she reached the capital. In the eyes of Clypeus every person is the same. Man, woman, child. We all die the same, we all fight the same.

    But in the capital we are divided.

    There was femineity, and masculinity. So many customs, rules, nuances. It was a spectrum of identities she was never aware of.

    It doesn¡¯t apply to her. She¡¯s not one of them. She¡¯s a soldier.

    Valerius thinks to herself, That¡¯s all I am to them. The metropolis controls the number of legionnaires I gets to retain and command for the protection of the realm. They control how many I can afford to retire, how many should die in battle by any given year. It¡¯s disgusting. We are nothing but numbers to them. Hopefully Elanor can help my position in regard to the senate. There¡¯s a storm brewing if they find out the truth- who am I kidding.

    When they do.

    She shakes her head. Sweat dripping down her body, she can smell the muff leather on the inside of her helm. She¡¯s lucky all their bronze is cold-forged. It has this interesting property. When struck, bronze hardens. It loses it¡¯s plasticity. In addition to that it does not heat up in sunlight.

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    She focuses her mind back on the task at hand. Hephast and Theresia will march a day later, their legions consist of mostly men who were awoken the night before to retake the stronghold, and they were given horrific orders by Hephast.

    Valerius looks at the bridge created by the ingenious machinery of the ballistae. The bridge spans the canyon, a mere two hundred meters. Nowhere else is the canyon this narrow. From three hundred kilometres west, to three hundred kilometres east. Without the stronghold, this would be the easiest place to drop down into the canyon and climb up to the other side, yet even at this part, the canyon is still four hundred meters deep with twists and turns, and rocky obstacles. She cannot see the bottom of the canyon in the darkness, but she knows it¡¯s riddled with corpses and skeletons of wildebeests.

    The first few days are uneventful, as the legion marches across the landscape, the arid desert begins to take on a new biome. Rocky terrain gradually turns into sandy stretches of land, which then turn into dunes.

    The desert stretched endlessly in front the legion as they continue their journey towards the oasis. The sun beats down relentlessly. When Valerius looks towards the horizon, she sees ripples of heat moving across the desert, distorting the view.

    The air is so dry it sucks moisture from her body with every breath. She¡¯s been gradually shifting the sleeping time of the Legion. By the following day they will sleep during noon, and march at night. Even with their armour the sun is too hot during the day, and without the strongholds talus fields, tall trees, and underwater river there¡¯s no good way to remain cool.

    These fresh soldiers from the south thought the stronghold was hot, now they get a taste of real heat. Some of them might suffer heat delirium. Some of them might die.

    Before departing Valerius held council with her cohorts and legati. They truly gave her a headache and argued like children.

    Nevertheless she got their logistical preparations done. They were meticulous, she had worked with cohort Marcus to ensure there could be no shortage of water and rations. Caravans laden with supplies and rations trailed behind the army, pulled by massive zandleeuw¡¯s whose mandibles clicked and whose claws swam through the sand.

    If any soldiers collapsed, became ill, was hurt. They could take place in the caravans whom will slowly empty out of supplies in the coming weeks.

    The journey through the desert was perilous, the shifting sands and treacherous terrain testing the endurance of both soldier and beast alike. Valerius¡¯s stubborn determination guided them through the labyrinthine dunes, steering clear of hidden pitfalls and finding the most efficient path forward. Maps were useless here. The dunes shifted, the landscape changed, and even the oasis had been known to move.

    This was why expeditions beyond the canyon were rare. She had been trained for this since childhood, yet it still felt like a fool¡¯s errand.

    She hated it. The responsibility.

    She missed the days when her only concern was perfecting her swordplay, strengthening her draw with the bow, pushing herself to the limit. Now, too often, she left the navigating to her cohorts, only stepping in to correct their mistakes when necessary¡ªmuch to their frustration.

    On the third day, it happened again. The cohorts had charted a course that led dangerously close to a region known for its deceitful sands. They know the region shifts, so it¡¯s better to chart a few days around the region once it¡¯s clear what region they are approaching.

    In general it¡¯s always the same order. Red rock, red sand, orange sand, yellow sand, white sand, and last but not least: The Oasis. But the region shifts, the wind blows, certain sands are heavier than others. Like oil and water. Stof stand is mostly found in the orange region. But orange is light, and tends to blow over the other regions as dunes build and break with the wind direction. Stof sand bubbles from trapped gas underground. It makes stof sand act like water. And its nearly impossible to see.

    Valerius corrected them, prompting a drawn-out argument. She was inclided to pull rank again. But she¡¯d rather let them have their way and be proven right. Than have them undermine her when a decision does matter. Pick your battles, as they say.

    Four hours Later, as she crested a dune, she spotted the telltale shimmer of stof sand below¡ªfine, unstable grains, that shifted as gas seeped between the grains. Anyone that steps on that gets swallowed whole.

    She led her zandleeuw around it, issuing swift orders for the warning to be relayed through the ranks. Unbeknownst to her along the line, the message was lost. A handful of soldiers, eager to shorten their march, cut straight across the treacherous ground.

    They sank almost instantly.

    The centurion responsible for these men blew his war horn, causing the legion to ground to a halt. He shook his head at these fresh legionnaires not listening to the message.

    Their comrades watched in growing horror. The handful of soldiers struggled, the faster they were consumed.

    When Valerius heard the horn she clenched her jaw, turning a sharp glare on her cohorts. She immediately knew what this was about.

    A few ropes and zandleeuws could pull the men free, but that would mean disconnecting the beasts from the carriages, wading into the center of the trap, tying the ropes, then hauling the soldiers out¡ªlosing precious hours. With no guaranteed success. Worse, the zandleeuws might get distracted, start playing in the shifting sand, and turn a bad situation into a disaster.

    With a sigh, she dismounted and strode forward. Stof sand was fine and dry, clinging to skin like a second layer. The zandleeuws loved it, their broods often nesting nearby so their young could roll and burrow in the silken grains.

    Valerius eyed the flailing soldiers, now chest-deep in the mire, and made her decision. Rather than wade in herself, she descended the dune, put her swords in the fine sands and concentrated. Her muscles rippled, her eyes glowed bronze, steam rose from her in plumes as she used piety to raise her divine strength.

    With unimaginable strength she slashed through the sand. The impact sent a ripple through the dunes, rolling outward in a controlled wave. The buried men were thrown up in a whirlwind of sand, landing safely atop a dune seven metres away. The impact blew all the air out of their lungs and they clutched their chests in pain, sucking in air haphazardly.

    She gestured for medics to check them over.

    Then turned her gaze to the valley below. Her eyes widen in shock. The displaced sand had revealed something beneath the surface¡ªbodies.

    The soldiers murmured, their curiosity piqued, but Valerius waved them back into formation.

    They were the scouts she send ahead. The monster had killed them all and thrown them in here so we wouldn¡¯t find them. They look horrible. All of them stripped naked and covered in necrosis. Mutilated.

    One thing could not carry all that stuff. The monster must have had help. It means it has made contact with the wildebeests.

    She exhales, taking off her helm. She scruffles her hair and feels the blue ribbon that Elanor put there. Valerius misses her so much.

    She immediately pushes that thought out of her head, and focuses on the situation at hand.

    Since the champion of bloodlust has made contact with wildebeests there¡¯s a real chance its already reached the Oasis. At this point I should consult my cohorts and reevaluate the situation. They will want to turn back. They¡¯ll say holding the stronghold is better than getting caught out here. They¡¯ll say I should listen to my uncle. He has the experience and ¡ª I¡¯M FUCKING PISSED.

    she stares at her reflection while breathing rapidly in anger. Her muscular chest strains against her bronze armour. Her glowing eyes swallow her entire reflection, making her look inhuman. The price she paid for power.

    Those snobby old-timers talked me out of leading the scouts. I could¡¯ve saved those men! I could¡¯ve already had that monster in my hands. No they said, Valerius you must show restraint. Valerius, do not be rash. Valerius show some discipline. Valerius be tactful. Valerius, that¡¯s a bad idea. Valerius you cannot leave the stronghold to fend for themselves- ValeriusValeriusValerius.

    She breathes in deep, tilting her head towards the pristine blue sky. Ignoring the cohorts rushing to the scene, they yell her name, demanding explanations.

    She then unclips her war horn and brings it up to her lips. Each cohort puts their hands up in fear. Some of them scramble backwards.

    She blows her war horn three times as hard as she can. The sand near her trembles. The war horn cracks and falls apart from sheer force. The cohorts fall to the ground clutching their ears, screaming for her to stop.

    Once Valerius is done she walks up to them, her face carved in stone, ¡°Let¡¯s have a meeting with all the centurions present, in addition to you ten.¡±

    ¡°WHAT?¡± one of them shouts with tears in his eyes.

    ¡°Right, my mistake.¡±