𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 ᵉᵖⁱᶜ ᵐᵘˢⁱᶜᵃˡ

˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

Chapter 3. ATHENA'S CHALLENGE

❝It is not the blade that shapes destiny but the hand that wields it.❞
˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

The sparring session had gone longer than usual.

You stood shoulder to shoulder with Penelope, both of you panting from the exertion of your nightly routine. Sweat dripped down the side of your face as the sun's first rays began to stretch across the horizon.

Your arms ached, muscles trembling from overuse—but the satisfied burn in your limbs made you smile.

"Enough for tonight," Penelope whispered firmly. She tucked a stray braid behind her ear as she breath ragged yet steadily.

You nodded, panting as you dropped to one knee to catch your breath. The coolness of the grass beneath you was a stark contrast to the lingering warmth of the practice sword in your hand.

Around you the secret clearing, just outside the palace walls, was bathed in hues of purple and gold; a hidden refuge away from the heavy gaze of duty and expectation.

Penelope crouched beside you, her expression softening as she glanced at the sword in your hand.

"You're getting better," she said with a faint smile. "Soon you won't need to butter up the soldiers for practice tips anymore."

You laughed though the sound came out weaker than intended. "And lose the free ego boost they give me? Never."

Her smile widened briefly before she pushed herself to her feet, brushing dirt and grass from her tunic.

"Come on. The guards will be changing shifts soon. If we're caught out here again..." She trailed off, but the weight of the unspoken consequences hung in the air.

You didn't need reminding. The punishment for wandering beyond the palace walls without permission would fall harder on you than on her.

You were just a servant after all—a servant who had no business training in secret alongside a Spartan prince's daughter.

Rising to your feet, you followed her back toward the palace, careful to tread softly as the two of you slipped through the secret entrance hidden behind a crumbling section of the outer wall.

The path was second nature: each step carefully calculated, each breath measured to avoid detection.

Penelope's movements were precise, her grace as a noblewoman seamlessly blending with the agility of the warrior she was becoming.

You followed closely, your senses sharp and your heart pounding in rhythm with your hurried steps.

When you reached the servants' quarters Penelope hesitated. Her hand on the doorframe as she glanced back at you with furrowed brows.

"Be careful today," she said quietly. "I don't trust him."

She didn't have to name her father for you to understand. You offered her a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine. Go on."

With a final nod, she slipped inside, disappearing into the labyrinth of corridors that made up the palace.

You waited a moment longer, scanning your surroundings before stepping inside yourself.

The familiar scent of stone and polished wood greeted you as you made your way to your small bed in the shared room, changing quickly into the plain garments of a servant.

It was a transformation both physical and mental; you shed the role of Penelope's confidante and sparring partner to become her obedient attendant.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The day unfolded as usual.

By mid-morning you were at Penelope's side, arranging her hair and adjusting her gown as she prepared for a small gathering in the main hall.

Her expression was composed, the perfect mask of a dutiful daughter. Though you could see the tension in her shoulders.

"Does it look acceptable?" she asked, her tone devoid of the warmth she reserved for your private moments together.

"More than acceptable," you replied softly, stepping back to admire your work. "You'll outshine them all."

A faint smile touched her lips but it didn't reach her eyes.

With a graceful nod she left and you prepared yourself for your next task—tending to the soldiers during their midday combat session.

The clang of swords clashing filled the air, accompanied by the barked commands of the training general.

 You moved among the soldiers with practiced ease, a clay jug of water balanced on your hip.

"Water anyone?" your voice called out cutting through the noise. Several soldiers turned your way, their expressions brightening.

"Don't spoil us too much," one of the younger soldiers teased as you approached with the water jug. "We might start fighting over who gets to see you."

You rolled your eyes but your grin gave you away. "Careful now or I'll start charging you." you replied, pouring water into his outstretched cup.

As the men laughed, your attention was drawn to a pair of soldiers standing a little apart from the rest, their conversation hushed but intense.

You moved closer under the guise of offering them water, straining to catch their words.

"...Athena's test," one of them said. "The Erymanthian boar—said to be monstrous. A beast even seasoned hunters would hesitate to face. But the reward..."

The other soldier whistled softly. "Riches beyond imagining. Enough to buy a small kingdom they say."

Your heart skipped a beat. Athena's test? A boar? Vast riches?

You kept your expression neutral, pouring water into their cups as though you hadn't heard a thing.

"Do you really think it's true?" the first soldier asked.

"About the gold? Who knows. Men wouldn't risk their lives if there wasn't something worth fighting for."

The conversation moved on but the words lingered in your mind.

Riches beyond imagining. Enough to buy a small kingdom. The possibilities swirled in your thoughts, each more enticing than the last.

If you could claim the prize, everything would change. Penelope could finally escape her father's control.

She'd be free—free to live without fear of a forced marriage, without the constant shadow of Icarius looming over her.

And you...you could leave too.

You'd no longer have to live under the thumb of a household that valued you only for your beauty and your servitude. The thought was intoxicating.

That evening, as you prepared to leave the courtyard, the beginnings of a plan took root in your mind: You would take the test. You would kill the boar and claim the riches. But Penelope couldn't know.

She would never agree to such a dangerous scheme.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

By afternoon you found your opportunity.

Soldiers were preparing for a mild campaign, their gear being loaded onto carts near the palace gates.

It wasn't uncommon for you to be assigned as a wine bearer during such events; your exotic looks often made you a favored choice for such duties.

It was a role you had played before—especially at lavish events hosted by Icarius himself.

When the evening came and the sun began dipping below the horizon, you were in Penelope's chambers helping her with her hair.

She sat before her vanity, her reflection serene but distant as if lost in thought.

"You seem quiet tonight," you said, brushing a stray curl into place.

Penelope met your gaze in the mirror, her expression softening. "Just tired. Father's been...demanding."

You didn't press her further, knowing the weight of her words. Instead, you mustered the courage to set your plan in motion.

"I've been ordered to accompany the soldiers for their campaign tomorrow," you said casually, keeping your tone light.

Her hands stilled on the hem of her nightgown. "Ordered? Why? You've never mentioned it before."

"Wine duty," you replied with a shrug and force a playful smile. "You know how much your father loves showing me off at these things."

Penelope's frown deepened, and for a moment you worried she might protest.

"Do you have to go?" she asked quietly, her voice laced with concern.

Your heart clenched but you nodded. "It's not for long. Just a few days. I'll be back before you even notice I'm gone."

"I can't go against Father's wishes. So just—" She sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. "be careful."

You hesitated, then leaned down to press a reassuring kiss to the top of her head. "Always."

As she climbed into bed, you tucked the blankets around her, your heart heavy with guilt. But it was necessary.

This wasn't just about you—it was about Penelope, about her freedom, her future.

Once she was asleep you slipped out of her chambers and made your way to your own quarters. It was nearing dusk when your preparations were complete.

Your small satchel held everything you could manage: a few plain garments, hard bread, some dried figs, a stolen waterskin, and a carefully hidden knife.

The sound of soldiers bustling near the gates had masked your movements. Their leaving for campaign, crates of supplies, and clinking armor provided the perfect cover.

Common to see servants moving about during such times to fetch items or following orders; you had played that role expertly, head bowed and demeanor meek as you slipped unnoticed past the guards.

With the gates behind you and the endless horizon ahead, the weight of your decision settled on your shoulders.

The gravel path beneath your sandals crunched with every step taken as the palace became a silhouette in the distance.

You would face the boar, no matter the risk.

And you would win.

═════════════════˚･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･˚══════════════════

The route to Gytheio was treacherous in parts—dry fields and rocky hills as far as the eye could see.

Occasional distant bleating of goats and cries of hawks circling above; the landscape was otherwise eerily quiet.

You paused only briefly to sip from your waterskin or take a nibble of your food stash; heat from the sun of the day and cool reprieve from the moon of the night were your only telling of the passing of time.

Two days...

Two days of walking on foot.

The sandals on your feet—once sturdy—now felt thin, the sharp pebbles on the ground a reminder of how far you've gone.

By the time Gytheio’s sprawling port came into view your legs felt like lead. The smell of salt and brine hit you first, strong and stinging after hours of dry dusty air.

The port was alive with movement: fishermen hauling nets, vendors shouting over one another, and travelers haggling for passage aboard ships.

An overwhelming but welcomed cacophony. Much easier to blend in.

Keeping to the edges of the bustling market, you scanned for a ship heading north along the coast until a modest vessel caught your eye.

Its crew was busy loading crates of salted fish and the deck was crowded.

Your heart raced as you approached, the sailor at the gangplank gave you a once-over, his gaze lingering on your skin.

The baggy cloth you wore—a threadbare tunic and trousers that pooled slightly at your ankles—helped mask your figure along with the thick sash tied around your waist to made you look weaker than you were.

It wasn't the first time you'd relied on this disguise. Dressed like this, you were often mistaken for a young boy. You'd learned to wield that misconception to your advantage; using it to move unnoticed or to deflect unwanted attention.

“Need passage?” he asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.

You nodded. “To the western coast.”

He scratched his chin. “Can’t promise comfort, but we leave at first light.”

“I’ll sleep on the deck,” you said, glancing toward the ship. “Just get me there.”

You handed over the few coins you had snagged before leaving, your fingers trembling as he tucked them into his pouch.

He shrugged and gestured for you to board. “Suit yourself.”

The gangplank creaked beneath your feet stepping aboard. It wasn’t luxury, but it was freedom.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The ship rocked gently beneath your feet, the rhythmic creaking of its wooden beams blending with the distant cries of seagulls and waves against the hull.

Wind tugged at your loose clothes, the fabric brushing against your skin as the air smelled of salt and damp wood.

You had boarded the ship without incident—unnoticed amidst the soldiers and seasoned travelers.

As the clouds slowly moved across the clear sky, you leaned on the ship's railing, gazing out at the endless stretch of blue sea.

It was then your mind churned with a mix of anticipation and unease. Yes, you knew the plan was reckless.

But the thought of the riches and what they could mean for you and Penelope was too alluring to resist.

If you succeed, you could finally free her from her father's oppressive grip, from the looming threat of a forced marriage.

The vision of a life far from the palace, far from the shadows of power and control was worth the risk.

A burst of laughter drew your attention. Nearby, a group of passengers had gathered, their animated conversation louder than the ship's hum.

Among them was a man with the confident bearing of a King. His armor gleamed under the sun as his voice carried easily over the crash of waves.

"A boar," he says with a smirk. "Athena's test they call it. I thought it might be fun to try my hand at it. What's life without a little danger, eh?"

You recognized him immediately: Iphicles, a minor hero often—overshadowed by his more famous brother Heracles.

Despite his less illustrious reputation, he carried himself with an air of bravado. Almost as if desperate to prove himself.

Before the others could reply a voice flits through the air. "Fun? You mean another chance to fail spectacularly and remind everyone why you're always in your brother's shadow?"

The group's laughter faltered, their expressions shifting to awkwardness and unease. Iphicles's confident smirk hardened into a scowl as he turned toward the source of the comment.

A boy—appearing to be the same age as you—casually leaned against the many crates. His wiry scrawny and unruly dark hair giving him the look of a stray cat that had wandered into the wrong territory.

Yet despite his slight build, he moved with an easy cocky confidence. As if the entire world amused him.

He looked like trouble.

"Who are you to speak?" Iphicles demanded low and dangerously.

The boy grinned, unbothered by the tension. "Oh no one important," he said, shrugging. "Just someone who knows better than to play hero when the odds are stacked against him."

You found yourself watching the exchange with reluctant curiosity. The boy's blunt tongue and the way he seemed utterly unfazed by Iphicles's growing anger caught your attention.

His words, while biting, carried a cleverness that hinted at a mind far sharper than his scruffy appearance suggested.

"You're lucky I have bigger concerns than a whelp like you," Iphicles growled before turning back to his group and moving someplace else on the ship.

An older soldier—more daring and clearly more experienced in battle to not cower before Iphicles—laughed. "You've got a mouth on you. I'll give you that."

The boy shrugged unbothered. "Just calling it like I see it."

Another soldier, a burly man with a scar running down his arm frowned. "Iphicles is still a son of Zeus," the scarred man reminded gruffly.

"And Heracles is still his older brother," the boy countered. "What's your point? That he's good at being second-best?"

The older man laughs once again and claps the boy on the back, his gruff voice carrying a hint of approval. "Careful now. He might just knock you overboard if you keep on smearing his name."

"Then he'll prove my point. Heracles wouldn't waste the effort."

The laughter this time was louder, though some glanced nervously toward where Iphicles was presumably resting.

You frowned. His presence stood out against the hardened warriors around him—his youthful energy, his easy confidence.

"Who's that?" you asked one of the sailors passing by in a forced low voice.

The man glanced toward the boy and snorted. "Some brat of a King from a small island in the Ionian Sea. Says he's here for the challenge, but I'd wager he's more interested in showing off than hunting Athena's beast."

Your stomach tightened at the mention of the Goddess.

You'd been careful not to speak of your true purpose to anyone. The idea of competition hadn't crossed your mind until now.

As if sensing your scrutiny, the boy turned his head slightly, his sharp eyes locking onto yours. His grin widened—lazy and wolfish—as he gave you a small nod in greeting.

You stiffened and quickly averted your gaze. Your heart beating faster—not out of fear but out of annoyance.

Of all the people to notice you...it had to be him.

Deciding to move away from the railing, you soon found a quieter spot on the deck near the barrels of supplies and settled onto an overturned crate with a sigh.

The salty breeze tugged at your hair as you stared out at the horizon while trying to gather your thoughts.

"You know," a familiar voice drawled, "it's not polite to stare."

You whip around to find the boy standing a few feet away with his arms crossed.

With him closer you can make out his eye color—well colors. They were...different; a striking blue on the left and warm brown on the right.

His grin was still there, playful and teasing like he knew something you didn't.

"I wasn't staring," you said flatly, hoping he'd take the hint and leave.

"Hmm," he hummed, tapping his chin as though considering your words. "Maybe not. But you looked interested. Couldn't help but notice."

You rolled your eyes and turned your attention back to the waves. "I'm not interested. Go bother someone else."

He chuckled and stepped closer. "Now why would I do that? You're far more entertaining than those louts."

"I'm not."

"That's exactly what someone entertaining would say."

You cross your arms. "You're very annoying you know that?"

"So I've been told." His grin didn't falter, but his gaze flicked to your wrist, where a braided leather bracelet peeked out from your sleeve.

"Nice bracelet," he said, tilting his head as he studied it. "Where'd you get it?"

You immediately yanked your sleeve down and cover it. "None of your business." your tone was harsher now.

"Woah, easy there. Didn't mean to offend."

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, his expression shifting slightly. It wasn't predatory nor was it entirely teasing.

If anything it was...curious.

"You're unusual," he said finally, his tone more thoughtful. "But in a good way. Pretty even...for a boy."

Your head snapped up, your glare hot. He met your gaze with a raised brow and a smirk that dared you to retort.

But when you didn't speak he held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off. Don't want you throwing me overboard."

He takes a step back and bows theatrically. "Odysseus of Ithaca, Son of Laertes if you must know," he said, his voice dripping with mock grandeur. "And you are...?"

You barely sent a glance out the corner of your eye, still staring out at the open sea. "I don't have one." The lie slipped easily past your lips.

His grin sharpened, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Everyone has a name. But if you want to be Nobody I won't argue. Nice to meet you Nobody."

Without waiting for your response, he turned and walked away, weaving effortlessly through the crowd of sailors and soldiers like he belonged there.

You watched him go, your irritation simmering beneath the surface.

There was something about him—something too clever, too perceptive. You made a mental note to avoid him as much as possible.

Whatever Odysseus of Ithaca wanted, it didn't matter. You had bigger things to focus on—bigger risks to take.

So let him play his games with the others.

There was a test that awaited you. One you wouldn't let anyone—least of all him—get in your way.