𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 ᵉᵖⁱᶜ ᵐᵘˢⁱᶜᵃˡ

˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

Chapter 23. THE UNFORESEEN GIFT

❝The best things in life are unexpected—because there were no expectations.❞

˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

War on Troy: Year 10

A year had passed since Hector's death. One full year since Achilles’ roaring vengeance had shaken the battlefield and left Troy in disarray. It had been ten years now since the war began—a full decade of blood, sweat, and sacrifice.

The Greeks had moved back to its original position by the sea away from the river Scamander. Even change in location did nothing. Battles had become sparse in recent months, the Trojans seeming more cautious with every passing day.

Yet that did not make the Greeks any less vigilant. They used this quiet period to recuperate, strengthen their defenses and plan for the inevitable clashes to come.

You walked through the winding paths of the camp, your thoughts wandering as you finished yet another task assigned to you by Penelope.

It had been simple—nothing more than delivering a few spare arrows to one of the younger soldiers. Something so basic it was almost laughable for someone of your rank.

And yet Penelope insisted it had to be you.

You couldn’t help but notice the pattern of small errands that had consumed your day. Since sunrise your every waking moment had been filled with trivial tasks. Whenever you finished one, another request seemed to crop up:

Achilles had sent you to retrieve something from his armory...

Then Diomedes had stopped you, tasking you with overseeing the distribution of food rations...

Polites, of all people, had somehow roped you into recalibrating the Ithacan siege engines, his meticulous nature dragging the process into a long-winded explanation of their mechanisms....

Even Eurylochus had found something for you to do, his usual stoicism barely masking the strange insistence on you inspecting the defensive perimeter of the camp....

The strangest request, however, had come from Nestor.

The aging warrior had asked you to help train one of his sons, Antilochus—a boy you hadn’t even known existed until this morning. Despite his youthful exuberance, the boy’s nerves were palpable.

His squeaky voice cracked whenever the conversation turned to weapons. He practically jumped out of his skin when you suggested moving the training to the beach, forcing you to stay where you were to avoid pushing him too far.

Shaking your head at the memory, you continued walking through the camp, the sand crunching softly beneath your feet.

Is this what you've had been reduced to? Running errands?

“____!”

The sudden call of your name made you pause and turn. Briseis was rushing toward you, her dark hair bouncing as she practically skipped toward you. Her face was lit with a wide smile, her excitement radiating from her like sunlight.

“Briseis?” you were confused by her unusual enthusiasm. Before you could say more, she grabbed your arm and began dragging you forward with surprising strength for someone her size.

“Come on!” she exclaimed, barely slowing her pace as she pulled you along.

“What—Briseis, what’s going on?” you asked as you stumbled to keep up with her.

She didn’t answer, too caught up in her energy.

Soldiers turned to watch as the fearsome Second-in-Command of Ithaca was dragged through the camp by an eighteen-year-old. Their amused smiles and raised eyebrows doing nothing to help your embarrassment.

“Briseis!” you yelped half-mortified.

When you reached the beach, the sight that greeted you made you falter.

A small group of people stood in a loose circle near the sand. You recognized them immediately: Achilles, Penelope, Polites, Diomedes, Eurylochus, Nestor, and even his son Antilochus.

But what caught your attention most, however, was the glowing figure of Thetis standing among them. The Nereid seemed to vibrate with childlike glee once you neared.

“____!” Thetis rushed forward as she extended her hands in greeting while blurting out, “Surprise!”

Your brows furrowed. “Surprise? For what?”

Before Thetis could answer your gaze was drawn to the center of the group. There, nestled in a shallow crater in the sand, was a gleaming silver handle protruding from the ground.

Its polished surface caught the light, shimmering faintly as though imbued with its own glow. You blinked, looking at the mysterious object then back at the group. “What...is this?”

Achilles stepped forward with his chin lifted proudly. “It’s your birthday present,” he said as though the answer should have been obvious.

You froze.

“...birthday?” you repeated dumbly, your voice barely above a whisper. The realization hit you like a wave.

It was your birthday.

A hand flew to your forehead, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “It-it never even crossed my mind,” you muttered to yourself. “With the war and everything else...how did you even know?” your gaze scanned the group in disbelief.

All eyes turned to Penelope who stood with her arms crossed and a knowing smile gracing her lips. “How couldn’t I know?” she said warmly. “You and Odysseus share the same birthday. Another trait two of my favorite people have in common; born on the same day.”

The heat in your face deepened, your embarrassment growing by the second. “Penelope,” you groaned. “You know I don’t like parties or celebrations—especially not gifts.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow, her smile never faltering. “What about the gift Odysseus gave you all those years ago? You didn’t seem to mind that.”

You wave your hand dismissively. “A magical messenger bag with unlimited space is practical. It’s not the same as a gift. It’s basically a tool.”

Penelope’s grin widened. “Then it’s a good thing this is a tool as swell.”

Her words made you pause. “It is?”

“Of course,” she replied teasingly. “You really think I don’t know you well enough by now?” That's when she nods toward the crater with a glint in her eye. “See for yourself.”

Your gaze flickered over the group one last time—Nestor, his son Antilochus, Achilles, Polites, Eurylochus, Thetis, Briseis, and of course Penelope herself.

Their expressions ranged from subtle amusement to barely restrained excitement. Thetis in particular seemed almost giddy as though she could barely contain herself.

You let out a slow breath before stepping into the crater. The soft sand gave way beneath your sandals as you approached the gleaming handle.

For a moment you hesitated, the cool silver glinting like a shard of moonlight as if waiting for you. The air felt heavy with anticipation, the world growing quiet save for the distant crash of waves against the shore.

Reaching down, your fingers closed around the handle. The cool metal thrummed faintly beneath your touch as though alive. You gave it a firm tug and the sand released its hold with ease.

Out of the ground rose one of the most breathtaking weapons you had ever seen.

It was a double-headed war axe, its blades gleaming in the sun as if forged from the very stars themselves. Each head was massive yet perfectly balanced. The silver surface was streaked with irregular blotches of gold that caught and scattered the light giving the weapon a celestial quality.

The handle was equally stunning—crafted from polished steel and wrapped in wire at the base for grip, it exuded both elegance and strength. At its midpoint a vivid ruby-red stone was embedded, glowing faintly as though housing a tiny ember within.

You stared speechless.

“Well?” Achilles’ voice broke through your trance, his tone teasing but laced with genuine curiosity. “How does it feel?”

Blinking, you shifted the axe in your grip, testing its weight. It was heavier than what you were used to—substantially so—but as you adjusted your stance the balance felt right...natural even.

“A little heavier than my usual weapons,” you admitted, giving it another experimental swing, the air humming as the blades cut through it. “But nothing I can’t handle.”

At your words the group seemed to collectively relax, a few letting out audible sighs of relief.

“Thank the Gods,” Thetis said with a dramatic flourish, her melodic voice tinged with humor. “That means the enchantments are working.”

You frowned, glancing between the weapon and the Sea nymph. “Enchantments?”

Thetis’ smile grew wider as she stepped closer. “Oh yes! Did you really think this was just an ordinary gift? Everyone here contributed something to its creation.”

“The gold you see in the blades,” she points toward the faint streaks scattered across the axe, “came from Penelope’s hair clips.” Startled, you turned to Penelope, who was already smiling. It was then you noticed the familiar golden pins absent from her dark locks.

 “The wire at the bottom of the handle,” Thetis continued, “came from Polites’ old glasses.” Your eyes flicked to Polites' face as he stepped forward, adjusting his glasses with a sheepish shrug. The new pair he was wearing shinned in the sunlight.

“And the ruby?” Thetis motions to the brilliant stone embedded in the handle. “That was provided by Nestor. It came from an heirloom piece of jewelry that has been in his family for generations.”

Nestor smiled warmly, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment. “It seemed fitting for a weapon worthy of someone like you.” He said, his gruff voice carrying a hint of pride

You blinked in astonishment, your grip tightening on the axe. “You...you all gave up things for this?”

Achilles smirked as moved closer. “Oh that’s not all,” he said casually. “The metals used for the axe blades were reforged from mine and Diomedes’ sword. Patroclus’ spear provided the central support. That and your sword and dagger...”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What?!” you nearly squawked.

Immediately without thinking your hand flew to your scabbard, drawing the sword at your hip. Your mouth fell open as you stared at it—it wasn’t your sword at all! Nor was the dagger strapped to your thigh.

'No wonder why he insisted on using only the wooden swords...'

“Antilochus!” you hissed, turning to Nestor’s son who was already grinning sheepishly.

“Sorry!” he squeaked, holding up his hands in defense. “I-it was part of the plan. We needed to keep you distracted during training and you’d never have let us take your weapons otherwise!”

Thetis stepped in before you could scold him further, her serene presence diffusing your frustration. “Oh don’t be too hard on him,” she said with a light laugh. “There’s more to this axe than meets the eye.”

She gestured to the weapon in your hands. “This axe is enchanted so that only you and those you give blessing to can wield it. To anyone else, mortal or divine, it will be immovable. Even the Gods themselves would find it impossible to lift.”

Eurylochus grunted, gesturing to a broken carriage and ropes nearby. “Believe me, we tried. That’s why we had to leave it in the sand.”

Your head spun as you processed their words.

You could only stare at them, your gaze shifting between the axe in your hands and the faces around you. The weight of their thoughtfulness was overwhelming.

Silence fell over the group. Everyone seemed to shift on their feet, awaiting your reaction.

Achilles finally broke the silence, raising an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” you repeated softly. Your grip on the handle tightened as a smile—a bright and genuine—broke across your face. It was a smile that hadn’t graced your lips in years, not since before the war had stolen so much.

“I love it,” you said, your voice brimming with emotion. “Thank you. Truly.”

The men around you flushed, caught off guard by the rare sight of your unguarded happiness.

Nestor and Antilochus turned their head while Polites adjusted his glasses unnecessarily to hide the light tint on his cheeks. Even Eurylochus cleared his throat, his stoic mask cracking ever so slightly.

Penelope, however, held your gaze—her own smile warm and proud. Achilles stood beside her as he looked at you with a tenderness that made your chest tighten.

And as the waves crashed against the shore, and setting sun above casted its warm glow, you couldn’t help but feel genuine joy and happiness.

That perhaps—the Gods hadn’t entirely forsaken you.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The camp was alive with drunken laughter, boisterous singing, and the occasional clanging of mugs as the soldiers partied. Achilles, ever the instigator, had insisted the day of your birth be seen as a hero’s occasion.

“A day as significant as this,” he slung an arm around your shoulder as the men roared in approval, “deserves more than silence and duty—it deserves song and the stories of your victories!”

Though you had repeatedly told him such grandeur wasn’t necessary, the son of Peleus was as stubborn as he was skilled. And so, the camp had erupted in festivities—songs in your honor, overflowing wine, and soldiers toasting your name.

Yet even amidst the joy and camaraderie a weight had lingered in your chest. It wasn’t sadness—not exactly. It was something heavier, more contemplative.

Perhaps it was the newly gifted weapon strapped against your back. Or perhaps it was the quiet reflection that comes with realizing how much time had passed—ten years of war...ten years of blood and battle.

Whatever the reason, you’d slipped away.

Now, as you walked further from the noise, the gentle pressure of the double-headed axe was a grounding presence. The cool breeze kissed your cheeks as you made your way through the trees, your sandals crunching softly against the earth.

At last you reached a small clearing. A small stream wove through the land, its babbling waters accompanied by the occasional chirp of crickets brought an unexpected sense of calm.

You could barely make out the faint flickers of firelight from the camp at this point, their glow distant and dim against the vast expanse of stars above.

Focusing your attention to the stream, you knelt by its edge and dipped your hands into the cool water. The sensation was refreshing as it washed away the lingering grime of the day.

You let the water trickle between your fingers before standing and tilting your head back to gaze at the sky. The sight was breathtaking; a canvas of inky black pierced by countless stars. Constellations stretched endlessly, their soft glow a reminder of how vast the world truly was.

You couldn't help but close your eyes as you draw in a deep breath to let the night wash over you. For the first time, you allowed yourself to simply exist—to be still and present in the moment.

The peace was short-lived.

Your head snapped toward the sudden sound of footsteps. Body tensed, your hand flies to the handle of your axe as you moved toward the sound.

Across the stream a figure emerged from the shadows. They were cloaked from head to toe in a dark hooded garment, their form obscured by the fabric.

The faint glow of moonlight barely illuminated their features and their presence sent a ripple of unease down your spine. The stranger raised their hands in a gesture of nonaggression. “I mean no harm,” they said, their voice soft yet oddly resonant.

It was hard to place—the tone hovered somewhere between masculine and feminine, androgynous in its lilting cadence.

Your grip on the axe tightened as your eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

Their hands still raised, the figure replied smoothly. “Simply a mere traveler.”

Your lips twisted into a humorless smile. “A mere traveler huh?”

“Yes,” The figure took a step closer. “A mere traveler who couldn’t help but seek out famed warrior of the Greeks.”

The compliment did nothing to ease your wariness. You shift into a defensive stance. “Leave,” you said sharply. Your tone left no room for argument.

The figure let out a soft hum, the sound oddly pleased. “Fiery and bold,” they mused, tilting their head. “I like that.”

You scoffed as your lips pulled into a sneer. “Funny,” you retort, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Could’ve sworn I’ve heard those words before...”

For a moment the figure remained silent. Then, without warning, they reached up and pulled back their hood causing the cloak to fall away to the ground.

Your breath hitched.

The woman who stood before you was...striking.

No, more than that—she was breathtaking in a way that demanded attention.

Her long blood-red hair tumbled in waves down her back, the strands catching the faint moonlight like a river of fire. Her eyes were a piercing green that held a glint so intense a shiver went down your spine. Skin was kissed by the sun, a splash of freckles spanned across her high cheekbones and strong jawline, adding a touch of softness to her otherwise fierce appearance.

She was tall with a commanding presence—her physique a perfect balance of strength and elegance.

Her toned frame accentuated by the armor she wore: a finely crafted bronze breastplate adorned with intricate motifs of crescent moons and snarling animals. Polished pauldrons adorned her shoulders while her shins were protected by greaves etched with similar motifs. At her waist sat a curved kopis in its scabbard, the hilt gleaming faintly in the dim light.

There was an air about her that spoke of royalty—ferocity tempered by authority. You could only stare, caught off guard by her beauty.

“Well,” her full lips curl into a smirk. “Do I pass inspection?”

You blink, shaking yourself out of your stupor, though your hand remained firmly on your axe. “Who are you?” you demanded again, your voice firmer this time.

The woman’s smile widened though her eyes remained sharp.

“I suppose introductions are in order,” she said confidently. “I am Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons.”

Your throat tightened as the name settled over you like a heavy weight. “Daughter of Ares,” you muttered to yourself. Apparently it wasn't quiet enough.

“Ah,” Her smirk morphed into a wolfish, menacing smile—spitting image of her father. “So you’ve heard of me.”

Your grip on your axe instinctively tightened, your knuckles whitening as your heart began to race. You took a careful step back as your eyes scanned her form for any sign of sudden movement.

“I’ve heard plenty,” you say cautiously. “What I don’t recall is hearing anything about the Amazons aiding the Greeks in this war.”

Her smile only grew wider as a flicker of something mischievous danced in her gaze. “That’s because we’re not,” she said plainly, her tone calm but laced with steel. “We’re here to aid Troy.”

Your pulse quickened.

Eyes darting behind her toward the treeline, you searched for movement—any sign of of her warriors. If the Amazons were here...

But Penthesilea, ever observant, caught your shift in focus and raised a hand in a gesture of reassurance. “Relax,” she said teasingly. “I’m alone. I prefer to scout ahead myself. I like to get a sense of what I’m facing.”

Her words did little to ease the tension coiled in your chest.

You studied her carefully, noting the way her body remained poised, her hand resting casually near the hilt of her sword. Despite her apparent calm she was clearly ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

“And what exactly are you hoping to gain from this little...scouting mission?”

Penthesilea’s smile turned predatory, her gaze locking onto yours. “I came for you.”

The statement made your heart skip a beat though you kept your expression neutral. “Me?”

“Yes you. The stories of Ithaca’s Second-in-Command precede you. A warrior unlike any other, one who stands shoulder to shoulder with Kings and Queens.”

Your grip on your axe faltered for a moment before you steeled yourself.

“What do you want?” you ask bluntly.

 “A fight,” she simply says. “You and me. No armies, no interruptions.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “A fight?”

“To the death,” she clarified, her green eyes glinting with excitement.

Your body tensed. “And the catch?”

“If you win the Amazons will not join Troy in this war. But if I win…” She let the words hang in the air, her meaning unmistakable.

The weight of the challenge bore down on you. Refusal wasn’t an option, not with what was at stake.

You adjust the grip on your axe and met her gaze. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Penthesilea’s smile turned feral as she unsheathed her curved sword with a flourish. “Good. Show me what Ithaca’s finest is made of.”

Without another word the fight began.

She moved first—closing the distance between you in the blink of an eye. Her kopis sword flashed in the moonlight as she swung it toward you, the blade aimed for your side. You parried with your axe causing the clash of metal to ring out like thunder. Sparks flew as her strength pressed against yours, her smirk unwavering as she pushed you back.

Penthesilea was fast; her movements fluid and precise, each strike calculated to test your defenses.

Your teeth grits as you swung your axe in a wide arc, aiming for her shoulder. She ducked beneath the strike with ease as her sword graze your upper arm in a shallow cut. The sting of the wound sharpened your focus. Adjusting your grip, you press forward with a series of aggressive strikes that drives back her defense for a moment.

“Not bad,” she said as she deflected your blows. “But I expected more from the famed Ithacan warrior.”

Her words were meant to provoke but you refused to rise to the bait.

Instead you doubled down by stepping in closer, catching her off guard with a sudden upward swing. She twists away before you could land a solid hit leaving a faint scratch across the bronze of her armor where your axe grazed her.

The fight continued with the two of you circling each other like predators. She managed another shallow cut this time across your brow, the sting of it sending a trickle of blood down your temple.

Eventually the tides turned.

In the motion of swinging your axe the blade narrowly missed her head as she ducked. Before you could recover, she swept your legs out from under you, sending you sprawling onto the ground. Your axe land a few feet away—just out of reach.

Penthesilea wasted no time pinning you down with her knee and pressing the edge of her sword against your neck. Her breath came in steady pants, her expression calm and victorious.

“Not bad,” she repeats once more, voice breathless but laced with approval.

You glared up at her, your chest heaving as you struggled against the weight of her knee. “Get it over with then,” you spat.

You tensed, bracing for the killing blow—but it never came.

Instead Penthesilea stepped back, sheathing her sword. You scrambled to your feet, grabbing your axe as you kept your eyes on her. “Why? Why spare me?”

She shrugs nonchalantly. “Because I lied. The fight was never to the death. I just wanted to see how you fought.”

Your grip on your axe tightened as you narrowed your eyes at her. “And that's because...?”

Her smirk returned. “Because you intrigue me,” she said, her tone laced with a dangerous edge. “That...and because I wanted to see the Unclaimed One in action without the pressure of battle.”

The name made you pause. It was a title you hadn’t heard in years—not since Ares himself had whispered it on the shores of Aulis.

Your moment of distraction was all she needed.

She reached for her discarded cloak, draping it over her shoulders while leaving the hood down.

“Farewell,” her voice carried easily across the clearing. “Oh and a word of advice—keep your guard up. The Trojans are planning a surprise attack at dawn.”

Her words took you aback, your mind reeling at the sudden revelation.

“Why tell me?” you finally managed to ask. “I thought you were siding with Troy.”

Penthesilea glance back at you over her shoulder. Her smile turned wicked, her green eyes glinting with mischief.

“Perhaps I just want to make sure you survive,” she said, her tone almost playful. “We need to have a proper rematch after all.” She tilted her head as her expression softened into something almost...inviting.

“Who knows? If we both survive this war, you could always join me. As my equal. As a Queen of the Amazons.”

Heat rushed to your face at her bold proposition. Words failed you as she stepped back, her laughter soft and rich in the night air. “Until next time, ____ of Ithaca”

And with that, she vanishes into the shadows as though she had never been there.

You stood there frozen, the night’s events replaying in your mind.

The duel...her identity...her warning....even her flirtation.

Letting out a shaky breath, you strap your axe back on your back and began making your way back to the camp, your pace quickening with every step.

Whatever awaited you at dawn, one thing was clear—you would face it prepared.