𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 ᵉᵖⁱᶜ ᵐᵘˢⁱᶜᵃˡ

˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

Chapter 33. THE PALLADIUM HEIST

❝In the labyrinth of Troy's palace, shadows became allies, and every misstep threatened doom❞

˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

The corridors of the Trojan palace were a maze of polished stone and flickering torchlight, each turn feeling more narrower as the echoes of shouting guards chased after you.

“Great job,” you huffed between ragged breaths as you bolt down another passageway, casting a sharp glare toward Neoptolemus—damn him—who still ran like he had all the energy in the world.

Not even winded, he had had the audacity to grin, his steps light despite the absolute disaster he had just caused.

"I know right? But in my defense..." He nods toward his hip where the pure golden sword now rested. The hilt was bejeweled, covered with sapphires and rubies—a true weapon fit for a Prince.

"You’re not defending yourself at all!" you snapped, barely dodging an overturned brazier as you rounded the next corner. “You couldn’t help nearly knocking over an entire damn shelf of treasures, making enough noise to wake the dead?!”

“Hey it wasn’t that loud!”

You shot him a look so scathing he physically flinched.

Hours...

Hours spent slinking through enemy territory; weaving through endless corridors, dodging nobles and guards alike, and failing miserably at finding the actual reason you had infiltrated the palace: the Palladium.

And where had you ended up?

In the treasury.

A room filled with dazzling heirlooms and relics. Gold and gemstones piled high, the wealth of generations displayed before you like an offering to the Gods.

Any lingering guards around had been otherwise preoccupied with wine or flirting with servant girls. Knowing this, a plan had been created, very simple—stay quiet, don’t touch anything, and get out.

But then Neoptolemus had laid eyes on the golden blade and suddenly all sense of reason abandoned him.

And now here you were, running for your lives.

You gritted your teeth as you glanced over your shoulder, hearing the footsteps of soldiers growing closer. "You just had to grab the damn sword," you hissed as more voices rang from behind you.

“Oh come on. You’re no better,” Neoptolemus counters, his tone far too smug for someone who had singlehandedly triggered the chaos.

You blinked.

“...Excuse me?”

Neoptolemus sends a pointed look to your messenger bag.

Your hands tightened around the strap as you adjusted it against your hip.

He raised a brow. “Was the two gold goblets enough? Or how about those six gold bracelets? Matter of fact...maybe the hundreds—if not thousands—of rings, necklaces, and earrings—”

“Alright!” you cut him off, face heating. You lift your chin with a sniff of indignation, gripping your bag protectively as you haughtily declared, “I am a lady after all. A lady must have beautiful things to wear when the war is over.”

Neoptolemus stared at you.

You looked away. “I want to look pretty too sometimes...”

Neoptolemus lifted his hands in mock surrender, clearly biting back laughter. “Right. Of course. Who am I to argue?”

Before you could deliver a properly scathing retort the shouts of the palace guards grew louder as the two of you kept running. But you were slowing down.

Your legs burn from the effort.

Your lungs ached.

Each step becoming heavier than the last

And then, finally—you stopped. Hands braced on your knees, you bent forward, gasping for air, your shoulders rising and falling in heaving breaths.

Neoptolemus skidded to a halt a few steps ahead before whipping around. "What are you doing?! Come on!"

You lifted a weak trembling hand, dramatically holding out the hand-drawn map for him to take. “Go on,” you wheezed dramatically. “Leave me.”

Neoptolemus visibly balked. “What?! No I’m not leaving you!”

You shook your head solemnly. “I won’t make it. It’s too late for me.”

Neoptolemus looked wildly between you and the corridor. “We’re literally almost there! Just—just get up and keep moving!”

You sighed in exhaustion. “I’m getting too old,” you muttered.

Neoptolemus faltered, confusion flashing across his face. "But aren’t you like thir—"

Your head snapped up so fast it could’ve cracked stone. You bore a stiff smile, eyes dark and empty.

His lips parted then shut before a wobbly smile appeared, barely hiding the fear in his eyes.

“I—I mean it’s impossible!” he quickly corrects himself. “You’re one of the best fighters the Greeks have! Your endurance should be through the roof!”

You groaned, rolling your shoulders before placing a dramatic hand on your lower back.

“Doesn’t matter how good you are,” you lamented. “Time will always find a way to remind you just how quickly weariness takes hold of your body—especially in your bones. And your back.”

To illustrate your point, you did a comically exaggerated stretch, releasing a groan of relief as if trying to shake out the knots.

Neoptolemus rubbed his face looking equal parts exasperated and amused. He opened his mouth to respond when—

“I think they went this way!”

The sudden shout from behind jolted you both into focus.

Your eyes widened in horror as Neoptolemus' gaze snapped toward the approaching shadows at the end of the corridor. Before you could so much as move, strong arms suddenly wrapped around you. A startled yelp tore from your throat as your feet left the ground.

Neoptolemus had thrown you over his shoulder.

“HEY—”

He bolted before you could finish.

The wind rushed past you, your stomach lurching as you flailed, gripping onto him and your bag with a vice-like hold.

“Put me down you little—!”

“Nope!” Neoptolemus called over his shoulder as he sprinted full speed. You could hear the absolute delight in his voice he ran. He twisted through corridors, taking sharp turns at a pace that made you dizzy.

The sound of approaching footsteps was drowned out by the sheer volume of your protests, but Neoptolemus remained unbothered, carrying you as if you weighed nothing.

"You're insane!"

"No, I’m efficient!"

"I swear if you don't put me down—"

"Then we’ll get caught! And then I’ll have to explain to Agamemnon one Greece’s most terrifying warriors was too tired to keep running!"

You let out an unholy screech as he narrowly avoided colliding with a servant carrying a tray of food, your body bouncing slightly with the movement.

"I'm going to kill yoooooou!"

Neoptolemus just laughed, effortlessly moving through the palace as if this was nothing more than a game. "Better do it after we get out of here then!"

All you could do at this point was hold on for dear life, your indignant cries drowned out by the sound of his thundering footsteps—

And the palace guards chasing after you.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The rhythmic sound of Neoptolemus’ breathing filled the dimly lit corridors as he sprinted through the Trojan palace. Somewhere behind you the faint echoes of shouts and steel-clad boots had long since disappeared.

The guards had either lost the trail or had given up, but Neoptolemus—clearly running on pure adrenaline—had yet to stop.

“Neoptolemus!” you hissed, tightening your grip on his shoulder. “I think we lost them!”

He ignored you.

“Neoptolemus stop!”

Still nothing.

Your eye twitch.

With zero hesitation you slap the back of his head.

“Ow!” He finally stumbles to a halt, one hand rubbing the sore spot. “Was that necessary?!”

You ignored him, already gripping the corner of the nearest wall, using it to wrench yourself out of his hold. As soon as your feet hit the ground, you started backtracking to an open doorway you had barely glimpsed as he ran.

Neoptolemus let out a long-suffering sigh before trailing after you. “Gods you’re violent…”

You still didn’t respond, something about that room pulling at you.

As you stepped closer a sound filled the air, soft and faint.

Weeping.

You stiffened.

Neoptolemus did too.

He leans over your shoulder, brows furrowed as he tries to get a glimpse inside before glancing down at you and mouthing, What’s going on?

You didn’t answer because you didn’t know.

Your hands curled into fists. You knew you should be focused on finding the Palladium, on completing the mission. But something about those cries...

You took a slow step forward pass the chamber's threshold.

The room beyond was drenched in darkness; the only source of light was the moon’s glow spilling through the open window, casting a pale spectral sheen across the cold marble floors.

You hesitated for just a moment before softly speaking. “Hello?”

The crying stopped immediately; a sharp gasp followed by the sound of rustling fabric, the hidden figure jerking away from the noise.

“It’s alright,” you quickly raise your hands in a reassuring motion. “I don’t mean you any harm.”

There was no reply.

Your eyes swept the room until you finally spotted them; curled beneath the heavy drapes near the open window, the fabric shielding them completely from the moonlight.

Your heart ached at the sight.

“I'm sorry to ask this but...” your voice become softer now. “Why are you crying?”

Silence.

Then, a shaky inhale. “Because I have sinned.”

The voice was feminine, fragile—as if it might shatter if spoken any louder.

Your brows furrowed. “Sinned?”

She sucked in a shuddering breath, shoulders hunched forward as if trying to make herself smaller. “I have...destroyed the only meaning of my life,” she rasped. “The only love I have ever known. All because of my anger.”

The guilt in her voice—the regret—it was too familiar. It echoed the shame that had sat heavy on your own chest since the day Achilles fell.

Your fingers twitched as you stepped closer. “It’s not your fault.”

The woman let out a bitter laugh full of self-loathing. “But It is. Because of my rage, I let him waste away when I could have saved him.”

The sobs came harder now causing you to awkwardly shift on your feet in uncertainty.

“I tried to justify it,” she continued in a cracking voice, “tried to tell myself he deserved it, that he was the one who left me first. But now...” She trails off as if the weight of her guilt crushed her mid-sentence.

"Hey..." you started, "It's uh...it's okay?"  A half-hearted attempt to soothe the crying woman.

The words sounded unnatural even to your own ears, but what were you supposed to say? Comforting weeping strangers wasn’t exactly your repertoire—especially when you were here to rob her city blind.

You began to fidget, trying to find something to say, anything to say to make it stop—until you caught the name she wailed.

"Paris."

Your blood ran cold.

You blinked rapidly as you scrambled to process what you just heard. “Paris?” you echo. “As in…Prince of Troy?”

The sniffles quieted as she straightened. “…Yes?”

You opened your mouth but no words came out.

'Okay...clearly this isn’t Helen.'

If there was one thing you knew, it was that Helen of Sparta (now Helen of Troy) wasn’t the weeping type. That woman wouldn’t shed a single tear unless it was over a broken nail or split end.

But this woman....

'Paris had another lover?'

She moved forward into the moonlight as you tried to think of what to say next. And the moment she did you stumbled back.

Thick curls in twists tumbled around her shoulders with water lilies scattered within the strands, their petals resting delicately amidst the coils. Her brown skin held a faint blue undertone that shimmered softly as if kissed by moonlight reflecting off water.

A permanent blue blush rested on the bridge of her nose and upper cheeks; subtle but unnatural. The same hue dusted her lips giving them a permanent glossy sheen.

And her dress...it clung to her, perpetually damp. Moss and aquatic plants were woven over its sheerest parts to preserve an air of modesty.

But that wasn’t what stunned you.

It was her face.

She looked like you. Or rather a younger, nymph-like version.

If you had been born of the rivers and lakes, if your veins had been filled by those of freshwater deities rather than mortal blood—this is what you might have looked like.

She must have caught your confused expression because her lips wobbled into a self-deprecating smile.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know me…” she murmured, voice hoarse from crying. “No one does anymore. Not since he—” Her words caught in her throat, tears slipping down her cheeks once more.

"Oenone?" The breathless whisper made both of you startle.

You turned sharply, hand instinctively going to the hidden dagger on your thigh only to see it was Neoptolemus.

He had left his post outside the chamber, now standing frozen beside you wide-eyed, his face painted with awe and disbelief. “You’re real...”

You rose your brows and turned back to her. The name did sound familiar.

But before you could pull from the depths of your memory why, she took a sharp step back, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "How do you know my name?"

Neoptolemus blinked seeming to remember himself. “I—uh—heard stories,” He stammered quickly, visibly flustered. “The accounts of Prince Paris—how he was raised as a simple shepherd boy before he was found to be of royal blood and returned to Troy. And in every version, there was always someone beside him.”

His eyes softened, his tone gentler now. "Someone who loved him more than love itself."

Oenone visibly stiffened.

"But when Helen arrived…" Neoptolemus trailed off as if the knowledge itself pained him. “You were never spoken of again.”

A shuddering breath left Oenone’s lips as she looked away. "Because I was nothing left to him." Her hands balled into fists, nails pressing into her palms.

“He moved me here to Troy,” she murmured, “to keep me out of sight. Told me he couldn’t bear another man looking at me—his first love.” A laugh left her lips, though it was more mournful than amused. “And like a fool I believed him.”

You watched her carefully. There was a deep sadness in her voice, but no anger...no hatred.

Just the bone-deep grief of someone who had been abandoned without a second thought.

"I knew Paris was a jealous thing," she quietly confessed. "I knew he was selfish. He could never stand the thought of me loving another that wasn’t him while he ran freely wherever his heart wandered."

A shaky sigh.

"And I was okay with it because he always came back to me." Her lashes fluttered shut, her throat working against another wave of emotions. "Until he didn’t."

Neoptolemus finished for her, his tone laced with understanding. “Because of Helen.”

Oenone's gaze fell to the floor, her hands tightly gripping the fabric of her dress.

This was it.

This was your chance.

"Oenone," you start gently. "We need your help."

She glanced up at you warily. "For what?"

You and Neoptolemus exchange a silent look.

"We’re Greek soldiers."

Oenone stiffened immediately.

"Wait—!" You raised your hands in peace before she could do anything drastic. "We mean you no harm!"

Neoptolemus quickly followed suit. "We came to steal the Palladium," he says earnestly, tone sincere. "And we need someone who knows this palace to help us get there."

Oenone remained rigid, her lips parting before she snapped her mouth shut. Her gaze flickered between you two, searching, assessing when suddenly....she lets out a breathy laugh.

She shook her head almost amused. "This city really is doomed huh?" There was no sorrow in her voice.

Only acceptance.

You hesitated. "You’ll help us?"

Oenone’s expression grew unreadable.

"...I had planned to leave Troy anyway. Paris is dead," she murmured. "Perhaps it is time to let go.”

Fingers trailing along the moss that decorated her dress, her lips curling slightly. "So yes," she said. "I’ll show you where the Palladium is."

Her gaze lifted to meet yours.

"And when this city falls, I will not shed a tear."