𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 ᵉᵖⁱᶜ ᵐᵘˢⁱᶜᵃˡ

˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

Chapter 38. STORM BEFORE THE CALM

❝Everything we see hides another❞

˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

The tide had begun to shift—both literally and figuratively.

Neoptolemus watched as the the trio began to wade into the waters. The waves rose up around Laocoön's knees, the hem of his robes darkening, becoming heavy with seawater as he lifted his hands to the sky.

Antiphantes and Thymbraeus stood before him, their hands struggling to keep hold of a writhing sheep, its panicked bleating swallowed by the wind.

Neoptolemus couldn't hear the priest’s words over the rising sound of the sea.

That was the first sign.

The second came suddenly; two enormous shadows—massive, shifting, monstrous—lurking beneath the water's surface. Their bodies coiled out of the depths, scales shimmering like wet onyx under the midday sun.

Serpents.

The Trojans at the shoreline had begun to stagger to their feet, stunned into motionless silence as the beasts rose from the deep.

"Gods above..." The words came from Sinon, hesitant, almost disbelieving.

Aeneas’ voice was grim as he confirmed the truth. "Porces and Chariboea."

A chill ran through Neoptolemus’ spine.

He had heard whispers of them before. Twin sea serpents—Poseidon’s wrath made manifest.

"They have been seen near Troy for years," Aeneas murmured almost distantly. "Ever since King Laomedon slighted the Gods..."

King Laomedon—Priam’s father, the former ruler of Troy. A man who had once commissioned Poseidon and Apollo to build the walls that still protected the city to this very day. A man who had refused to pay them once the work was done.

"Poseidon never forgave him," Aeneas continued. "They have lurked along the coast ever since. Never approaching—only watching. Taunting. A reminder of what we owed and never repaid."

Neoptolemus’ fingers curled into a tight fist as he watched the serpents move beneath the waves.

For years Troy had assumed their presence was a warning.

But today?

Today they moved.

The Trojan guards were yelling now, some scrambling for their weapons, others calling out warnings to Laocoön and his sons—but the priest was focused solely on the ritual before him, his blade poised over the sheep's throat.

The serpents struck the moment the blade pierced flesh.

It happened fast.

Too fast.

One moment, Antiphantes and Thymbraeus stood before their father, hands bloodied from the sacrifice, and the next—

The coils wrapped around them.

A strangled cry tore from Antiphantes' throat as the first serpent latched onto him, its fanged maw tearing into his shoulder, the sickening crunch of bone audible even from within the wooden horse.

Thymbraeus screamed, his small hands clawing uselessly at the scales coiled around his body, his legs kicking wildly.

Laocoön whirled around at the sound of his sons' cries.

"NO!" his voice ripped through the air in a raw agonized scream. He did not hesitate. He lunged forward and reached for them, a father’s desperation overtaking all logic.

But he was no match.

The second serpent was already upon him; massive coils wrapping around the priest, his body jerking violently as the serpent squeezed, crushing the air from his lungs.

His screams became strangled gasps as it reared back and struck like a viper, sinking its fangs into his flesh. The priest’s body convulsed before his limbs became lifeless.

Neoptolemus could only watch.

The serpents did not linger much longer. As swiftly as they had come, they disappeared beneath the waves as if they had never been there at all. The only proof of what had just occurred was the three lifeless bodies washing upon the shore.

Panic among the Trojans was immediate; their voices rose in frantic discussion, struggling to make sense of what had just occurred.

Laocoön—their priest, their seer, a man who had devoted his life to Apollo—was dead. Slaughtered before their very eyes with his sons alongside him.

"Poseidon," one murmured. "This is his revenge."

"Laomedon never repaid the Gods. We have always known this. Perhaps this is the price."

"Then why now?" another argued. "Why strike now after all these years?"

Then, a single voice. Hesitant and quiet. "Perhaps the Gods have spoken."

Sinon.

All eyes turned to him.

He licked his lips as he chose his words carefully. "Laocoön sought to harm the gift. The Gods would not have allowed his blasphemy."

The effect was instant and the panic stilled. Trojan guards looked at one another as Aeneas' gaze snapped to the wooden horse.

It's true. Laocoön had doubted the horse—a sacred offering left behind by the Greeks meant for Athena, and he had been killed for it.

No one dared to argue.

The decision was made swiftly.

Discarded ropes was found among the remains of the abandoned Greek camp. Some of the Trojan guards grabbed them, securing it to the harnesses of their warhorses, while another fastened the other ends to the wooden beast itself.

"Bring it to Troy," Aeneas commanded.

The soldiers obeyed.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

Neoptolemus felt the structure groan under the shift, vibrations rumbling beneath his feet as the horse began its slow movement across the sand.

For the first time since entering, he truly felt the weight of what they were doing.

The sound of the wooden beast grinded against the earth, muffling any sound the Greeks inside made, allowing for hushed conversation without risk of being overheard.

In the dim light stood Penelope near the center of the cramped space, her expression calm and calculating as she surveyed the gathered men. "Listen well."

The murmurs between warriors ceased immediately.

"Once we’re inside, we split into units," she continued firm but quietly. "We only have one chance at this, so no mistakes. Diomedes—" she turned her gaze to the King of Argos, "—you lead the charge."

Diomedes nodded, his grip tightening around his shield and spear. "Understood."

"Eurylochus, Polites—flank the guards as soon as we engage. Make sure no one sounds the alarm."

Eurylochus gave a single firm nod, while beside him, Polites hesitated for half a second before adjusting his glasses and mumbling, "R-right. Got it."

"Menelaus."

The Spartan King straightened, his features unreadable.

"Your job is to open the gates. Once the city is compromised, our forces will pour in."

Menelaus inhaled slowly. Ten years...ten years they had been kept outside those walls. And he would be the one to tear them open. He nods solemnly. "Consider it done."

"Teucer."

The archer, brother of Ajax the Great, had been silent this entire time, quietly inspecting his bowstring. He simply glanced up at Penelope's call with a roll of his shoulders.

"Watch for ambushes. Kill any Trojan who attempts to strike from the shadows."

Teucer said nothing—only ensured his quiver was full.

"Little Ajax."

The young Son of Oileus perked up instantly at the sound of his name, practically bouncing on his heels.

"You stay back."

The excitement on his face vanished. "W-what?"

"You’ll only come out when we’ve secured the city," Penelope continued smoothly. "We need your speed and agility to spread orders through the battlefield. That is your role in this ambush."

Ajax deflated but didn’t argue.

Nestor, who had been watching the discussion unfold with patient eyes, finally spoke up. "And what of Helen?"

Penelope met his gaze evenly. "You will secure and protect her."

The old King exhaled sharply. He flexed his arms slightly, stretching out stiff muscles. Even with age his strength had not left him.

And then—

"Neoptolemus."

She didn’t even have to say it. They both knew his role.

"Avenge your father....kill the brothers of Hector."

Her words echoed in his skull, crashing over him like a wave. His father’s lion-helmed helmet felt heavier than ever upon his head. "Yes ma’am."

Penelope gave a nod in satisfaction. It was then, just as she finished issuing the orders, the horse stopped moving.

Confused murmurs rippled through the men. Someone shifted, peeking through one of the cracks in the wood.

"We’ve reached the gates."

The sounds of shouts filled the air as the great gates of Troy creaked open, allowing another small detachment of Trojan guards to ride out on horseback.

From within the beast, Neoptolemus saw them approach, their heads tilted upward in awe at the colossal wooden horse.

"What is this?"

A voice rang out.

King Priam.

The aging King stepped forward, his gaze fixed upon the offering left behind by his enemies. His voice was thick with both skepticism and wonder.

Sinon’s moment had arrived.

"Merciful King of Troy!" Sinon's voice rang out, hoarse yet carrying a well-practiced desperation.

Neoptolemus could picture him perfectly: kneeling before Priam, his head bowed in feigned submission, entire body trembling just enough to seem pitiful but not pathetic.

"Hear my plea! For the Greeks have forsaken me!"

Neoptolemus leaned forward slightly, trying to see more than what the small gap between the wooden planks provided.

"I was loyal to them once, but when my heart wavered—when I saw the suffering of Troy and dared to speak of it—I was marked a traitor! They abandoned me, left me bound like a dog and left to die on these forsaken shores!"

The gathered Trojans whispered among themselves, their doubt waning the more they listened. Priam’s expression remained unreadable but he did not interrupt.

"And this—this great monument," Sinon gestured toward the horse, "was the final insult! A gift to Athena...a sacred offering to ensure them safe passage home. So much they even made it too large to move within your city walls—deliberately so!"

Priam narrowed his eyes. "Too large?"

Sinon nodded eagerly.

"The Greeks feared that if you succeeded in bringing it into your city, Troy would become invincible against future invasions. That Athena might grant you favor instead. Especially after Ithaca’s Second-in-Command stole the Palladium from your walls."

A ripple of voices rose among the Trojans at that.

Even King Priam looked intrigued, his weathered hands stroking his beard as he studied the towering construct before him. Finally, he gives a final nod of acceptance, "Very well." 

They took the bait.

"Bring it in!"

The voice belonged to Aeneas. The Trojan Prince (perhaps more eager than any) barked the order to move the horse inside the city walls. Inside the wooden structure the Greek soldiers barely moved, but Neoptolemus felt the shift among them. The anticipation.

They were one step closer to ending this wa—

"Wait." King Priam raised a hand.

The air inside the horse changed. Confused glances were exchanged among the hidden warriors as they listened.

What was the delay?

"Before we bring this monument into our gates we need further assurance...fetch Helen."

Every Greek inside the horse went rigid as the name echoed through the air.

Helen of Troy.

The woman who had once been Greek...
The woman who had lived within Troy’s walls for ten years....
The sole cause for this war to begin with simply because of her beauty....

Breath in Neoptolemus' lungs stalled, his blood turning ice-cold.

He glanced at Menelaus who face had gone grime, the Spartan King’s jaw clenched so tightly that the muscle in his cheek twitched, his lips pressed into a thin as he stared forward unmoving.

Footsteps.

Slow and delicate.

"My King," A sultry voice purred, words dripping with something both sweet and venomous. "The Greeks are known for their tricks...but also their weaknesses."

Neoptolemus could hear the amusement in her voice, the methodical way she let her words stretch and settle like a trap waiting to be sprung.

"Love," Helen mused, "the women they hold in their lives, the ones they would burn entire empires to reclaim. That is their weakness."

She paused.

"Well..." A delicate laugh. "Not all of them of course."

A weighted silence followed, thick enough to choke on.

Then—

"Ajax?"

The men inside stilled at the new voice. It was a woman's, filled with longing and hope.

For the first time today, emotion flickered across Teucer's face.

Neoptolemus blinked in disbelief as realization crawled down his spine like ice water. 'She’s mimicking voices?'

"Ajax where are you? I've been waiting for you and Teucer to return. Come home to me please..."

The voice belonged to Tecmessa, Ajax's wife.

Neoptolemus frowns as the cries of the woman wrapped around the horse like a suffocating noose. She doesn't know. 

Helen doesn’t know that Ajax the Great is dead.

"Nestor?"

The King of Pylos flinched.

This voice was different, it was aged and filled warm with devotion. It called for him as if searching, desperate.

"Where are you my love?"

Neoptolemus saw the way Nestor sucked in a sharp breath. How his fingers flexed into a fist before slowly unclenching.

"Agamemnon?" Another voice—this time soft and mournful, laden with grief. "Oh how I wish you were home...My heart mourns for the loss of our daughter."

Helen’s footsteps continued circling the wooden horse, her fingertips trailing along its surface. Every so often a soft knock echoed from the outside as she rapped her knuckles against the wood.

And with each knock, she called out a new name....A new voice.

"Protesilaus!" The name was barely spoken before a wailing cry followed. "My love, my husband! Why did you go? Why did you leave me so soon?"

Laodamia; the wife of the first Greek to die in the war.

Neoptolemus barely registered the discomfort rising from the warriors inside.

Helen kept going.

"Eurylochus..."

Neoptolemus glanced toward the man in question.

"Odysseus and I wait for you." Helen murmured, her voice carrying the familiarity of Ctimene—his wife. Odysseus’ sister. "Ithaca's shores long to see its warriors return…"

Eurylochus stilled. His hands trembled slightly in his lap, his body unnaturally tense.

Unease curled in Neoptolemus' gut. But nothing could have prepared him for the next voice.

"Penelope!"

Every muscle in his body locked, his head snapped toward the Queen of Ithaca. Penelope hadn’t moved; her face was stone. But Neoptolemus saw it: the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her throat bobbed ever so slightly.

Helen called the name again more urgent now.

"Penelope!"

That voice...

"Penelope please—" A broken sob. "Something’s wrong. My wound—those Trojan guards and their arrows—" a sharp inhale, pained and trembling, "I think it’s infected. I don’t—Gods I don’t know what to do."

Menelaus glanced toward her, an apology flashing in his expression—she didn’t see it though. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her hands clenched so tightly at her sides her knuckles had turned white.

It didn’t matter that she knew you were on a ship bound for Tenedos, far away from Troy. It didn’t matter that logic dictated this was impossible.

Because it sounded exactly like you. Down to the quiver in your voice and the ache in your words.

Polites, sitting beside her, placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. That meant nothing.

Because then?

"Polites!"

Neoptolemus barely turned in time to see Polites freeze.

"Polites—my love—" a whimper, "please…"

The spectacled man flinched at the sound of his name his hand shaking against his thigh. His breath had became shallow.

Your—Helen's voice—spoke again.

"Polites where is Penelope? I need help—please, please, where is she?"

Polites’ lips parted. His throat bobbed. For a moment Neoptolemus thought he might break.

But before he could—

A hand clamped over his mouth.

Penelope’s fingers dug into his jaw as her other arm locked across his chest, wrenching him backward. He struggled for only a second before she hissed something lowly in his ear causing him to still.

For hours Helen continued her test; calling for men in the voices of their wives, mothers, sisters, and daughters.

Sweat beaded along their foreheads despite the cool evening air seeping through the cracks in the wood. Some stared unblinkingly at nothing while others grip their weapons tightly to ground themselves as they wait.

No one spoke, not a single reply.

The sun had begun to set by the time Helen finally relented with soft sigh. "How dull." Her footsteps became faint, the sound of fabric shifting as she retreated. "If they were inside they would have cracked by now."

A pause.

"Very well," Priam declared. "Take it inside the gates. And place it at the heart of the city for all to see."

A deep exhale of relief seemed to pass through every soldier within as the wooden beast jolted forward once again.

The vibrations of the horse rumbled beneath them as King Priam's voice suddenly echoes out. "I do not know if your story is true Greek. But if the Gods intended you to perish, you would already be dead."

He was speaking to Sinon.

Neoptolemus quickly peeps out to see the King looking down at Odysseus' cousin.

"Leave this place," Priam instructed. "Go where you will. You will not die in Troy."

For a heartbeat Sinon hesitated. Then, with a deep bow, he steps away from the gates and began his trek back towards the shores as the giant doors finally closes.

The sounds of voices and hurried footsteps grew louder as the wooden horse moved through the city streets. Shouts of awe rang through the air, Trojans lining the roads to see the great gift their enemies had left behind.

King Priam raised his hands, his voice carrying over the masses as he made his proclamation. "Troy has endured!  The war of the Greeks against Troy...is officially over!"

Neoptolemus didn’t move as the cheers of Troy rose around them. He didn’t blink.

Because deep inside the belly of the beast, surrounded by warriors who had waited ten years for this moment—

He knew.

The real war had just begun.

A/n: AHHHHHHH! This is officially the last part to Act Four of 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑. Y'all just don't understand how excited I am when I began with the actual EPIC: Musical 😭 Anyways, make sure to take care of yourselves and I will see you soon!