There was something about Macendia that always put her heart at ease. She had always adored the island that she called home. Her childhood had been spent exploring almost every nook and cranny, from the secret beaches to the swimming holes deeper within. It was as if memories were far stronger on its shores. And while she had enjoyed the Capitol and all it had to offer, her very soul was rooted in her family’s home here.

She found herself walking the shores, barefoot as the sun heated her face. There was a voice in the back of her head-- her mother’s-- telling her that she would regret the amount of sun on her skin as she did little to shade herself. No one would see her skin darkened, nor had she any affinity for burning. Alabaster may have been a delicate feature of hers, but she was also blessed with the ability to develop a lovely tan. Her mother had always insisted it was not feminine to be as dark as a stable boy, which was why she had always insisted they spent their summers in the city. But in this moment, she found herself glad to have her childhood home at her back and the brightness of the sun on the water in her gaze.

It brought back hundreds of memories of her youth, laughing with Theo and Pia as they ran the coastline, chasing after their father each time his boat took off for the city. Eyes closed, she swore she could hear the galloping of a horse, the giggling of a child on its back. The waves crashed against the sandy beaches, her feet wet as they lapped at her chiton. It was a good thing she was so close to the water, with the sun so warm the sand could burn the soles beneath it.

Had she even worn a pair of sandals since she’d been home?

She was glad for the peace, for moments like this where no one could bother her. The only thing she wished for more was Ophelia, for nothing had ever brought her joy like her mare. Horses were in her blood, in her very soul. She could see herself as a child, settled in between the legs of her father as he rode this very beach, her white blond curls flying in the wind, laughter chasing each hoof beat. Against Evelli’s wishes, he’d pulled her into his arms and rode with her even as a babe, firmly sealing her fate and obsession with horses like his own. The squeals of her excitement as her father presented her with her first pony, tottling over to press her small forehead against hers; it was as if this beach held every good memory she possessed.

Her first ride on Ophelia had been here. She’d bribed one of the stable hands to let her ride bareback on this very shore. Each replayed in front of her, so real she could reach out and touch the smaller haunches of the young mare. Ophelia was far older, but it was a bit strange to see her like this, young and practically bouncing with her mistress for a heart racing gallop on the sand.

The wind picked up, tossing Selene’s curls back, her hand brushing her bands from her face as she looked out to the waters.

“Your feet must be made of steel.”

Stopping, her eyes glanced back to the shores, the corners of her mouth turning upward as she realized she was not alone on the beach. While his company was wholly unexpected, Selene could not deny the little skip in her heart as his bright blue eyes met her own. He looked so incredibly at home here, dark hair shining in the sun, wind tossing the longer pieces gently against his neck. His tunic was rolled up at the elbows, tucked into his leather pants, high riding boots a bit out of place in the sand. But, then again, why would he be barefoot like she was? The lack of sword at his side felt even more out of place, but she did not wish to comment on it.

He must have felt safe, as if he did not need it. And that, she knew, was a rare thing for the Stone General to feel.

He was not close enough for her to touch, but she could clearly see the amused look on his face, one she’d seen him wear a few times. While only the corner of his mouth turned upward, she could see the mirth in his eyes. His arms were crossed, his stance relaxed. And she found herself enjoying this version of him, a glimpse of what married life would be like for the pair. He did not seem to have a care in the world, nor did he seem as if he needed to look over his shoulder for a reason to leave. There was contentment in his face, and it made her happy to know that she seemed to be the reason.

“Do you not go barefoot?” She asked, looking down at her feet to see the gauzy white chiton swirling with each step.

He let out a rare chuckle, “Have you seen the rocks in Colchis? I would impale my foot on the first step.” She smiled, her face lighting up as it reached her eyes. But still, neither moved closer to the other, both frozen in place. And even if she wished to move, she simply couldn’t.

But she did not feel any panic in her current state, her hands folding in front of her demurely. “I suppose there is some truth to that. But you may regret the boots-- our beaches have far finer sand that has a way of getting into the smallest of spaces.” The waves crashed behind her, dampening the hem of her chiton. He stepped closer and she was unable to deny just how striking his features were. His face was clean shaven, smooth in the firm lines of his cheeks, in the cleft of his chin. Dark hair a bit long, it brushed against his forehead as the wind swirled around them. “I did not expect you quite this soon.” She said in earnest, surprised that his hand did not hesitate as it found a place on her hip.

“I did not wish to keep you waiting.” He said, his eyes pulling her with the same strength they always had. Her own hand settled on top of his as his other hand cupped her cheek, “I found myself missing you too much.” For a brief moment, she doubted his words. She had never known him to be a man who spoke his heart, instead preferring to let his actions speak. It hadn’t bothered her simply because she believed his actions to be just as strong, just as powerful as words. Why did he need to say that he cared for her when he showed her? Perhaps words would have been nice, to know what was in his heart versus having to decipher the intentions of his actions. But that would be like asking the rain to be dry. She did not wish to change him, did not wish for him to be anything other than what he really was.

His head dipped to hers, forehead pressed to gently into hers. “I am sorry it took me so long.” Fingers danced along her cheek, brushing back the curls of her hair, tucking it safely behind her ear.

Selene took a deep breath, her eyes opening to see his, so close to hers. His breath was hot against her face, and it was impossible for her not to lean her face up towards him, needing their lips to touch once more. It was then that thunder rumbled above them. His head snapped back, but it did not focus on the sky above. No, his eyes were on the shores, where it seemed as if dozens upon dozens of ships were racing towards the beaches. The shift of his body happened in a blink, where he was no longer pressed next to her, but her body shielded behind him, even without the presence of his sword.

Her focus was on him, peeking around his shoulders to see the ships, unable to recognize the build of the ships in front of her. They were certainly foreign in nature, crafted in a nature far different from anything she’d ever seen before. Even from such a distance, they were distinct. She had hoped that he would give some indication of who the invader was, but he was silent as he stared out into the ocean. The question was on the tip of her tongue, needed to be asked but unable to form the words. She knew exactly what she wanted to ask, and yet there was little she could do besides press against his back.

She turned from the shore, back inland where it seemed like the storm was brewing from. The sky had suddenly darken, the sun hidden by miles of angry looking clouds. Lightning cracked against the dark, and suddenly she felt like a filly, trapped in a stall unable to move away from danger. Her hand slipped into Vangelis’s, their backs pressed together. Suddenly, her heart was racing as she realized that the nearest cover could not be reached before the ships made shore.

And he was unarmed.

“Selene.” His vow was low, and the roar of thunder upon them made it difficult for her to hear him, but she turned just enough so that she could see the profile of his features as he cast his eyes back at her. “I need you to run.” His hand firmly held her in place, keeping her from making any further movements to see around him.

“But Vangelis…”

There was a risk in him turning away from the immediate danger, but he did, pulling her into him again. “Do not argue with me, Selene. For the love of the Gods, just go.” His lips crashed into hers, firm but desperate. Was it the panic of whatever danger was pressing in? Her hands gripped his chiton to hold him in place, pouring what emotions she could into it. And the pit of her stomach dropped as he pulled away, unable to miss the look in his eye, the one that was full of regret, of sorrow.

He assumed it would be there last.

“I will provide as much time as I can.” He vowed, pushing her into action. Her feet heavy in the sand as she moved, tears falling against her cheeks as the sky’s seemed to open up. She was a coward, she knew, for letting him push her towards safety. She should have convinced him to run with her, but he was not the kind of man who would do such a thing. He protected those he loved. She paused at the line where sand turned into rock, catching his eyes on her. For a moment, everything was quiet. And even through the distance, she could hear the words.

“I love you.”

But before she could repeat the words, a bolt of lightning cracked against the sand between them, causing her to shield her eyes, turning away from the loud crack that followed. Her ears were ringing as she stepped forward, the charge of the air met now with the sounds of distant shouting.

Why was it in the direction she was running?

As her eyes focused back on the ground in front of her, the spots of red against the pale rocks of the beach were impossible to miss. And as much as she would have liked to have stopped to investigate, her feet would not allow her to stop. Every bone in her body was begging her to stop, to see what fate had brought Vangelis on the beach of her home. But her head would not turn, eyes suddenly locked onto the deep red that speckled the sand and stones. The rocks grew in size, slowly building up the larger cliffs that hid winding paths up to the main house. And it was behind those rocks that she let out a blood curdling scream, covering her mouth as it escaped.

Zacharias was dressed in his finest chiton, the burgundy of the Mikaelidas line mixed in perfectly with the copious amounts of blood that seemed to be seeping from his body. He was positioned against the rock, knife buried in his chest, hands grasping at it to pull it loose. His eyes were on her, focusing on her face. “Selene?” The question dropped her to feet before him as the tears continued to fall. Her words were rushed, incoherent as she ripped the skirts of her chiton, pressing it firmly into the largest stab wound on his neck. It should have been pouring blood from it, but instead, it was a slow trickle.

Another sob escaped her lips as his hand dropped from the blade to hers. “You shouldn’t be here.” He said weakly, her eyes locked on the deep red blood that slowly dropped to his chin from the corner of his mouth. “I wish…” He didn’t finish his sentence, the knife slipping from its wound, breaking the silence as metal hit stone. Another sob shook her ribs as her hand fell from his cheeks, lightning illuminating the blood on her hands, painted against the delicate white of her chiton. He was dead, and there was no denying that her only concern had been finding him sooner.

She could have saved him.

If she hadn’t been so hyper aware of herself, she may have thought the scream that followed had come from her own lungs. But while it was not hers, it was one that she would have recognized anywhere.

She looked up just as the arrow pierced Olympia’s abdomen. She stood and stumbled, her eyes searching for the culprit, faces covered with masks, dozens of bows but no arrows-- it was impossible to narrow down who had let the arrow fly, but it had been the same man who Vangelis had stopped before. Her knees gave out from underneath her as she could only crawl to Pia’s side, sobbing as her sister was trying to pull the arrow from its place, from the child it had killed.

“No, no Pia..” She said, her hands fumbling as she tried to push those of the panicked brunette away. There were screams, but they blended into each other now. Was that Stephanos fighting the men to try and get to her? And what was clashing behind her? Hadn’t Vangelis been without a weapon? The chaos swirled around her, and she was losing focus as everyone around her seemed to suffer a fatal wound.

“Selene…” her sister sobbed, hands gripping at the material of her chiton as she tried to find bare skin. She was desperate to find the heat of the flesh below, to find the reassuring kick of the child she carried. And without a thought, Selene’s hands joined in too, both frantically pulling up her skirts regardless of the wound.

But it wasn’t until Selene’s hands were the only ones in motion that she realized she’d lost them both.

“Pia!” She screamed, shaking the shoulders of her sister, praying to the Gods that they bring her back. Her head dropped to her sister’s chest as she sobbed, the dress already stained with the blood of Zacharias. The thunder rolled, lightning almost stacking on top of itself as it lit the sky. And yet the cacophony of noise on her peaceful beach was so overwhelming that it was all but tuned out. Her tears flowed freely at the sudden loss, at the truth as it came out. That she was truly powerless to protect those she loved. That, at the end of the day, she was weak.

As she weeped, she found herself praying for someone to come and end her misery, for her to be able to join those she loved across the river to finally be at peace. Rapid footfall was almost hidden in the storm, but the abrupt stop of someone in front of her, of a man crashing to his knees to grip her shoulders.

“No! Selene, are you hurt?” Vangelis was there, intimately inspecting her core with his hands, searching for some sort of source of the blood she was covered in. She’d been pulled from Pia’s body, moved away from the carnage to inspect her for wounds. Her hands moved back to his chest, gripping onto the only strong and solid thing she’d known in the past few months.

He was covered in blood, but the initial once over of him revealed none to be too severe. Pressing her close to him, he said nothing as she wept, making no effort to move her while she grieved. His hands were everywhere, smoothing out her hair, brushing tears away from her eyes, flat against her back to hold her close. His face was buried in her shoulder, and there was some mild relief in his grasp, but she did not know the cause, or how long they were like that as the storm raged above them.

She pulled back, letting her hands fall from his chest as she looked back at Pia, trying not to sob at the vacant look in her sister’s once bright eyes. It was as she turned back that she realized that a large, looming shadow was pressing over them. The blade in his hand shined with each flash of lightning, and her lungs were frozen in fear as it came down.

It pressed into her, the sharp tip poking her skin as it was shoved into Vangelis’s chest. Thunder crashed, and Selene screamed in horror as his body limply fell on its side.

Selene bolted upright, her hand pressed into her chest where the blade had pricked her skin. The racing of her heart, fast but steady, was impossible to miss against her hand. Eyes darting about in the dark, it took her only a moment to realize that she was in the safety of her childhood room. Her hands were shaking as she looked down at them, verifying that the blood that had covered them in her dreams had not been real.

In the time it took her to catch her breath, she made a quick inventory of herself. Her hair was no longer in the loose plait she tended to sleep with it in, the curls pulled out in what most likely was a night of tossing and turning. Her cheeks were wet with tears, the dream so real that it had brought her to cry in real life. Mixed into the tears was sweat, even though the room was relatively cold as winter approached closer and closer. The slick feeling which had been blood was simply the stress of her dream, her sheets even damp with it.

Her eyes finally glanced down, just to ensure that the slick feeling on her skin wasn’t blood and with each breath she took, she tried to calm down her racing heart.

It would have been a lie if she said she did not dream of him often. As much as it pained her during the day to keep him completely from her thoughts, Vangelis seemed to find a way to visit her each and every night. In the beginning, it was simply Phobos who was waiting for her, though the landscape was often different. Sometimes she would walk with the stallion through the landscape of Colchis, her mind envisioning it much like the rocky mountains he had proposed to her on. Others, she would be riding him through the flatter lands of Taengea, most often racing with him across the beaches of her island. Then, once she was no longer on the ship, when the chances of him returning to her had all but vanished, he appeared. Conversations would replay, affection that she had hoped he would have shown would input itself into places it had never been before-- closing her eyes became a joy and a pain.

Most mornings, she would wake in tears for what had been lost. Their engagement had been one that first was born out of duty and mutual care, but would have been a happy marriage, nonetheless. And she had loved him, regardless of the rumors that may have suggested otherwise. But even still, she had come to terms with it during the day. She would dry her eyes, take a few moments to freshen up her face before joining her mother and father for breakfast. And she would spend the rest of her day focusing on anything else before she would find her bed and the cycle would repeat itself.

A soft rumble of thunder in the distance made her gasp, certain now that the addition to it in her dream had been caused by the reality of it around her. Her hands moved to cover her eyes, as if that would remove the vision of Vangelis’s chest ripped apart by a blade through his back. It was still so fresh, so much so that she could swear she could smell the metallic scent of blood on her hands. The storm softly beat on, the distance of the thunder far enough off that only the soft, even sound of the rain remained. And while her heart was still racing, even it seemed to be taking on the slower melody of the winter rain.

The himation she had selfishly kept, the one that still smelled of him, rested against the back of her dressing chair. Kicking her feet over the bed, she stood and padded barefoot against the cool tiles, picking it up to wrap it around her shoulders. The length of it was far longer than any piece she owned, which always caused her to wrap it around herself so it didn’t drag against the ground. It was oddly comforting to her, almost as if the extra weight on her body was similar to the rare feel of his arms around her.

Regardless of the rain, she stepped out through the open curtains. As much as she wanted to clear her head, the downpour kept her just under the overhang as she tried to keep her mind from revisiting the dream.

Only one of the people in that dream had died, and even that death was incredibly uncertain. Zacharias was assumed dead, yet, but no body had been recovered. All they had was a bloodied cloak that had been his, but it was possible that the blood had belonged to the King.

Couldn’t it?

And Olympia was most definitely alive and well back in the city, keeping little Tisiphone safe while doing whatever she felt the need to do to help set the scene for Stephanos to return in whatever respect that would be. She knew, for a fact, that she had not been killed by the Creed. But without having seen her sister in a few weeks, was it possible that the Gods were sending her a message? That, whether she was aware of it or not, that her dear sister was still in grave danger? Was that really something she was willing to ignore? Or acknowledge?

Her heart turned back to Vangelis. Her dreams of him were always bittersweet, simply because they always ended in some quiet separation from him. This was the first time that violence had a role to play, and the first time that he had most certainly died. What was she to make of that? He was at war, after all, which meant that there was a higher chance of his death than there had been before.

And he had all but died in her arms once before, breathing life into his lungs while Thea had reversed the poisoning. She knew what he looked like dead, knew how blank his face looked without the bright light of his eyes. Was it possible that her mind was just blending her greatest fear into the past? Was her mind simply playing games with her, at the hands of the Gods?

Sighing, there was a relief in knowing that the only sound against her ears was that of the rain, her heart no longer beating so boldly against her chest. The cool, damp air had been as calming as she had expected, though she would have wished for a bath as well. Yet the late hour, or the early hours, if she was being honest, meant that she couldn’t just wander the halls without accidentally waking someone. Her mother was a light sleeper, and would certainly hear her daughter moving about the house. And it was too far to try and slip out the back to the stables.

She would have to go back into the room, to try and lay back down to find some rest.

But she stayed, leaning against the pillar, eyes staring off in the distance. There was a fear that the moment she closed her eyes, the dream would continue. Or it would start over again, and she would have to watch it again and again until she could no longer take it anymore. And it was far too painful to admit that she still felt as if he was hers. But in reality, Prince Vangelis was not hers. The connection that had so firmly placed him in her life was broken now, lost to the baby that Thea carried. She had told herself that it was done, that she was ready to move on. Her agreement with Fotios had meant that she would marry for politics.

Giving up on love felt easy, since she had experienced it so briefly. While she knew what it was, and how it felt to be that way, her love of Vangelis was short-lived. It was not as if he had been ripped from her after a lifetime of love and commitment. Instead, it had barely taken root when she was forced to leave it behind. It shouldn’t have stung as badly as this, but it did. It still felt raw, even though she had no memories of him here to haunt her. She had so desperately hoped that running to Macendia would make it easier. But in reality, the quiet of her home seemed to make it far more challenging.

And the dream that night had been proof of that.

Pulling his himation closer around her shoulders, she turned back towards her room, her feet still planted firmly where she stood. Selene knew that moving on was inevitable. She would marry, and would create a new life without Vangelis in it. He would live his own life, would be a distant memory of a time long past. And she would try to find happiness elsewhere.

Why did it feel like the world was crumbling with that knowledge?

Her hands gripped the edges, frayed from wear-- this must have been a himation he’d worn frequently enough to show its age. Perhaps she needed to let it go, to send it back and say it had accidentally ended up within her trunks. It would be easy to facilitate, and Zanon would respect her enough not to dig too deeply into her reason for having it. But the thought of being without it hurt almost as much as having to leave. And it became clearer that she wasn’t ready for that yet.

Perhaps when news came of who her uncle had chosen for her spouse, she could let it go.

But, for now, there was no real need to be without its comfort. The blond knew that there would be a time to let it go, but the desire to have it around would remain until then. Perhaps that was torture to herself, but she did not care. Losing it would be the final goodbye, one that was far more personal than the others. And she could prepare for that, could come to terms with the goodbye without it feeling so visceral. Until then, it would stay in her room, intimately placed on the back of her chair to watch over her.

Resolved in the most immediate problem, Selene slowly stepped back into the warmth of her room. The fire had died out, but the small stack of wood next to the fireplace made building the heat back up a simple task. She was no expert in the task, but with a bit of trial and error, it grew enough to cast shadows across her room. Standing up, she dusted off her hands and folded the himation back into quarters, laying it in its place before turning back to her bed.

Frozen in place, she was surprised that she hadn’t noticed the displaced statue sooner. The intricate glass piece had been a gift from Vangelis, given shortly after their engagement, to help protect Selene from nightmares. She’d stared at the small statue for hours, trying to make heads or tails of the way it curved, of the unnatural looking colors that flowed through the clear material. Crafted when lightning struck the sand, he told her it was a rare piece that he’d chosen for her after she’d opened up to him about her trouble with sleep. Often, she stared at the reduring of Hypnos until she fell asleep.

The gift had been incredibly thoughtful, and it had stayed with her through her travels. Selene found herself thinking back to how relatively peaceful her dreams had been before tonight. Each step towards the statue, now on the floor besides her bed, brought greater awareness of each and every night of sleep since he’d given it to her. It had kept away the nightmares as he had hoped.

Kneeling down, it was then she realized that it was no longer intact. Whatever had caused it to hit the ground had caused the outstretched arm of the God to break off from the original sculpture. Breath caught in her throat, she tried to swallow down the lump from within as she picked up the two pieces from the ground. There was a bit of foreboding in the subtle message that she was left with.

Was it just an end to her peaceful dreams?

Or was there something more behind the obvious message from the Gods?

She was glad for the fire, even though it did little to warm the chill that caused her skin to raise. With a deep, ragged breath, Selene picked up both pieces and returned the larger one to its place on the nightstand, carefully slipping the broken arm into the drawer below. Perhaps she would return to the city to see if she could find someone to repair it for her, so that it was whole once more. There was little she could do about it that night.

But that didn’t stop her from saying a silent prayer to Hypnos to allow her the peaceful dreams she’d had prior to that night. Nor did it stop her from praying to Ares to protect Vangelis, just in case.

It was only as she repeated both prayers, over and over again, that she was finally able to go back to sleep. And, thankfully, the rest of the morning was spent in a dreamless slumber.