4.8 miles northeast, July 2, 6:40 a.m. — Villa Fortunae, Cossyra Island
The water danced beneath their feet, churning with each step as Nikandros and Virgilius lunged at Set, their blades slicing the air. The morning sun gleamed against the rippling pond, its light scattering into shards of gold that danced across the warriors’ faces and the old man’s weathered form. Set moved effortlessly, his steps stirring barely a ripple as if he were part of the water itself.
Nikandros roared, his spear carving a fierce arc toward Set’s midsection. Virgilius followed an instant later, his sword slashing diagonally from above. Their timing was nearly perfect, the two attacks converging on Set with deadly precision. But nearly perfect was not enough. Set twisted his body, his movements impossibly fluid, and the twin attacks passed harmlessly by.
The impact of their strikes sent sprays of water into the air, each droplet catching the sunlight like tiny diamonds. Set’s feet splashed against the pond’s surface as he shifted his weight, his posture relaxed yet unshakable. “You’re improving,” he said, his voice carrying over the rhythmic splashing of the water. “But you’re still attacking as individuals. Sync your movements—strike not as two warriors, but as one force.”
Nikandros hesitated for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes narrowing as he processed the words. Beside him, Virgilius gave a quick nod, his shoulders rising and falling with ragged breaths. Without speaking, the two warriors adjusted their stances, their gazes locking for a brief moment of silent understanding.
Set smiled faintly, the sunlight glinting off his damp skin. “Now, try again.”
The next attack was different. Nikandros and Virgilius moved as though connected by an invisible thread, their weapons weaving a coordinated pattern that made it harder for Set to evade. Nikandros jabbed low with his spear, forcing Set to leap, while Virgilius spun his blade toward the old man’s midair form.
Set’s eyes gleamed with approval as he twisted his body in a graceful arc, narrowly avoiding the strike. The water beneath him exploded in shimmering waves as he landed, steady and poised. “Better,” he said, nodding. “Your movements are beginning to align. Trust each other—anticipate, react, and move without hesitation.”
The warriors pressed on, their confidence growing with every exchange. They experimented with daring maneuvers: one would feint, drawing Set’s attention, while the other launched a precise strike aimed at his blind spot. The pond erupted with each clash, its waters churning as the trio danced their violent ballet. The light of the rising sun cast long shadows across the crater, the reflections of their movements creating a mesmerizing interplay of color and motion.
Up on the ridge, Admiral Hyrax watched intently, his eyes glinting with excitement. When Nikandros and Virgilius executed a particularly synchronized attack that came within inches of grazing Set, he erupted into applause, his deep voice carrying across the volcanic crater. “Magnificent! That’s the spirit of true warriors!” he shouted, his cheer infectious.
His soldiers gathered in a loose formation around him, and joined in, their voices rising in a cacophony of support. Some banged their shields, others stomped their boots, their collective enthusiasm swelling like a tide. Even Hanno and Astarte, still wary of the Spartan Admiral, couldn’t help but be captivated by the spectacle.
“Look at them!” Astarte whispered, her wide eyes reflecting the dazzling scene below. “They’re almost hitting him!”
Hanno nodded, his heart pounding as he leaned forward, clutching the edge of the log. “They might win,” he murmured, though a part of him doubted anyone could truly defeat the old man.
Back in the pond, Set paused, his gaze momentarily drawn upward by the thunderous cheers. His lips quirked in a half-smile as he caught sight of the spectators on the ridge. “We’ve drawn quite the audience,” he said, his tone light but edged with pride.
Nikandros and Virgilius seized the moment. With a wordless shout, they charged together, their blades converging in a synchronized strike aimed at Set’s exposed flank. For the briefest of moments, it seemed they might succeed. But Set’s instincts were razor-sharp.
He stepped into their attack in a blur of motion, his body twisting with practiced ease. His hands moved faster than the eye could follow—one gripping Nikandros’ spear and redirecting its momentum, the other striking Virgilius’ wrist precisely. The two warriors stumbled, their balance lost, and in a final flourish, Set swept his leg in a low arc, sending them sprawling into the water with resounding splashes.
As the ripples settled, Set stood tall, his breathing steady and his expression unreadable. The cheers from the ridge grew louder, Hyrax laughing heartily as he clapped his hands. “Now that,” the Spartan Admiral declared, “is the kind of fight I like to see!”
Nikandros and Virgilius lay in the shallow water, gasping for air and staring up at Set with a mixture of frustration and newfound respect. Set looked down at them, his voice calm but firm. “You’ve come far in a short time. Remember this feeling—the flow of your movements, the harmony of your intent. Hone it, and you will become warriors of true legend.”
The warriors exchanged a glance, a flicker of determination reigniting in their eyes. Though defeated, they had glimpsed the heights they could reach, and the taste of that power was intoxicating.
Set strode to the edge of the pond and lowered himself onto a smooth, moss-covered rock, his feet dangling in the water. Ripples radiated outward from where his toes dipped into the pond, the sunlight dancing across the surface. He leaned back slightly, his calm demeanor betraying none of the intensity from moments ago.
Nikandros and Virgilius floated on their backs, their chests heaving as they caught their breath. The weight of their defeat hung in the air, but so did an undercurrent of determination.
Nikandros spoke first, breaking the silence. “I’ve never seen anyone move like that. The speed… the precision… it’s like he’s bending time itself.”
Virgilius chuckled weakly, his face still turned toward the sky. “No Roman I’ve ever met moves like that. It has to be some kind of African fighting technique. The way he bends low before every strike—it’s… unsettling, but effective.”
Nikandros snorted, water splashing around him as he adjusted his floating stance. “Unsettling is putting it lightly. But no matter how long it takes, we’ll find a way to defeat him. For Rome. For our fallen brothers.”
Virgilius turned his head toward Nikandros, his lips curling into a faint smile. “For Rome.”
With renewed resolve, Nikandros stood, water cascading off his muscular frame. He extended a hand to Virgilius, who was about to take it when his eyes widened in horror.
“By the gods!” Virgilius shouted, scrambling backward and sending ripples across the pond. His voice cracked with panic. “Nikandros! There’s something on your face!”
Nikandros froze, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Virgilius stammered, his sword drawn and shaking in his hand. “It’s—it’s like some kind of creature! It’s wrapped around your face!”
Nikandros’ hand instinctively went to his face, patting his features. “I don’t feel anything! Stop playing games, Virgilius.”
Virgilius’ gaze remained locked on the creature. Its translucent, slug-like body pulsed slightly, almost as if it were breathing. Small, vein-like tendrils extended from its main form, anchoring itself around Nikandros’ head. The most disturbing part was the perfectly placed holes, framing Nikandros’ eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, giving the impression that the creature had fused with him.
“Stay still!” Virgilius barked, taking a cautious step forward. He reached out toward the creature, his hand trembling.
As his fingers approached, the creature suddenly reacted, spinning to the back of Nikandros’ head with a speed that made Virgilius recoil in shock.
“It moved! It’s on the back of your head now!” Virgilius shouted, pointing with his sword.
Nikandros spun in a circle, his hands fumbling to feel for whatever Virgilius was seeing. “There’s nothing there! Have you lost your mind brother?”
Virgilius’ voice cracked with desperation. “I swear I see it, but… am I losing my senses?”
Before the argument could escalate, Set’s voice cut through the tension, calm and authoritative. “He’s not mad. What your friend sees is real.”
Both warriors turned to look at the old man. Virgilius’ sword trembled as he tried to steady his breath. “What do you mean? What is that… thing?”
Set sighed, running a hand through his wet hair. “It’s a creature of control—a parasite for the mind. Most cannot see it, but your eyes have been opened by the tea you drank in my shack.”
Virgilius blinked in disbelief, lowering his sword slightly. “The tea? What are you talking about?”
Nikandros scowled, stepping forward. “You drugged him, didn’t you? What was in it? Tell me!”
Set met his glare without flinching. “Nothing but the truth,” he said. “The key ingredient is Rooibos, a plant from far-off Africa. It sharpens the senses, allowing one to see reality as it truly is.”
Nikandros’ fists clenched as he lunged toward Set, his fury boiling over. But before he could strike, a commanding voice echoed from above.
“Stand down, Nikandros!” Hyrax bellowed, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
All heads turned toward the crater’s edge. Admiral Hyrax descended the rocky slope with his men, their armor gleaming in the sunlight. Hanno and Astarte were ushered along, their protests silenced by stern glares.
As the group drew closer, Virgilius’ knees weakened. His vision blurred momentarily before snapping into focus. The same alien creature now clung to Hyrax’s face and the faces of every one of his soldiers.
“No… no, this can’t be,” Virgilius stammered, his body trembling. “They’re everywhere… on all of them!”
Nikandros turned to his friend, confusion etched across his face. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing there!”
Virgilius raised a shaky hand, pointing at Hyrax and his men. “They have them too. The creatures—they’re on their faces!”
Nikandros turned back to Set, his voice full of accusation. “What have you done to him?”
Set remained seated, unshaken by the chaos. “I have done nothing,” he said evenly. “Your friend is simply seeing the truth. The creatures were always there. He just didn’t know how to look.”
Hyrax descended the grassy slope of the crater with a steady, deliberate stride, his polished armor glinting brilliantly in the morning sun. Each step he took reflected his commanding presence, the metallic clink of his greaves resonating across the quiet expanse. To his left, a herd of sheep grazed lazily, their eyes turning to watch him as if sensing the gravity of his approach. Ahead, nestled into the opposite side of the crater wall, was a small wooden cabin. A massive tree sprouted defiantly from its roof, its branches sprawling outward as though claiming dominion over the crater.
Hyrax’s gaze lingered on the cabin for a moment before he motioned with his free hand. One of his men rushed forward, offering him a staff. Taking it, Hyrax tucked his helmet beneath his other arm and continued onward, his presence magnetic and unyielding.
As he reached the pond, its surface shimmering with sunlight, he stepped into the water. Ripples radiated from his boots as he waded toward Virgilius, who stood frozen in place, his expression one of abject terror. The surrounding soldiers grew silent, their earlier cheers replaced by a solemn tension.
Hyrax stopped before Virgilius, the staff planted firmly in the water beside him. He stared down at the Roman guard, his piercing eyes narrowing.
“Why do you tremble before me, soldier?” Hyrax’s voice was low but sharp, slicing through the silence.
Virgilius struggled to speak, his words catching in his throat. Finally, he blurted, “Because there’s a monster on your face!”
Hyrax cocked his head, his expression unreadable. “On my face too?” he asked, almost mockingly, before turning away and making his way toward Set.
Set sat casually at the edge of the pond, his feet still submerged, the massive arctic wolf Solara at his side exuding an air of calm dominance. Hyrax approached and stopped just before him, studying Solara with quiet admiration.
“Such a beautiful beast,” Hyrax remarked, gesturing to the wolf.
Set smiled faintly, running a hand through the wolf’s thick fur. “She was my wife’s,” he said. “A gift from the northern lands—Scandinavia. They breed wolves as pale as snow, strong enough to weather the harshest winters.”
Hyrax nodded thoughtfully before shifting his attention back to Set. “What trickery have you played on my soldier to make him see such hallucinations?”
Set leaned back slightly, his expression serene. “There is no trickery,” he replied. “We shared a cup of tea, nothing more. Lemon balm, chamomile, and Rooibos. Simple, natural herbs.”
“Rooibos?” Hyrax repeated, his tone skeptical.
“It’s a plant from Africa,” Set explained. “When grown under specific soil conditions, it grants a unique property—the ability to perceive light that the human eye cannot normally see.”
Hyrax raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “If these creatures are truly on our faces, why can’t we feel them?”
Set’s tone turned grave. “Because they have numbed your skin and taken control of your nervous system. I’ve seen these things before—on birds, on rodents. They attach themselves to the head, and the face, and if you remove them by force, they kill the host. The only way to remove them is by drinking Rooibos tea.”
Hyrax glanced back at his men, then at Virgilius, who still trembled nearby. His jaw tightened as he weighed Set’s words. Virgilius, though a relatively new acquaintance, was a renowned warrior and a man of honor. Yet, the possibility lingered—was he speaking the truth, or had this old villager ensnared them all in some cunning deception, aided by a potent hallucinogen?
“So,” Hyrax said finally, his voice steady, “I am to believe that me and my men all have creatures on our faces right now, creatures we cannot see or feel?”
Set met his gaze unflinchingly. “Yes.”
“And the only way to rid ourselves of these creatures is to drink your peculiar brew of tea?”
“Indeed.”
A sly grin crept across Hyrax’s face. “Then let us settle it as men of honor: we shall fight. If you triumph, my men and I will drink your tea. But if I prevail… we shall not.”
Set let out a low chuckle, rising with the ease of one untouched by age. “Very well.”
“I am no mere stripling for you to trifle with. My skill calls for a contest of worth, and you will require a weapon to meet me. Take any blade or spear from my men—it is yours for the choosing.”
“I require no weapon. Though, if you have a shield to lend, I would make use of it.”
The soldiers shifted in anticipation as Hyrax ordered one of them to toss Set a shield. Catching it easily, Set walked to the center of the pond, his feet sending ripples cascading outward. Hyrax followed, spinning his spear deftly in one hand. The sunlight gleamed off his spear and armor, casting fleeting reflections on the water’s surface.
The atmosphere was electric, charged with the weight of what was to come. Soldiers, once rowdy with cheers, now stood silent. Virgilius and Nikandros watched with bated breath. Astarte clutched Hanno’s arm as the siblings huddled together, their eyes wide with suspense.
Set dipped low into his signature stance, the shield braced in front of him, his other hand empty but poised like a coiled spring. Across from him, Hyrax spun his spear once more, its tip slicing the air with a faint whistle.
The two men stared each other down, the tension thick enough to cut.
Then, as one, they leapt forward—
Previous Movement
Next Movement
