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{A/N: Aragorn will be female in this chapter for a large part. I'm not gender-bending the MC, it's part of a plan he's cooking and it will be explained in the following chapter.
Also, I should remind you that Aragorn is an Eldritch terror of the Void, so you should try not to attach too many gender nuances to it. That say, Aragorn would normally be written as male unless the plot needs him a female, like in this case.}
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Earth-199999.
~3225 BE (Before Emergence) ~ 1220 BCE (Before Current Era).
The end of the millennium, as in the collapse of this millennium's civilizations, began two hundred years prior to its due date change (1000 BC → 999 BC).
The previous millennium had ended at the hands of a continent-wide drought, the 4.2-kiloyear aridification event. While it could be argued that Aragorn ended it when he stopped preventing the cooling of the Atlantic, in reality, it was a natural happenstance. Aragorn did not cool the ocean; he delayed its cooling.
All these civilizations that either made a comeback in the current millennium or were born in it were not meant to end at their originally intended end: the collapse of the Bronze Age.
The Bronze Age on many Earths ended as a repercussion of the actions of a group of people called the Sea Peoples. The Sea Peoples were a confederation of maritime groups who, during the late Bronze Age, launched incursions into regions such as Anatolia, Syria, Palestine, Cyprus, and Egypt.
During this millennium, all major lands were interconnected by trade, alliances, routes, and even religion in some cases. It was a network of mutual dependency—what couldn't be found in one's land could be acquired through trade in another's. Much like a 'modern' economy.
But on Earth-199999, there were no Sea Peoples, because the Fleet Nation of Aragorn regulated all important surrounding seas, with the Black Sea as the only exception.
This meant that all groups of early pirates were either massacred or forced to join the Fleet.
This was one of the changes Aragorn meant to make in the history of this Earth, and, at the end of the day, so long as iron was introduced somewhere around 1200 BC–1000 BC, the Bronze Age would naturally transition to the Iron Age.
But...
Somewhere between the islands of Keftiu and Alashiya—later known as Crete and Cyprus—south of Anatolia and north of the Nile Delta, the entire Fleet Nation congregated.
The vessels were tied loosely to each other, tight enough for them not to drift away, while having the freedom to float with the waves. There were thousands of them—numbering above ten thousand but below twenty thousand—all grouped together in what could be considered the largest artificial island to date.
At the center of it all, Aragorn, in his human form, addressed all the sailors.
"Evil and good are often tied together." His voice reached all as if he were speaking in front of them.
"Divine and mortal are often tied together." The winds and swell stilled for his message.
"Development and decline are often tied together." The seagulls were unnaturally silent.
"Life and death, success and failure, relief and pain, reward and loss—all of these are opposites that balance and tie each other. You see this in nature, life, politics, and religion.
"Yet there have always been two outliers in the equation. While deities and mortals are often tied together, this doesn't mean mutual restriction. Too much death incites life, like after a volcanic eruption; too much life incites death, like a plague of locusts.
"Too much evil gives birth to good through rebellion. Too much development induces decline through stagnation. Too much of most things—if not all—incites the natural opposite of the scale. Yet this was never the case with the balance of mortality and divinity.
"Too many deities never implied fewer mortals, nor did too many mortals imply fewer deities. In fact, the more deities, the more mortals will be born in response to the deities' efforts to grow their believers' numbers—so long as that's their whim—and too many mortals give more power to the deities through faith, or give rise to new deities. Hence the imbalance.
"Yet even in this imbalance, deities found ways to restrict each other. They didn't want too many pantheons, nor too many mortals, because mortals out of their control would imply the possibility of other pantheons taking their faith.
"There should be no problem with that, right?"
"..." There was a silence in the Fleet Nation. They understood what Aragorn was saying, yet it felt strange.
If what Aragorn said was true—even though nothing balanced the deities, since they found a way to restrict and limit each other—there should be no problem. Yet why does it seem that mortals have no other choice but to surrender to the will of the deities and have their population controlled like cattle?
"As many of you have realized, the only problem with this is the lack of a balancing agent for the greed of the deities. The lack of a regulator to establish limits on the deities.
"Humanity is subjected to the whims and—more often than not—the cruelty of the deities they worship. Humanity is a servant to its deities. Humanity gets its life torn apart, made, remade, done, and undone by the willfulness of the deities they worship.
"But what choice do they have? You, the humans I've separated from this cycle and granted freedom through this Fleet Nation, have met a different strain of deities—those of the Drachantheon Therion. Deities that don't destroy your mortal lives on a whim. Deities who teach, guide, listen, attend to your pleas, and more—haven't you?"
Unlike the rest of the world, the members of the Fleet Nation knew the destination of the souls Aragorn collected. Unlike the rest of the world, they had a choice about where they would end. Unlike the rest of the world, they could keep some semblance of themselves in their next lives. Unlike the rest, they knew the Drachantheon Therion.
They were raised since birth with a broader view of life. Unlike the humans who worshipped other deities—those who had been indoctrinated to view their deities as unfaulty and absolute beings—they could identify the selfishness in a deity's proclamation.
They could see the error in their 'divine' ways, and they saw it at all times when they arrived at a port city. They could hear the myths of the deities of the other humans and spot the selfishness or greed in these deities, and recognize that it was wrong.
Yet, just like the other humans, they were powerless to it. They had asked Aragorn about it generations ago—it was also a recurring question—and the answer was always the same: 'So long as they keep their divine business away from me and mine, I won't interfere.'
They knew it was due to Aragorn's protective shadow that they were not subjected to the cruelties they witnessed inland. But even then... the bitter taste in their mouths couldn't be washed off after every port visit.
It wasn't only about the deities. The mortal rulership was also part of the problem.
The form of 'government' of the Fleet Nation was so different from that of any inland nation that they couldn't help but recoil when they saw the crimes against the integrity of humans the inland rulers committed.
So, either unknowingly or not to him, under Aragorn's leadership—because that's what it was, leadership, not rulership—they grew up to see the land dwellers with pity, and with some racism.
Was it his fault?
Humans invented racism on Earth, so maybe it wasn't, or maybe, just maybe, he planned for the possibility of turning them against their own kind eventually. So maybe, since the beginning, he had been showing them a different "could be" than the current "is." Maybe he knew that seeing this difference would allow them to create a clear division between "themselves" and the "others."
"You can see through the fog of fanatism, religious worship, and propaganda the truth, can't you? Humanity doesn't need these invaders meddling with their business. Whether it is the current state of disrepair of the world or the possible bright future, humanity doesn't need them for this. Humanity has just the same—if not greater—capacity for good and evil as them, so...
"What is humanity getting out of their unregulated existence on Earth? Humanity surrenders to their wishes, desires, whims, and humor, and they get what in return? Contempt? Death? Plagues? War? Sexual Assault?
"Have they contributed anything humanity couldn't get by themselves since their arrival?" Aragorn's words did nothing but paint the ugly side of divinity.
"As you know, I've kept a neutral stance about all this ever since their arrival, but that will end within the next century, and in the inevitable clash between us, humanity will get a chance to shed away the filth and scab sticking to them like leeches and restart.
"But they won't be able to get that chance without a helping hand. I don't interfere with humanity's kingdoms unless they decide to involve themselves with me, so I won't be able to grant them the necessary push to restart.
"But you could... It won't be easy, it won't be peaceful, it won't be fast. It will be through bloodshed and sacking, and should you choose to follow this path, history will paint you as evil."
Those more inclined to politics opened their eyes wide when they understood what Aragorn was implying.
"Their deities would be too focused on me to interfere in your cause. Your weapons will be far better than theirs to resist your might. Your tactics too fast and random to be predicted. And your vessels too numerous to be opposed.
"Yet, as the mortals you are, many of you will die and join the Imperium on the other side. It's not an easy path—a difficult choice is upon you. Should you choose to abstain, no shame shall befall you. I have prepared a place for the underage and the unwilling where you will be able to live the rest of your lives while awaiting for me to collect your souls.
"But, should you choose to follow the rugged path, the difficult choice, your names will be carved in the northern face of the Imperium's Scale of Light. Humanity's history might paint you as the ultimate evil, but thousands of years later, when they reach the Scale of Light and discover the truth of your sacrifice, the weight you carried, you will be vindicated."
His words spurred murmuring across the fleet.
"Take your time to decide. A full mobilization won't happen until thirty years later, only small skirmishes until then."
Thirty years might appear like a great period to a human, but considering they would be making the entire Mediterranean world their enemy, massive preparations were needed.
Time passed, and it was time for a certain wedding...
There once existed a beautiful Nereid named Thetis, so beautiful that Zeus and Poseidon coveted her. So seductive that both gods were prepared to fight for her ownership.
But before it reached the point of conflict, Themis intervened.
Themis was a Titaness, daughter of Uranus and Gaia, from the first generation of Titans. Themis never opposed Zeus' rule—in fact, she willingly joined his camp during the Titanomachy. As the goddess of Law and Order and a prophetess herself, she rightfully earned her place as Zeus' advisor.
So when she foretold that Thetis's son would be greater than his father, Zeus and Poseidon had no reason to doubt her.
Like the Olympians they were, they cared mostly about their authority and lust. Neither would risk wedding Thetis and begetting their doom, just like they had been to their father, Cronus.
Zeus, in his role as the Skyfather—and following the lead of his insecurities—decided that Thetis should be wed to a mortal. Otherwise, if the father were too outstanding, the son might still threaten his authority.
Peleus, a hero and mortal king of Phthia, a region in Thessaly in northern Greece, was chosen as her groom.
(Thessaly.)
Thetis was reluctant to marry a mortal man, but when did consent ever stop Zeus from getting his way?
To celebrate this union, the gods gathered for the wedding in Phthia, Peleus' homeland in Thessaly.
It turned into an affair of divine proportions.
The Olympians were present—Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Athena, Apollo, and others—seated among mortals in splendor and joy. The Muses sang. The Horae (Seasons)—Themis' daughters—and the Charites (Graces)—Aphrodite's daughters—danced. The banquet tables overflowed with ambrosia and nectar.
However, there was a certain goddess who wasn't invited, for her presence was known to invite conflict: Eris, the goddess of strife and discord.
And that couldn't be. Like a self-respecting Olympian would, she planned a way to take her spite out on them!
She snuck in a golden apple along with a message that read "To the fairest."
As if pulled by the strings of fate, the apple landed in front of Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite.
The three claimed it at the same time.
Vanity, selfishness, egotism, and narcissism—they wouldn't be Olympians if they didn't have at least one of these traits.
In Olympus, a hierarchy exists, and normally a dispute between members of this hierarchy would wind down to the level in the hierarchy itself, but the origins of these three goddesses complicated the matter.
Titan Cronus castrated his father Uranus, then threw Uranus's severed genitals into the sea, and from the sea foam that gathered around them, Aphrodite was born.
Hera was the daughter of Cronus and Rhea, making her a full sibling to Zeus—her husband—Poseidon, Hades, Hestia, and Demeter.
Zeus had sexual intercourse with the Titaness Metis. A prophecy foretold that Metis would bear a child more powerful than its father. Fearing this, Zeus—obviously—swallowed Metis whole while she was pregnant, hoping to prevent the child from being born.
Later, Zeus suffered from a terrible headache, and Hephaestus split his skull open with an axe to relieve the pain—obviously. Athena sprang out, fully grown and in full armor, shouting a war cry.
By order of seniority, Aphrodite would be higher in the hierarchy. By order of closeness to Zeus, Hera and Athena—his favorite child—would fight for first place. By the relevance of their divine domains to the matter of the fairest, Hera as the Goddess of Women and Aphrodite as the Goddess of Beauty would come out on top. By the quantity of believers, Athena and Aphrodite would leave Hera behind.
There was no political way out of the clash. This was precisely what Eris aimed for.
"Athena, child," Hera patronizingly said, "why are you taking part in this? Isn't warfare and the mortals' heroes your focus these days?"
"Hera," Athena said, equal parts curt and concise, "isn't it in every woman's desire to shine under the light of the stars and moons?"
"You two couldn't be more hilarious, could you?" Aphrodite asked with a mischievous yet demeaning chuckle. "Did any of you gain the domain of beauty without me knowing?"
The mortals, having an understanding of their deities learned through experience, made themselves scarce. They did not fear the women in question starting a brawl and getting caught in it. No, what they feared was being pulled into it to state their opinion. No matter who they chose, they would be on the receiving end of the divine hatred of two vindictive goddesses.
And Zeus, who had the authority to stop it all, was not keen on placing either his wife or daughter against him, much less could be said about Aphrodite, whom even he saw with caution. So he was wisely—for once—trying to stay clear of the trouble.
"What capricious deities! Making a scene in what is supposed to be your day, right, Thetis?"
Thetis and Peleus turned to the newcomer they had not seen before, one whose identity they couldn't guess, but with the certainty that it was an uninvited guest. Yet, before they could say more, their breaths got caught in their throats and they gulped.
The newcomer was a woman, dressed in a bralette—or a wrap—that appeared to be woven with threads of iridescent light—translucent yet opaque enough. She wore a styled loincloth that seemed to be made of the same impossible fabric as her top. On her neck, she wore the middle ground between a gorget and a necklace-collar.
Her accessories, including armbands, were decorated with precious stones that bore a striking resemblance to the material of the two long horns that grew forward, upward, and then backward from her forehead, with a flame sitting calmly between them. Horns that bore a resemblance to diamond.
Her hair at first glance appeared white—metallic white—yet it had a certain iridescence when the threads caught the light. Her skin was marbled white. She had three eyes, two of which appeared to house galaxies, and one vertically in her forehead that seemed more like a hole with a pupil-shaped void.
Slightly pointed ears and nails of a metallic dark iridescence made her appearance ethereal, dangerous, exotic, and undoubtedly attractive.
(I think this is the best I'll get with AI.)
Thetis and Peleus' silence was only interrupted by the boisterous crowd and the almost-brawling trio of goddesses in the background.
Aragorn was not hiding her presence out of sight; she simply didn't enter through the conventional entrance and used her ability to ignore distance to appear next to the bride and groom. Which meant that at any moment she would be spotted.
It took a moment, clearly, but Thetis was the first to return to her senses. "Who are you?" she asked with no malice, but certainly with caution.
"Until my name is revealed, how about calling me Lux?" Aragorn said. She sported a mischievous smile all the while.
"Lux? I don't believe I know of any deity with that moniker. What about you, Peleus?" Thetis' question brought her newlywed husband back to the land of the living.
"Excuse me," he said after a fake cough. "No, I don't think I've had the honor of hearing of you. Could you be from Aígyptos?"
Aígyptos was the name they used for Egypt—more precisely, its capital, Memphis.
"Oh, no. My more inhuman features are not because I'm related to the Ennead, but you're not wrong in assuming I come from near the lands of the Nile," Aragorn said, her voice both honeyed and alluring.
The deities of Olympus were mostly humanoid in nature, if not exclusively, but the deities in the Ennead shared more animalistic features.
"Well, I'm not from there, so saying I am is wrong, but I spent the last millennia around those lands," Aragorn muttered.
"Baring the thought of rudeness, what are you doing here, Lux?" Thetis asked.
"I've always had a fascination with [Fate] in relation to [Olympus]. Always so inevitable, and your prophecies always so unmutable. Other pantheons might fight against their fate, but the Olympians try to fulfill it while surviving it. Like with you and your future son, Thetis," Aragorn smiled—a fake smile, but one unmistakable from a real one—and gazed at her belly.
"[Thetis' son shall be greater than his father, right?]" Aragorn asked.
"Yes, my child shall be greater than his father," she replied, with a hand to her belly and a glance to Peleus.
"So Zeus and Poseidon, instead of fighting this fate, decided to avoid it and handed you over to the Mortal King Peleus... Isn't that, I don't know, cowardly?"
As Aragorn spoke, more deities started to notice her presence, and slowly, the silence started to trickle into the ambiance.
"What is fated cannot be avoided, even by the gods," Thetis said with both conviction and belief.
"Destiny leads the willing and drags the unwilling," Peleus added.
"Yes, that's exactly it!" Aragorn said boisterously. "But don't you ever feel like opposing it? Fighting it?"
"No, that's a foolish endeavor," Thetis said. Her words were validated by the various hums and nods of the now-growing audience.
The other deities momentarily paused their upheaval when they noticed the presence of the unknown woman. Most were wondering who the gorgeous woman was; some were trying to draw parallels with her features because they felt a familiarity with them, and Athena—although she didn't know why—was starting to sweat cold.
"But what if it's about the fate of your unborn child? Isn't the love of a mother supposed to move mountains, dry oceans, rupture the skies, and make the impossible possible?" Aragorn's words reached Thetis' heart and everyone's ears.
There was some low level of entrancement and charm in her words, enough that a faint lull whispered words of tranquility to all the present.
"... I-I don't know," Thetis said, and Peleus was equally stumped by the question. What manner of parent wouldn't want the best for their offspring—other than Zeus, that is?
"This is a celebration, and I came here not with the intent to sour your spirits. I came bearing presents." Aragorn extended his hand, and an orb of white-bluish light appeared. "The chance to break free from the chains of destiny once—this is my present. For a mother who will need it," Aragorn gazed down at her belly once more. "Would you accept it?"
Aragorn's words sounded like the devil's temptation to Thetis. She slowly reached for the orb. Which mother wouldn't? And she wasn't the only one—even Zeus in the audience coveted the orb.
Thetis' hand continued to approach the orb when—
"NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, IT CAN'T BE! STOP IT!" Athena shouted.
Her shouts snapped Thetis out of her temptation, but at the same time startled her, and her hand grazed the orb.
That was all Aragorn needed. The orb flowed inside her immediately, and as Thetis pulled back in surprise, the guests all pulled their weaponry—divine and mortal—and aimed at Aragorn.
"Oh, little owl, you discovered me first? That's expected, right?" Aragorn rested her right elbow on the table and leaned her delicate face on her hand. All of her fake expressions were gone, and now only the passive rhythm of her color-changing eyes remained.
(Like this.)
"Athena?" Zeus asked, his lightning crackling dangerously in his hand.
Athena was shaking with fear. A dreadful sensation had spread like a violent virus through her bones, and the flashbacks of that time bombarded her mind.
"A-Aragorn, w-what a-are you d-doing h-eere?" She had gathered as much composure as she could, but even then, her words came through as fractured as her heart.
"Aragorn?!" Zeus exclaimed, shocked.
Not only him, but the rest of the deities as well. Some mortals asked who that was, but when they heard 'Achíla', they were left equally confused.
The Olympians had seen Aragorn's male form, and regardless of the shared draconic features between both forms, the difference was striking. It wasn't only about physical appearance; their mannerisms, way of moving, way of speaking, perfume, and aura couldn't be more different.
This was a result of Aragorn's convoluted mentality. When he was in his female form, she was a female in mind, heart, and soul, just as when he was in his male form, he was a man. This change, this difference, led Aragorn to have a FemaleSelf.
Like with all of Aragorn's Selves, they were Aragorn and Aragorn was them, but which Self took charge made the difference.
Just like how the CoreSelf—the oldest of them—was all business and barely any emotion, the LucianSelf was curiosity and no emotion, the SurfaceSelf was emotion and barely any business, the SplitSelves were all about soul collecting, the SoulSelf was focused on The System and Tiamut, the FemaleSelf was all the feminine Aragorn could be.
"Zeus, you should be careful how you eye me. My wife is not one to take offense calmly when others hunger for her property," Aragorn said, her warning reaching deaf ears.
"What are you doing here?" Hera asked, stepping forward, jealous of the blatant look Zeus was giving Aragorn.
Thetis and Peleus took the chance to move away slowly from Aragorn. Thetis now knew who Lux was; Peleus didn't, but he didn't need to know to read the mood of the room.
"I came bearing gifts, didn't you see just now, CuckQueen?" Aragorn asked. The incongruity of her expressionless, gorgeous face and the vulgarity of her words left Hera stunned.
"~Fufufu, you're more fun than they said," Aphrodite chuckled after seeing the result of Aragorn's words.
"And your soul is not as I thought it would be," Aragorn said to Aphrodite.
"~Oh? Care to give me your impression of it?" Aphrodite asked, her tone seductive, charming, dripping with honey but with a husky bass to it.
"I thought it would be dripping wet in lust and vanity, but it is rather normal, to be fair. I should say, not bad when considering your age and the people you frequent," Aragorn said honestly.
"Mō~ You should say it is just as charming as I am," Aphrodite said. Her tone seemed to be disregarding the room, but—
"You can stop with the charm. It doesn't work, and, trust me, you don't want it to. You can't handle my love, nor my wife's ire," Aragorn said.
—she was the first to test the waters. That's why the other deities were allowing her to speak and try to charm Aragorn.
"~Oho! Looks like I failed," she said while moving behind the frontliners.
"What did you do to Thetis, Aragorn?" Zeus asked.
"I gave her what she accepted from me," Aragorn said, her calm disregarding the weaponry pointed at him. "The chance to break free from the chains of destiny once—for a mother who will need it," Aragorn said once more.
"Stop speaking in riddles, Aragorn!" Zeus growled.
"Riddles? There are no riddles. I gave her the chance to break free from destiny once—nothing more, nothing less, nothing else," Aragorn stood up, her movements putting the deities on edge. "I'll be on my way."
"You think you can?" Zeus asked, his face in a grimace.
"Thetis, remember my words," Aragorn said to the bride, and then she was no more. She had disappeared.
Amidst the heavy silence, Aphrodite tried to lay claim to the now-forgotten golden apple. Hera spotted her, and with that, the conflict resumed.
Zeus and Athena were the only ones left in a somber mood, but even they eventually moved on.
This was only natural. On one side, they were prideful and believed almost blindly in their power and the authority Olympus carried. On the other, should they show concern after Aragorn's display, they would allow others to peer into their weakness, and like the hungry wolves they were, they would focus on this weakness and aim for it.
They couldn't allow the foreboding feeling in their hearts to be known outside, and their pride wouldn't allow it.
Zeus, tired of the bickering, anointed Paris—known for his transparency and neutrality—to judge who would get to keep the apple. He sent Hermes to bring the three bickering goddesses to Paris on Mount Ida.
Regardless of how outwardly he appeared at ease, Aragorn's appearance at the ceremony left him stressed and, to some extent, anxious. Hence, Zeus decided to unbind and destress in the way he knew best.
There was a mortal woman who had caught his eye for some time. She was famed for her beauty, modesty, and grace—common traits in women targeted by Zeus—but she was faithful to her husband, and her husband kept her well-guarded.
However, in her time of leisure, she often went to bathe at a nearby private lake. Zeus transformed into a 'vulnerable' swan, conjured an illusion of an eagle chasing him, and then flew to Leda's arms.
Leda saw the vulnerable creature escaping the predator and received the swan with open arms in her nudity.
Zeus took the opportunity and overpowered her and lay with her. In his mind, the face of a certain draconic woman overlapped with Leda's. His rage concerning Aragorn served as motivation to be rougher than needed with Leda.
Leda survived, with numerous marks left by Zeus' swan beak. Her husband helped treat the wounds, but seeing her in such a vulnerable state—especially with her mind on the prior tragedy—spurred him up. That same night, she lay with her husband.
Nine months later, she gave birth to two eggs. And from these eggs—of two different parents—emerged Helen, Clytemnestra, Castor, and Polydeuces.
Aragorn, hidden from mortal and divine sight, was there for the birth of the two sets of twins.
Time passed, and before long the deadline of the 30 years had arrived...
Those who would wage war and be vilified for at least 2,500 years remained in the Fleet Nation—mostly men, but women were also present. Those who abstained, Aragorn moved to a land that was currently at peace and would later become of great importance.
The fleet had undergone a total makeover. Their weaponry was now all iron, and their clothing, uniforms, armor, flags, sails, oars—even their hairstyles—were all different from when they had been A'Heelah's Fleet Nation. Now, they were the 'Sea People.'
Nobody expected the Sea People! But there had been an omen known through ancient texts. The last millennium, before the droughts, famines, rebellions, and chaos, A'Heelah and his Caravan Nation had disappeared.
This time, A'Heelah disappeared around 1210 BC, and the Fleet Nation in 1220 BC. For decades, there were talks and rumors, and even the economy was affected by the chasm they left behind. It was nothing grave—perhaps a few small locations entered a few years of crisis—but nothing major.
But that all changed when the Sea People attacked!
Their weapons were dark and black, in stark contrast to their former bronze ones with their beautiful metallic shine. They wore dark leather armor with plates made of the same black ore, and their sails were dark blue like the stormy seas. Their vessels were crafted from dark timber, compact in size, granting them speed and maneuverability.
They came like a storm, riding at dusk and vanishing when the absence of light blended their dark vessels into invisibility.
There was no conquering, no diplomacy, no warnings—only sacking.
When the dark vessels were spotted on the horizon, under the epic shades of sunset and the nascent umbra of dusk, the coastal people knew they could only flee from their port cities. There was no salvation, only meager resistance.
Some plotted to claim fallen vessels, but the darkened ships always went up in flames. The Sea People would flood them with oil and ignite them, even at the cost of their own lives.
They cared not about the monsters they had become, for they knew they had only the Path left to follow.
The Path that would give humanity a chance.
The Path that would award them with a triumphant return—should they make it back.
The Path that would grant them an afterlife in the Imperium—should they fail to return.
The Path, laid by their savior, protector, teacher, and father—sometimes mother—cared not for morality.
The Path allowed them to move without the burden of questioning whether they were good or bad.
The Path was their salvation and their burden to bear.
The Path dictated the collapse of the current civilization, so the Path shall get what it hungers for!
Soon enough, all the ancient world was embroiled in chaos—and it all started with the Sea People.
The deities couldn't keep up with the changes, and the usual policies of Omnipotence City—policies of minor physical intervention, which the Olympians tended to ignore—were holding them back.
Some deities couldn't restrain themselves and decided to intervene. They were all deities, so surely they should grant each other some leniency, right? Even if these policies were implemented by a council of deities, if the current upheaval affected everyone on that council, then they would understand and grant some leniency, right?
The first to make a move was Ishtar, the Goddess of Love and War. But when she made it to the shore to fight off the Sea People, Aragorn—now in his female form—was there, waiting for her.
"Ishtar, the divine keep to divine affairs, and the mortals to mortal affairs, right?" The way Aragorn's honeyed voice posed the question made Ishtar squirm—not in lust, but in dread. "Though, now that I think about it, why does it seem like that's only the case when my pantheon makes an appearance? Did anyone bother to inform the Olympians of these rules after they imprisoned Cronus?"
"Hahahaha... Aragorn, what are you talking about? I only came here to observe what our cute little mortals were up to!" Ishtar, who had never once supported antagonizing Aragorn, quickly turned politically correct.
"Hahahaha... Ishtar, I knew you would immediately recognize me even in this form!" Aragorn laughed with no expression on his face, and given that he laughed and spoke through his telekinesis, it only made it more unnatural.
Like that, Ishtar stood next to Aragorn as they watched the Sea People ransack the port city and then exit under the cover of night. All the while, Ishtar wore a polite, forced smile, and Aragorn simply observed.
On the Egyptian side, things were not that peaceful.
Seth, a renowned troublemaker of the Ennead, was also the deity in charge of protection from external threats—and what were the Sea People but an external threat?
With the body of a man with wheat-colored skin, and the head of a strange animal with a long snout, erect ears, dark fur, and a forked tongue, he walked calmly over the waters of the Nile's estuary—the Damietta branch—his staff in one hand, a khopesh in the other, facing the invading fleet of the Sea People. Preparing to tear them apart.
Yet, between them and him, Aragorn stood.
"Whoever you are," Seth's voice was both a growl and an eloquent vocalization, "move out of this God's way and the target of this God's ire!"
"Mortals to mortals, deities to deities. Those are the rules of Omnipotence City. Is the Ennead standing against the Council of Godheads?" Aragorn asked.
"The policies were created by deities for the deities' benefit, stranger. If the policies obstruct the said deities, then the policies are useless," Seth continued walking.
"I see. You've given me enough to think about. What do you say we think together for a while?" Aragorn pushed her tail forward, and starting from behind him, reality began breaking like a mirror.
In the sky, reflections of the sea appeared in geometrical shapes. In some of these shapes, parts of the coast and the Nile's estuary could be seen among reflections of the clouds.
In the sea, like a spiderweb crack, everything began to change into mirrors.
And far faster than Seth could evaluate, a dome of geometrical reflections (mirrors) trapped them both. Then the dome disappeared, and both were left standing in the mirror dimension.
"Now we have the privacy to discuss such important topics!" Aragorn declared merrily.
"What have you done?! Where have you brought this God?" Seth declared in anger. His divinities began to pollute the surroundings, seeking an answer.
"This is the mirror dimension. Nothing that happens here"—Aragorn pointed at the reflection of the Sea People behind her and fired a beam of plasma—"affects the outside." The reflection broke, but the Sea People kept sailing forward.
Chaos, violence, and death—his divine domains—shrouded his staff and khopesh with an aura of hostility and bloodlust.
"If battle is what the stranger wants, death shall be this God's answer!" Seth took a step forward, and to any mortal eye, he disappeared.
Aragorn's nails grew into almost straight claws, and accompanied by the swinging blade of her tail, her hands moved around her so fast that it appeared as if she had lost her arms and tail. She was blocking and deflecting every single one of Seth's strikes and killing blows.
Seth, understanding his opponent was keeping up, sped up and began to create a storm through his divinity. This was no mere storm of water, winds, and lightning—it was a desert storm, a natural grinder.
He sought the cover of the sandstorm to hide, yet no matter where he went, the color-changing eyes of the stranger followed him.
The sand particles—a product of divinity—that should have been tearing and grinding the stranger to her bones were kept at bay by an invisible field.
But futility would not stop Seth!
From his body, a mist of death—a product of his divinity of death—breezed out. The mist was like dry ice; it fell to ground level and spread from there like a cloak. Though, contrary to dry ice, it was of a brown color.
The stranger allowed the mist past her shield, and Seth saw an opportunity with that—except, no matter how much time passed, the stranger was not dying.
And so, the most senseless fight Seth had ever fought went on and on, and shortly before long, lost in battlelust and frustration, he forgot the original motive of the fight.
Eventually, Aragorn pointed forward with her tail and pulled it back—like undoing the initial action that brought them to the mirror dimension—and by the end of the moment, they appeared back in reality, except it was now dark. The Sea People had departed already.
"GRAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHWLLLLLLLL!"
Seth's growl of frustration reached the capital city of Egypt. Aragorn was gone by the time he came to his senses, and the coastal cities were laid waste.
Like stuck in repetition, the Sea People ransacked city after city, their numbers dwindling—especially since children were sent away from the Path—but so too was the resistance the port cities could mount.
Time passed, and Aragorn needed to meet a certain duo of sisters of high destiny value...
Helen of Sparta, daughter—not of blood—of King Tyndareus and Leda, possessed unparalleled beauty, even beyond that of her mother. A beauty so perfect, so damning, that poets, kings, heroes, artists, and any who met her would say rivaled that of the goddesses.
Being born a woman in a man's world was already a sin because women were weaker than men, but being born a woman of such beauty in this world was worse than a sin—whatever that is.
Helen had a beauty so enchanting that even before her first decade, Theseus, the king of Athens, abducted her in hopes of making her his bride. Were it not for the rescue spearheaded by her brothers, she would be known as Helen of Athens by now.
Much to her despair, that was not the last attempt at her kidnapping.
When she came of age, her hand in marriage was sought by nearly every powerful man in the Greek world. Kings, warriors, and nobles came to Sparta to ask for her.
Her mortal father Tyndareus, worried about the consequences of choosing one suitor and alienating the rest, accepted the counsel of Odysseus, who was among the contenders. Odysseus proposed a clever solution: all suitors would take an oath to defend Helen's chosen husband against anyone who tried to take her from him.
Helen eventually chose Menelaus, a prince of Mycenae and brother to the powerful King Agamemnon. When Tyndareus stepped down, Menelaus became the King of Sparta, and Helen its queen.
And with that—a husband protecting her by her side, and a kingdom of fierce warriors at her beck and call—her story, just like that of any princess who had assumed her destined role, should have ended.
But that was not what happened.
Almost two decades ago, during the wedding of Thetis and Peleus, after Zeus had assigned Paris to choose "The fairest of all" from Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite, the three women bribed him with promises.
Hera promised him power and kingship—to rule over all of Asia. Athena offered wisdom and unparalleled skill in war—victory in battle and glory as a warrior. And Aphrodite promised him the love of the most beautiful woman in the world. Like the hormonal teen he was, he declared Aphrodite the Fairest of All.
The only problem was that the most beautiful woman in the world hadn't been born at that time, so Paris had to wait. Time went as it came, and Aphrodite contacted Paris—it was time to fulfill her promise.
When Paris was on his way to Sparta on a diplomatic mission sent by his father, King Priam of Troy, Aragorn visited the most beautiful woman in the world.
Helen of Sparta sat unmoving in the basin, with a practical ease about the situation, staring at Aragorn, who unceremoniously floated in front of her while she was enjoying a bath. Her servants left the palatial bath with vacant gazes.
"It's not the first time a woman tries to kidnap me; it is the first time a Goddess is the one doing it," Helen said. There was some resignation to her that Aragorn was picking up with her empathy.
"But I'm not here to kidnap you," Aragorn tilted her head questioningly.
"You appeared in the palatial bath while I, the Queen of Sparta, am taking a bath, and you expect me to believe you came not with vile intention?" Helen said.
"In fact, I come bearing gifts along with a warning," Aragorn said.
"Divine providence, is it?" Helen asked, reaching for her bath oils. For the first time ever, someone was standing in front of her who appeared unmoved by her beauty.
No, it wasn't just unmoved—she appeared to not even be observing her despite locking eyes with her. It wasn't that she was locking eyes with her to avoid looking at her nudity; it was that she showed the same interest in her bath basin and bath oils as in her nudity.
"Maybe not divine, but my gifts shall bring you no harm directly," Aragorn said.
"Directly?" Helen raised one of her sculpted eyebrows at Aragorn's wording.
"If I were to give you treasures and malice found its way to you, would that be the treasure's fault, or the assailant's?" Aragorn posed the question.
"I comprehend the risk your gifts bring, but tell me, are these gifts for my will to evaluate and accept, or are they meant to be forced upon myself?" Helen asked.
"A gift can be rejected," Aragorn said with an amiable tone that melded harmoniously with her honeyed voice.
"What is my guest's name?" Helen asked, showing xenia—the Greek concept of sacred hospitality—for the first time to Aragorn.
Aragorn controlled the water in the basin, heated it to comfortably warm, and then made it bubble like a hot tub. Helen observed all this happening with wonder and mortal curiosity. She didn't react when she saw how there was a lack of evil intent in her guest's eyes.
Aragorn's form changed to that of a small girl—to fit comfortably with Helen—and her clothing disappeared. She floated to the basin and sank, opposite Helen. Then, from her storage, she brought out a clear liquid with a floral scent—liquid soap. She mixed it with the warm water and then used her telekinesis to scrub both of their bodies.
"Lux. You can call me Lux," Aragorn said.
Helen let out a breath of contentment at the full-body massage she was receiving. Aragorn's tail made its way to wrap around one of Helen's shapely, smooth legs, and then the pleasure she was feeling intensified in potency.
"What is this, Lux? Is it the pleasure of deities?" Helen's voice came out almost like a moan.
"My first gift is information, Helen. This pleasure is to make up for the future ordeals you'll no doubt experience, and this is precisely the warning I confer to you," Aragorn said while putting Helen through the same care she gave her Therions.
"That has been the poetry of my life since birth. Not even while wedded will I escape it, won't I?" Helen said. Her voice still carried the pleasure she was experiencing, but additionally, it now came with regret.
"My second gift is the ability to break free from manipulation of the mind, soul, and body," Aragorn brought one of her small hands outside the bubbling, foaming water's surface, and an orb of white-bluish light appeared in her palm. "Touch it and you shall accept it," Aragorn hovered the orb a short distance away from Helen.
"Would it be prudent to assume that part of my clouded future is plagued with manipulation of my heart?" Helen asked, her eyes moist. Whether it was from the massage or the despairing reality that awaited her, it was not clear.
"Your heart won't be yours, Helen, and as the mortal you are, you won't stand a chance to oppose your divine masters," Aragorn said.
Helen processed Aragorn's words and then touched the glowing orb. As it happened with Thetis, the orb was absorbed into her.
"Even with the sanctity of your will protected, you'll remain a pawn of your weakness. So my third gift is the option to choose." Aragorn made two orbs float to her—one blue and the other red.
"One shall allow you to safely venture to the exit—fulfillment—of your fate," the red orb glowed brighter for a moment, "the other will protect your body and soul," the blue orb shone brightly momentarily.
"If you would be so kind, please help me understand," Helen said, her eyes half-opened just like her mouth, her skin bristling in parts, her nipples erect due to the water.
"The exit, the end, the fulfillment of your fate might be a tragedy, death, or any of the countless other unfortunate ends. The red orb will allow you to walk toward the possible exit in your fate that favors you the most.
"The blue orb will protect your body and soul. This could range from attacks to sexual assaults, but it won't protect your mind. Let's say someone wants to bed you badly enough, but the protection is safeguarding you—they could threaten you with the slaughter of your loved ones, and should you agree, the protection would falter.
"Neither is perfect, but both orbs come with a slew of benefits," Aragorn finished her explanation.
"... I think not even this divine caressing can keep my mind away from the despairing realities you just painted, Lux," Helen said.
Contrary to her comment, she was in a slackened position.
"Risking my guest's displeasure... could I have both?" Helen asked, almost pleadingly.
"Helen, haven't you wondered why I am giving you these gifts?" Aragorn asked.
"You don't appear to be after my body, so I believe there's some benefit in it for you. However, I ignore what that might be," Helen admitted.
"Your fate is one I'm interested in allowing to reach a certain point. The ripples that will be created in the waters of destiny by it are what I'm counting on to steer my raft in the desired direction," Aragorn said.
"If that's the case, why are you offering these gifts?" Helen asked.
"My real objective was the first orb. The rest are the after-service," Aragorn said.
"I now see the whimsical nature of the gods in you, Lux," Helen said with a sigh.
"My motives are fueled by whims, steered by pettiness, and aimed by disgust. I'm not your savior; nevertheless, I bring a form of salvation to you," Aragorn confessed.
"... Can I request a session like this from time to time?" Helen asked.
"Once a year is the best I can do," Aragorn said.
"Thank you for your tainted salvation, Lux," Helen said before reaching for the red orb. "It's more than any deity has ever done for me."
"Despite your frailness and mortality, you're a strong woman, Helen—unlike the damsel in despair that I had pegged you for," Aragorn said before disappearing. Soon after, Helen's servants returned as if nothing had happened.
Paris made it to Sparta with Troy's delegation, and Menelaus—unaware of Paris's corrupted purpose—welcomed him as a guest.
Paris, the moment his eyes landed on Helen, knew without a shadow of a doubt who the most beautiful woman was—and also who he was there for. The woman who would undoubtedly love him, as was the Goddess of Love's vow.
Menelaus had to leave for Crete for a funeral—a close acquaintance had perished in a naval battle to the feared Sea People. Paris was left in Sparta, and Sparta was left under its queen's leadership.
The same day Menelaus departed, Aphrodite cast her divine charm. Yet... it rebounded.
Aphrodite's eyes opened wide—something was repelling her charm.
She tried again, and once more it failed. Again, Helen was still not charmed. Once more, Helen remained lucid of heart.
Aphrodite descended to Helen's room, and while she slept soundly, Aphrodite tried to understand what was repelling her charm. Yet she found no opposition when she tried to probe Helen's soul, mind, or body. However, as soon as she tried to enthrall her or manipulate her in any manner, her divinity was flushed out of Helen's system.
That meant trouble. She could help Paris force himself onto Helen, but that wouldn't be the love she promised. She could try with another woman, but she wouldn't be Helen—the most beautiful woman in the world. Her options were narrowing.
She could offer herself, but she was not a woman (mortal), so even that would be breaking her vow.
She didn't know what to do.
The next day, Paris approached Helen. Yet aside from the surface-level politeness expected from the Queen of Sparta to a Prince of Troy, no shadow of love could be seen in her eyes.
That night, Paris prayed to Aphrodite, questioning the veracity of her words.
"My Goddess, has my faith wavered, has my judgment erred, were you perhaps not the fairest of all? Why am I subject to this punishment? I can't find doubt in my heart, Helen of Sparta—No! Helen of Troy is the most beautiful woman in the world, yet I can't feel the warmth of love from her."
"~Paris," the seductive voice of Aphrodite reached his ears with the clarity of glacial water. "The seed of love has been planted in Helen's heart, but like any seedling, to grow into a magnificent and warm tree, time and care are needed."
Aphrodite's words were not wrong. Any love worth it needed time to grow stronger, but the starting point was different.
"Tomorrow, I shall assist you, ~Paris," she murmured, and Paris could swear he felt the warmth of her breath on his ear and the scent of her ambrosia waft to his nose. "Take Helen of Troy with you behind the walls of Troy—those built by Poseidon and Apollo will resist the might of all invaders. Behind the security of these walls, you will have the time needed to grow the seedling, ~Paris."
Like so, Helen was taken by force the next day in her room, and later abducted. To completely smear Menelaus's honor with shit, Paris stole as much treasure as he could before departing.
Hospitality was shown to Paris as was the sacred tradition. Paris should have honored his host. Instead...
Menelaus was rightfully enraged. He traveled to Mycenae to see his brother, Agamemnon, the most powerful of the Achaean kings. There, Menelaus invoked the Oath of Tyndareus. The once-suitors of Helen—those who swore to assist the winner of her hand should the bride be stolen by any other—were called upon.
Odysseus, Nestor, Diomedes, Ajax the Greater, Ajax the Lesser, Idomeneus, and many others.
Even Achilles, the near-divine son of Thetis, was brought from the refuge where his mother had hidden him, afraid of a prophecy that foretold Achilles would either live a long, uneventful, and unremarkable life or a short heroic tale.
While these great figures were gathered in a war council, waiting for their fleets to amass, planning logistics, and more—
Clytemnestra, Helen's sister and wife of Agamemnon, received the visit of Aragorn.
"Who are you?" Clytemnestra demanded with a fierceness not found in her sister.
"Clytemnestra, my name is Lux. Is this the hospitality to be given to a guest who comes bearing gifts? Your sister, before her abduction, welcomed me with open arms—will it not be the same under the roof of her beloved sister?" Aragorn asked, playfully floating around Clytemnestra.
"Guests don't appear inside the private chambers of the Queen," Clytemnestra said, her guard not dropping.
"You talk of ordinary guests as if we were the same. I bring salvation to your unknowingly condemned daughter, Iphigenia, and opportunity to your to-be condemned self. I doubt I stand at the same level as your previous or future guests," Aragorn giggled.
Clytemnestra narrowed her eyes, promising retaliation should Aragorn overstep her bounds, and said, "I'll hear you out, esteemed guest."
"For the naive Iphigenia, hopelessly in love with Achilles, I bring salvation from death by divine retribution," Aragorn said.
"My daughter was not raised to bring shame to the gods," Clytemnestra argued.
"But your husband wasn't, was he?" Aragorn asked.
"Agamemnon?" Clytemnestra couldn't speak with confidence about her husband.
"As we speak, he boasts of being a better hunter than Artemis. He also shoots and claims a stag beholden to the mentioned goddess. Knowing your deities as well as you do, what action do you figure Artemis will take at the offense?
"Will she rain divine punishment on your husband? Will she demand an apology? Or will she demand a sacrifice to her name that would hurt Agamemnon the most?" Aragorn made a window in space; in it, Agamemnon stood boastful atop a magnificent fallen stag.
Clytemnestra's already icy-cold eyes sharpened. She clenched her jaw tight, her nails sank into the flesh of her palms, and with a growl, she asked, "What manner of salvation do you propose?"
"I shall ensure little Iphigenia survives divine wrath and sacrifice," Aragorn promised.
"Why?" Clytemnestra's question was direct to the heart of the matter—why was Aragorn helping her?
"Retaliation." Aragorn's concise answer was enough for Clytemnestra to understand her motivations.
"And the opportunity?" she asked.
"Agamemnon will not make the return from Troy. You'll have ten years to become the sovereign of Mycenae, and it shall survive to see past your grandchildren's generation. After that, it will fall," Aragorn said.
Clytemnestra, unlike Helen, took her time to accept, but later that month, when the entire fleet was in Aulis, ready to depart, but with no winds, and Agamemnon mentioned he needed Iphigenia to wed her to Achilles, Clytemnestra remembered Aragorn's warning about the fake engagement that her husband would use to draw her daughter away from her. She caved in right there and accepted Aragorn's gifts—both of them.
And so, under the arctic-cold stare of Clytemnestra, Agamemnon felt the winds pick up. And then—
"NO!"
—The wrathful shouts of the enraged divine archeress resounded in the skies above.
Agamemnon and Clytemnestra gazed up to find Aragorn standing in front of Artemis, the latter one pointing at Aragorn with a divine arrow mounted in her bow.
"Do it, Artemis," Aragorn's voice reached clearly to Artemis and all the mortals present in the port city. "Let it go, shoot me!"
Aragorn's encouragement was accompanied by a fierce grin and the hue of her crimson-glowing eyes.
"Zeus will know of this!" Artemis said before disappearing.
"Hahahahaha! That's what I'm counting on," Aragorn laughed, her eyes shifting to golden.
She turned to the mortals below and said, "Go, mortals, slaughter those Trojans, and remember—it was an Olympian who stood in your way, and me who stood by your side this day!"
The Greeks sailed safely under the tender care of Aragorn—no divine intervention, no nonsense—all the way to the shores of Troy.
In high spirits and good morale, the Greeks prepared to disembark, but a prophecy came to mind: "The first Achaean to set foot on Trojan soil would be the first to die."
No one wished to be the first. Unease and fear spread among the combatants. It was then that Protesilaus, King of Phylace in Thessaly, stepped forward, ready to sacrifice his life.
On the Trojan front, Hector, Prince of Troy and its greatest combatant, readied his spear and took aim at the brave Protesilaus.
The moment Protesilaus set foot on the Trojan beach, Hector's spear flew true—yet, just as it appeared it would strike, Protesilaus stumbled unnaturally and fell forward. The spear missed by a hair's breadth.
The Greeks immediately proclaimed that Protesilaus had divine providence on his side, some said that the beautiful helper who had been protecting them since departure was responsible, regardless, they all rushed ashore, ready for battle.
Like so, the Trojan War began.
While this unfolded in one corner of the world, the Sea People were moving northward from Egypt, slowly making their way toward Troy.
Time passed—almost ten years...
In the past ten years, Aragorn followed up on her promise and visited once a year Helen for a therapeutic massage bath.
"You appear more at ease," Aragorn said while eyeing the slackened woman enjoying the session in a bubble of water floating midair.
"You mentioned that this act I've been playing is nearing its completion, right?" Helen murmured in reply, too relaxed to raise her voice.
"Yes, the war won't see its eleventh year," Aragorn affirmed.
"Menelaus was not a great husband, but at least he was my choice," Helen said. "I was encouraged to train my body, handle state affairs in Menelaus' absence, assist in keeping my warrior's ethos, and other small but significant tasks that meant my time and interest.
"Here? My greatest value is how good in bed I am to my abductor. Almost a decade of having to pretend to be in love with a man as despicable as Paris, who couldn't be satisfied with Oenone, that sweet nymph.
"Here, even more so than in Sparta, I'm nothing but a trophy. Worse! I've had to watch as some of the warriors I helped grow fall to the blades of my kidnappers, and I have to cheer them for it. It's disgusting!
"And the only thing that has kept me sane is that your gift seemed to be working, otherwise I would have taken my life the moment it was confirmed I carried that pig's seed! These visits, even if once a year, have kept my sanity anchored.
"So, yes. I feel at ease knowing that whatever conclusion you've been plotting will soon bring this war born out of the selfish and egotist desire of a pig and a divine bitch to its due end," Helen ranted.
"You've grown quite the mouth," Aragorn chuckled.
"Sometimes, I wish I had chosen your blue orb, but then I remember how the divine bitch charmed my servants into assisting the pig in abducting me, and I realize I would have capitulated to the pig had he threatened me with their lives," Helen confessed.
"Your life, I don't envy, Helen," Aragorn said.
"You might be the first not to," she replied. "They all see the luxury, the status, my beauty, and none can see that past it, I'm no different than a sex slave to my 'husband'," Helen spat the word with disgust.
The massage session soon came to an end, and before she left, Helen stopped Aragorn and asked, "Are you sure Troy will fall? Lately, Hector has been pushing the Aegeans back."
"Oh, Helen, that's just because Achilles is having a squabble with Agamemnon. Achilles is not leading his Myrmidons to battle, so all the slack that his near-divinity has been picking up is being left for his mortal compatriots to carry," Aragorn said, a small smirk on her face.
"You don't seem so fond of the Aegeans," Helen observed.
"I'm not fond of any side in particular in this war," Aragorn said. "There are no good or bad sides, only victims," she pointed with her dainty finger at Helen, "and aggressors," she pointed at the door before disappearing. Momentarily after, the door opened and Paris walked in.
"My loved husband, what brings you to me this day?" Helen asked, a perfect tender smile on her face.
"My beautiful Helen, can't a man in love not visit his muse?" Paris walked to the seminude body of Helen, all his intentions clear in his eyes.
While Paris was drowning in his fake love, his brother, Prince Hector, had just slain 'Achilles,' yet while his men rejoiced and the Aegeans cowered in retreat, with few like Menelaus fighting to recover the body, Hector felt something was off.
The warrior he had just killed was mighty, undoubtedly, but he carried none of Achilles' nigh-divine combat skill and invulnerability. Hence, while the Trojans were celebrating the fall of the feared Achilles, Hector kneeled to remove the helmet of his fallen opponent and claim the armor as a trophy.
What he found was not the face of the feared Achilles, but that of a young man.
Slowly, one at first, with many later, the Trojans realized the fallen Achilles was an impostor, and silence reigned on the previously boisterous battlefield.
"We retreat!" Hector commanded. "Behind the walls, we move!"
A mistake... Hector had slain the wrong opponent, and guessing by the fact that he wore Achilles' armor, it was someone close to him. Hector, nor any of the other Trojans with brains, said it, but they all knew the recent windfall was because Achilles had not been showing to the battlefield.
And now? What will happen after the news reached him?
On the Aegean front, after the Achaeans returned for Patroclus' body and carried it to Achilles' tent, the Myrmidons, realizing they had mistaken Patroclus for their leader and mistakenly followed him to battle—possibly even causing his death indirectly—were silently kneeling at the entrance of the tent.
After Achilles walked out of his tent to find Patroclus' body, something broke in him. The lack of motivation he had after Agamemnon had slighted him and taken his prize of war, Briseis—another victim of the war, a woman taken as goods and passed between the men like so—disappeared in an instant.
He sought his divine mother for assistance in securing armor. Themis, her heart gripped by the prophecy claiming Achilles would die young, pleaded to Hephaestus for a divine armor for her son.
First, Hephaestus made the shield of great broadness, and he covered it with a layer of metal and set the bronze rim all round. There were five layers on the shield, and Hephaestus made the rim of it like a circle, and he placed the rim with gold about the edge, and with it was set a double ridge. Then he made the center of the shield, and in it he placed two high cities of mortal men: one was in a state of war, the other at peace.
This was the shield that would become one of the most iconic on Earth.
Hephaestus made the armor, the breastplate and the greaves, and he made the helmet with a crest like a soldier's, with a horsehair plume upon it, and Hephaestus set this helmet upon his head. Then he gave him the sword, with a sharp edge, and the shield, and Achilles, armed, looked like a god as he stood in the armor Hephaestus made.
Under Achilles' lead, the Aegeans returned to the battlefield, knowing that this day they would claim the head of at least one Trojan prince.
The inevitable came to pass.
After Achilles mowed his way to Hector and dueled him in single combat, Hector fell to the demigod wearing divine armor and wielding divine weaponry... Who would have thought?
Achilles paraded Hector's body in front of the Trojan walls, dragging it behind his chariot.
While this was happening, Aragorn simply observed. She cared not for the monstrosities of men at war.
Aragorn observed a moment longer before turning to look in another direction, her eyes ignoring the distance and disregarding obstacles, landing on her Sea People as they waged war not unlike the bloody mess of the Trojans and Aegeans.
>It's the same.<
'War is part of life,' Vladarion said. {A/N: Son of Natalia and Bucky, God of War.}
-Cruelty is to war as thought is to sapience.-
|War is the reset, stagnation, progress, ball and chain, curse, and blessing of civilization.|
>So cruelty is part of civilization.<
While Aragorn discussed with her selves, her SplitSelves were busy collecting souls across the battlefields.
Some mortals would catch a frame of them, some would confuse them with mirages, some would recognize them, some were too busy fighting for survival to pay attention, and some simply accepted it as part of life on the battlefield.
As the war continued and battles raged on, the Trojan War reached one of its turning points.
Paris, grieving for the death of his brother, decided to pick up his bow and claim the life of Achilles.
Near the nigh-impenetrable Trojan walls, Paris took aim at Achilles as he mowed down the Trojan soldiers with glee. Paris steadied his breathing, his grip firm but relaxed, the weight of the bow disappearing, the distance disappearing, and Apollo's words ringing in his mind, "Let go when you're ready, Paris. I shall guide your arrow."
Apollo, while trying to claim an assist kill, did as he said, and after Paris released his arrow, he guided it to the only vulnerable spot in Achilles. Thetis, in her pursuit to make her beloved baby immortal, had held baby Achilles by the heel and submerged him in the waters of the River Styx. That's where Apollo aimed.
Thetis, even while not present and without the need to witness it, felt the death of her son approaching. As she had once claimed, "What is fated cannot be avoided, even by the gods."
As the arrow flew across the battlefield, as Thetis' heart constricted in pain, and as Achilles felt his instincts warn him of inevitable danger, Thetis yielded, "I DON'T CARE! SAVE MY CHILD!"
With her desperate shouts, on the battlefield, just before the arrow could strike true, Aragorn stopped it and placed a hand on the startled Achilles. She winked at the enraged Apollo, then disappeared with Achilles in hand, leaving behind his divine armor.
"Like so, [Fate] was severed, right, Thetis?" Aragorn asked as she reappeared in Thetis' dwelling with the now unarmored Achilles. "Even after his disappearance, your son's glory shall be the stuff of legends, yet here he is," she pointedly looked at Achilles, who was trying to gain a semblance of understanding of the situation, "alive and well."
"Mother?" Achilles questioned as he laid eyes upon the tears marring his mother's divine face. "What's going on?"
Before Thetis could reply, "Have a nice life, Achilles. Don't answer Zeus' call for war, Thetis," Aragorn said, and disappeared as she arrived.
"Almost there, ~Fufufufufu," Aragorn laughed to herself as she watched the Aegeans retreat after the disappearance of their best fighter.
Given that Achilles and Hector had been carrying the war on their shoulders, with their removal, the war settled into a balance—at least on the surface.
The reality of it all was that the Aegeans were invading, and just the logistics of feeding their men were enough to put them at a disadvantage.
So they came up with a crazy plan and faked a retreat, hiding behind the nearby island of Tenedos, and leaving behind a wooden horse filled with the best of their men—the elite—and a man named Sinon.
Sinon was in charge of spinning a tale for the Trojans to swallow. The hope was for the Trojans to haul the horse into their city, and at night, the elites would emerge and open the gates for their returning army.
Yeah, it was a crazy plan.
But Odysseus's words came with the backing of Athena, and even the horse's design was overseen by her wisdom.
They followed through with the plan, and at night, the Aegeans exited from the horse. They stealthily killed their way to the gates of Troy.
Everything was working out as intended—except that under the cover of the night, while the Trojans were celebrating the end of the war, while the Aegeans kept silent inside the horse, and while their fleet hid behind the island of Tenedos... the Sea People arrived.
Their darkened vessels, their skillful sailing, their ease of practice, their advanced weaponry and tactics, and the guidance of the eye in the sky—Aragorn—all combined into an ambush so terrifying that the Aegeans could only mount a faulty defense.
And while the Sea People were slaughtering and scattering the Aegean fleet, Aragorn appeared in front of one of the last pieces of her puzzle: Cassandra, Princess of Troy, sister to Hector and Paris.
Cassandra suffered from the infatuation of a god—Apollo, in her case. He desired her so much that he blessed her with the gift of prophecy, but upon her rejection, Apollo—as expected—didn't take it like a man and cursed her so that no one would believe her prophecies.
Cassandra had said multiple times that Paris would bring only destruction to Troy, but no one believed her.
She prophesied that bringing Helen to Troy would lay the city to waste, but no one believed her.
She spoke of Hector's death at Achilles' hands, yet Hector still marched his way to that death.
She cried like crazy that within the horse lay the spear that would end Troy; everyone coined it madness.
She told her mother that she would lose all—her kingdom, her people, her husband, her sons, and her daughters—and that she would become a slave.
Lastly, Cassandra saw her death at Agamemnon's wife's hand, and with that prophetic nightmare, she woke up from what she believed would be her last night in Troy.
Yet, when she opened her eyes with a start, what she found was the sight of Aragorn.
"How about I take you away from your fate and remove Apollo's curse, Princess Cassandra?" Aragorn asked with a sweet smile.
Cassandra had not seen this, and that was enough for her to—while unsure yet resolute—nod in acceptance.
This was the first of the night.
Aragorn then dragged the floating and abducted Cassandra to Helen's room.
Helen awaited him while holding the hand of the wounded Paris, playing her role as the dutiful wife.
Paris had been injured in combat by one of the Aegean warriors in the last skirmish. His only salvation was the help of his first love, the nymph Oenone. Yet she denied him after he had abandoned her for Helen. So while he cursed his fate, gazing at the face of his wife—the most beautiful woman in the world—Aragorn appeared with his sister.
"Helen, there's no need for that. Troy falls this night," Aragorn said.
"W-What? Who are you?" Paris rose from the bed with a wince. He was in no position to fend for himself or even defend Helen, yet he still tried.
"Ah, finally. I shall be freed from this cage," Helen let go of Paris' hand under the shocked gaze of both siblings. Then she pulled a ceremonial dagger from under her dress and, with no ceremony, sank it into Paris' heart. After which, she paid no mind to him. She stopped not to gaze into his eyes, nor did she care if he had last words or not.
Aragorn made several more stops—some to pick up Helen's surviving servants, some to kidnap the children that would have fallen with the city, including Hector's child, and some to abduct Cassandra's mother, who tried resisting but soon found herself unconscious in Cassandra's arms.
The last was Aeneas, the supposed ancestor of the future Romans.
Aeneas was already on his way out of the city, his instincts screaming danger ever since the arrival of the horse. On his back, his father; in his dominant hand, his son. Seeing Aragorn descend from the heavens with a veritable crowd of unconscious people behind him—mostly children—Aeneas knew not what to make of it.
"I'll make sure you make it out of here, Aeneas. I only demand you let your descendants know who saved your lives," Aragorn declared.
With that declaration, all hell broke loose. The Sea People had made it to Troy. The Aegeans—some of them—escaped, with the majority perishing and sinking to Poseidon's domain. Agamemnon, as Aragorn had promised, was among the casualties.
Aeneas gazed back at the rising flames and chaos in Troy, then forward at the 'divine' being smiling knowingly at him.
"What is my savior's name?" Aeneas asked.
"Achíla," Aragorn said.
"Achíla?!" Not only Aeneas exclaimed, but also Helen and Cassandra, who were conscious, and Anchises—Aeneas' father.
Aragorn conjured a temporary illusion over her form to resemble her A'Heelah-Achíla persona of myths. She was still not discarding her current form; she needed it for the final push.
Helen was the most surprised among the present, but their shock lasted only briefly before it was interrupted by the massive lightning storm that appeared in the night sky as if by magic or divine providence.
"~Hehehe, finally," Aragorn said. "You'll take refuge where I'll send you. I'll meet you sometime later to discuss your possible paths." Aragorn waved her tail, and the mortals disappeared.
'You've done enough. You've reached the end of the Path. Escape or face the upcoming divine wrath, my Sea People,' Aragorn messaged the leader of the fleet.
Like the divine storm that arrived, the Sea People departed as rapidly as possible, and when the last of their vessels were far enough, Aragorn stopped shielding herself from the sight of the divine.
With pillars of light radiating hostility, the Olympians fell from the stormy skies in front of Aragorn. Armed, prepared, and with abundant bloodlust, there was no hesitation in what was to come.
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{A/N:
Please check out my P@treon account! There are already 10 chapters ahead for premium members, which is at least 100,000 words. Premium members also gain access to a new chapter every week.
[email protected]/ExistentialVoid
Free Members get access to all free chapters, and I upload free chapters about 12 hours earlier on P@atreon.
Lastly, this chapter has about 80% canon of the events of the Trojan War, I tried to refer to it but kept it superficial because not everyone has read about it—like me, I had only read The Odyssey before this chapter—so if there's something not matching with the canonical events, you can believe it had to do with the butterfly effect of Aragorn's presence on Earth-199999.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
}