Mythos
Achlys felt his heart hammering in his chest as the man approached, his stern gaze piercing through him.
He's trying to determine whether I am a friend or a foe, he concluded.
Achlys hesitated for a split second and relaxed his stance.
He needed to fit in, to blend seamlessly into the scene that was unfolding around him, even if he had just been thrust into it moments ago.
Think fast, he told himself, knowing that he wouldn't be able to do so for long.
The man was close now, his bronze armour which was almost the same as the one Achlys wore, glinting in the dim, stormy light.
His hand hovered over the hilt of his sword and Achlys could see the sweat glistening on his forehead, mingling with streaks of dirt and blood.
He must have come from the battlefield, he thought and noticed that the soldier had a slight limp.
"I asked you a question," the man said, his tone harsher this time.
If the worst comes, I can probably take him on.
That thought made Achlys freeze.
Take him?
"Who are you, and why are you not at your post?" the older man asked yet again.
He was growing visibly frustrated by the moment.
My post? Achlys thought belatedly, trying to suppress a wave of panic. Zeus, help me…
Just as the man was about to draw his sword, Achlys forced himself to stand a bit straighter, trying to project an air of calm confidence.
His next actions came to him naturally as he cleared his mind and wore his mask, the one he had relentlessly cultivated since the day his father died.
"I was sent with the latest batch of reinforcements from Mycenae," Achlys said, his voice steady.
If there was a person he'd rather be associated at the moment, it was with Agamemnon.
Agamemnon was not only the commander-in-chief, which made him responsible for assembling the armies from all over Greece, but he was also a king, which made it less likely that anyone would question someone claiming to serve him.
The man's eyes narrowed, scrutinising Achlys' face as if searching for any hint of deceit.
And I also look like a Greek, considering I am one…
For a tense moment, Achlys thought his ruse may fall apart, and copied the older man's hand movement, reaching for his own sword.
The tension in the air was palpable, and Achlys knew he had to act quickly to diffuse the situation.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and prepared to speak again.
"I was assigned to join the left flank," he said and examined the soldier's change of expression.
"But I was separated from my unit when we arrived. I was just about to head back."
The older man seemed to consider this, his eyes narrowing for a moment before he finally nodded.
"The left flank, you say?"
The man glanced back towards the battlefield, where the sounds of clashing steel and battle cries echoed louder than its surroundings.
"They could use the help, that's certain. What say your name was?"
Achlys felt a surge of relief at the question, though he tried not to let it show.
He had managed to buy himself some time… and a ticket to the battlefield!
"It's Achlys, sir," he replied, maintaining eye contact with the soldier.
"Not a bad name," the soldier grunted a hint of approval in his voice.
He gestured towards the distant line of combat, where flashes of bronze glinted in the murky light, figures moving like shadows through the mist.
"Left flank it is, then. Move fast, and for Hera's sake, stay alive."
Achlys nodded again and smiled.
But even as he turned to leave, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking towards his death.
As he began to move, he heard the older man call out again.
"Achlys!"
He stopped, turning to face the soldier with a questioning look.
The man was watching him closely, his eyes sharp and clear despite the exhaustion that lined his face.
"Don't get lost again. Understood?"
Achlys swallowed and forced a nod.
Sly old man.
"Understood, sir."
"Good."
The man's lips twisted into a tight, humourless smile.
"Now get moving. And make sure you earn your place out there."
With that, he turned and limped away, disappearing into the mist that clung to the battlefield like a shroud.
Achlys stood still for a moment, letting out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.
Earn my place, huh…
The words echoed in his mind.
So he had to earn his place even in a bloody forsaken piece of imagination?
Funny how these things work.
He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and drew it, feeling its familiar weight in his hand.
Needless to say, his training had included sword training with a typical Greek sword.
And in the end, that was all he had, skill and steel.
It would have to be enough.
"Mythos," Achlys suddenly whispered.
The very air seemed to shimmer around him as if responding to his invocation.
In the next moment, a bluish translucent panel flickered into existence before his eyes.
Here we go, Achlys thought with barely contained anticipation.
Of course, the young adult knew all about the panel in front of him for it was the very reason he plunged himself into the Myth in the first place.
The Mythos system was an interface that contained every facet of who the user was—their abilities, attributes or apographs as they were called, and even their progress to ascension.