On the Mount Ida trade road, Ainippe rode hard on her white mare, Wind Hoof. Her chestnut hair streamed behind her like a banner.
Her pale green eyes scanned the road's edges anxiously, searching for the figure she feared for most—
The impulsive Princess Melanippe. The morning sun had burned away the mist, but not the worry clouding her heart.
Suddenly, she spotted a familiar chestnut coat at the forest's edge—
Blood Moon, Melanippe's beloved mare, pacing in tight circles.
Her hooves churned the earth. She let out a sharp, rising whinny. Her intelligent eyes scanned the trees, restless with worry. A silent call for her rider.
Ainippe's heart clenched. She hauled sharply on the reins. Wind Hoof whinnied in protest. "Blood Moon never strays far from her mistress… Princess Melanippe must be in trouble!" The realization twisted her gut.
She swung down from her saddle. Landed lightly. Forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath. Suppressed the rising panic.
She spoke softly, calming the agitated horse and herself. "Calm, Ainippe! With the Princess's skill, even an ambush wouldn't leave her without a fight… Panic helps no one. Observe!"
She reached out. Stroked Blood Moon's sweaty, trembling neck. Felt the tense muscles quiver under her palm.
Then she began her survey. With a hunter's eyes.
She knelt. Her pale green gaze swept the ground. Noted clear drag marks in the grass. Several bush branches snapped by brute force. The breaks were fresh.
The air itself seemed to hold a faint, lingering tension. She read these natural clues like a coded message. Her fingers brushed a crushed fern.
Following the faint trail into the dense woods, Ainippe soon came upon the battered clearing—the site of Melanippe's mistaken battle.
There, four Amazon sisters lay side by side, their bodies carefully placed.
For a moment, her eyes stung. Her throat tightened. But she blinked hard. Forced the tears back. Her knuckles turned white where she clenched her fists.
She spoke to herself sharply, internally. "No time for grief now… Rescuing Princess Melanippe is the priority! Focus, Ainippe! Use your eyes! Use your head!"
She swallowed the rising sorrow. Began examining the site with a scout's professional detachment.
She noted the bodies were arranged neatly. A half-dug grave nearby. The turned earth was still damp. Smelled fresh.
A thick yew branch lay discarded. It bore the clear imprint of a muddy hand.
Her mind reeled with shock and chagrin. "Gods! This was a friend! Someone trying to give our sisters a proper burial! The impulsive Princess… she must have mistaken a friend for a foe. Attacked recklessly!"
The discovery brought a wave of relief. And a fresh wave of dread for the possible confrontation.
Her gaze, sharp as a precision compass, swept over the scattered arrows.
The fletching and craftsmanship—distinctive, unmistakable. They were Melanippe's. No doubt.
She even saw one shaft buried impossibly deep in a yew trunk—the one used for digging. The arrowhead protruded from the other side. The wood was stained with fresh mud.
As she investigated, a shocking realization dawned. "Only one person? And... emerged completely unscathed from the Princess's full assault? This individual's skill... is formidable." The deduction made her breath catch.
As a skilled warrior herself, Ainippe knew exactly what it took to merely dodge—unscathed—beneath Melanippe's storm of arrows. It demanded incredible reflexes, anticipation, and physical resilience.
The lack of any other blood on the ground, only Melanippe's spent arrows, proved this mysterious figure hadn't just evaded everything. This individual might not have even... fought back.
The thought made her heart pound strangely. She stood. Her pale green eyes looked toward the denser woods ahead. There, footprints and signs of a struggle led toward the lake.
Following the final, chaotic trail of prints and broken branches to the shore, Ainippe's gaze was instantly caught by a glint of cold light on the grass—
A finely crafted bronze shortsword. It lay on the damp turf. She picked it up carefully. Her fingers traced the intricate patterns and the distinctive markings of a Trojan noble.
She muttered to herself, brow furrowed in confusion. "A Trojan noble's weapon... No wonder she flew into a rage, assumed the worst. But..."
She inspected the blade again. It gleamed coldly in the sun. "Why is there no blood on it? Where are they?"
Her eyes scanned the serene lakeshore anxiously. Finally, they locked onto the gently rippling water—
Where a stream of fine bubbles rose steadily from the depths, breaking the surface calm.
She melted behind the trunk of a stout yew tree, silent as a cat. Drew her bow. Aimed at the source of the bubbles. Held her breath.
The water broke with a splash. A tall young man in waterlogged bronze armor struggled to the surface. His dark-gold curls were plastered to his forehead and cheeks. Water streamed from his hair.
He held the unconscious, limp form of Melanippe in his arms. Staggered clumsily onto the bank. Water poured from his heavy armor with every step.
He coughed violently, expelling lake water. Muttered in a tongue no one could understand. His tone was thick with frustration.
"Just my rotten luck! Don't all those stories say transmigrators have plot armor? Is mine faulty? Nearly got turned into a pincushion by this maniac, then almost drowned with her..." His lungs burned.
But mid-complaint, his focus wavered. He became aware of the weight and feel of the body in his arms.
"She looks lean, but she's solid... and these curves are... the feel isn't bad either... Stop it, Aeneas, you bastard! Now's not the time! Must be the oxygen deprivation messing with my head!"
He shook his head, trying to clear it.
Aeneas knelt on the soft grass by the lake. Laid Melanippe flat. She was pale. Not breathing.
He immediately went to work. His hands, clumsy and urgent, fumbled with the clasps of her leather armor. His wet fingers slipped several times, drawing a soft curse from his lips.
He muttered under his breath, his tone a mix of exasperation and urgency. "Just what kind of crazy girl are you... Shoot arrows at me, kick me, then make me save you... Would CPR even work on an ancient Greek girl? No time to worry about that!" He dredged up first-aid knowledge from his past life. It was rusty, but he didn't stop.
Under Ainippe's stunned gaze, Aeneas tilted Melanippe's delicate jaw. Took a deep breath. Then leaned down. Pressed his lips to her pale ones. Breathed into her lungs. Then he laced his fingers, positioned them on her chest. Began rhythmic compressions.
From behind the tree, Ainippe nearly dropped her bow.
Her eyes were wide. Her pale green irises held pure disbelief. A blush crept onto her cheeks unbidden.
"What... what is he doing? Some strange Trojan courtship ritual? Or... a healing magic I've never seen?"
She had never witnessed such an intimate, bizarre method of rescue.
Her tense readiness began to fade. The fully drawn bowstring slowly relaxed.
Her expression shifted from utter shock, to confused scrutiny, and finally, to a look of dawning comprehension and faint amusement—a soft 'knowing smile' touched her lips.
"This person... not only didn't harm the Princess, he's trying to save her? In this... peculiar way? And he seems... utterly serious? Is this... the guidance of Artemis? Or Aphrodite?"
Just as Ainippe considered slipping away quietly, not to interrupt this seemingly 'divine moment', Melanippe convulsed with a sudden cough. Her chest heaved. Expelled several mouthfuls of murky lake water. Her long lashes fluttered. She drifted back to consciousness.
She opened her eyes, dazed and weak. The first thing she saw was Aeneas's handsome, water-streaked face, hovering impossibly close.
It was pure instinct. Ignoring her body's weakness and aching limbs, Melanippe summoned the first shred of returning strength. Swung a fist straight for Aeneas's face!
The punch was weak. But the spirit was undiminished.
Aeneas jerked back reflexively. Narrowly avoided the pale but determined fist. His face was a picture of wounded indignation. His voice rose an octave.
"Hey! Where are your manners?! I just saved you! Is this how you treat your savior?"
He pointed at his own dripping face. Felt profoundly, utterly wronged.
Melanippe was a storm of fury and mortification. A deep flush colored her cheeks. "You! You stole a kiss while I was helpless!" The words were ground out between clenched teeth. Her eyes held a volatile mix of murderous intent and inexpressible shame.
"That was first aid! It's called giving breath! I wasn't kissing you, I was giving you air! Saving your life! Understand?" Aeneas dodged her subsequent, feeble swats. He tried to explain this advanced medical concept to the ancient warrior. It felt pointless. Like teaching calculus to a cat. Her weak blows kept coming.
Just then, Ainippe finally stepped out from behind the tree. A bright, amused smile was on her face. She gave a soft round of applause. As if she'd just enjoyed a fine performance. Her appearance made both of them freeze.
Her tone was teasing, knowing. "I saw it. The whole thing. A very... sweet, involved kiss." She deliberately drew out the word 'kiss'. A sly, amused smile tugged at her lips.
Aeneas turned to see another fully armed Amazon. His face stiffened. He internally lamented the situation's growing complexity. "You... you were watching the whole time?" He felt his own cheeks grow warm.
Ainippe laughed, spreading her hands in a relaxed gesture that clashed with the lingering tension. "I was on guard at first. Then... it became a learning experience." She added meaningfully, her gaze shifting between Aeneas and Melanippe. "Learning some... unprecedented life-saving 'techniques'."
Then, Ainippe softened her smile. Turned to Aeneas. Adopted a more formal, respectful posture. She placed her right hand over her heart. Gave an elegant Amazon greeting. "I am Ainippe. Guardian to Princess Melanippe." Her gaze was sincere. "Her misunderstanding wouldn't have happened if she'd been calm. Thank you for not harming her. And for saving her." She said this clearly. With weight.
Next, Ainippe knelt. Ignored Melanippe's humiliated glare. Checked her pulse and pupils carefully. Confirmed she was out of danger.
Then, she spoke softly but firmly to her Princess. "Your Highness. You owe him thanks. Sincere thanks."
Melanippe's face burned like a ripe apple. She coughed violently, trying to mask her embarrassment. Stubbornly turned her head away. Mumbled, "I... I'd rather owe him an arrow!" A classic case of stubborn pride.
Aeneas rolled his eyes in exasperation. He wrung out his soaking tunic hem. Shot back, "I'd rather you owed me a meal. Much safer. No risk of drowning again."
But his inner monologue kicked in again. "Gotta admit though, crazy as she is, she's vividly beautiful when she's angry. Especially when she blushes... Stop! Aeneas, get a grip! No more thoughts! Survival first, stay away from the crazy one!" He doused the thought with mental cold water. But his eyes lingered on Melanippe's flushed profile for a heartbeat too long.