By the lake, near the edge of Red Bean Forest, four new graves lay in a row. All under the shade of a giant yew.
The air smelled of damp soil. Turned earth. And the faint sweetness of wildflowers. It covered the old scent of blood, almost completely.
Sunlight slipped through the thick yew leaves. Cast dappled light on the mounds. As if Artemis herself was watching over this resting place.
Melanippe and Ainippe conducted a solemn rite in the Amazon tradition. They chanted a low, old song. Sad and slow. The sound drifted over the still lake. A call to guide the souls to the Moon Goddess's calm land.
Melanippe's voice shook a little, but held steady. She worked with the flowers—pale cornflower, white daisy, gold dandelion. Twisting them into small wreaths. Gentle hands, careful, like brushing a sister's hair in sleep.
She placed a wreath before each grave. Then knelt on one knee. Bowed her head in prayer to the Goddess. Her deep brown hair fell over her shoulders, hiding her face.
Melanippe fought back the tears stinging her eyes. Swore a bloody oath in her heart.
Sisters, may your souls find peace in the Goddess's realm. I swear, as an Amazon Princess, daughter of the Aryan Tribe's sworn guardian, I will make the killers pay in blood!
Aeneas stood solemnly to the side. His right hand over his heart. He gave a slight bow. His face held genuine sorrow and respect. He watched the solemn ceremony in silence.
Seeing these young, brave lives cut short weighed heavily on him. Whether in my time or this Bronze Age, the pain of war and violence is equally real, equally cruel... These warriors deserve the most sincere mourning and respect. He noticed the slight tremble in Melanippe's shoulders. Felt a complex stir of emotion.
When the rite ended, Melanippe quickly brushed away a stray tear with her fingertips. When she turned to Aeneas, her eyes had regained some of their chill. But the pure killing intent from before was gone.
Her tone was sharp. Interrogating. "Your Trojan armor—a surviving sister identified it. The bandits wore your standard issue. Explain that."
Aeneas raised a hand, signaling his innocence. His voice was low. Sincere.
"If anyone dares impersonate Trojan warriors, or steals our gear for such evil, I, Aeneas, heir to the Dardan Valley, swear I will cleanse this evil in the name of justice. I will get answers for the dead."
Melanippe's words still held their edge. She stepped closer. The distance between them vanished. Half threat, half challenge.
"Until you prove your innocence, I may still consider you one of them!"
Aeneas didn't argue. Just met her gaze with a steady silence. That silence, however, acted like a spark. It ignited a strange agitation in her. Made her angrier.
In the time that followed, Melanippe's behavior grew more unpredictable.
At times she was a harsh drill instructor, pointing out flaws. "Your shortsword hangs at the wrong angle. A real warrior wouldn't wear it like that. Slows your draw."
Other times, a well-meaning comment from Aeneas—"You've got a leaf in your hair"—would make her flush with sudden, sharp embarrassment. She'd spin around as if stung, her deep brown hair whipping through the air.
Her own mind was a conflict of confusion. This Trojan... Why do his eyes, his silence, unsettle me so? Make me so... agitated?
She felt like she was standing on a rocking canoe. Her usual poise was gone.
Ainippe watched it all, struggling to keep her lips from twitching into a smile. She offered a placating tone, "Your Highness, please, calm yourself. He did just save you, after all..."
But from an angle Melanippe couldn't see, she winked at Aeneas. Her pale green eyes held encouragement and a knowing amusement. A clear Hang in there, I get it.
Aeneas endured Melanippe's occasional 'attacks'. He wasn't really annoyed, though. In a strange way, he found it… endearing. And kind of funny.
The way this crazy girl's eyes blaze when she's mad, her cheeks puffing out just a little... it's actually kinda vivid? Cute? Wait... does that make me some kind of masochist?
He shook his head sharply, banishing the dangerous thought. But his eyes stole another glance at her fuming profile.
The soft crunch of footsteps in the woods broke the lakeside solemnity.
Thaleia, Achates, Nisus, and Euryalus emerged from the trees. Their faces showed the weariness and alertness of a scouting mission done.
When they saw the two Amazon warriors, surprise and wariness flashed across every face. The air went tight. Instantly.
"Amazons? Here? And with the young master... This is complicated."
Aeneas quickly stepped forward. Took the initiative to defuse the tension. "Everyone, this is Princess Melanippe of the Artemis Temple at Colonas. And her guardian, Ainippe. They're here tracking those who attacked an Amazon trade party."
Thaleia's and Melanippe's gazes met. Invisible sparks seemed to fly.
Thaleia's eyes made a swift, discreet sweep of Melanippe's finely sculpted face, athletic build, finally landing on the complex emotions still visible in her eyes when she looked at Aeneas—lingering anger, confusion, something unnameable.
Internal alarms blared for Thaleia. This Amazon princess... the way she looks at the young master... It's not just how you look at a stranger, or a potential enemy...
Melanippe looked Thaleia up and down. From her dark hair to her slender, toned frame. She gave a barely audible sniff. Her tone carried an Amazon princess's hauteur.
"One finds all sorts in Trojan lands. Even a female guide. It seems Trojan men often need a woman to show them the way?" A faintly teasing smile tugged at her lips.
Thaleia maintained a gentle smile. It didn't reach her eyes. Her words were velvet-covered needles. Soft. Sharp. "At least, as a guide, I can ensure I don't get so lost I need rescuing from a lake."
She glanced meaningfully at Melanippe's still-damp hair. Lifted her chin a fraction.
Aeneas felt the shift. Invisible currents crackled in the air. He braced himself. Tried to steer things back on track. "So... we all share the same goal now. Dealing with the bandits. That makes us allies..."
Before he finished, two pairs of eyes locked onto him. Melanippe's fine brows drew together. Her deep brown eyes flashed. "Who... who said anything about being your ally!" Her voice rose slightly.
Thaleia lowered her lashes. They cast shadows on her cheeks. Her tone acquired a note of perfect, artful hurt. "Young master... do you think I'm speaking out of turn? That I'm in the way?"
Aeneas felt utterly lost. His face was a picture of bewildered helplessness. What now? What did I say wrong?
He felt stuck between two converging storm fronts.
Behind him, Euryalus watched his young master's predicament. He failed to stifle a snicker. His shoulders shook. Achates and Nisus turned and glared. He quickly straightened his face. Pretended to study the bark of a nearby yew.
Euryalus didn't notice the subtle curl at the corners of his stern brothers' mouths. A shared flicker of amusement.
Achates tugged on Aeneas's vambrace, pulling the group's focus back from the strange standoff. "Young master, we've completed our reconnaissance." His steady voice instantly sobered the mood.
His expression was grave. "Twenty-five bandits in total. Exceptionally well-equipped. All in uniform Trojan infantry armor and weapons." The news settled heavily on everyone present.
Nisus added, "Five of them bear fresh wounds, newly bandaged.
Likely from yesterday's clash with the Amazons—who fought fiercely."
The detail made Melanippe's fists clench tight
Euryalus continued, his tone uncharacteristically serious, lacking its usual mockery.
"We overheard their plans while hidden. They intend to send men down the mountain this morning. To scout yesterday's battleground. And likely to resume ambushing travelers."
"About half their number. More than ten. My advice: we pull back to the estate. Gather sufficient forces for a proper assault."
Thaleia added quietly nearby, her gaze concerned as she looked at Aeneas. "Clearing out this nest would bring peace to merchants and mountain folk... But your safety, young master, is what matters most."
Melanippe's composure shattered. She drew her shortsword with a sharp shing! The blade gleamed with cold light in the dappled forest shade.
"An Amazon fears nothing!" Her voice shook with rage, eyes burning for vengeance. "Even alone, I will go and slaughter those jackals! Sanctify my sisters' spirits with their blood! I won't let those beasts breathe another moment!"
Ainippe gently pressed Melanippe's arm. Murmured a plea. "Your Highness, please, be calm... Vengeance requires wisdom, not just burning rage..." The calming effect was limited. Melanippe's chest still heaved.
Ainippe could only shoot a helpless, pleading look at Aeneas.
Aeneas caught the signal. Awkwardly ran a hand through his dark-gold curls. Hesitantly spoke, testing the waters. "Um... Melanippe, perhaps we should... plan this carefully. Maybe first..."
His face clearly showed his hesitation and a touch of wariness. Will she even listen? Or just take it as an insult and punch me again? Or kick me. Or both. He subtly leaned back, bracing for a potential attack.
Seeing Aeneas's hesitant, almost apprehensive demeanor, a mix of hurt and fresh anger churned inside Melanippe. It made her more agitated. Her tone grew sharper, like a hurt hedgehog raising its spines.
"Yes! I'm fierce! And rude! And savage! Not gentle and considerate like some people! Just stay far away from me! You're scared of me, right?" The words were almost a shout. Held a tremor she herself didn't notice.
Thaleia, watching Melanippe's outburst, felt a flicker of quiet satisfaction. The corner of her lips curved up slightly.
Ainippe simply massaged her temples. Gave Aeneas a 'you're on your own' look.
Just as everyone expected Aeneas to suggest a retreat or sink deeper into awkwardness, his eyes suddenly lit up. The previous hesitation and embarrassment vanished.
He cleared his throat. His voice became firm, clear. "Actually, we don't need to retreat. We can fight them now. And we have a chance to do it well."
His words drew surprised and skeptical looks from everyone. Even Melanippe's anger momentarily faded. Her beautiful, defiant eyes widened slightly. She frowned at him, searching his face for any hint of a joke.
Aeneas began his analysis methodically, like a seasoned commander. He picked up a stray branch. Drew simple lines in the dirt.
"We have seven able fighters: Myself, Achates, Nisus, Euryalus, Thaleia, Princess Melanippe, and Ainippe."
His gaze swept over each person. "Our ranged advantage is significant. Five excellent archers: two forest hunters, two master Amazon shots, and Thaleia who knows the land and her bow."
He continued, using the branch to point at his crude map.
"The bandits will send roughly half their force. That's ten to fifteen men coming down the mountain."
"On a scouting mission in their own territory, their formation will be loose. Their guard will be lower. Especially since they think yesterday's battleground is safe. No one would dare return."
"Our advantage: we choose the ground. We set the ambush along their most likely route."
"The fight happens in three phases," he said, his tone fluid and confident, as if he'd rehearsed this plan countless times in his head.
"Phase One: use the terrain as a kill zone. Our five archers initiate the ambush. Volley after volley. Pin them down. Inflict maximum damage before they can close."
"Phase Two: while they're disorganized, Achates and I, as the main melee force, charge the survivors. Break their lines. Sow chaos. The others provide ranged support or switch to close combat as needed."
"Phase Three: quick, decisive finish. Ensure total elimination—no survivors, no leaks. Then we move swiftly up the mountain and strike their weakened camp in a second assault."
"If all goes well, we wipe out this nest by nightfall."
Silence followed his words. Only the rustle of wind through the yews and the faint lap of water from the lake.
Everyone processed the bold, detailed, almost audacious plan.
Then, Achates nodded first. Nisus and Euryalus exchanged a look. The two hunter-born fighters had a familiar gleam in their eyes—the thrill of seeing prey enter the trap. Euryalus even let out a low, appreciative whistle.
Thaleia looked firmly at Aeneas. Her deep brown eyes held unwavering support and trust.
Melanippe and Ainippe watched Aeneas, unable to hide their surprise. This seemingly scatterbrained, even somewhat soft Trojan noble had just laid out a clear, decisive, step-by-step tactical plan. Melanippe's grip on her shortsword loosened slightly.
Melanippe couldn't help but ask, her tone probing—tinged with a flicker of doubt she herself hadn't noticed.
"But… these bandits wear Trojan gear. They could be deserters. Or turncoats, recruited by some faction. Are you… truly resolved to fight your own people?"
Aeneas's expression hardened. His eyes swept over the four fresh, silent graves. His voice was absolute.
"Whoever stands behind them, they are murderers and thieves now. They dishonor warriors. The slaughter of innocents, the robbing of merchants, the defilement of the dead—it is unforgivable!"
"For the peace of the Dardan Valley, and for justice itself, I, Aeneas, will not let these scum live! This isn't just for revenge. It's to establish rightful order in this land!"
Thaleia and Melanippe exchanged a look, almost in unison.
The subtle hostility from their earlier sparring seemed to dissipate—
replaced by a shared recognition of the man before them. And… something else. Faint. Inexplicable. A stirring neither of them could name, but both felt.
Two women with blood-debts against the bandits now shared the same internal resonance. He... means it. This isn't just words...