Icarius woke with a gasp, stumbling to his feet. His chest heaved, lungs burning for air that would not come. He clawed at his throat, each breath no more than a thin, wheezing rasp. It felt like drowning on his own spit. Desperate, he struck his chest again and again until, at last, the blockage gave way. Air inflated his lungs in a ragged, shuddering gasp.
He pressed a hand to his neck, steadying himself, then looked around, and froze.
"Again…" he whispered, tasting salt on his lips, feeling hot sand between his toes.
Before him stretched the endless beach. The same one that had haunted his nights for four years, since he was sixteen. Icarius knew what was waiting beyond the horizon. His tongue flicked over cracked lips, his throat still burning. His legs tensed, ready to run.
"Welcome to the Sanctuary!"
The voice rang out behind him. Icarius spun. Two riders approached on horseback: one tall, one short. A man and a dwarf. Both wore short-sleeved red tunics beneath metal cuirasses, shields strapped to their arms, weapons at their sides.
Instinct dropped him into a fighting stance. His hand shot to his back and stopped. He didn't have his bow. Then, he subtly looked at his hands and clothes. His furred clothes were gone, replaced by the same red tunic and cuirass as the two before him.
This was not the same nightmare. He remembered the villagers. The thugs. The knives. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe he had died. Or maybe the gods, weary of his suffering, had thrown him into something new. Whatever the truth, Icarius didn't lower his guard. His fists clenched, green eyes locked fiercely on the strangers.
Arthur, the tall man, studied him with an easy smile. Sunlight caught in his blond hair, his blue eyes shining as if the sky itself had found its nestle in them. "Seems like a useful one this time, doesn't he, Badar?"
The dwarf stroked his long black beard, so thick it nearly reached his chest. His brown eyes narrowed as he studied Icarius. His voice rumbled steady and low. "At least he's not a child or a cripple. This one might actually be of use."
Icarius's eyes trembled. The figures in his nightmare were speaking now. He stole a glance over his shoulder at the horizon. The skies remained clear. No lava giant rising from the sea this time.
"Hey, kid, can you understand us?" Arthur asked, drawing his attention back. He tilted his head toward Badar. "Maybe he's mute. Or deaf."
"Fuck Athena!" Badar cursed, glaring at the sky. "Those damned priests keep sending us cripples. Are they mocking us?"
With a heavy thud, the dwarf swung down from his horse. Despite his short frame, the fall was long, yet he landed without effort. His thick beard and wild hair stirred with the ocean breeze.
"We can't afford more useless people" he said, pulling the warhammer from his belt. It looked massive, the kind of weapon that could crush stone, but he lifted it as if it weighed nothing, shield still on his other arm.
Icarius held his ground. He didn't understand what kind of dream, or afterlife, this was. But after being beaten and stabbed to death without anyone hearing his truth, he was done talking. If he had to choose, he would fight.
"Good," Badar growled, his boots sinking deep into the sand as he stepped forward. "If you can dodge or block even one of my strikes, you will be welcomed in the camp. Let my hammer be the judge."
At the end of his words, Icarius felt like an invisible weight pressing down on him. It grew heavier as Badar lifted the hammer, its surface glowing red-hot, like molten iron.
"Here we go!" the dwarf roared, raising the weapon high. He swung it down.
The sand erupted. A deep crevice cracked open from the point of impact, snaking toward Icarius like a hungry maw. The ground caved in where it passed, closing behind it as it chased him.
Icarius's instincts kicked in. He leapt sideways, landing hard on the sand. But the crevice shifted course, following like a living worm. He jumped again, to the opposite side, but still it pursued, a gaping wound tearing the earth toward him.
Arthur watched, the smile never leaving his lips. "You're serious about this test. How long do you think he'll last?"
Badar shrugged. "I gave it enough energy to last five minutes. He can keep dodging, or try to block it. But since he just arrived, the latter will be near impossible."
Meanwhile, Icarius kept leaping and sprinting across the beach, the living crack in the sand chasing his every step. As he ran, he noticed something.
The farther I am from the source, the slower it moves.
He tested it again, and confirmed it. The crevice lost speed with distance. But even so, he couldn't outrun it in a straight line.
"He's got stamina and quick feet, but no method," Badar muttered, watching Icarius's movements. The glow of his hammer, once molten-bright, had begun to fade. "His footwork reminds me of those Satyrs in Dionysus's camp."
Arthur stayed silent, mounted and grinning, eyes fixed on Icarius. His smile widened, gleaming with the thrill of discovery. "He's already figured it out."
Sure enough, Icarius suddenly shifted, zig-zagging like a hare. His feet barely left prints in the sand as he dashed full speed toward the water. The instant his feet touched it, the pursuing rumble stopped. The sand fell still. Icarius staggered to a halt. His chest rapidly rising up and down. His legs burned, his ankles ached. He had never ran so fast before. Maybe he could even overtake a running horse.
Applause echoed. Icarius turned to see Arthur clapping from his horse, while Badar slid the hammer back to his belt, its glow gone.
"Don't pout, Badar," Arthur said, his hands slowly coming to a stop, catching the dwarf's sour look. "We've got someone useful for the coming campaigns, haven't we?"
Badar grunted, lips still twisted. "Strange, though, isn't it?"
Arthur nodded, blue eyes narrowing with both doubt and wonder. "It's not time for the rituals. The doors to the Sanctuary shouldn't even be open. And yet, here we are, an Aresian washes ashore. Could it be the will of the gods?"
"It's impossible to know what they want," Badar said flatly, pulling on his beard. "Either way, we should take the kid back. I've weapons to forge before the next wave."
Icarius, too far to hear them, swayed where he stood, waves breaking behind him. Every muscle screamed, his mind heavy and fogged from everything that had come before and everything that happened right now. He lifted his gaze toward the riders as they approached. His vision darkened, and though he tried to raise his guard again, his arms felt like concrete. A moment later, the world slipped away.
"Ares sent us a good warrior this time," Arthur said, watching the young man collapse, still half-posed to fight even in unconsciousness.