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The dawn broke over the Ionian Sea in ribbons of rose and gold. The wind carried the tang of salt and the distant cries of gulls, mingling with the rhythmic creak of the Skylark's sails. The island of Kephallonia loomed ahead—its jagged cliffs and emerald slopes glowing beneath the rising sun.
Atlas stood near the bow, his hands resting on the railing, eyes locked on the island's coastline as it grew larger with every passing wave. The morning wind tousled his dark hair as thoughts churned behind his calm gaze.
Kephallonia… where it all begins. The place where the Eagle Bearer grew as a mercenary.
He exhaled slowly, his heartbeat quickening. Kassandra. The misthios, the wanderer, the storm in human form—and the older sister of my hotheaded companion back there. Fate really does have a sense of humor.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. And gods, if the stories are right… she's a beauty. This will be interesting.
He turned slightly, glancing at the ever-clueless Alexios, who was leaning against a mast, lazily twirling his new sword. Atlas thought to himself, Should I tell him? Maybe not. Let's see how fate handles introductions between siblings… preferably without anyone dying.
Alexios caught him staring and frowned.
"Why are you looking at me like that? You're grinning. I don't trust that grin."
Atlas blinked, expression flattening instantly. "What grin?"
"The one you get when you're thinking something dangerous."
Lukas, sitting nearby polishing his new hammer, chuckled. "That's the same face you made before we ended up fighting that drunk mercenary in Argolis, Remember what happened next?"
Alexios groaned. "Don't remind me. Half of Argolis taverns still won't let me in."
Atlas only shrugged, turning back toward the horizon. "It's nothing," he said with that calm, evasive tone that always made Alexios suspicious.
"Nothing, huh?" Alexios pressed, stepping closer. "You've been staring at that island like you're about to meet an old lover."
Atlas ignored them, but amusement flickered in his eyes as he muttered quietly under his breath, "Or perhaps I'm meeting your sister."
Alexios blinked. "What?"
"Nothing," Atlas said, straight-faced.
Lukas burst out laughing. "You're terrible at hiding things, Atlas."
"I wasn't hiding anything," Atlas replied smoothly. "You two just talk too much."
"Focus," Atlas said sharply, ending the banter. But a faint smile tugged at his lips as the ship neared the coast.
The Adrestia glided smoothly into the small port of Sami, the main village of Kephallonia. The air was thick with life: fishermen shouting over nets heavy with silver fish, merchants hawking fruits and fabrics, goats bleating, and the scent of roasted meat drifting from open-air stalls.
"Ahhh," Alexios stretched his arms wide, breathing in deeply. "Smells like home—fish, sweat, and freedom!"
Lukas wrinkled his nose. "Smells like something died and got cooked with it."
"Still better than your smelly feet," Alexios quipped, grinning.
Barnabas barked out a laugh from the deck. "You three could fill a ship's sail with all that talk."
Atlas smiled faintly, then reached into his satchel and pulled out a heavy sack of drachmae. He offered it to Barnabas.
"We enjoyed the voyage, Barnabas. Ten thousand drachmae—for the ride and for your time. I'd like you to wait for us here in Sami. We'll need you again in about a week."
Barnabas raised a brow and hefted the bag, the weight of it making his arm dip slightly. "By Poseidon's beard! This is too much!"
"Consider it payment and trust," Atlas replied evenly. "And a bit for your patience."
Barnabas chuckled, shaking his head. "You pay like a king, boy. I'll wait—but you better come back alive. It'd be a shame to lose such profitable passengers."
Lukas grinned. "Don't worry. We're hard to kill."
Alexios nodded proudly. "Speak for yourself. I enjoy danger."
Barnabas gave a booming laugh. "Ha! That's what every young fool says before Poseidon tips his ship. Go then—do your business, make your trouble. I'll be here when you're done."
Atlas clasped the old sailor's forearm firmly. "Thank you, Barnabas. Until we meet again."
As they walked down the gangplank, Barnabas watched them fade into the morning crowd. The smile on his weathered face softened into quiet admiration.
he murmured to himself. "Those three…might bring me some unexpected adventure in greece."
The streets of Sami were alive with color and sound. Cloth vendors waved their wares like flags, shimmering silks of red and gold. Fishermen balanced baskets filled with squid and sardines, the smell of brine thick in the air. Children darted between legs, laughing and chasing stray dogs.
Alexios's eyes shone like a child's. "Look at this! The smell of roasted lamb, the wine stalls, the music! I'm home already."
Atlas raised an eyebrow. "You've never been here."
"Still feels like home," Alexios replied cheerfully, brushing past a merchant selling olives.
Lukas followed behind, his massive frame parting the crowd like a ship through waves. "Feels crowded," he muttered. "Crowded and loud."
"Like you," Alexios teased.
"Careful," Lukas said, smirking. "You're still within arm's reach."
Atlas stopped abruptly, turning to them both. "Enough. We have work to do."
Alexios crossed his arms. "Right, right. So, what's the plan, fearless leader? Do we start hunting the Cult now?"
Atlas gave him a blank stare. "Do you even know how to start hunting them?"
"Well…" Alexios rubbed his chin. "We find someone suspicious-looking and punch them until they talk?"
Lukas groaned. "That's not a plan, that's just your hobby."
Atlas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Listen carefully. We know almost nothing—only that the man we're after is rich, possibly a merchant, and connected to both Sparta and Athens. Charging in blindly will get us nowhere."
Alexios frowned, scratching his head. "So… what do we do? We can't just sit here drinking."
Atlas smirked. "Actually, that's exactly what you'll do."
Alexios blinked. "What?"
"You and Lukas will go to a thermopolia, buy some wine, and rent a shebeen for the night. Rest, eat, and stay out of trouble. I'll investigate."
Lukas nodded easily. "That I can do."
Alexios groaned. "Wait, why do we rest while you get to investigate clues? That's boring!"
Atlas met his gaze flatly. "Because last time you investigate for clues, you somehow managed to burn down half a tavern."
Alexios's mouth opened—then closed. "…That was an accident."
"Accident or not, stay out of trouble," Atlas said, tossing each of them a small pouch of drachmae. "Especially you, Alexios."
Alexios feigned offense, clutching his chest. "I'm hurt that you think I'd cause trouble."
Lukas deadpanned, "Nice joke."
Atlas ignored them both, turning toward the winding street that led deeper into the village. "I'll meet you two at sunset. Don't make me drag you out of a cell again."
As he walked away, the two watched him disappear into the crowd.
"Think he'll find anything?" Lukas asked.
Alexios grinned. "Knowing Atlas? He'll find something but all I know is that trouble is finding me."
Lukas smirked. "Well maybe, you're quite right about the trouble thing."
The two burst out laughing, heading toward the nearest tavern.
Atlas moved through the bustling marketplace with calm purpose, scanning the faces and stalls. Elpenor of Kirrha. If my memory of the game's story holds, he's here somewhere… supplying both sides of the war. And if I'm lucky, maybe I'll meet Kassandra before he does.
He stopped before a modest stall laden with bronze trinkets, cracked jars, and faded scrolls. Behind it stood a weary-looking merchant with sun-darkened skin and a well-practiced smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Ah! Traveler!" the man said cheerfully, spreading his arms. "Welcome, welcome! I have swords, shields, cloth, fine wine—whatever you desire! Straight from Athens, Korinth, and beyond!"
Atlas studied him for a moment—the sharpness behind the merchant's grin, the way his hand rested near a hidden dagger below the counter. Then he said quietly, "You're Duris, aren't you?"
The man's smile faltered. "Depends who's asking," he said cautiously, leaning a bit closer, his tone measured.
"Someone looking for information," Atlas replied evenly. "Not trouble."
Duris squinted, then gave a small, knowing chuckle. "That's what everyone says before trouble begins." He crossed his arms. "Information costs extra, stranger. And sometimes, the cost isn't in drachmae."
Atlas tilted his head, amused. "Then maybe I'll pay both."
Duris watched him for another long moment, weighing him. "Fine," he said finally, relaxing slightly but not dropping his guard. "What is it you need?"
"I'm looking for a man named Markos," Atlas said. "Local. Owns a vineyard."
Duris blinked—just once, but Atlas caught it. "Markos?" Duris repeated, feigning surprise. "Never heard of him."
Atlas sighed quietly. "Strange. Locals say he's a man who owes half of Kephallonia money, including a merchant named Duris."
The merchant froze mid-smirk, then laughed heartily, clapping his hands together. "Ah, you got me, stranger. Not bad! You listen well." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Markos, eh? That fool owes me half my patience, and I owe him all my drachmae. Why? Did he offend someone again?"
Atlas smirked faintly. "Not yet. I just need to talk to him—for information."
Duris still looked uncertain. "And what kind of 'information' would a man like you want from a drunk with a vineyard?"
Atlas's eyes met his, calm but piercing. "The kind that could save lives."
That seemed to convince Duris—or at least unsettle him enough to comply. He pointed southwest with a weary sigh. "You'll find his vineyard that way. Up the hill past the olive grove. Hard to miss—it's the only vineyard that smells like someone spilled wine and regret."
Atlas gave a short nod and tossed him a small pouch of coins—five hundred drachmae.
Duris caught it on instinct, eyes widening at the weight. "Five hundred drachmae? For directions? By the gods, I wish every stranger paid so well!"
"Honesty should always be rewarded," Atlas said, already turning away.
Duris laughed, though his voice carried a note of admiration. "You're no ordinary traveler, are you? Markos might be a fool, but he's a sly one. Good luck, stranger. You'll need it."
Atlas raised a hand in farewell without turning back. "Luck is for those without preparation."
Duris chuckled quietly, watching him disappear down the road toward the vineyard. "Hmph," he muttered to himself. "That one's dangerous. Hope Markos knows what he's getting into."
Atlas's steps quickened as he followed the dusty road out of Sami, the scent of salt fading behind him. Ahead lay the vineyard… and the tangled threads of fate waiting for him there.
END of Chapter 28
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