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The wind whispered through the broken marble pillars of the old temple, carrying with it the brine of the sea and the faint scent of extinguished offerings. Torches flickered against the weather-worn walls, their flames swaying like ghostly sentinels in the night. The ruins sat half-swallowed by vines and silence — but not empty.
From the darkness between two pillars, Kassandra emerged, her steps light and precise. The faint clink of her armor blended with the chirp of cicadas as she crouched behind a toppled statue. Below, in the cracked courtyard, masked men moved like shadows — the insignia of the Cult of Kosmos gleaming faintly on their armor. Crates were stacked near the altar: weapons, sealed jars of grain and oil, and scrolls tied with red wax.
Among them, a few mercenaries without masks worked in silence, their armor mismatched, their coin purses heavy.
Kassandra narrowed her eyes.
Huh. Suspicious men organizing supplies and resources. Looks like my employer wasn't lying after all, she thought, gripping her broken spear tighter.
A sudden scrape of stone behind her. She turned — too late.
A guard rounded the corner, torch raised.
Kassandra lunged, seized his arm, and twisted it sharply. The torch fell and hissed out on the ground as she covered his mouth, pulling him into the shadows. With a swift strike of her elbow, he slumped silently.
Kassandra exhaled, dragging the body behind a column.
"Too close," she muttered.
From below, a deep voice echoed through the ruins.
"Make sure the next shipment is ready before dawn. Megaris needs the supplies before the Athenians reinforce the coastline!"
The man giving orders stepped into view — tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a dark blue himation embroidered with gold, his face half-hidden by the night. Rings gleamed on his fingers; a gilded dagger hung at his belt.
Kassandra frowned, whispering under her breath.
"So… that's your leader, huh? The rich merchant himself?"
She watched as he oversaw the loading of crates marked with both Spartan and Athenian seals. Her jaw tightened.
Trading with both sides of a war. Either he's mad or brilliant — or both.
As she shifted to get a better angle, the wind carried a faint noise — boots on gravel, somewhere in the trees beyond the temple.
From another path through the woods, Atlas, Alexios, and Lukas approached under the pale moonlight. The forest murmured with cicadas and distant surf.
Atlas stopped, crouching low. "This is the place Dimitri mentioned," he said in a hushed tone, unfolding his worn map. The faint starlight caught the inked edges, reflecting in his focused eyes. "We're close. You two stay here — I'll climb up and get a better look."
Lukas crossed his arms and whispered, half-joking, "Or we could just walk in and ask nicely."
Alexios smirked. "Yeah — with our fists."
Atlas turned his head slowly, giving them both that calm, warning stare they knew too well. "That's exactly why you're staying here."
Alexios muttered under his breath, "Unfair. I fight better than I wait."
Lukas patted his stomach and added, "And I eat better than I wait."
Atlas sighed through his nose. "And yet, somehow, I'm still the one keeping you both alive."
Alexios grinned. "You say that like it's hard."
Atlas ignored him, eyes tracing the path ahead. The air carried the scent of burned oil and sea salt — torches. He slipped away from them, soundless as a shadow, and began to climb the nearest olive tree whose gnarled limbs reached high above the ruins.
The bark was rough beneath his palms. From above, the temple unfolded like a piece of forgotten history — shattered pillars and crumbling stone, lit by scattered torches that flickered against the wind. From this height, they looked like constellations scattered across the broken marble floor.
Atlas narrowed his gaze, focusing his senses. The faint golden shimmer of his Eagle Vision flared to life, highlighting figures below in ghostly outlines.
Four masked guards — faces hidden behind the crimson sigil of Kosmos.
Ten mercenaries — heavier armor, looser discipline.
And one figure in golden color — standing apart, speaking with quiet authority.
"The golden one," Atlas murmured under his breath. "That must be Elpenor."
He descended swiftly, landing beside his companions with barely a sound.
"Target confirmed," he said. "He's inside the temple. Surrounded, but not expecting us."
Alexios immediately gripped his spear. "Finally. Let's make this quick."
Atlas shot him a warning look. "Quietly. We need eyes, not noise."
Atlas exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Focus. We do this right, we end it tonight."
He glanced back at the temple — the torchlight flickering through the ruined archways, the faint silhouettes moving within.
"Stay low. Follow my lead."
And with that, the three of them melted into the shadows, the forest swallowing their steps as they crept toward the heart of the ruins — where fate, and a golden coward named Elpenor, awaited.
The trio crept through the underbrush toward the ruins. The moonlight cast long shadows, and every broken step of gravel echoed louder than it should. Atlas was the first to reach the edge of the temple courtyard. He crouched low, signaling the others to halt.
But Alexios's patience was already wearing thin.
"Why are we still sneaking?" he whispered, stepping forward. "We could take them—"
His boot struck a loose amphora. It tipped, clattered, and rolled across the stones.
The sound pierced the night like a blade.
From the shadows above, Kassandra moved instantly. Her eyes narrowed, and she swung her broken spear in a deadly arc toward the noise.
Atlas reacted in a flash — intercepting the strike with his forearm guard. The clash rang softly, metal against metal.
"Wait!" Atlas hissed, pushing her back just enough to break the momentum. "We're not your enemies!"
Kassandra then stepped into the torchlight, the light illuminated their face, and was surprised that they were here and questioned. "Why are you all here, I thought, I told you to wait at the shebeen ."
Behind Atlas, Alexios muttered, "And missed out all this fun."
Kassandra's eyes flicked toward him — a glare that could cut marble. "You always talk this much when you're supposed to be quiet?"
Alexios opened his mouth — then shut it again.
Lukas, stifling a laugh, whispered, "I like her already."
Atlas lowered his weapon, meeting Kassandra's stare. The tension between them was taut as a bowstring — until distant voices echoed from deeper within the temple.
Atlas's tone softened. "No time for this. Whoever's inside the temple— he's our target."
Kassandra gave a reluctant nod, helpless about the situation.
Atlas smirked faintly. "You first, Eagle Bearer."
And under the pale light of the moon, the four moved as one — shadows converging toward the heart of the cult's operation.
END
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At the Docks