(Titus's POV)
"Phew! That's done!" I exclaimed, wiping sweat from my forehead and dropping the shovel. Turning around, I surveyed the field of graves.
"Man, this quest turned into a bigger mess than I expected," I sighed, recalling the past few days.
It was the second day of the rescue mission, and I had just finished burying the bodies I could find in one piece. Bones and unidentifiable remains were gathered and buried separately.
The number of kidnapped villagers remained unknown, but only 4 men, 7 women, and 15 children were alive. Even worse, only a handful were unharmed. The others bore the physical and emotional scars of the ordeal.
Leaving them in their despair would be a death sentence in itself. So, I took it upon myself to do the grim task. While Jack scouted the area, I buried the victims and burned the dead centaurs. Alone. Atalanta hadn't spoken to me since... well, since things went wrong.
"Lord Hippomenes," an elderly voice called out. A man with a kind face approached, offering a glass of water. "Please, rest. You not only fought the savages but also gave the victims a proper burial. You haven't slept a wink."
This man was one of the few who remained mentally sound after the tragedy. He had been helping me with the burials.
"Thank you for your concern, but I'm alright. And please, call me Hippomenes." I smiled and accepted the water. While I didn't need food or sleep, his concern warmed me.
"You are a kind soul, Hippomenes. Most heroes or warriors would simply leave after slaying the beasts, perhaps demanding some reward. But you ask for nothing. May I ask, which god do you follow?"
"None," I replied. "I do this for someone else."
"That woman?" the old man asked, gesturing towards Atalanta, who was talking to the children.
"Yes," I sighed, looking at the old man. "I am sorry. I couldn't save your son."
The old man watched, helpless, as the creature snatched his son before his very eyes. Yet, even amidst the screams and chaos, he stood firm. Unlike others who hurled accusations at me, blaming me for their loved ones' losses, he held his tongue. They were driven by grief, lashing out at the nearest target instead of confronting their own vulnerability. But this old man… he was different. He stepped forward, a pillar of strength, defending me from their venomous words.
"Please, don't be," he said, a gentle smile gracing his weathered face. "My granddaughter and daughter-in-law are safe. Instead of mourning the lost, I choose to cherish those who remain. I have seen enough cruelty in my life, and now, I only wish to depart this world while my eyes are still open to its beauty."
"You are truly strong, Mr. Romanian," I replied, my own lips curving into a smile. "Whom do you offer your prayers to?"
"Lady Demeter," he answered, a sigh escaping his lips. "Sadly, her blessings have been scarce these past four years. Some have even sought solace in other deities, but… such blasphemy was met with curses."
Typical Greek gods, indeed. Every one of them seemed to have a screw loose at some point, so I doubted switching allegiances would have made much of a difference.
"Anyway," I continued, clearing my throat, "I'm going to prepare a meal for everyone. Could you please gather them in one place? If you could also find something for us to serve the food on, that would be incredibly helpful." Despite his age, Mr. Romanian was the only one acting rationally, so I felt no shame in asking for his assistance. Besides, as a seasoned Greek veteran, he likely possessed more physical strength than most of the younger men present.
"With pleasure," he replied, bowing his head before taking his leave.
Turning to Atalanta, I let out a weary sigh. "Now, it's up to her to decide how she chooses to face this new reality."
---
(3rd Person's POV)
Atalanta stood at a distance, observing Titus. He cooked for a crowd, now distributing the food with a smile. It was a stark contrast to how the adults had mocked him before, ridiculing him for not arriving earlier and saving them. Now, they accepted the food without shame, their faces devoid of their previous scorn. The children, who once avoided him, were now gathered around him, their laughter echoing in the air.
No matter how you looked at it, Titus was a saint.
"You know, if it weren't for Mommy, I'd send you straight to hell," Jack's small voice cut through Atalanta's thoughts. Her hunting instincts screamed, but she remained still. She knew Jack was Titus's servant and wouldn't dare touch her without Jack's master's permission.
Atalanta huffed. "I don't want to talk to you. I thought at least you would understand my pain..."
"Stop being childish, Atalanta. It's getting nauseating," Jack interrupted, his words sharp enough to make her cheeks flush. "Mommy has no obligation to put up with your drama. Sure, you helped him in the Moon Cell, but you and your Moon Cell self are different. You just want someone to blame for your own weakness."
Atalanta's breath hitched. The reality check was like a slap to the face. She wanted to argue, to throw back accusations, but the words wouldn't come. Jack was right. She knew it wasn't Titus's fault. It was her own patheticness.
He was helping the people, the children, despite everything they had put him through. And what was she doing? Nothing. She understood, but understanding wasn't enough. It didn't change anything. The emptiness inside her remained, a gnawing ache that refused to be ignored.
---
(Titus's POV)
As the final embers of sunlight dipped behind the mountains, I approached Atalanta, a steaming bowl of food cradled in my hands. She sat alone, her gaze fixed on the fading light, a silent sentinel against the encroaching darkness.
"Atalanta," I began, my voice laced with concern, "you haven't touched a morsel in the past day. Please, eat something."
She offered no reply, her silence heavy and laden with unspoken grief. I reached for her hand, hoping to gently draw her attention, but my touch was met with a fiery resistance.
"Don't touch me!" she cried, her voice trembling with emotion. The bowl clattered to the ground, shattering the fragile peace. With a swift movement, she grabbed my collar, her tear-filled eyes blazing with unspoken pain.
"Titus," she choked, her voice thick with despair, "why must we live in a world where such cruelty exists? Why can't those innocent souls find the love they deserve?"
Her anguished words struck a chord within me, mirroring the very questions that haunted my own soul. A tear escaped my eye, tracing a warm path down my cheek.
"I understand your pain, Atalanta," I said, my voice low and soothing. "I tried everything to save them, but even with all my might, I was always too late. Believe me, I would have moved mountains if I could..."
Atalanta wiped away her tears, seeking solace in the embrace I offered. Her body trembled as sobs wracked her frame, the weight of the world crushing down upon her. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in an ethereal twilight, the huntress realized the heartbreaking truth. Her noble wish, a beacon of hope in the face of darkness, could never be fully realized. This was a world where kindness, though valiant, could never truly vanquish the pervasive shadows of cruelty.
---
"May their souls find peace," I said, concluding my prayer. Atalanta knelt beside me, lost in her own quiet reflection.
After spending time crying and conversing with me, she came to the painful realization that her dream of ensuring the salvation of all children worldwide might remain just that—a dream. However, I intervened, correcting her assumption and affirming that her dream could indeed become a reality if she truly committed to it. I encouraged her to hold onto that wish and to pursue that path for as long as she lives.
Gradually, she began to regain some clarity. While she didn't completely open up for the time being, I am determined to help her heal fully.
Following our discussion, Atalanta approached to offer prayers for the deceased. She was disheartened by her inability to assist them, but she hoped that at the very least, her prayers could contribute to their peace in the afterlife.
"I didn't realize you worshipped, too," Atalanta said, rising from her prayer. "Which deity do you follow?"
"Not one of the Greek pantheon," I explained. "I follow the one who weaves the threads of fate." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "Atalanta, I've lived many lives. I don't know how I arrived in this world, but it's my second chance. If I can have one, surely these lost souls can find their light too."
Her eyes widened momentarily before dimming. "Is... is that so?" she mumbled, rubbing her arms for warmth.
I sighed. It was time to reveal another secret. "Actually, there might be a way to bring the children back."
Necromancy pulsed within me, a hidden skill learned from Aoife, Scathach's sister. I could raise a few from the dead.
A flicker of hope ignited in Atalanta's eyes, quickly replaced by caution. "And what price must we pay?"
A wry smile touched my lips. She wasn't naive to the consequences.
"Hades wouldn't miss my interference," I admitted, scratching my head. "It would mean… my own demise."
It was an equal exchange. The only way to truly revive someone was through sacrifice. The greater the sacrifice, the more lives restored. And what greater sacrifice could there be than myself?
"Never!" Atalanta's hand shot out, gripping mine tightly. "You are too precious to lose!"
"Oh my..." I was caught off guard by her sudden outburst.
Realizing her proximity, she blushed. "I-I mean, you're the only reliable person here, so... yeah, that's it."
Though tempted to tease, I held back. Instead, I gently patted her head, chuckling softly. "Atalanta, listen again. Your wish for a better world is noble, and I want you to hold onto it. One day, even if not in this life, you'll see a world where everyone is loved."
Her blush deepened, but she nodded resolutely. Taking my hand, she offered, "Let's go. I'll cook for us."
"Sounds good," I agreed, and hand-in-hand, we walked forward, hope rekindled in the embers of our hearts.
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