Annabeth

Seasons came and went. Two years had passed since the tragedy befell Rome. Syrus stayed close to the small woodland, hidden from prying eyes, fearing the blade of a guard or punishment from his older brother. He mostly kept to himself, reading in the modest library Alexandros had amassed over the years. Through those books, he learned about the world and its endless possibilities. Sometimes he wondered what it might be like to travel, to live without fear or hate in the eyes of those who saw him. Would another city accept him as just a simple boy instead of the “monster” people blamed for so many deaths?

One warm afternoon, Syrus sat outside by the wooden door, a book on his lap. He was reading tales of Greece and its gods. Alexandros mentioned he was from Greece, pride showing in his smile when Syrus picked up the book.

The sharp clang of metal rattling and the steady clopping of hooves on the dusty path caught Syrus’ attention, snapping him out of the grandeur of Greece’s gods. Voices rang out, all calling the same name:

“Annabeth.”

They came closer, stopping in the courtyard near the season’s fresh vegetables. Syrus felt his heart hammer against his ribs and called out for Alexandros.

“Alexandros!” he yells.

The older man stumbled out of the house, hair dishevelled and his tunic barely clinging to his frame. Syrus breathed a sigh of relief that Alexandros had managed to cover himself so quickly. Clearing his throat, Alexandros tried smoothing down his unruly hair.

“Legatus Tiberius.”

The man on horseback gave a curt nod and urged his horse forward. The general wore fine Egyptian cotton and several gold rings. A broadsword hung on his hip.

“Alexandros,” the older man says, “I’m sorry for intruding, but I’m searching for my daughter,” he explains.

Syrus heard rustling in a nearby bush. Glancing over, he spotted a young girl with long, wavy brown hair and olive skin. She held a finger to her lips. Eyes wide, Syrus quickly looked away, turning back to the adults.

“I haven’t seen a young girl. I’ve been inside all morning. Syrus, have you seen anyone?” Alexandros asks.

All eyes shifted to Syrus. He shrank against the wall, trying to hide behind his book, and shook his head. Alexandros let out a breath and shrugged. “We can offer our assistance to help find your daughter?”

“I would greatly appreciate it, but that thing must stay here,” the Legatus says, nodding sharply at Syrus, who lowered his gaze to his sandals.

Alexandros bit back a string of insults, clenching his jaw, but he finally agreed, eager to see the visitors gone. The guards and the general marched into the woods. Before leaving, Alexandros glanced at Syrus one last time.

“I’ll be back soon, OK?”

Syrus nods and watches them go, disappearing among the trees. He looks back at the bush, only to find the young girl has vanished. He let out a sigh and turned to the pile of books awaiting him. Or rather, that had been waiting. Three were missing. A rustle came from inside the house, and Syrus felt his pulse spike. The last thing he wanted was to step indoors now.

“Hey,” a voice whispered from within. Syrus jumped away from the house, trembling. A face popped up in the window, and he gasped, stumbling onto his backside. The same girl from the bushes giggled, then hurried to his side.

“Sorry about that,” she says with another laugh, extending her hand.

Syrus stared at it. His thoughts buzzed with a hundred anxious scenarios, each one warning him of potential disaster. The girl’s emerald-green eyes narrowed with concern. She held out her hand again.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she promises.

He hesitated, lifting his hand off the ground inch by inch. She waited patiently, like someone coaxing a skittish animal to take food from their palm. At last, he grasped her hand, and she pulled him to his feet. She flashed a wide smile.

“See, told you.”

Syrus managed a weak smile in return, but she seemed unsatisfied. Glancing around to be sure no one was watching, she leaned closer.

“You wanna play a game?” she asks eagerly. Syrus didn’t have time to answer, she grabbed his hand and dragged him into the forest. Trying not to trip, he let her lead the way. “I know this really cool spot,” she prattled on. “We can play ball there. It’s huge, and no one can find us. It took me ages to get it just right.”

Her words spilled out in a cheerful stream, as though she didn’t care whether he replies. He couldn’t help noticing the warmth of her hand, or the way the sunlight caught the golden streaks in her hair, and highlighting her bright green eyes. She seemed beautiful to him, but more importantly, she treated him like another child, no fear, no curses, just a welcoming smile. His heart swelled with cautious joy.

She led him to a small clearing where a ball lay in the centre of a roughly sketched circle. She tugged him through low shrubs, then finally let go of his hand so she could grab the ball.

“Do you know how to play?” she asks. He hovered at the edge of the clearing and shook his head. She frowned and stepped closer. “I can teach you. It’s simple.” He stayed silent, giving a tentative nod. She studied his face. “Can’t you talk, or do you just not want to?” He dropped his gaze, intimidated by her directness. Sighing, she let the ball roll over to him. “Well, I think I see the problem. I haven’t told you my name, so I’m a stranger. You don’t know me. That’s why you’re afraid to talk to me.”

Syrus found her logic hilarious and let out a quiet laugh, surprising himself. She set her hands on her hips and glared, making him laugh harder. At last, he stifled his giggles and took a breath.

“I’m, Syrus,” he says in a scratchy voice.

She relaxed, dropping her arms and giving him a warm smile.

“Annabeth.”