My Heart

The war room is quiet, save for the steady crackle of torches along the walls. Syrus stands at a large table, his hands moving deftly over worn wooden soldiers as he recreates a past battle. A frayed map lies beneath them, its inked lines marking roads, forests, and fortifications he knows well after years of study. His dark eyes, sharp with concentration, scan the layout as he contemplates the complexities of strategy.

Footsteps approach, pulling him from his thoughts and straightens as Tiberius enters the room.

“Annabeth spoke of Saturnalia and what you had done for her,” Tiberius begins, but carrying an undercurrent Syrus can’t immediately read.

“I did it to protect her.” Syrus eases, his eyes never leaving the Legatus.

Tiberius studies Syrus as if assessing a battlefield. “Tell me, the deal we made so long ago. Was it for her?”

“It always was,” he answers resolutely. “I was weak as a child, unable to stop my brother and his lackeys. But I grew stronger, for her. With Alexandros, I learned. With you, I learned. All so I could still see her.” He pauses, dark eyes burning. “I did not do it for the fame or glory. I would challenge any god if it meant I could keep her safe.”

A faint smile tugs at Tiberius’s lips. “Bold words, to challenge the gods,” a note of approval in his tone.

“There you are!” Annabeth strides into the room, unbeknownst to the conversation Syrus and her father are having. She greets her father briefly before heading straight for Syrus.

“Father, Syrus has done enough planning for one day. May I steal him for the afternoon?” she smiles sweetly. Tiberius' stern and stoic resolve melts, a smile graces his lips and nods. Annabeth bounces on her step and reaches for Syrus. “Come. I have a fun activity planned.” Syrus returns her smile, then nods at the Legatus and allows Annabeth to lead him away.

Syrus’s grin widens as Annabeth pulls him by the hand. Her steps are light and purposeful, and wherever she means to go, he follows. The path leads through familiar woods, their footsteps muffled by the soft forest floor. At last, they reach a small clearing where they once played as children, though time has changed it. Bushes and saplings have crept in, shrinking the space they once called their kingdom.

Annabeth brightens at the sight of it. She releases Syrus’s hand and approaches a fallen log, brushing away leaves from its surface as she sits.

“It’s still here,” she says softly, eyes on the latrunculorum board etched into the wood. The lines and patterns look faded, the stones cracked, but the memory remains vivid.

Syrus steps forward, gaze softening at the warped log and the remnants of childhood games. He recalls how determined they were to best each other at strategy, how the forest seemed to hold infinite magic back then. He sits beside her, lips curving in a half-smile.

“Father told me you’ve bested him,” she says teasingly, emerald eyes twinkling. “And every tactician who challenges you. But I want to see if I can beat you myself.”

He lowers himself onto the log, an amused quirk on his lips. He remembers the promise he made to himself after she bested him last time: never lose again. His skill has sharpened, every victory honing his mind. Yet facing Annabeth is different. He doesn’t crave triumph over her. Her radiant grin and the way her eyes gleam with victory matter more than winning.

They begin to play. Annabeth leans forward, brow furrowed in concentration. Syrus places his pieces with careful intention, ensuring she retains the advantage. He watches her move her stones across the board, her focus unwavering as she traps his last piece. When her last move seals her victory, she pauses, suspicious.

“You lost on purpose,” she accuses, voice sharp. Her gaze lifts, unrelenting.

Syrus’s heart skips. Blood rushes to his face as he looks away, attempting to calm.

“I did not,” he murmurs weakly, but the tremor in his voice betrays him.

Annabeth leans back, arms crossed with a huff. “Do not lie to me, Syrus. I know you too well.” Before he can protest, she’s resetting the pieces with firm determination. “I want a rematch,” she declares.

“You already won,” he points out, though he knows it’s futile. “Is that not enough?”

“It’s not a genuine victory if you hand it to me,” she snaps, placing the last stone. Her fierce gaze pins him in place. “I won’t leave until you beat me.”

He hesitates, then exhales, shaking his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Annabeth. Take it as a good thing.”

The regret hits him instantly. Her eyes flash with anger, jaw setting as she leans closer, brimming with indignation. “Do not,” she hisses, voice low, “ever let me win because you think I’m weak. I am not some feeble woman who needs coddling.”

“I, I don’t,” Syrus stammers, heat flooding his face. “Not once I thought that. Not once.” His tone softens, gaze dropping to the board before he meets her eyes again. “Annabeth, you are strong. Braver than anyone I know. You’re clever and kind, and your heart…” He falters, words trembling as the truth wells up inside him. “Your heart is the most beautiful thing about you.”

She sucks in a breath, her anger dissolving into something gentler. Her cheeks turn pink, her lips part yet silent. Syrus’s own heart thunders as he realises how deeply he’s allowed his feelings to surface.

Annabeth’s tense posture relaxes as a tentative smile curve across her lips. Her heartbeat flutters at his confession, and for a moment, she can’t quite meet his gaze. “Syrus,” she murmurs quietly, “you surprise me.”

He swallows, mouth dry. “Is that… a good thing?”

Her smile widens, her eyes lifting to meet his fully. “It is,” she says softly, an unspoken warmth in her tone.

They sit in the clearing, letting the forest’s hush enfold them, the game forgotten on the log. Neither speaks, the weight of unspoken emotions thick in the air. The afternoon sunlight filters through the leaves, turning everything to gold.