The Tournament Arc Begins

Returning to classes was strange, after all that had happened since her first day. Although what had happened with Pallas was kept a secret, the silver smoke from the shrouds and empty seats in other classes had made it clear that several members of the original search party would never return. Without word of what had happened, all they could do was speculate. Everyone had been walking on eggshells around the four members of the expeditionary party, leaving them to mostly interact with each other.

Asteria still found it difficult to be too close to Rhei, so she tended to stay by herself. Ima had tried to speak with her a few times, but honestly, Asteria was too distracted by her thoughts to properly engage with the girl.

The intensity of class had also ramped up, with the Games fast approaching. Asteria had learned that they were a huge priority for many of the students at the Academy, as the honor of getting to speak with Athena was impossible for all but the High Priest of Athena’s temple. Even outside of that, however, the games were a chance for people not yet accepted into the Guard or any of the other military academies to prove their mettle and potentially reach acceptance or academic promotion.

Ima had also explained that there were multiple rounds to the games, and many were traditionally athletic, as was typical of such tournaments. There were a few rounds that allowed the craftspeople to shine, and even a separate award for the most impressive contender.

“So,” Aerin sidled up to her one day, eyes gleaming. “What have you prepared as your entry token?”

“Pardon?” Asteria asked.

“Your gift of craftsmanship for Athena?”

She blinked. “I am competing in combat. Why do I need to show my artistry?”

Aerin giggled. “I knew Ima would have skipped over that. It’s the entry fee.”

Asteria cursed. She hadn’t prepared anything, and the tournament was only a day away. She eyed Aerin. “What would you recommend?”

He pulled out a finely woven handkerchief with a flourish. Rather than a handkerchief, it was actually a miniature woven tapestry, made with extremely fine thread. Asteria pictured that the loom used to make this must have been extremely tiny to end up with such a fine weave. He passed it to her, and she brushed her finger over the design. A small hour nestled into the branches of an olive tree. Each leaf was lined in silver. It was extremely delicate and beautiful work. She squinted at Aerin.

“Did you just wish to show off?”

“Ah, you caught me.” He giggled.

“Are you even entering the tournament?” Asteria asked. Aerin was no fighter; it was one of the things she knew with certainty about him. Despite the harrowing circumstances they had been through acing Pallas, Aerin still could not hold onto a spear to save his life.

“Why, of course I am!” He bowed, grinning. “I enter every year. I like to watch the contestants, and the tickets are too expensive if I’m not competing.”

Asteria hummed doubtfully. It sounded like a disaster waiting to happen.

“Also, I like watching Alex. I think he may win this year!”

“Who else do we know that is competing in the tournament?”

“Hmm,” Aerin tilted his head and began counting off on his fingers. “Me and Alex, of course. Carex, Bo… and I think Argan got talked into it, so probably all of our classmates? Except Ima, of course.” He giggled mischievously. “No offense to the other groups, but I do doubt their ability to keep up.”

Asteria still hadn’t had the chance to examine her classmates to any significant degree, and knew even less about the rest of the population of Athens, so she had no reason to disagree.

“Wait a minute,” she paused, noticing something odd about what Airen had said. “All of our classmates?”

Aerin nodded with a grin. “Yep, including Rhei.”

She blinked, nonplussed. “How is that going to work?”

“Oh! Well, Hester figured out a way to weave the sigils into the fabric of his uniform. It’s actually her submission to the craftsmanship contest. And on top of that, since the fight with Pallas, Rhei has been making progress in limiting his mageia emission. I’ve been helping out since I can keep an eye on it for him. He’s not bad at sensing it, of course, but I was able to give him concrete guidance on when the emission levels became dangerous for others. You wouldn’t know, of course, since you’ve been weird since the mission.” Aerin cheered.

She had, of course, been actively avoiding Rhei and was unsurprised that Aerin had noticed. When she had seen Rhei around, he seemed different, something moody and intense seeming to weigh down on him. His under-eyes had become shadowed, as if he were being haunted by something.

“Why is he competing though?”

Aerin shrugged. “Same as anyone else. He has something he wants to ask Athena.”

She wondered what Rhei wanted to ask Athena so badly that he was disregarding his principles and risking harm to other people. She shook off the thought. It didn’t matter anyway, because Asteria needed to win, now more than ever. Forgetting Moirai’s request, Asteria needed to speak to Athena about personal matters. She needed to speak to her about Perses.

Ever since she had tended to Rhei’s wounds, the seal on her had cracked even further, allowing her powers to grow. With the returning mageia, however, Asteria had been getting splitting headaches, memories that made no sense to her flashing before her eyes. She saw Perses standing near Kronos, but sometimes, he wasn’t in the memories. Instead, Asteria stood by herself near the Titan King. Other times, Asteria found herself wandering through a glass city of skyscrapers in her dreams, drifting mindlessly through a world with more people than she thought could exist. When she woke up from those dreams, she was accompanied by a feeling of loneliness so strong that she could hardly describe it. She needed to know what those flashes were caused by, what they meant, and what they hinted at, and at least for now, Athena was her best hope at finding out.

Which meant, of course, that she couldn’t risk being disqualified from the tournament. Aerin was still nagging her about what she would enter as her token. Oh well, she could just create a rough, throwaway piece.

“If it's not good enough, it won’t be accepted,” Airen chimed in, singsong. She blanched. So it had to be of quality.

“Where can I acquire a needle and some beading?” She asked. He blinked.

“The markets. Duh.”

“I meant for you to show me.”

He pouted. “I was going to hang out with Alexander, though…”

“You do that all the time.” She grabbed onto his collar and dragged him with her to the market. Aerin directed her through the stalls, and Asteria stared intently around her, searching for inspiration. There was a wealth of craft items, she noticed. Needles and threads in every color imaginable.

A vendor with barrels of colorful glass beads caught her eye. The delicate tubing glimmered in iridescent shades. Many of the beads appeared colored by cobalt, rich blues shifting into navy and accompanied by swirling buckets of mixed beads in all shades of purple and pale gold. She blinked down into a bucket of these beads, and came to a decision. She bought a purse full of beads, and tossed a pearl to the vendor. The man boggled it in shock.

“This is too much!” He protested, frantically holding it out for her to take back.

“It’s fine. I got it from Delphi,” Asteria dismissed the man. She wanted no reminders of the Pythia; that hatred was ingrained deep. The man swooned at the news, nearly fainting over his wares. They left quickly, but exclamations of the rarity of a pearl echoed loudly through the streets behind them, drawing attention. Asteria grimaced, turning away and meeting Aerin’s orange eyes. He giggled, and then the attention was turning to them as the vendor pointed toward them. They raced away before more people could inquire after the pearls.

Asteria didn’t need to buy much else, just acquiring a long swath of cotton dyed navy blue, about the right size for a himation.

Aerin puzzled over it. “That may take a little long to embroider,” he offered his advice, but Asteria dismissed it. Not long after, they parted ways, heading back to their respective dorms. Asteria hadn’t been back to the dorm she shared with Rhei since the fateful day she had recognized Rhei as Perses, but frankly she was tired of knocking on doors and requesting the impromptu right of Xenia from strangers.

The broad banquet tables of the dining hall would serve her purposes as well.

She fluffed the navy fabric with a flourish, laying it out over the table. It had been a long time since she last practiced any sort of handicraft, but her hands remembered the years of sitting quietly with her sister and mother and embroidering beautiful wares. She pulled out a chalk pencil and allowed instinct to take hold, breathing in as she dragged flowing patterns of guidelines across the cotton.

The swirling pattern finished, she laid out her beads and began her work. It was more tiring than expected, and Asteria realized there had been something to Aerin’s warning. Still, she worked tirelessly, driving the needle in and out of the thread, allowing the motion to become hypnotically mindless. Time passed in the flow state, a pattern of swirling galaxies and stars building their way across the fabric. She took out a sharp pair of fabric shears and began cutting across the bottom edge of the fabric. In Asteria’s mind’s eye, she could see the beautiful form of glowing nebulas that she had set across her and Perses’s ceiling. She yelped as pain lanced suddenly through her head. Her hands slipped, and the sharp shears went sliding against her palm, cutting deeply into it.

She pulled her hand away quickly, not wanting to get any of the welling blood on the fabric. What ceiling had she decorated with nebulae, she wondered. She couldn’t remember such a room in their home, but the vision had been so clear.

Movement at the edge of the room caught her attention. Rhei peeked in, tired eyes concerned. She hadn’t seen him in a while, but noticed that he was no longer bundled in endless layers of fabric. Apparently Hester’s designs had been really effective. His hair was still ratty and covering most of his face, but nothing would wipe the image of his golden eyes from her mind.

“Are you okay?” Asteria wondered how many times he would feel the need to ask her that. His gaze fell to her hand. He blanched. She looked down. It was bleeding a lot more than he had expected.

Rhei rushed off, silently going to retrieve a pack of ointment and a bandage, placing it on the table and stepping back. Asteria applied the medicine carelessly, then struggled to wrap the strip of fabric around her palm with only one hand. She sighed as the bandage slipped and fell once again.

“You have gloves on, so it will be fine.” He blanched, looking warily at her.

“What if you’re wrong?” he whispered. “What if before it was just a fluke? I don’t want to risk it.”

“I am not worried,” Asteria said flatly. It wasn’t entirely true. Perses had never hurt her in an accident, but she was somewhat wary of letting him get close to her now. It unsettled something deep in her.

“Just help me out.” She tossed the bandage roll—he caught it deftly, despite the thick gloves—and shoved her hand toward him, wiggling her fingers impatiently when he still hesitated. Ever so carefully, he tied it around her hand, the rubber of the gloves only barely brushing against her skin even as he struggled slightly to tie a knot, the fabric slipping through the fingers of the gloves. His honeyed eyes flicked up briefly before he quickly lowered them, his expression a mix of frustration at his own inability and gentle concern as he worked to tie it again.

Asteria stared at him, her chest tightening. For a moment, she didn’t see Rhei standing in front of her. She saw Perses, his hands gentle and careful as he treated her wounds, his golden eyes full of quiet determination. Then she remembered how those same gentle hands had become stained with her blood, how he had killed her; let her bleed out and die.

It was pitiful how she kept letting herself forget that it was her murderer standing before her.

She should not still love someone who could never have loved her in return.

She glanced down at her bandaged hand and flexed it. They were done perfectly. When she looked up again, Rhei was staring at her.

“What?”

He flushed, embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s nothing. It’s just nice to see you around again.”

Asteria scoffed. “Surely you must dislike me by now.”

He shrugged hesitantly and sat down on the bench opposite her. “I… can’t say that I wasn’t confused by your change in behavior. I had thought,” he blushed. “I thought we might be something approaching friends. It did hurt, but it's also something I have dealt with all my life.”

Asteria hummed, gaze flitting up to the ceiling.

“Could you… Would it be possible to know what changed?”

“I would rather not say,” Asteria responded. He looked disheartened, like a kicked puppy, but nodded. Perses had always loved dogs. He was a canine god in the same way that Pallas was a ram like their father. “It is not,” she offered hesitantly. “Something directly to do with you. But I find myself reluctant to trust that you are well-meaning.”

His eyes drifted up to hers, gaze soft. “I can understand that. Still, I meant it before. It is nice to have you around. I’m not used to having company, least of all people that don't fear me, even though you don’t trust me.”

Asteria rolled her eyes, as if she had anything to fear from Rhei, who, without his memories of Perses, was little stronger than an ordinary human with a destructive mageia domain.

“No family?” Mortals usually have those too, right?

He shook his head slowly. “Not really.” He frowned, looking at her seriously. “I’ve told you about Piraeus before. Everyone in that town died when I was a baby—no one even knows who my parents might be.”

“How’d you survive then? Alexander mentioned something about a general?”

“Oh… General Stelios, of the West Gate, found me.”

“How did he come across you?”

“The Pythia sent him,” Rhei cringed.

“What? Was there a prophecy?”

“Yeah… ‘The child born of ash, who endures in the sun-scorched harbor, will kindle Athen’s flame and will destroy that which impedes the path of fate.’” He quoted, flushing with embarrassment. Asteria grimaced—it wasn’t fair that he got an actual prophecy while Asteria was just saddled with some forceful instructions. The prophecy also clearly referenced Perses, a titan of sun-scorched lands and destruction. She wondered why it seemed that no one in Athens had made the connection with Perses.

Misinterpreting the look on her face, he nodded with a small laugh. “It’s really dramatic, right?” His smile slipped. “And people have interpreted it in different ways, especially as none of us know what the path of fate is. Some think I’ll save Athens, but given my track record, most believe I’ll end up destroying it.”

“So what happened with Stelios?”

“He adopted me,” Rhei shrugged. “On the day he returned to Athens, he heard that Piraeus had been razed, so he rushed out and found me amidst the ashes.” Rhei sighed, poking at his food. “Stelios is on the side that I’ll bring glory to Athens and thought that raising me would earn him Athena’s favor. So he brought me back and gave me my name, based on the prophecy. Panta Rhei: Everything flows.”

“You remember nothing from before?”

Rhei cast her a bewildered look. “I was a baby, so no?”

He seemed genuine. He had no memories of his past life.

Asteria could not cast judgement upon Rhei as long as he lacked memories of his former life, but she would never be able to look at him again without seeing echoes of Perses within his soul. It also felt more important than ever that she discovered what had happened to reincarnate them both in mortal bodies.

“Perhaps then, if you were so young, it is time for a change.”

Rhei looked at her consideringly. “It’s funny that someone who hates me so much keeps trying to provoke so much positive change in my life,” He laughed gently. “I think you may be right, though.”

Asteria’s mind drifted back to the tournament. Rhei followed her thought pattern, examining the far-from-finished himation.

“This is really beautiful,” he complimented softly. He reached out, but didn’t dare to skim his hands along the delicate surface.

She looked at him. “What did you make?” She asked, struggling to imagine him accomplishing any delicate work with either the gloves on or without causing rapid degradation to the fabric. He winced sheepishly and reached into a pocket. He pulled out a small, folded handkerchief and passed it over.

“Aerin helped me out, but it’s not very good,” he chuckled. “I’m not used to creating things.” he wiggled his gloved hands. “And these didn’t help.”

She unfolded it carefully, and nearly dropped it when the image on the surface revealed itself. Rhei was right; it was certainly horrible as far as craftsmanship went. The stitches were messy and uneven; extra holes were torn into the fabric where he had misstitched and had to try again. Asteria did not doubt that he had poked his fingers many times while making this measly little design.

Even so, her heart skipped in her chest as she brushed her fingers delicately over the embroidered quail, standing on a navy background studded with glass stars. Her heart felt thick in her throat, and her gaze darted up to Rhei, who looked at her with confused alarm.

“Why,” she asked, voice trembling. “Did you do a quail?”

“Ah,” he laughed nervously. “You’re right, most people chose Owls, but I,” his eyes were heartwrenchingly soft as he looked down at the tiny bird he had painstakingly embroidered. “I have always loved quails.”

Asteria stood in a flurry, brushing her supplies into her satchel.

“Asteria?” Rhei was alarmed.

“I have to go,” she choked out. She shoved past him, noting absentmindedly that he didn’t feel the need to jump out of the way this time. Tears were welling up, unstoppably, in her eyes and dripping down her cheek. He reached for her arm and pulled her back, his glove gentle against her wrist. He seemed surprised at himself for the action and started to apologize. He froze when he saw the heartbroken look on her face, and his grip slackened.

She ripped her arm free and raced off.

Rhei had no way of remembering that she was a goddess of quails. She reminded herself. It was such a nothing animal and an irrelevant part of her domain. There was no way that his love of the animal was somehow related to Perses's love of her, she reminded herself furiously. Perses. Did. Not. Love. Her.

But Khaos, how it felt like he did, when he spoke like that and looked at the little quail with that expression on his face.

And so, once again, Asteria, a titan who considered herself above running from her fears, fled the scene.