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The goddess wearing Crino’s appearance is patient, as you sift through your memories.
Your childhood – in the rolling hills of Thessaly. The morning calls of goats as dawn rises. The scent of fresh earth; rocky slopes exposed to the frigid air of midwinter. Your mother calling you home as dusk spills down the sides of Mount Olympus. Drinking water from the burbling streams as an innocent child of unusual height - before you had sworn your vendetta.
Your beautiful sister – golden-haired, kind. Quick with a joke. You hear her playful voice in your ears - "”Ni-kon~”. You will never see her again. Your heart breaks into pieces – your shattered oaths piercing your flesh. It is agony. You have failed. You pray that she finds a husband with you - you hope she will. You know that she is stronger than she thinks.
Teukros – a friend to you. You had found common cause with him; a man like yourself in many ways. You curse your fortunes - there was so much to be done with him. So many glories to win... So many victories that you will not see. You stiffen your resolve.
It was your error to wake the Dioscuri – you misjudged their desperate need for Helen.
It was your error to persuade Pollux to enter the Royal Palace, Paris in tow. What madness had come over you? You conceived this plan without your panoplia, without your father’s spear. You were armed with nothing but lust for glory.
You hesitated at the bridge, with Dius – with him alive, much would have changed.
And when confronted with Hector, with Paris at knife-point – you foolishly suggested that Pollux attempt to deceive the man. The face of blameless Teukros, laughing, fills your mind. You cannot make this man suffer for your mistakes. You and you alone led them down this path.
<span class="mu-s">The truth is simple - you have earned this death.</span>
In the end – the choice is easy. You shift your eyes to your left, as dark-tressed Crino watches. Her perfected nose wrinkles – <span class="mu-i">bewilderment</span>.
Her voice is a golden chime:
<span class="mu-g">“Your choice is noted, Nikandros, and pleases the gods. You will go down into the halls of the Lord of Many.”</span>. She walks to the slowly-moving spear of Hector, and with a single finger and gentle pressure, she adjusts its flight. Now, the polished tip of the spear faces you head-on.
She turns gracefully, and glides about Hector – still frozen in mid-cast – and makes her way to the other end of the hall, passing alongside the Olympians scribed on the walls. She opens the door to Paris’ apartment, and walks inside. You watch your death approach; the polished spearpoint wafting through the air. It’s interesting – after so many eons here, in this hall, it now feels that your time has been so short.
The spear begins moving more quickly now, rotating about its axis with increasing speed. You wonder how long it will take befo -
