The Villain of Ancient Greece

The royal city of Thessaly.

The crisis the Gigantes had brought was over for now.

The collapsed walls were rebuilt with esoteric craft, and the defensive wards, patched and mended one by one, came back online in sequence.

Watching the priests’ chants call down the lightning-bright glow that marked Zeus’s favor to blanket the whole city, the heroes and soldiers on watch let out a breath of relief, the tension in their shoulders finally easing.

The city, having weathered the fires of war, settled back into its old peace, and every street and alley filled with the warmth of celebration.

Heracles, Hippolyta, Lorne, the Spartan twins, and the rest of the heroes received an invitation from King Admetus to a grand feast at the royal palace.

Amid the noise and clamor, alongside the food and wine that no feast went without, more than a few noblewomen of striking beauty cast lingering glances at the men leading the group.

A few days later, the god-blooded heroes, their duties finally set down, yawned their way back to their respective lodgings, ready to rest and recover in earnest.

Lorne was no exception.

He picked up a few pastries and snacks in the street, ducked back into the courtyard where he was staying, pulled out a wide golden goblet brimming with crimson wine, and sat at the stone table to drink alone.

As the crimson wine flowed into him, the glowing crack-lines across his skin slowly began to close, like parched, cracked earth soaking up rain.

Watching the light-lines gradually fade from his body, Lorne shook his head, not entirely satisfied.

Just deploying three Incarnations had already pushed him close to his limit, needing the wine steeped in the Holy Grail for regular upkeep and repair.

This body was still too fragile.

Lucky for him, the Gigantes and their beasts, after taking that kind of damage, hadn’t dared show themselves again.

Otherwise, this glass cannon of his would have needed hauling back to Mount Ares for repairs sooner or later.

Lorne raised the Holy Grail and drained the wine that refilled itself endlessly within it, muttering to himself.

He couldn’t keep counting on himself to solo every crisis that came along.

If he wanted to use his best resources where they’d actually matter, it looked like it was time to strengthen the friends around him, so they could hold their own ground.

Creak.

Just as Lorne fell into thought, a burly figure pushed open the half-latched courtyard gate and stepped inside.

”Heracles? What brings you here?”

Lorne blinked in mild surprise at the big man walking in.

Heracles set down the wine and pastries he’d brought along and gave a hearty laugh. ”Come to see you.

And to say a proper thank-you, while I’m at it.”

Lorne set down the Holy Grail, pried open the seal on the wine jar, and gave it a sniff, a teasing look on his face. ”Well, well. This year’s finest nectar from Thessaly, and the pricey new vintage at that? You didn’t hold back.”

”As long as you like it.” Heracles smiled, sincerity written across his rugged face. ”It’s nothing next to what I owe you for pulling me out of that underground temple.”

As he spoke, he stood and poured Lorne a cup himself, jar cradled in his arms.

Watching this lion of a man carry himself before him as meekly as a cat with its claws sheathed, the latter drained the cup in one go, a playful smile spreading across his face.

”You’d have made it out on your own even without my help. And you waited quite a few days to come find me, so I doubt it’s just about the temple.”

”There’s also this.”

Caught, Heracles laughed sheepishly and opened the large hand resting on the stone table, revealing a Gorgon emblem engraved with his name.

Lorne raised an eyebrow, understanding dawning.

Seemed this rough-hewn hero had a sharper mind than he let on, and had figured a few things out.

”Thank you for the guidance. And thank you for a gift this valuable.”

Heracles pushed the Gorgon emblem forward across the table and spoke slowly.

”But I’m sorry. I can’t accept it.”

The hand swirling Lorne’s cup paused for a moment as he studied the solemn look on Heracles’s face, amusement in his eyes.

He knew exactly what ”it” meant.

The sacred armor of Leo, from Athens, and everything that came with an invitation to Mount Ares.

Thanks to the Fates’ involvement and the pacts they’d sealed, the war fought on Olympus barely counted as a secret anymore.

As the demigod son Zeus prized most, and raised from childhood under the constant guidance of his teacher Perseus, Heracles had long since come to see himself as his father’s sharpest spear and blade.

And in a sense, every god who’d taken part in that rebellion was Father Zeus’s enemy.

A new war among the gods hadn’t broken out yet, and there was no need for the factions to fight to the death over it.

Still, Heracles, straightforward by nature, wasn’t willing to cross that line lightly and betray his own father.

”You’ve misunderstood me.” Lorne swirled the cup in his hand, a smile on his face. ”I gave you that armor hoping you’d save more lives, put a stop to more disasters. Nothing more to it than that.”

”But...”

”Turning your back on a divine tool that could help you save countless more lives, all for the sake of some notion of loyalty. Doesn’t that strike you as a little selfish? A little shallow?”

”...”

Heracles had nothing to say to that, and could only manage a bitter smile by way of an explanation.

”But I’m Zeus’s son.”

”You’re Heracles first! The hero the world has waited for. The champion who speaks for the weak! Countless disasters are waiting for you to end them. Countless wrongs are waiting for you to right them.”

Lorne let out a cold snort and spoke slowly to this brother of his, so intent on playing the dutiful son.

”Who you are shouldn’t be decided by your parents. It should be decided by what you do. Think hard about what you should do, and what you shouldn’t.”

”...”

Under that blunt rebuke, Heracles fell silent, at a loss for words.

After a long stretch of quiet, he gritted his teeth, picked up the Gorgon emblem from the table, and spoke seriously to Lorne.

”Fine. I’ll take it, and I’ll put it to good use. But if the two of you end up standing against my father, I won’t hold back.”

”Suit yourself.”

Lorne waved a hand, unbothered, and watched Heracles stride out of the courtyard, weighed down by his own thoughts, the corner of his mouth curling with quiet satisfaction.

Says he doesn’t want it.

Body says otherwise.

Turns out your loyalty to that father of yours isn’t quite as unshakable as you thought.

And that king of the gods on Olympus happens to have a rather serious case of paranoia.

In his eyes, loyalty that isn’t absolute might as well be treason.

With this little stain on your record now, kid, you might just find yourself sharing a table with us rebels sooner than you think.

Something dark and amused crossed the older brother’s face, and he raised his cup toward the direction Heracles had gone.

Night fell.

Caenis, Medea, and Helen, done with their duties for the day, dragged their tired bodies back to the courtyard one after another.

The moment the door opened, the rich smell of cooking hit them, over a dozen dishes laid across the table, each one a feast for the eyes and nose, mouths watering at the sight.

Lorne, who had finished his own work early, stepped out of the kitchen carrying a pot of steaming mushroom soup.

With things settled for now and time on his hands, he’d decided to spend the free hours cooking himself, putting together a full spread to thank the others for their hard work.

As someone who knew Lorne’s true identity, and who’d tasted her senior brother’s cooking before, Medea knew exactly what she was looking at.

She dashed forward at once, claimed the best seat before anyone else, grabbed her utensils, and got straight to work.

Helen and Caenis had no idea why Medea was suddenly so worked up, but their growling stomachs got them into their seats just as fast.

A moment later, the two newcomers were won over completely by the food and dug in without holding back, sweeping across the entire lengthened table like a storm clearing everything in its path.

Watching the three of them still wanting more, Lorne strolled back into the kitchen without ceremony, added a few more dishes, and only put the fire out once all three were properly stuffed.

”Burp. Not bad at all. Way better than the slop they serve in the barracks.”

Caenis leaned back against her chair, thoroughly slumped, belching between compliments, her round belly swollen like she was eight months along, the skin stretched so tight the veins and tendons showed clean through.

Helen and Medea, by comparison, held themselves with a bit more restraint.

Their bellies had swelled too, but not quite to the point of getting in the way.

Looking at the three of them, watermelon-round bellies pressed out at the table, Lorne let out a helpless laugh and spoke slowly.

”Besides dinner, I’ve got something for each of you.”

”A gift? What is it?”

The three of them perked up at once.

As demigods with sturdy constitutions, their digestion caught up with them almost instantly, clearing away the discomfort, as they straightened up in their chairs and looked at Lorne, eyes bright with anticipation.

Seeing this, the latter cleared the plates aside and traced a few Hermetic glyphs across the tabletop with a bent finger, forming a slowly turning star chart, points of metallic light flickering faintly within it.

”Sacred armor?”

Medea was the first to catch on, her eyes wide with surprise.

”Mm. I thought I’d give each of you a set for your own protection.

Take a look and see which one suits you.” Lorne smiled and nodded, then gestured for the three of them to step forward and choose.

Curious, the three reached out and rested their hands on the star chart, letting their own divine nature flow into it.

A moment later, a rising and falling hum sounded, and three streaks of starlight fell from the sky, descending before Medea, Caenis, and Helen, each taking shape as a metal cube etched with an ancient constellation pattern.

The first cube bore the image of a western dragon, coiled in poisonous mist, stern and majestic.

The second bore the image of a golden bird wrapped in flame, wings spread as if about to take flight.

The third bore the image of a maiden at prayer, eyes closed, her posture serene and pure.

Lorne looked at the three of them, his eyelid twitching faintly.

Draco. Phoenix. Virgo?

As the legendary sorceress who’d flown off on a dragon’s back and vanished from the mortal world afterward, Draco suited Medea well enough.

That result made sense on its own terms.

Likewise, the story of Caenis rising after death as a bird with golden wings, vanishing into the sky, lined up neatly with the Phoenix’s imagery.

That pairing was easy enough to accept, too.

But Virgo...

Lorne looked at Helen’s delighted face, then at the golden cube before her bearing the image of a maiden, an odd expression crossing his own.

Sacred armor symbolizing chastity and purity, paired with a lovestruck girl who’d once run off with her lover, the woman whose face had launched a war.

However he looked at it, that pairing felt deeply wrong.

Still, rubbing his chin, it didn’t take Lorne long to work out why Virgo might have chosen Helen after all.

Sparta’s patron God was Apollo, but Artemis held an important place among their rites too.

According to legend, Princess Helen had once served as that virgin goddess’s priestess, and it was during a dance and prayer at Artemis’s temple that Theseus, King of Athens, had carried her off, sparking a war between Sparta and Athens.

Here and now, Helen was still young, and none of that had happened yet.

Which meant this little princess of Sparta was still, in every sense, untouched, and between her extraordinary beauty and her devotion to the virgin goddess Artemis, she fit the conditions for Virgo’s sacred armor naturally enough.

As for the other two, one had just tasted the pleasures of the marriage bed, and the other was more of a man than most men.

Neither one looked anything like a fit for Virgo, no matter the angle.

Even so, the pairing of Helen and Virgo left Lorne with an odd, nagging sense that the world itself was up to something.

Maybe this was a good thing, though.

Taking pride in herself as an untouched woman beat being fought over and dragged off like property, stripped of any say in her own fate.

If Helen never got swept into that story, maybe the endless bloodshed of the Trojan War would never happen at all.

As if some whisper from beyond had reached her, Helen looked up, cradling her new gift like something precious, and turned a sweet smile on Lorne.

Something in his chest went uneasy, and Lorne forced a smile back, quietly making the sign of the cross over his own chest without quite meaning to.

Seeing the smile across the table, Helen felt only encouraged, heat flickering behind her lovely, blinking eyes.

”It’s getting late. Maybe we should all turn in?”

Feeling those two gazes practically burning through him,

Lorne’s eyelid twitched, and he offered the suggestion with forced ease.

”Why don’t you put it on first, and see if it fits?”

”Okay!”

Helen nodded without a second thought at Lorne’s suggestion, followed his instructions, activated the metal module, and slipped the sacred armor onto herself.

The instant it merged with her, the little princess of Sparta felt a cool current wash through her body, and the heat that had been burning behind her eyes went still at once, her gaze turning clear and untroubled from the inside out.

’Pin him down and take him without mercy, or let him do the same to me?

Strange. Why did I just have such an unclean thought?’

For someone she admired, respect alone should be enough.

Helen laced her fingers together over her chest and offered herself a quiet moment of penance, every bit the spotless maiden praying before an altar.

”You and Caenis can each take a room. I want to sleep with Medea tonight, might as well figure out how these two sets of armor work while we’re at it.”

”Sleep with you? Since when did I—”

”Come on, into my room!”

Before Medea could get out a word of protest, Helen grabbed her roommate with a serious look on her face and pulled her straight into her own bedroom.

Watching the door shut with a firm click, and that inseparable pair of close friends disappear behind it, Lorne let out a breath of pure relief.

He could finally get a decent night’s sleep tonight.

Well, would you look at that.

Helen really does suit Virgo.

Wear it, and you’ll never be a lovestruck fool again.

Not one more brush with the passions of this world.

And if your heart ever starts to stray, that armor will bring you right back to your senses.

(End of Chapter)