A tale of heroes and gods

*Aaron*

The fire had died down to embers, casting the camp in a soft orange hush. I poked at it with a stick, not because it needed tending, but because I needed something to do. Helios had been gone a while — off hunting, or scouting, or maybe just walking like he did when his thoughts got too heavy for sitting still.

Aelira sat across from me, sharpening one of her daggers with long, slow strokes. The rhythm was almost soothing. We hadn't said much — just exchanged a few glances, the kind that said "we're fine" even when things felt... less than fine.

Then I heard it.

Leaves rustling. Feet on dry twigs. Too many.

Aelira froze mid-stroke.

"Get up," she whispered, already moving.

Ten of them. Maybe more. Shadows in the tree line, circling in slow, practiced steps. Dirty armor. Grins that didn't reach their eyes. Bandits.

Again.

I stood fast, fists already clenched. My gauntlets — still scuffed from the fight we had earlier— felt heavier now, but not in a bad way. Like they were reminding me they were still here.

Aelira tossed me a quick look. "Twelve. Maybe thirteen. Want to run?"

I grinned, breath already tightening in my chest. "I'd rather swing."

She smirked. "That's what I thought."

They didn't announce themselves. Bandits never do. The first one lunged out of the dark with a curved blade, aiming low. I slipped inside his arc — no time for elegance — and threw a short right hook.

Crack.

His nose shattered under the gauntlet. He dropped. No time to admire.

Another came in swinging wide. Sloppy. I ducked the first cut, caught the second on my forearm. Sparks. I stepped in — body shot, low and mean — then pivoted and hammered an uppercut under his chin. His head snapped back, body folding like a bad chair.

Aelira was dancing.

No other word for it. She wove through their blades like smoke, flickering daggers biting into knees, throats, gaps in armor. One man tried to grab her — she spun, used his momentum, and buried a blade into his kidney with a quiet grunt.

"Two behind you!" she called.

I turned just in time. Blocked the first with my forearm. The second grazed my side — hot pain — but I didn't stop. I ducked under, came up with a jab-jab-cross combo that sent him stumbling. Finished him with a liver punch that made him drop his sword and vomit at once.

"Nice form," Aelira said, breathless.

"Been practicing," I muttered.

We moved like we'd trained for this — like we'd done this together before. I took the hits that she couldn't. She took the shots I missed. When she tripped one, I followed up. When I got swarmed, her daggers carved space around me.

The others didn't know what hit them.

By the sixth body, they started to hesitate. I saw it in their feet, in their grip — too tight now, desperate. They weren't hunters anymore. Just scared animals looking for an exit.

Aelira landed beside me, blood on her cheek, panting. "How you holding up, boxer boy?"

I spat blood, smiled. "Still on my feet."

"Good. Let's end it."

The last four came at once. I charged forward with a burst of adrenaline, ducked low — slip left, weave right, then let my fists fly. I didn't think, just threw combinations. A straight right broke teeth. A left hook dropped another. One tried to stab Aelira from behind — I caught his wrist and shattered it with a twist and a brutal overhand right.

She looked at me as the last one turned to flee.

"Don't," she said.

I didn't.

He took two steps before her dagger spun through the air and pinned his leg to a tree. He screamed — once — before collapsing into whimpers.

Silence returned. Sharp and sudden.

We were standing in a ring of blood and ruin, breath shallow, muscles twitching with leftover violence.

Aelira wiped her blade, looked at me. "You okay?"

"Better now."

She studied me, then smiled — not the cocky smirk, but the smaller, quieter kind. "You've got a good rhythm. Not just fists — you move like you listen."

I met her eyes. "So do you. You're faster, though."

"I know," she teased.

We both laughed. It wasn't loud. But it was real.

Something had shifted.

In the firelight, between the bodies, in the dance we just shared, I felt it — that unspoken click. Like we weren't just surviving together.

We were fighting together.

Aelira walked over, shoulder brushing mine. "Next time, try not to get cut. I'm running low on thread."

I gave her a sideways glance. "You planning to stitch me up again?"

Her smile widened. "Only if you ask nicely."

And then she walked off to check the perimeter, leaving me standing in the fading heat of the fight — heart thudding, blood drying, hands still curled in fists.

She was right.

We'd done more than survive.

We'd found something in the mess — trust, maybe. Or something close to it.

And I had the bruises to prove it.