A tale of heroes and gods

*Helios*

The sun had barely cleared the treetops when I left the temple.

Bhestia's words still clung to me — warm and strange, like firelight burned into skin. My palm still tingled where I'd knelt. And in my chest, the vow pulsed steady, hot.

I will protect him. Whatever comes. Wherever it comes from.

The forest didn't know.

But I had changed.

Stonewake rested across my back. My only weapon. I'd never needed anything else.

The trail was quiet. Until it wasn't.

Birdsong vanished. Wind hushed. A stillness, unnatural.

I turned.

First three.

Then six.

Then more.

Twenty-three men stepped from the trees. Blades. Spears. Crossbows. Clubs. Nets.

A tall, scarred man with a hooked axe spat at the ground. "You're alone. Bad luck."

I rolled my shoulders. "For you."

He laughed — dry, rasping. "That shield of yours will look good above my fire."

The crossbowman didn't wait for a signal. He fired.

Thunk. The bolt slammed into Stonewake — but knocked me back a step. My shoulder ached from the impact.

Then the others rushed in — fast and coordinated.

I grunted, dropped my stance, and braced.

The first spear grazed my ribs — blood bloomed immediately.

A sword flashed. I twisted, caught it on the edge of the shield, and drove forward — shield to sternum — until I felt something give. He collapsed with a scream.

Then they were everywhere.

One tried to trip me. I stomped his ankle, heard it snap, but a blade bit into my back. Not deep — but deep enough to burn.

Pain surged. I roared and spun, slamming my elbow into someone's jaw. Teeth scattered.

A net came flying.

I ducked too slow. It tangled around my arm, slowing me. A club struck my knee — I dropped to one leg with a curse.

They rushed, thinking I was falling.

I wasn't.

I roared again and surged up, tearing the net free, headbutted the nearest face, and drove my shield straight into someone's groin. He folded.

Then I grabbed a handful of dirt and leaves and shoved it into another's eyes. He screamed and flailed — I broke his nose with the shield's edge.

A blade stabbed into my thigh.

I bit the attacker's ear. Tore it off. Spat it in his face. He shrieked.

I used his body as a shield against two more — caught a spear in his side, then pushed him into them. All three went down in a tangle. I didn't let them back up.

Three kicks. Three cracks.

But I was bleeding hard now.

Ribs slashed. Thigh stabbed. Shoulder bruised. I was slowing.

They saw it.

And smiled.

One kicked the back of my knee — I buckled. A boot came for my face — I caught it with the shield and twisted — he spun midair and landed badly.

Two more tried to pin me. One got behind and wrapped his arms around my chest.

I slammed the back of my head into his nose — felt the crunch — then threw my weight forward, ramming him into a tree.

The other grabbed my shield.

Big mistake.

I let go — just for a second — grabbed his shirt, kneed him in the stomach, and dragged him down. Then I bit into his throat.

He gurgled. Twitched. Stopped moving.

I retrieved Stonewake, blood-slick now, hands shaking.

Half of them were down.

But the rest?

Still coming. Angry now. Smarter. Coordinated.

I backed up — limping — and grabbed a rock from the ground.

When one charged, I smashed it into his jaw. He dropped, spasming. I took his dagger, flipped it backward, and drove it into the armpit of another.

Close and ugly.

They stabbed at me from a distance. I used bodies as cover. Pulled corpses into the path of blades.

I tore off part of my shirt, used it to bind my thigh. Sloppy, but it'd hold.

Another spear came — I caught the shaft under my arm and pulled the wielder forward — then cracked his skull on a root. Blood pooled.

Still breathing. Just.

Only four left.

But my shield was heavy. My arms numb. The taste of blood thick in my throat.

They circled. Careful now.

I bared my teeth. "Come on, then. Try it."

One did. Fast. Clever. Feinted high, stabbed low.

He sliced my calf.

I dropped to a knee.

They closed in—

I threw the last of the dirt in my pouch into their faces.

Blinding. I surged up, shoulder-tackled one into a tree — heard his spine go — then turned and used the rim of Stonewake to cave in a jaw.

The third tried to run.

I tackled him, snarling, and pummeled his face until my knuckles split.

The fourth just… backed away. Stared. Dropped his weapon.

And ran.

I didn't follow.

I staggered to a tree and collapsed against it.

Breathing hard.

Bleeding everywhere.

Ribs cracked. Thigh stabbed. Vision swimming.

But I was still alive.

And they weren't.

Twenty-three men. Dead, dying, or fled.

I looked down at my shield.

Stonewake, still whole. Still with me.

Then dread slammed into my chest.

If they were this prepared — if they were this many — what if they weren't alone?

What if another group hit the camp?

What if Aaron…

I forced myself up.

And I ran.

Limping, bleeding — but running all the same.