"Aisha."
The sound of her name, spoken softly but firmly, startled her from her spiraling thoughts. Her gaze, which had been fixed blankly on the floor, lifted slowly. She turned, her body moving almost mechanically, to face the source of the voice.
A shadowed figure stood at the far end of the tent, partially obscured by the dim light and heavy fabric walls. But even in the darkness, she recognized the outline of the armor he wore—the Spartan armor. The same armor she had seen earlier, watching silently as the flames consumed the woods.
That voice...
Aisha froze at the sound. She had never heard such a deep, velvety voice before, but something in its resonance stirred a distant, almost forgotten memory. It was as though a string within her heart had been gently plucked, vibrating with a familiarity she couldn't place. Slowly, she lifted her gaze.
Before her stood a man. His curly black hair was slicked back, gleaming under the soft light, and his piercing icy blue eyes locked onto hers. The intensity of his gaze was so cold, it sent shivers down her spine, as if his mere look could encase her in ice. Yet, beneath the coldness, there was something unsettlingly familiar.
He smiled—a small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips.
"Ha..." The sound escaped Aisha's lips before she even realized it, a strange mix of disbelief and shock. Her mouth hung open slightly, her breath caught in her throat. His face, his voice, even that fleeting smile—it was all different. And yet, that smile. That smile reminded her of someone. Someone who had once smiled at her in just that way.
Her heart stuttered, her lips trembled, and her wide eyes shimmered with uncertainty.
It couldn't be him.
Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into the soft fabric of the tablecloth beneath her, as if grounding herself in reality. Her gaze never wavered from his face. She studied every detail with painstaking precision, searching for proof, some unmistakable sign that it wasn't merely a cruel illusion. But the more she looked, the more her heart screamed the truth she wasn't ready to believe.
Deep inside, she already knew. The moment he had called her name, the moment he smiled, that hope she had buried long ago resurfaced like a tidal wave. But she was terrified—terrified that this was just another one of the countless dreams she had suffered through since his supposed death. Another nightmare that would leave her shattered when she awoke.
"It's been a while, Aisha."
His voice was clearer this time, steady and unmistakable.
Aisha's breath hitched in her chest, and in that instant, her body moved on its own. She surged forward, leaping over the table without a second thought, and crashed into him, wrapping her arms around him in a fierce embrace. "I-it's really you?! Na... Nathan?!"
She clung to him desperately, as if he might vanish if she let go. Her face pressed into his chest, the cold metal of his armor beneath her cheek, but she didn't care. Her shoulders shook as silent sobs wracked her body, her tears spilling freely, dampening the smooth surface of his armor. Each tear felt like a release, years of pent-up pain and longing finally pouring out.
Nathan's arms circled her gently, pulling her closer with a tenderness that broke the final dam of her resistance. "Yes, it's me," he whispered softly, his breath warm against her hair.
As he hugged her, Nathan had a weird face berating himself for having revealed himself yet seeing Aisha crying relieved as if she felt alive again, he didn't regret.
°°°°°°
A few minutes earlier.
I couldn't get close to his tent.
I had been circling the encampment for what felt like hours, my steps measured and cautious, each passing minute sending spikes of frustration through my veins. Every now and then, I cast fleeting glances toward Agamemnon's main tent, where the figure of the ruthless king loomed like a dark shadow within. It was the perfect moment.
Agamemnon was there, and Astynome—she was so close, just within reach. But standing in the way were two grim-faced guards, their spears gleaming dully in the campfire light, positioned at the tent's entrance like impenetrable sentinels.
Without thinking, I moved, my steps heavy with intent. The only thought in my mind was to kill the man inside, whoever he was. No mercy. No hesitation. Just raw, unfiltered violence and in the most cruel way possible.
But before I could act, something stopped me in my tracks.
Screams pierced the air—loud, sharp cries that were quickly silenced. I froze, and blood splattered just outside the tent's entrance. My gaze darted to the source of the chaos, and there she was. A woman with a veil of long, black hair tied in a ponytail, moving with deadly grace. My breath caught in my throat as a wave of nostalgia washed over me. I recognized her immediately.
Sienna.
She slipped into the tent before I could react, and I silently positioned myself behind the thick fabric. I listened closely, waiting. Moments passed, and the sounds from within told me what I needed to know. Sienna had intervened just in time, driving the bastard away before he could go any further. Aisha had been saved, but instead of relief, the air inside the tent was thick with tension.
A bitter argument followed.
"Were you even trying to escape, Aisha?"
"You've faced worse, Aisha. Why didn't you fight back? Why let yourself get to that point?"
Sienna's frustration was high, and her words echoed in the space between them, but what caught my attention more than anything was Aisha's silence.
She didn't respond. Not a single word.
Why wasn't she fighting back? Why wasn't she retorting like she used to? I'd known Aisha for long enough to know that silence wasn't like her. It felt wrong. So wrong.
Something was terribly off.
It was as if she had given up—like she was just existing, not living. Just... drifting. And seeing her like that, broken and downcast, pained me in ways I couldn't have imagined.
This wasn't the Aisha I knew, the fierce girl who would stand her ground no matter what despite being silent.
I carefully peeked inside the tent. There she was, sitting with her head bowed, her shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world was pressing down on her. Her face was drawn, her expression hollow. And seeing her like that—it seemed really pricking my heart.
I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to rush in and pull her into my arms, consequences be damned. My heart screamed at me to do something, to help her, to let her know that I was there. But something held me back. Maybe it was guilt, maybe fear or just because it wasn't the right time yet...
But she never forgot about me.
I started to turn away, to leave before I made things worse. But then I heard it—a soft, broken whisper.
"N...Nathan..."
Her voice was barely audible, a pained mumble echoed, damaged, but unmistakable.
I froze, my body going rigid. My mind raced, but there was no hesitation in my movements. Without another thought, I spun on my heel, throwing the tent flap open as I stepped inside.
"Aisha."
Her name slipped from my lips before I could stop it.