I APPRECIATE THE WARM WELCOME, GUYS. ENJOY!

PERSEUS felt himself reforming and solidifying beneath the fig tree near the forest's edge, the exact location he had in mind. This mist travel thing really came in handy. There was a permanent frown etched on his face as he began to march down the hill and towards the seashore. The battle had ended about an hour before, but as he approached the sea, the salty tang in the air refreshed him and chased away his weariness.

His ploy with the horses had been a success; an even greater one than he'd imagined. Now, the Greeks had next to no steeds left, and the Trojans had bolstered the number of equestrians in their possession. Xanthos and Bailos—who, unfortunately, remained with Achilles—had come through. They'd thundered down the battlefield towards Perseus and Penthesileia, oblivious to the panic and screaming from Achilles' charioteer. Just as they'd come—just as the golden hair had come into view—Achilles had launched himself out of the chariot and into the fray, making Perseus' efforts and that of Achilles' own horses useless.

With the daughter of Otrera beside him, they'd begun cutting a path towards where they had seen him land, but then nightfall had hit just as suddenly, forcing both sides to draw back. The Trojans had then camped where they'd drawn a line during the battle, taking back most of their own land.

Perseus silently cursed his luck. Achilles knew they had Briseis. Achilles also knew Briseis knew his weakness. He wouldn't be rushing into any battle with Perseus or Aeneas anytime soon. Not if he valued his life. Silently, the green-eyed man made a vow to himself. His next fight with Achilles would be the bastard's last.

He owed it to Hector, and to every Trojan behind the walls whom the son of Thetis had brought sorrow to.

As he neared the water's edge, he spotted the other man materialising from thin air. With him came another wave of salty air, and Perseus felt his shoulders dropping and his hackles falling. Poseidon turned to face him, a small smile playing on his lips. His eyes crinkled, smile lines appearing around them. Perseus gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

They still walked on eggshells around each other, even though they were now on good terms. Forgiving his father didn't mean it was easy to be chummy with him. But, they had an eternity to sort that out. An eternity to get their relationship on its feet, and frankly, Perseus wasn't in any hurry. Poseidon cared for him, that much was clear. At least now, they were both putting in some effort.

"You fought well today," His father greeted.

"Thanks," He shrugged. "But it was nothing. Your gifts aided me for most of it."

"Yes, yes, I saw how you got the horses to cause mayhem during the battle. Quite a nice trick, if I do say so myself." Perseus turned away to hide his flushing skin and exhaled. But it felt nice, to hear compliments from Poseidon's lips; a fact he could no longer deny. He turned back to the sea god.

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"What?" The deity looked confused.

"You wish to see Troy destroyed. You side with the Greeks. Yet you train me and equip me with powers so I can wipe them out. That, if I've ever seen one, is a major conflict of interest."

His older double laughed, then gave him a wry smile. "I do hate Troy, I won't deny that. It hurts an immortal's pride, to be turned human and forced to labour under one for ten years. Add getting swindled out of payment by said human and being forced to watch his kingdom flourish thanks to your free labour, and you tend to get a bit grumpy."

Perseus snorted. "That was Zeus' fault. And Hector's great, great, great grandfather or something."

"Exactly," Poseidon inched closer. "And you are my son. We've had this conversation a few times already, have we not? No matter how much I want to see those walls destroyed, I won't fight for Greece anymore. Not if it means having to fight you. I won't stand in the way of your happiness. Not after everything that happened with your mother."

Perseus grimaced. He wanted to ask about her. He wanted to know her. But he couldn't bring himself to speak.

"Alright, enough small talk," The god shrugged, swinging his trident out of the sand. "I've pulled out of the war. I'm helping my son learn his powers. Whatever you choose to do with that is your decision to make."

Perseus swallowed, overcome with emotion. "Thank you." Poseidon's expression softened, and he simply nodded.

"Today will be our last 'learning' lesson," The god told him. "Galateia has taught you a lot more than I expected. You only need more practice, which is what we'll be doing from now on, and you'll be exceptional soon. Today, I'm going to teach you how to cause earthquakes." He buried his trident in the sand and began leisurely ambling around Perseus. "Watch this."

The demigod watched attentively as his father took another step. Slowly, the earth around him began to shake. The sound was low at first but then it rose to a crescendo as the very beach began to shake. Perseus stumbled and let out a small shocked sound. He remembered causing an earthquake—unintentionally—a few years ago. He remembered feeling so drained after that. Poseidon made it look effortless.

The god smiled at him. "The trick to this is quite simple." He stood still on the sand, the salt air swirling around him as he prepared to teach Perseus the secrets of harnessing the earth's energy. The immortal demigod licked his lips in anticipation.

"Feel the pulse of the world beneath your feet," his father instructed, his voice resonating like the deep ocean currents. "Imagine the tectonic plates as colossal, interlocking puzzle pieces, shifting and grinding against one another. With each movement, they store immense energy, like a bowstring pulled taut," Poseidon explained, his trident shimmering as he grabbed it from the sand. He demonstrated how to focus that energy, channelling it through his trident and sending waves of force rippling into the ground. The earth quaked in response, a deep rumble echoing through the rocks. Once more, Perseus couldn't help but nod in respect at the sea god's strength and power.

"Now, it's your turn," Poseidon encouraged, watching as Perseus concentrated. With an exhale, the Polemarchos of Troy closed his eyes, concentrating, trying to attune himself to the subtle vibrations of the earth. "Draw upon the earth's natural rhythms. Let your will connect with its strength. Visualize the energy building, then release it with intention." As Perseus focused, he felt his power course through him, his mind focused, his body alert and his fists clenched. He sent a silent command searing through his veins and into the earth. He ordered it to submit and bow to his power, and he felt the ground respond to him. In his mind, he imagined energy in the earth building, stacking up on each other to explode, and the vibrations intensified beneath him. With another breath, he unclenched his fists and demanded silently that the earth stop holding back.

The results were instantaneous.

With a boom, a shockwave erupted around him, sending sand flying and the earth roared with vibrations searing through the ground and causing it to shake uncontrollably. The sound was like white noise in his ears. He and the armoured immortal stood stock still as the earth trembled around them.

"Control is key," Poseidon warned, his gaze steady. Perseus' eyelids peeled open and he watched the high god approach. The sea raged behind them, the wind whipping their hair and clothes around them in response to the earth's quaking. Shouts were coming from the beach and the Trojan camps. But he didn't stop. The green-eyed god placed a hand on Perseus' shoulder. He stiffened at the contact but relaxed just as quickly. This was his father and maybe it was time to start getting used to this.

"An uncontrolled quake can wreak havoc, but a well-directed one can shift the very landscape," Poseidon said, sharply. "Now, I want you to visualize the Greek camp. Destroy their walls. Now." He envisioned Achilles' tents in his mind. He saw Menelaus' and Agamemnon and the kings seated in a war council. He saw the soldiers burying their dead and eating around campfires. An image of their wall seared into his mind, quickly constructed, not as strong as it had been ten years prior. With a roar, Perseus released the power he was holding back, ordering the sand beneath the gates to shift and quake.

There were more screams and he slid to his knees, veins thrumming. Poseidon slid down next to him, and said, "The sea does not like to be restrained, Perseus. And you know how the sea and earth are connected, more than anyone. However, you must balance your power with precision. Understanding that true mastery lies not just in unleashing force, but in guiding it with purpose and wisdom...that is where true power lies. That's what makes you mine." The power was overwhelming him. But he ordered the tremors around him to stop and focus on the Greek camp alone. The rumbling was distant now. The winds died. Finally, gritting his teeth, Perseus wrenched back his control over the earth. He was panting, sweating, and tired. But he let out a laugh as the intensity of the tremors slowed. Poseidon grinned at him. Slowly, the earth stopped moving.

Green eyes bored into his. "You're a natural," Poseidon's eyes were positively lit with pride. Perseus released a stuttered breath and awkwardly patted Poseidon's back. Poseidon hadn't just taught him a new power today. He'd given him something else. "Thank you," He breathed out. His father nodded, and Perseus could feel his smile widening.

He'd given him hope. He'd shown him he could win this if only he got stronger. And that was something to be thankful for.

BREAK

AENEAS frowned to himself, then to his mother. Above them, the moon hung high in the sky, its eerie glow lighting up the temple they were in. Statues of his mother adorned the walls, next to tapestries of the many stories he'd heard of her. Roses and flower petals were strewn about the central altar. The hearth burned low, and there were about seven of his mother's priestesses bustling about and preparing the temple for the morning prayers, oblivious to their presence. In a few hours, they would be back on the battlefield, and although Aeneas knew the necessities of the lessons his mother had offered him, he really did not appreciate her dragging him out of his tent on the plain when he'd barely gotten two hours of sleep.

Their war council had stretched on long into the night, and after a few words with his brother, Perseus had gone to meet Poseidon for his nightly training sessions. It pleased Aeneas, truly, that both their parents were at least now showing interest in their lives. Better late than never, he supposed. And it made him glad to see his brother finally letting go of that anger that had encompassed him for as long as they had been brothers. Perseus was healing. Aeneas just wished Hector was there to see it.

Some time had passed, but still, it didn't alleviate the pain he felt each time a thought of his best friend crossed his mind. But he had to keep on living. He had to push forward, and if Aphrodite's lessons were the way to see Hector avenged, he would grab it and hold on to it with strength to rival Heracles'. Aphrodite's clothes, a bright white and gold gossamer dress, billowed in the wind. Without looking at him, she began her tutoring.

"Today, my dear," she started, her voice a soothing melody, "We will explore the art of charmspeak." The goddess stepped forward, her presence radiant and enchanting. "This power allows you to sway the hearts and minds of those around you. It's more than mere persuasion; it's a way to forge connections and inspire loyalty." As she spoke, the surrounding flower petals seemed to shimmer, eager to partake in their divine lesson.

"To master this art, you must first understand your own heart. Your feelings must resonate authentically, or your words will fall flat."

Aeneas crossed his arms, brow furrowed in contemplation. "But, Mother," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty, "This power...is it right to influence others like this? What if I force them to act against their will? There's a fine line between guidance and manipulation, you know."

Aphrodite regarded him with a mixture of pride and concern. "Oh, Aeneas, your instincts are commendable, but this power is not about just coercion. It's about evoking genuine emotions. You can stir courage in the frightened and hope in the despondent. It can be a light in dark times." She gestured toward a nearby priestess, who was humming to herself as she dusted one of the statues. "Feel her essence. When you speak with sincerity and compassion, you can heal as much as you can persuade. Remember, charmspeak is about connection, not conquest."

"Now, watch," Aphrodite instructed, her tone a mix of encouragement and authority. Her eyes fixed on the woman, and Aphrodite, voice jingling, called, "Come here, would you?" At once the woman stopped and turned on her heel. The priestess had a dazed look on her face, eyes glazed as she marched towards them. The king of Dardania started as he realised it was the same expression Achilles had worn when he had gone with Priam and Perseus and demanded Hector's body. None of the other priestesses seemed to notice a thing.

Then she began to approach them in the darkness.

Aphrodite made it look effortless.

"You're right, Aeneas, it is effortless." He glared at her accusingly—she'd pried into his mind. "Charmspeak allows the speaker to convince someone else to do or get whatever they want. The strength of the command depends on the tone and emotion of the speaker's voice, as well as their skill with it. And most of those gifted with it do not realise they're using it until much, much later, and although they don't try to put any power in their words, the effects are the same, just not as powerful." The man frowned. If that was so...how many decisions had he unknowingly influenced others around him to make?

Something sinister and akin to guilt bubbled inside him.

"However, charmspeak wears off eventually and the person has no recollection of why they did anything you asked or what they were even told to do."

"And you say it's not coercion," He stated dryly. His moral compass was definitely pointing him away from all this. How would he be able to do any of this without feeling guilty later? As he watched, the priestess stopped. Aphrodite's hold on her slipped away, and the woman looked around him in genuine confusion. She probably still could not see them. Shaking her head, she backtracked and went back to work.

Aphrodite shrugged. "Now, you try." He didn't want to. But this was necessary.

Aeneas stepped forward, feeling the warmth of divine energy coursing through him. He focused on one of the handmaidens—a different one, far away, summoning the words to inspire her confidence. His voice was loud and pierced through the silence of the night. He focused his thoughts and efforts on that one woman and pushed away the gnawing feeling in his gut. "Take off all your jewellery and place them on the altar as an offering." As he spoke, he felt a pulse of energy resonate within him, weaving through the air like a gentle current. To his amazement, the maiden's demeanour shifted; her posture straightened, and her eyes sparkled for a bit, then glazed. He watched, dumbstruck, as the woman began by taking off the ring on her finger. Around them, all the other priestesses did the same. Aeneas swore. He'd overshot, it seemed. All the women looked natural and unaffected enough, apart from the dazed expressions. But the synchronisation of their movements made them look almost lifeless. Undead.

Aeneas didn't like it.

"Charmspeak can be negated through a number of ways. It has a diminished effect on other charm-speakers. People with strong wills are largely unaffected, and the more powerful the being, the stronger their resistance," His mother continued to instruct him.

"So how do you explain Achilles?" Aeneas frowned. "Or is he less strong-willed than I gave him credit for?"

"Oh, he's plenty powerful," Aphrodite gave him a smile like a Cheshire cat. "If he and his mother didn't irk me so much, I wouldn't mind tasting that—"

"Mother!"

"Kidding, kidding," She rolled her eyes. "I don't know who birthed you with that stick up your arse but it definitely wasn't me."

He snorted in response, his attention never wavering from the cluster of priestesses placing their jewellery onto the altar.

"You're a natural, Aeneas," His mother slipped back into seriousness. "Achilles was grieving. That's why it was so easy to manipulate him."

"Noted," He nodded. "Anything else I need to know."

"Yes, actually," She tilted her head to the side as they studied the women. "If someone is aware of a person's ability to charm speak, then it will have a reduced effect as they will be on guard in case they are subjected to it. Creatures of chaos are also harder to...influence." She turned to face the curly-haired man. "I would advise you to keep this power to yourself."

"Perseus and Creusa know about it already," He shrugged.

Aphrodite nodded in understanding. "No one else, got it?"

"Sure," He understood the logic in her words. The fewer people knew, the better for all of them.

They focused once more on the priestesses, who had started singing songs of adoration. His mother positively glowed. A creeping unease settled in Aeneas's chest when he realised they were still under his influence, and giving the offering. The gold on the altar began to melt. "This feels wrong," he murmured, watching as the maidens turned toward them, expressions blissful yet vacant, as if they were puppets dancing to his strings.

Aphrodite's gaze softened as she stepped beside him, sensing the turmoil within. "You're at war, my dear, sweet Aeneas. And in a war, the choices we make can be painful," she said gently. "You wield a power that can either uplift or diminish. Your heart must guide you—know when to use this gift for good and when to step back." He nodded slowly, grappling with her words. At that moment, he realized that in a world filled with conflict and strife, the line between manipulation and inspiration was often blurred. Acceptance washed over him; he understood, then, that sometimes, difficult decisions had to be made for the sake of love and survival. For the sake of his homeland. This new power... was the ace up his sleeve. No one would see it coming. And this was war, he reminded himself. And in war, there were casualties.

He would just add the damage this power would do to his already long list.

BREAK

ACHILLES let out a ragged breath, gritting his teeth as his horses careened out of the path he'd set them on, once again. It was getting infuriating, really, because he always had to jump out to avoid a crash and now he had to protect himself from men and horses. He could only think of a few people who could make that happen, and he didn't like any of them currently. As though practised, he launched himself off the chariot and flipped over one Trojan soldier, quickly spinning on his heel when he landed and driving his sword through the man's back.

The son of Thetis dove into the fray instantly, blocking, dodging, parrying strikes and slashing off limbs, stabbing through armour and clashing with enemy soldiers in a flurry of blades, limbs and sparks. The