Why wait for his enemies to come?
Achilles whispered the words in the silence between breaths, in the stillness only shared between blood and bond.
The embrace was warm- his arms wrapped tightly around Rose and the small body of his daughter, Arya.
Neither questioned him. Not about the weight in his voice. They simply accepted his promise.
He would take care of it.
Rose leaned into his chest with trust, her fingers curling around his waist as her cheek pressed to his shoulder. Arya's small hands gripped his robes, her silver-laced hair gently shifting with the morning breeze. And yet, inside Achilles, the storm raged louder than ever.
His mind buzzed with countless paths. Infinite threads of carnage, vengeance, prevention, possibilities, and destiny. It wasn't merely the instinct of a ruler-no, it was the ache of a father, the fury of a man who actually had to watch the first memory of his daughter…be worry for the future!
