THEMYSCIRA
The sun had not yet graced the horizon, but Queen Hippolyta was already awake.
Within the quiet chambers of the palace, Antiope lay resting on a polished marble bed, her breathing steady, skin flush with returning health. Golden silk curtains swayed lightly in the breeze that crept through the ornate windows etched with scenes of ancient battles.
The door creaked open, revealing Agape and Lysippe, clad in the traditional bronze and leather tunics of Themysciran officers. Their eyes held the sharpness of seasoned warriors, yet beneath them lingered exhaustion.
"My Queen," they greeted in unison, bowing low.
Hippolyta offered a nod, her features unreadable.
"I trust you both found rest," she said, her gaze resting on Lysippe, whose posture wavered for the briefest moment.
The queen sighed, brushing a golden braid behind her ear.
"We all noticed, Lysippe. You did not rest."
The warrior flinched and lowered her gaze.
"Very well," Hippolyta said, her voice tinged with tired exasperation. "Reports from the eastern shores have arrived. All is calm—for now. But vigilance is our creed."
She turned briskly. "Lysippe, gather the warriors who are fit for battle. Have them on standby. Agape, with me."
Both Amazons answered with swift nods. As they parted ways, another amazon stood waiting by the palace gates.
"Call the Watch," Hippolyta commanded.
The warrior nodded sharply and vanished down a corridor.
Hippolyta and Agape made their way down a wide, paved road carved into the mountainside. The road shimmered faintly with golden dust, a remnant of the island's divine blessings. Towering statues of the goddesses loomed overhead—Athena, Artemis, Hestia—watching silently.
"Your Majesty," Agape said cautiously, "Would it not be better if I led the muster? Lysippe's fatigue may compromise her judgment."
"I understand your concern," Hippolyta replied, not breaking stride. "But this is necessary. She must learn restraint—. This task is a lesson in discipline, not punishment. She is an Amazon. She can bear it."
They turned, entering a dense grove where sacred olive trees stood entwined with flowering vines. The sounds of distant waves broke through the foliage.
"But why here?" Agape asked, her brow furrowing. "This isn't the armory."
Hippolyta's expression darkened.
"This is where we keep him."
Agape stopped, jaw tightening. "Heracles…"
"Yes," Hippolyta said grimly. "We must ensure he is still contained—and conscious."
Before them stood an ancient structure, half-temple, half-fortress, overgrown with ivy and built from pale stone. It was no place of worship. It was a prison.
The guards at the entrance stood to attention, their spears gleaming in the dawn light. Recognizing their queen, they saluted in tandem.
"Morning, my Queen."
"Open it," she ordered.
They rushed to a massive lever embedded in the stone. With a unified heave, they turned the iron wheel, groaning with age. The earth trembled slightly as a hidden staircase revealed itself, spiraling into shadow.
Without hesitation, Hippolyta descended, her sandals striking the stone with purpose. Agape followed, eyes wary.
The walls were lit by torches—eternal flames burning softly giving a golden hue, gifts from Hestia herself. As they reached the bottom, a steel gate loomed before them, embossed with mythic creatures.
Hippolyta approached and, with a grunt of strength, pushed the heavy gate open.
Inside, bound in enchanted chains of iron, was Heracles.
Strapped to a great wheel of punishment, the demigod's form was enormous—still godlike in physique, yet stripped of grandeur. His muscles bore the strain of restraint, and his body was scarred from failed attempts to break free.
At their entrance, he lifted his head, grinning through exhaustion.
"Oh, splendid," he drawled. "Hippolyta, finally learning to play dirty. What a delight."
"I have no time for your theatrics, Heracles," the queen snapped. "Tell me what I need to know, and I will release you."
"And if I refuse?" he asked with amused contempt.
"I will torture you," she said coldly, gesturing to a rack along the chamber wall. It bore instruments of pain crafted by Amazonian smiths—spiked whips, serrated clamps, barbed rods, and cruelly twisted devices whose purpose one could only guess.
Heracles scoffed. "You think I fear pain and death?"
Hippolyta's lips curled into a smile—her first that morning. "You will."
Agape watched in silence, her stomach turning as the queen stepped toward the instruments.
THE CAVE OF ATRIUS
Elsewhere, a cave of immense size sat nestled in a small hill within Themyscira
Dawn light filtered through cracks in the stone above, casting brilliant rays into the cavern and dancing upon the surface of a still, crystalline pond. The sound of dripping water echoed like whispers in a cathedral.
There, at the pond's edge, sat a colossal figure. Naked, save for remnants of gold-threaded cloth around his wrists, he rested with his knees drawn close—monumental and yet solemn.
His skin was dusky, unmarred by any wound despite his recent battles. His body, a perfect fusion of warrior and deity, radiated raw potential even in repose.
This was Atrius.
He had not slept. he didn't need it
His eyes stared into the pond's shallow depths, watching small fish dart to and fro. Their movements were calming, but his mind was storm wracked.
'I can barely feel the Warp here… it's distant, muffled—yet somehow near. A quiet scream I can almost forget.'
He breathed slowly.
'Yet… my strength has not waned. No—it's heightened. My psychic capabilities are clearer than ever.'
Atrius remembered fragments.
He had been taken—ripped from the battlefield, pulled into the maelstrom of the Warp. There, he had fought without pause, torn through endless hordes of daemons. But then—nothing.
A void. A dream.
He awakened here, mid-battle, his body lurching to life on foreign soil against some monstrous creature he did not recognize.
How much time had passed? Days? Years? Millennia?
He looked over to where his golden armor lay in pieces—torn. The once-glistening sigils of the Emperor were scratched.
"I must return to Terra," he muttered.