"I see you two are getting along."
The voice—feminine, steady yet edged with quiet authority—cut through the silence like the strike of a blade.
Atrius turned his gaze toward Hyppolita. His eyes burned with the restrained patience of one who had waited far too long.
"What has kept you so long?" he asked, each syllable heavy as stone. Days had passed since he first discovered Agape tainted. Days of watching, waiting, and fearing the shadow of Chaos coiling itself around the island. Those already manipulated bore no visible signs of corruption—save for her. Agape was the thread, fraying and delicate, that might unravel an entire insurgence before it consumed Themyscira whole.
"She has been… paranoid of late," Hyppolita admitted, her voice dipping. "It is hard for her to emerge. I came to apologize for how I reacted the other day. I was confused—and only sought to protect my own. Surely, you can understand that."
Her sandals scuffed against the stone as she stepped closer. Her eyes flickered to the crater gouged deep into the forge floor, but her pride kept her from voicing the question burning in her mind.
"I have no use for your apologies," Atrius said flatly. He turned away, his colossal frame shifting as if her presence no longer merited his attention. "If that is all you came to say—leave."
The words struck harder than any blade. Hyppolita froze mid-step, her face unreadable, though the silence between them grew sharp.
Heracles moved and leaned idly against a column, lips curled into an amused grin. To see Hyppolita, queen of the Amazons, bending her pride in search of favor was a rare sight indeed. Were it not for the risk of seeming insolent before Atrius, he might have laughed aloud. Still, part of him—strangely, uncomfortably—recognized his own desire to appear favorable in the giant's eyes.
"I know I was wrong," Hyppolita pressed, though irritation flashed in her gaze as it caught the smug curve of Heracles's mouth. "I hope you can forgive me. I brought her here, hoping to spare you the journey to the palace."
Atrius's head snapped toward her. His eyes narrowed, and his presence swelled like a storm about to break.
"Agape."
The name fell like a command.
From the entrance, the young Amazon emerged. She wore a simple blend of partial armor and tunic—half battle, half casual Themysciran garb. Her gaze, however, clung to the ground, as though to lift it would be to meet a gaze too crushing to bear.
Thang. Thang. Thang. Thang.
The chamber trembled with each step of Atrius's armored tread. The very air quivered under his approach.
Agape's chest tightened. Panic coiled in her throat, and instinct hurled her backward, forcing her to retreat behind Hyppolita's figure. The giant's piercing stare was unbearable, a presence that seemed to strip flesh from spirit. Bowing deeply, she tried to vanish into humility.
The thunder of his steps ceased.
Atrius bent his titanic form, lowering until his shadow engulfed them. The warmth of his breath stirred the Amazons' hair. His hand extended—broad as a shield, shadow stretching wide as a net cast upon prey. Agape trembled beneath it, the weight of her trauma bearing down with the suffocating dread of prey beneath a predator.
The hand stopped.
"I am pleased to see you out of slumber," Atrius's voice rumbled, deep and resonant, a sound that shook the air itself. The sheer force of it nearly stilled her heart.
Her head rose slowly, reluctantly. She dared to meet his eyes.
Hyppolita remained silent, though her own hand was held in a vice-like grip by the younger Amazon, who refused to let go. Atrius's gaze narrowed. He saw her soul—and frowned.
The corruption was gone. Before, he had glimpsed it festering beneath her mortal facade, a wound burning black into her essence. Now—there was nothing. No scar, no shadow. It was as if it had never been.
Confusion darkened his features. He stood again, towering. Agape's astonishment mirrored Hyppolita's.
"Take her. Ensure she rests," Atrius said, turning back toward the bench where his untouched helm waited.
"Is that all? Nothing wrong with her?" Hyppolita pressed sharply. "You said there was an issue to discuss."
"I find nothing wrong," Atrius replied, his voice low but edged. "Believe me—it is better this way. You do not want to see what might have been." He strode away, final in his dismissal.
Hyppolita's eyes narrowed. "What of the prisoners? The scars they bear? I find it peculiar they would mark men with numbers—merely for amusement."
Atrius stopped. His shoulders stiffened.
"Did you say… numbers?" His voice grew cold.
"Indeed. Their scars are numbers." Hyppolita's gaze flicked down at Agape, whose head hung lower still, retreating further into shadow.
"Which number?" Atrius demanded. The chamber itself seemed to hold its breath. His eyes burned into Hyppolita's own.
"The stigma—why do you ask?" Her brow furrowed.
Thang. Thang. Thang.
Atrius's tread echoed as he turned back toward them, pace no longer measured but urgent. The forge trembled beneath his weight.
Agape flinched, shrinking behind her queen like a child before a beast.
"This," Hyppolita said at last, lifting her hand, six fingers spread.
Six.
The word hung like an omen.
Agape's body recoiled instinctively, but she was too slow. Atrius's massive hand shot forward—faster than any eye could track. His palm clamped around her throat, lifting her high into the air with terrifying ease. Hyppolita and Heracles never even saw the motion—only its result.
Laughter spilled into the chamber—low, guttural, and feminine.
"Hahahahahahah!"
It rolled through the forge like thunder, echoing against the walls, a sound soaked in venom and delight. The air itself recoiled as a sinister aura bled outward, leeching the light, dimming flame, swallowing warmth.
Hyppolita's eyes widened, her breath caught in her throat. Heracles froze in shock.
Agape's features twisted, her innocence shattered in an instant. The timid, fearful girl was gone. Her eyes bled into pools of black, her gums seeping thick pitch as her lips peeled back in a grotesque smile.
Heracles's grin was gone. His face blanched, eyes widening in disbelief.
I did not see that coming…