The messenger from Olympus fled, his tail tucked between his legs, but Nox knew the conversation was far from over. Zeus was not the kind of god who took rejection well.
'He'll send someone,' Nox thought, his gaze sweeping over the horizon. 'Not an army. That's not his style. He'll send a champion. A hero. Someone to make an example of me.'
He was right.
Three days later, as they were breaking camp, a new figure appeared on the crest of a nearby hill. He was alone, a single, powerful silhouette against the rising sun. He was clad in the golden armor of a Greek hero, a massive, bronze shield in one hand and a long, leaf-bladed spear in the other. A helmet, crested with a plume of horsehair, hid his face.
"That's him," Vexia said, her voice tight. "The Champion of Olympus. Achilles."
Elisa spat on the ground. "Achilles? The guy with the bad heel? I've heard of him. He's supposed to be invincible."
"Not invincible," Vexia corrected. "Just very, very hard to kill."
