Still learning
The days stretched long and relentless as Thalior Veonys trained under the watchful eyes of Gaea and his half-brother Titan. Each morning broke over the quiet forests of what would one day be called Ireland, where the two sons of Poseidon, born of different mothers and raised by the earth goddess herself, pushed themselves harder than the day before. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, the only sounds the clash of weapon on weapon and the steady murmur of wind and water.
Thal's chosen weapon, the labrys—a double-headed axe of ancient design—felt like an extension of his own arm. The weapon shifted size effortlessly, from a pendant around his neck to a full-sized battle axe at will, always returning to his grasp if lost and resisting anyone else who dared to hold it without permission. Gaea had told him the labrys was made not only for war but for balance, for the control of power that he must learn to wield responsibly.
Training with the labrys came naturally to Thal. The weight of it, the feel of its edge, the power that hummed within it—it all responded to him as if it recognized its true master. Water manipulation, a gift from his father Poseidon, was something he could summon with ease. With a flick of his wrist, droplets in the air danced and curled around him, responding instantly to his command. Storms were beginning to form at his bidding—dark clouds gathering overhead, winds whipping through the trees, distant thunder rumbling like a warning.
Yet, despite the growing strength and mastery, a restless unease simmered beneath the surface of his thoughts. His powers were formidable, but there was an unknown part of him, a secret seed of strength he had yet to discover. It nagged at him, whispering doubts in the quiet moments between training.
He knew this feeling too well. It was the same fear that had haunted him the night he died racing on the M25, the same ache that had burned inside his chest as he watched his BMW E36 slip over the edge of the bridge, the explosion ripping through the air before the water swallowed his body whole.
He would not be weak again.
One evening, after a grueling session that left both brothers drenched in sweat and breathing hard, Thal sat on the edge of a cliff overlooking the restless sea. The labrys hung around his neck, small and weightless now, but still pulsing with power.
Titan approached quietly, carrying two figs and a flask of water. "You didn't eat much today," he said gently, handing one fig to Thal.
Thal caught it absently but did not meet his brother's eyes. "I'm not hungry."
"You're pushing yourself too hard," Titan said, sitting beside him. "I can see it in your eyes. You're carrying something more than just the weight of training."
Thal's voice dropped low, raw with frustration and fear. "There's something inside me, Titan. Something I can't explain. I'm not just Poseidon's son. I feel… different. Stronger, maybe. But also like there's a part of me I don't understand. My mother's gone. Gaea only knows so much. No one tells me the truth."
Titan frowned, his brows knitting together. "You mean beyond being the son of Poseidon?"
Thal nodded, fists clenched tightly. "I don't know what I am exactly, and it scares me. I don't want to die again. I want to be strong enough to protect myself and everyone I care about."
"You're not alone," Titan said firmly. "But strength isn't everything. You have to learn control, patience. Gaea is here to help."
"I don't want to wait for answers anymore," Thal said, standing abruptly. "I have to find out on my own. I can't stay here forever."
Titan's voice was low but serious. "If you leave, I can't promise what dangers you'll face. The world is vast, and knowledge can be a double-edged sword."
Thal looked at his half-brother, the only family he had known, and nodded. "I'm ready."
That night, under a sky heavy with stars, Thal gathered only the essentials—his cloak, a small blade, dried food, and his labrys pendant. Before he left, he placed a note by the fire where Titan would find it at dawn:
"I have to know who I am. I'll come back if I can. Don't try to follow me."
He vanished into the darkness, the cold wind tugging at his cloak as he disappeared into the vast wilderness beyond the forests of Ireland.
The journey was long and lonely. Days passed as he traversed unfamiliar lands, moving south and east, following ancient paths worn by traders and travelers. The lush green hills faded into rolling plains dotted with stone settlements and simple wooden fortifications. Language changed around him—words foreign on his tongue, smells strange and new in the air.
In a bustling marketplace, Thal overheard men discussing events unknown to him.
"Caesar has yet to be born," one merchant said, "and the Senate debates the fate of Gaul."
The name "Caesar" echoed in Thal's mind with chilling clarity. From his past life's memories of history, he knew this name belonged to a man who would not be born for centuries. He looked up at the sun high in the sky, heart pounding.
He was no longer just far from home.
He was far from his own time.
The year was 200 BC.
The weight of this knowledge settled on him like a storm cloud. The world he had awoken in was not only different in place but in time itself — a sprawling ancient landscape, full of mysteries and dangers, far from the safe haven of Ireland and the watchful care of Gaea.
Yet in this uncertain, distant era, one thing remained clear: Thalior Veonys could not afford to be weak. Not ever again.
And so his journey into the unknown had truly begun.