My shock at the spectacle was only compounded by my realization that our entire reality had been turned on its head. More than anything else, it was the reaction from my metamor that surprised me. I had rarely seen Atreus display emotion, let alone surprise—and when my wife’s lover looked at that screen, I saw something I had never witnessed. We had been like brothers from our earliest years, and not once had I seen from him what I saw in that observation room. I should have known then, just as many times before and after. I should have known.

  “Circe has him on the ropes,” Daphne reported with a tone of satisfaction that surprised Menelaus. He had known the First Captain to be surly, withdrawn, irritable, impatient, and more than anything else highly unreadable. Satisfaction at another’s failure, however, was a rarer emotion. He wondered what Arthur must have mishandled to inspire such dislike.

  “For a vaunted Fringe Knight-Errant, he does indeed seem rather lackluster in my uninformed opinion,” Stephanos agreed with a meaningful look back at Menelaus. “Even with our enforced handicap, my lord, he is surprisingly inept.”

  The lord of House Leos glanced between his subordinates thoughtfully and looked back out at the monitor showing the duel from where they stood within the palace’s observation suite. He had deferred going to the arena for this first combat, believing that it would be better to let the two fight without the added pressure of their presence.

  Perhaps it had been pointless.

  “The boy is not defeated yet,” Atreus growled calmly. “And we have yet to see what we might expect from someone of his psion density.”

  “He’s a fraud, my lord Myrmidón,” Daphne responded harshly. “Whether or not his skills or psions exist, he is likely as reliant upon his usual technology as he is upon such capabilities.”

  “Are you questioning my discernment, First Captain?” Atreus asked coldly.

  “I am merely inferring logical reality, my lord,” Daphne responded before Menelaus could come to her rescue. “The boy is a charlatan. He is not what he claimed, nor what he led you to believe. That is not a matter of your discernment, but of his subterfuge. Perhaps he has learned some trick or talent to change what may be discerned by a cursory probe.”

  Menelaus looked warily from the scarred woman to Atreus, and held his breath while his oldest friend regarded his chief defender with a withering stare. Only when Atreus relented and turned back to the display did Menelaus let out a breath of relief.

  “You may be correct,” the black-haired warrior said icily. “In which case there will be a reckoning between myself and Magellan. I dislike being misled.”

  “The fight is not yet done,” Menelaus interjected firmly after judging the time to be correct. Any more unfiltered vitriol, and even Arthur winning might not have been enough to change Atreus’ mind. “We have not seen what hidden depths the boy may have. We must be patient.”

  “As you say, my lord,” Stephanos replied airily.

  Menelaus knew it was a superficial acquiescence, but he let it pass.

  Stephanos was skeptical but he was not insubordinate.

  “Besides which we are both pilots, Atreus,” Menelaus continued. “We know the realities of Eidolon warfare. Neither of us may take to the field in the weapons any longer given our duties, but we know the flow of war. Any lesser pilot would already have been overwhelmed by Circe. That rolling dodge was rather brilliant.”

  “It was acceptable,” the Myrmidón allowed begrudgingly. “Though I am wondering why your daughter was so easily taken by the act, more than I am lauding his maneuver.”

  “You are determined to be skeptical, I take it?” Menelaus asked with a wry smile.

  “I am determined for him to prove my investment worthwhile, Menelaus,” Atreus responded flatly. “I bent no few amount of rules to bring him to you at Cassandra’s behest, and I will not tolerate anything less than a solid return on that investment.”

  The Kidemónes behind the Myrmidón shifted at that, but said nothing.

  Menelaus noted the movement but chose not to comment on it.

  It was neither his place, nor truthfully his concern. Atreus had that well in-hand.

  “Another kick across the arena,” Daphne commented idly. “She paid attention to my lessons in close combat. She’s demonstrating her improvement, if nothing else.”

  “He’s apparently been sparring with her, too,” Stephanos observed.

  “He is a skilled swordsman,” Daphne admitted begrudgingly in kind. “But that means nothing in Eidolon combat. He’s being thrashed. Circe is dominating the fight.”

  “Against a Hoplite,” Atreus said flatly. “Not a peer opponent.”

  Daphne simply glanced at the Myrmidón, but that time chose not to disagree.

  “Shall we listen to their banter?” Stephanos asked cheerfully. “It may shed some light. Perhaps the young Magellan and lady heiress are merely warming up.”

  Menelaus chuckled at the thought. It actually might have been true, given the rapport they’d seemingly already formed. The strength of it troubled him, but Arthur’s assurances had relaxed his immediate concerns. If nothing else, he had the personality of an Hetairoi.

  “Very well, Stephanos. Let us bear witness,” Menelaus said permissively.

  The Seneschal bowed his head in thanks and used his omni-comp to tap into the communications array within the suite. A moment later, both pilots’ faces and their conversation appeared on the screen.

  It was not what Menelaus expected.

  “You’re supposed to be some sort of prodigy, Arthur. What the hell is this?”

  The room was silent when Circe spoke, though that only lasted a few seconds.

  “I knew it,” Daphne said decisively. “Even the princess can see it.”

  “Don’t call her that,” Menelaus said distractedly. “It’s improper.”

  “Your bloodline is of the Lion, my lord. You are royal.”

  “That is not our way, Daphne. You know our lord adheres strictly to Ascendancy protocol,” Stephanos chided her.

  “Don’t blame the machine, Arthur!” Circe snarled out on the screen, her expression as fierce as anything Menelaus had ever seen. His daughter was many things, but he had rarely seen her like this. It was not anger. He knew anger, but this was pain. She was hurt, though he could not fathom why. Arthur had not been lying when he said nothing had happened between them, had he?

  His mind raced while he tried to understand.

  Circe continued on, unaware of the scrutiny.

  “You told me you could defeat me regardless of the disadvantage. You promised not to hold back.”

  “I’m not holding back anything!” Arthur insisted as they watched the fight progress, and his Hoplite fended off another assault by the Pallas Athena—albeit barely.

  Menelaus focused on the younger man intently, and there was no deception in his words. Arthur Magellan was trying. He was fighting entirely. Anyone could tell that at a glance. He was not taking the bout lightly at all.

  Which meant he truly had lied about his ability.

  And with that realization, Menelaus felt his hope begin to wither.

  “Then you’re a liar, Arthur Magellan!” Circe said with a ferocity that drew Menelaus’ gaze back to her. What had the Fringe-born lied about?

  Another moment of paternal panic mixed with righteous fury raced through his mind and he curled his fists. If Arthur had lied about his ability, then perhaps he had lied about his relationship with Circe too. Had he taken liberties?

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  Her next words did nothing to dispel the concerns.

  “You promised me you’d be my sword, and my shield! You promised me something incredible. Friendship. Safety. Peace! Is this how you plan to give it to me? To my family? With this weakness?!”

  “I knew it,” Daphne all but crowed. “I knew it from the first moment that blond dandy walked into these halls, my lord Menelaus. He has played you and Lord Atreus for fools, and perhaps even taken liberties with lady Circe! We should immediately—!”

  “Silence,” Atreus snarled sharply and with clear warning.

  Menelaus suspected it was less the word, and more the crackle of pale blue psifire across Atreus’ body that discouraged Daphne from continuing.

  “Your righteous indignation is unwelcome, Bladebreaker,” Atreus continued with icy ruthlessness. “I tire of your fervent claims to insightful supremacy. Be silent and let the duel resolve itself. If there were breaches of honor, I will handle them personally.”

  Menelaus felt a chill roll down his spine at Atreus’ words, and some of his anger leached away. If the Myrmidón intended on bringing his wrath to bear against Magellan, then there was no more to be said on the matter. Any fate Menelaus could visit upon him would pale in comparison to Atreus’ tender affections.

  The looks of open discomfort on Daphne and Stephanos’ faces showed their agreement.

  “You promised to be my Knight, Arthur Magellan. You promised!” Circe snarled with an anger driven by desperation that broke Menelaus’ heart. He could hear the pain in his daughter’s voice, and in that moment he understood something else.

  Something he had missed.

  Arthur had not taken liberties with her body.

  He had done something far worse. He had taken advantage of her hope.

  Menelaus felt his ire return and multiply, and he found himself stepping forward to stare at the screen coldly while a father’s fury filled his body.

  “That trick with the rifle was almost impressive, but what the hell is this? You can barely even stop my attacks!”

  “The machine—”

  “Don’t blame the machine!”

  “If she wishes to kill him,” he declared flatly, “we will not stop her.”

  “My lord?” Stephanos asked in surprise. “The law—”

  “Atreus?” Menelaus cut in without waiting.

  “It will not be an issue,” the Myrmidón said coldly.

  Stephanos looked between both of them, and bowed his head in acceptance.

  Daphne’s scarred features twisted into an approving smile.

  Menelaus watched in tense silence as the bout continued, and Circe’s attacks grew more violent and more intense—and Arthur’s defenses started to crumble as a result. Perhaps in his Fringe-tech Eidolon, he would have easily bested her thanks solely to his psion advantage. In the Hoplite however, his shortcomings were laid bare and while Menelaus tasted the bitter truth of what that meant for his house, so too did he feel a kind of ashamed but savage satisfaction.

  The liar would receive his just desserts.

  “What happened to the man on the hilltop, Arthur?! What happened to the warrior that defeated me time, and time, and time again?!” Circe’s voice was reaching a fever pitch of betrayed rage, despair, and pain while she continued.

  Menelaus’ eyes tightened in empathetic pain at hearing her words.

  “What use is that strength if you’re worthless in an Eidolon?! What use are your psions?! How can you even begin to protect my family like this?!”

  “I will—!”

  “THEN SHOW ME SOMETHING!” she screamed at him.

  Menelaus’ heart broke for the pain in his daughter’s voice, and his hand twitched toward the feed. To end it. To preserve her privacy. To let her mourn the death of his and her shared hope and grow from the bitterness of this deception in peace.

  But he stayed his hand.

  If for no other reason than to bear witness, and to understand his daughter.

  If for no other reason than to force himself to hear his failure in protecting her from this eventuality, and teach himself the cost of such reckless trust. Atreus’ word had been good enough, and though he didn’t blame his metamor—who even then stared at the screen with cold and visible anger—for the chain of events, neither could Menelaus fully absolve him.

  The Myrmidón had given him, Circe, and even Cassandra hope.

  And it was worse for the fact it had opened a wound the three of them had almost managed to heal.

  “End him, girl,” Daphne whispered fiercely. “End him.”

  No one gainsayed her wishes.

  “Just give up,” Circe said on the screen with a look Menelaus recognized from his own mirror. It was a bitter resignation to reality, one born from the understanding that all avenues were closed and only an ignoble end awaited. It was the realization of failure.

  His heart broke for her all over again.

  It was just another burden he had failed to protect her from

  “Just admit you lied to us all,” she continued almost wearily. “Psions or no psions, you don’t have the skills, Arthur. I thought you did, after our duels, but Eidolons and swords are different. This proves that.”

  Arthur said nothing, and Menelaus wondered what manner of excuses he might dream up. Instead the blond man simply stared, and Menelaus felt an overwhelming urge to punch him while he watched.

  It was a childish thing, but he indulged the fantasy.

  “Surrender, Arthur,” Circe said hollowly and with the erosion of her hope. “It’s over.”

  “Perhaps he will be wise and take her advice,” Stephanos said quietly.

  “I hope he does not,” Daphne disagreed fiercely. “She deserves the catharsis of his end.”

  “It may not be what she needs, though,” Stephanos argued before turning to Menelaus. “Please, my lord. I understand your ire, and the Myrmidón’s naked wrath, but this will salve no wounds. Let us banish him, or hand him to Lord Atreus, but this manner of execution is wrong,” he said and gestured around them. “We, House Leos, are better than this.”

  Menelaus turned his gaze to the portly man with difficulty.

  He hesitated upon seeing the earnestness in Stephanos’ eyes.

  Perhaps he is right. He thought quietly. It is not worth accelerating our ruin over this.

  He let out a sigh, and sent with it his cold fury. The father within him continued to rage, but the Eupatridae Lord—the patriarch of House Leos—found some measure of calm perspective again. They would not violate their oldest traditions and laws.

  Arthur Magellan was not worth their honor.

  He stepped toward Atreus and opened his mouth to say something when, abruptly, the Myrmidón went rigid.

  “That isn’t possible…” the Myrmidón whispered into the silence of the room, each word underscored by a palpable pressure emanating from the psionic warrior. The Spartan’s gaze was away from the screen, and turned toward the section of the wall that faced toward the Arena. “What in Ares’ name are you, Arthur Magellan?”

  It was not the words to which Menelaus reacted, though. Nor was it the oppressive aura emanating from his oldest friend. Both those things were enough to slow him, but it was the third factor that truly stopped him in his tracks.

  Shock. Surprise. Awe.

  Fear.

  “What is—What in the gods’ names?!”

  Menelaus snapped his eyes to the screen at Daphne’s exclamation and his eyes widened.

  What he saw next defied everything he knew to be true about Eidolon warfare.

  The way Arthur moved shouldn’t have been possible. His eyes darted to the cockpit feed, and what he saw there chilled him. Arthur Magellan had always held himself well. There had been a quiet confidence, and a reserved sense of strength to the young man. Menelaus had put his faith in that confidence, and in that reserved nature, because he recognized it as potential.

  What he saw now, however, silenced any words he might have spoken.

  It was the calm, precise expression of a King.

  “I have never seen such a thing,” Daphne whispered in sheer disbelief. “See how he moves the machine? Like a limb. Like a body of his own. His balance, his calculation. The exact measurement of force needed to maneuver and twist and—there, shift! He has seized advantage!”

  Menelaus felt his jaw slacken while he watched Arthur move. The way the Hoplite shifted defied all reason or logic. He didn’t even think the machines had been capable of such precise action. The way he turned a lost limb into advantage, the way he moved his Eidolon to ride the inertia of his damage, the way he twisted its limbs and rejigged—in real-time!—its thrust ratios to account for overbalance…

  The way he turned a critical vulnerability into overwhelming force.

  Arthur executed impossible move after impossible move.

  Menelaus watched on in frozen disbelief.

  Where had this come from? How was it possible?

  It was like someone had swapped out Arthur for a replica ten times more lethal.

  “He’s seized the moment,” Daphne said in disbelief. “He’s conquered her. See how he moves to pre-empt her. See the initiative! He goes for the kill, now!”

  Menelaus’ fingers tightened.

  Daphne fell to her knees in reverence.

  “The myth is manifest!” Daphne cried out. “The myth is manifest!”

  Menelaus recognized the proclamation. It was a religious invocation famous among the resurgent pagans across Graecia, who worshiped the Olympians as deities of the Veil.

  In the myth, God is Force.

  Menelaus watched the battle and, true to his First Captain’s predictions, it did indeed end.

  With Arthur’s rifle barrel to Circe’s cockpit, and half his Hoplite’s limbs destroyed.

  “I… I lose,” Circe said softly.

  Menelaus felt his legs weaken. He felt his chest constrict and tighten. Emotion overwhelmed him from nowhere. From everywhere.

  The Myth was realized.

  House Leos was saved.

  And yet, only one question lingered.

  One question, and all the fear that came with it.

  What have we unleashed?