In classical history, there existed a king known for few things.
Of course, as king of Sparta, "few things" could mean anything but uninteresting. But his story was never marked by his conquests — which weren't irrelevant — nor by his strength and courage, which were, like those of every Spartan, something singular. In truth, his story was marked not by who he was.
But by whom he fathered.
His daughter was considered so beautiful and enchanting that all the kings, from all places, wanted her. And it wasn't just the political pretext of becoming Sparta's representative — it was something almost sick. Tyndareus found himself with a problem that marked his entire generation: having as a daughter a goddess in power and beauty, capable of eclipsing the entire known world… and of causing the greatest war he ever saw.
So, when she finally reached the age to marry, all the kings from all places gathered before his throne.
They say it was the only time, in all of history, when kings looked like commoners — servants entirely surrendered to the carnal desire of possessing that woman of singular beauty. Crowns became hats. Thrones became waiting benches.
And, seeing that, Tyndareus understood the size of the abyss: any choice would bring chaos, wars, and disorder. Until one of the king's trusted men — who was also a king, and also a contender for that woman's hand, coming from an island too small to be relevant but too strong to be ignored — suggested something singular. And ingenious.
He called it the Pact of Tyndareus.
The idea behind it was simple: the man the daughter chose would be protected by all the others who weren't chosen. Ulysses, the mastermind, understood perfectly the mathematics of disaster: whoever Helen chose would be killed by the contenders — while the contenders themselves, even seized by rage or envy, would fear death at one another's hands. The idea was brilliant. It simply made everyone hostage to an inviolable rule.
Of course, the rule didn't take into account a single variable: Helen herself changing her choice… without warning the previously chosen one.
But that's something almost everyone knows how it ended.
And, if my mind went searching for that story precisely now, lying at the bottom of the memory of another life… it was because fate, apparently, has a morbid sense of humor.
✦ ✦ ✦
"Do you understand what this means… Achadrar… You will never again manage to live in peace in the Oasis."
Bestaria was on her knees, and my sword rested on her shoulder — the blade pressed a handspan from her throat.
It was an image that, a week ago, not even my most delirious dreams would have had the courage to produce: a human standing… and a Burman of the high nobility kneeling before him.
The fight had been fierce. And I'm obliged to admit: without Vo'ruun's help, I would have died at least ten times. That lioness's vigor was something totally surreal. When Vo'ruun broke her axe using his own body, she used her nails. When her arms broke, she used her teeth. And, after the teeth… her head.
Each broken weapon made the creature more frightening, not less. Because weapons break. Will of that size doesn't.
The brave lioness with her head held high had been reduced to a heap of flesh and blood. And, even so, she still had one last card up her sleeve.
Achadrar.
"So, in the end… you really were of the nobility."
The smile of disdain and rage she opened made my blood boil — but I didn't have much time to decide what to do.
My body wasn't so far from the state of hers. Honestly, if it weren't for that armor, I myself would be on my knees beside her — and maybe further down. It was only with the help of the dragon, who now lay unconscious or dead behind us, that I finally managed to beat that bitch. Even the shield I used seemed deformed, dented like an old can.
My only real advantage in the fight was the rage and lack of control of that warrior.
Because it was clear, in each desperate blow, that that woman had never been through a situation in which her own life was seriously at risk. The desperation in her words said that. And the threat of Achadrar said even more: she really thought I would trade the now… for the later.
"I hope your death is the warning to everyone. But, if it means fighting against everyone of your race… I don't care. Your pride was your ruin."
My sword slid across her shoulder.
And the strike went through nearly half her throat, stopping at the trachea. Her smile, stripped of everything, became pure shock and incomprehension — an expression that would be almost comic… if it weren't dreadful.
Achadrar was a pact of the Burmans of the great nobility.
At the moment of the bearer's death, an item constructed by their race marked the killer — and all noble Burmans came to have the obligation of, upon finding such an executioner, killing him. With refinements of cruelty. For us humans, over time, that kind of stratagem unique to the Burmans gained another name: the Pact of Tyndareus. Everyone who knew a Burman knew what it meant to see him with the item of the pact — it meant accepting anything he wanted. Due to its specificity, it was an item rare even among their nobility. In truth, they said only the high nobility possessed such a thing.
In the end, I was the unlucky one to encounter exactly a creature like that.
I withdrew the sword. And struck again, harder, going through the neck completely.
The blood gushed when the head finally rolled to the side — and, in the same instant, the item she had shown me burst, expelling a black air that advanced in my direction.
I didn't stop it.
Honestly, I no longer had any strength to stop it. But, above that… I knew what it was. Odorless. Harmless to the bearer — in truth, it even granted a small buff of vitality, in an irony of dubious taste. But anyone who carried that mark, recognizable only by another Burman, knew its truth: that wasn't an item that brought good.
Only death.
I let the black air in. One more sentence, on a night in which I had already collected so many.
"Bitch…"
✦ ✦ ✦
I fell to the floor and lay down for good.
I looked at Morgana and Livina — the two of them still exactly the same, serene in the middle of the carnage. On one hand, I was genuinely relieved that that Burman hadn't used them as hostages. Honestly, I couldn't say whether it was because they were women… or whether she was simply too honorable for that kind of thing. Coming from someone who released a fairy into a dragon's mouth, the second option seemed strange. But the Oasis had already taught me not to expect coherence from anyone.
In the end, the fight was easier than I expected.
Of course, "easy" didn't mean painless. If Bestaria hadn't focused on killing Vo'ruun first, I would never have managed to open a path to that moment — each second of fury she spent on him was a second she didn't spend on me.
My eyes rolled toward the enormous dragon.
His face was unrecognizable. Bestaria had really focused on finishing him off in every way possible — and his screams still reverberated in my mind, stuck in some corner from which I doubted they would leave anytime soon. But there was a curious detail in all of that: he didn't dare use any soul strike. I didn't know whether he couldn't… or whether he was simply too weak for it.
In the end, it was a blessing for me. Because, with a blow like that, he probably would have won — but he would have killed everyone in the process. Including me.
"Hey… Are you alive?"
I shouted to the enormous creature while the armor retreated back into the mark.
And, when that happened… I finally felt my body.
Ground up. My leg totally limp, broken in at least four places. My shoulder also seemed pulverized from enduring so many blows on the shield. And it was then that it hit me, ice-cold: that tight armor had served to hold my body in place while I was being ground up inside. I fought whole because I was packaged. It was frightening in a way that honestly made me reconsider whether I wanted to use it again.
A power that keeps you standing by hiding from you the price of staying standing. I noted the lesson with my whole body: the mark didn't protect me from destruction. It only postponed the bill.
I began to cast healing on myself — and, almost without thinking, began to cast it on the enormous dragon too.
I didn't want him to die. But I also knew I couldn't heal him completely — a whole, awake dragon might decide to kill me on principle. Leaving him out of death's reach was the minimum I could do. And the maximum I could afford to offer.
"Hey… Remember that it was I who healed you."
I planted the sentence in the air like someone planting a seed. With dragons, debts might be worth more than treasures.
✦ ✦ ✦
It was while I remained lying down, concentrated only on healing myself and on mending that creature's disfigured face, that I heard footsteps in my direction.
My blood ran cold.
My body was in no condition at all to fight — but staying still wasn't an option either. I grabbed the sword, the shield, and began trying to get up…
Until I heard the voice.
"My Lord! Are you all right?!"
Morgana.
And my body, hearing that voice, finally surrendered completely to exhaustion. I still tried to stay conscious — but the relief was so great that I felt my mind go out and come back, go out and come back, like a candle in an open window.
"Morgana… You… woke up."
My mouth formed the words with difficulty while I tried to focus on her face. Morgana ran to me and began to heal me with all the strength she had — and soon I felt her healing power acting, warm and firm, stitching from within what my own healing couldn't reach.
"Yes, my Lord… Sorry. I don't know what happened."
Morgana looked at the enormous dragon — and something crossed her face. Fear. An ancient fear, which she didn't explain. She didn't dare ask anything, didn't dare say anything. Honestly, I didn't understand the reason… but I also didn't force her words. My concern, at that moment, was only one — or rather, two.
"How is Livina?"
Morgana, focused on the healing, didn't answer me — and I didn't ask again. If Morgana had woken, Livina would also wake at some point. And, in fact, it took no more than a few minutes for Livina to appear at my side.
"Someone, apparently, got all the fun?"
"Liv… Shut up."
I could only laugh at the exchange of insults between the two of them.
And, in the middle of the laughter, the truth squeezed my chest: honestly… I was afraid of losing this. That exact noise. That exact bickering. Then, right behind the laughter, the feeling of powerlessness came back to fill me — even greater now that I fully understood the situation I was in.
I was marked.
And, unlike all the other debts of my life, this one had no deadline, no single creditor, and no forgiveness. Every noble Burman in the universe was, from now on, a potential collector — while I couldn't stop collecting new enemies.
"Help me up."
"Lord, your body isn't good enough yet."
Morgana seemed worried — while Livina, more practical, was already combing through the place and, mainly, the bodies.
She even brought the mirror to me. Unfortunately, it was broken — cracked from end to end. I think not even that legendary item was prepared to repel such power… or maybe it wasn't capable of correctly multiplying the force on the way back. In the end, it was just a useless item. Bestaria's ring? Equally useless: only a Burman could open it. And the rest of our enemies' spoils were, unfortunately… in the dragon's belly. Which remained completely out cold.
Livina still tried to wound the creature. I didn't allow it.
In the end, I just wanted to get out of there. Even after he had tried to kill me, I still felt I owed him something for the help against Bestaria — convenient for both of us, of course, but a debt is a debt. And there was the greater reason, cold and strategic: the last thing I wanted was to get into more trouble than I had already gotten into. Killing a dragon condemned to eternal ostracism could attract the vengeance of whoever imprisoned him there — and that was attention no kingdom in the universe would desire. The best of worlds was simple: leave him exactly where he was.
Besides… I had already won a great prize with the powers I carried.
✦ ✦ ✦
"Your bones are already knitted. But I don't recommend you go running around."
"Thank you… Let's get out of here fast, before the big guy wakes up. But, first…"
I walked to Bestaria's head.
And picked it up off the floor, holding it by the mane while I went back to walking with Morgana and Livina.
Neither of them asked anything. Livina raised an eyebrow. Morgana looked away. And the three of us moved forward — because some questions only get in the way of leaving.
As soon as I left the illusion, I found her: Eris. Still fallen on the floor — static, her eyes in complete shock. And I was genuinely happy to see her there. After all… she was part of the plan.
Her eyes said she didn't exactly understand what she was seeing.
"Leonidas…?"
I laughed inside.
Because, deep down, she was entirely right to doubt: I was no longer the same as when I entered there. But, in the end… I just wanted to scare her.
"Almost…"
Morgana and Livina came out right after — and, while Eris's eyes were still fixed on the two of them, I raised Bestaria's head… and threw it in her direction.
She caught the head. Unconsciously, or out of pure fear — her arms closing on their own around it before her mind could vote. A scream tore her throat.
And then another black cloud flew to her.
When the cloud vanished inside her body, her eyes of horror doubled in size — and she finally screamed for real.
"WHAT DID YOU DO?! YOU KILLED ME!!"
Yes. Maybe I had done exactly that.
But I needed help. And what greater incentive is there, to guarantee someone's help, than the total and unrestricted fear of death?
Tyndareus imprisoned entire kings inside a rule to protect one choice. I had just imprisoned a survivor inside mine. After all… good ideas should be repeated.
"We need to talk… But, first, let's get out of here. I need to see how my kingdom is."