Staring At Statue

ㅤㅤA town.

ㅤㅤIt feels like it's been ages.

ㅤㅤAriston exhaled, stretching his sore legs as he and Iason stood at the crest of a hill, overlooking the distant flickering torches of buildings, road, and life. After two weeks in the wild, it looked like an oasis. The rooftops were clay-tilted and slanted, the streets uneven and winding, built from years of travelers pressing dirt beneath their feet. Smoke curled lazily and faded from chimneys, and even from here, the distant hum of voices—of people—reached them.

ㅤㅤAriston had never seen anything like it. Not truly.

ㅤㅤThe palace had been his world. High walls, polished marble, floors so smooth they reflected firelight. He had seen the city of Troy from the safety of balconies, from glimpses through columns, but he had never walked its streets, never felt the heartbeat of a place like this. The air smelled of salt and roasting meat, of mud and burning oil. He stood still, drinking it all in.

ㅤㅤIason, however, was tense. His hand lingered near the hilt of his sword, fingers twitching. The long cloak he had concealed his wariness from any prying eyes.

ㅤㅤAriston noticed, however. "We are going in, right?"

ㅤㅤ"We are."

ㅤㅤ"Then why do you look like you'd rather eat rocks?"

ㅤㅤIason shot him a dry look, then sighed. "Because towns mean people. And people ask questions."

ㅤㅤAriston squirmed at the response, the weight of that truth settling in his chest. They were both Trojans. And a town full of the wrong kind of people could mean death.

ㅤㅤBut something gnawed at Ariston. He glanced at Iason, brows furrowed. "How come you don't know the surrounding towns? I thought soldiers got to leave the city. Patrol, or scout, or something."

ㅤㅤIason's jaw tightened. He looks around, waited for just a moment before exhaling through his nose. "I did. But only the outskirts. Hunting parties, drills beyond the walls. Nothing further." His gaze flickered toward the distant town, unreadable. "By the time I should had, to go beyond Troy's reach, war had already come to our doorstep."

ㅤㅤAriston opened his mouth, then closed it.

ㅤㅤThere was nothing to say to that.

ㅤㅤFor ten years, the war had swallowed everything. Opportunity, youth, futures. Troy's wall had been as much a cage as they were a shield.

ㅤㅤAriston looked away, pressing his lips together. "Still. Might be funny if someone asks where we're from and you hesitate."

ㅤㅤIason smirked faintly, eyes drifting to the boy's. "I'll manage."

ㅤㅤThen, he knelt beside him, gripping his shoulder. Eyes, serious. Mouth, in a flat thin line. "So you understand what I'm saying?" Ariston swallowed. The weight of their situation, and the dire consequences if it all heads south. "Don't say we're Trojans."

ㅤㅤ"Good. If someone asks, we're from... I don't know. Some fishing village."

ㅤㅤAriston frowned at that, none at all impressed or reassured. "You... don't have a name prepared?" Iason ignored him, eyes focused on the town. Ariston groaned, dropping all sense of guard around Iason—fully—for the first time, rubbing his face. "Okay..."

ㅤㅤIason snorted, eyes breaking from the sight of the town ahead and to his but said nothing before he started walking, and him following close behind.

ㅤㅤAs they neared the town gates, the rough dirt path turned to uneven cobblestone. People passed by, draped in woolen cloaks, leading donkeys or balancing baskets on their shoulders. Merchants shouted over one another, haggling for grain and fish. A beggar muttered prayers to himself on the side of the road.

ㅤㅤAriston barely kept himself from gawking.

ㅤㅤThey passed a large statue at a crossroads, and Ariston's steps slowed. The figure stood tall, carved from pale stone—Apollo, his features striking, his gaze distant and serene. A laurel crown rested atop his curls, and his chiseled hands held a lyre, as if frozen mid-song. The base of the statue was adorned with offerings—small trinkets, dried flower, few coins left behind by travelers.

ㅤㅤAriston stared, transfixed.

ㅤㅤIason walked a few paces ahead before noticing he had stopped. "Ariston."

ㅤㅤThe boy didn't answer. He reached out hesitantly, brushing his fingers over the smooth stone of the statue's hand. "He looks different," he murmured. Iason subconsciously tilted his head, now interested as he turns to get a closer look on the statue. "Different?" 

ㅤㅤHe silently nodded. "In the palace... we had statues of the gods too. But they were perfect. Flawless." His fingers traced a crack running through the statue's wrist, the erosion of years rough beneath his touch. "This one... this one looks like he's been standing here for centuries."

ㅤㅤ"Because he has."

ㅤㅤAriston glanced at Iason, who was watching him carefully.

ㅤㅤ"People come and go," Iason said, his voice quiet. "But the gods stay."

ㅤㅤAriston's hand fell away from the statue, thoughts ran rapidly. "Then why didn't he save us?"

ㅤㅤIason stilled.

ㅤㅤNow it was Ariston's turn whose voice was soft, but there was something raw beneath it. "Apollo was our patron god. They said he built Troy's wall. They said he watched over us. So where was he when the city burned?"

ㅤㅤIason was silent. He could hear the echo of those same questions in his own mind, in the minds of every Trojan who had survived—or may have.

ㅤㅤ"Maybe he turned his back on us," Ariston continued bitterly. "Maybe we weren't worth saving."

ㅤㅤSomething in Iason snapped.

ㅤㅤHis hand shot out, grabbing Ariston by the collar, yanking him close. "Say that again," he whispered, voice low, dangerous. Ariston froze. Around them, a few bystanders glanced their way, pausing in their steps.

ㅤㅤIason didn't care. His blood was roaring in his ears.

ㅤㅤ"You think we weren't worth saving?" His voice shook—not just with anger, not this time, but something else. "We prayed to him! We built temples, made offerings, dedicated our victories in his name. And when we screamed for him—when we begged! He—" His breath hitched. "You think that was our fault?"

ㅤㅤAriston's eyes were wide, startled. "I-Iason, I didn't mean—"

ㅤㅤIasons' eyes burned, his breath coming short. He took a step closer, his voice was so low it was beyond a whisper, but he made sure to say the words evidently clear. "Then what did you mean?" His fingers balled at Ariston's collar. "That everyone I knew—their lives, their screams, their deaths—were nothing? Just empty, useless things Apollo tossed aside?"

ㅤㅤIt was getting hard to breathe, his throat bobbing. "No, I—"

ㅤㅤBut Iason had already felt the stares lingering too long. His fingers twitched against Ariston's tunic before he forced himself to let go, shoving the boy back. The onlookers turned away quickly, pretending not to have seen anything.

ㅤㅤIason's chest rose and fell sharply. He clenched his fists, then slowly exhaled, forcing the tension from his body. When he spoke again, his voice was still low, but steady, but no less firm.

ㅤㅤ"Gods don't think like we do."

ㅤㅤLeave the boy.

ㅤㅤThe voice slithered into his mind, soft as slink, sharp as a blade.

ㅤㅤIason stiffened, his fingers curling involuntarily. The parasite had been quiet for days, lurking in the back of his eye, waiting. Now, in this moment of raw anger, it stirred.

ㅤㅤHe's weak. A burden. He will slow you.

ㅤㅤIason's jaw locked. 'Shut up!'

ㅤㅤThe whisper curled around these thoughts, a cold, knowing chuckle—if it could, or was it the figment imagination of his own. He fears you.

ㅤㅤ"Iason?"

ㅤㅤHe blinked. Ariston was watching him, brow furrowed. 'Damn it.'

ㅤㅤIason forced a deep breath, hoping it would push the voice away. He exhaled, loosening his stance. Ariston came close, his throat dry. "I—I'm sorry." His voice was small, soft and scared. Iason exhaled sharply through his nose, but the fire in his eyes remained. He looked up at the statue's worn face, its unblinking eyes staring past them. "Maybe he did help," he muttered. "Just not in the way we wanted."

ㅤㅤAriston lowered his gaze when Iason's met his, shame curling in his stomach. He hadn't meant to upset him—not like this.

ㅤㅤSilence settled between them, thick and heavy.

ㅤㅤThen Iason sighed, raking a hand through his hair before nudging Ariston forward. "Come on. We should find a place to sleep before the sun sets."

ㅤㅤSomething light filled Ariston's chest, before nodding quickly, sparing a glance at Apollo's gaze before ultimately at Iason.