A myth

The cool marble pressed against Achlys' knees, sending a shiver through his body.

He took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the crisp scent of incense fill his lungs.

For a moment, he simply knelt there, staring up at the statue of Zeus, almost mesmerised.

The king of the gods looked down at him with an eternal, unyielding gaze, as if judging whether this mortal was worthy of the gift he sought.

And just then, a seed of insecurity breached into Achly's heart.

What am I doing here? he wondered incredulously.

What if Zeus sees right through me? What if he thinks that my reasons for entering a myth aren't enough?

He felt his palms grow sweaty, his breath quickening.

No, I can't think like that. If all the others

No, I can't think like that. If all the others could do it, then so can I.

Achlys took a deep breath.

Focus.

With a newfound resolve, he lifted his gaze back to the statue.

I am worthy, he told himself firmly. I am here, and I will not be denied.

Slowly and deliberately, Achlys extended his hands forward, palms upturned in supplication as if he were offering himself to the god.

The words of the prayer came naturally as if they had been buried deep within him, waiting for this moment to surface.

"O mighty Zeus," he began, his voice echoing softly in the vast chamber, "king of the gods, ruler of Olympus, hear my plea. I come before you, a mortal seeking passage into the mythos, seeking a chance to prove myself. Grant me your blessing, and I shall walk the path of legends. I shall not falter."

The room seemed to hold its breath, as if the very walls were listening and Achlys waited…

His heart thudded in his chest, louder than the beat of any drum, and his earlier fears returned with full force.

For a moment, he feared that there would be no response, that he would be left kneeling here, alone and unanswered.

And then, he'd have to walk outside of the temple while the crowd, which was almost surely waiting there, would see his failure.

The shame would be unbearable.

They might even get worse after that, he mused darkly.

But then, a low rumble filled the chamber, like distant thunder rolling across the sky.

The marble floor beneath him trembled, and he could feel the vibrations travel up his legs, making his entire body shiver.

The statue of Zeus seemed to come alive, the golden lightning bolt in its hand glinting as if catching a stray beam of sunlight.

For a brief moment, Achlys could have sworn he saw the statue's eyes flicker.

Achlys' breath caught as the statue of Zeus seemed to glow, a radiant light emanating from its golden form.

The light grew brighter, enveloping him, until it was all he could see, blinding and pure.

For a moment, he felt weightless, as if he were floating, suspended in that endless white light.

And then he was falling, plummeting through the light, through the temple, through everything.

Achlys could feel the world slipping away, dissolving into nothingness, and for a moment he was terrified that he had been cast out, rejected, even if there was no known instance of such thing.

But just as quickly as the fear had come, it was replaced by a new sensation—a warmth that spread through his body, filling him with a strange, exhilarating energy.

I'm being awakened, he realised with a sudden clarity.

When the light faded, he found himself standing in an unfamiliar place.

The temple was gone, replaced by a vast, open plain under a dark, stormy sky.

The air was thick, heavy with the scent of salt and smoke, mingling with the ever-present threat of rain.

Achlys blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden change, but the world around him was a blur of motion and noise.

Slowly, the fog in his vision cleared, and he took in his surroundings.

He stood on a hill overlooking a sprawling battlefield.

Below him, the ground was scorched, trampled by thousands of feet, littered with broken spears, shattered shields, and the bodies of men who had fought and fallen.

In the distance, men clashed in a furious melee, their weapons flashing in the dim light.

The air was filled with the sounds of battle—the clash of metal on metal, the cries of the wounded, and the shouts of commanders rallying their troops.

Achlys saw the banners of the two armies, fluttering in the wind above the chaos.

With a sudden clarity, Achlys knew where he was.

Fuck, fuck.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

He had seen depictions of this place in old tapestries and read about it in ancient texts…

The sight before him was unmistakable.

It was one of the most significant battles and perhaps the most famous war in Greek mythology.

Troy.

He was placed in the times of the Trojan War.

Achlys felt a mix of awe and terror wash over him.

The legendary Trojan War, a conflict that had shaped the course of history and mythology, was unfolding before his very eyes.

And I'm right in the fucking middle of it, he realised with growing dread.

Achlys looked down at himself and saw that the tailored black suit he had worn was gone, replaced by the garb of a soldier, probably a good thing.

His body was clad in bronze armour, the metal gleaming despite the muted light.

A helmet rested on his head, the plume swaying slightly in the breeze, and a sword hung by his side, its hilt cool and reassuring in his grip.

Armour.

Sword.

Battle.

I'll have to fight in this shithole, won't I?

The thought sent a bunch of chills down his spine.

Sure he knew how to handle a sword, who doesn't in this age anyway, but…

He had never been in a real battle before, let alone one of such scale.

And yet, he gripped the sword tighter, feeling its weight.

"This is what I came for," he said aloud, trying to believe it.

The words rang hollow in his ears, but he clung to them like a lifeline.

He took a deep breath, and then one more.

At least if I survive this myth, no one will mock me anymore…

And it was true because no mortal had ever started their ascension in Troy.

There were two heroes who fought on the side of the Greeks for six months and then became Kings, but except them, no one was known to have participated in the ancient battle.

Unless there were more, and they just died…

Achlys shook off the grim thought as the sound of hurried footsteps reached his ears.

He turned, his hand instinctively tightening on the hilt of his sword.

A man in Greek armour was approaching him, his face stern and questioning.

Achlys swallowed hard.

"You there," the man called out, his voice gruff.

"Who are you?"

Who was Achlys indeed…