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At the Docks of Sami
The sun hung low over Sami's harbor, gilding the water in molten gold. Gulls screamed overhead, ships creaked as they rocked gently against their moorings, and the air was thick with the scent of salt, tar, and fish.
Kassandra dismounted from Phobos, her boots thudding against the planks of the dock. She adjusted the strap of her spear, eyes sharp and purposeful. Another day, another lead — and hopefully one that didn't involve Markos's foolish debts.
"Morning, Eagle Bearer!" a grizzled fisherman called as he hauled in a net. "Looking for another debt to break, eh?"
Kassandra cracked a smirk. "Only if you owe one."
A merchant polishing amphorae nearby chuckled nervously. "Ha! Let's hope not, Kassandra. Last time you came around, my neighbor's cart ended up in the sea."
"Maybe it deserved it," she said dryly, brushing past him.
The docks were alive with shouts — sailors bickering, traders arguing over crates of figs and amphorae. But Kassandra's focus was on something else. A rumor had spread — a rich merchant, newly arrived, who rarely set foot on land and only did business after sunset.
She approached a shipwright repairing a mast. "You there. Heard of a wealthy stranger staying aboard his own ship?"
The man wiped sweat from his brow. "Aye. Came in three days past. Didn't say much. Doesn't leave that vessel of his — not in daylight, anyway. Always sends others to speak for him. I saw men unload crates marked with both Athenian and Spartan seals."
Kassandra frowned. "Both sides of the war?"
He nodded uneasily. "Aye. Strange business, that."
Kassandra thanked him, then made her way to the pier he'd pointed out — a shadowed corner of the harbor where a grand trireme floated quietly, guarded by men with expressionless faces.
Night came, and with it, Kassandra's patience ended. She slipped through the shadows, silent as smoke.
Her sandals barely made a sound on the gangplank as she climbed aboard. The ship was eerily still, the crew asleep or gone. She crept past barrels and crates, running her fingers along one marked with an Athenian owl. The lid came up easily — empty. Another crate bore a Spartan lambda — also empty.
"Huh," she muttered. "Seals of both nations, but no goods inside. Someone's playing a dangerous game."
At the captain's quarters, she found a small table covered in scrolls and wax seals. She unrolled one — shipping routes, crisscrossing the Aegean, routes connecting Athens in Attika and Sparta in Lakonia.
Kassandra's eyes narrowed. "Why trade between enemies unless… you want the war to last?"
She exhaled slowly, eyes glinting under the moonlight. Whoever this merchant was, he wasn't just rich — he was powerful. And reckless.
She pocketed one scroll and slipped back into the night, disappearing into the fog as the ship creaked quietly behind her.
At the Shebeen of Sami
The shebeen of Sami was alive with laughter, the clatter of clay cups, and the thick aroma of roasted lamb and garlic. The floorboards creaked with every drunken stomp, and a lyre player in the corner plucked out an uneven tune, slightly out of rhythm but full of heart.
At a table near the window, Atlas sat surrounded by maps, parchment, and crumbs. His posture was straight, focused, the candlelight flickering across his calm expression as he traced routes on a weathered chart.
Across from him, Lukas tore into a lamb shank like a starving wolf, a small mountain of plates piling up beside him. Alexios, leaning back in his chair with arms crossed, watched the door with impatience that could have powered a siege engine.
"How much longer are we going to sit here?" Alexios groaned, tilting his head back dramatically. "We came to hunt, not to stare at paper and smell Lukas's breath."
Atlas didn't look up. "Patience. Sometimes the most dangerous beasts wear silk instead of fur."
Alexios scoffed, said. "I'll take claws over politics any day."
Lukas wiped his mouth on his forearm and said. "I also prefer beasts that bleed."
Atlas smirked faintly, eyes still on the map. "You'll get your fight soon enough. And hopefully not in here."
The innkeeper—a plump woman with arms strong enough to lift a big jar—passed by with a jar of wine. "You three better not start trouble. I heard that Menon's was still a mess."
Lukas raised his cup. "We'll drink under them instead, promise."
Alexios chuckled, but before the innkeeper could scold him,he door creaked open, letting in the cool sea breeze—and a grizzled man with a blacksmith's build, shoulders broad, beard streaked with gray. His eyes scanned the crowd and locked onto Atlas.
The man froze for a heartbeat, then broke into a wide grin. "Well, I'll be damned! Atlas? That really you?"
Atlas blinked in surprise. "...Dimitri?"
The man's grin widened. "Ha! I knew it! You've gotten taller — and more serious, gods help you."
Alexios looked confused. "You two know each other?"
Dimitri stepped closer, and they clasped forearms in the old way, gripping tight like brothers reunited after a long campaign. "You still shake hands like a soldier," Dimitri said, wincing slightly. "Still trying to prove something?"
"Only that I'm not that scrawny brat anymore," Atlas replied evenly.
Atlas then introduced the man and said. "This is Dimitri, blacksmith from Argolis. Back when we were still cleaning up after Chrysis, he was the one sneaking us tools, food, and information."
Lukas raised his cup. "A hero, then."
Dimitri laughed, shaking his head. "A fool, more like. But one with a hammer. You were a scrawny brat back then, sneaking into my forge to 'borrow' tools."
Atlas chuckled. "You still complain like an old man."
Dimitri pulled up a chair without invitation and waved for wine. "So, what brings you three to Kephallonia? Don't tell me it's vacation."
Atlas hesitated, studying him. But Dimitri caught the look instantly—the same sharp, assessing expression Atlas used to have as a child when lying about somethings.
"Don't bother hiding it," Dimitri said, pouring wine into his jar. "Who are you hunting this time?"
Lukas glanced at Alexios, mouthing, He's good.
Alexios leaned forward, smirking. "You really know him, huh?"
Dimitri nodded proudly. "Know him? I'm one of the people who knows what Chrysis's cult is really doing and ruling Argolis. Then this kid at such a young age was the only one who was aware of what they were truly doing, then one day this kid came to my forge half-dead some nights, asking for blades or forging techniques or some useful connections. I thought he was insane. Turns out he just had a death wish with good aim."
Lukas nearly choked on his drink. "He hasn't changed much."
Atlas rolled his eyes. "You talk too much, old man."
Atlas exhaled., voice quiet but steady. "Fine, We got a letter — from one of the wandering brothers. Said a member of the Cult of Kosmos was supplying resources to both Sparta and Athens. Trying to spark war in Megaris. We followed the trail here."
Dimitri froze mid-drink. "Supplying both sides of a war? The cult's gone mad."
Dimitri then thought for a moment, rubbing his beard. "Now that you mention it… I heard talk at the market near the docks — some rich foreigner meeting a masked man at the old temple south of the cliffs. Strange business, late at night."
Atlas's gaze sharpened. "You're sure?"
"As sure as I am that this wine's watered down," Dimitri grinned.
Atlas reached into his pouch and tossed him a small sack of drachmae. Dimitri caught it, frowning. "What's this?"
"Payment. You know the old rule — information is earned, not begged."
Dimitri stared for a moment, then sighed with a fond smile. "You still live by those camp rules, huh?"
Alexios smirked. "He even lectures us with them."
Dimitri stood, finishing his cup. "Well, I can't stop you from chasing ghosts, but if this is truly the cult's doing, the island won't stay quiet for long."
Atlas nodded. "It never does."
Dimitri grinned again and clapped Atlas's shoulder. "Then happy hunting, boys. And if you live through it, come back for a proper meal at my house— not this shebeen slop."
Lukas looked offended. "Hey, I like this slop."
Dimitri laughed all the way to the door. "Figures. You'd eat rocks if someone put salt on them!"
The three laughed as the blacksmith left, his heavy footsteps fading into the street.
When silence settled, Atlas unrolled his map, marking a small red circle over the southern cliffs.
"Elpenor," he murmured. "If you're here… your little game ends soon."
The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows over the parchment — the calm before the storm.
END
END
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