(PS: Please support me on patreon there 135+ chapters there and there also my new GoT: The True Dragon Fanfiction of Game of Thrones
https://patreon.com/BX_XDS)
The deep forest hours passed slowly. Sunlight managed to peek through the cracked roof of the abandoned cottage, scattering thin, dusty golden beams across the earthen floor. Outside, the forest rustled softly, the sounds muffled by the thick trees; inside, the air was heavy, rich with the medicinal scent of crushed herbs, boiling roots, and simmering broth.
Atlas wiped a bit of sweat from his brow, though the air was cool. He knelt beside the mother, gently pressing two fingers to the artery in her neck. Her pulse, though weak, had finally steadied to a rhythmic, hopeful beat. He moved to the father. His breathing was slow and deep—improving. The two children lay curled against their parents, breathing softly, no longer shaking violently, the burning fever finally receding from their small bodies.
For the first time since their arrival, a profound, fragile sense of peace settled inside the dim room.
Phoibe sat cross-legged at Atlas's side, holding a damp cloth she had meticulously prepared.
"Here," she whispered, handing it to him carefully, her movements precise. "For the little one's forehead. It's still a little warm."
Atlas smiled softly, genuinely, accepting the cloth. "You did well, Phoibe. You did really well."
Phoibe's face lit up with immediate pride, her small chest puffing out slightly like a triumphant chick. "I told you I could help! I'm very responsible, and I watch everything!"
Atlas chuckled gently, a low rumble.
The mother and father exchanged exhausted but deeply hopeful glances—relief washing away the deep lines of fear on their faces. But Atlas knew better than to let them believe the worst was entirely over. The fever could return.
He rose slowly to his feet, stretching muscles he hadn't fully rested. "I need to tell you something important," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of the difficult decision.
The parents listened instantly, their eyes locked on his.
Atlas continued, his voice calm but firm. "I cannot stay in Kephallonia for long. In two days, the ship will sail, and I have to leave the island with the others."
The words hit the couple like a sudden, chilling blast of cold wind.
The mother's breath hitched, her eyes wide with renewed panic. "You… you're leaving…?"
The father swallowed hard, his hands clenching the blanket. "But without you—what if the fever gets worse again? What if we get sick? What will we do?"
Atlas lifted a calm hand to reassure them, his presence an immediate anchor. "You will be fine. Because I'm going to teach you everything you need to know to make the medicine yourselves."
The couple froze, fear tightening their expressions into masks of doubt.
The mother wrung her hands nervously. "I… I don't want to make a mistake, kind sir… I don't want to hurt them by mixing things wrong."
The father lowered his head. "What if we give too much of the wrong leaf?"
Phoibe, sensing their fear, leaned close to the parents and confidently declared, "You can trust Atlas! He's the smartest! Smarter than Markos!" She paused thoughtfully, then added: "And he doesn't lie. Well… not much, anyway."
Atlas cleared his throat politely, hiding a smile.
He sat back down on the floor and began lining up several medicinal herbs and plant parts in neat, logical rows.
"Let's start from the beginning," he said, his tone shifting into that of a patient, focused instructor. "I'll show you everything, step by step."
The mother and father knelt beside him, watching intently, desperate to absorb the knowledge. Phoibe scooted in close, her eyes wide and focused like an eager, serious apprentice.
Atlas picked up a soft green leaf. "This plant reduces fever. You'll find it near moist soil, shaded by large, dense trees. We need the oils inside. Smell it."
He crushed it gently between his fingers, letting the volatile oils seep out. The scent instantly filled the room—earthy, sharp, powerfully medicinal.
"Don't crush too hard," Atlas explained. "If you mash it until it's pulp, it loses strength too quickly. Gently… like this."
The mother tried first—her touch was too soft. Atlas guided her hand, applying pressure. "A little more… good. Yes. Just like that. Feel the oils release."
Then came the father.
"Too strong," Atlas said calmly. "You'll tear the fibers. Here—try again. This time, think of it as pressing dough lightly, not smashing a stone."
Phoibe nodded, her expression perfectly serious. "Soft like bread," she repeated, memorizing the comparison.
Next, Atlas reached for a thin strip of willow bark.
"This reduces pain and lowers core temperature," he said. "But you only want the inner, white layer of bark."
He demonstrated slicing away the rough, outer layer with a small, sharp knife, letting them feel the stark difference in texture between the layers.
The father frowned, running his thumb over the sample. "It's… smoother. And lighter."
Atlas nodded. "And that smooth, inner part is what will heal you. Remember that difference."
Then he pulled out something else—a small, neatly bound notebook, covered in worn leather and secured with a fine leather string.
The parents gasped softly, stunned by the rarity of such an object.
"This," Atlas said, setting the notebook on the floor between them, "will stay with you. It is your guide."
The mother opened it with trembling, reverent hands.
Inside were pages filled with:
Hand-drawn, detailed illustrations of the medicinal plants.
Precise descriptions of symptoms and expected reactions.
Safe dosages and boiling times.
Step-by-step mixing and straining instructions.
Warnings about dangerous look-alikes plants.
Simple, clear explanations written so clearly even Phoibe could follow them.
Phoibe hovered behind the father, peeking over his shoulder, her awe palpable. "Wow… there are drawings, and names!"
Atlas continued teaching for over an hour, making them repeat every crucial step twice: correctly gathering the leaves, separating the bark layers, preparing the boiling water, gently crushing the herbs, carefully straining the mixtures, and letting them cool to the right temperature.
The mother's early fear slowly bled away, replaced by intense, focused concentration. The father, clumsy at first, gradually became more confident, his large hands learning precision.
At last… both parents successfully brewed the medicine correctly, without a single prompt from Atlas.
Phoibe clapped her hands excitedly, a joyful, pure sound. "You did it! You really, really did it!"
The mother wiped tears of profound relief and gratitude from her eyes with the back of her hand. "We… we cannot ever thank you enough. You gave us hope, and you gave us knowledge."
The father bowed his head deeply, utterly humbled. "You saved our family. May the gods grant you safe passage and eternal protection."
Atlas shook his head softly, rising to his feet.
"Don't thank me yet," he said. "Just take care of your children and spread the knowledge to your neighbors—not the fear."
He stepped outside the cottage, feeling the cool forest wind brush his face, the quiet rhythm of the earth settling his mind. Time was moving. He needed to find Kassandra, Alexios, and Lukas soon.
The sun was leaning heavily toward the afternoon by the time the trio reached Sami. The distinct, clean smell of fresh-cut wood drifted through the air long before they reached Drucilla's bustling workshop. Stacks of lumber surrounded the place, some neatly arranged, others scattered haphazardly, showing moments of frustrated artistic chaos. Beautiful bows hung on the walls in perfect, taut rows, their strings glinting in the sunlight like lines of taut silver.
In the center of the dusty yard, Drucilla was pulling back the string of a half-finished bow, testing the tension with a frown of deep, focused concentration.
Kassandra lifted a hand and called out, her voice cheerful, "Drucilla! The toe-biter is dead!"
The woodworker spun around so fast she nearly dropped the bow.
"Kassandra! By the gods—" Drucilla rushed toward her, waving her arms dramatically. "You're alive! Well, I knew you'd be alive, but you know, with you? There's always a tiny, terrifying chance you fight a really aggressive boar and somehow lose an ear."
Kassandra raised a challenging brow. "A boar? Really, Drucilla?"
Drucilla shrugged defensively. "It happens! I've seen the evidence!"
Alexios leaned toward Lukas and whispered loudly, "She thinks Kassandra could lose a fight to a boar?"
Lukas whispered back, a low rumble, "I think the boar would die twice and then the entire forest would apologize to Kassandra."
Kassandra elbowed both of them hard to shut them up.
Then she turned back to Drucilla with a smirk. "The Lumber Shipyard is clear. Bandits are gone. You can work in peace again."
Drucilla froze, then sagged with a long, profound breath of relief. "Oh thank the gods… Finally! I can get my cedar wood without someone trying to stab my toes off."
Kassandra blinked, confused. "…Your toes?"
"Yes! They always go for the toes first!" Drucilla said, pointing aggressively at her own sandals. "Bandits have a weird, horrible obsession with toes. You cannot convince me otherwise."
Alexios nodded seriously, completely straight-faced. "Toe ambushes. Very dangerous. They target the weakest point."
Lukas snorted loudly.
Drucilla marched toward a large crate near the back of her shop, rummaging around noisily until she pulled something out with both hands.
A bow. It was breathtaking.
Dark, richly polished wood—probably yew—with a reinforced grip wrapped in soft linen. It had a sleek, elegant curve that made it look both delicate and absolutely deadly.
"This," Drucilla declared proudly, holding it out to Kassandra, "is for you. A gift."
Kassandra blinked, genuinely taken aback by the generosity and quality. "For… me?"
"Yes!" Drucilla insisted. "You saved my livelihood! And your last bow—" She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "—that poor thing looked like it was chewed by wolves, thrown off a cliff, then chewed again for good measure."
"It was not that bad," Kassandra defended weakly.
Alexios coughed loudly. "It was definitely awful."
Lukas nodded sagely. "The wolves were kinder."
Kassandra glared at all three of them, but the bow in her hands was too beautiful to maintain the anger.
She accepted the weapon reverently. It felt perfect in her hands—balanced, sturdy, and smooth as silk. She pulled the string slowly, testing the tension. "It feels… powerful," she murmured.
Drucilla smiled smugly, hands on her hips. "Try it, misthios."
Kassandra picked up an arrow from the nearby pile, positioned herself instantly, inhaled, and released the string in one fluid, practiced motion.
THWIP—THUNK!
The arrow sunk into the very center of the target with a satisfying, decisive crack.
Alexios whistled low. "Dead center. It's a fine piece of work, Drucilla."
Lukas folded his arms, genuinely impressed. "Not bad at all."
Kassandra rolled her eyes at their continued lack of enthusiasm. "Pretend to be more impressed, will you?"
Drucilla practically glowed with pride. "What did I tell you? Drucilla makes the best bows in all of Kephallonia! Now get going."
Kassandra bowed her head slightly. "Thank you. Truly. I owe you a favor."
Drucilla waved a hand as if shooing away the gratitude and stepped aside dramatically. "Now go on. Get rid of the Cyclops before he causes any more trouble! And if you break this bow—" She jabbed a finger at Kassandra's chest. "—I'm charging you triple for the next one!"
Kassandra chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind, woodworker."
The trio waved goodbye and stepped out onto the road again, the stiff breeze carrying the clean scent of pine and sea as they resumed their journey toward Kleptous Bay. The dirt road curved gently along the island's low cliffs, the wind whipping past their hair, carrying the scent of salt and dry grass. Waves crashed below them in a steady, hypnotic rhythm—the constant heartbeat of Kephallonia itself.
The trio walked side by side—Kassandra slightly up front, Alexios slightly behind her, and Lukas lumbering comfortably at the rear, his hammer resting easily across his shoulder.
For a few minutes, the only sound was the crunch of gravel beneath their sandals and the wind.
Then Alexios, unable to handle silence for long, blurted out the question that had been bothering him. "So… Kassandra. About this Cyclops guy. How strong is he? Be honest."
Kassandra raised a brow without turning. "What do you mean, 'how strong'?"
Alexios gestured dramatically with both hands. "You know—strong. Like the actual legendary Cyclops. Big, monstrous, throws people like pebbles, can crush rocks with his bare hands!"
Lukas chimed in, eager for a massive fight. "Yeah! Or is he the type who punches the ground and makes the earth shake? Like—" He stomped hard, expecting a dramatic effect. Dust puffed pathetically around his boots. "—something like that."
Kassandra snorted. "You two ask too many questions about non-existent giants."
Alexios grinned. "We like to know our enemies' weaknesses."
"Some enemies aren't even worth knowing," she muttered.
Alexios and Lukas exchanged looks and leaned in closer, a synchronized act of interrogation.
"So…?" Alexios pressed again.
Kassandra finally stopped walking and turned to face them, her expression completely deflating their expectations. "No. He is not a legendary monster. He's not even remotely impressive."
The men froze.
"…Huh?" Lukas asked, utterly baffled.
"He's a small-time thug," Kassandra said casually, shrugging. "He just happens to be the boss around a group of smaller, even dumber idiots."
Alexios blinked slowly, his face falling. "…That's it? After all the build-up?"
"That's it," Kassandra confirmed.
"But why the name?" Lukas asked, confused. "The Cyclops? It sounds… heroic."
Kassandra grinned wickedly, a dark, satisfying humor lighting her eyes. "Oh, that? He has one eye."
Alexios squinted. "One eye… because he was born like that? A rare deformity?"
"No," Kassandra said, "because someone punched the other one clean out."
Lukas looked genuinely impressed. "Ouch. That must have been a great punch."
Alexios nodded, his expression mournful. "Painful. And humiliating."
"And," Kassandra continued, savoring the moment, "his face is ugly enough to make a Minotaur cry."
Alexios's jaw dropped in disbelief. "So he's not strong… just ugly and missing an eye?"
Kassandra shrugged again. "Exactly. False advertising."
Alexios's enthusiasm for the day completely evaporated. "I swear… I thought we finally had a glorious, epic fight coming," he said dramatically, throwing his hands up to the sky. "All this time I was preparing mentally to slay a giant!"
Lukas patted his shoulder sympathetically, his massive hand covering half of Alexios's back. "There, there. You still get to hit people, little brother."
Alexios brightened instantly at the thought of violence. "True."
They continued down the path, still grumbling about the deception.
"I mean… Cyclops," Alexios muttered. "It's false advertising. That should be illegal in all of Greece."
Lukas nodded sagely. "At least call him 'Half-Eye.' Or 'Ugly-Face Markos-Wannabe.'"
Kassandra burst into genuine, unrestrained laughter. "You two are impossible."
They were about to continue their good-natured teasing when—
A deep, booming, powerful voice echoed suddenly from around the bend, cutting through the laughter like a spear.
"EAGLE BEARER!"
Kassandra froze instantly, every muscle going rigid.
Alexios stopped mid-complaint, the amusement wiped clean from his face.
Lukas turned slowly, already lowering his shoulder to grip his hammer with two hands.
A large, imposing figure stepped into view from around the bend—towering, armored in thick, dark bronze plates, carrying massive weapons that looked forged specifically to break bones.
A violent, jagged scar ran horizontally across his face. His nose was crooked and flat from taking hits even he probably couldn't remember. His arms were thicker than most men's thighs.
Talos the Stone Fist.
His steps were heavy, deliberate, the gravel crunching loudly beneath his weight. The late sunlight gleamed menacingly off his armor, making him look even more monstrous.
He cracked his knuckles—the sound loud, slow, and deliberate, like two stones grinding violently together.
"Well, well…" Talos growled, baring a feral grin that showed several missing teeth. "The Cyclops will be pleased. I finally found you, Eagle Bearer."
Kassandra's eyes narrowed to sharp slits, all traces of humor gone, replaced by a cold, deadly focus.
Alexios exhaled slowly, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. "Finally. Someone actually worth punching today."
Lukas whispered eagerly, his voice a low plea, "Kassandra… please let me hit him first. Please."
Talos pointed at Kassandra with a thick, scarred finger, his voice booming with menace.
"I came for your head. And I'll be taking it back to the Cyclops—"
Alexios interrupted, bored by the villain's cliché dialogue. "You talk too much, giant."
Lukas nodded in agreement. "Hit first. Talk later."
Talos blinked, momentarily confused by their audacity and strange, synchronized banter.
Kassandra smirked, the shadow of a truly challenging fight lighting her eyes, and spun her spear in a perfect, intimidating arc. "Sorry, Talos. But you picked the wrong day to block our road."
The wind stilled for a moment.
The three squared their stances, weapons ready.
Talos lowered his enormous body into a charging position, his gaze locked on the Eagle Bearer.
This time the fight had found them.
(PS: Please support me on patreon there 135+ chapters there and there also my new GoT: The True Dragon Fanfiction of Game of Thrones
https://patreon.com/BX_XDS)