Moonlight fell upon the surface of the Scamander River. It glittered like shattered silver, twisting with the current.
The Dardan ferry crossing was eerily quiet at night. Only the soft slap of water against wooden pilings. The occasional croak of a frog.
A few small boats tied to the dock. They rocked slow with the waves.
Far off, the shipyards and warehouses were dark. The air carried a faint smell of wood and rope.
In the quiet, a lone figure stood by the river.
Her dark cloak moved with the wind. A strand of auburn hair showed beneath it.
A small piece of sheepskin hung over her shoulder, loose and easy.
This detail set her apart from any ordinary traveler.
Most striking was the golden eagle on her shoulder. Its sharp eyes gleamed in the dark. Seemed to see through all hidden things.
It occasionally dipped its head to preen its feathers. A movement of almost provocative elegance.
The maiden didn't speak. Just watched the river, her expression calm. Composed.
Behind her, several other cloaked figures stood silent in the shadows. Their shoulders were straight. Hands hidden in their sleeves—clearly not ordinary attendants.
A frog croaked. The golden eagle fixed it with a cold stare. The frog panicked. She jumped back into the water. A quick splash.
The girl's lips curved a little. A small, passing smile. Then stillness returned.
Anyone walking by would stop and stare.
A girl like this, alone at the ferry so late—who was she waiting for?
The dock lay quiet under the moon. You could hear the wood creak.
Then a man stepped out of the dark.
Nothing special about him. Middle-aged. Wore rough clothes. Sandals thick with mud. Looked like some shepherd coming back from market.
But the sharp, efficient way he bowed gave him away. He was no common farmer.
"Your Highness." His voice was low, but clear.
"Word from the estate. Lord Aeneas has awoken. His injuries are not serious. The healers say his recovery is… remarkably swift. They suspect divine favor."
At the word "divine," one of the guards behind the maiden shifted almost imperceptibly. His cloak settled.
The man continued his report. "The story of him killing the boar has spread. At dinner, he spoke easily with the Lord and Lady. He decided to offer the boar as a sacrifice to Lady Aphrodite."
The girl in the cloak listened. No sign on her face.
But her hands gave her away. Tight fists at her sides.
Knuckles pale under the moon.
The eagle on her shoulder moved a little.
Head tilted. Eyes sharp on the spy. As if testing his words.
After a moment, the man spoke again.
"One more thing," he said. "The servants… they whisper. They say the young lord's words and manner are… somewhat strange since he woke. He sometimes speaks profound, puzzling words. They think it might be… divine oracles."
The guards traded a quick glance.
The girl said nothing. Her fingers brushed the amulet under her cloak.
A small charm. Resting over her heart. It beat faster than her face showed.
When he finished speaking, her shoulders eased.
She let herself breathe again. A slow sigh, almost lost to the wind.
The tightness faded from her face.
Like clouds drifting off the moon. Light came back.
A faint smile touched her lips—soft, relieved.
Like she'd seen something rare. Something meant for her alone.
She reached up. Stroked the feathers of the golden eagle on her shoulder.
"He's alright… Thank the gods."
She whispered it, her voice full of genuine gladness. The words seemed more for herself.
The eagle blinked its fierce eyes. Let out a low, guttural cry.
The maiden couldn't suppress a slight smile. A long-absent warmth flashed in her eyes.
Unthinkingly, she brought her hands together. Pressed them over her heart.
Seven years, she told herself silently. For seven years, through countless nights, I've dreamed of this moment.
Now, she was finally back. This time, she would protect him.
Her smile bloomed in the darkness. Held a fierce, hidden resolve.
She stood quietly in the shadows of the ferry landing. The river slapped against the pilings.
But her heart was already far away. Back seven years—
Back to the moment the great door had shattered inwards. Flame and screams rushing in.
The faces of the Hittite soldiers were twisted. Vicious. They brandished torches and swords.
Then came the greedy merchants. She was like a piece of cargo. Spent cold nights in a cage.
She remembered the smell of the slave market: stale sweat, moldy straw.
Every gaze felt like she was livestock being inspected.
In that moment of despair, she saw his eyes—the young Aeneas.
His gaze was unaccountably clean. Held pity. And a courage beyond his years.
"Come with me." The boy had reached out his hand. Led her into the estate.
The Lord and Lady didn't know their son had secretly bought a little slave girl. But faced with their son's stubborn expression, they had acquiesced.
The young master's sincerity had slowly melted her frozen heart.
One night, she couldn't hold back. Told him a little of her story.
Not the whole truth. Not complete—but she wanted him to know a little.
From that day on, the young master seemed to launch a plan. He sought out ships. Warriors. Supplies.
He planned with dead seriousness. Like he was preparing for a great voyage of discovery.
On the final day, he took her hand. Led her to the docks.
"Promise me you will see her safely home to her family," he said, utterly earnest.
The tears came then, unbidden.
She cried like a fool. The young master wiped her tears clumsily. "You should be smiling! You're going home! I wish I could take you myself."
The memory faded. She blinked. Found herself back in the present night air.
The look in her eyes was no longer that of a helpless girl. It was a flinty resolve, tempered in fire.
"Continue watching the estate," she instructed her guard, her voice low. "Especially Lord Aeneas. But remember—do not reveal yourselves."
"Yes," the guard murmured in acknowledgment.
The girl stood still in the dark.
Her fingers touched the amulet under her cloak.
She said nothing more. But her eyes said everything.
She turned her head slightly. Spoke softly to the eagle on her shoulder.
"Thank you, Eye of Zeus. Without you, he might still be lying in that ravine."
The eagle shook its feathers. Gave a rough, low cry.
Not a common bird of prey.
Golden eagles are hard to tame, powerful, loyal. Only a few tribes could managed.
It could soar swiftly over mountain peaks. Find an injured youth in a valley. Lead rescuers unerringly to the spot.
A strange, silent understanding seemed to pass between the maiden and the eagle.
She drew out the small amulet.
It was adorned with symbols woven by Phoenician hands. But its true marvel was the material—smooth, fine silk.
Such a thing was unheard of here. Said to come from the distant East. As rare as a legend.
Her fingertips traced the amulet. Her gaze lifted toward the distant darkness.
The hilltop estate was swallowed by the night. Her heart had already crossed the woods. Climbed that hill. Returned to the side of the sleeping youth in the manor.
She closed her eyes for a moment. Clenched the amulet in her palm.
"Rest well, Aeneas. We will meet again soon… in a way you will not expect."
She turned. Her cloak swept in a graceful arc.
Her guards fell in silently around her. A respectful half-step behind.
The eagle beat its great wings. Lifted from her shoulder. Its passage over the water raised a chill gust.
It melted into the night sky. Left behind only a fading cry.
The maiden's form, too, vanished without a sound into the riverside shadows.
Moonlight lay like a thin veil over the slopes of Mount Ida.
The rolling contours shifted between light and shadow. Like a sleeping giant turning over.
The night wind moved through oaks and pines. Mixed the scents of damp earth and water. Carried them through the whole Dardan Valley.
Above this dark basin, the estate of the Dardan lords stood firm.
Its stone walls gleamed silver in the moonlight. Stubborn. Reliable.
From the estate's watchtower, the city of Troy sprawled vast and grand. Torches on its walls looked like rows of watchful eyes.
Further out, the night was deep blue as the sea.
To the south, on a peak, the temple of Aphrodite rose in the moonlight. Its pale walls seemed to glow with their own light.
Most of the valley slept. Insects chirped in waves. A distant dog barked now and then.
But two points of light still burned within the manor house. They stood out starkly in the dark. A declaration—this night would not be peaceful.
In the main hall, a few olive oil lamps burned. Their flames flickered. Made the geometric patterns on the walls dance.
The air held the scent of olive wood smoke. And the fragrance of wine.
Anchises sat on a long bench. His brow was furrowed.
His rough fingers rubbed back and forth over the head of his oak staff.
"The boy… Those words Aeneas spoke—'paper,' 'flush toilet,' 'blast furnace'… What are we to make of them?"
The firelight outlined Aresya's profile. Her fingers touched the purple silk ribbon with its pearl ornament at her chest.
"His words are like a mist," she said softly. "From a place we do not know. But I feel no malice in him. Only… a kind of urgent longing."
She paused. "Could it be a revelation from the goddess?"
Achates stood to the side, his back straight. His hand rested on the hilt of his short sword. "Whatever it is,"
he said, his voice low but firm, "the young lord's eyes have changed since he woke. There's something in them now… like a blade's edge. Or a star. Less recklessness. More… sharpness."
A quiet fell over the room. Only the lamps crackled.
Anchises pondered for a long time. His fingers finally stilled.
"The gods' will is hard to read," he said, lifting his gaze slowly. "We watch and wait. Achates, double your vigilance for his safety. Aresya, make your prayers to the goddess. When he needs it—we will move all the resources of this estate to aid him."
The three looked at each other. The lamplight threw their faces into shifting relief. Finally, they all nodded.
A lamp flame suddenly leaped higher. As if in reply.