The sun hung high. It was nearly ten in the morning.
Aeneas and his party stepped from the oared sailboat onto the wooden dock of Troy's port. The heavy plank thudded into place.
The air held the river's coolness and a fishy damp. The scent of wet timber, sweat, and grain. Rough. Full of life.
Cargo ships and small boats crowded the river. Busy as bees from a hive.
Shouts from boatmen. The dip of oars. Water slapping against wooden hulls. The sharp cries of gulls.
They blended into the dock's unique cacophony.
The banks were piled with sacks, clay pots, and wooden crates.
They held grain, olive oil, wool, and pottery. All waiting to enter the city.
Barefoot workers and slaves carried loads on their shoulders and backs. Occasional cracks of a whip. Shouted curses. Cries of pain.
Mixed with the braying of livestock. It was a bustling market. And a hell for those at the bottom.
"Gods…" Nisus's jaw hung open. His eyes were wide as plates.
His brother Euryalus was no better. His head swiveled left and right. Like a kitten chasing a teaser wand. Astonished by everything.
The two hunter brothers from the mountain village were struck speechless by the sight.
Aeneas didn't laugh at them. His own feelings were more complex than theirs.
He looked toward the massive estuary harbor nearby—the great port of Ilion.
In the distant future, it would be just a sunny beach. But now, hundreds of great sea vessels moved through it. A forest of masts. Clouds of sails.
It was the gateway to the Hellespont. The golden waterway controlling the lifeblood of maritime trade.
His inner voice was silent:
—This is Troy at its peak.
Compared to the future ruins of broken walls and a dried-up riverbed, the present Scamander was vibrant with youth and strength.
If the future, occasionally-trickling Karamenderes River was a dying old man, then this river before him was a vigorous warrior!
The river was wide. Over a kilometer across. Though four large sandbars already occupied more than half the channel. A portent of the silted-up future.
But those four sandbars lay like emeralds on the water's surface. Neat vineyards and scattered settlements covered them. They shimmered with the early summer green.
These very lands fed the ten thousand people within and around Troy.
A testament to the era's prosperity. For now.
"Young lord, look there—" Achates pointed toward the sandbars. A note of awe in his tone.
"Those sandbars complicate navigation. But they also hold the richest soil.
The wine and grain from here are the foundation of Troy's wealth and power. The royal family controls these lands directly."
"Hmm." Aeneas nodded. His gaze fixed on the farmers bending to their work in the sun.
Nisus spoke, his voice simple and honest. "I thought… places like this only existed in legends."
Euryalus swallowed hard. Added, "If our mountain village had land like this… I'd never leave, even if I had to stay in the hills forever…"
Aeneas smiled faintly. Said nothing more.
But he thought: This prosperity is as fragile as a bubble. These undefended sandbars… how would they fare against a real assault?
Beneath this bustling surface, cracks are already forming… Do I really have the power to mend them?
The moment they turned from the dock into the port district, it was like stepping into another world.
The narrow, stone-paved street was a torrent of noise. Hawkers' cries, shouts, and arguments layered over each other.
A peddler held a clay pot high, yelling himself hoarse about its fine patterns.
A bronze merchant angled a mirror to catch the sun. Flashed blinding light into the crowd.
Woolen cloth was stacked high on stalls. Like spring flowers blooming on the flagstones.
The crowd was a crush. Movement was difficult. Aeneas was jostled by shoulders and backs. Stumbled slightly.
The merchants brushing past him wore fine clothes. Their laughter was full of calculation.
On the same street, laborers and beggars huddled in corners. Their eyes were dull. Empty. Searching with a desperate hunger.
Two worlds existed side-by-side here, stark and unadorned. Indifferent to each other.
Nisus's eyes were wide. His curiosity threatened to swallow him whole. He craned his neck, looking everywhere.
Euryalus instinctively hunched his shoulders. Protected his belt. Worried a hand might slip from behind.
Achates moved close to Aeneas. His voice was a low murmur.
"Young lord, stay alert.
This place is a mix of all sorts. Wealth and poverty are often just a dark alley apart.
Gold and silver attract envy. But the greater danger is those with nothing left to lose. They'll dare anything."
Aeneas nodded. "I understand. Like grain sacks in a warehouse. The tighter they're packed, the more likely the bottom ones will burst."
The brothers Nisus didn't get it at first. But Achates fell silent for a long moment. The furrow in his brow deepened.
A group of barefoot laborers hurried past. They carried heavy sacks. Their rough shoulders were red and raw from the rope.
In a distant corner, two gaunt children crouched on the ground. They desperately scooped up a few spilled wheat grains from an overturned pot.
Aeneas's gaze lingered on them. A pang of discomfort hit him.
His modern self couldn't just ignore the people caught in these 'systemic cracks.'
'This city is prosperous. Like a golden throne built on mud,' he thought darkly.
Achates noticed his young lord's look. He added quietly, "Don't let pity show on your face. There are always eyes on us here."
Aeneas let out a soft breath. Suppressed the unease in his chest. Lifted his chin. Moved forward again into the crowd.
They were carried along by the press of people. Shoulders constantly rubbing. Even the air they breathed felt salty, damp, and dusty.
Just then, a thin shadow darted out from the side.
It was a boy of about twelve. All skin and bones. Cheeks hollow. His skin was sallow from chronic hunger and sun.
He moved like an eel. Slammed into Aeneas's side. The impact was small, but held a desperate, life-or-death force.
"Sorry, my lord!"
The boy's voice was shrill and rushed. Like a scalded bird.
He bowed deeply. Didn't wait for a reply. Twisted and vanished into the dense crowd.
In a few breaths, the small figure was gone. Only shifting backs and stirred-up dust remained.
Aeneas reached down. The pouch at his hip holding small coins was gone.
His fingers found only emptiness. His eyes tracked the direction the boy had fled.
But what rose in his mind wasn't anger. It was the boy's eyes in that instant—
Not a cunning grin. Not a greedy look. But a cornered-animal fierceness. The desperate resolve of a starved wolf backed off a cliff.
He wasn't a skilled thief. He was a child with no way out.
'…He's just trying to survive…'
Aeneas thought. His modern consciousness couldn't help but compare it to a 'bankrupt employee risking it all to feed his family.' Not evil from greed. Just desperate necessity.
"Damn it!" Nisus, sharp-eyed, cursed under his breath.
Euryalus tensed. One hand went to his short sword. He leaned forward, ready to give chase.
In that tense moment, Aeneas reached out. He firmly pressed down on Euryalus's shoulder.
"Let him go." His tone was calm.
Euryalus stared, still unwilling. "But he stole—"
"Just a few small coins," Aeneas cut him off. He gave a faint smile.
"We have the goddess's rites to complete. It's not worth the delay."
His casual tone instantly soothed the group's agitation.
Nisus and Euryalus looked at each other. Couldn't help but laugh.
"Young lord!" Euryalus nudged his brother with an elbow, a teasing light in his eyes.
"You're far too careless! If you ever become a proper lord, little rats like that will empty your entire coffers!"
Nisus shook his head in mock despair.
"Then we'll have to guard your purse day and night. Make sure you don't wake up without a single copper obol for wine."
Aeneas shrugged. Spread his hands in a carefree gesture.
"At least I know talent is the real foundation. Money… is just an external thing. As long as the people remain, a purse can always be sewn up again."
He paused for a beat. A hint of cunning touched his lips.
He lowered his voice, sounding pleased with himself. "Besides… as an experienced traveler, of course I know to split up valuables. Keep them on your person. What he took was just bait money. A distraction."
Achates finally couldn't hold back. He ignored protocol, muttering to the young lord, "Since when have you had such 'extensive travel experience,' I wonder?"
Nisus and Euryalus exchanged another look. This time, their laughter was even heartier.
Their earlier respect for the young lord had held a certain distance. Now, in these natural interactions, that distance was shrinking. A genuine closeness was growing.