The midday sun beat down. The great gate of Troy's inner city loomed before them.
The wall stood like a man-made mountain range of pale stone.
The stone blocks were smooth-edged and sharp. The seams between them were tight, seamless.
Sunlight reflected off the mirror-like stone surface. A blinding glare.
Aeneas tilted his head back. His gaze climbed the wall face. It didn't stop until it reached the battlements ten meters high.
He couldn't help a low murmur.
"The manpower for this... must've taken tens of thousands of men years.
A small city-state, yet willing to use such vast resources. That's... impressive!"
Prince Troilus smiled. His tone was proud.
"This is our second heart.
The outer city protects the people. The inner city protects the gods and the king.
Without this wall, Troy could not stand."
On the watchtowers flanking the gate, archers stood alert with their bows. The infantry's long spears flashed coldly in the sun.
Every guard's posture was precise as a statue.
Suddenly, the lead guard spotted the prince. He called out immediately. "Open the gate for the Prince!"
A series of bronze bolts clacked and unlocked. The heavy oak panels of the gate swung inward slowly. The bronze bindings ground out a low, dull hum.
Aeneas's lips quirked. He muttered to Achates. "This show of force... Wow. They're really rolling out the red carpet for us!"
Achates replied under his breath. "Young master, this is not a place for jokes."
Euryalus whispered nearby. "This wall's almost taller than the cliff face behind our place..."
The gate opened halfway. The air pressure seemed to shift instantly—like stepping from mortal chaos into another world.
The air inside the wall was cooler. Quieter. Even the sunlight seemed filtered. Only a soft, golden light remained.
As the group passed through the gateway, the heavy inner door closed behind them. It sounded like muffled thunder.
Aeneas and his men seemed to cross an invisible boundary.
—The noise, curses, and vendor cries of the outside world faded away. Replaced by an orderly silence.
The very air changed.
Gone was the smell of fish and dust. Here, the air carried the scent of laurel and olive leaves. A faint trace of lavender.
Sunlight filtered through the trees. It fell like scattered gold on the stone-paved road. The polished surface seemed to reflect the light of another world.
The trees lining the path were trimmed neat as an honor guard. A few sparrows landed on laurel branches. Their chirps sounded restrained.
In the distance, a rectangular pool lay still. The water was clear. It mirrored the blue sky and white clouds.
Several servant girls in white robes washed ritual vessels by the pool. Their movements were slow, rhythmic. Like part of a ceremony.
Purple cloth strips were tied around their wrists. They caught the light with a subtle sheen.
"People outside struggle just to survive. Here, they live in elegant, self-satisfied comfort..."
Aeneas muttered inwardly.
"The resource distribution is really... completely unabashed, isn't it..."
They walked further. The ground gradually rose. The view opened up.
They turned past a curved colonnade. The main hall finally came into view.
They stepped into the portico. Flat stones under his feet. Patterns etched into the surface, all shapes and lines.
The air smelled of beeswax and olive oil. Something else too. Soft. Herbal.
Aeneas and his party climbed the final stone step. They looked up at the main hall—
A vast room supported by six thick stone pillars. Each carved with old gods—
Athena with her spear. Zeus with a bolt raised high.
Poseidon in his chariot, horses breaking through waves...
The light inside stayed soft. Beeswax candles flickered between the pillars. Servants stood silently along the walls.
Prince Troilus turned. A polite smile on his face. "Aeneas, the feast is prepared. Please follow me inside."
As he spoke, two court attendants stepped forward. They bowed respectfully to Achates and the others.
"Honored guests, please follow us to the retinue lounge. Food and drink will be provided for you during the feast."
Achates understood this was protocol. He moved closer to Aeneas. He spoke quickly, his voice a hushed murmur near his ear.
"Young Master, you attend the feast alone. Mind your words and actions. Your safety is the top priority. No matter what."
Aeneas blinked, slightly startled. Then he turned his head. A reassuring smile touched his lips.
He patted Achates's shoulder. His tone was light.
"Relax. I'm the son of the Goddess of Love. Not exactly easy prey."
Nisus rolled his eyes silently.
Euryalus heaved an exaggerated sigh.
"The Young Master's mouth... He'll probably get thrown out by the King for talking nonsense...
Where do you think—we'll have to go pick him up?"
Aeneas shrugged. He waved at the three of them. "Don't worry so much. See you later."
Achates watched his retreating back, exasperated and amused.
(This reckless young master, always saying whatever pops into his head! I just told him to be careful. Who said anything about him being prey?)
The three followed their guides to the retinue lounge.
The room was small, but spotless.
The thick stone walls were unadorned. Their pale grey veins held a faint gold sheen in the firelight. The floor was lined with dry grass mats.
They smelled warm, like sun and dust.
In the center stood a wooden table. Rough, heavy, old.
Flatbread on top. Goat cheese. Olives. Some dried fruit.
A jug of watered wine caught the candlelight.
Two young maids stood by the wall. Their hands at their sides.
Achates sat down first. He began to eat. Chewing his food carefully.
Nisus sat on the other side. His back ramrod straight. His expression stern.
Euryalus sat opposite Nisus. He looked uneasy. The silence didn't sit well with him.
His eyes kept flicking to the maids by the wall.
Curious, maybe. Or just desperate for a topic.
At last he couldn't take it anymore. Leaned closer, grin low and secret.
"Hey, Nisus... I think you've got a brother here in the citadel too, right?"
The words hung in the air. Like a stone dropped into still water.
Nisus's fingers stilled abruptly. The air itself seemed to grow cold.
He looked up. His eyes were cold as sharpened steel. "Eat."
His voice was low. It held a force that brooked no argument.
Euryalus froze. The line of his mouth went tight.
Achates's brow furrowed slightly. He sensed this wasn't just simple irritation.
Euryalus scratched his head, awkward. "I, I was just... trying to make conversation..."
Nisus looked down. He let out a short, cold laugh. It held no warmth.
"Some topics… should never be brought up."
The two serving girls exchanged a glance. Their expressions were slightly alarmed.
They seemed to sense the shift in the room's atmosphere. Their breathing grew even quieter.
Achates didn't press. He simply watched and thought.
He didn't know the buried stories of the past.
Nisus and Euryalus were not brothers by blood.
Nisus's mother, Arisbe, had once been Priam's first wife in his youth.
It was a political union—to consolidate power, she was brought into the palace.
Then, for a more advantageous match, she was forced to relinquish her position as queen.
Her pride was ground to dust that day.
Hyrtacus—a renowned general who had served the King for years—was furious at the King's callousness. He pitied the used and discarded woman.
He chose to lay down all his glory and military rank. He took her away from Troy.
Nisus was their son.
He inherited his father's fortitude and his mother's intelligence. But he also carried the shame and isolation of their exile.
That resentment and wariness toward the royal house was carved into his bones long ago, in his boyhood.
Euryalus's father was Opheltes, Hyrtacus's comrade and close friend.
He had followed Hyrtacus to war for the kingdom. He retired from service when Hyrtacus did.
But later, he was conscripted again by the King's command. His bones remained forever in a foreign land.
Hyrtacus and his wife took in his orphaned son. From then on, Nisus and Euryalus called each other brother.
They were as close as true siblings. Both stood outside the glow of Troy's glory. Both bore shadows that could not be spoken.
Nisus carried the shame of his mother's humiliation, his heart full of grievance toward the royal house.
Euryalus not only revered his older brother, but also, because of his father's pointless sacrifice, felt no allegiance to so-called 'kingly glory'.
At the table, the flatbread cooled. The salty tang of goat cheese hung in the air. No one touched their knife or fork again.
The room was silent, almost frozen.
Nisus kept his head bowed. His gaze was fixed on his own reflection in the wine cup.
Euryalus saw his brother's near-frozen expression. He could only lower his head. He stabbed silently at his bread with a fork.
Achates sat to the side. His expression was calm as a stone statue.
Just then, the door opened.
A shaft of brighter light fell into the room. It illuminated the white robes of a high priest in the doorway.
The man's steps were measured. The hem of his garment stirred slightly in the breeze.
He was a young man, handsome but somewhat gaunt. His brow held a firmness reminiscent of Nisus's, but his expression was more composed. And paler.
Achates rose at once. His hand moved alertly toward the short sword at his waist. His tone was steady, but wary. "And you are…?"