Back at the present
The mountain wind was cool against Atlas's skin as he adjusted the strap of the bulging sack across his shoulder. The leather creaked under the weight: apples, wild berries, bananas, figs, roots, and bundles of herbs carefully tied with strips of vine. He had spent hours searching, his sharp eyes finding treasures where others would only see dirt and leaves.
Behind him, Alexios trudged noisily, dragging his spear along the ground, humming a half-tuneless melody. "You and your plants," he said with a lopsided grin. "I don't know how you see them all. To me, it's just bushes and more bushes. But you? You find food and medicine like the trees are whispering their secrets to you."
Atlas didn't smile, though his eyes softened slightly. "The forest speaks to those who listen. You only hear yourself stomping around."
Alexios barked a laugh, shaking his head. "Bah, you sound like some old mystic! Next you'll be growing a beard and preaching to the birds."
Atlas shook his head, silent, though inside, warmth stirred. Alexios was reckless, loud, unrefined—but his heart was genuine. In this cruel camp, where fear and pain reigned, Alexios's laughter was like a firelight in the dark for the other children.
They reached a clearing where the undergrowth parted to reveal a small meadow. Atlas's sharp gaze picked out movement almost immediately: six boars grazing near the edge of the trees—two massive adults, and four piglets rooting happily in the grass.
Alexios crouched beside him, grinning ear to ear. "Six meals waiting for us. Easy."
Atlas shook his head. "We take the adults. The piglets stay."
Alexios frowned. "But more food—"
"The piglets will grow," Atlas cut in. "They'll feed us later, and they deserve their chance to live. If we kill them all, there will be nothing left tomorrow."
For a moment Alexios seemed about to argue, but then his grin returned. "Always the clever one. Fine. Two boars, two hunters. Let's see who's faster."
Atlas slid his longbow from his shoulder, fingers brushing the smooth curve of wood. This bow was his pride—a weapon he had crafted himself from the strongest mountain Osage also known as Bois d'arc, its string woven from sinew. He had studied endlessly, failing and trying again, until at last the bow felt like an extension of his body. Over the years, his comprehension had sharpened his skill until he could do what even seasoned warriors would call impossible: split shots, rapid volleys, arrows that found targets beyond sight.
He loaded an arrow and drew the string back. The world seemed to still—the rise and fall of the boar's chest, the twitch of its ear, the soft grunt as it rooted in the grass. His breath slowed. His focus sharpened to a single point.
Thwip!
The arrow flew straight and true, piercing the boar's eye along with the brain in an instant. It dropped without a sound.
Beside him, Alexios erupted from the brush with a roar, spear flashing. The second boar squealed in alarm, charging, but Alexios met it head-on. The spear punched deep behind its shoulder, driving into the lung. The beast collapsed, thrashing once before lying still.
Alexios straightened, chest heaving, and shot Atlas a look full of pride. "Ha! That's two for us. But mine was more glorious."
Atlas raised an eyebrow. "Yours was noisier."
Alexios laughed, the sound rolling across the clearing. "Glory is supposed to be loud!"
Atlas only shook his head, retrieving his arrow. But in truth, he respected Alexios's ferocity. Together, they were an unshakable balance—Alexios's raw power and Atlas's precision, reckless strength and calculating skill.
They carried the carcasses deeper into the forest, searching for signs of wolves. Alexios lifted his head, sniffing the air like a hound. Atlas, however, closed his eyes.
A warmth spread through him, pulsing from his chest to his fingertips. The world shifted. Colors deepened, lines sharpened, life itself seemed to glow faintly. Every broken branch, every paw print, every faint smear of blood lit up in his vision. Eagle Vision.
"There," Atlas murmured, pointing to the faint trail leading north.
Alexios narrowed his eyes, then closed them as he had been taught. When he opened them again, his grin was wide. "I see it too."
Atlas had discovered the ability half a year ago. At first, he thought it a trick of his imagination. But the more he practiced, the clearer it became. And when he realized it could be taught, he shared it—quietly, carefully—with Alexios and a handful of others. Never in front of the guards. Never where the Cult could see.
Together, they followed the trail until it led them to a cave mouth. The ground was littered with bones, some stripped white, others still stained with dried blood. The air reeked of old death.
"This is it," Alexios said, gripping his spear tighter. "We lure them out."
They dragged one of the boar carcasses forward, leaving it near the cave entrance. Then they crouched behind the brush, waiting.
The silence stretched. The forest seemed to hold its breath.
Then movement stirred in the shadows.
But it wasn't wolves.
A massive lion padded into the light, its golden mane catching the last rays of the sun. Its eyes glowed amber, full of hunger. Behind it followed three lionesses, lean and powerful, their tails flicking as they sniffed the bait.
Atlas was a bit surprised. Lions. They shouldn't be here.
Alexios's grin widened, his blood already singing for battle. "Better than wolves."
Atlas's bowstring creaked as he drew. "It's a bit dangerous. Stay sharp."
Alexios charged with a shout, spear leveled. The lion roared, meeting him head-on, claws flashing. Atlas loosed an arrow—thwip—burying it in the shoulder of a lioness. She snarled and lunged at him, but another arrow caught her in the throat.
Two more lionesses circled, their movements sleek and deadly. Atlas's bow sang again and again, his arrows striking eyes, throats, joints. The beasts faltered, stumbling before collapsing into the dirt.
Meanwhile, Alexios grappled the massive lion, his spear wedged between its jaws, muscles straining as the beast tried to crush him. With a final heave, he drove the weapon through its throat. Blood sprayed hot across his arms, blood spraying hot across his arms. The lion fell, shuddered, and stilled.
For a moment, silence. Only their ragged breaths filled the clearing.
Then Alexios laughed, chest heaving, eyes bright. "Lions! Next time it'll be bears, I swear."
Atlas wiped his blade clean. "If it is, we'll kill them too."
Dragging the spoils of their hunt, they descended the mountain. At the base, hidden in the bushes, waited a small cart, Atlas had built from scavenged wood and rope. They loaded the meat and pelts, then pushed it back toward camp.
By nightfall, the children gathered in one of the larger rooms. Firelight filled the space, flickering against stone walls. The smell of roasting boar filled the air, rich and savory.
Inside one of the larger stone halls, a fire blazed. Children crowded close, their faces glowing in the light, their eyes wide at the sight of the roasting boar. The smell of sizzling fat and herbs filled the air, rich and mouthwatering.
Atlas stood at the spit, turning it carefully. He had added more than meat—wild herbs crushed into paste, tangy berries for sweetness, bark for flavor. The air filled with a smell unlike anything the children had ever known.
"Food from the gods," one whispered, clutching their stomach, The children's eyes widened, their stomachs growling. Even those assigned to keep watch at the doors for the incoming guards stole glances back, drawn by the smell.
When it was ready, Atlas carved the meat and handed it out piece by piece. He gave first to the weakest, then to the strongest, then to the ones who kept watch at the door, No one was forgotten.
The children ate like they hadn't in years. Laughter and chatter filled the room, echoing off the stone walls. Even those assigned to guard the doors turned back often, grinning through mouthfuls of food.
Alexios sat beside him, gnawing on a thick slab of meat. "You fight like a wolf, shoot like an eagle, and cook like a—what's the word? A mater." He laughed. "Almost makes me forget we're in this cursed place."
Atlas allowed himself the faintest smirk. "Almost."
A smaller boy that just got dragged in the camp a month ago tugged at Atlas's tunic, eyes wide. "Why do you always share with us? Even when you could keep more for yourself?"
Atlas knelt so their eyes met. "Because we survive together," he said simply. "Not alone."
The boy and others nodded, clutching his food tighter.
Around them, the children's laughter swelled. They no longer looked like the hollow-eyed husks Atlas had first met. Their faces were fuller, their shoulders straighter. For a moment, they were not prisoners. They were family.
Alexios leaned closer, voice softer now, though his grin never faded. "You've changed them, Atlas. Look at them. They'd follow you anywhere."
Atlas looked around the fire—the children eating, laughing, living. And for the first time in this harsh place, he felt not only the burden of leadership, but its warmth.
He nodded. "Then I'll make sure they have somewhere to go."
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