DARIAN
The morning air is sharp, still clinging to the edge of the night’s chill. It bites at my skin as I pull on my training gear and strap the sword to my back. My body moves out of habit, but my mind’s a storm I can’t quiet. I haven’t slept properly since the weekend, since Iris.
Since Zeus.
I need to train. I need to hit something. I need silence, and the sound of metal colliding, and control. Just a little bit of it.
But as I walk across the stone path toward the training grounds, I hear the unmistakable clang of swords. Voices shouting commands. And not mine.
I round the corner, and there he is.
Zeus.
On the field.
In front of my soldiers.
Training them.
He’s dressed in our royal combat black, shirt sleeves rolled up, sweat already clinging to his temples. He’s leading the
