The Remnant

In The Dark of Night

There was always a part of Perseus that had been wary of forests since he was a young officer. The ever-shifting leaves and dense underbrush; the high trees providing perfect vantage points for any would-be assassins, why any road in the land that cut through one was practically a prime place for an ambush.

The terrain around the Spartan marching column was rough, it's rolling hills visible behind the treelines to each of their flanks. It was a starless night where darkness reigned supreme, the only patches of light briefly cast by the moon in certain places like glimmering slivers of hope on the walls of Tartarus itself. All of this combined sent shivers down Perseus' spine; the time and place were all too perfect.

"Should we stop to make camp sir?" One of the younger captains in the Prince's retinue; a man black of hair with a stocky build, asked.

Perseus turned to the man slightly from the back of Mávros as the horse continued to trot forward, his sea-green eyes meeting the faintly red ones of the son of Ares.

"We haven't the time Cletus. We have already been delayed enough and I fear that if we stop for the night our allies will be caught undermanned in their siege. No, we must continue on, regardless of the danger." The young polemarch responded with a tone that brokered no argument, and the son of Ares simply nodded then fell back into line.

For what it was worth, they had made record time thus far. Due to Perseus' incident with the son of the sky, the Spartan host had lost an entire day while waiting for his recovery. With any other army of any other state, Perseus was sure their time would have been set off to a point of dreadful disrepair. The demigod, however, did not command any other army, and the Spartan blood in their veins carried he and his men on at a double-timed marched. Aching, bruised, and in pain maybe, but making up for much lost time all the same.

Perseus could not have asked for better men to serve under him.

As they rounded a coming hill he raised a hand to wave forward one of his many messengers. A boy, who Perseus vaguely recognized as the one who had warned him of Heracles and the Hesperide, came riding to the front upon the back of a swift grey skirmishing horse. The mount was large, though its form was nowhere near the size of the warhorses belonging to the Cavalry, and its build gave off an impression of agility rather than strength.

"Yes Polemarch?" The boy pounded his fist to his chest in salute and greetings.

"Ride back to the Rear and find Commander Andros among the cavalry officers there. Tell him that he is to send forth six scouts ahead of our advance once more and no less. They are not to stop until they reach the border of Boeotia and Athens." The prince commanded.

"Aye, sir!"

Perseus turned back to the road as the boy sped off to the rear of the column and just had time to stop his horse.

"Who are you that stands in the path of the Spartan Royal Army?" The prince called out, cautious.

A figure stood in the middle of the path directly in front of Perseus radiating a large amount of power; sending the prince's alert senses swirling. They were dressed in a long flowing dark robe, making it impossible to tell their gender or features.

Does Athena come to end my life herself? Have the Gods sunk so low that they would allow this breaching of laws as a justice to end the war? The prince wondered to himself.

Calm yourself warrior, I am no whore of Athens. A response entered Perseus' consciousness, stunning him.

The being tilted their head slowly, seemingly inspecting the prince. After a moment's time, they walked forward and cast off their robe.