Chapter 21

The shale crumbled under Helenos’s fingers, grey dust spiraling into the abyss.

Each stone broke away and tumbled, silent until a faint clink echoed back from the cliffs below.

Every muscle felt pulled tight.

Keep moving, he thought, while he was taking his breath. I have to keep moving. But where the hell am I even going?

No answer. Just a void where a plan should have been.

He was trading one cage for a larger one, exchanging jasmine for the smell of wet earth and blood.

He didn’t know these mountains.

To him, the Taygetos had always been a dark shape watched from a balcony while sipping drugged tea.

Somewhere to look at.

He looked up at black rock against a starless sky.

No guidance.

He looked down at white foam churning below, the ocean like teeth waiting to snap shut.

Lykos was ahead, climbing with frantic, jerky energy.

Yes, panic, not skill.

He moved like he had a map burned into his brain, but Helenos wasn't buying it. The way hands shook, the hesitation at every fork—it was someone pretending to lead.

He’s probably lost too, Helenos thought, mind sharpening even as his body failed. Just another person following a script someone wrote in some comfortable room.

"Keep up!" Lykos’s voice was sharp in the dark. "The bell’s still ringing. They’ll be at the gate by now. If they find the key gone, they’ll bring the hounds to the cliff. They won't stop till they find a body."

Why is he ordering at me like that? Even if I am running away, I’m still a prince. He should know that if I tattle on him he’ll get imprisoned. Helenos felt a pang of anger.

Helenos paused, clinging to a jagged outcrop. Lungs felt full of broken glass. "The hounds, Lykos? Really? You think she’ll let them eat me? or she's trained them to bark in ancient Greek? Maybe they have silk collars."

Lykos stopped, glaring down at him. "This isn't the time for your bullshit, Prince! We’re dying out here! You want to be dragged back in chains?"

"Hard to miss the gravity and the lack of a wine list," Helenos shot back. "You’d think for a grand escape, you could’ve picked a mountain with a staircase. I’d settle for a rope and water that doesn't taste like mud."

"Be silent!" Lykos growled, jaw tight. "Your life hangs by a thread, and you joke like a fool!"

"Just branching out into 'fool on a cliffside' now. Niche market, but I’m nailing it. Audience is small."

Lykos let out a frustrated snarl and scrambled upward again, movements sloppy. Losing it. Helenos watched him, feeling detached. Exhaustion setting in. Mental fog trying to return.

Different from the tea—that was a sweet, heavy blanket. This was bone-deep fatigue. Vision blurred. For a second, grey rock turned into silk hangings. Soft. Inviting. He almost reached out to touch it, to sink into phantom fabric and sleep.

What was I thinking again… why am I on a wall?

He shook his head hard, the world spinning. Focus. Don't let the fog in. Just because Lykos is an amateur doesn't mean you have to be. I think I learned about this place when I was young.

"Lykos," Helenos called, boots sliding on loose gravel. "You’re breathing like a blacksmith’s bellows. Nearest village can hear your lungs. Are we going to caves, or just seeing how much limestone we can inhale?"

"I know the way!" Lykos snapped, voice high and thin. "North Star’s behind clouds, but we follow the ridge to the Cleft of the Gods! Thaila promised!"

"North Star’s behind clouds," Helenos said, gesturing up. "And 'the Cleft of the Gods' sounds like a name for olive oil. We’re wandering around a vertical graveyard, and you’re looking for a poem. Need a path, not a metaphor."

"Shut your mouth!" Lykos hissed. He leaned down, eyes wide and bloodshot. Mask of the servant gone. "I’m the only thing between you and Menelaia. Do you want to rot in that chair for months? Show some respect!"

"Respect?" Helenos laughed—jagged, hollow, snatched away by the wind. "I respect the rock, Lykos. It’s honest. You? You’re just a guy who’s bad at orienteering and worse at lying."

Lykos looked like he wanted to throw Helenos off the ledge. Face twisted with something beyond fear. Pure hatred. "You’re a spoiled, hollow shell! Thaila was wrong! You have no soul left to save!"

"Finally," Helenos whispered, cold smile on his lips. "Way more refreshing than your 'Miri' stories. You don't like me. I don't like you. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, you have a plan, or are we just climbing till we run out of mountain?"

Lykos didn't answer. Climbed again, movements faster, fueled by insulted pride. Ignoring holds.

He’s gonna fall, Helenos thought. Take me with him if I stay on his heels.

Then he looked at hands—scraped, bleeding, trembling. Looked back at the palace. Orange torches moving along the base of the cliffs.

Like fire-ants. Slow, but relentless.

A cold shiver ran through him. He could almost feel Menelaia’s hand on his neck. Imagine her smile—that look of disappointed pity.

She’d probably beat me up when she catches me, he thought, bitterness rising in his throat. She always liked it when I had a little spirit before she crushed it.

The bell stopped. The silence that followed was worse. Expectant. Predator finally catching the scent.

"They're on the path," Lykos whispered, anger replaced by dread. "I can see torches. Bypassed the gate. Already at the first ascent."

"Maybe they used a key," Helenos suggested, voice low. "Thing people use for doors before throwing them into the ocean like a teenager."

"Be quiet, damn you!" Lykos whimpered, face pressed against stone.

Helenos looked up. So damn tired. Legs felt like water, joints turning to sand. Fog pressing in again, sweet and heavy. Wanted to sit down. Tell Lykos to go on. Wait for red robes to appear in the darkness.

No. Not yet. Didn't crawl through mud to die on a ledge.

He reached into pocket. Expected it to be cold, but warmth shot up arm when fingers brushed metal. Not a map. Not a voice. A reminder.

"Lykos! To the left!" Helenos called.

"No! The caves are North!"

"North is where she expects us! Obvious route!" Helenos yelled, mind suddenly clicking. When the interface is broken, you don't keep hitting the same button. Find the backdoor.

He saw it: a narrow chimney in the rock, shielded from wind. It looked impossible—a vertical slit leading into the mountain.

"I’m gonna see what’s behind door number two," Helenos said.

He didn't wait. Shoved shoulder into the narrow crack, cold stone pressing against bruised ribs. Climbed by feel, fingers searching for grips.

Every inch was a struggle. Breath roared in his head. So tired he could feel heart skipping beats—that stuttering rhythm making head swim.

Left foot. Right hand. Breathe. Don't think about the tea. Don't think about her. Just. Move.

He reached a small shelf hidden inside the chimney and pulled himself up, collapsing onto stone and gasping for air. Above, sky was still a void. Behind, torches were getting closer, flickering light beginning to lick the edges of the cliff.

He lay there, staring at rock inches from his face. No idea where he was or if this chimney led to a hidden pass or a dead end. Alone, exhausted, lost.

"At least the view's better than the tower," he whispered, voice cracking. "Room service is appalling, but the privacy is nice."

He closed his eyes, fatigue finally winning. Didn't care about the rebellion or the "Golden Prince." Just wanted the world to stop moving.

But then he felt it, pulsing. A slow, steady beat.

Helenos gripped the coin, heat seeping into bones. He stood, legs shaking, and realized it didn't matter. For the first time in a long time, he wasn't waiting for the next move.

"I should have stayed in the tower, it had been a good experience except for the beating" He said at loud. I’d rather be doing nothing and be loved than doing this… and there was that night…

There was a shock.

Was it from the coin?

What was I thinking? Yes. I have to go away from Menelaia.

He took a short look at the far away palace.

And he turned away, not noticing Lykos’ eyes.

Eyes, heated with a hint of lust.

It was looking straight at him.

……..

Well, helenos is 15. He must have some puberty… It doesn’t make sense since puberty depends on your body, not your mind/soul. You can’t control it. Only others can.