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Hector snarled and wiped the sweat off his brow. It wasn’t the training that exhausted him, it was the heat. He could just move into the shade, of course, but the sun gave him the ounce of reassurance he needed after that battle. He looked up. That damned sun.
He lifted the sword and, shouting, let it fall on the dummy’s head. The helmet broke and straw flew in all directions. Groaning, he let the sword fall to the ground and sat on a nearby bench, hiding his face in his hands. That was it for today’s training. He wasn’t going to get another dummy, not when the other soldiers roamed around the storage like vultures on the battlefield. He couldn’t risk one of them approaching him, talking to him. They’d all want to know about the armour.
Sighing, he moved his hands from his face and leaned into the bench, jumping in alarm when he saw the glowing, blonde figure beside him. He felt the blood rise to his face. Whether it was shame or anger, he couldn’t tell.
His chest heaved as he started to pant, his breath unsteady. His heart was beating faster than it ever had on a battlefield – before today, that was – and his pointing finger was unsteady. “You,” he whispered.
No mortal would’ve been able to hear him, but Apollo smiled widely. “Yes. Me.” Hector just stared at him. “Why aren’t you training with the others? They’ve got better equipment and …” Apollo trailed off, gesturing to the training grounds, now sprinkled with a dozen dummies, all slain by Hector in unique ways. “Better whatever this is.”
Hector closed his eyes to calm himself. When he opened them, Apollo was fidgeting with a straw that had flown out of the dummy’s head. “This place is old, but perfectly intact.” Apollo snorted. The grounds had been like a playground for the longest time. A place for Hector to retreat, and his younger brothers to play pretend. When the war started, this place wasn’t enough. Newer, better grounds had to be built. Now, his brothers only went there. Heroes were what they wanted to be, shades were what they became.
“Congrats. By the way,” Apollo said, pointing at the armour Hector had hidden behind a pile of hay. “Nice spoils.”
Hector inhaled sharply. “I wanted to kill Achilles. I thought I had killed Achilles.”
Apollo held his hair back and tied it with the straw in his hand. “That’s your fault. You should know a spear to the shoulder would be nothing to Achilles. There’s nothing I can do for you.”
“You knew I’d jump at any chance to kill Achilles. Why did you loosen his armour? Why didn’t you tell me it was Patroclus?” Tears burnt Hector’s eyes. He felt like a rock was stuck, and growing, in his throat.
Apollo finally looked Hector in the eye. “Because Patroclus needs to die, Hector. And in that moment, you were the only one willing to do it.”
Tears flowed down Hector’s cheeks like the streams of Troy. “He’s gonna kill me, Apollo. You gave him reason to kill me.”
“You don’t get to blame me, Hector. You enjoyed it. You killed him, took off the helmet and mangled the body. You knew who it was when you took the armour. You enjoyed it.”
Hector swallowed and shut his eyes, trying to unsee what could not be undone. But the picture was branded into his mind — Hector’s soldiers dragging the corpse onto his carriage and stripping it off the armour, revealing not Achilles’ fair skin and nimble figure, but Patroclus’ dark, muscular build, his once-white tunic drenched in dark blood. Hector hadn’t been surprised in the slightest, but his soldiers had stared at him in pure terror. They knew that killing Patroclus was more dangerous than challenging Achilles himself.
Hector rubbed his face, but the tears had already dried in the sun anyway. “You’re killing me, Apollo.”
Apollo looked away. “Denying one’s fate is the mark of a true coward.”
Hector squared his shoulders and stood up. He heard fast steps approaching and kneeled to grab his sword, but it was Polydorus, not Achilles.
He stopped at the steps of the training ground, panting. Hector looked at Apollo, who was staring into the clouds, his jaw clenched. Hector knew he had made himself invisible to everyone but Hector, as per usual. “What’s wrong?” Hector asked his brother. Once Polydorus’ breath had steadied, he forced out, “Hector, your soldiers saw him on the wall.” Hector stood, feeling an ache in his chest. Polydorus’ eyes, once bright with childlike innocence, were wide in terror. “What did they see?”
“Achilles is back.”