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Belen looked more and more like his mother each day. At times it was hard to look upon the young boy. The ache of losing Ophelia was a constant shadow in the Titan’s heart, though he would never let his son see as much. Twelve years old, full of life and vigor, Belen had a sweet soul, much like his mother, but he was undeniably his father’s son. Stronger, faster, and cleverer than his peers, he was still developing into whatever he was going to become, and the Titan enjoyed every moment of watching him grow. Taking a break from his work with the Custodes Pacis, the Titan focused on raising their son during these formative and vulnerable years of Belen’s development. Vacilios was not sure if his son would become immortal; not all demigods did. But for now, he was not, and thus, his son required constant protection. Their days were full of fun and hard work as father taught son what he knew. It could not be everything he knew, of course, because Vacilios had already passed his first millennium in the Earth realm, but he tried to teach the boy as many skills as possible. Arithmetic, reading, and lessons in life skills ranging from cooking, fighting, building, and farming were constant routines to ensure his son could grow to be a protector and provider. Belen would be the master of the Temple of Ophelia one day. He would need to know how to care for the land and the beings who made it their home. At night, they enjoyed stories near a fire and chats about Ophelia, with Vacilios regaling Belen with tales of his goddess. A wine merchant’s daughter from Athens, Ophelia enthralled the Titan from the first moment he laid eyes on her. During a trip for provisions, the god spied her across a crowded market, tending to displays and assisting shoppers with samples and transactions. As the story was told, Ophelia stole Vacilios’s heart in that moment, leaving him no choice but to go to her in an attempt to take it back, and as the tale was told, he never could. Robbed of the opportunity to know his mother, the Titan spoke to Belen daily about Ophelia to keep her memory alive. Life had not been the same since she left, but Vacilios made every effort to honor and enjoy their creation, equal parts him and her. Thankfully, Ceres never wavered in her support, assisting him with tasks ranging from feeding and swaddling during the early years, to caring for the boy when the Titan had to leave the property, which he did only when the estate needed supplies. The dutiful maid was his most reliable resource, which Vacilios believed was an homage to Ophelia. Then, she fell in love with the boy as much as a mother would. Acting as father and mother was difficult, and he wished Ophelia was there to share it all with. She would have loved her son more than anything on the planet, and he knew what that felt like. His wife’s love was consuming, raw, and honest. The Titan did not believe he would ever love anyone as much as he loved her, but he took some comfort in knowing that even though she was not there, at least, he still had a piece of her. ********* The household enjoyed a certain routine, falling into it by rote after so many years, and like all that preceded it, the day started off with morning chores. Vacilios took Belen to the livestock barn to fetch eggs, and then to the orchard to pick quince and figs. The young boy happily weaved between trees, calling out for his father to find him in the same breath as mischievous giggles. The Titan had just playfully popped his head behind the fifth tree when Ceres emerged from the path, bolting toward them. Her cries for help exuded a weight of urgency. “Erus, come quick! Travelers have arrived, and they are both injured.” Ceres bent at the waist, hands on her hips, as her voice fought for purchase between gulped breaths she was trying to catch. Vacilios called out, “Belen, you must come to me. We have to go, now!” The young boy giggled in the tree line, still trying to lure his father into an extended game of hide-and-seek. Ceres stretched out her arms to receive the basket of gathered goods the Titan held. “I will find him. Please. They need your help. A maiden appears to have a head injury, and she is not conscious.” Thrusting the container into her waiting arms, Vacilios turned, sprinting toward the main temple. Able to draw on his immortal speed, he made quick work of reaching the structure, where he found a young female in the back of a horse-drawn chariot displaying the obvious signs of an attack, cradled in the arms of an older male, whom he presumed to be her father. Their conveyance sat in shambles, with arrows protruding from the sides and a broken wheel held on by a barely connected hub. Vacilios approached hard and fast. “What has happened here?” “My daughter…she will not respond,” the father muttered in a fearful timbre, clutching his daughter to his chest. The Titan stretched his arms out to the man. “Give her to me. We need to assess her injuries.” The father hesitated, clutching his daughter tighter to his body. “I mean you no harm,” the god assured him. “We need to get her to safety.” Vacilios held his arms steady, still waiting for the father to release that which he protected. The older male’s hesitation was understandable, considering the amount of blood smeared along the edge of the maiden’s face. Scanning the area for threats, the man finally relaxed enough to relinquish her body to Vacilios. The Titan responded in an instant, scooping the willowy young woman into his arms, then twisted his hulking frame to turn away from the chariot. Her eyes were not open, but he could see that thick black lashes would frame them. A long onyx mane flowed in wild, unbound strands from her crown, with a section near her temple clumped from dried blood. The sight rankled him. The bright white robe she wore displayed splatters of blood, no doubt from the head injury he could see just above her left temple, with crimson streaks running down her cheek and neck, pooling near a delicate golden sand dollar that hung on a loose-fitting black leather strap around her neck. The maiden’s father was quick to follow the pair, but as soon as he thrust himself up to stand, the male howled, falling back to the floor of their conveyance. “What is your name, sir?” Vacilios called back to him. The man winced from the pain shooting through his lower extremity. “Demetri. My name is Demetri.” “Do not move, Demetri. I will come back for you.” Vacilios took a step toward Ophelia’s temple. His primary goal was to secure the maiden within its walls, then return for her father, but the elder male would not allow it. “Wait! Not without me.” Demetri crawled to the edge of the carriage onto the ground. He would not see his daughter leave his side, no matter how much pain he felt. It was a sentiment Vacilios could understand and respect. Sounds of shuffling emanated from the right side of the temple. The god was not sure if it was a friend or foe, so he returned the man’s daughter back into his arms. Standing between them and the beings rounding the corner, unbathed, masculine flesh overwhelmed his senses. A band of six males cleared the boundary of the massive stone structure, weapons ready for attack, their leader casually eyeing the Titan as if he was a minor obstacle in his path. “Hand them over. We have no quarrel with you.” “Ah, but you do.” Vacilios greeted them with a relaxed stance, scowling at the approaching bandits. “These are my lands, and these are now my guests, which means you are trespassing AND attacking beings under my protection.” “Demetri has something that belongs to me,” the leader of the marauders grumbled, jerking his head in the old man’s direction. The male was tall, fit, and his bronze skin carried the scars of previous battles. Two black eyes peered out from long coal-colored bangs parted in the middle so he could see. His dress was expensive, though gaudy, speaking to wealth, but not rank, nor taste. Vacilios spoke to the father behind him, leaving his gaze affixed on the unwelcome visitors. “What do you have that belongs to this man?” Demetri cleared his throat, responding in a trembling voice, “Her.” The leader stepped closer. Vacilios strengthened his posture. “Who is this female to you?” Vacilios asked the leader, but it was not he who responded. “I was to be his wife,” a soft, feminine voice carried from behind the Titan, causing a flitter of energy to course across his flesh. The sensation startled him. The god’s head whipped around to behold the maiden that caused such a reaction in him. It was a feeling he had not experienced since meeting Ophelia. His body reacted to an awareness of another creature that he spent the last decade believing he would never feel again…and now, it was consuming him. ********* It did not surprise Vacilios that the male would come for the maiden. The female behind him was gorgeous. Long black hair framed an oval-shaped face, with two different colored eyes, one bright blue and one a shimmering green, both beseeching him to keep the males away. He could understand why the leader would fight to claim her. Her long, slender frame lay limp against her father, who was holding her so tight that her olive skin was turning paler from the pressure. But even in a disheveled heap, he could see the outline of the maiden’s curves…which were the perfect combination of soft and muscular. “Was?” The Titan asked. The girl’s father answered. “They were to be married this morn, but Adrian attacked her yesterday eve.” Vacilios tensed, turning back toward the intruder. “You are Adrian?” Adrian nodded. “Yes. Ameliel belongs to me.” Ameliel…the name hit the god with the force of an explosion. His heart raced, and he struggled to think straight. Vacilios did not know why yet, but the god understood that he would not be allowing Adrian to take her from his land; even if she was his. “Why do you run from this man?” The Titan turned back to look at Ameliel. Her father started to answer once again, but Vacilios raised his palm to stop him. He wanted her to speak for herself. The god wanted to hear her soft, yet complex, voice again. “He tried to take something that was not yet his to claim.” Ameliel’s eyes bored into the Titan’s skull with a fire he recognized. Vacilios had seen it too many times upon the visage of females, especially mortal, less powerful ones. These offenses took place in the immortal world, but were far and fewer between, because frankly, those females had the gift of strength and speed that mortal women did not. There was a look someone carried when wronged in such ways, and Ameliel’s mien spoke volumes about what she held back in words. She did not have to explain further. The Titan knew that whatever it was; the man had gone too far. “You are mine. I may take whatever I please,” Adrian growled, moving another step closer. Vacilios was still looking at Ameliel, whose eyes were worried and frightened, when he extended his arm toward the warlord, commanding the man to stop with a flat palm. “Take one step closer and it will be your last.” Turning his gaze away from Ameliel, Vacilios faced the man who had not quite realized his situation. He was mortal, starting a fight with a Titan possessing hundreds of years of battle experience. The god was intelligent, immensely strong, and now becoming enamored with the female behind him with each second he remained in her presence. Vacilios had already decided that Adrian would not be leaving his land with Ameliel in his arms, and after learning of the attack, the man would be lucky if he left it alive. ********* Adrian’s band of attackers readied their positions. To his credit, the leader came with a plan. He was determined to not leave this place without Ameliel, but what he did not know was that the maiden and her father were now under the protection of a millennium-old warrior god. Vacilios braced himself, eyeing the males that moved toward the chariot. An attacker from the left raised a bow, releasing an arrow aimed at the Titan’s head. From the moment the bowstring released, the warrior calculated how long it would take the arrow to reach him, and the trajectory it was taking toward his body. His response was immediate. Hand shooting out, he caught the projectile, avoiding injury, but also providing himself with a weapon. Quickly snapping the arrowhead off a few inches from the tip, he turned the blade back at the assailant. Thrusting the dagger-sized shaft away from his body, he embedded the piercing tip in the attacker’s jugular, dropping him to his knees, with only a bloody exhale exploding from his lips. Five more, the Titan thought. A man on his right stormed the god’s position, slicing a long blade at the god’s chest. Vacilios side-stepped the slower male with ease, laying a heavy blow to the side of his face with the back of his massive hand, knocking him unconscious. Bending, he snatched up the snoozing soldier’s sword, waiting for the next attacker. Advancing from the right, an assailant lunged forward, but he was not alone; one of his comrades on the left joined in on the attack. The Titan made quick work of defeating the two, stabbing one in the heart with the pilfered sword, then slicing the other’s neck, blood squirting to the ground as death overtook him. The fifth male set into his attack, demanding the god’s focus until a familiar presence overtook him. Belen was nearing. Turning his head to scan his surroundings, he spied his son closing in on the back of the chariot, with Ceres running as fast as she could behind him, trying to scream his name between lung-filling gasps for air. “Papa!” Belen yelled, rounding the side of the chariot. The fifth male laid into his attacks of the Titan, who was simultaneously deflecting the advance and shuffling backward to intercept his son. A bowstring snapped from Adrian’s direction, sending an arrow in Belen’s direction; the boy, unaware of the danger, continued to run headlong into the projectile’s path. Vacilios was almost close enough to the arrow’s path to catch it…almost. Just outside of his reach, its feathered vane skimmed the flesh of the god’s outstretched fingers. His heart stopped when he heard the razor-sharp tip imbed itself into flesh, followed by a cry echoing off the temple walls at the contact. Dispatching the fifth assailant with a backward slice of the sword to neck, Vacilios turned toward his son, believing that he would find him severely injured, or worse, dead. However, much to his amazement, what he found was the thin frame of Ameliel covering Belen’s body and a feather-tipped wooden shaft protruding from her shoulder. Her face twisted in agony, and even though the image gripped Vacilios’s heart, he was grateful that his son remained uninjured. In that moment, the god knew he owed her a debt he may never repay.
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