-Alkaios POV-
I learned something about training with Chiron: the better you performed, the more he expected. It was a simple, yet effective philosophy. He didn't believe in coasting or resting on one's laurels. Instead, he pushed us, aiming to refine our skills and push our limits. I was tired; Chiron never let up on any of us. Every lesson was a challenge, every drill a test. There were no calm days, no "good enough" performances. He saw potential in each of us, and he strove to bring it forth.
It made perfect sense to me how even Jason could survive and fight a Cerberus in Lostbelt Five. Chiron's training was brutal, demanding, and unrelenting, but it forged us into capable warriors. We learned to endure, to adapt, and to overcome impossible obstacles. He pushed us to the brink, knowing that only by facing the edge could we understand our own strengths and weaknesses.
Chiron was a demanding but fair teacher, and I respected that. He never showed favoritism, judging us on our performance and effort. He offered constructive criticism, guidance, and encouragement when needed. His expectations were high, but he also provided the tools and knowledge necessary to meet them. He wasn't just teaching us combat skills; he was teaching us discipline, resilience, and the importance of striving for excellence. We may have been exhausted, but we were also improving. And in the end, that relentless dedication prepared us for the battles ahead.
Any hesitation I may have had about training with Chiron was gone. Despite the demanding training I was experiencing, I could feel myself growing stronger each day.
During my training here, I got to know my peers, for better or worse. Jason, for example, was a coward, always shirking direct confrontation or any demanding task. However, despite his shortcomings, he was also good at manipulating others, figuring out ingenious ways to get his classmates to do his work. He possessed a silver tongue and a knack for identifying vulnerabilities, making him a master of delegation, albeit an unethical one. I still remember how angry Castor was when Jason, using a mix of flattery and feigned helplessness, tricked Pollux into cleaning when it was, in fact, Jason's turn. The subsequent argument, with Castor's booming voice echoing through the halls, was legendary. It was a stark lesson in the realities of teamwork and the potential for deceit even amongst those united by a common goal.
I hadn't expected Chiron to make everyone take turns cleaning their gear. Because I am shameless, I reactivated my Divine Protections to make my job easier. It was amusing to see the looks on Castor and Pollux's faces when they saw me make their dirty clothes sparkling clean.
When I returned Castor and Pollux's blood-soaked clothes to their former glory, thanks to the Divine Protection of Laundry. I could remember Castor's grateful expression when he saw my cleaning skills. I could feel my status with him rising... though, naturally, as a servant.
Castor and Pollux were an extraordinary duo. Their teamwork was a sight to behold, a choreographed dance of controlled chaos that threw their opponents off balance. They were in sync, whether battling on the field, hunting for food. Each expecting the other's moves with remarkable precision. Yet, their personalities were quite different, a contrast that amplified their effectiveness. Castor was quick to anger, his frustration clear in his facial expressions, sharp words, and the way he gripped his weapon. He was a force of raw emotion, a storm always brewing.
Pollux was an enigma, but differently. While others might be chaotic, she possessed a deceptive stillness, like a calm lake's surface. Pollux's fury was a slow burn, erupting when it was already too late to avoid the consequences. She'd conceal her anger, letting it simmer and build until you were close enough to feel its heat, burning you from within. Her smile, often considered charming, could chill you to the bone.
I still shudder when I recall what she did to Jason, all with a smile. It started with a disagreement, a silly argument over a lost shield, as I recall. In one moment, Jason was gloating. Pollux's hands-on methods bent and twisted the limbs. Jason's survival still surprised me, which showed how durable he was.
When Jason got hurt, Chiron sent him to Asclepius for treatment. Asclepius was unique. He didn't care for training, only for learning and perfecting the fundamentals of medicine. I wanted to talk to Asclepius because of my own mysterious "Gate." I wasn't sure what my Gate even was. Was it a physical thing inside me, or was it something more, something beyond what we can touch? Felix Argyle showed the know-how to heal a Gate, so I wondered how that worked.
If Asclepius could figure out my Gate's mechanics, he might replicate it. Solomon hadn't appeared yet, and the formal structure of magecraft was still developing, with few guiding principles and even fewer skilled users. Circe had shown me that magic circuits existed in this time; I remembered her Mystic Code, the falcon wings grafted onto her own circuits. Knowing this, I considered the possibility of creating a unique foundation for magecraft by merging my Gate with magic circuits.
That's why I intend to have Asclepius give me a check-up. As I traveled to Asclepius's workshop, I had to travel to the outskirts of Chiron camp. Asclepius kept his workshop as far as he could private, as because as far as I could see, Asclepius was defining antisocial. In the three weeks I've been here, not once has Asclepius ever started a conversation. He was the first to leave training and the last to arrive. What I found interesting was that I couldn't see the mechanical snake I assumed was a mystic code Asclepius would have in the future.
It took me a solid ten minutes to reach Asclepius's workshop, and it wasn't what I'd pictured. I'd imagined something humble, like a wooden shack or a stone hut. Instead, I found a small white Greek temple gleaming in the afternoon sun. The building had perfect proportions, with fluted columns supporting a pediment decorated with carved figures. I found myself mesmerized for a good five minutes. I snapped out of it and approached the entrance. The door was featureless, though I was looking for a knocker. Annoyed, I tapped one of the smooth, cold pillars. The sound echoed loud and clear, a hollow thud that seemed to vibrate in my chest.
I stood outside Asclepius's workshop for what felt like an eternity, the heavy stone door a steadfast wall. The air was thick with the strange aroma of unfamiliar herbs and a metallic tang, like blood, suggesting the work going on inside. At last, with a groan, the entrance opened, inviting me in. I took it as such and crossed the threshold, the dim hallway light engulfing me.
I started exploring Asclepius's workshop, the silence heavy except for my own footsteps. The emptiness struck me; the walls were bare. There wasn't a single painting, tapestry, or even a tool shelf to break up the smooth, plain stone. The lack of detail was unsettling, almost claustrophobic, and my footsteps echoed, amplifying my sense of isolation. I wondered how Asclepius could concentrate, let alone create, in such a sterile environment. I couldn't imagine working in such a hollow, uninspiring place. The air itself felt thin, lacking the vibrant energy I'd expected from a place of healing.
Having traversed the long, echoing hall, I arrived in what seemed to be a waiting area. There were color and life. A concealed skylight illuminated a small circular room, casting intricate patterns on the gleaming stone floor. The only furnishings were a low stone bench and a small stone table, near which the herbal aroma was strongest. And there, leaning against the far wall and deep in thought, stood Asclepius himself, his expression serene and focused.
An awkward silence settled between Asclepius and me. I realized I'd never had a proper conversation with him, and I wasn't sure how to start. Castor and Pollux were easy; we could always chat about training and news from our homeland. Jason's ardor for kingship sparked lively conversations wherever he went. Heracles enjoyed the quiet until he invited you to train. However, I am at a loss with Asclepius.
"Is there something you require, Alkaios?" Asclepius inquired. Oh, thank God he said something. There's something unnerving about Asclepius just staring at you with a clinical look.
"Yes, Asclepius, I was hoping you could help me with a project," I said, and then I felt immediate disappointment.
"I refuse; I have more pressing concerns." Asclepius rejected my request. It didn't take a second for Asclepius to reject me.
Not to be deterred, I pressed on, my voice laced with determination. "Is there a specific reason, Asclepius, for your… preoccupation? Perhaps you're engrossed in a challenging project? If so, I may offer help. I would be honored to contribute, whether it be in fetching materials, organizing notes, or lending a fresh perspective." I said, hoping to persuade Asclepius.
"Alkaios, I acknowledge your martial skills; what help could you offer me? You're from a common background; how will you know anything of medicine? I've have been training in the art of medicine for five winters ever since I was born." Asclepius challenged me, eyebrow raised. I could tell that Asclepius did not intend to insult me; he was just stating facts.
Knowing words wouldn't sway Asclepius, I focused Aura into my finger and sliced my wrist, spilling a torrent of blood onto the white stone floor. "What are you doing?!" Asclepius yelled, shocked by my self-mutilation. Before he could say more, I interrupted him with a single incantation.
"Shiha," I chanted, focusing my will on the gash that marred my side. Crimson blood blossomed across my tunic, but the familiar warmth of my magic mended the damage. The wound knit itself together, the edges drawing close, leaving behind only a faint pink scar where moments before a deep injury had been. I risked a glance at Asclepius and saw his eyes widen in genuine surprise. I imagined he'd never witnessed healing magic performed without the invocation or help of the gods.
Without a word, Asclepius moved with practiced speed. He surged forward, grabbing my wrist with a firm grip. His fingers, calloused from years of handling herbs and crafting remedies, probed and assessed. He began casting spells, a flurry of arcane energy shimmering around my arm. I felt the tingle of magic travel my wrist. Although I didn't know the effects of their spell, I could guess that they intended the spell to inspect my former wound. They washed over my skin in rapid succession, a whirlwind of ancient power that left me breathless.
Although his words were a rapid-fire jumble, a stream of muttered phrases I couldn't quite decipher, I could pick out fragments of his pronouncements. I recognized the subtle inflection of awe and wonder in the new way of healing. In the chaos of his incantations, I heard him murmur, with a measure of his own surprise, the name of his father, Apollo.
"How did you heal yourself invoking none of the Gods? It should be impossible to heal yourself that fast without the Gods' help?" Asclepius asked in a flurry of questions that I could catch.
"That's what I wanted to discuss with you, Asclepius," I began, hoping he could scan my body. "When I use magic, I can feel it passing through something… I was hoping you could see if you could find anything." I tried to be vague; it would seem strange if I already knew about a Gate. Being the only one in the world with such a thing would be odd. The closest comparison I could think of was a magic core, and those weren't common even in this era… as far as I was aware.
Asclepius, never one to delay, cast more spells, and I could feel his magic coursing through me. I suppressed my initial urge to fight off the foreign magic, allowing it to settle beneath my heart. I saw a look of concentration on Asclepius's face before it shifted to confusion.
"Within you, I perceive an organ connected to your soul. It absorbs the ambient magical energy," Asclepius said, a confused look on his face. "This organ is unlike anything I've encountered. It possesses no divine nature; rather, it seems you're drawing upon the very life energy of the world to manifest your spells."
"Is that odd? I just do what is natural to me. How do you cast spells?" I asked carefully. The look of disbelief on Asclepius's face at my question. As if he couldn't believe just what I had just asked.
Asclepius inhaled deeply, rubbing his face in disbelief. "Alkaios, what you've done shouldn't be possible. To manifest, one must absorb the magical energy at the heart and draw it inward. One achieves this by breathing in the world's life force and carefully balancing it to prevent overwhelming the heart. Only then can you create a manifestation of the world, by calling upon a God," Asclepius explained, before making a minor cut on his own finger.
"Apollo Paean," Asclepius intoned, his face twisting in a grimace, "let your golden verse mend flesh and light, and knit this wound." I could tell his discomfort stemmed not from his injury, but from the invocation itself. Suddenly, I remembered Asclepius's dislike for Apollo. An unspoken tension hung in the air, a consequence of uttering Apollo's name. I watched as Asclepius's wound mended itself together with a golden glow as if the sun healed Asclepius's wound.
"You see," Asclepius said, his voice growing more frantic by the second, "one usually needs divine intervention. What you did… bypassed that entirely. You chanted an unknown phrase, and it healed your wound. It's possible, of course, but usually only for minor things. Your injury should have been life-threatening, yet you healed instantly, like I would have."
"Do we have an accord, Asclepius? In exchange for helping me research this organ of mine, you share all your research with me?" I asked him, and it was clear something conflicted with Asclepius.
"I am sorry, Alkaios, but I have to refuse. There is vital work I am working on that needs to be done as soon as possible." Asclepius said with remorse and frustration. I looked at Asclepius in confusion at just what was happening with Asclepius. Asclepius, from what I learned over the past three weeks I've been here.
"Asclepius, what's wrong?" I asked sincerely, "We may not know each other well, but I like to think we're friends."
I saw Asclepius visibly strain, then let out a breath, a look of surrender on his face. "Follow me, and touch nothing, Alkaios," he said, handing me what seemed to be a prototype of the plague mask he, as a servant, would wear. "Put that on and don't take it off until I tell you." His tone was grave, brooking no dissent.
Confused, I did as Asclepius instructed and put the mask on. It was a plain, unadorned thing, made of cold, smooth obsidian. As it pressed against my face, a strange tingle shot through me, and the world seemed to sharpen. The air became crisper, the colors more vivid. Then, as I faced the wall behind Asclepius, it opened. Immediately, I smelled death. It wasn't the metallic scent of blood, nor the sickly sweet smell of decay I'd known before. This was something deeper, more primal—a cloying miasma that clung to the back of my throat, a testament to the end of all things. I was grateful for the mask; I couldn't imagine what this smelled like without it. It must have been filtering out a significant portion of the horror, allowing me to even stand. Asclepius, his own face hidden behind an identical mask, didn't flinch. He walked forward, beckoning me to follow him into the newly revealed passage. The opening seemed to swallow the light, promising an eternity of darkness beyond.
"Chiron and I have found a new plague, just discovered near Athens' border," Asclepius announced as we walked. His words struck a chord, a feeling I couldn't quite place. "We've learned it's carried by rats on ships. If we don't cure it, it'll devastate Athens and could spread throughout Hellas." The more Asclepius spoke, the more my stomach churned with dread.
Asclepius and I arrived at a sealed room, and the stench of death hung heavy in the air. He turned to me, his expression serious. "Alkaios, you will do exactly as I say from this point on. Disobey me, and I will send you away and inform Chiron. I will not tolerate any interference. You are not to speak of anything you see in this room to anyone, save for Chiron and myself. Absolutely not to Castor and Pollux. Do I make myself clear?" Asclepius instructed.
My stomach churned, the feeling intensifying. I gave Asclepius a firm nod. He returned it, then channeled magic into the door, which swung inward. The stench of death hit me full force; I had to cover my nose to avoid throwing up.
When I looked inside the room, my bad feeling came true. In the room I saw rats. Dozens of them. Some lay on their sides, bellies rising and falling in shallow, frantic breaths. Their fur, which should have been sleek, clung in matted tufts to fever-hot skin. Swollen lumps bulged along their throats and in their armpits, dark and angry under the fur, as if someone had buried coals under their skin and left them to smolder. One tried to move, dragging itself through the straw with jerky, uncoordinated motions. Its hind legs barely responded. A swollen, blackened knot at its groin had ruptured, leaking pus that stank sharper than anything else in the room.
I swallowed hard, bile burning the back of my throat. I know what this is. I had seen enough photos in my past life.
"This is what we are facing," Asclepius said softly, his voice a little cold. "The first cases showed up in the dockside rats. Chiron and I rounded up as many as we could, but we don't know if we got them all," he finished.
How could I remember every detail of history perfectly? However, I know for sure this disease wasn't supposed to appear for many years. Its first recorded instance was during the Peloponnesian War, where it killed hundreds of Athenians before vanishing, likely because all the carriers perished. This disease wouldn't resurface until much later in European history. It's a disease that would eventually kill over fifty million people. It would become known as the Black Death, but it had another name centuries earlier.
"Chiron and I have given it the name: The Plague of Athens," Asclepius said with a serious tone.
I had a lot of things I could have said, but only one word escaped me. "Fuck," I blurted out.
"Indeed," Asclepius nodded, his expression serious.
Chapter 13: A Physician's Inspection End
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Author's Note: This is the mini-arc I've planned. I've adjusted the timeline, bringing the Plague of Athens forward in history. I hope you all like the change. As it stands, only Asclepius and Chiron are aware of it, and they've caught it early. Alkaios is now aware as well. I don't think I need to elaborate on why Chiron and Asclepius want to keep Castor and Pollux in the dark, considering they're Spartans. I realize that the Black Death and the Plague of Athens are different. I wrote the chapter fully before I saw I was wrong. In this story they are connected I have an idea. So let me cook.
Thanks for supporting me, and have a Good Day!