Chapter Text
The sea was ink–-black and roiling–-beneath the breathless sky, and not a whisper of wind stirred the sail. The stars blinked cold and far away, and the crescent moon, veiled behind slow-moving clouds, offered no blessing. A deathly stillness held the water as if the world itself was waiting, silent with expectation.
Ajax the Lesser, son of Oileus, stood at the helm of his war-scarred ship, its hull carved by storm and battle, its deck slick with salt, spoils of war, and forgotten prayers. Troy had fallen several months ago, and he and his companions had driven their enemies into the ground. He had defied gods and mortals in these ten long years. He had had Trojan women begging for him while his men pillaged their city. He'd fought off a demon at that temple and had walked away unscathed.
He was untouchable, because Pallas Athena herself had come to his aid. The Mother of Wisdom herself had stood for him and preserved his life.
And now, with Troy in ruins; with his twelve ships nearing the Capharean rocks on the coast of Euboea, home was but weeks away.
However, as much as he had tried to convince himself things were fine, he couldn't shake his unease. The other Kings had wanted to kill him. Some nonsense about the gods being angry with him and taking it out on them. But how could they be angry when he had done their bidding? When he had assisted in wiping Troy off the map?
Around him the wind whistled. It was picking up slowly, and the water sloshed beneath the hull. The ship rocked and Ajax held onto the prow to steady himself.
He looked around, at his men, preparing for bed. They were weary, and so was he. A rumble of thunder sounded in the sky.
A storm was coming. A big one.
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A distance away, something stirred in the sea. Not the storm, not the wind. A presence.
Unseen by the mortal eye, a figure rose from the water like a shadow given flesh. A being, once mortal, once noble, now something in between. His hair, tangled with salt and moonlight, hung across his shoulders. His eye, once clear and mortal-bright, now shimmered with the cold intensity of the deep. A scar ran down the other eye, down to his jaw; it was milky white with blindness. His cloak dragged in the sea behind him like the veil of a funeral mourner.
He was angry. And around him the waves were reflecting his emotions.
A breath of wind came first, curling over the surface like a whisper too close to the ear. Then came the scent—brine, electric tension, and something ancient that made the hairs on his neck rise. His eye lifted to the sky, where he knew she was watching.
Clouds gathered fast, not rolling in from the distance but swirling into being, born from some deep turbulence. They did not crawl—they bloomed. Dark masses spiraled upward, pressing downward with crushing intent. The sea stirred beneath him, his platform rocking with the first swell.
He did not move.
A low hum thrummed up through the water, not from beneath, but around—like the sea itself was clearing its throat. Whitecaps began to form far off, their frothing edges racing toward him with hungry grace. Then came the first crack—a sound like the sky splitting in two. Lightning speared the water far to the east, and the air became heavy with ozone and salt.
He raised one arm slowly.
The waves responded.
The swells grew, lifting him higher, until his head brushed mist and vapor. The storm danced closer now, thunder answering thunder, and each wave seemed not to crash but to reach, as though drawn by his call. The dozen ships approaching him began to rock. Screams and shouts pierced the air.
A rogue breaker rose before him, larger than the rest, shaped like the open mouth of some leviathan. Still, he did not flinch.
And when the wave fell upon him, it did not crush.
It bowed.
"Selene," he had whispered amidst the raging tempest, beneath her warm silver gaze, "give me purpose."
The Titaness had lent him strength. The sea had offered him power. His father had answered.
The storm had come for him—but not to destroy.
It had come to kneel.
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Ajax swore as another wave doused him, yelling behind him to his men to get belowdecks. That was when he saw it: a figure walking across the water as though it were solid rock.
"Who goes there?" he called out, hand dropping to the hilt of his blade.
The figure said nothing.
Closer.
A face emerged from the gloom, carved in shadow and grief, and something sharp shot through him, as though one of the bolts of lightning from the sky had seared his skin.
Of course. He should have guessed.
Perseus.
Ajax flinched, then snarled. "You."
"Me," said Perseus softly, and although he was still a bit far, his voice carried across the storm.
"You shouldn't be here," Ajax stepped back. "Athena warned you–"
A laugh, as a wave of water slowly lifted him off the ocean. "Do you really think I care what Athena said? She isn't here to stop me today. She wouldn't dare. Not here. Not where I am strongest."
Ajax laughed—a dry, bitter bark. Panic flared through his system. "You couldn't save your city all those months ago, so what? Now you haunt the sea? A drowned rat with a god's favour?"
Perseus stepped up onto the ship. The wood did not groan beneath him. The sea around them raged and the ship tipped to the side. Ajax stumbled, but caught his footing just in time.
"I have spent my entire life fighting fate, all for it to amount to nothing. I have been told I was born to be a weapon. Burnt and beaten and forced into fire so I could come out doing my blacksmith's bidding. I've been chained and betrayed, defiled—my choices ripped away from me. Do you know what kept me standing, through all those years? Faith. Not in any god, not in the bastards you put on pedestals. Not in the favour you think they show you. In myself. In my family." He paused. "My family that you took from me. So many men have tried to kill me, and I don't remember all their names. But you—I remember you, Ajax."
He raised his hand. A wave rose with it—slow, immense, coiling like a serpent waiting to strike.
Ajax drew his blade, trembling. "You think to kill me in the name of Troy? You think I fear the bastard of a sea god?"
"No," Perseus whispered. "You fear nothing, Ajax. You feel nothing. That is why you must die."
He advanced. The ship tilted as if the sea itself bowed away from him.
Ajax lunged, steel flashing. Perseus caught the blade in one hand— it tore through flesh and poured out gold—and the metal screamed. Perseus pushed, and the sword went flying.
Ajax stumbled back, terrified now. The son of Poseidon barely flinched. "Wait—wait, don't—she was a spoil of war! The gods gave her to me! She was a TROJAN!"
Perseus's voice cracked, his hand bleeding onto the soiled deck. "She was a priestess! She was sacred. And you laughed while she begged for mercy. I hear it still—every night."
Ajax turned to run.
The wave struck.
It came not as a crash, but as a crushing weight, like the hand of a god pressing down. Ajax was driven to the deck, then through it, into the depths. Perseus followed him, down, down, down into the dark.
Below the surface, Ajax thrashed, bubbles of rage and panic spiralling from his lips. But the sea obeyed Perseus, and it wrapped around Ajax like iron chains. Perseus placed a hand over the man's heart, and the water filled his lungs. He could hear the screams of his men above as the storm ripped his ships to shreds. The sea thundered in his ears, not as punishment, but as betrayal—his gods, his victories, now deaf to his cries. Ajax thrashed beneath the waves, muscles burning, lungs clawing for air, fury flaring even as the darkness pressed in. This was no just wrath—this was vengeance dressed as honour, wielded by a man with divine blood and a hero's grief.
Ajax had taken what he wanted, as conquerors do. And now, drowned like a dog for it. Panic rose in him, cold and fast, a tide he could not fight. He saw Perseus's eye in the murky waters, not furious, but calm—inhumanly calm—as if the storm itself had already chosen to forget him.
Ajax's eyes bulged. He clawed at Perseus's arm.
"Tell me," Perseus said, voice rumbling through the currents, "do you feel heroic now?"
A long, gurgling gasp escaped Ajax's throat. And then the water spat him out. Ajax let out a cry, a shout, a plea, anything, but then he slammed into another wave. A whirlwind swam around him, lashing his skin, salt tearing at his eyes, ripping him apart. It carried him upwards, and rain pelted his face, the cold shocking his system as much as the drowning had, and he couldn't see, he couldn't speak, he couldn't breathe—
Horror filled him then, because no, gods, no, he was going to die, and he wasn't ready, he was so sorry and if only he could tell him–
A flash of lightning illuminated the ocean as Perseus descended down on him, propelled by another wave. The distinct sound of metal entering flesh reached his ears and Ajax gurgled as Perseus ripped the sword out of his throat. Pain, unbearable pain laced through his entire body. He was on fire, he was being torn to pieces and—
The waves flung him from the whirlpool like he had flung Cassandra's dead body away when he was done with her. Ajax was airborne, dying, crying, choking for the fraction of a second, before he felt an even sharper pain, right through his back, and right through his chest and then—
Nothing.
He went still, impaled on jagged rocks jutting out of the raging sea.
Perseus descended onto the waves, breathing hard.
The ships were gone, broken apart by the same wave that had swallowed their master. The sea was silent once more, and around him, the storm stilled. The sky remained dark.
No gods had come. No thunder. Only Selene, parting the clouds above him, lit the water in ghostly silver.
A tear escaped his good eye, and Perseus exhaled, then melted into mist.
—--------------------------------
Selene glanced back when he reappeared in the chariot, relief permeating her features. They had been mid-journey on the search for Aeneas when he had spotted Ajax beneath them, and she had not tried to stop him when he had mist-travelled away.
But she was starting to worry about him, even more than she usually did.
"Are you okay?" She asked, quietly.
Perseus looked back at her, his one eye holding so many emotions and thoughts, she couldn't focus on only one.
He glanced away, unable to meet her eyes. "Ask me tomorrow."