Themyscira - October 25, 1943
Dawn broke over Themyscira with an unusual solemnity, the golden light casting long shadows across the ceremonial grounds where twenty-three funeral pyres had been constructed throughout the night. Each pyre stood eight feet tall, built from sacred olive wood and aromatic herbs that would carry the spirits of the fallen Amazons to the Fields of Elysium. The pyres formed a perfect semicircle facing the eastern horizon, positioned so the rising sun would bless the departed as they began their final journey.
Diana stood at the edge of the royal balcony overlooking the gathering below, her ceremonial white chiton flowing in the morning breeze. The traditional garb of mourning felt heavier than any armor she had ever worn, weighted with the grief of losing Antiope and so many sisters in a single terrible day. A golden cord circled her waist, and her hair was bound with white ribbons according to ancient custom. Yet beneath the sorrow burned a determination that had only grown stronger through the sleepless night.
"The ceremony will begin at sunrise," Queen Hippolyta said quietly, joining her daughter at the balcony's edge. Her own mourning attire was more elaborate, the white chiton embroidered with silver thread depicting scenes of Amazon valor throughout the ages. "Then, after the proper period of reflection, we will hold the competition to choose our champion."
Diana nodded, not trusting her voice in that moment. Below them, hundreds of Amazons gathered in the ceremonial plaza, their white robes creating a sea of marble against the ancient stones. The sight of so many funeral fires served as a stark reminder of why this competition mattered, why someone had to carry the fight beyond Themyscira's shores to prevent such losses from recurring.
"You still intend to compete," Hippolyta observed, her tone carefully neutral despite the tension in her shoulders.
"I do," Diana confirmed, finally turning to face her mother. "Antiope's final words cannot be ignored. If I am truly what she claimed, if I am meant to face Ares, then I must prove myself worthy of that calling."
Hippolyta's expression hardened, the royal mask slipping slightly to reveal the frightened mother beneath. "Diana, you have never left this island. You have no understanding of the corruption that exists in Man's World, the temptations and deceptions that await beyond our shores. I forbid you from entering this competition."
"Mother—"
"I am not merely your mother in this moment," Hippolyta interrupted, her voice taking on the commanding tone that had ruled Themyscira for millennia. "I am your queen, and I command you to remain on this island where you belong."
Before Diana could respond, a palace attendant approached and bowed respectfully. "Your Majesty, Captain Trevor has awakened and requests permission to observe the funeral rites."
"Grant it," Hippolyta said after a moment's consideration, though her eyes never left Diana's face. "He fought beside us yesterday. He has earned the right to honor our fallen." She gestured to two guards who had been standing at attention nearby. "Escort my daughter to her chambers. She is not to leave the palace during the competition."
"Mother, please—"
"The decision is final," Hippolyta said firmly, though pain flickered in her eyes. "Guards."
Diana's face flushed with anger and hurt as the guards stepped forward respectfully but firmly. "This is a mistake," she said, her voice tight with raw emotion. "You cannot protect me forever from my destiny."
"I can try," Hippolyta replied softly, watching as her daughter was escorted away, her regal bearing never wavering despite the tears threatening to fall in her eyes.
The funeral ceremony began with the tolling of ancient bronze bells, their deep resonance echoing across the island and calling all Amazons to witness the passage of their sisters. Steve Trevor found himself positioned near the edge of the assembly, his borrowed ceremonial robes marking him as a guest but his very presence drawing curious and occasionally hostile glances from warriors who had never seen a man before yesterday.
He stood quietly, acutely aware that he was witnessing something no male had seen in over two thousand years. The weight of that history pressed upon him as he watched the Amazons arrange themselves in precise formations around the pyres, each movement following choreography perfected over centuries of such ceremonies.
The ritual began with the singing. It started as a low hum from the eldest Amazons, a sound that seemed to rise from the earth itself. Gradually, other voices joined, creating harmonies that were both hauntingly beautiful and deeply mournful. The language was ancient Greek, but older somehow, as if it predated even the classical age Steve had studied in school.
Mnemosyne stepped forward carrying a scroll that contained the names and deeds of the fallen. Her voice, weathered by millennia but still strong, began the recitation.
"Egeria, teacher of wisdom, who guided young minds for eight hundred years. May the Fields of Elysium welcome you among the philosophers and sages."
As each name was called, an Amazon stepped forward to light the corresponding pyre with a torch blessed at the eternal flame in Hestia's temple. The fires caught quickly, sending columns of sweet-scented smoke spiraling toward the heavens.
"Penthesilea the Bold, whose spear never missed its mark in three thousand battles. Take your place among the greatest warriors of all ages."
Steve found himself moved beyond words as the ceremony continued. These were not just soldiers being honored, but individuals who had lived for centuries, each with their own stories, their own contributions to Amazon society. The singing grew more complex as more voices joined, creating harmonies that seemed to open pathways between the mortal world and whatever lay beyond.
"Antiope, General of our armies, teacher of courage, guardian of our princess. May Achilles himself welcome you to the eternal feast of heroes."
At Antiope's name, the singing swelled to a crescendo that made Steve's chest tight with emotion. He saw tears on the faces of even the most stoic warriors, and he understood that he was witnessing grief older and deeper than anything in his experience.
The ceremony continued for hours, each fallen Amazon honored individually while the collective songs spoke of valor, sacrifice, and the eternal bonds between sisters in arms. Steve noticed that the melodies seemed to follow patterns older than civilization, as if the Amazons were tapping into something fundamental about how humans had always honored their dead.
"Aella the Swift, whose feet carried messages across battlefields for six centuries. Run now to the undying lands where no war shall ever find you."
As the pyres burned higher, casting dancing shadows across the assembly, Steve became aware of movement in the palace above. A figure in white robes had appeared on a distant balcony, too far to make out clearly but somehow familiar in posture and bearing. Diana, he realized, forced to watch from afar as her sisters were honored.
The final part of the ceremony was the most moving. As the last names were recited and the pyres began to burn down to glowing embers, all the assembled Amazons joined in a song that seemed to shake the very foundations of the island. It was a call to the gods themselves, asking them to open the gates of Elysium and welcome these heroes home.
The words, when Steve could make them out, spoke of green fields where no weapon was ever raised in anger, of eternal youth under skies that never knew storm clouds, of reunion with all the heroes who had passed before. It was a vision of paradise that transcended any earthly understanding, sung by voices that had been perfected over lifespans that dwarfed mortal existence.
As the last notes faded and the embers settled into glowing beds of ash, a profound silence fell over the assembly. It was not the absence of sound but the presence of something greater, as if the very air held the memory of the departed and the promise of their eternal rest.
Hippolyta stepped forward, her voice carrying clearly in the hushed atmosphere. "Our sisters have begun their final journey. They go with our love, our gratitude, and our promise that their sacrifice will not be forgotten." She looked out over the assembly, her gaze touching each face. "Tonight, as the stars appear, we will choose one among us to carry their memory into the world beyond our shores, to ensure that such weapons are never again turned against the innocent."
Steve felt the weight of history in those words. This wasn't just about military strategy or intelligence gathering. This was about honor, about continuing a legacy of protection that stretched back to the dawn of civilization. The ceremony had shown him what the Amazons truly were: not just warriors, but guardians of something precious and irreplaceable.
As the formal mourning period began and the Amazons dispersed to prepare for the evening's competition, Steve found himself looking up at the palace balcony where he had glimpsed Diana. The figure was gone now, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the real contest was yet to come, and that it would involve far more than simple trials of strength and skill.
The ashes of the pyres would be gathered at sunset and scattered in the eternal flame, ensuring that the fallen would forever be part of Themyscira's sacred fire. But Steve suspected that by then, the island's greatest trial would already be underway, despite all of Hippolyta's efforts to prevent it.
The afternoon hours crawled by with agonizing slowness for Diana, confined to her chambers under guard while the rest of Themyscira prepared for the competition that would choose their champion. She paced the marble floors like a caged lioness, her mind racing through every possible means of escape. The guards outside her door were loyal and vigilant, but they were also her sisters, women who had known her since childhood and would never expect their beloved princess to attempt anything truly desperate.
From her window, Diana could see Amazons throughout the city preparing for the evening's trials. Warriors sharpened their weapons and adjusted their armor. Younger Amazons who had entered the competition practiced their archery forms in courtyards and gardens. The excitement was palpable even from her enforced isolation, and it only served to fuel her determination.
As the sun began its descent toward the western horizon, Diana made her decision. Moving to her private armory, she selected her plainest training armor, pieces that bore no royal insignia or distinctive markings. From the palace's extensive costume collection, gathered over centuries of theatrical performances and ceremonial pageants, she retrieved materials that would transform her appearance completely.
Working with practiced efficiency, she crafted a full-face helmet from burnished bronze, its design classical but anonymous. The narrow eye slits provided clear vision while completely concealing her features. Her distinctive dark hair was bound tightly against her skull and hidden beneath a carefully styled wig of auburn curls that changed her silhouette dramatically. Over her armor, she draped a plain brown cloak that obscured her build and bearing, making her appear shorter and stockier than her true proportions.
The disguise was more than mere concealment. It was a statement of intent. She would compete not as Princess Diana, daughter of Hippolyta, but as an anonymous Amazon warrior whose only credentials were skill and determination. If she won through her own abilities, her mother would have no choice but to acknowledge her right to undertake this mission.
The challenge now was escaping the palace without detection. The main corridors were well-guarded, and her usual routes would take her past dozens of Amazon warriors who might recognize her despite the disguise. But Diana had spent centuries exploring every corner of the palace, including passages known only to royalty and the oldest servants.
Behind an ornate tapestry in her sitting room lay a concealed door that opened onto a narrow maintenance corridor. The passage had been built centuries ago to allow discreet movement of palace staff during formal ceremonies, when the main halls needed to remain clear for processions. It wound through the heart of the building, connecting to the ancient drainage system that eventually led to openings beyond the palace walls.
Diana slipped into the passage, her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. The corridor was barely wide enough for her shoulders, forcing her to move carefully to avoid scraping her armor against the stone walls. Decades had passed since she last used this route, but muscle memory guided her through the twisting pathways.
The drainage tunnel was more challenging, requiring her to crawl through sections barely tall enough for a child. Her armor scraped against the ancient stones, and she worried that the sound might alert palace guards to her movements. But the excitement of the approaching competition was creating enough noise throughout the city to mask her passage.
After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Diana emerged from a concealed grate in the city's lower district, far from the palace and among crowds of Amazons making their way toward the amphitheater. Her disguise worked; sisters who had known her for centuries passed within arm's reach without a second glance at the cloaked figure moving through the crowd.
The registration area buzzed with nervous energy as dozens of Amazons finished their preparations. Diana approached the officials' table with confidence, knowing that hesitation would draw attention.
"Name?" asked the Amazon with the scroll, her stylus ready.
Diana's mind raced. "Dia," she replied, using a shortened version of her name that was common enough. "One of Zeus's younger creations from the second shaping."
The official paused. Everyone knew that Zeus had shaped Amazons in waves, with the earliest being the most honored warriors and the later ones often having smaller roles. Claiming to be from a younger group would explain why this Amazon wasn't familiar.
"Ah," the registrar said with understanding. "That explains why I don't know you. The younger sisters often train separately." She looked up. "Which group?"
"The one after Antiope's," Diana said, the lie coming easier now. "We were given to families across the island to raise, not trained centrally."
"Combat specialization?"
"Sword and shield, with secondary training in archery and spear work."
"Training location?"
"The coastal training grounds," Diana answered. "My mentors believed in thorough preparation, even for those not destined for palace service."
The official finished writing without more questions. The story worked. A younger Amazon created by Zeus, raised away from the palace, trained at the distant coastal facility. It explained why she was unfamiliar while accounting for her skill.
As her registration finished and she received her competitor's token, Diana felt triumph. The first hurdle was behind her. Now she had to prove herself through skill alone, without her royal status.
The amphitheater carved into Themyscira's central mountain rose in perfect tiers around the arena. As competitors gathered below, the stands filled with spectators eager to witness the first such competition in living memory. Excitement filled the air, with conversations about the various warriors who had entered and speculation about who might win.
Steve Trevor found himself seated in the royal box beside Queen Hippolyta, a position of honor that also ensured he could observe the proceedings under careful supervision. The queen appeared composed, her regal bearing unmarred by any visible anxiety, but Steve noticed the way her eyes continuously swept the competitors below, as if searching for something specific.
"Forty-three competitors," Hippolyta murmured, her tone neutral. "A significant showing for such short notice."
Steve nodded, studying the assembled Amazons. They represented every age group and specialization within Amazon society. Seasoned warriors stood beside younger fighters who had barely completed their training. Master crafters who had perfected their skills over centuries competed against scholars whose expertise lay in strategy rather than swordplay. Each carried herself with the dignity and confidence that marked true Amazon breeding, yet beneath the surface, Steve could sense the competitive fire that drove them to seek this honor.
His attention was drawn to one particular figure near the back of the group. Something about her movement, a fluid grace that seemed to flow like water, reminded him of someone. The concealing helmet and cloak made identification impossible, but there was something familiar about her bearing that he couldn't quite place.
"Quite a diverse group," he observed. "I'm impressed by their dedication."
"Amazons have always been warriors at heart," Hippolyta replied, though her tone carried undertones Steve couldn't quite interpret. "Even centuries of peace cannot fully suppress the desire to test oneself against worthy opponents."
As the competitors took their final positions, Menalippe stepped forward in her role as chief arbiter. Her voice carried clearly throughout the amphitheater as she began the formal opening ceremonies.
"Sisters of Themyscira! Tonight we gather to witness trials not seen for generations. The champion chosen here will carry the honor of our people beyond our shores, into a world torn by conflict and corrupted by dark influences. Let all who compete do so with courage, honor, and dedication to the principles that define us as Amazons!"
The crowd's response was thunderous, voices raised in traditional battle cries that echoed off the stone walls. Steve felt the hairs on his arms rise at the primal power of the sound, understanding that he was witnessing something far more significant than a simple athletic competition.
"The first trial begins!" Menalippe announced. "Archery—precision and focus under pressure!"
The setup was elegantly simple yet devastatingly challenging. Fifty targets had been positioned throughout the arena at varying distances and angles, each marked with a unique symbol corresponding to tokens in a ceremonial urn. Competitors would draw a token, identify their assigned target, and have exactly sixty seconds to make their shot. Only one arrow was permitted; there would be no second chances.
The targets themselves were works of art as much as challenges. Some were positioned at straightforward ranges that tested pure accuracy. Others required shots that defied conventional archery, with arrows needing to curve around obstacles, ricochet off specifically angled surfaces, or thread through gaps barely wider than the arrow shafts themselves. Several targets were mounted on springs that kept them in constant motion, while others were positioned to catch only the faintest glimmers of the setting sun.
Artemis, renowned throughout Themyscira for her exceptional archery skills, drew the third token. Her target was positioned behind a series of hanging chains that swayed gently in the evening breeze. The shot required threading an arrow through gaps that shifted constantly, demanding perfect timing as well as accuracy.
She approached the shooting line with the confidence of someone who had made similar shots countless times before. Her bow was a masterwork of Amazon craftsmanship, its curved limbs carved from wood of the sacred olive tree and strung with fibers blessed by Artemis herself. As she nocked her arrow, the amphitheater fell silent.
Artemis held her draw for long moments, her keen eyes tracking the movement of the chains and calculating the precise instant when the gaps would align. When she released, the arrow flew with mathematical precision, threading between the metal links to strike the target dead center. The crowd erupted in appreciative cheers, recognizing the exceptional skill required for such a shot.
"Magnificent," Steve murmured, genuinely impressed by the display.
Hippolyta nodded approvingly. "Artemis has always been among our finest archers. She would serve our cause well if chosen."
The competition continued with similar displays of remarkable skill. Mala faced a target that could only be struck by ricocheting an arrow off a polished bronze mirror positioned at a specific angle. She took considerable time calculating trajectory and wind resistance before releasing her single arrow, which struck the mirror perfectly, sending it caroming into the target's center with satisfying precision.
Penelope, a younger Amazon known for her innovative techniques, drew a target positioned behind what appeared to be a solid stone barrier. Steve was puzzled by the impossibility of the shot until he realized the true challenge. Penelope studied the mechanism carefully, noting the thin gap at the barrier's base and the subtle bronze gleam visible through it. Her arrow struck a concealed pressure plate with perfect precision, triggering a mechanism that rotated the barrier to reveal the target just as her arrow's specially designed split-tip separated, with the secondary point continuing forward to strike the now-exposed target.
"How did she know?" Steve asked, amazed by the strategic complexity.
"The ancient trials test more than physical skill," Hippolyta explained. "They challenge our understanding of Amazon engineering and our ability to think beyond conventional solutions. Each competitor receives specialized arrows crafted for their specific challenge—some with split tips, others weighted for ricochet shots, still others designed to activate ancient mechanisms."
As the competition progressed, it became clear that each shot was designed to test different aspects of archery mastery. Pure accuracy, creative problem-solving, understanding of physics and engineering, mental fortitude under pressure—all were evaluated through challenges that had been refined over centuries of Amazon tradition.
When the disguised Diana's turn arrived, she drew a token that brought murmurs of sympathy from the crowd. The symbol indicated the most challenging target in the arena—a small bronze disc mounted at the very peak of the amphitheater's highest wall, barely visible as a glint of metal in the fading light. The distance was extreme, the angle nearly vertical, and the target itself was no larger than a child's palm.
"Even Antiope would have struggled with that shot," Hippolyta murmured, genuine concern evident in her voice as she watched the cloaked figure study the distant target.
Steve leaned forward in his seat, his pilot's training allowing him to appreciate the geometric complexities involved. The shot required not only exceptional accuracy at extreme range, but precise calculation of the arrow's arc to account for wind currents that would be significantly different at that height. The margin for error was essentially nonexistent.
The disguised Diana approached the shooting line with calm deliberation, her movements betraying none of the anxiety that such a challenging shot would normally inspire. She selected an arrow from her quiver with careful attention, checking its straightness and balance before nocking it to the string.
Drawing the bow to full extension, she aimed skyward at an angle that seemed impossibly steep. The arena fell silent as spectators held their breath, sixty seconds feeling like an eternity as she made minute adjustments to account for wind direction and the target's position relative to the setting sun.
When she released, the arrow flew in a perfect parabolic arc that seemed to hang motionless at its apex before beginning its descent toward the target. For a moment that stretched beyond time, it appeared that the arrow might fall short or drift wide. Then, with an audible crack that echoed throughout the amphitheater, it struck the bronze disc dead center, sending it spinning wildly from the force of impact.
The crowd erupted in amazed cheers, many spectators leaping to their feet in appreciation of what they had just witnessed. It was, by any measure, one of the finest shots in the competition's history.
"Extraordinary," Steve breathed, genuinely awestruck. "I've never seen shooting like that."
Hippolyta's expression was carefully neutral, but Steve noticed her knuckles whitening as her grip tightened on the arms of her throne. "Indeed," she said quietly. "Quite remarkable."
The archery trial continued for another hour, with each successive shot seeming to push the boundaries of what was physically possible. By its conclusion, twenty-three competitors had successfully struck their targets, while twenty had failed to meet the exacting standards required. Those who remained represented the cream of Amazon archery skill, but all understood that the trials ahead would be even more demanding.
"The second trial," Menalippe announced as weapons were distributed and the arena was reconfigured for combat, "individual combat—skill, courage, and tactical wisdom!"
The combat phase followed a tournament format, with competitors paired off for single elimination bouts. The weapons were real but enchanted to prevent fatal injuries, allowing the Amazons to fight with full intensity while ensuring that no lives would be lost to determine their champion.
The first matches showcased the incredible diversity of Amazon fighting styles. Some competitors favored the classical sword and shield combination that had served their ancestors for millennia. Others wielded spears with spinning techniques that created defensive barriers while launching lightning-fast attacks. A few demonstrated masteries of more exotic weapons—curved blades from distant lands, chained weapons that moved like living serpents, or composite bows that could be used effectively in close combat.
Steve found himself completely absorbed in the spectacle, his military experience allowing him to appreciate the tactical sophistication while the sheer physical prowess left him in awe. These women fought with skills that transcended human limitations, their movements flowing like deadly dances that had been perfected over centuries of training.
The disguised Diana's first opponent was Lysippe, a spear specialist whose weapon moved so quickly it seemed to blur in the torchlight. Her technique emphasized reach and mobility, keeping opponents at a distance while launching rapid thrusting attacks that were difficult to defend against. Lysippe had trained for over four centuries, her mastery of the spear legendary even among Amazons known for their martial prowess.
From the opening moments, it was clear that this would be a contest between two vastly different approaches to combat. Lysippe's opening assault was ferocious, her spear cutting through the air with whistling precision as she sought to establish dominance through superior reach. The bronze spearhead traced deadly patterns in the torchlight, each thrust calculated to drive Diana backward and keep her trapped outside striking distance.
Diana found herself immediately pressed, forced to give ground as Lysippe's relentless advance threatened to overwhelm her defenses. The spear's reach advantage was devastating in the hands of such a master, each thrust perfectly timed to prevent Diana from closing distance. Her shield rang repeatedly under the impacts, bronze against bronze creating a staccato rhythm that echoed through the arena.
But Diana possessed something beyond mere technique—an intuitive understanding of combat that allowed her to read patterns others missed. As Lysippe's assault continued, Diana began to recognize the subtle rhythm underlying her opponent's attacks. Each combination followed a specific cadence, each retreat and advance part of a larger tactical sequence.
When Lysippe committed to her most aggressive combination yet—a series of lightning-fast thrusts designed to overwhelm any defense—Diana was ready. She sidestepped the final thrust with flowing grace that seemed to defy physics, slipped inside the spear's effective range with movements like quicksilver, and ended the bout with a shield strike that caught Lysippe completely off-guard. The impact was precise and controlled, stunning her opponent without causing serious injury.
"Excellent technique," observed Phillipus from her position near the royal box. "She moves like water, adapting to her opponent's rhythm rather than imposing her own."
The next round brought Diana face to face with Penthesilea the Younger, a sword master whose blade work was poetry in motion. Where Lysippe had relied on reach and aggression, Penthesilea represented pure artistry—her sword seemed to sing through the air, creating patterns of light and shadow that mesmerized spectators even as they demonstrated deadly precision.
Their bout began with a careful probing phase, each warrior taking the measure of her opponent through tentative exchanges that gradually increased in intensity. Penthesilea's style was based on flowing combinations that chained together seamlessly, each cut leading naturally into the next in sequences that could continue for minutes without pause.
Diana found herself challenged in ways she hadn't experienced since training with Antiope. Penthesilea's attacks came from unexpected angles, her blade seeming to bend around Diana's defenses through subtle wrist work that allowed strikes from impossible positions. The younger Amazon's footwork was exceptional, carrying her around Diana in graceful arcs that made her a constantly moving target.
The turning point came when Penthesilea launched her signature combination—a series of strikes known as the "Falling Leaves" that had never been successfully defended in competition. Her blade traced elaborate patterns through the air, each cut designed to flow into the next regardless of how her opponent responded.
But Diana's response was unlike anything Penthesilea had faced before. Instead of attempting to block or parry the intricate sequence, Diana seemed to flow between the strikes like smoke, her body moving with such fluidity that Penthesilea's carefully planned combinations found only empty air. When Diana's counterattack came, it was with a simplicity that made it devastating—a single, perfectly timed thrust that left her sword at Penthesilea's throat before the younger warrior could recover from her own elaborate assault.
"She anticipates attacks before they're fully committed," Steve observed, impressed by the strategic depth of the combat. "That's the mark of someone with exceptional training."
Hippolyta said nothing, but her attention remained fixed on the mysterious competitor with an intensity that suggested more than casual interest. Her knuckles had gone white where she gripped the throne's armrests, and Steve noticed a slight tremor in her hands that spoke of barely controlled emotion.