A few weeks passed away in peace.
The palace, once filled with tension, began to settle and fill with nothing but joy and celebrations.
Crown Prince Alector married the two princesses of Scandovnia and Nubia in a grand ceremony, gold and blue banners flying from every tower.
At first, Lycandros doubted the marriage would change anything. But the weight of responsibility did what lectures and punishments could not.
As the months passed, Alector's actions softened. He stopped chasing wine and girls and instead spent long hours in court sessions, listening, learning. He began visiting the townsfolk, handing out gold to those he had wronged in the past.
When the princesses announced they were pregnant, Alector changed even more. He became a man worth looking up to, a prince who gained the acknowledgment of his people. People were really looking forward to his coronation—the day when Athens would have a King after two decades.
Lycandros was also happy with his behavior, giving his consent for the coronation.
While the preparations for the coronation ceremony were going on in Athens, invitations were being sent to the vassal lords and the independent Kings all over the world, at the foot of Mt. Olympus, a trouble was emerging for Lycandros.
Loose stones and tangled roots caught a woman's ankles. Her green cloak was torn, her hair matted with sweat and ash. Each breath burned in her lungs.
Still, Princess Vesna climbed.
At last, she reached a clearing ringed by ancient oak trees. Here stood a low grotto carved into the rock, smoke drifting from its mouth. Inside, a single figure sat cross-legged: broad shoulders, knotted muscles, head bowed deep in meditation.
"Lord Hercules?" she whispered, voice cracking.
No answer.
She stepped closer, heart pounding. The air smelled of pine and cold stone. Her knuckles whitened on a rough boulder.
She sank to her knees, touching the earth. From beneath her cloak, she produced a length of rope and a coil of blackened wood. Hands trembling, she built a funeral pyre—small, but enough. She stacked the wood in a neat cone, her sweat and tears falling on dry wood.
"Justice," she whispered hoarsely, not finding any strength to speak further. Sparks danced in the gloom before the wood caught. Flames licked upward, hungry to swallow her.
She hesitated only a moment, then stepped onto the pyre.
"Revered Hecules," she shouted, using the remainder of her entire strength, her voice cracked in hoarseness, "You had taken the oath to help the oppressed mortals of this world. Help me! I demand you hear my pain! Hercules. Today, if you deny me justice, I shall immolate myself in your refuge, and let the world know that Hercules is the same as Gods, punish and bless mortals when they wish, turn a blind eye when they find it inconvenient."
She tossed the final embers over her feet. The fire flared. Heat roared in her ears.
And then all of a sudden, a hand closed around her wrist—iron-strong and scorching hot.
"Stop."
She jerked back, stumbling off the pyre as the flames died. The figure before her had stood, towering and furious. White hair tied back, eyes blazing gold.
"Hercules," she gasped. Her tears were falling from happiness.
He knelt beside her, tears glinting in his own eyes. "Child, what madness is this?" he asked, voice low and thunderous but carried affection that the elderly have for children. He brushed soot from her cheek.
"I… I don't know what else to do," she choked out, her tears continued to fall, but they were not filled with happiness this time. "I pleaded for justice to every King out there. No one hears me, no one helps me."
Hercules held her gaze and asked. "What happened, Child? Tell me. Who is the cause of your sadness?"
She pulled away, tears sliding through soot. "Your disciple, Lord Hercules. Lycandros is the source of my pain."
"What?" Hercules was taken aback, his eyes filled with disbelief. "That's impossible. Lycandros can never commit a sin."
"He did, Lord Hercules." Princess Vesna went on recounting her story, of how she was in love with the Prince of Dracoria, but then Lycandros, with his army, razed her kingdom to the ground and forced her father to give her away in exchange for keeping his kingdom and ending the war.
But the story hadn't ended there. After she was sent back to her home, her father refused to take her back, stating that he had already given her away to Athens. When she contacted her beloved, Prince of Dracoria, the latter also refused to take her as his wife, stating that she had been claimed as a prize of war. She is the property of Athens.
She then roamed the lands of Aachion, visiting every independent kingdom she could find, asking for justice, to wage a war against Athens, but none accepted her request.
Bursting out loud even more, Princess Vesna said. "No kingdom in this world has the strength to raise a sword against Lycandros. None wanted to risk, after hearing the tales of how Nubia, Balkan, and Scandovnia kingdoms had been defeated. He's invincible, Lord Hercules."
Hercules stood, extending his hand to help her up. "Invincible, perhaps, to mortal blows—but not to justice. I will stand with you. No oath, no magic, no king, and no relationship can silence the will of Zeus's champion. Child, if what you said is true, and Lycandros is truly at fault, then you will get your justice."
She looked up at him, hope trembling in her chest. "What will you do?" she asked softly.
He smiled, as gentle as dawn, as he patted her head. "Let's go."
She let him guide her away from the cold stones and dying embers. Her gaze fell on the horizon, her hands clenching tightly. "Lycandros, brace yourself for this…"