Twenty years passed in the blink of an eye.
During these past two decades, Athens transformed beyond recognition.
As the ruler has changed, the policy of the kingdom has also shifted slightly.
Under King Alector's reign — guided silently but firmly by the hand of Lycandros — the kingdom grew larger and stronger than ever before.
Through a relentless series of campaigns, the once-independent realms surrounding Athens were annexed one by one, until the kingdom's territory had expanded to five times its original size and later went through reorganization, dividing the huge kingdom into Athens and 8 vassal states: Germania, Noricum, Pannonia, Dacia, Moesia in the north of Athens, and Numidia, Cyrenaica in the south of the Great sea, and Anatolia in the east of Athens.
The royal family was also increased in numbers.
From the line of the Scandovnia princess—Queen Brynhild, were born Prince Isandros, Prince Magnus, and Princess Ingrid—each carrying the proud blood of two powerful houses.
Through the Nubian princess, Queen Tamaya, born Princess Neith, who grew up to be an intellectual lady and was known for her sharp mind and quiet dignity.
As the years rolled on, more and more alliances were secured through marriages.
Princess Neith was wed into the mighty Kingdom of Kemet, far to the south across the sands, strengthening Athens' ties with the ancient land of the Nile.
Princess Ingrid, meanwhile, was married to a prince of Scandovnia, her first cousin, fortifying Athens' influence in the frozen lands of the north.
Thus, under the growing branches of the royal family tree and the expanding borders of the realm, Athens entered a new golden age—one that seemed invincible, destined to last forever regardless of whether Lycandros existed or not, reducing Queen Mother Callidora's worries over Princess Vesna's curse.
—
Present day, Athens;
The sun stood high above Athens, golden and merciless. As it is in the middle of summer, the weather conditions were anything but pleasant.
Yet, inside the royal arena, the cheers of thousands rolled like thunder across the marble stands. Flags of blue and gold snapped in the hot breeze, and excitement crackled in the air like a storm ready to break.
In the center of the arena, two young men were seen facing each other, standing quite close.
Prince Magnus stood tall, his figure lean and athletic, a polished spear resting easily in his hand. His shoulder-length blonde hair caught the sunlight, and his blue eyes held a quiet warmth.
Across from him, barefoot on the sand, stood Prince Isandros—broader in build, with muscles honed like a mini Hercules. His eyes, though, were blank, staring somewhere beyond the world that everyone else could see. Yes, he is blind, born blind.
The crowd held its breath as the battle was about to start between their beloved princes at any time.
This is, in fact, a tradition of Athens, when the princes return from their 12-year-long education, having studied under a Great Sage in the mountains, they participate in a competition, showcasing their skills. First, they showcase their fighting prowess, and later, in an indoor setting, they will show their knowledge of various subjects.
In the royal pavilion above, King Alector sat stiffly on his throne, flanked by the two Queens. Ministers and vassal lords leaned forward in their seats, whispering to each other behind their handheld fans.
Prince Magnus rolled the spear once in his hand and called out casually, his voice clear over the arena.
"Brother," he said, smiling slightly, "what's the point of us fighting like this? We studied under the same teacher. You know my techniques, and I know yours. Besides..." He shrugged. "Of the two of us, only you desire the throne."
He paused, looking almost apologetic as he continued. "If you beat me, it changes nothing. And if I beat you, it'll just humiliate you in front of everyone. So—" Magnus lifted his spear and lowered it in a small bow, "—let me withdraw. Save us both the trouble."
After a beat of silence, the Blind Prince, Isandros, let out a humorless laugh. "You dare say that to my face, Magnus?" he said, stepping forward until they stood only a few feet apart. "Withdraw? Out of pity?"
His hands clenched into fists.
"If you walk away, Magnus, I will disown you as my brother," Isandros said, voice steady, but thick with pride. "I was born blind. I heard them laughing behind my back for years. Those ministers up there" — he jerked his chin toward the pavilion — "they're just waiting for me to fail. One mistake, and they'll use my blindness to strip the crown from me. Hence, I have to prove my strength today."
The crowd shifted uncomfortably, sensing the raw truth in his words.
"That said," Isandros said, his voice low. "It is even more important for me to gain my own acknowledgement. So, if you don't fight me with everything you have — if you hold back even a little — then my victory becomes pointless. I would rather be defeated and get humiliated instead."
Magnus stared at him for a moment, eyes shadowed. Then he sighed and raised his staff fully, taking a ready stance. "As you wish, brother," he said softly. "I'll come at you with everything I've got."
Isandros grinned with a nod.
"And know this, Magnus," he added, his voice carrying across the silent arena. "If you defeat me here, and if the ministers use it to make you king instead of me... I'll accept it. Gladly. I won't hold it against you. So, don't think of anything but winning."
Soon, the trumpets blew from the gate towers, signaling the start of the duel.
Magnus spun his spear once more, settling his weight.
Isandros closed his eyes, though they had never seen the world, and tilted his head, listening to the rhythm of Magnus' breath, the subtle shift of sand under his brother's feet.
The duel between the two princes began, and the entire arena held its breath.
Magnus moved first. A sharp step forward, his spear slicing through the air toward Isandros' side, with a fast and precise strike.
But Isandros was no ordinary man.
Without seeing, he shifted his weight just enough, feeling the stir of the air, hearing the soft scrape of Magnus' boot on the sand. The spear's blade whistled past his ribs, missing him by an inch.
The crowd gasped.
Magnus didn't stop. He spun the spear around, a swift jab at Isandros' shoulder. This time, Isandros caught its blade with his bare hands, the muscles in his arms straining as he yanked it toward him.
Magnus let the spear go, dancing back lightly across the sand.
"You've gotten better," Magnus called, breathing hard already.
Isandros smiled. "You haven't seen anything yet, Brother."
He charged forward.
Sand exploded under his feet as Isandros closed the gap with terrifying speed, fists flying.
Magnus ducked under a heavy blow, pivoting smoothly to the side. He lashed out with a kick, but Isandros twisted, grabbed Magnus by the ankle mid-kick, and slammed him down onto the sand with a heavy thud.
*Dum*
The arena shook with the shockwaves generated from the thud. Cheers and shouts erupted from the stands.
Magnus rolled to his feet, spitting blood from a split lip. He picked up his fallen spear, twirling it once to steady himself.
Isandros came at him again with his rapid punches and kicks.
Magnus weaved through the attacks, striking when he could, but every hit he landed was shrugged off. Isandros fought like a mountain, solid, immovable, relentless, as if he were invincible in close combat.
A few minutes into the fight, sweat dripped into Magnus' eyes. His arms ached.
"If this keeps up... I'll lose," he thought grimly. "But then again, this is the best I can do, with the ban on aether (magic)."
Taking a deep breath, Magnus charged forward once again, swinging the spear.
Magnus feinted left, spun right, and drove the spear low toward Isandros' knee — the weakest point in any fighter's stance. But Isandros, as if reading his mind, caught the spear again, this time snapping it in half across his knee with a loud crack.
The arena went dead silent.
Magnus stumbled back, armed with only two broken halves now. His chest heaved as he gasped for air.
"You are truly awesome, Brother. I wish we could have an unrestrained battle, but unfortunately, this is the last time we battle. Soon, you will ascend to the throne," Magnus said, laughing breathlessly.
"Not really. There will be opportunities, Magnus." Isandros said, voice like stone. "Even after I become the King, we can still spar to our heart's content."
Magnus chuckled, throwing the broken halves aside. "We'll see about that."
He rushed in barehanded, his fists flying at his elder brother. A left hook caught Isandros on the jaw; a knee to the ribs made him grunt. But then Isandros caught him, just once, with a brutal punch to the gut that lifted Magnus off his feet and sent him crashing into the dirt.
Magnus didn't rise this time. He continued to lie down, his face crunching up in pain.
Then, slowly, Isandros turned to face the royal pavilion, blood dripping from a split knuckle.
"I am blind," he called out, his voice echoing off the arena walls. "But I am not weak."
King Alector stood up, looking grim but proud.
The chief minister rose too, lifting a silver crown high. "The victor," he announced, his voice booming, "Prince Isandros!"
The crowd erupted into cheers. "I…san…dros" "I…san…dros" "I…san…dros" "I…san…dros"
From the ground, Magnus coughed and laughed, wincing as he pulled himself up on one elbow.
"You earned it, brother," he said quietly.
Isandros smiled big, stretching his fist above his head.