A few weeks later;
On the far left of the Land of Aachion, located on the shores of the Sea of Atlas, on the dry, sun-baked plains of the Iberica Kingdom, the royal court was preparing for war.
Inside the great stone castle, King Alarcon of the Iberica kingdom sat brooding on his throne, his war council gathered around him. Scrolls lay unrolled, maps marked with hastily drawn troop movements.
Outside the city walls, the beat of war drums echoed as soldiers mustered, their armor clinking under the burning sun.
"My Lord," the general reported, face grim, "The unknown army has almost reached our borders... we still have yet to discern their identities. Should we send a messenger, first?"
The King grunted, drumming his thick fingers on the armrest. "No need for messengers. Those with honor would send their messengers beforehand to let us prepare for the war. But these bastards didn't," he said. "We don't need to wait for invaders to knock."
By the time the sun reached its peak, two armies faced each other on the wide, dusty plains near the border, engaging in a standoff. None moved, for some reason.
The Iberican scouts sped back toward the capital, horses foaming at the mouth. Dust clung to their clothes as they threw themselves off the saddles and fell before the King. "Your Majesty, urgent news."
"Speak!" King Alarcon demanded.
"It is the army of Athens, Your Majesty," the scout gasped, "led by Lycandros himself."
A chill swept through the court at the revelation.
Even the generals paled when they heard it was Lycandros, who was leading the battle. In the entire Iberica, there is no warrior who had the courage to face off this Demigod, whom even Hercules couldn't defeat.
"And there is one more thing, Your Majesty," the scout continued, voice trembling, "they have raised the white and blue flag."
"White and Blue?" The King sat back heavily on his throne, stunned. "Athens had come for peace, then, why such a large army? And we didn't have any bad relations with them either. And neither do we share any border with them."
He stroked his thick grey beard, thinking fast. He cast a sidelong glance at his chief minister. "What does this mean, Chief Minister Fernando?"
The chief minister rose from his seat and replied. "Without sending any message prior, came uninvited with such a large army, and yet, carried a white and blue flag. All three only mean one thing, Your Majesty."
King Alarcon tensed, swallowing his saliva. "What is it?"
The chief minister answered. "Your Majesty, power is flaunted before an ally when one has some demands to make without intending to negotiate."
King Alarcon furrowed his brows. "But Athens has everything. What do we have that they can demand from us?"
After a brief pause, he took a deep breath and passed the order. "Prepare the palace. Welcome him with the respect owed to Olympus itself."
A few hours later, the city gates swung open. Lycandros rode in at the head of a small escort. No banners of conquest flew today—only the polished gold and blue sigil of Athens glittered in the sun. The people watched in awe as he passed: tall, ageless, in silver armor, his hair catching the light like a burning halo.
The castle doors opened wide for him. King Alarcon himself came down the steps to greet him, forcing a smile onto his weathered face.
"Welcome to our humble abode, O' mighty Lycandros," he said, offering a deep bow.
"King Alarcon, fear not. I come not with the sword," Lycandros said plainly, dismounting with a grace no mortal could match. "I come with a proposal from His Majesty. I apologize for not sending a letter of my arrival. This is important."
The King's eyebrows rose, suspicious but cautious.
Inside the throne room, after cups of wine were served and the formal greetings ended, Lycandros wasted no time.
"I seek the hand of your daughter, Princess Ismene," he said, his voice calm but carrying a weight that pressed against every ear. "For marriage to Athens' Prince Isandros. Your daughter is blessed by Goddess Hera with 100 children, King Alarcon. We hope Athens will be the one to receive that blessing."
The court fell silent.
King Alarcon blinked, stunned. This... he had not expected. A marriage? Usually, he would have jumped great in joy as establishing such an alliance with a great kingdom like Athens would be a boon to Iberica, but the groom is Prince Isandros, not Magnus. Just like any other father, he hesitated to give his daughter to a blind person.
However, before he could speak out his thoughts, Lycandros leaned in slightly, his eyes as sharp as a hawk's. "Accept," he said, "and Iberica shall retain its autonomy and gain the protection of Athens forevermore."
The unspoken threat lingered in the air: Refuse, and see what follows.
The King doesn't need to know the outcome of refusal. The army that was stationed at the borders will decimate their forces into nothing.
Alarcon shut his eyes and slowly nodded. "I accept," he said.
Murmurs grew among the ministers. Some were elated to hear that their princess would become the daughter-in-law of the Great Athens, while some were a bit disappointed as Isandros wouldn't be a King and hence, this marriage wouldn't elevate their kingdom's status. If anything, they worry that their King will be mocked as a coward for bowing down to Athens so quickly without even putting up any resistance.
As if they were waiting for someone to voice out their thoughts, from the back of the hall, a sharp voice rang out. "This is madness!" shouted Prince Philanos, the King's only son and the future King of Iberica. "We are not some pawn to be traded on a board!"
"Philanos…"
He strode forward, anger blazing in his eyes. "Father, you cannot sell my sister like this!"
King Alarcon's face darkened. He had little choice. And worse, he knew Lycandros would not leave without the princess.
With a heavy heart, the King ordered without even intending to argue with his son, "Guards, take Prince Philanos to the tower. He will remain there until the marriage is complete."
Guards seized the young prince at once, dragging him away as he struggled and cursed.
"Father… you… free me this instant… Father…"
Lycandros said nothing throughout the entire scene. His face betrayed no emotion, no satisfaction, no regret. Only silence, like the steady presence of a mountain.
Thus, the fate of Princess Ismene is tied to Athens.
—
Sometime later;
The palace of Athens had never seen such grandeur.
From the gates to the high domes, every inch of stone was draped in silks of crimson and gold.
Trumpets blared in celebration.
Flower petals rained down from balconies as the grand procession from Iberica entered the city, an endless stream of carriages, soldiers, and noble guests stretching as far as the eye could see.
It had been a journey of nearly three thousand kilometers, a two-month odyssey across mountains and uneven trails.
But now, at last, the royal family of Iberica had arrived at the heart of Athens.
Inside the great hall, the nobles of Athens gathered, dressed in their finest. Ministers whispered among themselves. Courtiers straightened their posture. At the center of it all stood the groom, Prince Isandros.
The blind prince waited silently at the throne hall, his back straight, his head slightly tilted as though he could sense the shifting energies in the room. His heart pounded. Somewhere inside him, a small, fragile hope bloomed: that this day might mark a new beginning.
While he is still unhappy with his family that betrayed him, at least for this occasion, he reconciled with them, not just because he is going to be married to the Princess of Iberica, but the fact because he is going to get a companion who will stand by him at all times.
The grand doors creaked open. Princess Ismene, daughter of Iberica, entered the throne hall.
Her steps were graceful, her gown a vision of ivory and sapphire. At her side walked two attendants, their hands lightly guiding her.
However, the hall fell eerily silent as she reached the center of the hall and finally let down the heavy veil from her face.
A gasp rippled through the crowd.
Even the ministers, hardened men who had seen the cruelties of politics and war, exchanged glances of shock.
There, standing with serene defiance, Princess Ismene revealed her face—beautiful, serene—but her eyes, hidden behind a long, delicate blindfold of black silk cloth.
Isandros, sensing the sudden tension in the room, frowned. "What's happening, Brother?" he asked quietly, turning his face toward the nearest presence—his brother, Crown Prince Magnus.
Magnus leaned close and whispered, his voice wavered in surprise. "Brother... the Princess... she has blindfolded herself, for some reason."