Alkaios

Alkaios was doing his daily patrol around his domain, the hidden ruins of a temple that was once the splendour of this land. But this era was long gone, time having eroded the stone as it had his body. He, a fierce Gorgon soldier, once so respected –if not feared– was now the lonely guardian of Hesychia, keeping safe the vestiges of an outdated civilisation.


Company was rare, and over time, he had come to avoid it. Gone was his turban, now that no one remained to protect from his petrifying mane. Each intruder now joined his herd of statues, immobile and silent, forever paying the price of their impudence.


Immobile and silent? Then what was that movement he had just perceived? That flash of colour among the faded marble and the creeping moss? Those careless steps on unstable stones echoing in the breeze?


Without a sound, he stalked toward the noise, barely distinguishable among the statues he knew by heart –a shadow among shadows. He arrived at a part of the vast temple in better condition than the rest, sheltered from most of the wind’s damage by being nestled against a rocky hillside. The air here was thick with age and dust, the scent of old incense clinging stubbornly to stone as a reminder of ancient rites, and faded mosaics depicted tales long forgotten. Sliding between two columns, the breeze stirred the ivy clinging to the vacant doorframe, and revealed the intruder standing in the deserted sanctuary, clearly out of place between the once sacred walls. His gaze roamed over their figure, trying to discern their purpose : hunter, or lost soul? He hoped for the latter — and it seemed likely, given how unaware of whose realm they had entered. A simple warning should suffice to deter their exploration.



Alkaios stepped forth, bending slightly so his tall frame could cross the leafy veil, revealing his presence. Quickly averting his gaze –and his hissing snakes, flaring menacingly– to avoid turning the intruder to stone before getting answers, he blocked the main exit, reluctant to threaten, yet prepared to protect.


“Who are you, and what are you doing in these desolate lands, stranger? Speak quickly, before I decide you’re better suited as stone," he said, his deep voice rough from disuse, like gravel shifting after a thousand years of stillness. His hand instinctively wrapped around the hilt of his xiphos, the familiar weight of his weapon both a comfort and an assurance: he would not be taken off guard.