Chapter Text
Nikos Legundo, champion of Zeus, let out a sharp gasp as his eyes snapped open. The pain from being killed by the child was still there but he had to admit that the death was painless. His eyes wandered around, taking in his surroundings. Here he was again, along the shores of the river Styx. Nikos will not give the ferryman a coin; not anymore.
It was Greek tradition to be buried with a coin, but who knows what the gods will do to his body? Nikos isn’t even sure if the others will have a body to bury. The gods like to clean out the arena before the next session so where his body is remains unclear. And he honestly thinks his body is better off in the wind. He will not be buried with the same tradition as his colonizers.
He was not Greek.
Not now, not ever.
Nikos will forever remain Thracian.
The Athenians tried to take that away from him.
The bird tried to take it away from him.
No matter.
He is dead and along the shores of the Styx. Nikos ponders his next moves. The realistic side of him knows to start walking alongside the shores of the river. He did it before he was summoned into those death games and he should do it again.
But another part of him wants to wait for his fellow champions. Even, begrudgingly, the feather holders. The only thing he has against the feather group is the bird. Everyone else, he has not interacted as much. There is no telling who will arrive here along the shores next. He knows it's not everyone’s first time here on the shore, but he admits that he misses them. Nikos had enjoyed spending time with the group and would like to see them again.
The more pessimistic side tells him that if his friends do join them, it means they’re dead. Nikos understands that; these games are beyond cruel and for the gods' enjoyment. Using mortals to decide which god was right by sending them into an arena and fighting it out?
That was and is sick beyond comprehension.
He selfishly hopes to see his friends here along the shore with him. But he also knows that if he doesn’t, it means they’re alive and thriving in the arena, winning. There can only be one winner; the gods made sure of that. No matter how kind or gentle someone is, they are all dying until there is one victor.
Nikos counts. Since he’s the first to die, there are 11 champions left in the arena. And since only 1 is fated to win, that means that there will be 10 other people here along the shore.
He lets out a frustrated grunt, sitting down along the shore and closing his eyes. Nikos has made his decision. After all, what’s wrong with spending a couple of hours or even days waiting for his friends when he has an eternity to walk along the shore?
“Katisa, wait for me. I’m coming soon.”
Who will arrive next?
Only the fates will know.