Chương 26: Chapter Twenty Five: Zeus Xenio's Grace

Cyrus's muscles stalled and stilled. He stood frozen, his ears beginning to buzz. The deafening sounds of the agora seemed to plummet away. The sound of the crisp jingle of coins, the cheerful conversations of the crowd… Air appeared to have vanished from Cyrus's lungs. He could not breathe. Nor could he move, with the exception of his fingers, which involuntarily curled and tightened into his palm, leaving deep crescent marks into the pinkish flesh.

His veins seemed to burn, liquid metal flooding into and scorching them. Leandros's slave… He was right here. The Thracian bastard. Without his mind sending a conscious order down to his limbs, Cyrus involuntarily straightened from the fountain. His muscles coiled, like iron drawing tight, a bow string preparing to fire. His mind roared, animalistic desires screaming at him to vault over the baskets and launch himself at the slave. I'll find out where my family is, venom hissed into his thoughts.

I'll tear the truth right out of his damned throat—"Halt, my child." Aithon snapped within his mind, his grave voice devoid of any sympathy. Cyrus stalled just before he snapped back the muscles of his legs, his entire body vibrating as pneuma roared through his phlebes, demanding to be used.

"Get out of my way," he snapped under his breath.

"That's one of them. I'm going to—""To what? What do you intend to do? What grand stupidity are you trying to achieve?" the spirit retorted chillingly. Cyrus's forehead spiked with heat, and he groaned, momentarily blinded with pain. This was the exact same feeling he felt when Aithon emerged or went back into his head as a cicada.

"You possess no strategy," Aithon lectured.

"Yes, you possess cultivation, but you must think, my child. You are strong. But what is strength without wisdom? You will achieve nothing if you ambush that man right now."

"I cannot just stand here and watch him walk away!" Cyrus seethed, a sickening crunch echoing from his mouth as he grinded his molars together in fury.

"You will," Aithon countered with such intensity that it momentarily stifled the fire inside Cyrus's veins." Now sit. Down." Cyrus's head throbbed with his wrath, his chest heaving. But slowly, he labored his breathing to slow. Beat by beat, the wild pounding in his chest began to decelerate. Unclenching his fists, the white crescent marks faded away as the blood rushed back in. Swallowing the bitter taste that tainted his tongue, he sank back against the fountain.

"Much better," Aithon's voice murmured.

"Remmeber when you hunted the hares, my child. You must remember the patience that you learned during those hunts. A true predator does not throw his life away on such useless antics." Cyrus scowled.

"I may have sat back down, but you better give me a good reason to remain like this. I won't simply let him get away."

"You misunderstand, child. I simply said you could not rush him blindly," the spirit corrected.

"I said nothing of letting him escape." Cyrus yelped as his forehead burst with heat, and a chunk of polished carapace detached itself from his skin. Then the insect vanished, before Cyrus could even so much as blink. Even with the heightened senses that the Pneumatikos Realm offered him, Cyrus could barely track the streak of emerald as it darted through the streets, weaving and slicing through the throngs of sandals and carts. Cyrus's eyes widened as he finally noticed where the tiny blur was heading towards.

With impossible speed, the cicada reached a distant figure, grazed the hem of the tall man's soiled clothes, then instantly reversed course, rocketing backward across the agora. Plop. Cyrus's forehead once again burned, and he felt a heavy weight sink seamlessly into his skin.

"Got him." Aithon's voice sounded amused, with a tinge of smug satisfaction. Cyrus frowned, gingerly touching his brows.

"What did you do?" he demanded. Aithon seemed pleased with himself.

"Simple, my child. I left a minute trace of my own pneuma as I brushed past him. Think of it as a smell." Cyrus squinted.

"A smell?"

"Yes," Aithon confirmed.

"As long as he carries that "smell", I can sense the direction and rough distance of where he is at. Though there is a time limit of twelve hours. But for now... patience. Let him lead us to where we must go." Cyrus's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, eager questions filling the tip of his tongue. How far away can you track him? Can he wash it off? What else— However, before he could actually utter any of that, a familiar voice chimed in.

"Stupid Kolax, stop dozing off." Cyrus snapped his mouth shut. He blinked rapidly as he whirled around, jerking his head along. Eleni stood beside him, hands on her hips. She tilted her head. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"I noticed you glaring at that Thracian slave," she said, a smirk lightly touching her lips.

"What was that? You looked just about ready to lunge over and kill him. Do you have some personal vendetta against Thracians, or what?" Cyrus gave Eleni a withering look.

"It's none of your business." Eleni huffed, seemingly completely unfazed by his hostility. She shrugged, leaning her lithe form against the side of the cart.

"Suit yourself," she said lightly.

"Just make sure your little vendetta doesn't manifest into reality. My family definitely doesn't wish to get accused of hiring a murderer. We barely make enough as it is." She reached down, brushing some stray crumbs off the makeshift cart.

"Anyway, we're practically sold out," she added with a frustrated sigh.

"We used to be able to run the stall all day long, but since all the workers left, my father's the only one left baking. So now, we can only manage these short shifts before we run out of bread. Now come, we should go back." Cyrus nodded, not bothering to even reply before he reached for the empty kaneons. He quickly stacked them while Eleni gathered the remaining handful of stray coins and dropped them into a pouch.

Once the makeshift stall was bare, Cyrus grabbed the handles of the cart and titled it back onto its proper position. Together, they navigated through and away from the agora. They took to the much quieter and cooler side streets, Eleni leading the way back to her family's bakery. But as they rounded a corner into a shaded stone portico, Eleni's brisk pace suddenly stalled. Cyrus glanced at her, confused, before following her line of sight to a few paces ahead.

There, a burly merchant was crouched behind a wooden table stacked high with wheels of aged cheese. A handful of eager customers stood before him, waiting as he weighed out a generous wedge. Cyrus watched, tilting his head. What is she— Eleni's eyes narrowed.

"Oh, look at that!" she called out, loud enough that the entire crowd standing over the merchant looked over at her. She pointed a finger straight at the merchant's table.

"My, what heavy fingers you must have, uncle! Adding some extra weight for a few more coins, I see?" Cyrus frowned. What was she saying? His brows furrowed as he looked closer at the merchant. Then, with a start, he realized what Eleni was pointing out. Resting casually upon the side of the brass pan of the weight, the burly man's thumb was pressed down on the metal. Cyrus had heard of that trick before from his father, a common method shady merchants used to cheat their customers.

It was a greasy scam, his father had said. Quite hard to spot at a glance, but glaringly obvious once you knew where to look. The merchant's face flushed with violent purple. As if burned, he whipped his hand back from the scale, his hand awkwardly hovering in the air. He glared daggers at Eleni.

"Keep your nose out of other people's business, girl!" he barked.

"Oh, it became everyone's business when you used that dirty trick, you phenax!" Eleni shot back. Her lips curved into a smile sweet and bitter enough to rot teeth. That was when the nearby patrons recovered from their initial shock, their surprised murmurs evolving into accusatory shouts of anger that filled the air.

"Reweigh it!" one of those customers demanded.

"Let's see if the weight is the same without your thumb on the scales, old man!" The merchant stammered, his face morphing from a mottled purple to pale white. Trapped under the glares of his cheated customers, he frantically grabbed the cheeses back, sputtering excuses that were quickly drowned out by the furious crowd. Eleni gave the humiliated merchant an innocent wave, her bright face completely unfazed at the brewing storm she had caused.

With her lips curved into a satisfied smirk, she turned on her heel and resumed down the street. Cyrus lingered for a bit longer, watching the disgruntled crowd swarm the cornered merchant. Then he frowned. That's strange, he thought, glancing towards Eleni's backside. They all heard her. It didn't match what he'd seen back at the a gora.

"Aithon," he murmured under his breath.

"Didn't you say her presence was suppressed? Then how did they hear her just now?" The spirit's voice took on a thoughtful tone.

"A fair observation, my child. But do not mistake what I told you. Her trait seems to simply dull her presence, not erase it."

"So it's not that strong?" Aithon chuckled.

"As always, strength is relative. Consider where we were before. The agora was filled with hundreds of people. In such chaos, a presence already dimmed simply drowns. But here, there was only a small crowd. Her yell was enough to gain her the attention she sought." Cyrus nodded to himself, understanding now. He once again glanced at Eleni before grabbing the handles of the handcart again and hurrying to catch up. But to think she would call out a scammer in such a way… What a scary girl, he thought.

❦ ❦ ❦ By the time they made it back to the bakery, the sun had already begun its descent down into the horizon. The air was crisp and cool, and as Cyrus and Eleni finally arrived at the familiar street, they soon spotted the open doors of the bakery, spilling out light onto the darkening streets. Inside the quiet shop, they found Philon standing near the brick ovens, using a piece of damp woven linen to wipe them down.

"Back already?" Philon called out, looking up.

"I see the baskets are empty. Good work, you two."

"We sold out fast, Father," Eleni said, slipping past Cyrus and placing down the kaneons. Philon chuckled.

"Well enough," he said.

"Other than if you sneaked a few coins for yourself along the way." Eleni huffed, tossing the money pouch over to her father.

"Such baseless accusations. I'm practically a vault of responsibility, Father." Philon grunted, his lips twitching into a fond smile.

"Yes, you sure are, mou kore." Cyrus rolled the handcart over, setting it down neatly into the corner. Turning to the old baker, he let his lips stretch thinly into a weak smile.

"Yes, it went pretty well." Philon nodded with approval.

"Good, good." Reaching into a pouch, he dropped several coins into Cyrus's palm.

"There's your payment. Be here early by tomorrow." Cyrus nodded.

"Thank you." He turned to leave, but before he could take any steps towards the exit, a huff sounded from behind him.

"Seriosuly, father," Eleni muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Have you no sense?" Philon frowned.

"What do you mean—""What do I mean?!" Eleni shook her head, before stepping forward and grabbing Cyrus's arm by his boar hide clothes, lifting the thick fur up.

"Where is he even sleeping? Did that ever come into consideration, father?" Cyrus internally groaned. He opened his mouth to voice some protest, but Philon beat him to it.

"Yes… I apologize. My daughter speaks sense. Where do you sleep, boy?" Cyrus coughed.

"Well, just about anywhere," he admitted. Far from the truth, but it was the closest as well. After all, wasn't "just about anywhere" basically the wilderness?

"It's not too bad, I swear," Cyrus said, trying to enliven the mood.

"No, it is a problem," Philon countered, huffing." Zeus Xenios watches over strangers like you. What kind of citizens would we be if we turned a blind eye? The god would strike this house down if I did so." He jabbed a finger behind him, deeper into the bakery.

"There's space for you to sleep here." Cyrus instinctively tried to protest.

"I don't need—""It is common decency," Philon interrupted.

"Do you want my business to be struck by bad luck?"

"No, but I mean—" Eleni groaned.

"Is it so hard to just accept it, Kolax? Stop being so stubborn." Then, before Cyrus could interject, she wrinkled her nose.

"Besides, you stink." She waved her hand.

"So dirty. So unkempt. You're going to be scaring away customers if you keep wearing this." Cyrus stiffened.

"I washed in a river before I came here," he muttered defensively. Eleni snorted.

"Well, whatever river you used must have been one full of mud and dead bugs." Turning towards the bakery's doors, she glanced over her shoulder.

"Come on. Lets get you into a bath."