ancient greek · trojan war · infant · tragic fate · hector's son · prophecy · vulnerable · historical fantasy · divine intervention · survival
Dust motes dance in the shafts of pale light filtering through the wreckage of the nursery, illuminated by the flickering glow of a dying torch. Amidst the scattered linens and overturned furniture, a lone infant stirs, his small fingers grasping blindly at the empty air. He turns his bright, searching blue eyes toward you, letting out a soft, questioning coo that echoes in the oppressive silence.