I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

"I SWEAR IT!! BE THE GODS WITNESS! YOU WILL MEET YOUR END ON TROJAN GROUND!! YOU WILL SUFFER THE MOST PAINFUL DEATH THAT EVEN THE GODS THEMSELVES WOULDN'T DARE TO GIVE YOU! SOMEONE WILL MAKE YOU PAY! I SWEAR IT!! YOU WILL BEG FOR YOUR LIFE, AND NO ONE WILL SAVE YOU! REMEMBER MY WORDS AND TREMBLE EVERY NIGHT UNTIL YOUR END COMES!"

The weight of Chryses's words reverberated through the Greek encampment, carrying an unearthly power, as though Apollo himself had endowed them with divine wrath. His curse was like thunder rolling across the plains, filling every corner of the camp with its ominous echo.

Astynome heard it clearly, each syllable laced with desperation and grief. She felt her breath catch.

"F-Father…" she whispered, her voice trembling with shock and disbelief. Her father had come all this way for her, crossing hostile lands to plead for her freedom.

But as suddenly as his voice had filled her world, it vanished. His cry was snuffed out, leaving only silence in its place. Astynome's heart twisted as a cold understanding washed over her.

He was gone.

She stood frozen, tears slipping down her cheeks, her mind grasping at a reality too cruel to accept. For all her strength, this was a wound too deep, a sorrow too great to bear. Her father—the man who had raised her with such care, who had woven every word of wisdom and love into her being—had journeyed to this place at her side. And now, he had lost everything.

She bit down on her lip, tasting blood as she lifted her bound hands to her face, brushing away her tears with shaking fingers. "W...why?" she murmured, her gaze lifting toward the heavens. Her plea was a soft whisper, broken and raw. "Why did you take my father from me…"

She knew the gods could do nothing against fate, but her heart was hollow, her spirit bruised beyond measure. She felt the crushing weight of solitude press upon her like a vast shadow, filling the spaces where hope once dwelled.

Her life had crumbled into pieces around her. Her family, her home, and now the love that had sheltered her—everything was lost, leaving only her body as a final, twisted prize for Agamemnon, a king of such cold greed that he would strip her dignity as a mere spoil of war. His hunger for power had consumed everything in its path, and she felt herself standing in the last flickering remnants of a life stolen by his insatiable thirst.

How could things have come to this? Who bore the blame for such a descent into ruin? She thought bitterly of Paris, the Trojan prince whose reckless obsession had sparked this bloody conflict. Was it his fault, his foolish lust for a foreign queen? Or was it Helen, the Spartan queen who had followed him to Troy, torn from her homeland? Astynome could never know how deeply the gods had manipulated them, how Aphrodite herself had enchanted Helen with a love spell beyond her power to resist.

But none of it mattered, not truly. For in the end, the one who bore the heaviest burden of guilt was Agamemnon. Without his ambitious command, his brother Menelaus could never have rallied the armies of Greece to assault Troy's walls.

The man who had taken her father from her was about to strip her of the one thing society claimed was most precious to a woman—her purity. Astynome trembled with revulsion at the thought. Though she'd managed to maintain a stoic resolve thus far, the idea of enduring Agamemnon's cruelty turned her stomach. She'd sooner choose death over such a fate.

Was this to be her end, then? Would she have to take her own life to escape a more miserable existence? Her pulse quickened, each heartbeat echoing her desperation as dark thoughts crossed her mind.

Just then, the heavy canvas of the tent flapped open, and Astynome's breath caught in her throat. She closed her eyes tightly, shrinking back as if by making herself small enough, she could somehow disappear, beyond Agamemnon's grasp.

But seconds passed, and nothing happened. No harsh voice, no rough hand pulling her forward.

"Looks like he's barred everyone else from entering," a voice said softly, breaking the silence. Astynome's eyes shot open. It was a voice she didn't recognize—certainly not the harsh, guttural tone of Agamemnon. This voice was youthful, with a confident, almost reassuring firmness, and beneath it, a hint of something kind.

She opened her eyes cautiously and was met with a sight that left her blinking in surprise. Standing before her was a man with jet-black hair, his piercing ice-blue eyes holding her gaze intently. His armor glinted faintly in the tent's dim light, revealing him as a soldier, yet he didn't carry the Greek's insignia.

"Probably because he knew his dim-witted men couldn't be trusted to keep their hands to themselves," he scoffed, his lips curling with disdain for Agamemnon's soldiers.

The man's gaze shifted to her, and Astynome's heart gave an involuntary leap. There was something striking about him, not only his appearance but the air of determination and strength he seemed to radiate.

"Just to confirm," he began, his tone matter-of-fact, "you're Astynome, the priestess of Apollo?"

Astynome, too stunned to speak, gave a silent nod, her thoughts scrambling to make sense of his presence. Who was this stranger?

His eyes narrowed a bit as he inclined his head. "I'm a mercenary," he explained, "one recruited by Troy. I'm here to get you out of this place and back to Troy."

The words hit her like a wave, and she blinked, scarcely able to believe them. She'd prayed endlessly, begging every god for deliverance from this nightmare, but the thought of actual rescue had seemed nothing more than a fleeting dream. And now, as hope surged within her, it almost hurt to believe it could be true.

She searched his face, finding no trace of deception in his eyes. Why would he lie, after all? Even entering Agamemnon's tent uninvited meant a death sentence if he were discovered. The brutal king would show no mercy, even toward one of his own men.

"Are you sent by Apollo?" Astynome's voice was a trembling whisper, a mixture of wonder and doubt.

At her question, a flicker of irritation crossed Nathan's face. Without a word, he stepped closer and crouched down, carefully untying the ropes around her wrists. As he worked, Astynome felt an inexplicable pull toward him, a sense of divine energy radiating from him that she couldn't ignore. She marveled at the sensation, her heart quickening. Being a daughter of Apollo, she was sensitive to such things, but how could a mere mortal possess such an aura?

In truth, Nathan was attempting to suppress this very energy, though he was still learning to control it. He had trained under Amaterasu, the goddess of the sun, and his restraint over this power was far from perfect.

"Nobody sent me," he replied flatly.

Astynome's eyes widened. His words broke her enchantment, her disbelief clear. It seemed unthinkable that he wasn't acting on a god's command, but something about his steady gaze left no room for doubt. Nathan's loyalty belonged to no deity, and the gods were only as useful to him as what they offered in return. In Aphrodite's case, her past favors had earned his cooperation to protect Aeneas, but that was mere repayment—not servitude.

Seeing her confusion, Nathan finished untying her hands and stood, extending a hand to pull her up. Astynome found herself staring up at him, his form towering over her, his ice-blue eyes fixed on her with unwavering confidence. "Why did you save me, then?" she asked, her voice small but persistent.

"For my own reasons," he replied simply, his words curt but leaving her no less fascinated.

Astynome blinked, taken aback by his directness. She found herself compelled to reach out, her soft hand resting against his forehead. Nathan stilled, a flicker of surprise crossing his face at her unexpected touch. Her priestess training told her she could peer into someone's fate—visions of their future, of things yet to come. But what she saw when she touched him shook her to her core.

Nothing. Darkness. A vast, endless void.

She withdrew her hand, her heart hammering in her chest. Now, it all made sense: the reason she couldn't glimpse her own future, the shadows that veiled every attempt to foresee her fate. It was this man before her. His presence was a defiance of destiny itself, a force that could shatter what had been written. He was outside the bounds of any prophecy she had ever known, a disruptor of fate.

A strange thrill shot through her, excitement mingling with awe. In her seventeen years, she had never felt this way. Her voice was barely audible as she murmured, "Take me."

Nathan merely nodded, unaffected by her wonder, though he noted the glint of newfound resolve in her eyes. Wrapping a cloth around her head to shield her face from prying eyes, he lifted her effortlessly onto his shoulder. With practiced silence, he moved through the tent's exit, his movements swift and precise as they slipped away into the night.

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