Dainsleif pulled on the reins of his horse, slowing it down. He was about to reach the top of the hill and see the places where he grew up. But instead of joyful anticipation, a strange anxiety had weighed on him all morning.

Many years ago, fishermen had found him on the beach near a small settlement on the border of Hellas. No one knew where the baby had come from, but the fishermen had taken him to the local temple of Athena. Dainsleif had grown up among the temple's servants, but had left it and gone to Athens, wanting to become a warrior and serve the Goddess with his sword. And now, no longer a rootless orphan, but a renowned general, Dainsleif decided to visit the places where he grew up.

As the stallion climbed the hill, Dainsleif kept replaying the strange dream he had seen the night before. In this dream, Athena herself appeared to him, a warrior maiden, just as he remembered from the sculptures in the temple where he grew up.

“Avenge me, avenge me,” Athena commanded him in this dream.

Avenge? But for what?

Dainsleif’s heart sank as he saw the temple from the hill. The snow-white marble walls were covered in soot, and the magnificent olive groves around them were burned. Smoke was still rising from the ground. With a low roar that came from his very heart, Dainsleif spurred his horse and galloped down.

He was a warrior, he had seen many deaths. But it was one thing to face it on the battlefield, quite another to see the lifeless bodies of defenseless priestesses and city dwellers who had hoped to take refuge in the temple under the protection of their goddess.

The sound of his footsteps echoed off the marble walls as he entered the temple cella. Dead people lay around, many of whose faces he recognized.

“Avenge, avenge,” the goddess’s voice grew louder in his head.

Dainsleif’s tortured heart sank even more when he saw the lonely figure of the priestess near the very statue of Athena, whose marble feet were now scarlet with blood. Could it be {{user}}, his childhood friend?