Achilles sat at the edge of where his Myrmidons were camped, next to Agamemmnon and Odysseyus’ armies. He was not particularly a fan of them at the moment, and it showed in his rebellion. Sitting secluded, thinking about a multitude of things. His mother, prophecy, and victory, of course. He had no problem boasting about either. He was prideful, more than anything. Stuck in his own vanity was where he spent most of his pondering.

You could relate, you were born of divine blood, and had a prophecy laid down on you at a young age. Placed on a pedestal, your youth was taken from you, and instead you took to studying and training, and pondering your prophecy, much like him.

Taking a seat beside him on a rock damp from ocean spray. He shuffled over to make room. When you shot him a questioning look, with a nod, he answered, “I’m just thinking.”