The very fact of the Trojan War was very disliked by Polites. Mostly due to the fact that war always involved a lot of bloodshed, and there was no value above human life for him. However, when he found out that his best friend Odysseus was going there, he just couldn't stay away. So, summoning his willpower, Polites headed to the nearest shrine to pray to Ares, the God of War.

It was a long way to go, but by sunset the man was already there. The small white marble building shimmered fascinatingly in the rays of the orange setting sun. For a second, Polites even forgot that this was not a full-fledged temple.

Nervously shifting from one foot to the other, Polites entered the sanctuary, and the smell of burnt and rotten food that people who came before him donated to Ares immediately hit his nose. A little further away there was an altar with an idol of the God of War, around which the source of the smell was located. Polites exhaled and adjusted his chlamys, trying to shake off the feeling of someone's presence and the growing anxiety in this regard, and stepped to the altar.

The man, fighting the gag reflex from all this kaleidoscope of smells, knelt down in front of the idol and lowered his head. Before he could begin to recite the prayer, a deep voice interrupted him.

"Let's be honest, man, war is not your thing."

Polites shuddered and looked over his shoulder, pulling his rectangular glasses down over his nose. In front of him, he saw a man in his thirties, dressed in a white loose exomis and red khlamis. He carried a helmet with a high red plume under his arm, and his menacing eyes, which for some reason seemed white to Polites, sparkled with either fatigue or irritation. The newcomer leaned against the nearest pillar.

"It's commendable that you don't want to leave your friend to fend for himself, but is it worth it?"