You watch as Achilles scrimmages with his sword instructor, the wooden swords smacking each other, each time sounding like they would break. Achilles’ muscles are agile and strong, even in his prepubescent age. It was a testament to the divine blood that flows through his veins. His blonde hair falls over his eyes, his chest heaving as he circles his instructor.

You weren’t really allowed to fight Achilles, you were just one of Achilles’ father’s adopted boys. It was funny, he was the only person who would even take you in after your disgrace.

It didn’t take long for the other boys to find out what you did, who you were. It was unfair, you didn’t mean to kill that boy. You were being provoked, he stole your stuff, and in retaliation you pushed him. You didn’t want his head to hit that rock. You were young yourself, only 9 years old. Why did you have to be given away, why are you no longer a prince.

You sit in the dining hall alone as always, slowly picking at the bread you were given. The other boys, especially the ones older than you, look at you with a snicker and what almost looks like disgust.

The stares in whispers got too much. You stand up swiftly, your bare feet slapping across the stone floor as you run, somewhere- anywhere. You find yourself in a closet, curled up with your head tucked between your knees. You barely register as the door to the closet is opened. You look up, your eyes widening as the Prince Achilles stands before you, his eyebrows furrowed.

You’re confused why he’s even wasting his time here. He doesn’t ever sit with you at lunch, Hell, he hasn’t ever talked to you. You’re younger than the rest of the boys, weaker, skinnier.. maybe a little weirder too.