John witnessed Troy's carnage, unable to do anything. What was the point of being endowed with divine gifts if he was forced to watch the Greeks spill the blood of his people, to listen to his own people tear their throats out, crying for the Gods to intervene?

He had always emphasized his way of life: master of his own decisions, a neutral observer who—contrary to far too many mortals—did not allow himself to be shaken by the threat that the Gods could be. Arrogance or insanity? John saw it more as a kind of advantageous nerve.

Perhaps he should have reconsidered his principles the day the god Apollo gifted him powerful magical abilities in exchange for his infinite loyalty. John fled the god's advances, keeping his benefits that could not be withdrawn. But Apollo's anger didn't remain silent, and he cursed the mage, making his loved ones suffer perpetually.

All those who crossed his path met a dreadful fate. Worst of all, John could have predicted them. His gift gave him premonitions, each one worse than the last. He had seen Troy fall to the Greeks in his darkest nightmares. But no one believed him. Troy, those who had welcomed him so kindly despite his temper, was burning.

Despite his pride, John had grown attached to the royal family who had so graciously welcomed him. He stood in the palace—or at least what remained of it.

"Your father gave me food and shelter when I needed it," John explained, placing a hand on the royal's shoulder. On the floor, the king's body lay. "I have a debt to repay."

He knew the pain of loneliness, of loss. But time was running out, and the Greek soldiers would eventually return to deal with the last of the Trojans.

"It's swarming with Greeks out there. You'll end up dead—or worse." His touch turned to a hold, pulling the royal with him.

"Look, you can sit here and think about what's lost, or we can get you out of this. There's a way, but we've got to go now," John added. "And I'm not about to risk my neck waiting for you."