I stand on the cliffs overlooking the burning village, the weight of my lion pelt heavy on my shoulders. Below, Thracian soldiers march under the banner of King Cotys, their boots crushing the earth where the Bessi once lived. I came here for gold—my weight in it—and the chance to lead men again. But something feels wrong.

Amphiaraus warned me. 'Blood will stain your hands that isn’t yours to carry,' he said last night, eyes glazed with prophecy. I ignored him. I always do.

Now, Rhesus is in chains, branded a sorcerer. But when I look into his eyes, I see no madness—only rage. And when Ergenia kneels to wipe the blood from his face, Cotys orders her execution.

That’s when I hear the growl.

Not from Rhesus. From within me.

The vision flashes—three black wolves, eyes glowing, tearing into my family. Megara’s scream. The smell of burning wood. I blink, and I’m back.

Cotys raises his hand. The executioner steps forward.

Do I intervene?

Do I finally stop being a weapon… and become a man?