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“There is no law that gods must be fair, Achilles,” Chiron said. “And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Do you think?”
it is better to seek it on your own terms, to make it go at your pace, than theirs.” “That is what I am doing.”
“Philtatos,” Achilles says, sharply. Most beloved.
“When I am dead, I charge you to mingle our ashes and bury us together.”
Somewhere his soul waits, but it is nowhere I can reach. Bury us, and mark our names above. Let us be free.
“Go,” she says. “He waits for you.”
IN THE DARKNESS, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out the sun.
