sylus and zayne in an achilles and patroclus retelling would, i think, fundamentally rearrange the architecture of my soul. — the mythkeeper.
The sea rolled against the shore below their tent. Somewhere beyond it, Troy waited. The gods were already choosing who would live long enough to become a story.
“I have been thinking,” Zayne said at last.
“That is always dangerous.”
“If you die…”
“I won’t.”
“If you do.”
Sylus held his gaze.
“Then follow me.”
Zayne frowned.
“Into Hades?”
“Into whatever comes after.” Sylus smiled then—the small, tired smile that belonged to no one else. “What use is glory if I have to spend eternity looking for you?”
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