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“There’s something wrong.”
The words come out of your mouth, but there is no one to hear them. You are staring in the mirror, you are so close to your reflection that you are almost inside it, you are so close that you are almost your reflection itself, instead of a person who is real and their image who is not. These walls that were between you and them were more rippled than usual, less tangible than they once were.
You don’t think you were as different as the two of you always thought.
You are alone, in a bedroom, in your bedroom, you think? Now that you’re stuck on it, you’ve realized that there really is no way to be sure, is there? You can’t remember what makes it yours, and if you could, you also couldn’t be bothered to look away from yourself, still practically halfway inside the mirror, to make sure that the bedroom is yours. But there are bigger problems, remember? You almost forgot, you can’t forget, make sure you don’t forget, okay?
“There’s metal in my mouth…I think.”
Yes, you were right. How could you have been unsure? It was so obvious now, so very real. You could feel the metal against your tongue and the walls of your mouth. You could taste it too, the serrated edges scratching against your teeth with a cold, almost coppery tang to it. You think that you could compare it to holding a handful of coins in your mouth.
Really, it tasted… unforgiving.
You reached your hand to your mouth, intending to pull out the metallic object to take a look at it, when you realized, with immediate and all-consuming horror, that your mouth was full of knives. You froze, your mind screaming at you with thoughts that are too fast for you to comprehend and your body tethered to the cold tiled floor. The blades kept sliding across your teeth, grinding them down with a gritty, almost static-like noise. You could feel a faint humming noise growing in the back of your brain, filling your ears. It felt like fear.
The blades in your mouth seemed to have a mind of their own, moving somehow of their own will. You could feel them slipping across your gums. It was almost painful, but the pain seemed so minimal compared to the growing anxiety tingling throughout your body. You could taste copper in your mouth; though if that was caused by the knives or by your own blood being split was impossible to tell.
I’m trapped.
The words echoed with a disturbing vigor in your head. You were stuck, unable to move, with a body with a mouth full of knives and bloodied saliva, and all you could do was stare at your reflection suffering from the same horrible fate. You could not pull them out; you could not move a single muscle in your body. Your mouth, and eventually your entire body along with it, was destined to be a filthy and battered mess of weaponry and mangled flesh, and you slowly came to the awful realization that there was only one thing you could do about it.
You swallowed.
You gasp for air, your hand gripping your mouth. When you pull it away, you realize that it is covered in sweat, similar to your back and forehead. You quickly realize that you are not facing your bedroom mirror with a mouth full of knives. You are in your tent, and your tent is in the woods. Probably. It is dark out, but even if it wasn’t, you can tell that your vision is a little blurry at the edges. But you can still place your hands on the ground, and you can feel your linen blanket, and you know that you are where you are supposed to be.
“You shouldn’t sit up.”
Your mentor, the goddess Athena, spoke, her words quiet yet intense as they always were. They cemented you into reality, and the unfortunate events of the day came rushing back to you.
“I… I was stabbed, right?”
There was a silence from Athena, and you were filled with the feeling of judgment.
“If you’re so uncertain, you can look for yourself.”
You instinctively look down at your chest and curse softly. The wound is wrapped up, but looking at the blood-soaked bandages enveloped tightly around your abdomen triggered the memory of being stabbed by an overachieving enemy soldier. The wound isn’t particularly painful, but it feels wrong, in a numb sort of way that sends a signal to your brain that you probably won’t be able to just walk this injury off.
“Athena… where are you?”
You strain your eyes in the dark, but you can’t see the goddess’s towering form anywhere. You start to think that this might just be another dream until you feel a feathery touch on your shoulder, grounding you back into reality.
“I’m on the ground, to the right of you.”
You turn to the right, finding an owl staring directly into your eyes. Athena’s gray pupils are massive, practically glowing in the dead of night. It’d be terrifying if you weren’t in the goddess of war’s favor. Though you suppose that was probably her intention.
“Do you always try to give your champions a heart attack when they wake up? Because if you do, you’ve got a good thing going with the whole ‘staring at them with my big magical owl eyes as they sleep.’”
“You shouldn’t be insulting the goddess of war. If I recall correctly, you were stabbed in your chest, not your head, yes? So your brain should still be somewhat functional.”
“I think I have a fever.”
As you say the words, you realize they’re definitely true. Your body is coated in a sticky layer of sweat, and the back of your head is buzzing with a faint sound of ringing.
“...You do. Your body temperature is elevated, as is your heart rate.”
You look down at your chest once more, the bloody wrap of bandages. They’re caked in both dried and fresh blood, implying that the wound has not yet closed. You don’t want to open them up, but you get the feeling that you know what you’ll see.
“It’s infected, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Athena speaks softly. If you didn’t know any better, you would think that her tone of voice was conveying some sort of worry for you. You were alone in the woods, unable to stand or get help, with an injury that most soldiers wouldn’t be able to come back from. You should be worried. But somehow, you’re filled with an eerie sense of calm. You turn onto your side, staring into Athena’s large owl eyes.
“When I was asleep, I… was dreaming.”
Athena was silent, continuing to meet your eyes. The owl’s expression betrayed nothing, though you still weren’t sure if you could actually read owl expressions, so who can really say what was going through the war goddess’s mind?
“I had a dream that my mouth was full of knives. I couldn’t take any of them out, and they kept moving around in my mouth as I watched them cut up my mouth in my bedroom mirror. The only way I could get rid of them was by swallowing.”
You turn onto your back again, wincing at the tingling of pain shooting up your body from your chest. You wonder why you were telling your mentor all of this. Athena was not the type of goddess who befriended mortals. Your relationship with her was always strictly educational, and it was never something you thought you had minded. You each had your own individual lives, and you lived them separately. You were grateful for the goddess’s help, but you knew that you couldn’t really trust or rely on her. She was an immortal, and her only goal was to educate you, not to be a failsafe for when you inevitably get injured. You were always going to end up on your own.
“It was… probably a fever dream, or something. Delusions from, well…” You stare down at the bandages. “You know.”
Athena remained quiet. The silence stretched on until you forced yourself to break it and say the words that kept repeatedly running through your head.
“I’m…um. I’m going to die, aren’t I?”
Your voice broke a little when you spoke the words, despite your attempt to keep your composure. You had hoped to die with a little more honor. Or at least quickly, not stuck in your tent with none of your fellow soldiers around. You wondered if they would even find your body. If they did, would they want to bury you? Would you ever find your way into the Underworld?
When Athena spoke, her tone contained an intensity that stung you more than you wanted to admit.
“If you do not receive medical attention by the end of the night, you will not make it to the morning.”
You exhaled, trying to ignore the tingling in your chest that was starting to grow into a steady hum of pain, throbbing with each breath.
“Right… I suppose that’s it, then. Sorry that your champion is going to die in such an honorless way.”
You wondered if Athena was used to champions begging her to intervene in their lives to save them. You assumed that no matter how dishonorable your death was going to be, it was probably best not to beg a goddess such as Athena to change the trajectory of your life. You did not have a relationship with her, regardless of the time you had spent together.
You only hoped that the rest of your troop was able to find your body and give you a proper burial. Unlike most of them, you had no one waiting for you back home. Your death would not matter to anyone, only your general, who would be down yet another soldier.
“Athena?”
You’re not sure why you go to ask Athena for a favor. Maybe it’s the fever talking. You can feel your head throbbing again, that ever-present hum in your mind taking control of your senses. Maybe it’s the fact that you will never see the sun rise again, and despite everything, you feel like you deserve to at least have some control over your death. Or maybe it’s the fact that Athena is the closest thing you’ve had to a friend for these long war-struck years. Still, you’re filled with a stupid sense of courage and want, and it gives you the bravery to speak up.
You’re going to die anyway, after all.
“Can you take me out of my tent? I want to see the sky before I die.”
Athena goes quiet once again, and you think for a horrible couple of seconds that you should have stayed quiet and just died in your filthy tent. But she steps out of your tent, transforming back from an owl to her godly form.
“This will probably hurt.”
Athena grabbed you by the legs, pulling you out of your tent. You inhaled sharply as your chest wound pierced you with pain. You breathe in and out slowly, dulling the stabbing pain to a faint throbbing. You lay on the cold, hard ground, Athena sitting upright beside you.
You stared up into the sky. The night was clear, the stars twinkling freely without fear of clouds dulling their light. Selene, the moon, was waning, with only a sliver of light left to illuminate the treetops' thick coat of leaves. The forest was dark and silent until Athena spoke.
“You should rest.”
“I don't want to dream anymore. Besides, I don’t think I’ll get to wake up again.”
Athena glanced at you. Her thick amber hair covered her neck and shoulders, and her gray eyes held a piercing quality that persisted no matter the form she took. They stared at you with mild annoyance now. You knew that it was a dangerous move, denying the requests of your mentor, but it wasn’t like your safety mattered at this point.
“Don’t worry about your dreams. Your fever is dying down. Delusions are unlikely at this point. And anyway, you might be surprised about how fate plays out. You aren’t dead yet, after all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
You scanned the forest, looking for Athena, but she had vanished, leaving you alone in the forest. Her words filled you with confusion, but Hypnos’s exhaustion seeped into your body and mind, leaving you unable to think of anything but sleeping. Maybe your mentor was right. Funny how that is sometimes, isn’t it? You close your eyes, your body weary from the ordeal of being stabbed.
You do not dream.
To your surprise, you wake up. Your chest burns with pain, your bandages filthy and essentially useless at this point, since you can feel your hand covered in a sticky, cold liquid that you’re pretty certain is your own lifeforce. You almost wish you hadn’t woken up at all. You can’t have slept for long, as the sky is still slightly tainted with purple streaks. You can hear the voices of the soldiers in your troop faintly. They shouldn’t be here. Maybe you’ve fallen into delusion again. Dionysus must be proud of you at this point.
Then you hear the voices grow louder.
“There’s someone over here!”
Your vision is blurry, but you can see the shadow of a man standing over you. You think you hear someone cursing, but you can barely stay awake, and everything sounds faint. Yet, for some reason, you could feel a vague sense of hope.
“They’re still alive, come on, get them to the med tent!”
Maybe Athena was right.
Maybe there was life still in you.
You close your eyes again, this time not with finality, but with acceptance. You can’t be sure, but you get the feeling that your nightmares are over for a while.
Sleep comes easily.