After ensuring Isabeli was asleep and having his hand healed by Enkidu, Elpenor rejoined the others—Enkidu, Ziusudra, Nidaba, Utu, and the captain—in the meeting chamber. Their captive sat in the center of the room, bound, unmoving.

Without ceremony, they doused him with water.

He jerked awake, his breath sharp and uneven, eyes darting through the dim torchlight, He shouted words in a tongue heavy with defian reverberating through the air like a war drum.

"In k'ab mehen Zaron, ti' in k'uchil Teotihuacan. Ma' a k'uchul in ba'ate', a k'uchul a k'i'ik'."

The captain translated, his voice measured, unimpressed. I am the son of Zaron and of the line of Teotihuacan. If you touch me, you shall pay in blood.

Elpenor watched, expression unreadable, the rhythm of his own pulse steady—detached. There was no need to break the man yet. Not truly.

"Ask his name," he ordered.

The captain complied. The captive's stare burned into them, resentful, but his lips curled around the name with pride.

"Teo-Zaron."

Elpenor exhaled through his nose—interest flickering like dying embers. The weight of his lineage meant nothing here. Not now. The hostage did not understand yet, but He would.

Without hesitation, Elpenor took his blade, precise in its movement, and drove it clean through Teo-Zaron’s palm. The shriek was immediate—raw, pained—a sound that rippled through the chamber like a predator’s satisfaction. Blood spilled from the wound, pooling in dark rivulets across the captive’s skin.

Enkidu flinched, the others stiffened—Nidaba, silent and grim, gripping the edge of the stone table as if holding herself back. Utu’s expression darkened, unreadable, the flicker of the fire reflected in his gaze. The captain held himself steady, but a muscle twitched in his jaw.

Ziusudra said nothing.

"Stop crying," Elpenor murmured, voice almost gentle—like scorn wrapped in silk. "You will live."

He held up the bloodied knife, let the fluid drip into the ink cup. Red pooled at the base, thick, weighty.

"Enkidu," he commanded, watching the hostage tremble, fingers twitching in shock. "Heal him. We need him breathing."

Enkidu hesitated—just briefly—but obeyed. The glow of restoration traced over the torn flesh, knitting muscle and sinew with unnatural speed. Teo-Zaron breathed through gritted teeth, rage simmering beneath his pain.

Elpenor turned to the waiting scribe, voice deathly smooth. "Write to Zaron. Tell him we have his son, Teo-Zaron. Tell him we will come to tear Teotihuacan apart—reduce Ankhubek to nothing—for daring to bring harm against my daughter."

A pause. Then a smile—not warmth, but calculation.

"Make sure it is written in his son’s blood." Elpenor sat beside Nidaba in the quiet aftermath, his presence steady, unspoken reassurance in the way he held her gaze. She had not spoken much since the previous night—not of the bloodshed, not of the cold precision with which he had carved their hostage’s fate into something tangible. Yet he could see it weighed on her, that thin strain in her posture, the way her fingers curled slightly too tightly around the fabric of her cloak.

So he said nothing. Instead, he placed a hand against her shoulder, firm and deliberate, and let the silence carry what words never could.

They both returned to their quarters soon after, and when morning came, Elpenor made sure she did not wake alone. His arms wrapped around her in a lingering embrace, warm, steady—longer than the brief acknowledgments of duty, meant to assure rather than simply greet.

"You’re not alone in this," he murmured before pulling away.

Then, without pause, he went to the hearth, preparing breakfast with a practiced ease. He grilled Skyhorn Elk, its rich scent filling the chamber, glazing the meat with Emerald Pines pine nuts and the syrup of Gishmukal fruit. Alongside it, he prepared teghana and melitoutta, soft and warm, meant to soothe. Meant to ease the burdens of last night.

When the meal was ready, he moved toward Isabeli’s room. Gently, he brushed her hair back, waking her without disruption. Her tired eyes blinked up at him before softening.

Once Isabeli and Nidaba were seated, Elpenor sat across from them, watching the weight of the night begin to dissipate.

"Are you both alright?" he asked.

Isabeli took a bite before answering, chewing carefully before nodding. "I feel better." She glanced at him with a quiet gratitude. "Thank you for keeping me safe."

Elpenor held his chin up and bragged. "It’s only my duty as your father." isabeli let out a little giggle

Nidaba set down her cup, her fingers wrapping slowly around its edge. "I’m still uneasy about last night," she admitted, voice measured, quieter than usual. "But... I’m doing better."

Elpenor nodded and confrontingly said. "Good."

But something still sat in the air, shifting behind his thoughts.

He turned to Isabeli. "Do you know anything about Teotihuacan?"

Isabeli furrowed her brow. "He’s from Ankhubek mythology—a warrior king. He was sometimes called the King of the Gadianton, and their war seal represents him."

Elpenor went still.

That word—Gadianton. The tribes east of Greece had once used the Egyptian glyph for an owl and a spear to shape it the word gadianton that was Robbers, in their tongue.

A creeping realization settled into him, slow and unwelcome.

Could there be others—others from his world—trapped within this one?

Then, without warning, a sharp sensation ignited against his chest. The scar there flared briefly—glowing, pulsing—before fading just as suddenly.

The shift did not go unnoticed.

Nidaba’s eyes locked onto him. "Are you alright?"

Elpenor stared at his own skin, then exhaled through his nose. "I’m fine," he said, though his voice betrayed the barest hint of uncertainty. "That was... strange. But I’m fine."

She didn’t seem convinced. "You should check in with Enkidu," she pressed. "Whatever just happened is beyond my medical knowledge."

Elpenor flexed his fingers before sighing. "I will," he conceded.

Afterward.

For now, he had another matter to attend to.

He turned, already setting his mind toward the task ahead. "But first, I need Anzud’s help with a project." Nidaba told him to be quick, Elpenor approached Anzud with a measured stride, his mind fixed on the task at hand. The older craftsman barely looked up from his work, polishing the smooth surface of a bronze ornament.

“I need a box,” Elpenor stated, his voice flat, practical. “One that releases liquid when it nears Ankhubek.”

Anzud didn’t pause, but his brow furrowed slightly. “The Deserian kingdom has plenty of those. A magnetic lock box will work.” He gestured toward a half-finished mechanism on his table. “Secret magnet in the bottom, releases a compartment inside. Another latch at the top—different compartment, sealed properly. That part, you’ll need a key for.”

He finally glanced up, his gaze sharp. “Why do you need it?”

Elpenor met his stare without hesitation. “To send the Ankhubek a message. To scare them.”

Anzud exhaled through his nose, but he said nothing more. He simply handed Elpenor the box. Elpenor made his way to the meeting chamber, passing through the dim-lit corridors with practiced ease. The scribes awaited his arrival, their bloody inks and scrolls ready.

“The letter,” he ordered. “Put it in the top compartment.”

They obeyed without question.

Then, carefully, he lifted the stone ink cup. Thick, dark blood clung to its base—the remnants of Teo-Zaron’s blood. With calculated precision, Elpenor poured it into the lower compartment, watching as the liquid settled before activating the magnet.

“When this reaches the Ankhubek messenger,” he instructed, “it must remain wrapped in cloth and to wish Zaron a good day”

The air was heavy with anticipation. The Ankhubek messenger didn’t questioned his intent. Later, Elpenor found Enkidu.

Without ceremony, he pulled aside the fabric over his chest, revealing the scar that had pulsed with unnatural energy earlier that morning.

“It glowed,” Elpenor stated plainly, offering no embellishment, no unnecessary words. “Only for a moment. Then it stopped.”

Enkidu studied him carefully, placing his hand near the scar, feeling for any trace of lingering energy. His expression remained neutral, unreadable.

“I don’t know what caused it,” the healer admitted at last. “But you look fine.”

Elpenor held his breath for a moment, considering the weight of the unknown.

“Strange,” he muttered. “But fine.”

Nidaba had urged him to seek answers. He had done so. And for now, that was enough.

He rose, the matter temporarily set aside. He still had other questions about what happen.

“Elpenor,” Enkidu spoke again before he could leave. “Whatever that was—it wasn’t normal.”

Elpenor allowed a faint smirk to curl at the edge of his mouth, though there was no humor in it.

“Nothing about me is.”

With that, he left to find Nidaba and invite her to a bath in hopes to help her feel less uneasy.

Elpenor found Nidaba in the quiet of the evening, her expression soft but distant, as though the weight of the day still lingered. He approached her with a calm demeanor, his voice steady as he extended the invitation.

“Care to join me in the bath,” he said simply.

Nidaba hesitated, her cheeks flushing faintly before she nodded. “Alright.”

The bath was warm, the steam curling around them in gentle waves. Elpenor leaned back, his gaze drifting to the ceiling as he commented, “It’s strange not having public baths here.”

Nidaba turned to him, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Were those a thing where you come from?”

“They were common,” Elpenor replied, his tone matter-of-fact. “Everyone used them.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Didn’t you get embarrassed?”

Elpenor shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “No one thought about it that way. A bath is just a bath.”

Nidaba frowned, her expression thoughtful. “That’s still kind of weird.”

Elpenor chuckled softly. “I’m aware of it now.”

The conversation shifted as Elpenor reminisced, his voice carrying a hint of fondness. “I liked listening to the philosophers and mathematicians talk and debate. They had great knowledge—and some good jokes and wordplays.”

Nidaba’s curiosity deepened. “Can you tell me one?”

Elpenor’s smirk returned, and he recited, “Μπορώ να σε φωνάξω πολλαπλασιαστή; Επειδή μπορούμε να φτιάξουμε προϊόν.”

Later, as they left the bath and joined Isabeli for dinner, the young girl’s gaze lingered on Nidaba. There was a glow to her, a lightness that hadn’t been there before.

“Did something happen?” Isabeli asked, her tone curious.

Elpenor and Nidaba exchanged a glance, a shared understanding passing between them.

“Just some bonding time,” they replied in unison.