Kratos's Arc

Chapter 4 of 11

The banner snapped overhead when Bia climbed the steps. Kratos turned. His sister was back at last, dust on her armor, her jaw set. She signed fast, one flat cut of her hand. *Done. Zelus and Nike still refuse.* Then she pointed past him, down the cliff, where the training ground lay bare. Chiron stood on the cracked stone below, arms folded. Kratos had not expected the centaur to return. Chiron had trotted off along the shore after Zeus forced him to yield. Now he was here, blocking the field where enforcers must be trained. Kratos climbed down. "The ground is mine now. Prepare it." "It is yours by the king's word, not mine," Chiron said. "I broke ground here for the worthy. Not for a god who flies borrowed colors." He nodded at the flag. "You want soldiers trained? I train no one for you." Kratos felt the sting. The centaur had named the thing that shamed him. The banner was Zeus's, not his own. He could not force Chiron to teach. A beaten teacher taught nothing. Bia stepped between them. She signed to her brother, sharp. *Let me.* Kratos raised a hand to wave her back, the old habit. She caught his wrist and squeezed hard. Her look was flat and cold. She would not be spared. Kratos let go. "She speaks for me," he told Chiron. Bia faced the centaur. She did not sign. She pointed at the cracked stone, then at herself, then swung her fist through the air. A challenge. Fight her. If she won, he prepared the field. Chiron studied her small frame, then laughed once. "A mute girl." She hit him before the laugh ended. Her fist caught his jaw and turned his head. He staggered on all four hooves. She hit harder than any of her siblings, and she did not stop. She drove him back across his own ground, blow after blow, until his flank struck the rock wall. He reared. She caught a foreleg and threw him down, the way Kratos had failed to hold him before. His back cracked against stone. He did not rise fast. Bia stood over him. She did not gloat. She held out her open hand. Chiron looked at the hand, then at Kratos. Something changed in his face. "She fights for her own name," he said, "not the flag." He took her hand and pulled himself up. "That, I can respect." He struck the cracked stone with a hoof. Cool water welled up through the seam and spread across the field, settling the dust. "The ground is ready," Chiron said. "I will train your fist. Hers first." Kratos had his trainer and his field. But Chiron had bowed to Bia, not to him, and not to Zeus's banner. His sister had won the ground he could not take. She would be trained first, and Zelus and Nike were still lost to him, their answer now open enmity.