Achilles
The gods? They've never earned my trust. I think we were mere pawns in their game. They get amusement during our struggles. The war at Troy? It held no weight in my heart. Menelaus and his foolish wife were of little interest to me. I sought glory and a legendary status that would last after my time. I fought for one reason alone, my wants, and I am okay with being selfish.
"The war needs you," Odysseus, king of Ithaca, insisted, his face showing a deep urgency.
"Does it, really?" I replied, arching an eyebrow.
His eyes widened as he watched my expression. I thought his eyes were amusing. His face always gives his true feelings away. "Why not?"
"I refuse to fight a war fueled by one man's greed."
"But it's so much more than that, Achilles," he pressed. I see the determination on his face.
"How so?" I challenged, crossing my arms against my chest.
"The Trojan prince believes he can snatch a king's wife without consequence. If he thinks he can take that, what else might he feel entitled to?"
His words struck a chord, and I frowned. I wrestled with the truth in his argument for a moment. Did Troy truly think they could lay claim to anything they desired? Maybe they did. And why should it matter to me? I had no loyalty to any king but myself. I would carve my own path, myself and only me. In the chaos of war, I would claim the legacy I wanted forged in the flames of ambition.
"Menelaus is dead," Patroclus exclaimed as he rushed into my camp, his face beaming with joy.
"Spying again so close to war?" I shouted, feeling the blood rush to my face.
"I'm sorry, cousin," he replied.
"How did he die?" I asked.
"A single arrow shot," Patroclus said.
"Only Paris has a shot like that," Odysseus informed me.
This is much bigger than I thought.