A detailed oil painting of a young warrior in elaborate bronze armor with a red-plumed helmet, holding a spear and shield.

The armor I received was no mere protection—it was a tapestry of prophecy and pride, forged with reverence for both war and legacy. The cuirass, molded to fit my still-youthful frame, shimmered with inlaid bronze and faint lines of electrum that traced a rising sun cresting over a field of ships—some whole, some engulfed in flame, their sails caught mid-collapse like dying wings. Along the greaves, slender waves were etched to evoke the sea from which Pylos drew its strength, curling up toward the knees in patterns that echoed both tide and flame. The shield, cast in heavy bronze and backed with layered oxhide, was round and weighty, its face divided into concentric scenes: a shadowed warrior pierced by a golden spear, a pair of lions feasting beneath a stormy sky, and, at its center, the blazing emblem of Helios—sun god and silent witness to bloodshed. Around its rim, a thin band of hammered gold bore a barely legible inscription in archaic script: To glory or to the grave. The helmet, wrought from darkened bronze and crested with stiff red horsehair, had cheek guards shaped like folded wings and a nasal bar etched with an owl in flight—a tribute to Athena, goddess of strategic war. The sword, long and slightly curved, hung at my side in a tooled leather belt studded with brass rivets, its pommel carved with a lion devouring a stag, its blade etched faintly with lines that caught the light like cracks in the sky. A spear stood nearby, propped against the altar—its ash-wood See more