King Peleus had become a constant fixture in our lives. Gone were the days of carefree afternoons spent exploring the palace grounds or sparring in the training circle. Now, we found ourselves summoned to stuffy council meetings and interminable dinners for visiting dignitaries.

While I was grudgingly granted a seat at the table, nestled right beside Patroclus, the atmosphere stifled me. Speaking was permitted, but rarely encouraged. I preferred the role of quiet observer, taking in the tapestry of faces around me. King Peleus, his once fiery hair now a faded gray, regarded Patroclus with a fondness that felt more distant than truly personal. He had taken to calling him "Skops," a nickname that seemed to hold a forgotten meaning.

Once the formalities of the day concluded and the other guests dispersed, Patroclus and I would join the King by the crackling fire in his private chambers. There, enveloped in the warm glow of the flames, Peleus would regale us with tales of his youth. His voice, though raspy with age, held a spark of the same adventurous spirit I recognized in Patroclus. He spoke of daring escapades, fierce battles, and even a period where he fought alongside the legendary Heracles.

When I mentioned a chance encounter with Philoctetes, the warrior renowned for wielding Heracles' mighty bow, a broad smile stretched across Peleus' face. "Ah, Philoctetes!" he boomed, his voice filled with a nostalgic warmth. "The one they called the Bold! Back then, though, he preferred the swift thrust of a spear. And bravery? He held the crown for that, hands down."

These compliments, devoid of boastfulness and brimming with genuine admiration, were a refreshing change from the usual bluster of our warrior society. It all clicked into place for me then. No wonder Peleus' treasury overflowed with gifts – he understood the power of humility, the value of a word spoken with respect instead of arrogance.

Huddled together, warmed by the fire and the King's captivating stories, we listened as servants tirelessly fed the flames, log after log. It wasn't unusual for dawn's first light to peek through the window before Peleus finally nudged us towards our chambers, our minds filled with the echoes of his adventurous past. These evenings, spent in the quiet companionship of the King and Patroclus, became a cherished haven amidst the ever-increasing demands of courtly life.

Patroclus remained a constant presence in my life, a shadow at my side except for one glaring absence. He never accompanied me on my late-night or early-dawn visits to see my mother, Thetis, the sea goddess.

Upon my return, the telltale signs – the salty flush on my skin, the ocean clinging to my hair – would prompt his inquiries. His voice, however, held a curious neutrality, devoid of the usual spark of curiosity.

"Same as always," I'd reply, recounting the predictable routine. "She asks about my well-being, my reputation amongst the warriors. Always, at the very end, she poses the same question – will I join her?"

My rapt attention would be clear, drawing a wry smile from him. "Where?" he'd ask, humoring me.

"The underwater caves," I'd explain, my voice hushed with a mixture of fascination and fear. "Beneath the waves, where sunlight dares not reach. Home to the sea nymphs."

The next question hung heavy in the air. "Will you go?"

I shook my head. "Father says no. Says no mortal who sees them returns unchanged." As I turned away, I made the peasant sign against evil. Gods forbid. It unnerved me a bit to hear him speak of such things so calmly. Gods and mortals in our stories rarely ended well. But she was my mother, I reminded myself, and I was half-god after all. 

The first light of dawn would usually find me stirring as she clambered back through the window. A mumbled inquiry from his bed – "Is she well?" – would be met with a reassuring, "Yes, she is well, Patroclus."

Sometimes, she'd add a detail or two, a snippet from her world – "The harvest is bountiful this year," or "The seas are calm, like a sleeping giant." I didn't really care, to be completely honesy.

A familiar concern flickered in Patroclus' eyes as I returned from my encounter with Thetis. Without needing to speak, he inquired, "Is she well?"

"She is," I confirmed, the words tinged with a hint of apprehension. "And she wants to meet you." My voice hitched slightly as I recalled my mother's forceful command.

A flicker of surprise crossed Patroclus' face. "Meet me?" He echoed, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

"There's no harm in it," I reassured him, though the conviction lacked its usual strength. "Tomorrow night, she said." I reached down, picking up a random stone from the path, turning it over in my hands with a nervous repetition. He knew me well enough to see the unease churning beneath the surface.

"Tomorrow?" he repeated, his brow furrowing slightly.

I nodded curtly, the weight of the upcoming meeting pressing down on me.

"Should I... should I bring a gift?" he offered hesitantly. "Honeyed wine, perhaps?" The suggestion hung in the air, a well-meaning attempt to navigate this uncharted territory.

I shook my head, a single, negative motion. "She doesn't like such things," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity. Impatience gnawed at me, a physical manifestation of the nervous turmoil within. Finally, unable to bear the wait any longer, I rose to my feet.

I walked to the olive tree Patroclus and I always went, when I couldn't take it anymore.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked.

"Nothing,"

"Did she tell you that you would die soon?" I asked, worried that Mother might have scared him.

"Yes," he said.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"She wants you to be a god,"

"I know." my face twisted with embarrassment.

But the question still waited to be asked; I knew it was coming.

"Do you want to be—" he started. Here it was. "Do you want to be a god?"

"I don't know," I said at last. "I don't know what it means, or how it happens." I looked down at my hands, clasping my knees. "I don't want to leave here. When would it happen anyway? Soon?"

I turned my voice louder. "And is there really a place like that? Olympus? She doesn't even know how she will do it. She pretends she knows. She thinks if I become famous enough . . ."

"Then the gods will take you voluntarily."

"Achilles." I turned to him, frustration, with a sort of angry bewilderment coursing through my veins. I was barely twelve! "Do you want to be a god?" It was easier this time.

"Not yet," I had said. "I'd like to be a hero, though. I think I could do it. If the prophecy is true. If there's a war. My mother says I am better even than Heracles was."

I turned to him, suddenly. "Would you want to be a god?"

We laughed, the question was so ridiculous.

"I do not think that is likely,"

"There were figs in the kitchen. I saw them," I said.

"I bet I can eat more than you."

"Race you!" I laughed.

We ran.