#phoberos

“Only a few springs ago, on a particularly hot afternoon, Thymos was born. With caramel-colored fur and small ivory horns, the bull-boy opened his eyes for the first time in the desert of Phoberos, sheltered by an improvised tent. His mother wept and his kin rejoiced. He was a male minotaur, destined to be a great warrior. A heavy rain falls, a burning sun rises, and the horns of Thymos seem to grow faster than his legs. Overnight he becomes an awkward creature of strange proportions. The spear in his hand and the leather breastplate were far too large for the boy, but he had to learn to fight early. It was essential for his survival.

On a night of full moon, Thymos’ face broadened, his legs stretched, and the young minotaur gained weight. His chest now filled the armor and the spear was wielded with confidence. That day Thymos returned late to the camp, too late, and when he arrived, he found only the scars of an attack by a rival group. Surrounded by the lifeless bodies of his brothers, he saw his band reduced by half. There was no sign of surprise in his mourning. What had happened was expected, what happens to all. What would he himself have done if he had been on the other side?

Thymos now leads a dozen minotaurs in the quest to find a new piece of land to call home. By then, they had already heard of Tavros and his warriors in marsala cloaks and golden horns. Long ago, many moons past, they laughed at the idea of an emperor in Phoberos, but now they had no one else to turn to. Guided by instinct, they followed the lines in the earth left by the floods – they found one of the narrow arms of the Deyda River that carve the region, and that was now surrounded by small dwellings built with the red clay of the empty lands. This was one of many villages beginning to be raised by Tavros. At the entrance, Thymos and his warrior companions laid down their spears and swore loyalty to the Colossus of Skophos.

Adorned with the symbols and colors of Tavros, Thymos fights in a territory near Mount Velus. The battle is recent, with the Akroan army trying to prevent the minotaurs from seizing control of the region. This is the first organized conflict between the two armies and the reason why Anax has come to the temple. Thymos, confident though he may be, has not yet lived two full decades and has never fought in a war.

The landscape around him is of sloping hillsides and loose soil, with the wind blowing hard. The army of Akros advances in tight formation with shields raised. On the other side, the minotaurs charge down the slope with hoarse cries, their horns lifted high.

Thymos runs at the front of his kin, the spear firm in his hands. He feels the weight of the world in his chest and the certainty that this is the moment he was born for. The first clash is brutal: wood against metal, flesh against iron. The ground turns to mud of dust and blood.

He wounds one soldier, pushes another back, but with every advance he meets more resistance. The Akroan wall yields a handspan and then closes again, crushing all in its path. Thymos feels the spear break in his hands, reduced to a jagged shard. He presses forward nonetheless, bellowing.

A cut slices through his shoulder. He hardly notices. Another strike takes his legs, and he falls to his knees. The last sound he hears is the roar of his brothers. Blood flows hot, fast, and at last Thymos lies down upon the earth he had sworn to conquer.”