"I know his frustration." Achilles felt similar when his mother tried to hide him away from war. He honored her decisions—in part because she was a goddess with power and resources to make him obey—but back then, he secretly prayed they would find him and he could do exactly what every fiber of his being yearned to: fight with brutal efficiency and hoard honor and glory unto himself.

But Zagreus is different. Better. He doesn't fight just for the thrill of it, or a selfish desire to forge his own legend. He fights for much truer, lasting things: to see justice done, to protect those he loves, to improve the world around him. To bar him from that feels wrong.

"I know he would make a staunch ally to any just cause, but ... he worked so very hard to get here. I only want him to enjoy this peace as long as he can," Achilles says, an edge of parental exhaustion in his voice. "And he's strong, of course, but I worry he's still not come into his own as a god."

Achilles' eyes rest on Hermes and the golden blaze of his power. By comparison, Zagreus' is still scrappily finding purchase on tinder, sheltered from the harsh winds that might snuff out his burgeoning flame.

"You're right. He'll be watching closely." He takes Hermes' fingers, runs his thumb over them. For a moment, he feels guilty about keeping yet another secret from the prince. "As much as I've missed you, love, it's not worth the risk."