They said the Nikiforov line was descended from Achilles, the greatest warrior to have ever lived, himself.

This explained why the way the news of an incoming Nikiforov army was enough to make even the strongest of armies bleat songs of surrender.

It was said Victor Nikiforov's army consisted of the greatest collection of fighters ever assembled, and had never lost a battle.

Of course, the Duke of Hasetsu thought grimly, tightening his hold on his trusted spear, there's always a first time for everything.

The Victory Ball was lavish, with open-armed wine, as well as open-armed men and women.

Victor's lips quirked as he took in the spectacle. As Megas Basileus, it wouldn't be out of sorts for him to give into the rare indulgence of partaking in the feasts available.

A man nearby laughed throatily.

All the feasts available.

For after all, Macedon had, for the first time ever, defeated its historic enemy and combatant in the field of battle. Even the harshest critics wouldn't begrudge The Great Victor Nikiforov, Megas Basileus, from partaking in the festivities that were being held in the Palace of Hasetsu.

In fact, it might even be expected of him. To, to quote his illustrious teacher Yakov known throughout the lands by the name Aristotle, do his duty and provide a fitting heir to the empire Victor was creating.

But, despite the vibrancy filling the air, and the muted sounds of laughter and merriment he could hear from his position from the balcony, Victor could feel a hazy feeling of lassitude clouding his body.

Inspite the fact that he had successfully conquered all the lands till the end of the world, he could no longer feel his soul being stirred.

What was happening to him? Who would have thought that being Megas Basileus, the king of the whole world, and that too the first to achieve the rank would be so….Uninspiring.

Maybe the Muses had abandoned him after all. For war, what had once been art to him, had become routine. No Muse would stand for that.

Victor resisted the urge to sigh, and looked out at the land that was now his.

It was lovely.

Pity that it was filled with barbarians who didn't appreciate its beauty. And Victor, who had been trained in the arts and sciences since he was naught but a babe, could forgive a man for being barbaric, but not for being unmoved by beauty.

Tis a sin, that.

To be privileged enough to experience beauty and be unaffected is a sure sign of a true monster.

Victor spied a blooming rose bush near a lake from the corner of his eye. With the muted laughter from the hall still ringing in his ears, he made a decision.

Victor, despite what some naysayers would have you believe, was no monster.

Oh! Most miserable wretch that I am! Why have I not learnt how to swim?

In Victor's defence, reaching out to pull out a particularly red rose from the bush, didn't seem like it would end up costing him his life. Of course, presenting all the theory in the world wouldn't help Victor in his current predicament of flailing frantically, feet vying for firm ground, as he tried his best to keep his head above the water in the lake he had fallen prey to.

And this is how The Great Victor Nikiforov met his match, not on a battlefield, but against nature herself. What wrongs have I wrought upon you, Mother, for you to turn on me this way?

Victor shouted louder, urging someone, anyone, to help.

Victor could feel his lungs burning and his vision blurring, if he didn't think of something, he was going to be seeing his father earlier than originally planned.

He struggled harder, kicks becoming stronger in instinctual desperation.

"Stop."

Victor heard the singular word as someone pressed up behind him, chest to Victor's back, with the stranger's arms surrounding Victor's chest. Victor, who prided himself on his ability to take guidance from experts in areas unfamiliar to him, obeyed.

Slowly, but surely, the stranger guided the two of them to the shore, arms firm, but oddly gentle in its security, across Victor's chest.

Finally, Victor slumped to the ground, resisting the urge to pray to Gaia.

Terra Firma.

"Are you well?"

Victor looked up at his rescuer, and…..

He felt his soul stir.

For in front of him was Ganymede himself, a little soaked and a lot worried about Victor, if the frown lines were any indication, but all the more lovelier for it.

"Xene, listen, I need you to tell me if you are having any trouble breathing." The stranger continued, tone urgent.

Victor was having trouble breathing, but he didn't think that that was what Ganymede here was referring to.

Victor turned his thoughts to the other interesting word the stranger had used: Xene. Foreigner. How very polite, at least he wasn't being addressed as "young man" or "human being," or the worst "that one over there," that degree of disinterest from this Aphroditic vision would injure him far more than any battle-field wound.

"I beg of you to answer me, lest I will be forced to call upon someone for assistance and I really do not want to have to resort to that. I have heard that the Megas Basileus is in attendance tonight, and I need to have words with him about other matters, not that you are not important as well-"

Victor blinked at the sudden torrent of information, and taking pity on the babbling man wringing his hands, said, despite his eagerness to hear more information from that lovely mouth, "All but my pride is hale and hearty, thanks to you."

The other man almost crumpled in relief, to Victor's fond amusement.

"Oh, thank god. You talk." The man said blankly, running a hand through his wet hair, pushing it off of his forehead, revealing deep brown eyes.

Victor felt no answering amusement that would have normally arisen at the implication, instead feeling an increasing sense of gravitas, like something had fundamentally changed in the last few moments, envelop him.

This boy, Victor knew now with certainty and instinct, the kind that had won him battles when the odds were overwhelmingly stacked against him, was important.

Was this what the gods felt before they kidnapped mortals out of their beds, against advice, foresight and forethought? Was this the feeling that made them act against their better judgement, leading them to lay waste to all sense and follow their instincts with reckless abandon?

No, because unlike the gods, Victor was unwilling to do anything that would act against the will of this stranger, already so dear. He would rather cut off his sword-wielding arm than force himself on anyone, let alone someone who had unhesitatingly saved his life without knowing who Victor was.

Victor needed some way to keep this man with him always, until he could figure out why he was so important, and he had to make the other man want it just as badly, if not more.

Victor just needed to apply some of the rakish charm he was renowned for. If the populous were to be believed, on the application of his charms, convincing any man or woman to do anything would be as simple as taking hard-boiled sweets from a babe.

Victor sat down, uncaring of the dirt now sticking to his expensive, wet clothes, and drawled, "Yes, I talk, and I am suddenly overcome with the need to thank the fearless hero who saved me. Tell me, beloved, how would you prefer I thank you?"

The other man stepped away - possibly at the predatorial look that Victor knew he was probably wearing on his face - looking unnerved, and stuttered, "It's no matter, anyone would have -"

Victor tutted, the tip of his tongue kissing the top of his mouth, and said with no small amount of artful artifice, "Uh-uh, but no one did. Well, if you won't allow me to thank you, may I at least ask for your name? So I may forever remember this night in its completion as I lay awake at night."

The man colored at Victor's tone, and stuttered, "Um, you don't have to….My name is Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki."

Victor felt the smile drop out of his face.