Apollodorus stood frozen, his mind struggling to process the carnage before him. His body ached, but the pain was nothing compared to the horror that gripped his thoughts. Slowly, with the help of his men, he rose to his feet, his boots sinking into the thick, crimson-soaked sand. All around him lay the remains of his comrades—dozens of lifeless bodies sprawled across the bloodstained ground, their expressions frozen in the agony of their final moments.
Yet, among the dead, one figure was conspicuously absent.
His breath hitched as a dreadful realization took hold. His lips parted, and though he already knew the answer, the question escaped him in a whisper, almost involuntarily.
"Where is he?"
Silence hung heavy in the air before one of his men finally responded.
"Septimius took him away…"
The words sent a chill down Apollodorus's spine. His hands clenched into trembling fists, his nails digging into his palms.
How?
How could this have happened?
