50 BILLION REASONS FOR REVENGE

HE WILL RETURN

The grief in the city was a heavy, suffocating blanket. While the people saw Zeus as a savior, Toby saw him only as a thief of hearts and lives. Every time Toby closed his eyes, he didn't see the victory at the gates; he saw Agnes falling in the dirt, the jagged blade meant for Zeus buried in her side.

Toby sat in the dark corner of a tavern, his eyes bloodshot. Beside him sat the Chief Commander of the newly formed City Guard, a man named Vane.

"He walks around like a god," Toby hissed, slamming a fist onto the table. "He spends his billions on bread and stone, acting like he’s the most humble man in the world. But Agnes is in the ground because of him. She took a hit that was meant for his useless chest."

Vane leaned in, his voice a slithering whisper. "The men are restless, Toby. They don't want a philosopher; they want a warrior. If Zeus were to... fall... in a tragic accident, the city would need a strong hand. Your hand."

"How?" Toby asked. "The people love him."

"The Open Fights," Vane suggested. "He wants to prove he’s still one of the people. He wants to show the slaves he’s their brother. We organize a 'friendly' exhibition. We find a man with nothing to lose, a blade coated in the venom of the desert snake, and we call it a 'mistake of the ring.'"

Zeus, wanting to bridge the gap between his wealth and the common man, agreed to the exhibition match. He thought it would boost morale. He didn't see the way Toby looked at him from the shadows of the balcony.

The arena was packed. Zeus entered the ring without armor, his chest bare, showing the scars of his life of labor. His opponent was a massive, silent slave from the northern territories—a man who had been promised his weight in gold by Toby to ensure Zeus never walked out.

The fight began with a roar. Zeus moved with his usual grace, but he was holding back, not wanting to hurt the man. It was his kindness that nearly cost him his life.

In the heat of the struggle, the northern slave pulled a hidden, thin needle-blade from his wrist wrap. As Zeus leaned in for a clinch, the man drove the steel deep into Zeus's side, twisting it before pulling back.

Zeus gasped, a cold fire spreading from the wound. He looked at the man, then up at the balcony where Toby stood. Toby didn't look away. He didn't look horrified. He looked satisfied.

Zeus collapsed to one knee, blood—dark and thick—staining the sand. The crowd screamed, a chaotic wall of sound. Guards rushed into the ring, and in the confusion, the northern slave was whisked away by Vane’s men.

"An accident!" Vane shouted over the noise. "A tragic mistake in the heat of battle!"

For three days, Zeus lay in a fever dream in the high tower of the palace. The venom was slow, designed to rot a man from the inside out. The city’s weakest healers worked over him, but Zeus’s mind was elsewhere.

Toby wouldn’t let great healers attend to him.

He was back in the golden field. But the sun was setting now, casting long, purple shadows. Maria stood before him, her face stern.

"Zeus," she said, her voice echoing as if from the bottom of a well. "You have fought the lion, but you have ignored the snake at your heels."

"Maria..." Zeus reached for her, but his hand passed through her like mist.

"Toby is lost to the darkness, my love," she warned. "His heart is a burnt field. He will not stop until your blood waters the earth. You are not safe here. The walls of this palace have ears, and the guards you trust have prices. Wake up, Zeus. Wake up and run."

Zeus’s eyes snapped open. He was drenched in sweat, his side throbbing with a dull, agonizing pulse. The room was dark, the candles flickering low. He could hear voices outside his door—whispers of a "new administration" and "the transition of power."

He realized then that the city he had saved was now the cage that would kill him.

With a groan of agony, Zeus rolled out of the bed. He used a silk curtain to wrap his wound tight, biting his lip to keep from screaming. He couldn't trust Toby. He couldn't trust the Guard.

He reached under the floorboard beneath the bed—a spot he had prepared weeks ago. He pulled out a small leather satchel. Inside was a encrypted key to his offshore accounts and a heavy bag of gold coins. He didn't need 50 billion dollars to survive; he needed his wits.

He dressed in the rags of a kitchen servant, the very clothes. He didn't take the main gates. He went back to the sewers—the same filthy tunnels he had used to take the city. As he waded through the waist-deep water, the salt stinging his wound, he felt a bitter irony. He had entered this city as a liberator, and he was leaving it as a ghost.

By the time the sun rose, Zeus was five miles away, hidden in the dense canopy of the Great Forest. He looked back at the spires of the city, silhouetted against the morning sky.

"I gave you everything," he whispered, clutching his side. "I gave you my blood, my gold, and my heart. And you tried to take the rest."

He turned his back on the City of the Sun. He needed to heal. He needed to disappear. He would head to the neutral territories of the coast, where no one knew the name Zeus, and where a man with a billion dollars could become a simple fisherman until the time was right to return.

The servant was gone. The King was in exile. And Toby was left ruling a city of shadows, unaware that the man he tried to kill was only getting stronger in the dark.