The second fight was about to begin.
For the first combat, a divine coliseum had been raised, a majestic structure created solely to witness that inaugural confrontation. However, for the following battles, something different had been arranged: the participants and the selected audience had to make their way to an enormous construction located in the middle of the Elysian Fields, a large and elegant Greek theater whose marble steps descended in wide tiers toward the center.
From there, each round would be observed before the combatants were transported to their respective battle arenas.
Unlike the coliseum, that theater functioned as a starting point. From its center, the fighters would be sent to special arenas created for each confrontation.
Each of those arenas represented one of the combatants: it could be a place familiar to them, a field where they had fought in life, or a setting that faithfully reflected who they truly were.
By simple chance, it would be decided which of the two available arenas would be used in each fight. However, there was a clear rule among the organizers of the tournament: no arena could be repeated.
As the stands slowly began to fill with heroes, spirits, and minor deities, Thetis headed toward a section of the theater reserved exclusively for the gods who had chosen their champions. Achilles, on the other hand, took a different path. Ignoring that privileged area, he decided to walk toward a very different sector of the amphitheater, where those he truly wished to be with were gathered: his former comrades in war.
As soon as he appeared among the rows of stone, a voice called out to him with enthusiasm.
"Achilles!"
Patroclus practically jumped from his seat upon seeing him and ran toward him with a smile that mixed relief and emotion. Behind him, the other Achaean warriors also approached, though at a calmer pace, observing the hero with a mixture of pride and curiosity.
"I'm glad to see you on your feet" said Patroclus as he reached him, examining him closely. "After what happened in the arena… I feared you wouldn't come out of it so well."
Before Achilles could respond, the others began to surround him. Questions about his condition, comments about the fight, and jokes arose all at once, creating a small chaos among the old soldiers. Among them appeared the enormous figure of Ajax the Great, who did not miss the chance to ruffle his hair with a heavy, almost paternal hand.
"Not bad, boy" he grunted with a proud smile. "That was a fight worth watching."
"You did well, kid" another voice added.
Agamemnon made his way through the others with his usual kingly bearing. On his face was an amused smile that seemed to hide a hint of mischief. Without saying anything else, he raised his hand and gave Achilles a strong slap on the back.
The gesture was strong enough to make the young man flinch immediately. The pain from the wounds he still carried from his previous battle flared up at once, coursing through his body like a shock.
Achilles clenched his teeth for a moment, trying to hide it.
"Thank you… your majesty" he finally replied, with a sarcasm so evident that several of the warriors couldn't help but laugh.
But the laughter didn't last long.
Suddenly, a strange silence spread among them. One by one, the warriors began to turn toward the same point, their gazes fixed on the figure of a man who was slowly approaching the group.
He was the last to arrive.
Achilles saw him too.
"Odysseus…" he whispered.
The young man took a few steps toward him with some caution. Something about the posture of the king of Ithaca felt strange. His fists were clenched at his sides and his gaze remained fixed on the ground, as if he carried a weight too heavy to lift his head.
Achilles barely had time to get a little closer.
The blow came without warning.
Odysseus' fist struck directly against his face with a sharp, sudden force. Completely caught off guard, Achilles staggered several steps backward as the echo of the impact seemed to resound through the nearby stands.
"Odysseus!" Patroclus exclaimed, outraged. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"
Before Achilles could fully regain his balance, Odysseus stepped forward again. This time he did not raise his fist. Instead, he grabbed Achilles by the shoulders with both hands, holding him firmly while keeping his gaze fixed on the ground.
His breathing was heavy.
"I'm sorry…" he finally murmured.
His voice trembled, mixing anger, pain, and something that seemed like guilt.
"I'm happy that you're alright… I really am. It's just that…"
His hands tightened even more on Achilles' shoulders, as if he were holding something back inside himself.
Achilles understood even before he said another word.
"Diomedes…" he whispered.
Odysseus slowly released the young man's shoulders. For a moment he seemed unable to respond. Then he turned around and walked a few steps forward, running a hand across his face as he tried to compose himself.
Silence once again enveloped the group.
Finally, Odysseus took a deep breath and lifted his head.
"Diomedes died as he lived" he said in a steadier voice. "With the honor… and the pride of a true warrior."
Then he turned once more toward his former comrades. There was a faint smile on his face, although in his eyes there still lingered a trace of sadness impossible to hide.
"It's not worth continuing to mourn him" he went on in a lighter tone. "If he were here, he'd be the first to tell us to stop behaving like girls."
For a moment, no one responded.
But Odysseus' smile widened a little more.
"Come on" he finally said. "The second fight is about to begin."
Without saying anything else, he began to walk toward the theater stands. Little by little, the other Achaean warriors followed him. Achilles remained in place for a moment, watching their backs as they moved toward their seats.
Then, in silence, he joined them to witness the beginning of the second fight.