And dead without a soul was a very bad existence. He of all men knew that one.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll train them.”

She smiled.

Acheron flashed from her temple back to Simi and ordered her to stay put a little longer. The demon would only complicate an already complicated matter.

Once he was sure she would stay, he teleported to Falossos.

He found the three men huddled in the darkness just as Artemis had said. They were talking quietly amongst themselves, grouped around a small fire for warmth and yet their eyes watered from the brightness of the flames.

Their eyes were no longer human and could no longer take the brightness that came from any source of light.

He had much to teach them.

Acheron moved forward, out of the shadows.

“Who are you?” the tallest one asked as soon as he saw him.

The man was no doubt a Dorian with long black hair. He was tall, powerfully built, and still dressed in his battle armor that was in bad need of care and repair.

The men with him were blond Greeks. Their armor was no better than the first man’s. The youngest of them had a hole in the center of his breast plate where he had been stabbed through his heart with a javelin.

These men could never go out and mix with living people dressed like this. Each of them needed care. Rest.

Instruction.

Acheron lowered the cowl to his black himation and eyed each man in turn.

As they noted the swirling silver color of his eyes, the men paled.

“Are you a god?” the tallest one asked. “We were told a god would kill us if we were in their presence.”

“I am Acheron Parthenopaeus,” he said quietly. “Artemis sent me to train you.”

“I am Callabrax of Likonos,” the tallest said.

He indicated the man to his right. “Kyros of Seklos.” Then the youngest of their group, “and Ias of Groesia.”