Leonidas' mind soared above a factory of fear, letting his memory resume the endless toil of telling his life's tale. But he felt it. The end was drawing near. The Immortals rushed at him as his memory continued to wade the abysmal calm of battle. Everything unfolded in slow motion around him, and memory only allowed half-voices to break through the bruised silence. The Persian hordes moved in a stream unrelenting, their king, Xerxes, casting a wide, fleeting gaze that, to the Spartan king, remained beyond shattering. For a moment, Leonidas' eyes moved swiftly upon the ghostly stream. The god of light is nowhere to be seen. Leonidas peers through the murky distance and imagines seeing Xerxes seated beneath a truncated mass of burnished gold. He imagines seeing his empire-sized gaze through the dark, rendering motes of dust agleam under a brutal mortal sun. Some of the Spartans raise their shields while others are impaled. The spears break through bodies hardened with hearts unwavering. Blood-dimmed bodies consumed by a blackness entire now waver in an indefatigable mortal breeze. Death comes sweetly upon the fallen, its soothing breath lifting memories that span their lives entire, memories glowing with Greece. Leonidas closes his eyes. He drifts beneath the sparkling red surface, hearing the sound of something steadily drowning. But then he realizes that the inaudible sound belongs to a tide unlike any other. A tide that allows the world's most ancient memory to rise and take hold of tomorrow's unknown. He remains motionless as he hovers precariously between the surface and the deep. Bubbles rise but then wander aimlessly. He is a shadow drifting down toward the dark ocean floor. He feels that the aeon tide is no longer in motion. It has ceased to move along with his heart, which appears to shatter invisibly before his eyes. He is a shadow that seems to enter the arc of movement that leads to a watery grave. He tries to move upward but the sheer absence of weight drags him down toward the abyss. He feels it. The dreaded kiss of the dark. The ocean breathes silence. He tries to feel the tide, but it has stopped moving long ago. So long that he feels that its standstill precedes his very existence. What has happened to the tide? The tide was the only thing that kept his shadowy frame moving toward solidity. It was the thing that made his heart entirely solid and capable of sustaining each precious breath. The darkness enfolds him now. He wonders what has caused the tide to stop. Now, he is coming to a standstill. His vision is completely enshrouded by blackness. Then motion again. His heart regains a steady rhythm. He does not know if the darkness actually swallowed him or if it merely contrived the semblance of his sudden demise. The light shines through the dark depths. He is rising steadily, becoming more than a shadow. I am free. He feels his beloved's ghostly touch on his face. Intangible tears swell and trickle down his bruised visage. His mind races back to the beginning, and his heart instantly follows it. Leonidas sees the beginning of freedom form. There is an empty void, which instantly becomes filled with an organic flowering. Life unfolds before his eyes. He witnesses his own mortal start, feeling a muted thunder inside him. Then he feels it entirely. The birth of a free heart.