Plato's Lost Dialogue

"HECTOR..." The cry engulfs the city, bringing it to a standstill. "HECTOR..." The anger.  The authority.  Only one man could make such a demand.   "HECTOR..." Don't do it Hector.  You don't need to go.  You didn't know it was Patroclus.  He was wearing his lover's armour.  It was a mistake.  It was just a mistake. The city holds its breath.  Hoping.  Praying. The silence is broken by the loud unmistakable creak of a gate opening. Send the army.  Crush him.   But no, the Gods would never allow it.  Hector would never allow it.  And so he stands.  Alone.  The city walls towering over him.  They were built to protect him.  Now they isolate him. His polished armour reflects the evening sun.  His stance is sure.  His resolve unwavering.  Only one man stands any chance against him on the battlefield.  That man waits for him.  Achilles. Sand kicks...