Chapter IV
A fight in the museum
"Azyr, the mountain's peak, and all that rises above."
The Great Cities of Azyr by Ogwell Mancini
From his vantage point in the stars surrounding Sigmaron, Sigmar thought the view towards the south quite beautiful, and, for a moment, he could almost forget that his own blood had ridden there to war and death against the forces of Shyish.
Below him, Sigmaron sat on the mountain peaks of Mount Celestian, which themselves are given over almost entirely to forges and workshops, but home nonetheless. And as the highest of the walls of the city and the closest one to Mallus looked bare without the usual contingents of warriors standing sentry, Sigmar sensed the prayers to the gods to look after all those who had ridden to Mallus Sacundas.
He squinted his eyes, looking for some sign of his son returning. "I can't see them, Prometheus." Turning towards one of his advisors, who walked beside him on the ivory track that led from the forges around Sigmaron to its Orrey-bastions.
After meeting in Greece during the Bronze Age, the greatest trickster and the king of Azyr became fast friends. However, when Zeus sent Force and Violence, two of his followers, back to find Prometheus after he escaped, they only discovered Sigmar waiting for them.
Prometheus thereafter received a shrine of devotion from the Achroneans in the new world and became one of Sigmar's trusted counselors.
"I'm not surprised," he said, shifting the leather sling that the fire had on his chest to a more comfortable position. "The storm is too thick; they could be almost home, and you wouldn't see them."
"He should be back by now." He stopped to loosen his aching muscles and run a hand through his blond hair.
Prometheus paused with him. "I know, but remember, your son is more like you in your youth and his mother."
"I know I forbade my son's ride to war, but I'm glad he did."
He met Sigmar's gaze, and the frustration he saw in his pale skin surprised him. "You don't understand, Sigmar; your son has many trials as it is. Now he'll face his greatest trial yet, and no matter how courageously he fights from this day on, 'they' will always remember that he will be a threat to their power."
"It is a risk that I have to take. There is no other way we could've stayed hidden from the Greeks."
"I know that, but it will make no difference."
"His mother would not allow them to harm him."
"So now we're relying on the boy's mother to look after him, is that it?"
"No. She will not be the only one who will protect him."
His son was dear to him, but at times, Heron can be quite quiet, fearless, kind, thoughtful, and reserved. He is also quick-witted, handsome, and willing to face any challenge head-on, but he could often be too cool emotionally, leading to a lack of self-awareness.
Like Sigmar, Prometheus is tall and attractive, with fair skin and blue eyes, as it was his love for humanity that was his pride and joy. Only the previous week, Ulric had teased him about looking like a protective mother; such was the care he lavished on the mortals who worshipped him, and Prometheus verbally attacked him with fury.
Prometheus was no match for the god of war, winter, and wolves and had ended up being frozen in place, nursing his cracked pride.
Sigmar had stopped Prometheus from making any further rash mistakes and helped him from Ulric's booming laughter to Aderphi, the chief librarian of the grand library of Sigmaron, where his pride was set and his temper cooled. When the time had come for Heron to return to Terra and go out for his Hestia to see her son, Heron instead went to Mallus Scundas. To ride out to do battle with the Midnight aristocracy to earn his shield and to do battle with forces of death, that was ravaging the southern continent of the old world.
Heron had made it clear that he could not go to Terra just yet.
"I cannot stand by and let those blood suckers spread to other lands to tear families apart with their sweet words and golden lies."
Heron wrote gently in his letter, and Sigmar had been glad, but the thought of his son riding out had worried him more than he cared to admit.
Sigmar scanned the orrey-bastions across the outer ring of the palace city as he made his way to the inner chambers. He looked for a telltale glint of metal, but again, he saw nothing.
Early evening sunlight from the broken world scattered bright reflections from the sluggish clouds as it meandered along the edge of the palace city, and despite his worry, he could appreciate the beauty of the place.
Since daybreak, he and Prometheus have worked tirelessly to restore ties with the gods and goddesses that he had abandoned during the age of chaos and with the old world pantheon, who had reawakened, as well as the affairs of the realm.
Preparations for more crusades have been underway for months. But estimates suggest that most settlements and crusades will be lost within a handful of months without the power of the stormcast chambers. It was hard and thankless work, but all the mortals had to take their part in retaking the mortal realms, and he was grateful for Prometheus presence despite his foul mood. Though he could not ride to war with the others, he could still wield his mind and help the people of Achron.
He looked over the hundreds of conflicts in the mortal worlds now that the day's work was over, choosing the souls of fallen heroes to be reforged into Stormcast eternals.
The gains they have made have been plentiful, and thanks to the efforts of Teclis, the mage god of Hysh, who defeated Nagash and the queen of the radiant wood, Alarielle's ritual caused pure life magic, which is antithetical to the Shyishan energies of Nagash, to cascade across the realms. The land was uplifted in the aftermath of the necroquake, which released both new and old beings.
Thus, within Twinhorn Peak, the prison of Kragnos broke free, and to make matters worse, Typhon's own prison of Mount Saint Helens had been weakened to the point where the titan could speak to his servants in the outside world anytime and anywhere he wanted.
Prometheus sharp eyes were noticed.
"I'm sorry, your highness. I didn't mean to make you upset."
"I'm not upset; I'm just frustrated and worried."
"Heron will be fine; he's a great warrior, not as elegant a swordsman I've seen but handy with a hammer."
"I am worried for all of them. Heron, Anatoly, Zhou, and Elodi: "
"And the goddess of heath."
"Yes, her too."
"Honestly, your highness I don't know what you see in her; just because she's a goddess of hearth and home doesn't make her special. She's like all the rest of the Olympians. Tyrannical and just one shot away from being like their predecessors."
"Prometheus."
"What? The Olympians never once, in all their immortal lives, tried to be better than their tyrant father. They'll gut your son first if they get the chance."
Prometheus!" said Sigmar, hearing the genuine venom in his voice, but before he could say more, he saw his advisor's eyes fixed on something behind him. He turned and followed the god of fire's gaze across the clouds, his advisor's harsh words forgotten in an instant.
A column of Hollow knights was emerging from the Orry-bastions, their pace weary but voices triumphant. Spears and banners were held high, and the warriors cheered at the sight of Sigmaron. Answering cries came from the city walls, and the men and women, demigod and mortal, ran off to the crossway as word spread that the Hollow Knights had returned.
Sigmar felt relieved, and laughter bubbled up inside him.
His son had finally returned home.
The high walls of Sigmaron loomed large ahead of them. Stark and black against the faded ivory of the starry sky, Heron looked forward to his return home as much as he feared it.
He remembered the cheering folk of his home as he had seen the warriors in glory, shields bright and spears shimmering in the starlight, while he and his companions left for Mallus Sacandus. Now they were returning in glory.
The undead menace from the realm of the dead was defeated, and its warlord was slain. All told, they'd burned just under twenty-two thousand corpses in great piles, and by any normal measure, the victory had been magnificent. King Mihai, now lord of all three principalities, had welcomed them within the castle's walls following the battle.
His people were tending to Heron's wounded men and feeding the victorious warriors with the choicest meats and finest beers.
Heron had joined with his men in celebrating the victory, but to stand apart from them in melancholy for the slain would only insult their courage. In his heart, however, he mourned the state of Elodie. He mourned her men and felt the ache of guilt that his order had almost sent her to her death.
Ahead, the crossway sloped down to the southern right hallway. A grand construction of stone and sigmirate that Grungi and his father had designed and overseen the construction of barely two thousand years ago.
Heron and his comrades followed the dustless path as it curved down the crossway into Hero's corridor, each step deliberate and dignified as they carried his injured sword sister home for what may be the final time.
The round edges of the stretcher bearing his sword sister bit into his shoulder as he welcomed the discomfort, knowing that the burden of sending Elodie to her death would be his long after he put down the stretcher and his friend was safe within the temple of healing, where he hoped that the doctors there could heal her wounds.
The ground leveled out, and the litterbearers passed between carved pillars topped with roaring griffins reared on either side of the hall. Stone panels on the inner face of the grand hall were carved, as were paintings with images of battle from the legends of his people. Each one was a heroic tale that had thrilled children for years.
Heroes such as Vandus Hammerhead striding upon his dracoth Calanax, battling orcs and Orruks on the panels, and across the image of Neave Blacktalon slaying a great bullheaded creature, across from there was a blank panel where Heron's tale would begin. No doubt some graven image of his victory at Timisoara would be rendered in stone, forever marking the birth of his legend.
Heron watched as the heavy gates of Sigmaron swung outward, pushed by groups of straining warriors. The walls of Sigmaron are taller than those of Timisoara's, encircling an area far larger and home to thousands of mortals.
Sigmar's palace city was one of the marvels of the Mortal Realms, a place that had been Heron's home for almost his entire life. Formed from interlocking stone beams, the arch above the gate was surmounted by a bearded, grimace-faced warrior clothed in armor and wolf hide, brandishing a massive two-handed warhammer. A pair of wolves sat beside him, and Heron bowed his head before Ulric. His father stood in the center of the open gateway, accompanied as always by Prometheus and Imperius.
Heron felt intense joy at seeing him, knowing that no matter how far he traveled or how great his legend might become, he would always be his father's son and grateful for the fact. Men and women of Sigmaron clustered around the gates but non-ventured from beyond the walls, for it was every warrior's right to match back through the gates of his home with his head held high.
"A fine welcome indeed," said Zhou, marching beside Heron and also bearing the weight of Elodie's broken body. "As well as it should be, the Realms haven't seen a victory like this in decades."
"As it should be."
Their steps shortened as the ground rose, and they climbed the slope towards the walls of Sigmaron. Heron felt his spirits rise as he saw the crowds arrayed to welcome him home, feeling a great surge of affection for his people. Through everything this world had thrown at him on the road to Morr's kingdom—monsters, disease, hunger, demons, and hardship—they survived with dignity and with courage.
What force could halt the progress of a race such as his? Yes, there was pain and despair, but human spirits, vision, and dreams of a greater destiny.
Already, the seeds of his father's vision were bearing fruit, but no growth was achieved without pain. Heron knew there would be much hardship in the years ahead before he could realize the grand ambition that had filled in upon his dooming day amid the tombs of his ancestors.
Heron led his companions through the gates of Sigmaron, and roars of approval and joy swelled from hundreds of throats as their people welcomed him home. However, he could also feel a deep pain in his heart as suddenly his vision disappeared for a brief second.
In that brief moment, though, Heron saw parents rush to greet their sons with tears; some shed joy, others in sadness. Heartfelt welcomes and aching cries of loss filled the air as mothers found their sons either riding tall upon their horses or lying across them.
Heron kept walking until he stood before his father, a king as regal and magnificent as ever. There was space to speak of the simple joy of seeing a son return from war, alive and well.
"Lower her gently."
He and his sword brothers slit the stretcher from their shoulders and laid Elodie's body on the ground.
Heron stood before his father, unsure as to what he should say, but Sigmar solved his dilemma for him, sweeping him up in a crushing bear hug and embracing him tightly.
"My son!" said his father. "You return to me a man."
Heron returned his father's embrace, feeling his love for the brave man who had raised him without a wife at his side as a powerful force within him. Heron knew he owed everything he was to the teachings of his father, and so he's won his approval, which is the finest feeling in the world.
"I told you that I would make you proud."
"Aye, that you did, my son. That you did. But that doesn't get you off the hook." He whispered the last part in his son's ear as the god king of Azyr released his son and stepped forward to address the warriors that had returned to his city, his arms raised in tribute.
"Warriors of my Azyr's light, you are returned safely to us, and for that, I give thanks to you all; your valor will not go unrewarded, and every one of you dines like a king tonight." The hallow knights cheered, the sound reaching the stars, and Sigmar turned to Heron and his fellow litterbearers. He looked down at the banner.
" Elodie."
"Yes, she fell at the bridge at Timisoara's bridge."
"Did she fight well? Was it a good fight?"
"Yes, it was; without her courage, the day would be lost."
"Then she will receive the best care in the halls of healing, and we will pray for her quick recovery for Elodie as she will stay amongst the living for a little longer and be glad for it, because where Elodi's father and brothers are now, the beer is stronger, the food is more plentiful, and the women are more beautiful than anyone else in the world. When the time comes, she'll see them again, and she'll be proud to walk the halls of the mighty alongside her."
Sigmar gestured his hand for a couple of servants to take Elodie to the Halls of Healing.
Heron smiled, knowing his father spoke truly: "But there could be no greater reward for a true warrior than to be honored with a good death and then welcomed into the feast halls of the afterlife. But today, it seems that the lady of the lake has other plans for dear Elodie here, for it would seem that she cannot die just yet."
"I had always believed that it was the loneliest thing to lead men into battle, but now I know that a father's loneliness as he waits for his son to return safely. It's far worse."
"I think I understand."
Remembering the vision he had a second ago of distraught parents as they led away the horses that bore their dead sons.
"For all its glory, war is a grim business."
"And you have learned a valuable lesson, my son. A victory is a day of joy and sadness in equal measure; cherish the first and learn to deal with the second, or you will never be a leader of men." Sigmar turned to Heron's sword brothers.
"Anatoly, Zhou, it fills my heart with joy to see you both return to us."
Anatoly and Zhou beamed at the god-king's praise as three wagons bearing barrels of beer rumbled along the road from the brewhouse stores. Alaric the dwarf rode in the lead wagon, and a might roar went up from the warriors as they recognized the angular runic script on the side of the barrels.
"Dwarf ale!"
"Nothing but the best for our returning heroes. I had been keeping it for my son's wedding feast, but he seems determined to keep me waiting. Better to use it before it goes flat."
"I heard that! Dwarf ale never goes flat!"
"Figure of speech. I meant no offense, master Alaric."
"Just as well. I can head back to my people any time, you know."
"Ehehe, stop being a dower of misery, gods!" laughed Zhou, taking the dwarf's hand in a firm grip of friendship. "And get boring."
Anatoly nodded to Heron, and the god-king made his way to Zhou and the beer barrels. "Not joining them."
"I will, but I should wait until I get back from Yancy Academy; I don't want to arrive drunk when going to Terra."
"Aye, right enough, but before you go, tell me of your adventures and leave no detail untold."
"There's not much to tell, really. We fought its armies north and east of Asmeria, laid siege to the vampire count's last castle, and then fought the undead within the walls of Timisoara."
"Thousands?" asked Imperus, with his customary lack of embellishment.
"Around two to three thousand, but the rest of its army was busy with the Coalition."
"Three thousand?" said Sigmar, exchanging a proud glance with Imperus. Not much to tell, he says, and does the vampire count?"
"Dead by my hand, Soul Drinker drank deep of its blood."
"I had not dreamt such a number could be gathered under one warlord, although it is expected from one part of the Von Carstein, and you killed them all."
"That we did. Their corpses are ashes in the mountains."
"Dracothion's blood, then I hope King Mihai gave you a hero's welcome in his homeland; I'll have words with him if he didn't."
"He did; the now-king of Asmeria sends greetings to the god-king and swears to send what warriors he can spare should we ever need them for either the Dawnbringer Crusades or the Empire."
Sigmar's nodded," A good man, that mortal. He will make a great king for the people of Asmeria. However, though, I am glad that you've won your first battle on Mallus Secundas. You were supposed to go to Terra."
Here we go, Heron thought, preparing himself for the scolding he was about to receive.
"I acknowledge that you acted morally and with good intentions, but the silent manner in which you snuck away to fight on Mallus Secundas terrified me nearly to death. I almost ordered Imperus to turn the entire palace inside out, looking for you. It is only Prometheus' discovery of you fighting in the new world that I refrained from issuing such an audacious order."
"I'm sorry, dad, but... You know that I don't like going to Terra." Heron said. "And I can do much more to help you retake the mortal realms than to sit in a class room full of brats who couldn't fight a goblin if their lives depended on it."
"Heron. I know you have some complications living with the mortals on Terra, who are vastly different than those who live in the mortal realms and Mallus sacundes, but in time you will understand why I sent you to Terra."
"How about you tell me now, dad?" Heron asked
"Don't get me wrong, dad. The tenth dimension has incredible technology that might surpass ours in many ways, including healthcare, transportation, and more. I love it! What I don't like, though, is how people there quickly abuse or discard such inventions in their daily lives." Heron said.
"And what's more, they continue to pollute their own realm.
Sigmar sighed. "Terra is no different than the other nine mortal realms. No matter how advanced they are or what hidden wonders they hold, yes, the humans who live on Terra can be selfish, arrogant, and wasteful, but they can also be kind, humble, and honorable when facing a common foe."
"In the end, though, most would eventually turn their back on their own ideals if given the chance." Heron refuted.
"You are correct that most mortals would rather throw away what they already have for an ounce of power, but a few would rather die to the last man than let such terrible atrocities pass before their eyes. And ask yourself this?"
Putting a hand on his son's shoulder, Sigmar let Heron feel the weight of it before saying," If it weren't for Terra, I wouldn't have met your mother."
Heron couldn't argue with that reasoning. Terra is the realm where he was born, where his father met the lady who became his mother—the same mother who left them when he was just a baby.
His father would always explain that his mother adored him, and it broke her heart when she had to leave them both due to problems with her family. Heron got even more concerned about his mother after learning that certain family members were not very kind to their own blood and frequently abused them for their own sick enjoyment.
"Dad, why did mom leave us? Was it because her family was abusing her?"
"No. Her family never once mistreated her; it was just a bit "overprotective" of their own kin." Sigmar said, being careful not to reveal too much information.
"They love her dearly, Heron; however, her family has different ways of showing that love; though, your mother has to be a family mediator between them to keep her three brothers from making a mess of things within their home."
"If her family fights so much, then why didn't she come with you to Azyr? Surely it is more peaceful than her home."
"Oh, I wish it could be that easy, Heron, but it's a lot more complicated. If I brought your mother here—to the realm of Azyr—then my enemies, my rivals, would find a way to hurt her and, in extension, hurt me or, worse, you."
"Now go on; I don't want you to miss your day at school on Terra," said Sigmar as he could see the pain in his son's eyes.
It was the misery of needing a mother figure and a true family, something Sigmar had denied since his birth all those years ago, when his own mother perished giving birth to him. Seeing that he had no choice, Heron reluctantly nodded his head.
"Yes dad." With that said, Heron walked to his room to get ready for his trip to Terra.
Realm: Terra
Location: New York City. Museum of Natural History.
Three days after the battle, Timisoara.
Heron remained silent as he listened to the teacher explain to his class about a Greek statue that was hundreds of thousands of years old and was temporarily loaned by the Institute of Historical Research of the National Hellenic Research Foundation (IHR/NHRF).
Heron now attends Yancy Academy, an upscale boarding school that teaches pre-algebra, English, and Latin. He wonders why his father put him in this shithole of a class in the first place, as, unlike other schools, this one is for problematic kids, and many of the children are from wealthy, well-off families.
The other kids his age laughed and argued among themselves about things that were unimportant to him or interesting. Most of these brats were whining about how rough their lives are or complaining about their every-day lives. Not knowing how lucky they are to get to live in such a beautiful realm.
Yes, there are still wars in this strange realm, and yes, the inhabitants do have weapons so powerful that they could destroy the entire planet in an instant, but all in all, it's still a great realm to live in.
The victory at Timisoara was so full of bitterness and sorrow that it broke his heart to even think about it. But in the grand scheme of things, it was a victory that Mallus Sacundas needed if it was to survive the dark times ahead. The three principalities of Asmeria are now one, and with Mihai as their king, the north and south-eastern borders of the world-edge mountains are all but secured from either the Dawi-Zharr or orc incursions from the darklands—at least for now, that is.
Still, Heron could recall the faces of the hundreds of young men under his command, fathers and sons who had once had their entire lives ahead of them, only to give that life up to fight an opponent who should have left the dead in a faraway place.
Out of the three hundred and forty hoplites that held that bridge, only one hundred and ninety survived—one hundred and ninety out of three hundred and forty. In addition to the cavalry losses Heron sustained during the battle to lead the vampire warlord away from the walls...
Three hundred and ten.
A number he counted personally after the battle.
It wasn't a large number, but it was a number that stung him more deeply than any knife could.
The fact that his sword-sister, Elodie, survived the fight—albeit very narrowly—was the only consolation he could find.
The stabbing wound was so severe that it almost reached her heart; still, she remained in danger of death and had to remain at a Shaylla temple to get daily care from a priestess.
Heron was already bored before the field trip began. He is sitting on a school bus in Terra, one of the eight mortal realms' three all-way points. Only humans live on Terra, in contrast to other mortal realms, and their exclusive focus is on creating new technologies rather than magic. Do not misunderstand me. Although magic can be useful in the hands of a master, it can also be harmful if used carelessly or, worse, in the wrong hands. It has the potential to destroy entire continents.
Now wearing his school uniform, Heron sat beside Percy Jackson and Grover Underwood, two of his friends, who sat right next to him.
Percy Jackson was a kid shorter than him by an inch. He had dark black hair and bright sea green eyes. He wore a bright orange shirt, jeans, and blue sneakers.
Then there was Grover. He had Caucasian skin and, weirdly, a goatee. Heron always stared at the thing, always wondering how he had one. Grover was also a cripple. Yet that didn't stop him on Enchilada Day. Still, it was because of that that Grover was always bullied.
Thankfully, Heron is never far away to scare them away. Once, one of the football jocks pushed Grover around. The next day, he lay on the ground, bloodied and bruised. Nobody could have doubted Heron's identity, notwithstanding the absence of evidence linking him to the football jockey. Despite conflicting witness reports, Heron was spotted dining with a small group of friends at a location far from the crime scene.
Grover, according to Heron, is known to be a type of coward. Don't get him wrong. He finds Grover to be one of his best friends, but he always seems to be afraid of something. Right now, he seems to be freaking out a lot.
As Heron stood with the tour group, there was only one word that kept coming to mind.
Boredom.
The museum's air was dry, and his nose was being assaulted by the smell of junk. His legs were on auto-pilot to follow his class, which was listening to Mr. Brunner, who was going over Greek mythology as they were passing the Greek mythology part of the museum.
It turns out that his Latin teacher was a huge fan of Greek culture and was personally leading this trip.
He appeared to be taking his time here, glossing over the others, including the other exhibits. It was This teacher loved Greek mythology almost as much as Heron loved progress. This guy could talk for hours if someone let him.
He was a middle-aged man in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair, a scruffy beard, and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee for some odd reason. He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding the class through the huge galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of antique, black-and-orange pottery. As Mr. Brunner kept on explaining the history of all the things around them, Heron noticed as Miss. Dodds, the substitute pre-algebra teacher, glared at Percy.
What is wrong with Miss Dodd's today, thought Sigmar's son
She never seems to give Percy a break when it comes to making Percy's life miserable.
Miss Dodds was a wrinkled old woman who wore a black vest and had this horrible, screechy voice. And he means screechu, like someone decided to scratch his nail against the chalkboard. When she first came, she immediately loved Nancy but seemed to despise Percy.
Aside from her usual glare, she came to a 13-foot stele with a carving of a girl their age on it. Mr. Brunner explained what the carvings on the sides meant, which piqued the interest of both Heron and Percy, but everyone else around them was talking and having their own conversations. It wasn't when Nancy Bobofit snickered about 'the statues being naked', Percy exploded and yelled at the rude girl. Of course, this drew everyone's attention, including Mr. Brunner.
"Is there something you would like to say, Mr. Jackson?" asked Mr. Brunner, clapping his hands together.
"No sir." Percy mumbled while the other began to snicker at him but quickly shut up when Heron gave them his 'death glare', almost daring any of them to laugh.
This is because he was known for taking down certain bullies who would make fun of his eyes and try to frighten him by beating them up, leaving the bullies hospitalized with several broken bones.
"Well, then perhaps you can tell me what is happening in the picture," he said, motioning to a picture on the stele depicting a man sitting on a throne with a child in his arms and his mouth open.
"Um." Percy said he started off before getting a bit of confidence once he recognized the pictures.
"That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"
"And he did this because?"
"Well..." Heron heard Percy say as he tried to remember everything they learned. "Kronos was the king of the gods."
"God?" Mr. Brunner questioned, frowning, before Percy quickly corrected himself. While Heron raised a single eyebrow at
"I mean, er, the Titan," he said quickly. "And he didn't trust his kids—they were the gods—so, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus and gave Cronos a rock to eat instead. Then, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Cronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters-"
"Eeew!" said the girls behind them, causing most of the guys there to roll their eyes.
"Then there was a big god-verses-titans war, and the gods won." Percy went on to finish the answer, and Mr. Brunner nodded his approval.
"That's correct!" He exclaimed. "Then the world became ruled by the Twelve Olympian gods, with the most powerful being the three brothers Zeus and Hades," he said, pointing towards three small figures. "But, ever since their victory, father, those three have been at each other's necks."
"On most occasions, the gods come down to earth, and, oh, how do you say that?" he explained before Heron interrupted him.
"Plow a couple pretty women and men because they couldn't keep their urges in check." He said he was getting a round of laughter from everyone, even Mrs. Dodds.
"That's quite right, Mr. Hammer," chuckled Mr. Brunner, trying to calm his laughter. "Now, can you tell me the term you use for their children?"
"The demigods, right? Half men and half god," replied Heron, who racked his brain for the answer. "Although they were not the first of their offspring,"
"You are correct, Mr. Hammer," he prayed with a smile. "Can you perhaps name me some demi-god heroes?"
"You are sure? It'll take awhile."
"We still have plenty of time, Mr. Hammer."
"Okay then..." Taking a deep breath, Heron started to list the demigods he knew of. "Hercules, Arcas, Amphion and his twin brother Zethus, Minos, Tantalus, Epaphus, Aeacus, Dardanus, Dionysus before he became a deity, Tityos, Zethus, the co-founder of Thebes, and Perseus. They were all Zeus' sons; while he had a daughter called Harmonia, it is subject to academic controversy," he said, getting a nod of approval from Brunner.
"Plus, there were Theseus, Orion, Codrus, Pelias, Sciron, and Taras, who were the sons of Poseidon. However, the most famous one must be Aeneas, son of Aphrodite and Anchises," Heron added, looking at Mr. Brunner again. "You want me to continue?"
"No, that's good. Good to see you were paying attention in class."
However, they heard snickers coming from the class behind them and Nancy Bobofit saying, "Like, we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, "Please explain why Kronons ate his kids or name a demi god."
"And why, Mr. Hammer," Brunner said, "to paraphrase Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"
"Busted," said Grover.
"Shut up." Nancy hissed, her face turning brighter red than her hair.
"Really, Boboo? Are you attempting to disgrace yourself even more than you already have?" said Heron, mocking the girl by her nickname, gaining a few snickers and giving her a bored expression.
"To put it bluntly, these stories about gods and demi-gods are relevant to real life because they depict the extremes of our experiences: unexpected and catastrophic events, radical reversals of fortune, and seemingly arbitrary events that alter our lives. In short, they deal with the hard, fundamental facts of human life."
Being taught by some of the greatest philosophers in the eternal city had its perks.
Heron continued to embarrass Nancy, saying, "Take the story of Ouranos, for example, the primordial god of the sky and father of Kronos." He noticed that Mr. Brunner was concerned when Heron mentioned Ouranos, and he went on, "He killed his father like Kronos did with his terrible scythe granted by desperate Gaia, who couldn't take the pain of having the Titans provoke an intense pain within their mother."
"After several hundred years, Kronos' son Zeus destroyed him and his army and imprisoned them for eternity in Tartarus, the Greek equivalent of hell. If the masked mountain warrior hadn't helped Prometheus escape, Zeus would have gone down the same evil path as his father."
Heron then motioned to a neighboring picture portraying a god's envoy having his kidneys ripped out by an eagle. "Hermes, on the other hand, was not as fortunate when confronted with his own punishment, as the eagle ate his own liver rather than the god of fire," he went on to say.
Though none of them realized it, Heron already knew who the mysterious warrior was—his father, Sigmar, who had rescued his uncle Prometheus from the Caucuses.
"To put it bluntly, those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. And those who do not learn from their predecessors are doomed to become like them, of which I doubt that the Greek gods are capable with the exception of Hades, Hestia, and Hephaestus."
It was then that he heard a huge thunderclap. Heron raised a single eyebrow as he completed his statement because, even though it was a sunny day outside, Mr. Brunner flashed a terrified expression for one instant before immediately covering it up at the last second.
Heron arched an eyebrow at his crippled Latin instructor, wondering why Brunner was afraid of a little thunder while they were safe inside.
"That is correct, Mr. Hammer. Credit goes to both you and Mr. Jackson." Brunner remarked on this as he escorted the students back down the hallway, enabling them to eat lunch outside.
The group passed a few more Greek antiquities, and Heron searched for any he had overlooked. He spent his time looking at several statues of the gods and ancient heroes before noticing Percy was not with him. Heron panicked but calmed down when he saw Percy chatting with Mr. Brunner.
Heron shrugged it off and continued to walk around for a bit. As he continued to walk past the marble statues, Heron noticed one statue that caught his full attention. It was a woman in a veil with wavy, long hair. She also held a heart in her hands. To him, she is a lovely woman.
"Hestia, Goddess of Hearth, Family, and Domestic Life." Said Heron as he read the plaque out loud.
My father would love her if she existed. Heron thought sadly.
Millions or billions of years ago, his father's true love died defending him from her elder sibling. A beloved goddess like Hestia ruling over Azyr would be beneficial to the mortal realms. A much-needed light in these dark times in these uncertain times where death can come at any place or at any time.
Heron could now see it in his mind right now.
Sigmar Heldanhammer, god-king and the champion of light and civilization; Hestia, goddess-queen; and of the hearth and home.
That would be the day that is worth seeing.
Once the class gathered on the front steps of the museum, the students began to eat their lunches and watch the passing human traffic on Fifth Avenue.
Overhead, Heron could see a storm brewing, with rain likely to fall. The weather has been acting weird since Christmas. News reports kept flooding in about flash floods, snowstorms, and wildfires, with some guy on the TV waving a sign saying "End of the World" or something like that. Heron couldn't help but give out a snort.
If that guy says it's the end of the world, then he should join the flagellants. At least those insane zealots would go down fighting rather than giving into despair.
The extreme weather, on the other hand, is a completely different story. It's probably a coincidence, but there could be a lot of force at work here—perhaps the work of an undiscovered god. But after hearing accounts from their spies and native American allies about an old power resurgent in this part of America, whatever it is, it is furious.
Furious about what? Heron has no idea, and that frustrates him to no end. It was during this time of contemplation that his cell phone started to vibrate.
Taking it out of his pocket, he answered," Heron here."
"Heron, this is Elodie. We got a problem." It was then that Heron stood up straight.
"Elodie, is that you?"
"Yes, it's me."
"When did you wake up?" Heron asked
"The priestesses of Shaylla utilized her goddess' power to cure the majority of my wounds a few days ago, before I woke up in a hospital bed. It was touch-and-go for a while, but I survived after their persistent prayers to the lady in white: Any longer, and I'd be dead."
"Well... It's good to hear your voice again, Elodie. Anatoly was starting to miss your company; he already drank half of his beer supply."
"Oh really. Well, tell that damn drunkard of a kislevit that the "little deer" is alive and still kicking."
"I will, but what about this problem you mention?"
"The Lord-Celestant got a few weird reports coming in from a Long Island state park, concerning some weird noises, trees with slashes in them, some missing people's reports, and some chunks of metal lying around. Some of our allies are concerned that there may be beastmen activity on the outskirts of the city, and the chamber requested that we check it out." Elodie finished, causing Heron to freeze in place for a couple seconds, then got more series.
"Beastmen? On Terra. Are you sure?" Heron looked at Percy and made sure he had everything he needed as he spoke on the phone.
"I mean, the Realm gates to Terra were sealed up and manned by several thousand stormcasts the last time I looked. Are you sure this isn't a false alarm over what some teenagers might be doing?"
"Trust me, you're not the only one thinking this is just some weird shit done by some teens at our age," scoffed the huntress of the daughters of Artemis.
"So what, we're just going to go over there and put any ideas this guy might have to rest or something like that?" said the son of Sigmar.
"No," Elodie replied, tauntingly adding, "because you will stay at school and finish whatever exam your teacher gave you while Zhou, Anatoly, and I will investigate."
Heron nearly tripped over himself. "Wait, what? You said that we were ordered to do it."
"Quite easy," she responded.
"You have an exam to study for; find the time to relax for once if whatever is causing those problems is from the beast realm of Ghur, which isn't 100 percent certain. It won't be easy to find it in a huge forest."
"My dad is not giving me much choice, is he?" He asked with a frown, while Elodie sighed on the other line.
"No, not really," she answered simply. "I'd take this time to rest and enjoy any semblance of normality you can. Plus, I'd take something of that free time of yours. Besides, you've earned some much-needed respite from all the fighting and death in Timisoara." When she finished, the line hung up.
After putting down the phone, it was then that he heard a loud splash, causing him to turn toward the source of the noise to see the brat Nancy in the museum fountain.
He would have laughed at the teenage girls misfortune until his bladder started to say that nature calls.
"Oh, for the love of God, note to self: never drink water before going on a field trip." He muttered to himself.
Making sure the coast was clear, he hurried to the nearest bathroom inside the museum.
After relieving his bladder, Heron sighed in relief as he left the bathroom. One thing Heron was glad about being on Terra was that they invented toilet paper.
"Next time, I should drink from the water bottle before going on a field trip," he muttered. All of a sudden, he heard a bestial screech that made his blood run cold as ice, echoing across the halls of the museum of natural history.
"Shit!" Heron yelled as the son of Sigmar quickly ran to the origin of the bestial screech.
What he saw next made him widen his eyes.
He saw a harpie—an actual Acheronian harpie on Terra of all places, but this one has leathery bat-like wings, claws, and all—right down to the bird-like legs and jagged talons, but that wasn't what surprised him. One thing that stood out was that his friend Percy on Earth had a bronze sword in his hands.
Heron initially assumed Percy was from Achronenia because the sword he is presently carrying is a Xiphos blade; yet, one glance at Percy's sword swings made Heron question whether Percy had any actual sword training. Heron could only view Percy as a typical militiaman at the moment; therefore, he couldn't notice anything else.
Percy encountered numerous challenges when facing the Harpie. His defense was a dismal failure; his stance was excessively broad; his brief response time caused him to miss strikes; and he attempted to duck too quickly for fear of being bitten by its talons.
"Percy Jackson, what the hell did you get yourself into this time?" Heron growled under his breath; worse, he didn't bring soul-taker or his sword with him.
There are a few reasons Heron didn't bring any of his weapons: First, he's in a world where magic only exists in fiction and advertising.
Two: He's currently in school, filled with naïve, ungrateful brats who would rather waste their lives away than see the vast beauty of the world they live in.
Three: His father would rather that no one ask the tough questions that might reveal the existence of the magical realm; therefore, he must suppress them.
Such an event will lead to a worldwide catastrophe, as fear, conceit, and greed will ultimately find a way to misuse such power for personal benefit. Any misuse of the winds of magic without the proper knowledge on how to wield them would corrupt the caster's soul to eternal damnation.
It was only thanks to the power of the mist that humanity in this realm didn't discover it sooner.
The one exception, it seems, was when the Lord-Celestant of the Terra Chamber was out hunting down certain species or beasts that would be dangerous to the people living there. That is not to say that Heron was completely helpless; all nine of his limbs may be devastating weapons if used correctly.
Immediately taking action, Heron bellowed a war cry so loud that it made the bat-wing Harpie turn around, only to see Heron ram into her like an Estalian war bull. The harpie screamed in surprise and shock as Heron man-handled her to the ground, or tried too.
The Harpy flew in the air erratically, desperately trying to get the mortal to let go, but Heron didn't; his hands were like iron as he continued to cling to the mutant. He didn't know how long he was in the air—seconds, minutes, or hours? It was hard to tell in a life-or-death situation, but what Heron could feel was a lot of pain.
They struck the massive skeleton of a Tyrannosaurus rex, causing its bones to collapse to the ground. At that time, the Harpy and the Heron skidded against the marble ground before coming to a stop. As Heron got his hand around the harpie's head, with all his strength, he beat the harpie's head against the floor.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
And cracks web out along the tiles in the marble-splitting veins.
A forth time.
And lastly, a fifth.
That last one had enough strength to cave its skull in, but to his surprise, the harpie didn't die but dazed it temporarily, even though Heron put enough strength in it to shatter its damn skull.
He needs to kill it fast before anyone else sees them or, worse, gets hurt.
"Percy!" Heron yelled, turning to his stunned friend, who was still holding the sword. "Give me your sword!
Heron extended his palm to Percy, hoping that his friend would come to his senses. But he was too late to respond in time, and the harp rose and slashed Heron's arm, throwing the son of Sigmar back. As agony flared in his arm, Heron clenched his mouth fiercely to suppress a yell of anguish.
Groaning in pain, Heron tore his left sleeve, wrapping the piece of cloth around his arm tight to stop the bleeding, giving the shocked harpie a glare full of hate and a promise of a very painful death to the winged abomination that was flying in front of them right now. His eyes were subtly glowing, his blue glowed with static, the other a candle flame that was easy to miss, while his friend Percy was staring to panic to see one of his best friends get injured and saw blood dripping down his arm.
"Heron!"
"It's only a scratch; keep your eyes on the winged bitch in front of us." Heron spoke, not taking his gaze off the harpie in front of him for a second.
The stern tone in Heron's words shocked Percy as he dismissed the wound as a minor annoyance, his whole attention fixed on the flying creature in front of them.
"But-"
"Fight now, talk later!" Heron yelled.
The harpie snarled at the two boys in front of her, but mostly at the one with the mismatched eyes who dared stand in the way of its prey.
"How dare you insult me, demigod. I'll claw out your eyes for such a vulgar insult." Hissed the harpie
Heron arched both of his brows in amazement, astounded that this monstrosity of nature could still speak in clear phrases, yet he remained vigilant.
Years of warfare on Mallus Sacundas and the other mortal realms against a wide range of creatures and wicked champions had educated Heron to keep his attention fixated on a hostile opponent. On the battlefield, it makes no difference who you are, what you are, or how battle-hardened you are; death might be right around the corner.
The dreadful siege of Harkanibus taught Heron the hard way, whether it was a large cursed sword wielded by a Chaos champion or a dagger in the back from a lone scheming goblin in the bestial realm of Ghur. Death will eventually find a way to claim you; it is only a matter of when.
A shrill bestial shriek pulled Heron back outward, and he rolled out of the way of the harpies grasping sharp talons in time, standing on one knee to witness the winged beast run to the opposite side of the chamber.
The harpie gave the two humans a vicious fanged snarl, just like any other wild animal would, but when it swooped in for an attack, it was on Percy Jackson!
"Percy!"
Heron's shout jolted Percy out of whatever was holding him back, and he finally spotted the screaming human-bird hybrid coming at him at high speed. Whether it was panic or human survival instinct, Percy took a single, one-handed swipe of his sword, cutting deep into the harpies flesh, but instead of blood or guts, it was... dust?
That wasn't what Heron was expecting.
Like Percy, Heron stared at the spot where the harpie just died, then directed his gaze to his friend, who gave him the same dumbfounded expression as his own. All he could say was, "How is your arm doing?"
Before Heron could reply, Nancy came in.
"Where have you idiots been? Mrs. Kerr is about-" Nancy scowled but paused when she saw the nearly demolished room and Heron's bandaged arm, which was gradually becoming blood red.
"What the hell happened here?!"
Acting quick, Heron got into Nancy's face and yelled, "What do you think?!"
"The goddamn metal cables holding the dinosaur skeleton finally gave way and almost got my arm chopped off if not for Percy! And if you don't mind, could you please bring a doctor? I'm bleeding here, woman!"
"Mr. Hammer is correct, Miss Nancy."
Brunner wheeled into the hall like nothing had happened as he carefully maneuvered himself around the bones at the same time security arrived at the scene.
"Know, I suggest you get her and tell her what just happened and to call an ambulance to take him to the nearest hospital."
"W-who is Mrs. Kerr?" Percy whispered to Heron, who shrugged his shoulders as Nancy ran to get help from a teacher the two of them had never even met or heard about. More surprising, though, was that both boys noticed that her previously wet clothes had somehow dried themselves.
While Percy was about to freak out, Heron was suspicious, because the last time he checked, Nancy's clothing was supposed to be wet when the water from the fountain she fell in, and who in Khaine's hell's is Mrs. Kerr?
Confused, they then walked over to Grover and Brunner, so Percy gave them the same answer, but he was stuttering slightly, so they knew he was lying. So instead, the two turned their attention to. But when he looked up, Heron could see that he too was distracted, but what he just saw.
"Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Jackson," he said.
"Uh okay." Percy muttered, looking at Heron, before handing it over into Mr. Brunner's hand and putting the pen into his front pocket.
"Sir, where's Mrs. Dodd's?" Percy asked, but Brunner stared at the two boys blankly.
"Who?"
"The additional chaperone."
Heron addressed Mr. Brunner directly and said, "Mrs. Dodd's, the pre-algebra teacher."
Heron caught a glimpse of a minor act of deception, but it was fleeting. Still, he scowled and leaned forward, appearing concerned. Heron could make reasonable guesses about what he didn't know.
"Percy, Heron, there is no Mrs. Dodd's on the trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodd's at Yancy Academy. Are you both feeling all right?"
"Say what?" Percy said he was not quite believing what he just heard. On the other hand, Heron became more suspicious.
"You boys may have just gotten Mrs. Kerr's name mixed up with someone else, perhaps an old teacher from a previous school. Don't worry about it, boys," he said before wheeling off. "Come, it's time to get back into the museum."
As he wheeled away, both Percy and Heron stood before him, one with a dumbstruck expression on his face and the other with his eyes narrowing, with only one thing coming to mind: everything that just happened.
"What the hell is going on?"
Chapter 4 is complete; now on to the next.
As for Heron, he's a character who is like his father, Sigmar, who is a leader and, while in battle, an excellent commander, but also like his mother, Hestia, who is the goddess of family and hearth, so he would catch glimpses of grieving. So yeah, survivors guilt. However, he was depraved by a mother figure, so he covered it up with work.
Yes, Heron is a god; however, his father, Sigmar, wants him to experience being human. So the big guy kind of took his son's godhood away, inadvertently turning him into a demi-god. Surely it won't come back and bite him in the ass. Right?
Okay, leave your comments on the review, and goodbye.