ACT I, CHAPTER I
ENMITY
"This is all your fault!" Athena, the Goddess of Wisdom, thundered, so loud that she might have rivaled her own father, as she pushed herself off her throne on Olympus and rose to her feet.
Her voice trembled with barely controlled rage as she glared furiously at the goddess that was seated before her. Long, loose tendrils of black hair brushed against her back as she spoke.
"All. Your. Fault." She seethed as her index finger punctured the air with each word, while her eyes were alight with a murderous grey fire.
In front of Athena, Aphrodite sat at ease, calmly on her throne, one leg crossed over the other. The love goddess's hair curled in large beauty-queen ringlets that were swept over her thin shoulder. It's color flickered rapidly, switching from blonde to auburn to a fiery red. The goddess of love raised a thin eyebrow as she regarded Athena with interest, scrutinizing her reaction.
"How so?" Aphrodite asked.
Athena's right eye twitched in fury. "Are you kidding me? It was you who promised Helen of Sparta to Paris. It was you who made him fall for her. This war was started because of your actions." She threw her arms wide in exasperation, sending her white robe flicking out around her.
Aphrodite's cool expression hardened at the Goddess's words, the corners of her mouth tightening. Anger flashed in her ever-changing eyes and her hands, which were folded together in her lap, tightened, as if she wanted nothing more than to strike Athena with her accusations. The rest of the council stayed silent, knowing when it was better to speak, and trying very hard not to get caught in the crossfire of the two non-stop bickering goddesses.
"How was I to know that it would start a war?" Aphrodite shot back tightly. "It was not as if I could predict these mortals' actions," she grumbled, rolling her eyes for effect.
"Well, we all know intelligence has never been your strong point," Athena countered, sneering viciously.
To Aphrodite's left, Ares, the God of War, let out a whistle at the blunt, tactless insult. His eyes flickered repeatedly between the two goddesses, thoroughly entertained. The other immortal beings seated around the room watched on readily, expecting a fight to break out any moment.
Aphrodite stilled, her gaze turning dangerous as her eyes zeroed in on the goddess in front of her. She ascended from her throne, and strode forward with measured steps until she stood directly in front of Athena. The latter rose her chin defiantly as if daring Aphrodite to challenge her.
"I don't take kindly to an insult," Aphrodite stated coldly. Her eyes scanned Athena up and down, her lips curling into a look of disgust as if she were a rotting fish, not a goddess. "I find it funny that a goddess of wisdom and strategy could not predict a war, let alone know how to end it."
Athena's face twisted into a look of murder. If Aphrodite weren't an immortal goddess, the owl head might have actually terrified her. But she was the goddess of love, and one glare wouldn't send her six feet under, far more likely would her petty attempt of being intimidating cause her to laugh.
Athena extended an open hand to the side. The air around her fingers sizzled, and with a crack, her legendary spear materialized out of thin air and appeared in her grip. Celestial bronze glinted dangerously in the ethereal glow of Olympus.
Zeus rested on his throne, his hand supporting his head as he sighed, watching the Trojans clash against the Achaean's below. Aphrodite regarded the weapon vigilantly for a moment, before her gaze returned to Athena's face, which was pinched slightly. "Try to attack me and I will order you to skewer yourself," the goddess warned, referring to her ability to charmspeak others.
"Wouldn't that be amusing?"
Gripping her spear tightly, Athena moved her weapon until the tip was pointed at the base of the goddess of love's throat.
"Just you try."
"Enough!" Zeus thundered. His puissant, commanding voice reverberated throughout the throne room, shaking the ground and hurting all ears listening. It conveyed the suffocating, unquestionable power that only the ruler of Olympus could hold.
The two goddesses flinched at the sudden noise, stilling instantly. Then, after casting one final furious look at each other, slowly broke apart and turned to face the annoyed king of Olympus, who glared down at them in frustration. His black and gray hair was long, as was his beard. Even seated, every aspect of the god radiated power, from his broad strong body to his stormy eyes that had seen the beginning of time.
"We have bigger issues to deal with without the two of you fighting like children," he declared, his eyes landing on Aphrodite. His face was hard and angry, causing her to tense.
"It was your actions that led to this war," he concluded.
Aphrodite felt her anger instantly flare again. She struggled to keep it in check, purposely keeping her face blank. Unlike Athena, she would never dare to challenge Zeus. He would easily throw her over the side of Mount Olympus without batting an eyelash. Beside her, Athena's lips twisted up into a self-righteous smirk. Aphrodite wanted nothing more than to wipe it off her smug face, quite brutally if she might add.
Zeus, unaware of Aphrodite's malicious thoughts towards the other goddess, continued talking. "If it weren't for your careless promises of love, we wouldn't be in this predicament. This conflict, whatever it is, has gone tiresome. It needs to come to an end, soon."
"But how?" Apollo asked, speaking up for the first time. All heads in the room swiveled around to face the blonde-haired god. "It seems to be the million-drachma question, doesn't it? How do we actually end the battle of Troy? Our previous attempts have failed miserably, even with me guarding the walls."
He sighed, earning glares from Poseidon and Athena, who supported the Greeks. Apollo was tired - nearly ten years of constant political debate was taking a toll on him. His once vibrant eyes were now a dull grey color and lines had started to appear from the corner of his eyes from stress, exhaustion, and mourning for the loss of his children who participated in the war.
"And now Achilles has chosen to join the war," Poseidon stated gravely as he stared at the ground, clearly deep in thought. He pursed his lips and rubbed his hand over his unshaven jaw.
"With Achilles now helping the fight with the Myrmidons, there is no way in Hades that Agamemnon will withdraw his troops," Hera stated, voicing what the other gods already knew to be true. "The boy is what he plans to use to breach the walls of Troy."
The assembly of gods seemed skeptical at the blunt presumption until Aphrodite's eyes lit up. "How could we forget Perseus, unmatched against Achilles? If they work together, we could see the end of this war swiftly."
The mention of the dangerously mysterious son of Poseidon made Zeus's already furrowed brow twitch violently. The last straw in an already tiring and stressful council meeting, compounded with the beginnings of a new war, Zeus has had enough.
"Poseidon, brother, see that your child remains at his lowly place in that city of his. If your child really is the crucial radical of the war, who knows what his intentions are?"
The sea god adopts a grave look as two of the Big Three engage in an intense stare-down.
"Then I personally vouch for Perseus's loyalty towards Olympus," Poseidon stood with a growl, directing it to Zeus, his face masked with an aura of authoritative anger.
"I'll hold you to that, brother," the king of the gods threatened. "Although if he betrays us when needed most, I will not hesitate to strike him down myself."
Poseidon scoffed, acknowledging his brother's threat before settling back on his throne.
The assembly of gods lapsed into silence, the sounds of war below quietening, as Helios drove his sun chariot back to the brink of the world, and darkness enveloped the lands of Troy. Each immortal was lost in their own thoughts.
Aphrodite, although her pride would never allow her to admit it, knew there was some truth behind the god's words when they said her actions led to the war. She kept her lips tightly shut though, because, like the other gods in the room, she had a hard time admitting her mistakes. Now, not only did she have the other gods on her back, but she also had to come up with a plan to end the war she supposedly started.
It was even more embarrassing when she had to save her son Aeneas from Achilles' wrath as he went on a murderous rampage earlier. Aeneas was simply unlucky enough to stray into the devil's path. The goddess of love, as if she didn't have enough to deal with at the moment, had to worry about all of the Greek and Trojan widows who had lost their husbands during the war, and all other matters of the heart.
And the war was yet to begin in earnest.
And now, this spear-wielding Greek warrior, Achilles, had decided to set out for the destruction of Troy. It was just what the goddess needed: a hotshot, destined to change the outcome of the war. Aphrodite wished the bugger could just sail back to wherever he came from. It would make her job a heck lot easier if Achilles stayed at home, found a woman, married her, and lived happily ever after without changing the course of the Trojan War. Instead, the stubborn male had decided to boldly go charging into battle, desperate for fame and glory.
Nevertheless, there was not much she could do in this situation. The Fates were not on her side.
Sighing, Aphrodite flashed into her palace on Olympus, dreading the days to come.
Through the dread of the overwhelming task ahead of her, her mind drifts to Perseus, the enigmatic demigod she mentioned at the council meeting and wonders if he's her answer. But alas, even with her powers befitting a goddess, she knew naught of the motives behind Olympus' wildcard.
Little did she know, he was here to fundamentally change the course of the war, at all costs.
In all chaos, there is calculation.
――――――――――Ψ――――――――――
A pair of vibrant sea green met a pair of impassive azure blue.
Helen of Sparta, daughter of Zeus, and the most beautiful woman in the world, glanced forward as she scrutinized the prince's features.
There was hesitation for a few moments before the two awkwardly shifted their stances, before shaking hands, signifying the beginnings of diplomatic relations of their respective kingdoms, the Spartans and the Dardanian Trojans.
A roar of approval bellowed throughout the open chambers of Troy's throne room before both took their seats.
Priam snickered. "Worked your way up the ranks, did you? Congratulations." It was clear to any observer he was displeased with the current compromises.
He swept towards both, and like a ripple of light, Aeneas was by his side.
A small, grim smile, as he acknowledged what was about to happen.
"Yes, Priam, that is normally how a monarchy works," King Aeneas of Dardanoi regarded carefully, his eyes flickering between Helen and Perseus.
Priam's eyes grew dark, haunted.
"I hope you've measured your bargain carefully, Aeneas," Priam said tightly. "Your own foster son is now the only tether of hope for diplomatic relations between us and the Greek city states."
Threats right after a solid agreement? He was treading on thin ice.
The King of Troy sneered, coming face to face with Aeneas in a whisper. "Do you really trust this girl, a female taught in the arts of seduction and lies to hold her end of the bargain? Ha! I would sooner be a deer hunted by a lion than to trust this witch."
Helen hissed, shaking with barely concealed rage.
Aeneas snorted. "Don't you worry, old man. I hold my end of the bargain and so do you. Perseus would do good to improve our relations."
"As of Helen…" His jaw clenched. "Accept whatever disappointment she brings so that you may never be disappointed."
The King of Troy was already being ushered away. "I'll hold you to that, Aeneas."
And with that last menacing threat, he swept off.
"With your life."
Someone called Aeneas's name from the patio, and he clapped Perseus's shoulder before walking off.
His mother was nowhere in sight, he figured. She was never a fan of large crowds, celebrations, everything that included attention. He had often felt a similar feeling throughout his childhood.
The so-called glorious spotlight of the public eye was customarily the downfall of anyone, blinding mortals, heroes and even gods.
Helen breathed, "It won't be long now."
"Until what?"
He wasn't aware of what was to come next, nobody had told him in fear of revealing what these anticipating celebrations also held.
"Until the fun."
Oh.
It's the winter solstice.
An auspicious date of the year, where time and the sublime color of argent stretch on for the longest night of them all.
More time for the moon to shine, more time for the highly anticipated eclipse. Aside from normality, the brushes of stars and exalted magic push the ocean tides higher and further than they have ever gone.
She'd let her hair down today for such an occasion: for a reason.
A dance.
The recent years of calamity had not allowed the cities to enjoy such frivolities, analogous to the previous years. It was freeing, and along with the recent peace between all three continental powers, they could finally settle.
"Perseus of Dardania," she began, turning to face him which caused the Dardanian heir to turn his head and raise a brow. She gestured to the many in the great chamber, whose twirling forms were illuminated by the moonlight, in a silent, light-hearted dance.
Helen murmured, "Might a dance be in your interest, Prince Perseus?"
To dance was a sign of figurative and literal bind of diplomatic bond, something he slightly hesitated on. He was oscillating between doubt and duty, before finally taking her hand.
"It would be a pleasure, Helen of Sparta."
And together, they stepped into the limelight.
He placed his hand on her waist, grateful for the crisp wind that reminded him not of the joy, not of the light nor of the hope of his situation.
But of life.
Did humans exist, merely for the entertainment of gods? They watch us dance through our meddles, observe our wars like a drama, see our lives as their pleasures, yet what can we do?
As immortal and wise as they are, should life be more eternal than them?
Then… he would not give them the satisfaction. Each action was overseen by their council, contemplating their influences on whichever side.
War would be imminent. Inevitable.
His hands turned clammy at her waist.
This friendship, alliance, whatever one might name it, was a temporary farce.
As a child, he didn't have many friends. His mother was cautious, adamant regarding his friendships, as he had speculated about his heritage from a young age.
Normal humans could not lift ships above their heads, breathe underwater, or control water into any shape imaginable. Mother had only laughed, telling him that he was a son of a river spirit.
She had carefully articulated and personified the term 'ignorance is bliss.'
How ironic.
The rhythm intensified, and he found himself locked in an intense dance. Around the two, the other couples cleared, and like a halo, moonlight illuminated them, as bright as the sun.
Dancing never felt more like fighting yet here he was enjoying the flirtatious banter of their bodies.
"Did you know," she whispered over the sound of the music, "that one summer, Theseus bought me some paint? Pirithous had protested against this - he was unwilling to waste a single coin on me, but Theseus had heart."
He was grateful for the conversation as it distracted him from reality.
She pirouetted, and he caught her as he twirled her on his arm.
"I used them to the last drop," she continued. "Stretching those beautiful hues as far as I could, to suppress my boredom of being kidnapped."
She breathed out.
"It kept me sane."
His breath heaved out of him, as the music's rhythm slowed and their soles slid and swiveled against the marble floor.
"I painted the entire room, actually. The cabinets, the doorway, the bed-frame, the closets."
His hand dipped to her upper back, and she lifted a leg up as he carried her weight gracefully.
"I painted flowers for Theseus's mother, little daisies, roses, tulips and poppies that decorated her room. Aethra - she reminded me of the thoughtfulness she carried, her mature, refined charm, despite harboring a kidnapped child. I liked her."
The music simmered, and she stretched her right arm forward, leaning and revolving her weight on two divergent legs.
His voice was raw. "What did you paint for yourself?"
She took a moment to answer, twisting her body around so that he carried her weight as she turned her heel.
"I painted the night sky."
He stilled with the wind, giving her a small hum to urge her to explain.
"I painted the stars, the moon, the clouds, in an endless abyss. I never knew why, as I hardly ever went outside at dusk, but it makes me wonder if, at any point, some small, unknown part of me knew what was waiting there for me. If it knew that I would never be a quiet grower of things, or someone who burned like fire - that I would be quiet and enduring and as faceted as the night. That I would have beauty, for those who knew where to look, but to only fear it… I wonder if I was looking for this place - looking for you all."
His voice was soft as they swayed.
"And, if I may be so bold, do you hide any secrets as dark, and as feared as the night?"
She shook her head. "No… Not that type of darkness. Not the darkness you hide in fear, nor the darkness you embrace for power, but shadows that you can embrace, be comforted, and find peace in."
Perhaps there was solace in the purity of her innocence.
Little by little, they let go of mistrust.
"Myth or fact?"
"What?"
He chuckles. "That you're a daughter of Zeus, king of the gods."
"Fact," She admitted, eying him after careful deliberation.
Helen twisted her head, raising her eyebrows indifferently as the music slowed to a stop. The moon's luminescent glow on her skin only further displayed her godly heritage, casting a cloudy shadow of the moon across her pupils.
"I should go," She expressed, abruptly turning away and hastily walking away without as much of a look back.
Perseus was left frozen in his position, watching her slowly congeal into the growing crowd that led to the busy streets.
Perhaps this marked the beginning of a friendship.
――――――――――Ψ ――――――――――
Her voice remained as warm as early spring, as if her heart beat so steadily even though she took a different view from him. She simply said this was her way of doing things. She could see Perseus balk at first, so accustomed to the ways of Helen and her fiery temper.
The circumstances were different for him this time, he absorbed things and then responded more than reacted, dampened situations rather than adding to the flames. And so before he knew it everything was nearly as happy again, it was love all around instead of the bickering both were so accustomed to.
It was a sense of calm they grew to love.
"I don't want to leave on a bad note, Percy," She sighed, watching the Spartan ship sail towards the docks of Troy.
Hearing no answer, she turned to face her best friend, lost for words. "This… this isn't goodbye, I swear."
Lying to each other - for their safety was almost common. "Swear it on the Styx," he murmured.
Thunder crackled louder than ever.
Although at an adolescent age, both knew the binding oath and importance of such an oath. She didn't have the strength to do such a thing.
"Screw love! Screw Aphrodite!" Perseus shouted across the bay. The ferocity of his words carried over the shoreline, over the ocean, perhaps even up to Olympus. "What in fairness has love ever benefited anyone?"
He seethed as Helen placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Her distressed expression only made her look older.
"Don't say that," she shook his shoulders firmly. "Promise me to never offend the gods. Enough have suffered from their wrath by their mouths, and I refuse to lose you over such petty things too."
He simply nodded, anger directed at the love goddess still bubbling in his veins.
They watched the last sunset they'd have together before her departure, the ships arriving for her departure, the way Perseus's viridescent eyes dampened ever so slightly under the dying rays of sunlight.
Not wanting to leave on a sour note, she hastily changed her previous tone.
"Just… be happy for me, will you?"
The storm in her eyes, the peace in her smile was genuinely unreadable. For as long as he had known her, she had never boasted her wealth, her good fortune, her many suitors. She simply did her duty as a Princess.
Helen laughs softly, flicking his nose - a symbol of friendship they had created years ago.
The first dance they had together seemed a lifetime ago.
"I will."
She takes a breath in, savoring the ocean breeze flitting against her curls. "I won't forget you, of course. One day… when all this is over, we could run away, maybe."
The prospect of absconding from home is a strange thought. He can imagine the serenity and happiness it brings, though.
"Hold that thought, Helen," he laughs for the first time. "Perhaps it could be true, yet it is the thought that truly counts."
"You know," she started. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."
He frowned.
"Many boys have bought me flowers. My mother had always said I would meet a boy who will learn your favorite flower, your favorite song, your favorite sweet. Only that boy earns your heart."
"I… don't know your favorite treat Helen," he rubs his neck sheepishly, making her roll her eyes.
"Do I have your attention?"
"You don't need to do any of that," He lowered his arms and crossed them in a brisk motion. "You will always have my undivided attention, Helen."
He hears the silent trudge of the Spartans arriving to collect Helen before he can even see them.
"How is it possible that it feels like you're breaking my heart, yet I haven't even had you yet?" She abruptly asks.
"Perhaps," He sighs. "Yet fate is a twisted play of melodrama and disappointment."
He can feel her regret of leaving, but he would be foolish to act upon it. As much as he loved her, some things were better left behind. Unsaid.
The sun slowly rises, delicate rays of sunbeams kissing their skin.
She nods wordlessly, placing a soft kiss on his forehead as the Spartans come into sight. A final parting.
"When I finally find you again, there won't be any doubt in your mind that it is real."
Then she's gone, and he watches them sail off into the glassy eventide, and further away from his life.
When the pain is processed, when the thoughts are done, when the ghosts are gone, there is a sense of tranquility. It is a sense that the calm is an ocean at peace. That it is not anchored to anything other than itself, yet it is so vast that it is stable.
'Pain only makes us stronger.'
――――――――――Ψ――――――――――
The words of the demigod reach the ears of Aphrodite.
"Screw love! Screw Aphrodite! What in fairness has love ever benefited anyone?"
On Olympus, the goddess of love seethes, her perfectly manicured nails pricking into her palms.
How dare that insolent boy belittle her domains, a domain of force so powerful it rivaled the darkest depths of hate in every heart, mortal or god.
His dense little brain couldn't even comprehend the denotation of what love stood for, instead downgrading all her beliefs for something he found unfair?
Words had power.
And she would make him pay for his words.
Deciding on further action, she stood abruptly from her throne. If the other gods planned on remaining neutral before the war, change must be needed.
'For the better and will of Olympus,' she thought glumly, anger thundering like a cloud within her.
Before leaving, she glanced back at her cestus. Hopefully her ordeal and plan would work out just fine without the need of violence.
There were, after all, ancient laws.
With a shuddering breath and a clench of her fists, she was gone from Olympus, in a spray of roses.
The billow of ferocious wind startled her from her teleportation, and brought her back to the reality she was currently in.
Dardania. A vast kingdom her son Aeneas, currently ruled.
She searched the confines of her memory, frowning slightly as she vaguely remembered. Aeneas had married Perseus's mother, and in term… had become Perseus's foster father.
Perhaps her judgment would be greater than her son's love for Perseus and his mother.
It was a direct irony and an affront to her own domains as she forced herself to do this.
Revenge.
Steeling her nerves, she teleported one last time into the throne room of her son, in a blinding flash.
She would not be scared of some mortal child, especially not her son's credence.
As the glow faded, she pursed her lips, watching the confounded mortals of her son's court give a mixture of bows and questioning stares before leaving the room.
With a jolt, she noticed her son had gotten much older.
"Aeneas," she plastered a fake smile on. "My son, fear not, this is not divine intervention."
Noting his frown, she continued. "I have a vital assignment from the will of Olympus, that must be carried out from you. Lord Zeus says so."
As if her lies had been heard from Zeus himself, thunder rumbled outside, jolting her heart. Would he come?
After a while, it began to softly rain.
She breathed a sigh of relief inwardly. He would not.
That meant he supported her, supported her revenge. It steeled her resolve.
"An assignment from Olympus? What about?" he asked.
Her eyes darkened. "An assassination. But not any assassination," she paused as lightning flashed recklessly outside.
"The assassination of your son, Perseus."
Lightning blinded the room as thunder shook the room.
As he regained his senses, Aeneas gaped in disbelief, shaking his head.
"No. No no no. Mother, you cannot honestly be serious."
His hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. "Whatever reason or motive the Olympian council has said to decide such, I will not listen," he gestured wildly. "He is but a child! What in Hades has he done!"
The faint petrichor of rain and the smell of ozone filled their nostrils.
She said, "He has offended the entire Olympian council, and you know fully well as I do, that words and names have power. A direct insult will not go unpunished."
"Look at Marsyas, Erysichthon, Lamia! This is no different. As a father, as a king, you must do what is needed for peace, am I right? This is the ultimate test."
In return, her son's heterochromatic eyes glared. "If this is the test, I would rather fail than do what I believe is morally wrong. I will defy the gods if I must."
This was not going her way.
And if this was what he wanted, she would force him, son or not.
"Then…" her expression changed thoughtfully, "I will take matters into my own hands."
A decorated knife, plated with jewels at the hilt shot out from under her wrist.
"NO!"
"I- I," Aeneas stammered. "Give me some time. I will order my guards to do the deed, as the clock strikes midnight. Mother, believe me."
She smiled, and handed him the knife.
"I want you to do it yourself."
Unbeknown to the two, a goddess watched on worriedly.
――――――――――Ψ――――――――――
"Perseus. Perseus! Wake up!"
He groaned, propping his elbows on the bed. What did his mother want?
Squinting, he realised it was somebody else. A quick glance at the clock suggested it was in the middle of the night.
"Who… are you?"
"I am the keeper of the hearth, young hero," she smiled. "And as a protector of families, I have come to warn you."
His feet landed on the ground. "Lady Hestia?" His knees sank as he bowed, only to be lifted up by her. "What are you - why are - ?"
"There's no time, hero, your foster father and his guards are on their way at this very moment to assassinate you and your mother," Hestia hastily whispered, dragging him up.
Noting his baffled expression, she continued. "I'm guessing you insulted Aphrodite one way or another, summoning her wrath. And Aeneas, as much as he loves you, must obey the will of his mother."
They hastily turned a corner on the stairs, the sounds of quiet talking from the guards getting louder.
"Let's get your mother, and I'll take you out as far as the gates. I wish with all my heart I could teleport you both, but alas I cannot. There are ancient laws."
He nodded, accepting her words, and the two turned the last corner. His mother's bedroom.
His heart hammered, and Hestia's expression twisted into one of uncertainty.
The door was open.
"No- NO!" He stammered out, seeing the drops of crimson in vast contrast to the marble ground. "NO!"
He needed to see - he needed revenge.
"Perseus."
"Perseus, look at me," she stressed, cupping his face. "I am sorry I was not quick enough, but allow me to do the final rites. She did not deserve this fate."
"At least she died in peace."
He hiccuped, stumbling to the floor in desperation. "This - this is all my fault, Lady Hestia. I-" He stared at his hands. "I killed my mother with words."
"Come!" Hestia seemed cross. "She is not dead, at least not yet. Perhaps you could say your final words to her."
This broke him out of his stupor, and he rushed - breaths uneven and knelt next to her bed. The quiet dripping of blood was all that was heard throughout the room.
"Mother…"
The dim light of the moon illuminated her muted features, once beautiful, but now pale and devoid of any warmth. Life had faded from her, and fast. He steadied himself, pushing the regret away for now. These last precious moments needed to be conserved, treasured, as he needed to preserve them for his life.
"I'm sorry. I failed you, mother," he said, head sunken low.
She reached out with all her remaining strength, the struggle evident in her arms. "Don't say that, my little ioras. You have never failed me, nor will you anyone else. Perhaps this is my fate. I will never question it."
The light was dimming from her eyes. He pushed his palm onto her neck wound, unable to stop the blood flow. He turned, seeing Hestia do all that she could in her power to stop the flow from increasing. He nodded his thanks.
"Before I leave you, Percy, I have not told you of your fate. A fate filled with danger and sacrifice."
He shook his head. Disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner? If I have a fate as such, what am I to do without you mother?"
She chuckled, blood gurgling in the depths of her throat. Tears glistened on the tips of her eyelashes. "I know you'll choose the right thing to do. Because that's who you are. You live and act for the greater good."
"Bravery doesn't always wield a sword."
Near the entrance, Hestia collapsed with fatigue, her hands sore. She was not a medic like Apollo, or a wound healer like Poseidon. Even gods had limits.
She watched the two exchange their last words, their goodbyes, and she felt tears pricking at her eyes, but wiped them away. She would not show weakness at such times.
She'd failed keeping a family together, as her domains suggested. His fate would now be altered without her.
Outside, thunder growled ominously.
A choked sob, and Perseus was by her side, wiping tears as he looked back at his mother.
"Don't cry," She soothed, dragging his hand. "And don't look back, my hero."
Enraged shouts from above were quickly followed by the stumbling of boots. Aeneas and his men.
"Don't look back, my hero."
As Aeneas and his guards warily approached his deceased wife, he noticed the singular coin on her tongue, her body already vanishing.
His enraged bellow could be heard from Olympus.
'No one escapes his fate, whether brave or coward, not from the moment he is born.'
- Homer, The Illiad