ACT I, CHAPTER II
Life is fleeting.
One moment you are there, the next, you are not.
And yet, we spend our precious little time on this world, in quarrels.
It doesn't seem fair to others, does it?
Percy stared bitterly at the castle - a bastion in the night, the sounds of clashing metal and dying screams ringing out from within.
They were killing anyone out of rage.
A war was brewing in Troy and Dardania where he stood - but he just couldn't bring himself to care.
The sky was alight - burning, the clouds dark and angry, looming with Zeus's divine temper. They were watching. The gods were watching.
Perhaps he should just count himself dead.
Hestia was right. Of course she was right. She was an all seeing goddess, and had he listened to her forthcomings sooner…
Such is the art of deception.
Regardless of whom conquers whom, if only he could accept letting go of Aphrodite's divine intervention, there would be no instances of regret.
'Impossible,' he'd tell himself. To do so would separate anyone from being human. His anger was what made him mortal, and he wouldn't be relinquishing or forgiving so soon.
It was a constant reminder to himself that he was no longer a carefree child - his mind now filled with hasty battle strategies and jumbled conceptions.
With nowhere to go now, he'd have to think like a child of Athena.
And yet no matter how much he tried to think - the sounds of his mother's dying screams rang out in the silent night, perpetuating on and on.
A sin.
A sin only he could hear, and would hear for the rest of his life.
How long could he bear such a burden?
For once, Perseus felt overwhelmed. He wanted to shrink into a ball, to hug his mother tightly and be told that it was all going to be alright.
All of this was just… too much for him.
For a second, he sat there in contemplation. Trying to shake off the loss, trying to forget. At this stage, he'd be doing himself a favor to forget everything.
As for his mother… Perseus wondered about life after death. What happens to one when they die?
The thought of realising that you're dead, and that you're nothing more than a memory, or stage of someone's life, helpless to influence the world… he wasn't sure if he'd like that.
But now, seeing his mother gone… Perseus couldn't bring himself to care.
She had been there one moment, and gone the next. The last thing he had remembered were her last words, and even that was quickly vanishing.
The one person he needed was gone, forever.
The thought made him sick.
Yet another part of him inside forced him to keep going - to survive in the name of his mother. Nobody would remember her if he died.
And as he stumbled around the forest, the sticky sensation of his bleeding blood - from the sharp twigs, mixed with the sticky layer of foreign blood on his toes.
His mother's blood, mixed with her beloved child to create a sadistic, twisted tribute to love and life.
How much would he have to give in order to spend time with her again?
Now… she was gone.
And as miserable and regretful he was right now, he needed to hunt for food, and camp out for the night.
Tomorrow - if he survived that long with Aeneas on his trail, he would seek out the Greeks who had begun their mighty expedition on Troy.
The thought of the Trojan city quickly resurfaced his memories with Helen, and her recent kidnapping. With a jolt, he realised how close she actually was, only over the stretch of plains that led him to the safe embrace of her arms.
But he couldn't go. As much as he longed to see her again, he would be immediately killed if seen. Word would travel fast.
Perseus breathed out slowly, trying to control his raging emotions. He could still see her cerulean eyes, dancing with mirth, her lips parting in the middle of a snide remark.
He wanted someone - anyone to hold onto and cry.
The prior comfort of Hestia was long gone in the chilly dusk wind. He was alone, again.
With anger, he hurled his dagger forward towards a hare, watching with deep breaths as the blade sliced clean through it's head and pinned it against a tree -
- just as an arrow found its mark on the hare's chest.
He wasn't alone.
Perseus whipped his head, catching sight of a girl - still in the stance where she shot her arrow. The tension was thick - and he audibly gulped, unsure whether to be afraid or to be in awe.
At first glance, his eyes had almost missed her figure from her camouflaged spot in the hazy evergreen. But as he focused, his breath stilled.
She was beautiful, Perseus wouldn't deny it.
But that hare was his.
He decided to tread lightly with his words, whilst slowly approaching his catch.
"You could've shot the head if that makes my dinner any cleaner," he bantered nervously, kneeling to pluck the arrow.
Her withering glare, coupled with her dark obsidian eyes made her look all the more formidable and scary.
"How about I shoot you in the head, if that makes things any better?"
Perseus frowned at her sneer, holding the hare. From one sentence and a glare exchanged, he discerned that this had to be the most hostile girl he'd met.
He said, "My knife pierced it first. First kill gets the food."
"There are no rules in this forest, boy," she scowled, forcing her voice into a harsh tone. "Hand it over before I use force."
He stared at her for a moment, before his jaw clamped shut and stuffed whatever emotion he'd been feeling back into himself. His generosity certainly would not be stretched to such limits when he was about to starve to death.
Instead, Perseus laughed. "I'm afraid I can't do that, and as hungry as you are, there are other animals to catch."
The silence that followed confirmed his suspicions.
His instincts fired up immediately, bringing up his dagger defensively. What he had been expecting was for her to use her bow, but he was quickly brought off guard when a celestial bronze sword materialised out of nowhere.
With one hand holding his hare, and one with his trusty dagger, he charged.
At first glance, he would've expected a girl with such a deadly impression to be a good fighter. Even with a deadly sword, her attacks had open flaws, and were not difficult to evade. Perhaps her expertise with a bow would've given him a good fight.
With quick strides, both overcame the remaining distance in an instant.
The girl took the initiative, her palm flicking outward to fling a dagger from the confines of her hunting jacket before spinning under the slash of Perseus's strike. All in one, swift movement.
And then it happened all at once.
Bronze against steel, sword against dagger, again, and again and again. It was wearing down his only weapon down with each slash and shower of sparks - and she knew it, the ghost of a grin twitching at the corners of her lips.
He had cuts - she had cuts, lined through their arms. Yet that did nothing to slow the ferocity of the duel.
Victory, for her, was almost tangible.
No.
He refused to lose.
He wasn't going to give her time to breathe - hades, he needed the element of surprise.
In an instant, he sliced an arc sideways, forcing her to step back before he whirled towards her, locking their blades in a skull shocking CLANG.
At the same time, he let his dagger fall mid-air catching it in his left hand whilst angling his neck back just in time to avoid the blade aimed at his neck -
- and held his dagger at her own neck, panting with a wide smile.
Victory.
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Blood is bitter… yet so sweet.
As Perseus propped himself against a fallen tree, he closed his eyes - trying to feel the warmth of the fire, trying to ignore his new companion for another minute. The cuts he had received stung - but they'd heal with time.
He shuffles, restless. The sensation of his newly bled cuts don't help, either.
The minute is up.
"So," he begins, allowing his voice to be heard past the sounds of forest nightlife. "What's your story?"
Her eyes don't leave the hare she currently roasts over the fire.
His hare, if he might kindly remind. Perhaps he shouldn't have given her the gesture of truce.
When she doesn't answer, he glances at her from his spot.
She scowls - still not looking, an expression that doesn't look half as frightening, now that he's beaten her in a duel.
"I'm just another girl who's been thrown out into the wilderness by her family," she says abruptly.
Perseus frowns. That certainly tells a lot.
In a sense, she sounded like himself.
Impatience taking over, he stands up, ignoring her menacing gaze. "It's just… sorry. I get it if you don't really want to talk. I haven't had a good experience concerning women lately."
This forces a smirk he can't ignore.
He likes it when she smiles.
"Yeah? Girl problems?"
"No," Perseus sighs. "More like my only friend gets kidnapped by Trojans and my mother gets murdered by her own husband." He takes a long breath. "You're my first… friend in a while."
He says the word friend carefully, because he isn't sure if she can even be trusted. But heck, he'll try. Sooner or later one of them will be left awake on watch.
Left awake with all the possibilities in the world. Well, death or robbery.
"I don't want any secrets between us," he says carefully. "You're the only company I have now, as stupid as it sounds. You could say I'm in a bit of trouble."
His words have definitely given her some thought.
A pause.
"Someone I thought I loved lied to me. He faked his love for something he desired more for. I had given up everything for him, even my family's trust. And when they found out-" She sighed, pausing. "His facade was gone. I was alone. I was ousted as a traitor."
He was surprised she had opened up, but what she said after was even more so.
"No longer am I a Hesperide."
Perseus freezes, sucking a breath in. This girl was one of the Hesperides? His mind quickly pieced together the true meaning of her epiphany. The man she was referring to was definitely who he thought it was. Only someone as vile as Zeus was capable of such manipulation.
"Heracles used you, all so he could finish another quest and prove to the gods he was worthy," He concludes.
She blinks in surprise.
He breathes out, turning away. "He will pay."
"Thank you," she nods.
Perseus says abruptly "I need to know if I can depend on you. I'm sorry about what happened with you and your family, I really do. But now that we've had our share of pain and it's over, we need to move on."
"I know," she speaks with honesty, standing to leave the hare unattended. "I can trust you. You can trust me. No secrets between us."
Her hand extends.
"Zoe Nightshade."
He gladly takes it. Anything - anything to feel warmth again.
"Perseus of Dardania."
A comfortable silence settles upon the two. It isn't as heart warming as Helen, but it'll do.
"And for the record," he laughs, sitting down, "that's my hare."
Her fierce glower makes it all the better as she clenches the hare stick. "Say that again and I'll murder you in your sleep."
Thank the gods he's reached an agreement.
They sit in comfortable silence, basking in a summer's breeze that quickly warms up the cool dusk as it flits through their campfire.
He tries not to stare - but he does. She's happy, and in this particular moment he feels as if nothing could take that happiness away.
Yet he knows he's felt this contentment before - knows that such merriment must be grasped properly. Savor the bliss bit by bit, and when it ends, not to desire more. Longing for the past would only cause more bitterness.
"Tomorrow, we go hunting," she says. "I'll take first watch."
He nods mutely, stretching beside the fire until he's in a fairly comfortable position. It's nothing like the palace beds, but it'll do.
As he closes his eyes, he focuses yet again at the thrumming beneath his skull, the tingling in his hands, tension in his stomach.
Breathing out. Breathing in.
He draws upon that sensation.
Poking an eye open, he knows it's worked. He's been practicing, and this time - success.
Zoe watches with mild surprise. But she mouths a silent goodnight before facing the other direction.
Water droplets that have condensed from the particles in the air hang ominously midair, all in his command. Instead, his wrist flicks towards the fire, and the fire hisses as steam erupts. Embers glow softly as he gladly welcomes the darkness to envelop him.
It's the first of many nightmares he'll have in a while.
The trees were laughing once more, dressed in their multitude of hues, the gold and green of the summer days. They play about the earthy hues of the branch and trunk, proud flags in any sky. As they do he takes in the freshly calm air with that hint of an earthly aroma, the fragrance of homeliness.
Perseus walked across the damp heath, Helen in tow.
It was the second dance he'd been graced to have with her - a ball on the summer solstice.
And as he led her into the halls of Troy, ignoring the prying eyes of each person, the dream felt as real as that moment.
Yet… as the dance began, he was hardly attentive as Helen chattered happily - basking in the attention and enjoyment of each swish and turn.
He could make out the crowds gathered on the many balconies and patios from the faint gleam of sunlight on their heads - and the clink of glasses and low chatter in a variety of voices, together, harmoniously.
The song had ended, and he lingered back as Helen made small talk with the Trojans. Even as she spoke, her words were distant - her face a bit tight. She'd be alright.
Yet the beating within his eardrums grew louder.
She must've noticed his discomfort - because he felt a cool hand brush upon his cheek, then to his shoulder.
"Hey. You alright?"
A nod. "Just need some fresh air. I'll be back."
She looked ready to protest, but he had already strode off, into the crowd and out of sight. Air. He needed air.
Even in a dream, he could feel his heartbeat rise in harmony with the rhythm of the music.
The patio.
Strangely enough, there was only one figure there - refusing to be engaged in conversations, his silent aura threatening and unnerving to any passersby.
He could feel a strange sense of delight as he made his presence clear. "I never knew Trojans were such morose drunks."
"I'm not drunk - I'm drinking," he said, teeth flashing as he snapped.
"Again, semantics." The Dardanian prince held his gaze, crossing his arms tightly in front of his chest.
It was a dangerous game he was playing - but he wasn't bold nor foolish. He simply enjoyed thoughtful banter at his own leisure. Perhaps it was his nature of curiosity.
Still facing away, the man breathed out slowly in frustration. "I suggest you go back to the party, prince. Your partner must be worried sick."
Taunting now.
As a direct successor of the kingdom of Dardania, it highly unsettled Priam that a complete stranger - not a stepson - would be taking over one day.
Perseus went on. "We both know you have words to get off your chest. You've avoided Helen at every turn for a reason, haven't you?"
There it was - a kernel of truth and question.
Those eyes that were lined with age drifted further. There was no humour, no sarcasm in his words now.
This was no longer playful banter.
A sip of wine. Then he turned around.
The gleam in his eyes turned into something predatory. His pupils flared. Gone was the quiet anger, the isolated pondering. Only his lethal focus on Perseus.
"Am I supposed to deny," he drawled, his jaw clenching - "that you believe you know what I'm up to?"
"Do you have any idea who I am?"
Of course. But he needed answers.
He held that predator's gaze - the gaze of the most powerful man of the territories they stood on.
He repeated his question once more. "Do you?"
A shrug. "Priam."
"It is King Priam to you, child."
The king of Troy snorted. "Spare your games, Prince of Dardania. Your name has already been added to the list of those warned. One step out of line, or question my authority and dignity… and you will feel the consequences."
"She scares you, doesn't she?" He blurted, catching the brief flash of anger and surprise etched in the old king's expression.
Priam took a slow sip of wine, gaze unmoving. For someone so old, he could certainly still be intimidating.
He only said, "And why might that be?"
Answers - answers that he would not be so foolish to foreshadow or reveal. With her allegiance with the Greeks, she was a direct threat to the balance of peace within the two nations. He had heard of the rumours of Paris - a deal with Aphrodite…
On that particular thought, he scanned the hall, stopping until he felt the gaze of Paris steadily watching Helen.
His eyes drifted to Helen - still locked in jubilant conversation. Like a star, it was as if she had illuminated the entire hall - each person's focus drifting every now and then to her.
That warmth soon dissipated when Priam spoke.
"Mark my words. This happiness will not last long. There are higher powers at play - twisting fate into a path that will only lead to death. She is the key to thousands of deaths to come."
"And if she chooses her own path? To believe her life and happiness rests better with the Greeks?"
Gone was the hesitation in Priam's wine induced words.
" - then we go to war."
Time froze. His pledge - his assurance for war was not something he'd expected.
He'd expected merely jealousy, that his sons were not worthy bachelors - not… this.
Aeneas - he needed to be warned. Helen hadn't left for Sparta yet, but when she did, Priam would unleash his so-called accusations of witchery, fate, and prophecy on the Greek world.
What if his daughter… the cursed girl of Apollo was speaking the truth? What if her prophecies would truly foretell an upcoming war? He didn't know what to think.
And just as quickly, he could feel the pull of reality bringing him back to the present. He didn't want to go - wished he'd spent more time with Helen, dream or reality.
- he'd reach out, trying to touch her face for once last time. Trying to feel the warmth on her fingers, trying to remember every inch of her face. But he'd never be able to, not before the shadows pulled him back into reality.
The last words Priam uttered could still be numbly heard.
"The gods are by my side. Don't get in my way."
The closing of curtains, almost like a performance - indicated his glimpse into the past, for now, was over.
He could have sworn laughter rumbled down the hall as he exited.
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"Can't you tread more quietly?"
Zoe growls silently, turning her head back to glare. He had resisted the urge to roll his eyes - it was nearly impossible to tread quietly in a forest that had fallen branches and leaves at each step - just asking to be crunched on.
He shakes his head, refusing to talk. She had threatened him with a knife to his neck after he'd scared off their previous prey with his loud talking.
Fair enough, but he knew she wouldn't hurt him. Right?
An elbow to the stomach after he stepped on a large stick proved otherwise.
After stumbling over another fallen log, she hisses, but not before he mutely protests, waving his hands out in frustration.
"If you're expecting me to make absolutely no sound whilst sneaking through a forest, you're wrong. You're a hunter," he states blandly. "I'm not."
She shakes her head in annoyance, drawing and aiming an arrow at an unsuspecting squirrel.
"Then no wonder I stole your kill last night."
Her fingers let go of the drawstring - and he watches in silent awe and annoyance as the arrow pierces directly through the squirrel's eye.
He hates that smirk.
She turns, that smug look still deeply etched on her face. As quietly as before, she softly walks over to grab her catch.
"In all honesty," Perseus asks, "Where'd you learn how to shoot like that? That was quite the shot."
Her mouth opens - most likely about to chastise him for loud talking once more, but decides against it, examining the squirrel before talking.
"I've always wanted to join the Hunters of Artemis. As a child, I'd dream about roaming the forests of Epirus. Free, without a care in the world."
She looks at him, that sparkle in her eyes evidently showing her passion.
"But I knew I would always be a Hesperide," She continues. "I stopped dreaming. Stopped caring. Arethusa-" Zoe abruptly stops, sighing, before composing herself. "My sister Arethusa taught me how to shoot. My father ordered his men to torture her for a week, daughter or no."
Perseus pauses, gives it some thought. "Your father… the titan Atlas?"
"Aye. He believed that as Hesperides, we were forbidden to learn how to fight. Our responsibility was merely day after day of looking after Ladon and the apple-tree, waiting eons for some non-existent intruder foolishly brave enough to steal an apple."
A foreboding shadow is cast over her face as Perseus pieces her words together.
"Yet there was," he concludes. His mother had told him stories of old, tales of heroes which he now knew by heart.
"Heracles."
Zoe gives it some thought, all the while her knife skinning the squirrel with practiced ease. Her face is blank - a rehearsed mask that was prepared for what conversation was to come.
Her eyes harden. "Let's not talk about him today. It's getting dark… let us return to camp."
He presses on. "What happened?"
"I said drop it," She snaps, her shooting hand clenching onto the weathered wood as she glares at him.
"No, I'd like to know, Zoe," he intones once more, feeling like a spoiled child. "No secrets between us, remember?"
He feels irksome by resurfacing that agreement up, but he needs to know. Out of curiosity, or as a possible helping hand, he feels as if she deserves to let out her pain as much as he did.
The daughter of Atlas abruptly stops, and he's scared he's really messed up.
She was tense for a moment, nonreactive and unmoving before exhaling through her nose. "And when did my business become yours?"
Her face kept its steely expression for a moment, before it softened and she leaned back.
By now, darkness had settled, but the firelight was enough to see the look of displeasure etched onto her face.
Perhaps it'd be easier to let her wallow in her thoughts, he thinks, but immediately disagreeing.
No, he wants to help. He's certain he can.
"You've lost everything, and so have I."
She snorts.
"Just - just trust me on this, alright? You're not the only one suffering right now, but if you want to get over your past, you have to let go."
Zoe shakes her head, refusing to keep eye contact. "My past is not for you to judge. You don't know anything about me, Perseus. Perhaps your good intentions are true, but even so, you have no matter in my life."
Her words hadn't felt right, but they didn't feel wrong. It felt like she was lying to a lie, opening up earlier and dumping everything although none of it meant anything at all.
He didn't know what to feel about that.
"One thing I've learnt," she said, forcing her voice into a harsh tone, "is that tears come from the heart, not the brain."
"He tried to make amends when excusing myself from leaving with him. Excuses. I cried, and he too did with me. But not once did I see a single tear fall from his eye."
"Why?" Perseus asked, his voice getting tight. "Why would he make such promises that he knew beforehand could not be granted?"
"Because he's what everyone calls a hero, Perseus. And heroes like him never keep their promises if it's for eternal glory, greed, or lust."
She shook her head, a small frown spreading across her face. "Perhaps my views have been shadowed by my past experiences. But the message is there. Do not be like the so-called hero, Heracles."
Zoe turns back to him, her voice softening as much as possible in contrast to her outburst. "I'm sorry. I assumed you'd already heard about the labours of Heracles. Even though many believe it as legend now, it had initially spread through the Greek world like a forest fire."
Perseus let out a breath. "And the gods did not care. They celebrated as Heracles completed his twelve labours."
"Maybe." Zoe nods. "To the gods, I was just another obstacle Heracles had encountered through his journey. More or less challenging than the Hydra, or capturing Cerberus, I do not know."
The daughter of Atlas turns to face him again. "Sometimes I wish I never met him. Wish he didn't. I wish he wasn't like this. I wish he had never been strayed into my path by the hand of fate. So many wishes… yet look where I am now."
Perseus shook his head, leaning back into a tree.
"When you blame yourself for making the right choice, thinking you've bestowed upon yourself a sin? Then you're wrong…" he said, making her meet his determined gaze, "…it's just in your nature."
Zoe lets out her own breath. "Possibly. I guess we'll never know."
His gaze meets hers, and for a moment he sees the storm that threatens to wash away all the passion from the world.
She's not gone, not yet.
Zoe lets out a huff from her nose, letting out a soft groan as she turns towards him.
"You're strong. Capable. I get it," he continues. "But you have to train your mind to be stronger than your emotions or you'll lose every time."
The daughter of Atlas holds his gaze, before nodding. Affirmation to his advice. A stranger's advice.
Leaving the past where it belongs.
The two don't speak another word on the way back.
At dusk, he watches Zoe, her knife blurring in a myriad of bronze as she skins each animal effortlessly.
And as the night stretched on, both found ways to occupy themselves, each to their thoughts.
A ghost of her whisper, as light as a feather, makes it's way to his ears.
"Thank you."