Act I, Chapter VII
The bruises were now fading - at last.
Yet even the warm Mediterranean sun could not mellow the blotches of purple and red that contrasted starkly against his tan arms.
It was during the first moments of dawn when he had dutifully packed his belongings and trekked up the hill, out and away from the Achaean camp.
Away from the man he vowed to defeat, allies or not.
Away from the fading sounds of battle that eagerly awaited for his eventual return.
The ocean was his first and only destination, and Galatea was more than enthusiastic to hone the young Prince of the Sea's swordsmanship as she silently listened to his recounts.
Desertion be damned - the war had truly made him forget that he was not indebted to the Achaeans at all - with how they had been treating him, he could very well decide to leave whenever he pleased.
Achilles had withdrawn from the war, forcing the hand of the other city states to provide more manpower in his absence. The son of Poseidon knew Hector would not hesitate to grasp this opportunity to turn the tides of the war.
He knew the battlefield well… but to say he was certain he could survive for much longer? If he had trouble duelling two, three spartans at a time, what hope was there? Achilles had disassembled him into pieces - without godly abilities.
In a fair duel, Perseus had been shattered.
Yet there were no rules out there. When he had taken Achilles by surprise with the tendrils, he could have kept on going. He could have won. He should have. Yet, despite his birthright, the victory had slipped through his grasp. His divine powers did little to quell the sting of losing in a duel of raw strength and skill.
Hence… his current predicament.
The grains of sand pinch into his knees as he pulls himself up, leaning heavily on Anaklusmos.
The movement was almost reflexive at this stage, he'd get up, try to last as long as he could before getting his face beaten down into the sand. It was only the energy that the ocean provided that prevented him from downright collapsing from exhaustion.
And Galatea - no matter the number of tidal waves and sharp tendrils he had hurled at her - remained infuriatingly unflinching and composed, untouched by his relentless assaults.
Her silk gown, white against her bronze skin, shimmered under the sun as she readjusted her xiphos, smiling warmly. She hadn't even broken a sweat.
"Try again, little prince. Feel the water, do not use it to harness your anger. It makes it easier for me to wrestle it's unwilling control away from you."
Perseus runs a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. But he nods, his left arm reaching out as he closes his eyes in concentration.
His hand runs over the smooth, glass ball… yet this time, he gently holds it. The tug in his gut is a familiar sensation, but the glass ball doesn't feel heavy nor hot in his palm. Instead it is cool, responding as it moulds perfectly in his palm to emanate a coursing ripple. Slowly, he raises it higher.
For the first time, he feels the sea obey unwaveringly. Complete control of every drop.
The rapid rushing of water is the sight that greets him as Perseus opens his eyes to the looming wave waiting at his command.
With an outstretched hand, he hurls it towards Galatea.
For a moment, the goddess' eyes widened, but her gaze quickly morphed into concentration as the wave rapidly surged towards her. Yet as the wave reached its pinnacle, her hands flexed outward, splitting the dissipating wave into two.
Perseus could at least enjoy the satisfaction that his wave nearly reached her this time.
But he has no time to waste, taking the initiative by running along the shoreline towards her, Riptide out and gleaming. The shadow of the sword fell like the dark edge of a storm cloud across the ocean, a quiet prelude of the fury to come.
As he swings, Galatea's opposing spear materialised, striking hard against Riptide. The impacted resonates against the now-restless shore, heralding a new tide of the battle that was about to surge.
He knew that defeating a goddess in the fields of both her home turf element and in a duel of weaponry would be far-fetched. But he was determined.
Galatea wanted distance from Riptide, jabbing swiftly in the hopes of slowly nicking him down at the gaps of his defences. Yet the son of Poseidon held steady, eagerly deflecting each strike of her spear with increasing confidence.
Perseus stomps down as he surges forward, using the momentum of the shaking ground to propel himself into a roll to the side of Galatea. The sudden instability of the terrain allows Perseus to leverage Galatea's slower response to his next attack, forcing her away from the shore.
Riptide gleams as it swings in an arc to meet Galatea's spear, remnant beads of water rolling off the blade as it collides with the unyielding force of the goddess' own strike.
The goddess had little time to react as he feints an underhand strike, his left foot sweeping forward and finding it's mark on her spear. Perseus had a point to prove. If he could beat Galatea, he'd certainly stand a chance in beating Achilles.
But… that wasn't all he wanted, was it? He was here, training with Galatea for a reason. No, he wished to be powerful enough to not only protect his friends, his loved ones, and to restore whatever dignity he had left. Each failure gnawed at him. He had escaped when others paid the price, and his inadequacies had led to their suffering.
Helen, his lack of desperation in the most vital of moments. He should've never let her go.
His mother - this had hurt the most. Cursing a goddess, without the prowess to back it up.
Briseis, his inability to protect. She had paid the price of freedom after he cowardly escaped.
Zoe, his ineptitude to defend against the Minotaur. No sane person would decide to stay with a defenceless boy.
He had failed, again and again. But it gave him all the reason to give it his all, to prove them all wrong. He just needed to treat this duel as if he were going toe to toe with Achilles. Then he would be treating this not as a mere training spar, but a duel for life and death - when he presumed would inevitably happen.
Summoning all the energy he could muster, Perseus stomps down at her spear, snapping it in half in a resounding snap. Galatea doesn't even blink an eye as her sword materialises, attacking Perseus in a whirlwind of blows. But a close-range duel was just what he needed.
Leaping back, he hurls a wave towards her, splitting it into multiple tendrils. Galatea merely swats it away, but it had given him time to back off and recuperate. He had unlimited fuel at his disposal, why not unleash everything he had?
The earlier spars with Galatea when he had first arrived had been merely without the power of the ocean, but allowing himself to tap into his element had allowed him to truly experiment with what he could do.
Taking a deep breath in, he allows the water to run up his body, embracing his free forearm before elongating along his outstretched arm to form a deadly xiphos, made of ice.
He contemplates attempting to form a layer of armour made of ice to encase his exposed skin, but decides against it. Keeping the icicle in a solid form with the warm wind blowing against his skin was taxing enough on both his mental and physical strength.
This time, Galatea blinks in surprise, a frown gracing her ephemeral features. She hadn't expected this. Yet was ice not water, in another form?
The tug in his gut had returned, and he raises his sword - the water following his command by shooting through the air. A shiver ran down his spine as the water freezes midair, splitting into multiple icicles that cut through the air towards the goddess.
Galatea has little problem cutting the icicles as they approach, her face masked with an expression of real concentration this time. But he wasn't done, pushing his body to the limit as he surges forward - Riptide and his icy xiphos cutting through the air in tandem.
A resounding shockwave echoes along the quiet beach as Galatea's xiphos locks against Perseus', cracks in the earth shattering as a result of the clash.
He gives her no warning, Riptide flashing in a furious arc as she raises her xiphos to intercept it. But the son of Poseidon is relentless, bringing his summoned ice xiphos overheard again and again - deep focused breaths as both xiphos relentlessly close the distance between himself and the goddess. As overwhelming as duel wielding is to Galatea, she holds up surprisingly well - weaving between the fierce strikes and digging her feet into the ground as the sheer power of the element beneath her kept her from concentrating fully on the duel.
But Perseus maintains the momentum, his movements smooth and forcing her to go on the defensive as it seemed his strikes were raining down on all sides.
The familiar tug in his gut ensues, and the ground responds to his command, jagged spikes of spiderweb-like cracks extending with each step he took.
Perseus parries, Riptide flashing as it locks onto Galatea's xiphos. His icy xiphos shatters on impact against her xiphos, but Perseus allows Riptide to take the brunt of the force as ice begins to spread along the goddess' weapon.
He doesn't want to hurt Galatea - but it wouldn't be a realistic fight for there to be no injuries. Regardless, Riptide cuts through her defences, her xiphos encased in ice proving too slow to precisely parry his relentless attack.
The son of Poseidon forgoes his powers, both hands atop Riptide as he swings repeatedly, the flat of his blade striking at each of her defenceless spots as he forces her back towards the ocean.
And all of a sudden, the sheer chaos and speed of the battle dies down, and the heavy presence in the air evaporates as he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Riptide, held against Galatea's throat.
But a dagger of her own, protruding from his abdomen.
As the adrenaline wears off, the pain ignites - sharp and sudden, and he falls into the shallow water in relief, pulling the dagger out as the wound stitches itself together.
Galatea certainly had the guts to stab a prince of the sea, but if duelling with a chance of death at stake was a custom of Atlantis, he supposed he'd be dealing with a lot more injuries soon enough.
Yet he had won, but at what cost? The countless days and nights of sparring had proven the most effective experience he had ever gained, millennia of her training hyper-focused on a demigod did wonders. But in his anger-driven attack, he had failed to go on the defensive when needed.
Each fibre of muscle in his arms strain as he pushes himself out of the water, Riptide still thrumming in his palm from the ferocity of the duel.
The goddess stands not far from him, looking out towards the sea as Apollo makes way for Artemis.
Galatea's eyes flashed, but she didn't bite. Her armour was gone, replaced by her usual flowing gown.
"You put up a fight. That was something I haven't seen for a long, long time," the goddess begins, turning to face him. Her face is expressionless, yet a wave of calm washes over him as he realises she isn't mad for maiming. Perseus frowns at her reference, and she continues: "Ice is a power wielded by few individuals within Poseidon's realm, especially by his own son."
Still dazed, a flush creeps over his face, and his mouth opens to speak - confusion halting his train of thought as he frowns.
Finally, "If Poseid- my father cannot conjure ice, how did I do… that? I don't even know how," he hurriedly explains, biting his lip. "It was a heat of the moment thing."
The goddess chuckles, resting a hand on Perseus' shoulder. "All in due time, young one. Amongst my suspicions, it's highly likely your mother was a descendant of Khione - goddess of snow and ice. I'll have to ask Lord Poseidon to confirm this, but what you possess is nothing short of extraordinary - I suspect you'll have it mastered in no time at this rate."
Perseus gives her a shallow nod, before holding out her dagger. "This is yours, milady."
Galatea's laughter chimes like broken glass as she waves it off. "Keep it. Look to it as a reminder of today, a lesson in discipline - starting with you," she flourishes her hands, gesturing towards the landscape: "Like a child to a mother, or a snow to a winter's evening, the balance of everything around you and me, and what sleeps in between."
There's a period of silence as he watches the waves roll in and out, breathing in and allowing the gentle breeze to cool his face. The low tides quieten before she smiles warmly, inviting him by her side. "Come, Perseus. Walk with me."
The days spent with the minor goddess had reminded him how easily the immortals shifted between moods. As they softly tread along the sand, Galatea's hair frames her face, making her look especially young and peaceful for an immortal who had just stuck a dagger in his abdomen minutes ago.
Really, he was just glad she had not held it against him for the already fading bruises on her skin. He smiles impishly. You could never tell with immortals.
Galatea sighed. "Poseidon's high court grows bold by the day, spreading whispers of the latest gossip on Olympus. It seems Aphrodite is out for your blood."
Perseus nodded and cleared his throat.
"It's true. She ordered Aeneas and his men to murder myself and my mother whilst we were asleep. It was only due to the gracious help of Lady Hestia that I made it out alive. My mother, however…" he trailed off.
The minor goddess gave him a slow, sad smile. "My deepest condolences for the sea's inability to help. You must be mad at your father - don't," she warned. "It is exactly what Aphrodite wants - what King Zeus wants. To develop a hatred towards your father would be akin to reliving yourself of all divine protection… and above all, your father's love to all his children, even if he doesn't show it."
"What you can - must do is to remember your mother. A memory is a way of holding onto the things that you love, and that is something Aphrodite cannot take away from you."
Tears prick the son of Poseidon's eyes, and he blinks them away - voice choking as he speaks. "Each day I try and reach for her memory, her face blurs a little more. The softness of her voice, her gentle wisdom, slipping, unravelling like a thread I can't grasp…"
"Now it's just a blur - flashes of the past that I'm not sure is even real anymore."
His mother was his anchor. Those waves that used to crash with warmth and familiarity are simply soft whispers that barely touch the shore, untouchable no matter how deep he waded in.
And as Galatea speaks, the waves churn in response - almost in sync with her emotions.
"Memories, I have always thought, are like deepening waters, and everyday the sunken objects on the sea floor are a bit further and a more frightening journey away. I know that they are there, but I don't look at them."
Perseus tilts his head, voice barely above a whisper. "I don't understand… you would choose ignorance over acceptance?"
"You must choose both ignorance and acceptance."
He's lost at her words.
Galatea senses this and continues, "Ignorance is not a flaw but a blindfold we wear at all times, and acceptance is the courage to see past the death of your mother, no matter how cruel or unfair."
His mother's face washes atop the water's reflective surface, and is gone by the time he blinks back tears. With all that had been going on with Zoe, then war and Achilles, he truly hadn't been given the time to recuperate and grieve.
"My lady, you're asking a lot by telling me to let go of my past in order to face my future. If my mother's wisdom is not by my side, how do you truly expect me to persevere?"
Her words are almost as soft as his mother's as she grasps his shoulders firmly. "We've always been watching, Perseus. Not once have we expected, we knew you would do great things. Right now, Aphrodite is the future you must endure, but it is without a doubt your mother is watching you proudly from Elysium."
And he remembers.
Long afternoons by the sea with his mother, claiming he had spotted women waving to him within the waves. His mother had brushed it off, but he had waited until she fell asleep whilst in her arms before he snuck out and ran towards the tides.
The women - with flowing dresses glimmering in the sunlight - had carried him back into the arms of his mother when he had floated off too far.
They had been watching, protecting him all along. Galatea, and her Nereid sisters.
His throat bobbed, whispering a thank you to her as he gazed out to sea.
To a family he had grown to finally know.
A comfortable silence surrounds the two, as the goddess gives him a comforting squeeze.
"There's a story I'd like to tell you," she begins, her voice soft and wistful, like the lapping tides ebbing away the setting sun.
Perseus looks up, curious.
"A story of love," she continued, her gaze drifting into the horizon. "And the weight of jealousy and fate that lies in between."