Act I, Chapter VIII
Snow clung to Sally's hair as she moved gracefully through the quiet, frost-covered halls of the Dardanian palace. The chill of winter had struck swiftly that year, transforming the grand palace into a breathtaking scene of white—an almost ethereal blanket that draped the tall columns, the sloping roofs, and the sprawling gardens outside.
Pink tinged her cheeks even as the warmth of the fireplace steadily radiated from the hearth.
Perseus glanced about, examining the silhouette of his body under the sheets. He was much younger - no more than eight, yet his focus was on his mother… still alive.
Sally's brows shifted as she fussed over his pillow, patting it flat as he lay down.
The years had not yet touched her; the weight of time had yet to carve its marks. Her dark hair was braided neatly, offering a clear view of her delicate, narrow face. Not a face of death as he had last seen her, but of the radiant health and beauty that had attracted a god.
He had always known his time with her would be limited, as any child to a parent's would be.
But gazing up at his mother's face, still young and rosy made his heart pang. There was so much he wanted to say—so much to confess, to explain. He wanted to share the weight of everything that had happened since she was taken from him. To tell her how desperately he missed her, how every day felt like an eternity in her absence. But no words came. His mouth, once so eager to speak, now felt foreign to him, heavy and unwilling to comply. The lump in his throat grew, but still, his voice was silent.
This was simply a memory, and he could not speak to her any more than he could change the course of time.
Sally smiled softly as she reached down, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead and adjusting the pillow beneath his head with a gentle pat. The softness of her touch lingered, and Perseus tried his best to remember each and every sensation.
His mother's voice was distant as she spoke. "Get some sleep, Perseus. Perileos has informed me of your natural affinity in sword fighting, and I'm certain he'll be eager to teach you much tomorrow."
He nodded mutely, recounting Perileos - the first of his many trainers who had taught him the art of fighting. His skills would have begun shape him into the fighter he was today, but for now, none of that mattered. Not the training, nor the swordsmanship.
His mother's voice was his anchor, and for the briefest of moments, the storm within him quietened.
The voice of young Perseus echoed through both memory and his chamber. "Can you tell me a story, mother?"
Sally's brow furrowed as she looked down at him, though there was no malice in her gaze - only tender affection.
Glancing at his pleading eyes, the queen consort could do nothing but reluctantly sit onto his bed. She admitted that the infancy of bedtime stories had past, yet it never hurt to indulge her only, and favourite son.
"Now, what sort of bedtime story shall it be this time?" Sally joked, her eyes almost laughing. "Shall it be another scary story or have they spooked you too much?"
His young voice rang loud and clear throughout the chamber. Perseus smiled as he watches himself pull his blankets closer towards his chest.
"Yes mother! Another scary story!"
"Are you sure, my little prince?" she asked, her voice adopting a playful, teasing tone. "If I recall, the last story of Lycanon gave you quite the nightmare the following night… this story may be even scarier."
The young prince hesitated for a moment, the confidence in his expression flickering slightly. Yet his expression quickly morphed into a look of determination he had regularly imposed upon himself during his rigorous training sessions.
"I'm sure mother," he replied with newfound resolve. "And besides, you told me the story of Lycanon when I was five! I doubt any five year old wouldn't get nightmares from that werewolf."
Sally chuckled softly at his words, her heart swelling with a bittersweet affection for her son. Despite the bravery he displayed in his young age, there was a vulnerability in him—an innocence that he would soon have to leave behind as the weight of his destiny grew heavier. But for now, his ignorance of his heritage would be his greatest bliss.
Sally allowed a smile to tug at her lips. "Alright, my little Percy."
"Tonight, I'll be telling you the story of Polyphemus the Giant."
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The sunlight crept slowly across the meadow like an intricate tapestry, weaving strands of liquid gold upon each blade of grass.
Beneath the gentle embrace of the morning sunlight, Lady Galatea lay upon the soft grass, her form luminous against the verdant green. Her alabaster skin seemed kissed by moonlight even in the day, a pale glow that spoke of her sea-born divinity.
Her silvery-blonde hair cascaded around her like a shimmering wave, clinging to her as though they adored her as much as the sea did. Her face was serene, lips slightly parted as she took in delicate breaths of air.
By her side, Acis rested in equally peaceful repose, his mortal beauty a perfect contrast to her ethereal aura. His sun-kissed bronze skin carried the warmth of the land, and the life he had spent herding sheep.
Dark curls framed his handsome features, and the faint shadow of his lashes danced around against his cheeks. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, powerful yet gentle, like the tide drawn to Galatea's heart.
Together, asleep, they seemed to be a part of the meadow itself, a tableau of love, harmony and nature. The sunlight, soft and forgiving, played across their arms - illuminating their beauty but refraining from waking them from their quiet bliss.
Sadly, the peace in the meadow was never meant to last.
Shadows stretched unnaturally long across the sunlit glade as something ominous moved through the trees.
Polyphemus had arrived.
He emerged from the forest, his hulking form bending the branches of trees as if they were blades of grass. His single eye - luminous and menacing scanned the meadow with intensity, locking upon the sleeping forms of the couple.
A bitter fire had consumed him - a tempest of his love for Galatea and jealousy of Acis that threatened to consume all in his path.
He was the son of Poseidon, one of the most powerful Olympians! It baffled him to say the least, that Galatea would pick a worthless shepherd over him.
It had been a long journey to finally track them down. His matted hair hung in wild tangles, framing a face carved by rugged cliffs filled with rage and desire. His skin, the colour of stormy rock, bore scars of ancient battles.
Each step he took shook the ground, and he began to make an effort to tread lightly now.
His massive hands, calloused and strained, gripped a gnarly club almost the same size as the trees around him.
Polyphemus lowered his hulking frame, his breathing laboured and heavy. A sense of foreboding swept over the meadow, making even the grass and flowers recoil at his presence.
His eye flickered between Galatea's still form and Acis' peaceful slumber, narrowing with loathing at the mortal who had stolen the love he believed to be his.
He moved closer, steps muffling as he crept with surprising stealth for a giant his size. The sunlight, so warm and forgiving before seemed to hesitate, retreating behind wisps of clouds as if unwilling to see what came next.
Polyphemus crouched behind a thicket, knuckles whitening as he clenched his club tighter, and every muscle coiled in the tension of fury.
The meadow, once a garden of sanctuary, now held its breath.
Polyphemus surged forward, his club raised high above his head. But as his massive foot splashed into the cool waters of a narrow river threading through the meadow, the disturbance rippled outward like a warning.
Galatea stirred, her sea-born senses attuned to the water's distress. Her eyes opened just in time to see the giant's shadow falling over them, the club hurtling downward with deadly force toward Acis.
"Acis, wake!" she cried, her voice sharp with panic as her hands shot outward. A tendril of water, impossibly fast and serpentine, erupted from the river. It coiled around the club, stopping it mid-swing mere moments away from Acis's chest.
Acis jerked awake, his eyes wide with confusion and fear as he beheld the towering form of Polyphemus. "Run!" Galatea commanded, her voice trembling. "You must run! I'll hold him off!"
Polyphemus roared in frustration, straining against the water's grip. His muscles bulged, veins pulsating as he pushed down with all his might. The tendril quivered under the force, droplets spraying like sweat from the tension. With a deafening crack, the club snapped in half, it's splinters raining down upon the defeated Nereid.
Galatea gasped, her strength momentarily drained from the effort. She staggered back, leaving herself vulnerable. Polyphemus seized the opportunity, swinging the jagged remains of his club with brutal speed. The blow caught Galatea across her shoulder, sending her sprawling to the ground.
"Galatea!" Acis shouted, his voice breaking with desperation as he hesitated. But Polyphemus's attention was already back on him. The giant dropped the remains of his club and charged, his heavy footsteps shaking the earth. Acis turned and fled, his heart pounding, but the meadow offered little refuge.
Polyphemus reached down and ripped a massive rock from the earth, its weight nothing compared to his colossal strength. With a growl of fury, he hurled it. The boulder crashed into Acis's back, throwing him to the ground with a sickening thud. Acis groaned in pain, his limbs trembling as he tried to rise.
Galatea, still dazed, dragged herself to her knees. "No…" she whispered, her voice breaking as she saw Polyphemus looming over her beloved. Her hands reached out weakly toward the river, but she was too drained to summon its power.
Polyphemus stood over Acis, his face twisted with savage triumph. He grabbed another rock, larger and sharper, and raised it high. "No!" Galatea screamed, but her plea was drowned by the sickening sound of stone meeting flesh.
The meadow fell silent. Acis lay motionless, his life extinguished. Polyphemus tossed the bloodied rock aside, its weight carving a deep scar into the earth.
Blood, slow at first, began to seep into the ground where soil met the river.
Then, as if the earth itself mourned, a wail rose up from the forest edges. The dryads, hidden among the trees and wildflowers, cried out in anguish. Their voices, high and mournful, merged into a sorrowful chorus that filled the air, a lament for the fallen mortal whose love had once brought joy to the land.
Their grief carried in the wind, rustling the leaves and shaking petals from the blossoms that had surrounded Acis in life. The meadow, once so vibrant and alive, seemed to wither in their sorrow. Even the river, which had sung gently through the grass, flowed sluggishly now, as though burdened by mother nature's shared despair.
Galatea collapsed, her body shaking with sobs as she crawled toward Acis, her trembling hands reaching for his lifeless form. Tears streaked her face as she cradled him, her anguish echoing across the meadow, mingling with the dryads' lament.
Polyphemus turned, his massive shadow falling over her once more. His eye, no longer blazing with fury, now held a strange mixture of regret and longing as he took a hesitant step toward her.
"Galatea…" he rumbled, his voice deep and unsteady. But she did not look at him. Her sorrow was too great, her heart shattered beyond the reach of his words.
The dryads' cries swelled, their pain an indictment of the giant's actions. It was a sound that spoke of more than grief—of the loss of innocence, the breaking of love, and the fragile harmony shattered by a jealous hand.
Galatea's sobs quieted, but her sorrow transformed into a quiet, trembling resolve. She lifted her tear-streaked face to Polyphemus, her eyes blazing with a mixture of grief and fury.
"Leave," she said, her voice raw and unyielding. "You have done enough."
Polyphemus froze, his hulking frame tense. Her words, so final, struck him deeper than her water tendrils ever could. His single eye burned with renewed anger, the rejection cutting into the very core of his twisted heart.
"You tell me to leave?" he bellowed, his voice shaking the earth. "After all I have done for you? After I have destroyed him, you still deny me?" His rage boiled over, and he raised his massive fists, ready to unleash his wrath upon her.
But before he could strike, the earth itself stirred. The meadow trembled, the ground cracking beneath his feet. The cries of the dryads swelled to a deafening pitch, their grief and fury merging into a powerful force. Roots erupted from the soil, coiling around Polyphemus's legs and arms like living chains. He roared, thrashing against their grip, but the power of the nature spirits was unrelenting.
The earth split wide, a yawning chasm opening beneath him. Polyphemus's roars turned to cries of desperation as the ground pulled him downward. His immense form was swallowed whole, the last echoes of his rage vanishing into the depths. The meadow fell silent once more, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the quiet murmuring of the river.
Galatea sat still for a moment, her chest heaving as she tried to process the chaos that had unfolded. Then, with trembling hands, she crawled back to Acis. His body lay still, untouched by the violence that had surrounded him. His face was serene, almost peaceful, as though he were only sleeping. The faintest hint of a smile lingered on his lips, and Galatea couldn't help but wonder if, in his final moment, he had dreamed of her.
She reached out and brushed a strand of dark hair from his forehead. "You look so calm," she whispered, her voice breaking. "So beautiful… even in death."
Summoning her remaining strength, she placed her hands on his chest. "This meadow… this earth will never be the same without you. But you will live on, my Acis."
The river stirred in response to her touch, rising as if called by her will. Its waters flowed gently over Acis, cradling him like a mother's embrace. As Galatea murmured ancient words of her sea-born power, his body began to dissolve into the stream, his essence merging with the water.
The river swelled, its gentle current growing stronger as it merged with the other river creating a mighty, flowing tribute to Acis. The water sparkled with a quiet radiance, as though the spirit of the one she loved would forever bless it.
Galatea knelt by the riverbank, her tears falling into the water. "You are the river now," she whispered, her voice filled with heartbreak. "Forever flowing, forever a part of this land. I will always remember you, my love. I will hear your voice in the current and feel your touch in the waves."
She pressed her lips to the water's surface, a final kiss goodbye.
"I love you, Acis. I always will."
"And as Polyphemus was swallowed up by the earth," Sally said, her expression animated, "Galatea turned Acis into a river, flowing forever - her final gift of love."
The fireplace crackled softly, the embers beginning to surrender to the darkness of the room.
The door creaked open in front of them, and Sally's words faltered. Younger Perseus turned his head to see the tall, imposing figure of Aeneas stepping into the room. His presence seemed to fill the space, a silent authority that Perseus, even at his young age, found unsettling.
"Still telling stories, I see," Aeneas said, his tone warm but carrying the weight of command. He moved toward Sally, bending down to press a kiss to her temple. The son of Poseidon noticed how her smile softened, her eyes glowing with a light she seemed to reserve only for him.
Yet, watching the memory unfold, he felt the surge of rage rise like a tidal wave. The sight of Aeneas, so assured, so calm, made his blood boil. How could this man, this supposed hero be so tender now, knowing what he would eventually order?
"Polyphemus, you say?" Aeneas mused, taking a seat beside Sally. "A brute of a Cyclops, that one. I once crossed paths with him myself."
"You did?" young Perseus asked, his curiosity momentarily overtaking his previous sadness of his bedtime story.
Aeneas nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "It was long ago, back in the fields of Troy. I was herding sheep for a time, hiding from the chaos of war against the Lydians. Polyphemus roamed the outskirts of the land, and one day, he came close—too close. I had to leave the flock behind, quietly slipping away before he caught my scent. The sheep - and some of my men - weren't so lucky."
Sally chuckled softly, though her eyes lingered on Aeneas with an unreadable expression. "You've always been good at finding a way out, haven't you?" she teased.
The room in his mind blurred slightly, the memory overlapping with the reality of what he knew. This wasn't just a story about Polyphemus. This was the man who had robbed him of his mother.
And the fact that he had left his men to die spoke volumes about his character.
As the younger Perseus leaned forward, hanging onto Aeneas's every word, Perseus turned away from the memory. The ache in his chest was unbearable - each memory and dream only sought to remind him of the past life he had lost.
Aeneas's smile faltered just slightly, a shadow crossing his features. He turned toward Perseus, those hard eyes piercing through his soul.
Aeneas's gaze lingered - just for a heartbeat too long - as though he knew exactly what was going through Perseus' mind. The room, the memory, seemed to shift as if it could swallow him whole. And in the growing silence, it was as if Aeneas knew exactly what would happen on that fated night his mother died.
"Sometimes the way out isn't a choice," he said, his words heavy with meaning that seemed to hang in the air. "Sometimes it's the only path left to take."
And from the darkness, Polyphemus spoke, his voice a jagged whisper.
"Then, my little Perseus… it's the path that's been waiting for you all along."
――――――――――Ψ――――――――――
Perseus jolts awake, his breath ragged. Cold sweat clings to his skin as he turns towards the nereid.
"Lady Galatea… tell me what I must do."
Galatea's voice breaks through the darkness, calm yet heavy with warning.
"To catch the eye of the sea, you must walk the path Polyphemus sets before you… even if it leads you straight to him."
Galatea raises her hand, placing her palm against his chest. The son of Poseidon flinches - not from fear, but from the sudden overwhelming rush of energy that courses through him. It was a warmth, but one that was both gentle and fierce, like the pulse of the ocean itself.
"Perseus," she whispers, her voice now ancient and unyielding. "You are of both land and sea, and in you runs the blood of gods. But you are not alone in this fight. I, Galatea, give you a part of my strength, my essence, so that you may face the giant with the fury of the tide."
Her touch lingers for a moment longer, and something deep within him shifts.
Suddenly each wave felt sharper than ever before - he could feel the pull of the currents, pulse of the tides, the vastness of the seas had extended further than ever before at his fingertips.
Galatea's voice hardened. "The sea's fury is in you now. The storm within the waves, the relentless force of the depths—it is all within you. Use it wisely, Perseus. Fight with the strength of the oceans."
And with that, she stepped back, her figure fading into the night in a wisp of seafoam. The son of Poseidon stood there for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with each breath, feeling the beat of the ocean within him.
"Avenge me, Perseus. End what he started."