Nothing is mine.

The Champion of the World Unborn awakes.

One to Fight, Disappoint, and Fail

Scarlet tassels fluttered in a scorching wind, tickling his fingertips; they trailed from the crown of a beaten gold skull pommel, flying before the cruel curve of a shining steel blade thrust deep into golden dust.

He raised his head.

Endless dunes of gleaming sand sprawled away beneath a blazing sun and a burning crimson sky. Countless blades bristled from the desert, each and every one bloodstained, bent and broken.

The red tassels brushed his fingers.

'Take it.'

He twisted about.

A lean, tall dark-haired man stood upon the stands; his eyes as bright as the sea in the summer sun. 'Take it,' he said. 'It is yours.'

'Mine?'

'If you can earn it.' A broad grin flashed across the man's lips. 'The sword of a hero has to be earnt, don't you think? Pulled from a stone. Gifted by a nymph. Kept safe beneath a great stone until the aspiring champion can lift it and claim them.'

'Who are you?'

The man's grin widened. 'I'm you. You as you will become. God of Heroes. Champion of a world on the cusp of birth. Your destiny is to change the nature of the world.'

Something rang true in his words; the weight of them settled on his shoulders, unending, grinding him down, grinding at his heart, leaving it less than a single grain of sand beneath the bottomless black of the sea. That grain was clear as glass, empty of everything but the faintest gleam of pale, bright silver light.

'Who am I?' he whispered. 'What's my name?'

'A hero earns a name,' the man said. 'They are given it in bitter hatred and fear by their humiliated foes; they wear it with as much pride as they do the trophies ripped from the despairing grip of their fallen enemies. Yours awaits you in the battles to come.'

'Battles?'

'Take the blade.' The man's gaze drifted out across the countless blades upon the golden sands and up into the bleeding sky. 'Heroes and swords are just alike; they are forged in battle and their names are written upon the pages of history in the blood they shed.'

He wrapped his fingers about the hilt and drew it from the golden dust.

The man smiled. 'Your enemies come against you. Awake. Take their heads, champion of the world unborn; take all that you are owed. A hero offers no mercy; a hero knows no pity. Woe to the vanquished. Glory and immortality to the triumphant.'

He opened his eyes in the gloom of a crimson pavilion. Shining steel blades glinted in the shadows, hung in racks upon every wall, but, thrust into the dirt where the sun spilt through the open door, stood the curved, steel blade of his dream, its scarlet tassels fluttering in the breeze.

'My lord.' A slim, redheaded girl stepped forward from a small wooden seat in the dark corner. 'You're awake.'

'My lord?' He laughed. 'Call me…'

'Call you what, my lord?'

'Never mind,' he murmured.

A hero earns a name.

'What's your name?' he asked, rising to his feet.

'Rachel.'

'My lord…' Rachel flushed bright red beneath her freckles and her green eyes dipped to the floor. 'Er…'

He glanced down at his bare chest. 'Oh. Did I somehow run out of shirts?'

'You don't need armour, my lord,' she said. 'But our enemies are nearly upon us. You have slept for days and now must lead us to victory.'

'Victory?'

'Glory and immortality,' Rachel whispered, staring at the scarlet-tasselled sword. 'An unborn world of hope. No more watching children die when nobody can see them being slaughtered. You're going to save them; I've seen it in my visions.'

'What did you see?' he asked. 'Did you see my name?'

She shook her head. 'I saw your sword and fading golden dust. I saw thousands of children lost in the dark snatched from devouring jaws and lifted into the light of the unborn world to come.'

'The unborn world to come…'

'It was full of so much hope,' she whispered. 'So much light. I have never seen something so… beautiful.'

He took a step toward the blade. 'And our enemies?'

'Cling to the old world and gods we have outgrown,' Rachel replied, edging forward. 'They do not know their own power. But you will show them. I saw it.'

The scarlet tassels fluttered, brushing his fingertips.

'My lord, you must go now,' she urged. 'Our forces will only fight if they see you are here to lead them.'

He wrapped his hand around the hilt and tugged it from the ground; the blade hung heavy in his hand, the hard ridges of the grip biting into his palm.

'My lord,' she pleaded.

'I'm going.' He spun the sword in his hand, but the weight carried it further forward than his instinctive catch and he fumbled it to the floor. 'When I learn how to hold onto a sword, at least. I guess I've got a long way to go before I earn my name, haven't I?'

Rachel watched him with wide green eyes as he picked it up and stepped out. Her footsteps followed him past the ruined restaurant sign of a Wendy's to the bank.

A long bridge ran across a broad, shallow river beneath two suspension columns, and, at the far end, crawling across the flat strip of black tarmac, came a thin line of shining bronze shields and red capes.

'Ehrenburg bridge,' Rachel said. 'Our enemies are trying to cross it. They're here for you, I think. To stop you changing the world.'

Neat ranks of long-haired archers waited upon the road at the near end of the bridge, and beyond them a horde of tall, hulking figures and sleek, low dark shapes clamoured and howled and cheered.

'Give the word, my lord.' Rachel hung at his elbow, her long red hair flying in the wind like the tassels at the pommel of his sword. 'Crush anyone who would stop you saving them.'

He swept the blade up and thrust it forward.

With a gleeful, savage howl, the horde charged.

'Who are we, my brothers!?' A girl's cry rang out over the river.

'Children of Ares,' he whispered.

Rachel shot him a nervous glance. 'Yes, my lord. They are.'

'Companions of Perseus!' The thin red line thundered.

A strange hot lump settled in his throat.

'Not one step backwards!' At the centre of the phalanx, their leader thrust her spear high into the air above her cloven crimson crest.

'Not one step back!' The phalanx cried, pounding their fists upon their bronze hoplons. 'Honour and immortality!'

'Honour and immortality!' Their leader yelled from the heart of the phalanx. 'Perseus! Witness our glory! Greet us upon the banks of Styx and be proud!' An orange glyph shone as bright as the glowing embers of a beach bonfire upon her dark thyreos.

Hope.

He drifted closer, but the clamouring horde crashed into the phalanx and a cloud of golden dust rose, obscuring everything but the din of battle.

'I can't tell who's winning,' he said, jumping up on the concrete blocks running down the centre of the bridge.

Dark hounds burst from the golden dust, bounding back past him to regroup; all manner of monsters fled after them as the dust cleared.

With a whistle, a storm of barbed, dark arrows arced over his head, hissing down upon the upturned bronze hoplons, but when the last shafts fell, that orange glyph still shone in fierce defiance, bright as the stars.

Don't give up hope. He took a step toward, ignoring the low murmur rising in the gathering horde behind him.

'They are not as strong as you, my lord,' Rachel said. 'Maybe… maybe you should go yourself? If they see you, they will surely rout in dread.'

'Why?' He dropped down onto the tarmac. 'I'm not a hero yet; I don't even have a name.'

Rachel squirmed. 'Still, my lord. You should lead the next attack. Our forces will be stronger with you fighting with them. The glory of the triumph should be yours. A hero earns a name.'

I would like to have a name. Something hung on his tongue as he strode down the bridge. Even if I have to earn it.

A cry of horror rose from the thin red line as he neared them and the phalanx quailed, falling back a step.

Their leader stepped forward to meet him.

'Clarisse,' a blonde girl yelled. 'Don't! You can't win!'

Clarisse glanced back and ran a hand through the cleft, crimson crest of her helm. 'It's my turn, Strawberry-Girl. Look after my brothers; they're too stupid to look after themselves, but a bit of vegetable violence will keep them on the straight and narrow.'

The girl's lip trembled, her bright green eyes full of tears. 'This wasn't how it was supposed to be! Nico said he was alive and I hoped…'

Clarisse marched through the golden dust, her scarlet cape flaring behind her. 'You're on the wrong side of the phalanx,' she choked. 'Where's your sword?'

He held it up. 'Here. I might not be a hero yet, but I wouldn't turn up without a sword. That would just be silly.'

She stared back at him, a storm of emotion raging in her dark brown eyes. 'Why are you fighting us?'

'Glory and immortality; it's my destiny to change the world,' he replied. 'Why are you?'

'Honour and immortality.' Clarisse raised her spear in a salute. 'And not one step back.'

He returned her salute. 'Honour and immortality.' The words rolled off his lips, a familiar weight at the tip of his tongue.

The tip of the spear flashed forward.

He leant away from it, letting it whisper past his ear, flowing through the series of short sharp jabs she aimed at his ribs and catching the edge of the thyreos with one hand as Clarisse swung it at his chest.

With a grunt, she shoved him back a step and spun, swinging the haft low and hard at his legs.

He leapt over it, turning the following thrust aside off the edge of his sword.

'It's like trying to catch water in my hands.' A sharp grin spread across Clarisse's face. 'But I have some new tricks.'

She growled and advanced, thrusting fast and hard with her spear, swiping at him with thyreos each time he stepped inside the guard of her spear. He parried them away on the edge of his sword, biting an inch-deep notch out of the spear's haft. The scarlet tassels flew as he kept spear and shield at bay, taking each breath in time to the beat of a heart coming as steady as the tide.

I need to be faster.

The spear butt bounced off his left forearm as he blocked it, and he stepped forward, cutting the thyreos aside off the back of his sword and thrusting the blade at her throat.

Clarisse headbutted the sword, tearing a deep scratch across the cheek of her helm with a sharp screech and drove her knee into his stomach; she kicked him back and thrust the spear into his ribs.

It snapped in half at the notch and the bent bronze tip clattered across the tarmac.

'Well shit.' Clarisse cast the broken haft aside and drew a short bronze blade from behind her thyreos. 'I wasn't expecting that to happen.'

'Neither was I.' He poked at his bare skin, but found no mark and felt no pain; only a fierce, burning tingling swept across the spot between his shoulder blades. 'Weird. I guess I'm just pretty stab-proof?'

She advanced, slashing at his stomach. He caught her blade on his, twisted his wrists over there top of it and swept it around and over their heads, trapping the flat of it under his left arm and ripping it from her grasp.

Clarisse swung the thyreos at his head and lunged for the hilt of her blade. He ducked and leant aside, sweeping his sword up and pressing the tip into the hollow of her throat.

'I will not yield,' she declared. 'Honour and immortality.'

A bead of blood trickled down her neck and somewhere inside him cold, bitter waves broke against each other, churning his stomach into a clamouring pit.

'You're brave,' he murmured.

Clarisse raised her chin. 'I will die without regret.'

Kill her. Woe to those vanquished. The man's murmur came straight from his dream, sharp as the whisper of steel thrust deep into the sand. Take her head. Take immortal glory. A hero knows no pity and no mercy. Only immortal triumph.

'I don't want to,' he said, lowering his blade.

To fulfil your destiny and change the nature of the world, a price must be paid. In blood. That is the way of heroes, want or not. And a hero you must be; you have no choice.

He stared at the small bead of blood and the sad little smile on Clarisse's face. 'No.'

You disappoint me. The man's voice rang through his head like the clash of swords and the weapon vanished from his hand. But you have already failed. All that's left is for you to die.

A harsh whistle tore through the air.

A rain of arrows fell upon him from the far bank; they bounced off his shoulders and chest as he covered his eyes.

Clarisse crouched beneath her thyreos, clenching her jaw as she snapped off the arrow sticking from her thigh.

The horde poured onto the bridge.

He drew Clarisse's blade from under his arm and strode toward them.

She staggered after him. 'Where you go, I follow, strategos,' she declared.

'Strategos,' he murmured, tasting the strange familiarity of it.

The horde thundered across the bridge, screaming and howling with rabid glee.

'Father!' Clarisse cried. 'Witness my glory! Grant me a beautiful death!' Blood soaked the leg of her jeans as she snatched the broken shaft of her spear from the tarmac.

A ripple of rage swept through him; it rose up and up inside, a vast towering wave of pitch black water so high it scraped the sky, cold as ice, smoking with its chill like frost in the sun as the crest of the wave looked over him.

'No.' Words of familiar weight slipped from his lips. 'Not today, Clarisse.'

The wave broke.

The river ripped the bridge between them away in a frothing white torrent.

Clarisse stood upon the edge as it subsided, staring across the gulf; her eyes shone with awe, bright as the sparks of a beach bonfire rising toward the stars. 'Strategos.' She hurled the thyreos. 'This belongs to you.'

Hope. He caught it with one hand.

'We'll see you again.' She pulled the cleft-crested helm from her head and cupped it against her chest. 'Here or upon the shores of the Styx.'

Did you know me? He watched her go in her tears, followed by the silent phalanx, watched her haul the sobbing blonde girl away by the arm. Do I already have a name?

The howl of the charging horde broke through his thoughts.

There are far too many. Something inside him sank, settling deep down at the very bottom of a cold black sea, crushed by all the weight of the world. Far far too many.

He leveled the simple bronze blade at them; soft words welled up from somewhere inside, spilling out in a whisper from the fragmented memory of a gleam of gold. 'So this is how it ends.'

No. Not today. A woman's voice sliced through his thoughts like the shining tip of a spear through the cascade of a woodland waterfall. Close your eyes. While it is within my power; you will not fall.

He let them slide shut.

Fierce silver seared his eyes, like sudden lightning slicing through the night sky.

Seek not death but the Graeae at the edge of Hades. Her voice came as soft as the breeze playing against the ancient bark of an oak's boughs. Ask but three questions; any further knowledge you learn will be poison.

He cracked open one eye.

Golden dust veiled the ground from the bridge to the town, stirring in the wind. High above in the clear sky, the moon shone, a silver crescent amidst the blue.

Rachel stood in the centre of the road, rooted to the spot and shaking like a leaf in the storm. 'My lord—' she fell to her knees '—please.'

'Please what?' He lowered the blade. 'I'm not going to hurt you.'

'Please take me with you,' she pleaded.

A ripple of unease swept through him. 'I'm going to the edge of Hades, which sounds pretty dangerous. If you follow me, you might not come back.'

'She gave me a choice,' Rachel said. 'Trust the visions I was gifted with and follow you, or—' a little shudder swept through her '—take my chances in the wilderness alone.'

'A choice,' he murmured. 'Well, I guess it's your choice then. You can come with me if you want. You'll have to stand up, though, you're not going anywhere on your knees.'

'I'm going with you; I saw you save them all,' Rachel whispered, climbing to her feet. 'They were lost in the dark and you saved them.'

'I don't know anything about that,' he said. 'But she told me to seek the Graeae at the edge of Hades.

'I can lead you there,' she promised. 'I can see the way for you. Why are we going?'

'Well, first I need some kind of t-shirt.' He slid Clarisse's blade through the loop of his jeans. 'And then I'm going to go ask them what my name is and who I am.'

You are the son of Poseidon, the Slayer of the Light Beholden to the World, and Bearer of the Sky. Something about the soft pride in her murmur snatched his breath away; stole his heart and swept it somewhere up among the stars. But that is all I am permitted to tell you. Seek the Graeae… Perseus.

Thunder crashed across the sky above.

Rachel trembled. 'My lord?'

'Perseus.' He offered her a grin. 'My name is Perseus. If you're going to follow me, you should call me that.'

'I know your name.' She stared up at the soft orange glow upon his shield with wide green eyes. 'I saw it; spoken by those you saved in hushed tones beneath the light of the stars; whispered in the silence that comes after the passing of the storm.'

AN: More of this and many other things via the linktree!

linktr . ee / mjbradley