Sethion stared at the fourteen corpses - at least, he assumed it was fourteen. The sporadically spread body parts made it difficult to get an accurate count, and he couldn't tell where one person began and another ended. A few rays of sunlight penetrated the canopy, revealing what the previous night had hidden. A thin, dark-red, crusted sheen covered the ground. The bodies remained strangely untouched, as if not even the forest animals wanted to acknowledge the dreadfulness of an enraged myth.

Not that it mattered. The men were dead. Dead because of his actions.

Fighting against every instinct, Sethion walked up to the nearest remains of a past legionnaire. Pieces of the man lay strewn around, mauled by razor-sharp teeth. Only the head and most of the torso had stayed in one piece.

The young man crouched down, his face hovering an arm's length over the deceased. A grimace contorted the man's pale face, with the mouth stuck in an endless scream and the eyes widened in horror. The legionnaire had kept them open, resisting till death.

It felt wrong to Sethion as if he should have never witnessed the scene. A silent accusation hung in the air. Why did one live where fourteen others had spent their lives?

The legionnaires had ended up saving him from the Cu Sith. Well, they had also forced him toward it. He shook his head, shooing away the resentment.

Marcus.

Sethion finally recognized the man, so stark was the change that death had brought. Sunken cheeks and stiff, limp facial muscles had turned the once-strong man into a distant version of his past self. Absent-mindedly, Sethion rummaged through his bag. His eyes remained motionless, focused on nothing but the lifeless husk at his feet. The patrician's fingers brushed against the leathery skin of his coin pouch. Remarkably, they obeyed him perfectly. No jitters, no shaking. Utter calmness washed over him. Maybe his body had given all the fear it could muster during the last night. It also could have been the absence of magic-induced trepidation. He grabbed the pouch heavy with golden aurei and some denarii. The sole survivor fished out two coins, carefully arranging them on the eyeballs of the dead.

May the underworld be kind to you.

Sethion sat in silence, figuring out a way to honor their sacrifice.

I did this.

The thought came with a bitter taste. Sethion took in the consequences of his own actions. He engraved the scene into his mind. The corpses, the blood, everything. Another thought entered his mind, and unbidden, it latched itself onto his frontal lobe.

And I would do it again.

He clenched his fist, the surroundings appearing somewhat blurry. The scene looked, tasted, and smelt of failure.

Next time, I will do it better.

Careful not to disturb their rest, he tiptoed around their bodies, doing his best to memorize the still identifiable faces. Now, a part of them would continue to travel alongside him. His success would be theirs.

Paws tapped against the leaf-covered ground just loud enough to break the silence. Pain shot up Sethion's chest, heaving with familiar vehemence. He spun around, directly facing the tall myth. The green fairy dog's snout opened like plutonium, the gates of hell. The agony battering his body intensified. Deep, impenetrable fog rose from the ground, obscuring his vision. The Cu Sith panted, forcing its breath through the giant teeth. The resulting sound reminded Sethion of laughter. A tremor shook his lower body. Marcus's face flashed before him. The corpse silently moved his lips without uttering a single word.

Sethion woke up to waves splashing against the bow of a boat.

Or, more accurately, the remains of a vassal that once could have been called such.

He shuddered, shaking off the haunting pictures of the nightmare. How accurate had they been? Sethion didn’t know. The pain radiating through his body helped wake him swiftly, shoving the last bits of sleepiness out. Aided by the daylight, he inspected his new means of transport.

The wooden ghoul of a boat had a single pole tilted at a dangerous angle, shaking each time a wave hit the hull. The flax sail carried patches all over. He expected the boat to tip over at any moment, throwing him and its owner into a wet grave.

Better than being eaten alive. Probably.

The man beside Sethion didn't seem to share his worries, whistling an obscure melody as the black sky turned blue.

"Slept well?"

In another's mouth, the words may have sounded like an insult. Sethion had let the man work through the entire night, after all. But the bright smile, which almost appeared carved into the fisherman's face, told him otherwise. The annoying cheerfulness was jarring for him. Sethion had come closer to death last night than during any of his fits.

"Not really. But I have had worse."

While he had rested, he hadn't recovered. His abused body ached, and the faces of the dead legionnaires flashed through his mind every time he closed his eyes. It was a wonder that he had fallen asleep at all.

Sid tibi terra levis. May the earth rest lightly on you. If they don't find and torch you first.

"So." The man paused for a second, awkwardly tousling through his hair.

"Did ye parents never tell ye, ye scream at night?"

For a moment, Sethion paused. His facial features slipped for a blink.

I asked him in the middle of the night for a ferry across the mare nostrum with my shoes covered in blood, and he wonders about my sleep quality.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

Something is wrong with him. But as I'm not gagged and bound, he might not sell me to pirates at the first opportunity. On the other hand, there's not much of a resistance I could muster.

Sethion forcefully laughed, a skill perfected over the time he regularly came in contact with patricians.

"I'm aware of the situation. No need to stifle the blow. It's related to a little ailment of mine."

Nightmares aren't much of a problem if agony doesn't let you sleep anyway.

He searched for a reaction in the opposing man's face, a pause, a twitch, anything. The man's facial expression remained unreadable until a hint of compassion scampered across.

"Sorry, to hear that. May the god's bless ye."

Sethion white canine teeth flashed as his mouth twisted into a natural smile.

"That would be great, wouldn't it be?"

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The ex-aristocrat, now in all likelihood retired from his previous position, looked around, enjoying the view of the endless blue and tasting the salt on top of his lips. The waves drew an ever-changing pattern while the sun added glowing sprinkles on the dark blue canvas of the ocean. In the distance, the coast glistered. They wouldn't stray too far from it. The depths housed giant myths, or so he had heard.

I wished I had my tablet to capture the view.

He used to have all day to sketch and indulge in whatever he liked, but he never could bring himself to finish his pieces. Maybe he would have completed this one.

Eventually, his gaze shifted to the man he shared a boat with. The now part-time ferryman looked joyful, with deep laugh lines etched on his face. Dark-blond, unruly hair framed his egg-shaped head, making it difficult to guess his age while showcasing his most likely foreign heritage. The man's build and muscular arms were a testament to his profession. Sethion could not help but feel slightly imperiled.

I should have brought a sword or a knife, at least. What would I even do in an emergency? Swim to the coast? Great plan. How did I make it even this far? Oh yeah, I don't even know.

Carefully, Sethion reached for his bag, feeling his belongings. Everything seemed to be in order.

The fisherman tightened a few knots.

"How is it being a runner for the Venatores?"

Of all the lies...

Sethion schooled his expression, yawning to seem disinterested. "Not much different than being a messenger for anyone else, I imagine."

Unperturbed by the short answer, the man continued.

"Have ye ever seen one?"

Sethion answered with an eager grin as if he shared the interest. "Once."

He took a long look at his listener's enthralled expression. The fame of the exalted Venatores rang far.

"I was called into the inner city to deliver a message. On the way, I wondered about the unusual amount of guards. One led me into a brick building. I noticed them as soon as I stepped into the room. They have a certain feeling about them, a certain mystical quality. A single look and you can already tell…"

Suddenly, the man's torso shook, full of uncontrollable excitement. The abrupt change made Sethion let out a surprised yelp.

"Look over there, kid. Ye see that?"

I swear this trick is older than the Pantheon itself. Why even bother with this tomfoolery?

"Kid, ye going to miss it." The fisherman sounded awe-struck. Sethion shifted his gaze to the empty, open ocean. Only to find it filled.

A charcoal-speckled sinuous serpentine body long enough to coil around Sinu stretched out of the distant water. From his perspective, the myth's triangular head seemed to pierce the clouds. A crest of dark blue spines winded itself across the creature's back. He couldn't tell how far it was away, but compared to its size, distance was meaningless. A single of the beast's shining scales outmatched their boat in size. His worries turned to background noise.

A myth of this size?

A flash of recognition ignited in his mind thanks to the various hours spent studying.

The Lark’s end. This could be the only time a sailor's tale might not be exaggerated.

He snorted. How could the empire proudly name the Middle Sea theirs if the serpent could swallow their fleet whole?

Before yesterday, Sethion had in his seventeen summers seen nine fully mythical creatures, with not a single one being full-blooded or in the wild. Once, Occio had cried out during a carriage ride, pointing at the sky at what he thought a myth, only for it to be a particularly giant eagle.

Most wild encounters for common folk tended to be singular occasions. There was a reason why the Venatores commanded so much respect. Luckily, the Lark's end was in the minority of myths, which tended to be peaceful if left alone. That was at least what he had been taught.

What would such a beast even prey upon?

The fisherman let out an impressed whistle.

"That's only my seventh time seeing her in over 20 years, still, a view to behold. Ye might not know, that that's a ..."

"Sea serpent." Sethion cut him off.

"Ye know your stuff. This one is probably older than the empire. Ye know there is a particular tale about it and an ancient general."

Sethion knew the story. It had been part of the extensive tutoring before the illness. Access to information about myths was scarce even for patricians. More often than not, the mystical creatures did their name justice, with only myths and legends providing details about their characteristics.

Still, the young man decided to indulge the older man, unwilling to upset him. From the glimmer in the older man's eyes, Sethion was sure he would be unable to avoid the story anyway.

The man cleared his throat before starting the tale in a quiet but deep voice as if he was scared of the distant sea serpent overhearing them.

"Long before the founding of the empire by the children of the she-wolf, another civilization settled on these lands. A kingdom strong in soldiers but weak in leaders. Fearing to be overthrown by his men, the king sent out his army into senseless battles. An especially brave legion was named Legio V Alaudae, the fifth legion of the lark."

Sethion was confident that the kingdom in the story was not an ancient civilization but an earlier part of the empire before the reformations. He had another few nitpicks about the man's story and its portrayal of history but refrained from following the urge to correct the man.

After a dramatic pause, the fisher continued, constantly taking in the view of the gigantic myth. The beast didn't move much, calmly protruding from the ocean like an enormous pillar.

"For nine years, the legion fought, paying back every loss with twice as many triumphs. All the while, the foolish king, far away from the glory of the battlefield, grew restless."

To be fair, imperatores usurping rule is a story as old as the empire.

"So, he sent them to slay a fearsome sea monster, a final task before rewarding the soldiers with their hard-earned land. Tired of the constant battles, the general agreed to the foolish plan in exchange for receiving what was owed. He rallied his fleet and bled a hundred oxen dry as bait."

Sethion let out a cough. Then another. Foreboding goosebumps formed on his arms.

No, no, no. Please.

The fit came suddenly, as always, but at the same time, it was barely a surprise. Sethion lay down on the firm wood of the ship, accepting his fate.

The fisher stopped his storytelling. His attention snapped to Sethion.

"Ye alright?"

Sethion did not answer. He could not. The pain had seized him, taking control over his body. The young man's limbs began uncontrollably twitching, and momentarily breathing halted. Colors and opaque objects swirled in his sight. A blink became infinity. A moment later, Sethion wheezed and greedily sucked in air. How long had it been? He couldn't tell. Sometimes, it was minutes, other times hours. Looking at the sun, he assumed it had been a short fit.

One of the better ones.

A worried face entered his vision. The fisherman wordlessly offered a hand while his other tightly gripped the amulet hanging from his neck. Sethion hated every bit of it. Brushing off the hand, he slowly sat up with his back against the rail. Pain radiated through his battered body. Sethion closed his eyes, listening to the waves. When he opened them again, the man's eyes gazed into his, squinting as if to burn the picture into his mind. Sethion gulped. A single drop of sweat ran down his armpit. His hand searched for his backpack. He put on a confident smile.

"Ye lied to me." The fisherman's voice had a finality to it. At this moment, Sethion realized he hadn't even asked the man for his name.

"What?" Confused, Sethion tilted his head.

"Ye." The man poked his finger against Sethion's chest.

"Lied." His face itched closer to that of the sitting Sethion until only a hand length separated them.

"To me." The previously so-calm man's face turned red. Saliva flew out of his mouth at incredible speeds, some landing on Sethion's face. Absently-minded, he wiped it off.

"Ye are no messenger!"

"I can assure you…"

"Stop." The man's voice bubbled like a volcano close to exploding.

"I recognize you." His finger began trembling. "Ye are the cursed child!"

What?

Sethion shook, breaking out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

"Cursed." He shook his head, still chortling. "Cursed?"

The fisherman who had been so close moments ago increased his distance. The smile plastered on the young man's face turned bitter.

"I wish I were cursed, you ignorant fool. Curses are at least curable. No, what I have is thousands times worse than a damned curse." The other party didn't register his words. The man's pupils were dilated, not reacting properly to any movements.

"I trusted ye. Welcomed ye. I.." His words turned into unperceivable rambling. Sethion bristled, sensing the danger of the situation.

"Calm yourself!" He screamed at the lunatic.

The loud tone shook the stranger out of his confused state. The man stared at his hands while coming to peace with the situation.

The young Mercor inched away from the fisher. For a while, they stood there, watching each other through the corner of their eyes. The open ocean appeared as empty as it should be. Somewhere during the altercation, the gigantic myth had disappeared like a mouse without even creating a ripple on the water's surface. At another time, the mystery might have intrigued the teenager. Now, he shrugged and attributed it to some myth shenanigans. He had bigger fish to fry.

The fisherman spoke first.

"Ye betrayed my trust and hospitality."

Why do I always get the loons?

Sethion gave the man a winning smile, neither denying nor admitting anything.

"If we finish the journey before nightfall, I will double your pay."

"No."

"You drive a hard bargain mister. Still, I believe we can reach a consensus. Perhaps..."

"No. I will drop ye at the coast." Some of the earlier heat persisted in those words.

Sethion leaned against the rail, staring at the ocean while keeping the fisher in his vision.

"That is acceptable."

Anything to get me off this boat in one piece.