Medusa followed Nestor down an orb-lit passage with tightly interwoven vines that formed its roof and high walls. They had left the conservatory some minutes ago and since then it's been a maze.

Recently dying must have shot her audacity to new heights. Medusa groaned internally. Granted, she had been overtaken by emotions, but the nerve to threaten a high goddess. A less patient deity would have incinerated her on the spot.

And Demeter was powerful, at least she had to be considering her notoriety as one of Zeus’ generals.

Just how am I to face such a being and get Rico back?

The horrifying picture of Rico sinking into the earth was still fresh in her mind. Again, in the span of days, something precious was taken from her because she was weak. It was as simple as that.

“How do I get him back?”

If Nestor heard her question, he did a fantastic job at pretending not to. He took another turn; the vines parted and led them to an identical passage.

“How do I get him back?” Medusa repeated.

She stumbled to a stop when Nestor halted. Despite his boyish face, he possessed a large muscular physique some may find intimidating but Medusa was past caring.

He turned, his profile twisting with a subtle frown. “The goddess collects beasts. Be glad. Yours may survive.”

Medusa’s legs nearly gave out from relief. May. She could cling to that one word.

“Tell me how to get him back.”

“You are mortal.” He scanned Medusa with an unimpressed sweep. “Perhaps, if your blood is awakened...” He shook his head.

“Tell me how already,” Medusa said, beyond frustrated, then she clamped her jaws in surprise when she realised she spoke English. Something wasn’t right. It felt like the connection her tongue had with her brain was unravelling in some way. Earlier, in her rage, the languages had mixed without any control on her part.

Nestor’s frown deepened as his gaze turned sharp. “Do you not hail from the Grecian continent? What is this language you speak?”

Medusa maintained a placid expression. “I'm from the Grecian continent.”

When she gave no further answer, the spark of interest vanished from his eyes. He turned and resumed his trek. “Impress the goddess and you may get your pet back. If she is in a good mood, she may grant you a task. But as I pointed out, your blood is unawakened. Your chance of impressing the goddess is abysmal.”

“I deeply appreciate the vote of confidence,” Medusa muttered dryly.

“Water cats are beyond rare,” he continued as if he didn't hear her speak. “How did one come to your possession?”

“My father.” Medusa massaged the spot where Phorcys forehead touched hers; he looked so haggard that day. Please, be fine. “My father gave it to me.”

“Indeed you are spoiled.” Nestor clicked his tongue as if disappointed. “It is no surprise the goddess assigned you to Dog House.”

“What’s a Dog House?” Medusa did not want to believe it was a literal dog house. Please, no.

“Slow learners. Runts. Spoiled to an insufferable degree. The worst house of the four.”

“Oh.” How apt of the goddess. If Medusa was going by her first life, Dog House fits her to a tee. She was a runt, spoiled by her parents and painfully naive.

“What’s the entry trial?”

“You will soon find out.” Nestor stopped before a simple wooden door to their right. “Head in. Change. I will be waiting.”

It was a small room with a table holding a loincloth, thigh-length undyed tunic, belt with a sword clip—no sword in sight—and knee-high gladiator sandals. There was also a roll of white strophion to bind what? Despite the appearance of a fourteen-year-old, she barely sported any breasts. So, she used the strip of cloth to bind her forearms.

Would there be beasts in the trial? Unbidden, an image of the ekhidna looming over her frozen pain-racked body attacked her mind. Her fingers trembled as she buckled on her sandals and belt. They would give me weapons, right? They had to.

Maybe the trial was combat-based. She clenched and unclenched her fists. Her last two lives were the softest. Whatever combat skill she possessed was from her first and third life. Displaying the combat she learned as a priestess was a bad idea; that left her rusty skill from her third life.

I’m so doomed.

When Medusa made it out, she spotted another door across the passage. This one was grander with intricate vine carvings and a polished brass knob.

Nestor offered her a beaded wristband. “The test would be lethal without this.”

The black stone beads felt cool against her skin. Other than that, she felt no extra sensation.

“Beyond this door are spectators. Do not…” Nestor paused. “Your eyes burn. My encouragement is needless.”

With those words, he pushed the door open and Medusa squinted under the assault of sudden daylight.

They stepped into a shaded podium, and directly ahead was an arena half the size of a football field with about… her eyes scanned the crowd of boys and girls. About two hundred of them with attention fixed on a pillar holding an unlit torch at its crest.

What Medusa found more curious wasn’t the pillar’s insane girth and height but the climbers—at least forty of them—crawling like lizards with thin, lit torches held between their teeth.

Medusa marvelled at how they moved, not gripping but placing their hands on the pillar and pulling up.

“How are they doing that?”

“Aether flashes at random across the pillar,” Nestor said in a bored voice. “They draw it in to move.”

How do they know when aether ‘flashes’? She could see nothing from this distance. Was it something that could be learned? “Is this the trial?”

“No,” Nestor said with a dry chuckle. “The contestants are from advanced classes.”

“Over there.” Nestor canted his head to their right and Medusa looked. Six people sat on the podium with their attention rapt on the contest. Or seven people? Medusa did a double-take and frowned. She could have sworn she saw Clotho in their midst. Strange.

“Some instructors offer special classes. Win their trial to be accepted. Today, they contest for Vaso, the deity with the shaved head.”

The god in question wore an unhinged grin as he watched the contestants. Low-cropped hair aside, he possessed a thin frame with a face so sunken it appeared skeletal. But what he lacked in vitality, he made up for in excessive jade and gold jewellery. Each finger flashed identical gold rings holding polished green stones, and from his neck and ears hung more ornaments.

None of the instructors noticed Medusa’s presence, and even if they did, they showed no interest in her.

“Such speed!” A voice boomed, drawing Medusa’s attention back to the contest. “Irena of Hydra House is closest to the middle.”

At the announcement, wild cheers erupted from a section of the spectators. From the distance, Medusa spotted a girl crawling up the pillar at a twitchy speed. It seemed like they waited for something to appear before placing their hands and moving up.

“When their test ends, your presence will be announced,” Nestor said.

Medusa’s belly twisted. The thought of this many eyes on her made her throat dry and her heart sink, but it must be done.

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

I’ve died five times. This is nothing. This isn’t even my real face. I can be whatever I want.

She recalled a conversation she had with Clotho on their journey to Tartarus.

“Deities change their appearance for amusement, but your reason has my blessings. What would you create without the shackle of being Phorcys’ daughter?”

“You go to the middle of the arena,” Nestor said. “A basin rises from the ground and you pierce your index finger with the needle within. A drop of your blood in the water.”

That’s it? “Is that all?”

“From that point, your trial begins.”

Just then, one of the climbers slipped and dangled precariously from one hand.

“Arcas of the Manticores has lost three holds.” The herald crowed the words like this was splendid news.

Another contestant snatched Arcas by the ankle and viciously tugged. A section of the crowd booed.

Tense, Medusa estimated the drop height. At least fifty feet. Even though he has awakened blood, a fall from that height would be excruciating.

“Hoxha of Hydra has chosen to reduce the numbers.” The herald laughed, a cackling high sound that Medusa instantly found annoying.

The bejewelled skeleton joined in the laughter. “They thought it would be easy. Haha!”

The girl tugging at the dangling boy's foot let go, crawled around the pillar like a spider, emerged above him and began stumping his face with fierce kicks. But despite the relentless kicks, Arcas’ torch remained lit and unbroken which was strange. Such forceful hits should have snapped it in half at least.

Medusa winced as each stump grew more vicious. “What's the point of this test?”

“You're more open to attacks if your climb is broken,” Nestor answered. “You win by kicking down at least half the contenders or reaching the torch first.”

Medusa noticed the same madness play out while the herald continued cackling about it. Some focused on crawling without slipping while others kicked and pulled as they went.

Just then, the dangling boy did something unexpected. When Hoxha went for another kick, he grabbed her leg at the same time he lost his last grip. She attempted to shake him off but he used her as a propeller. Arching through the air in a smooth flip, he landed on the pillar in a horizontal stand that mocked the laws of physics and began running.

When he slipped, his hand caught his fall and he executed another flip. It seemed as he reached higher, the aether pattern appeared more randomly; he needed to change his movement faster. He would leap from spot to spot and flip when he had to use his hands. When one person lost their hold and was open, he snatched them by the neck of their tunic, flipped while still holding on and hurled them down.

“How brutal!” The herald cried in a delighted voice. “As expected from Manticore House.”

Medusa winced with each thud. Of course, awakened blood carriers falling from that height would not die but the pain must be extreme. As the game progressed and grew complex, more fell and limped out of the arena.

Soon a section of the crowd started chanting. “Arcas! Arcas! Arcas!”

He continued up in measured movement. Even when kicking fellow contestants to their fall, he was efficient. If it seemed like hurling a person would take too much effort, he raced past.

The one they called Irena was still ahead. She had no interest in dislodging contenders. Those who lost their grip were ignored and she continued that twitchy creeping movement. Soon her movement morphed to leaps, as if she was certain of the spots that would give her purchase.

Now the race was between Arcas and Irena. It was clear that Irena was closer to the endpoint, but in an unexpected move, Arcas took the torch from between his teeth, leapt forward and flung it at the crest of the pillar.

Silence fell as the torch arched through the air and smoothly hit its mark. A large blue flame erupted.

"WHOOOOOA!" A section of the crowd roared. “ARCAS! MANTICORES! ARCAS! MANTICORES!”

No one seemed to notice Irena who reached the torch less than a second later. The pillar soon sank into the ground as the remaining contestants leapt off.

“Arcas of Manticore House takes first place,” said the herald Medusa was yet to see.

At the announcement, Arcas lifted a fist before turning to where the instructors sat and offered a bow.

“In second place, Irena of Hydra House.” The girl offered a sharp bow and walked off the arena.

“And in third place…”

Medusa stopped listening. Soon they would call her up and—phew! She released a long breath as her heart thumped heavily. Why was the crowd so damn large? Her only unique ability was the shout, and she couldn’t even summon it at will.

This should be fun. So much fun. Ah, blazes. Medusa blinked at the sky and pictured Antonii. What would he say if he were here with her?

Don’t overthink. Headbutt it. He’d probably say it with that playful grin that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Heart squeezing painfully, Medusa clenched her fist.

Alright. Headbutt it. I've got this.

“Wasn’t your trial supposed to be tough,” asked a mocking voice.

Vaso glared at one of the instructors. She was a chubby woman with a round happy face and twin braids that fell to her ankles.

“Oh Vaso, do not look so sour. It’s not hidden that Arcas is one of the best.”

“Keep your insight, you mouthy sow.”

The plump woman laughed in response, the cheery sound unrestrained and soft. When she stopped laughing, she wiped the corner of her eyes and sent him a flirty grin. “Sow? If you want some fat, politely ask.”

Colour blossomed across Vaso’s sunken cheeks. He blinked at her for a stupefied moment before snapping his attention to the arena all the while mumbling beneath his breath.

“Why do you look away, Vaso?” She said his name with a roll of the tongue. “I offer the softest hugs. You seem to need one.”

“Stop it, Atalanta,” one of the instructors said with a drawn-out sigh.

“What?” Atalanta simpered and shrugged. “He was begging for it, and I—” She paused and looked straight at Medusa. “How did I not notice your presence?”

Was that supposed to be a burn? Medusa maintained her schooled expression as the other instructors looked in her direction.

“Give your greeting to the instructors,” Nestor urged.

“I am May, daughter of Venetis,” Medusa said with a bow.

“Venetis, hmm.” Atalanta touched her chin. “I know a few Venetis in the Grecian empire. Could it be the—”

The herald’s voice cut in. “How unexpected. Today is indeed full of delights. A new child has joined Drys Valon!”

A hush first fell followed by the low hum of conversation. Soon, Medusa felt eyes on her. So many eyes.

Headbutt it. Headbutt it. She repeated the phrase like a prayer in her head.

“As you all did, she will face the trial.”

The cloth strips between her fingers tightened as she clenched her fists in preparation.

“May, daughter of Venetis, step forward!”

As Medusa made her way to the centre of the arena, she did not look around. The worst that could happen was death. Physical injury? She could face that. Mental trial? She had locked the worst of her memories. Hopefully, they wouldn't escape.

Like Nestor said, when she reached the centre of the arena a stone basin pushed out and within the water was a needle.

She pricked her finger with the needle and pressed a drop of blood into the water. Other than the basin returning to the stone ground, nothing spectacular happened.

“What would the daughter of Venetis’ challenge be? A dryard? A sphinx? Perhaps, a mouse. We saw that one five months ago.” He laughed and the crowd joined in.

Still no weapon. It seemed she would face a beast with her bare hands. Splendid.

“Daughter of Venetis, if you fail to conquer your beast in a horai, you shall be assigned to Dog House and made to retake the trial in a month.”

Medusa chuffed. Hate to break it to you, but that’s my house already.

She tensed up when a large black hole appeared.

Croak.

A frog? Medusa took a quick step back when a black feathery head emerged from the hole. As more of the creature appeared, she frowned in confusion. This…

“A black heron?” There was shock in the Herald’s voice and Medusa could guess why.

It looked like one of the herons she saw at the bogs. Shiny black feathers, sharp long beak and yellow unblinking eyes. What was odd was the size of the thing.

Medusa swallowed against a dry throat as she craned her neck to take in its size. Just how…

Even I am shocked. A heron that size.

Medusa stiffened at the sound of Clotho’s voice in her head. You're here?

In a way.

The black hole the bird emerged from vanished as it stood stock still waiting for what?

Your lesson will be practical today.

Lesson?

Yes, lesson. Prodding your mind and body to remember.

Remember what? And how was she to face the giant bird without a weapon? I don’t have a weapon.

I see that.

Is that all you have to say? Panic crashed in.

Though this is my first time teaching a mortal how to deity, I aim for excellence.

Medusa frowned at the unexpected note of seriousness in Clotho’s voice.

With that in mind, you will break the record.

What record?

You will be the first unawakened mortal to defeat a beast under half a horai in Drys Valon.

“What?” Medusa asked out loud. Disbelief was an understatement. Defeat that in under an hour without a weapon? Was Clotho kidding?

Though it seemed like the only odd thing about the bird was its impossible size, she sensed something deadly beneath the surface. And since it appeared, her instinct to flee had not stopped blaring in the background.

Tell me you're kidding.

I'm not.

The heron turned its head to the side, its yellow eye rolling as it stared at Medusa and stepped forward. Heart leaping to her throat, she took three steps back.

Are you ready?

The bird took another step forward.

No. I’m not ready. Medusa vigorously shook her head as she stumbled away. Hey! Are you listening? I’m not—

Too bad.

The bird looked up and unhinged his beak as its long neck rippled. Soon a cloud of deep green smoke rose from its mouth.

What’s it doing? Raw panic was taking over, and Medusa was finding it difficult to form a plan.

The heron snapped its focus back to Medusa and before she could react, it spat sizzling green sludge at her.