All the while Medusa made her way up the elevated slope to her family villa, she considered her encounter with Clotho from every conceivable angle.

The paved stone ground beneath her bare feet was warm from the early morning sun, and her muscles were screaming from fatigue. Walking uphill after speed swimming to and fro the length she did was no small task. That her ten-year-old body managed to maintain a steady pace had more to do with her stubborn will and the need to punish herself.

Antonii was dead because of her. Just yesterday, he had suggested they move.

Was that death’s warning? Could Antonii already sense the end? Though a mortal, he possessed an air of percipient mystery that Medusa could never make sense of. Whenever she mentioned it, he would laugh and say, “I'm a regular man. Ten fingers. Ten toes.”

What an agonising waste. Antonii deserved life, unlike her. Medusa hugged herself and bit the inside of her lower lip.

Bear it down. You must bear it down.

And what was that strange power Medusa manifested at the cliff? Clotho did not answer when she asked. Instead, the goddess had instructed her to return home and visit the cave around the same time the next day.

Shutting her eyes, Medusa released a long breath.

There was a way to kill gods.

It was still hard to digest. This opportunity was even better than ending her life. Though Clotho said she should focus on survival, the knowledge that gods could die was enough to give Medusa some relief.

Whatever it took, she would do it. Whatever the sacrifice, she would give it. Only after giving her all would she be able to face Antonii when death finally came for her.

“Medusa,” called a panicked voice from ahead.

A stocky woman in an off-white himation garment hurried down the steep paved way. As she drew closer, Medusa recognised her as one of the household servants. Her name was Galene, if she remembered correctly, and in Medusa’s first life, she had been in charge of overseeing the servants who looked after her.

Medusa neither liked nor disliked the woman.

“Where have you been?” Galene’s eyes widened when she took in Medusa’s state. She turned her this way and that. “Why are you barefoot? Did you go swimming? And so early? You made us worry. Half the servants were searching for you.”

Medusa said nothing. To hell with pretending to be a ten-year-old. The only time she would ever use that card was when it benefited her. At the moment, it did not. Walking around Galene, Medusa resumed her trek. She tensed up when the servant lifted her and began huffing up the side steps.

“We have to hurry and wash you up before the masters have their breakfast. Have you forgotten it’s your birthday?” There was a concerned note in Galene’s voice.

The irony of returning to her first life in the month of the peacock. There would be a pretentious birthday breakfast with Medusa’s parents present.

Every year before Medusa was sent to Athena's temple, she met her parents no more than five times. The encounters were always superficial, but her previous naive self had treasured every moment.

“Please, do not run off like this. You made me worry.” Galene's hold tightened across Medusa's back.

Medusa stared ahead, vision bouncing with Galene’s hurried gait. The servant smelled faintly of tallow, and her dark hair was held in a thick braid that swayed between her masculine shoulders.

Trying to recall how she acted around servants was tiring so Medusa gave up on that. Her encounter with them had been shallow at best, and she would make no effort to change that this time. As for her parents, her memory was intact, and it was those memories she could use to manipulate them to her benefit.

Soon, they made it to Medusa’s bedroom where a bath awaited. Two more servants appeared with an assortment of bath ointments, her garment for the day, hair accessories and a pair of sandals. All the while they washed, dressed and placed her before the mirror, Medusa remained mute.

Now that Medusa thought of it, she had no friends when she was little. The servants had largely ignored her, and her parents had been… her parents. Her sisters had been away at Athena’s temple since before she was born, and she had spent her days being a carefree air-headed child, sheltered and grossly unprepared for the harshness of the real world.

“There.” One of the servants working on her hair said with a satisfied smile. The look of awe on their faces repulsed Medusa. “You are the most beautiful child in all of Greece.”

Instead of glaring as she itched to, Medusa looked away and nodded. They made her wear a light green flowing chiton with gold ornaments on each shoulder. Her dark hair, brushed to a shine, fell to her back, and a woven band of golden leaves and vines rested over her brow like a crown. But her eyes were dead.

Medusa earnestly hoped she could fake child-like happiness before her parents, though she was beginning to fear that would be impossible.

“Both of you, leave,” Galene said to the remaining servants.

Silence stretched with only Medusa and Galene in the room.

Leaning into the scoop back of her chair, Medusa did nothing to break the silence.

“Child,” Galene said in a gentle voice. “What saddens you? You have not been yourself all morning.”

The concern in Galene's voice was a knife to Medusa’s chest. There was no one she could share her sorrow with and no room to freely grieve in this place. How would she explain to Galene her loss? How every action she took was a paper-thin shield barely holding up against a gale of crushing grief.

Galene gasped and knelt before Medusa. “You are crying. Dear child...”

Large cracks formed across the walls of Medusa's restraint.

“What is it?” Galene’s brow bunched. “Tell me what worries you.”

My husband is dead. I had a baby and a dog. They are dead, too. They took my life. I thought I had escaped, but they found me and took everything. Now I am back here.

Medusa shook her head, unable to form words. She was ruining everything with her sobbing, but try as she may, she couldn’t stop the tears. Galene drew her into a tight embrace and began humming a comforting tune. “Do not weep. You will be fine.” She swept a large palm down Medusa’s trembling back. “You will be fine.”

Though it took a while, Medusa’s tears finally ceased. Galene pulled away but kept her hands on Medusa’s shoulders.

Medusa noticed for the first time how kind Galene's eyes appeared. Antonii had kind eyes, too. Blinking repeatedly, she fought against the rise of fresh tears.

“Will you tell me what happened?”

Sighing, Medusa dropped her gaze. “I had a terrible dream. When I woke up, I took a swim.” Her mind was a mess, and she was too tired to think up a more elaborate lie.

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“Do you want to say a prayer at the shrine?”

Medusa shut her eyes immediately. She did not wish for Galene to see the volcanic rage that simple statement triggered.

Oh, she remembered her deep admiration for the goddess Athena—how her parents had succumbed to Medusa’s desire to set up a small shrine in honour of the goddess at one of the back gardens. How profoundly naive. A prayer to Athena was a prayer for death.

Instead of opening her eyes, Medusa shook her head. She would have to have her birthday breakfast with puffy red eyes. “Like you said, I will be fine.” Medusa got off the chair and met Galene’s gentle gaze. “I will pray alone later.”

Making her way down the corridors to the dining room with Galene in tow, Medusa took in her surroundings with calculated disinterest. The more she looked, the more familiar everything felt.

Owl symbols were etched over doorposts—a sign of her parents’ respect for Athena. The floor was covered with rough marble tiles, and polished ornate vases marked every corner along with some vibrant house plants. Her footsteps slowed as she walked past a lush quadrangle garden with tall statues and bubbling water fountains.

Perhaps Medusa appreciated the scenery more because she saw it with adult eyes. Unlike her first life where she played away her time, she longed to hide in one of these gardens and lose herself in memories of Antonii and Rico. But what Clotho suggested made it impossible to drown in her sorrow. Now, her goal was to explore the possibility of surviving and eventually learning how to kill gods.

The towering doors that led to the dining room were already open. A feeling of Deja Vu came when Medusa stepped in. She blinked at the low, ironically intimate table and three reclining chairs. Her father would sit at the head. Mother would sit to his right. And Medusa would be seated across from her mother.

“I will inform the masters that you have come,” Galene said before hurrying away.

Walking to the window, Medusa took in the landscape. Since their private dining room was located in the northern wing, there was a distant view of the city nestled in the Hesperides valley.

The only time Medusa passed through that city was when she was carted off to Athena’s temple at fourteen. Then, she had been too giddy with the excitement of serving Athena as a priestess to even look past the curtained window and see the life of the people.

“Medusa,” said an airy familiar voice from the door. “Goodwill on your day of birth, my beautiful child!”

Medusa turned in time to see Ceto breeze in and hurry her way. “I haven’t seen you in forever. Come, let me hold you.” Ceto enveloped Medusa in a tight embrace. She smelled of red roses and the luxurious material of her silk chiton rubbed against Medusa's cheek.

Feeling neither warmth nor disgust, Medusa dutifully wrapped her arms around Ceto.

A movement over Ceto's shoulders pulled Medusa’s attention to the door where Phorcys, her father, was leaning against the frame with his arms folded. A frown touched his brow when their eyes met.

Instead of giving Medusa a birthday blessing like Ceto did, Phorcys strolled to the table and settled in.

Finally releasing her, Ceto fluttered to her seat and immediately turned her attention to her husband. She began chatting brightly in theos tongue, a language only deities could understand and speak.

After Galene helped Medusa to her dining couch, she poured wine into her cup and diluted it with a generous amount of water.

All the while, Medusa could feel her father’s eyes on her. Heavy. Probing.

Could he see through her? Clotho had assured her that the possibility was slim to none.

“It is time for the libation,” Phorcys said in a low voice.

Ceto laughed, the sound airy and bright. “Certainly.” She faced Medusa and offered that patronising smile adults loved to give children. “Say a prayer of thanks to Athena.”

Medusa looked from Ceto’s expectant face to her father's. How could she explain that she would rather rip off her tongue than offer thanks and praise to Athena?

With a shaky hand, Medusa gripped her cup and lifted it. The memorised words floated in her head. In silence, her parents waited but no words came.

Cocking her head to the right, Ceto observed Medusa. “Something is not right.”

Though Medusa’s heart rate quickened, it was not at a thundering pace that indicated fear. Even if she were publicly whipped, nothing would make her say a prayer to Athena.

“Dear,” Ceto faced her husband, “do you see it too?”

“Very well, we shall not give the libation.” Phorcys dropped his goblet and reached for a round bread amid the platter.

Ceto appeared scandalised. “Why? You know we ought to train her in these things…” More words spilled out in theos tongue.

“Skipping libation is not an offence.” Phorcys focused on Medusa. He was no longer frowning. “It appears you have been crying. What bothers you?”

Medusa had not expected her father to be the concerned one. Her memory of him was sparse. He and Ceto were hardly present in her life. To them, she was another offering to the great Athena.

In Medusa’s first life, after she was cursed and fled to the Island of Sarpedon, she occasionally wondered about her sisters and parents. What had they done when they heard of Athena’s Judgement? After Perseus took her head, did they care? Even if they did care, her parents were low deities—powerless against the high gods and their twisted take on justice.

“I had a nightmare about Aunt Phorcydes. She died.” The lie came easily and Medusa readily went with the flow.

Phorcydes was Phorcys’ only sister. The woman possessed the appearance of an ever-happy crone which was a weird occurrence for deities. The one time Medusa met her when she was six, Phorcydes had been warm, friendly and sage-like.

Ceto first blinked at Medusa before bursting into raucous laughter. Phorcys, on the other hand, maintained a straight face and said nothing until his wife ceased her laughter.

“Medusa,” he said with gentle patience. “Deities cannot die.”

“But I know what I saw,” Medusa said in earnest. She threw in all her acting skill, tears welling up and worry bunching her brow.

They may permit a visit if Medusa acted well enough. The thought of leaving her parents' villa and staying with Clotho to learn all she needed to was heady beyond belief. More lies poured out. "The whole of Hesperides was burning and she was trapped because she is so old. I must visit her, father. I must. I can say more prayers and set up an altar for her protection.”

This time both parents frowned. Medusa could understand their confusion, after all, she had never been close to Phorcydes. If they couldn’t see she was an adult, her sorrow would simply be that of a concerned child who was a little too devoted to her belief in Athena.

When Medusa saw the hesitation in their gaze, she threw in her last attack. “Please, father.”

“Have you forgotten you are mortal? Did you forget why we do not let you out of the villa?” Phorcys said in that level voice. “There are too many dangers out there. For a mortal, anything could kill you.”

Ceto nodded with great vigour. "Yes, your father speaks the truth." She reached for a cluster of red grapes and popped one into her mouth.

Pouting but screaming on the inside, Medusa dropped her gaze. “I know I am mortal. But I trust Athena to protect me, and Aunt Phorcydes lives within Hesperides. I can—”

“She lives in the bogs,” Phorcy cut in. “The far outskirts of the city. Strange occurrences happen there.”

“But—”

“That is enough, Medusa." Phorcys' voice was unyielding. "I will no longer hear this.”

Medusa nodded with a pout. “Yes, father.”

Silence reigned over the meal. Every mouthful was ash but Medusa mindlessly chewed anyway. Not eating meant a weaker body, and she doubted a weak body could do anything against the gods.

“What gift do you want?”

“Huh?” Medusa looked up from her plate. Phorcys was washing his hands in a silver basin a servant presented, his attention fixed on the action.

“I asked what gift you wish to have. Is today not your birthday?”

That was true. In Medusa’s first life, her father had asked the same question. She had begged for a statue of Athena slaying a beast. Within a month it was provided; a tall thing set up just outside her makeshift shrine at the back.

“I do not wish for anything.” Medusa was doing it—not acting like a child—but her soul was suddenly exhausted. Let her parents think whatever they wish.

“Do not be sad,” Phorcys said as he methodically wiped his hands with an offered napkin. He still did not look up from his careful action. “I shall prepare a gift for you all the same.”

“Oh, darling,” Ceto said in a dreamy voice, adoring eyes fixed on Phorcys. “You still warm my heart after all these years.” She turned to Medusa. “I shall send a gift as well. Do not be sad for your aunt. Deities can’t die.”

When both parents left, Medusa remained seated. Galene was waiting to her right.

“Deities can’t die, huh?” Medusa mumbled as she stared at her empty plate.

Their words were coals to the fire of her determination.

Flashes of memories from the night Poseidon violated her returned with vengeful persistence. Gritting her teeth, Medusa’s grip around her three-pronged fork tightened.

The shaking began—that paralysing terror and absolute helplessness.

Poseidon was first on Medusa’s kill list. Then Athena.

As for Perseus, he was mortal and there were myriad ways to kill mortals.

Like a warning, Clotho’s words returned.

“...before you run, you must crawl. Survival first.”

Sighing, Medusa dropped her fork. “Very well. I'll crawl.”