It happened on an uneventful afternoon on the island of Seriphos.

Dictys—Perseus’ uncle and the Island head—had left his smallest blacksmith shop in Perseus’ care just after dawn. He was visiting the neighbouring Island of Suda to purchase more red iron ore and to hire a new blacksmith to man the shop.

The last blacksmith had quit to train for the Fate of Heroes games, hoping to catch the eye of a deity. Dictys had called Heber a muscle-brained idiot, certain he'd die the moment the arena horns blared.

Perseus wasn’t so sure. Despite not being a blood carrier, Heber was already impressively strong, with muscles to match his fierce eyes. Once, he fought off eight men outside the Singing Sailors tavern—even intoxicated, his strength and coordination were remarkable. If a deity notices him and makes him a blood carrier, his power won’t be something to scoff at.

“At least two javelins before I return,” Dictys had instructed with a pat on Perseus’ shoulder. “Work on your breathing while at it.”

Several horai after and just past noon, a shrill scream ripped Perseus from his hammering trance.

Perseus froze up, leather-gloved hand tightening around the javelin. The only other person in the shop with him was Linos, his ten-year-old brother. He had sent him to the store to count coals when he wouldn’t shut up about wanting to help in some way.

And that scream. It sounded like it came from the store—the only other room in the cramped shop that barely spanned fifteen ankona wide.

Annoyance mixed with Perseus’ rising panic as he lifted the javelin. The problem wasn’t the weight of the weapon but the fact that its red-hot tip was losing heat. He would have to melt the javelin and start over after this. Dictys had no tolerance for less-than-perfect products.

“Linos?” Perseus approached the store door.

There was a strange silence about—not just in the shop but outside as well.

“Linos,” Perseus called again as he pushed the store door open.

Panic spiked to horror when Perseus took in Linos’ state. He was sitting on the floor, back against the wall with deep gashes across his left leg.

Something had gotten Linos—something wicked enough to leave wounds that exposed bones.

There was a trail of blood that led to—

“No.” Perseus took an instinctive step back, mind rejecting what his eyes were seeing.

A replica of Linos, but this… this apparition had an abnormally long arm tipped with sharp blood-stained claws.

The creature blinked up at Perseus and grinned. Lethal fangs flashed.

“Impossible,” Perseus muttered as his thoughts turned sluggish.

How had a mormo found its way into the store? The only window in the space was barred and tiny.

“Brother, I cannot move.”

Linos' words jolted Perseus from his shock.

Snatching Linos by the neck of his tunic, Perseus ripped him from the store and into the main shop.

Before Perseus could conceive a next move, the mormo stumbled after them on fast feet. Its spindly arm dragged along as its transformation began. Human disguise rippled away and in its place was a pinkish hunched creature that stood erect.

It screeched at Perseus, lips peeling away and exposing even more rows of venom-laced teeth.

“Stay back!” Perseus swung the javelin at the lanky beast.

Instead of backing down, drool slid down the mormo’s chin as its red bulbous eyes darted from the heated javelin to Linos’ wheezing form behind Perseus. There was a troubling intelligent glint in the beast’s eyes.

The mormo’s talons scraped across the floor as it took a bold step forward. There was an acrid smell in the air… like burnt flesh mixed with something rotten. Perseus breathed through his mouth as a bead of sweat slid down his forehead and into his left eye. It stung.

“Stay back.” The javelin trembled in Perseus' grip as frustration surged. How was it that all he learnt from his training seemed useless in the face of this terror?

Mormos talons secrete even deadlier poison than what dripped from their fangs. One wrong move and Perseus would end up like Linos, drained of vitality and on the brink of death. The paralysing knowledge worsened his panic.

"Beast attack!" The shout beyond the shop's ajar door was followed by chilling shrieks, horrified cries and the sound of running.

The island bell went off in a series of frantic clangs.

It took all the self-control Perseus possessed not to look out the window to his left.

“Brother, I cannot feel my legs.” Linos whimpered.

“Let me think,” Perseus whisper-yelled through gritted teeth.

From what Perseus had learned about mormos, they loathed heat which made this occurrence even stranger. A mormo hunting in a sweltering blacksmith shop was beyond odd.

And there was another problem. The tip of the javelin was still losing heat. If that continues, nothing would stop the mormo from charging forward and attacking.

But this terror Perseus was feeling. Even though this was his first time confronting a mormo, this terror eating at his courage was shameful.

I am no ordinary fourteen-year-old. I am better than my peers—stronger and sharper. This terror I feel is a lie.

The self-talk helped to calm Perseus’ racing heart. If he could tackle the beast and aim for its heart, maybe he would be lucky. Maybe.

Not allowing a moment to rethink his plan, Perseus charged ahead, the hot tip of the javelin aimed at the beast's chest.

As if waiting for the strike, the mormo gave no struggle even as the force of their collision sent them careening past the open door and into the chaotic streets.

Perseus hit his mark.

Eyes watering from the rancid steam rising from the stab point, Perseus pushed the sizzling javelin deeper into the beast's chest until it stopped moving.

Tearing himself away from the beast, Perseus watched with no small confusion as the mormo withered to ash.

Should it be that easy to kill a mormo? And Perseus' body. He observed his limbs, torso and face. No wounds. No sign of venom doing its job.

Frowning, Perseus stared at his trembling hands. It went too smoothly. Perhaps, Zeus was watching over him.

Someone bumped Perseus’ shoulder as they ran past, dragging his focus to the mayhem around him.

Something too fast for Perseus’ eyes to follow gave pursuit. The fleeing man barely had the time to cry out before the beast was upon him.

A wild feasting began.

Frozen, Perseus watched the scene, unable to tear his eyes away. Torn flesh. Spilled innards. So much blood. The sight triggered a memory and with it came a different kind of terror.

Fear is for the weak. I have the blood of Zeus. I can—

Nausea twisted Perseus’ guts and pumped up his throat. He turned away as what he had for lunch splattered upon the stone ground.

Panting, Perseus swiped an arm across his lips and looked around. His heart sputtered at the rampant carnage.

A lamias attack. The grey-skinned bald creatures were fast. They ripped into all they fell upon, tearing through flesh and drinking blood with frenzied glee. But in the madness, Perseus did not spot a single mormo—Linos!

Perseus hurried back to the shop.

Linos was beginning to foam at the mouth, body twitching as his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

Perseus stood over his brother, hands trembling as he struggled to think up a solution.

Mormos were venomous bloodsucking creatures that had a singular taste for children. But mormos were also known not to reside in the Six Islands. So why here and why Linos?

“I dare you to die,” Perseus muttered bitterly as he lifted Linos' stiff body. “I dare you to leave me.”

Perseus stumbled out of the shop.

The chaos had escalated, further worsening Perseus' confusion and dread. Linos must not die. If he could make it to the medicine shop, maybe—

A woman rushed past Perseus and in her trail was a soft foreign scent. Wielding two daggers, she charged at a lamias feasting on a corpse. Two quick slashes and all that remained was ash.

When she darted to the left, Perseus spied a thin face covering that exposed her eyes alone.

A priestess from Athena’s temple.

Bone-melting relief washed over Perseus. The priestess could heal his brother. He had just stepped forward when two more similarly dressed women rushed past.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

But they had snakes for hair. Gorgons. Since when did beasts serve as priestesses in Athena’s temple?

There was a ringing in Perseus’ ears. He clutched his spasming brother tighter as revulsion muddied his hope at the priestesses’ divine appearance.

The snake-haired women joined the first, darting through the square as they deftly cut down lamias.

Gritting his teeth, Perseus turned and ran to the medicine shop. He halted when he saw it. The town's only doctor lay dead at the threshold of his shop.

“Curses!” Rage blasted through Perseus. Curse this day. Curse my existence. He must have been mad to imagine Zeus was watching over him.

To think I carry Zeus’ blood. Here I am, my brother dying in my arms. Weak. Pathetic.

And it was true. Perseus had been so consumed hammering away that he barely noticed a beast slip in and hunt his brother. Some blood carrier I am. “Weak. Pathetic,” he echoed the berating words.

Order returned a short time after the priestesses' appearance. People no longer screamed and ran about, now their focus shifted to the priestesses. They wore looks of awestruck gratitude, none seeming to care that the other two priestesses were gorgons.

“Hail Athena. Revered are her priestesses!” The cry mixed with the wails of those who lost loved ones.

Others around Perseus fell to their knees and sent prayers of gratitude to Athena.

One look at Linos’ face and Perseus’ knees gave out. His complexion had turned blue. His arms flayed as Perseus hugged him to his chest.

Tears wouldn't come, and the bitterness in Perseus’ soul doubled.

He isn’t dead. There is no way he is dead. A beast didn’t take another—no!

When sandaled feet entered Perseus’ vision, he looked up.

The first priestess gazed down at Linos with a compassionate light in her eyes. “Oh, poor child. A mormo must have done this.”

Her hair was like spun gold and her eyes, the only part of her face exposed, were the lightest shade of brown and appeared kind. There was a muted glow about her that was most unnatural. Perseus blinked in sluggish awe.

Kneeling before Linos, she observed his wound. The lacerations across his shin were beginning to ooze putrid black blood. “He is on the brink of death.” Sympathy softened her voice. “What happened to the mormo that did this?”

“I killed it.”

“Oh.” There was a note of surprise in her voice.

When the two gorgon priestesses joined the first priestess, Perseus tensed up. It was at the tip of his tongue to tell them to back away.

“Sisters," the golden-haired priestess stood, "let’s pray to Athena. Perhaps she may show this child mercy and heal him.” She offered the two her hands.

Perseus watched their joined hands. The gorgons had sharp pointed fingernails but other than that, their hands appeared normal. From the neck down, they appeared human. But beasts were beasts.

Clenching his teeth, Perseus resisted the urge to look at their heads. Even now, nausea pressed at the back of his throat but he swallowed it down.

Athena knew best. If she wished to keep gorgons as priestesses, so be it. Perseus would be a fool to reject their help. Linos was frail but he was his only family save for their uncle.

The prayer began, their voices rising and mixing with melodious harmony. Perseus couldn’t understand the lyrics but was caught up in a strange rapturous feeling.

Soon, a golden light enveloped the three women and formed an illusion of an armoured woman with dark hair, blazing silver eyes and a glistening plumed helmet.

Other kneeling villagers around did not react. It seemed he was the only one seeing the sight. Almost as soon as the vision appeared it vanished.

A cough drew Perseus' attention to Linos. His complexion was no longer blue, and his leg was smooth as if nothing ever happened. Eyes fluttering open, he stared at the sky before shifting his focus to Perseus.

“Brother, there was a beast in the store and it looked like me.”

Embracing Linos, Perseus nodded. “I know. I killed it.” He whispered fiercely. “I killed the beast and now you are well.”

“Give your thanks to goddess Athena. Your brother was saved by her benevolence,” the golden-haired priestess said in a flat voice—a sharp contrast to the former sympathetic note—before turning to the next injured villager.

Perseus mindlessly mumbled the memorised prayer of thanks. All that mattered was that Linos was fine.

***

Later that evening, after Dictys returned from Suda, the five elders of Seriphos sat at his table, eating as they discussed how to recover from the beast attack.

Though required to sit at the table and silently learn wisdom, Perseus couldn’t resist repeating what he just heard. “Athena’s temple will be built in Seriphos?”

Seriphos, one of six islands of the Helios Sea, had nothing particularly spectacular about it. Temples were mostly located in the main continent's big cities like Elion, Thebai, Sicili, and chief of all, Athens which housed a staggering thirteen temples dedicated to Athena.

Why build a temple in Seriphos?

Athena’s priestesses were best known for visiting obscure islands and villages at least once every two years. Usually, they blessed the lands for harvest, healed the sick and helped to subjugate beasts. Because of this, Athena was one of the most influential gods whose only rival was Poseidon. Zeus was in another sphere entirely.

Kadmos, a solemn elder who bore only daughters, scowled in Perseus’ direction. “You are to listen and not speak at the table.”

Perseus openly glared at Kadmos.

Say that to me after you father a son.

Though hailed as the wisest among the elders, Perseus couldn’t stand the man. And no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t see the so-called wisdom he was most praised for. There seemed to be perpetual disappointment in his eyes whenever he looked Perseus' way—like he could see something wrong in Perseus others couldn't.

“Ah, leave the boy.” Elder Pallas’ gold tooth flashed as he smiled at Perseus. “It’s shocking, eh? The wise and benevolent Athena chose our obscure island to house her glorious temple.”

Because Elder Pallas always sounded drunk, Perseus could never tell when he was being serious, silly or sarcastic. “I would have preferred Poseidon though,” he added with a wink. “The mightily endowed god of the sea who—”

“That does not change the fact that Athena chose Seriphos,” Dictys cut in. His expression was grim, and the light from the lamp above cast his face in deep shadows.

Since Dictys’ return to the island, his expression had been the same—grim-faced as he took note of the damage. Out of the nearly five thousand people in Seriphos, seventy-three had died. But a greater number had been healed by the priestesses.

“We must pay our dues,” Dictys said in a quiet voice.

The elders grew silent. Dictys glanced in Perseus’ direction before cutting into his meal and chewing.

Shifting in his seat, Perseus gulped watered wine from his cup. There was something they weren’t saying, and his gut told him it had to do with him.

“Let’s look at the bright side,” Elder Pallas said, pumping life into the solemn atmosphere with his slurred voice. “Now that a temple will be built on our island, we’ll become a city or even a kingdom. Think of it. Our people will become wealthy. Ah, Yiorgos will die of envy when he hears this.”

Elder Pallas slapped his thigh and laughed. The rest joined in except Elder Kadmus. He slid another glance Perseus' way and shook his head as if in pity.

Perseus scowled. If there was one thing he loathed, it was being at the receiving end of pity. He couldn’t wait for the meeting to be over. He needed to check on Linos.

But the meeting continued to more complex topics. Talks of future trade agreements, grants from the Bank of Athena and the priestesses setting up teleportation bridges.

Perseus was too caught up in his thoughts to be in awe at the thought of their island possessing instant travel bridges. The elders were keeping something from him and he must discover what it was.

Later that night, Dictys came to check on sleeping Linos.

After touching Linos’ forehead to check his temperature, Dictys sighed and pulled away. It was like standing on needles. Dictys was yet to say a word about the beast attack which was odd.

“Uncle, I—”

“Come with me.”

Swallowing his question, Perseus followed Dictys down the narrow corridor before reaching the last door to their right.

Dictys’ study was a hallowed room that Perseus was permitted into only three times a year, and always to observe how his uncle handled governing affairs. It was one of the few rooms that possessed four ever-luminescent crystals. The glowing orbs emitted an amber light akin to an oil lamp, but without the heat and twice as bright. Once, his uncle told him that a single crystal cost as much as the island’s yearly budget. The crystals were among the rare treasures Perseus' family had safeguarded for centuries.

“Close the door and sit.”

Dictys was a hard man, with a steel sense of discipline—a sharp contrast to Perseus’ father, who lived recklessly and trusted too easily. He paid dearly for that folly. Yes, Perseus admired his late father, but his uncle was ten times the man he could have been.

On Dictys’ desk were arranged scrolls and twine binder texts, a sealed ink bottle, an already cleaned quill, neatly lined drawing charcoal for his tool illustrations, and a flask of wine within arm’s reach.

The only roughness Dictys ever showed was when he was hammering away in one of his workshops. When handling his duties as the Island’s head, every detail was addressed with frightening meticulousness. When teaching Perseus obedience, that same meticulousness was reflected to an even more terrifying degree. But it was good—necessary, in fact. Perseus would rather absorb all that discipline than expose Linos to it.

Out of the six islands, Seriphos was the most prosperous and organised. The next in line of leadership was Perseus, and he was determined to follow Dictys’ footsteps and even surpass him in excellence.

But in Perseus’ determination was a twinge of shame. He had handled the situation with the mormo poorly, showing weakness and completely forgetting his basic defence skills in the face of danger. Dictys was yet to say a word about that. After hearing Perseus’ report, he frowned a little and went to oversee the burning of the dead.

“I will tell you what the other elders were too uncomfortable to say,” Dictys began. “Athena choosing us is a blessing. Seriphos will grow into a bustling city once the bridges are set up, and we will swallow up the five islands whether they like it or not. But much more will be expected of me” —he paused and held Perseus’ gaze— “and you.”

Perseus gulped. “I understand.”

For a non-deity to be the head of a village, city or kingdom, one’s lineage must have a drop of either a low or high deity’s blood. Before Perseus’ father died, he would not stop boasting about how their lineage was privileged to carry the blood of Zeus—the most revered among the high deities. Perhaps, it was that leaking mouth that caused his eventual demise.

Perseus had been born with a marking on his back that set him apart even more. His father had mentioned that his great great great grandfather possessed a similar marking and was a mighty warrior who established the Six Islands. Perseus found pride in that knowledge even though he had yet to witness any manifestation of the said power. His father had died a courageous but ordinary man. Dictys was also an ordinary man. Linos had no marking and was weak.

“The Fate of Heroes,” Dictys said with an unreadable expression.

Perseus frowned. “That was why Heber left us. But the games have not been held in decades.”

Dictys rested his forearms on the desk and wove his fingers. “In the near future, though I am not certain when, you will be required to represent Seriphos in the Fate of Heroes games as one of Athena’s heroes.”

Perseus’ head swam. The highest honour there is. Since legend says that Zeus never puts forth a contender, the next highest god was either Athena or Poseidon.

“I—” Words failed Perseus. Instead of feeling dread at the revelation, a placid feeling of rightness settled over him. This was meant to happen.

“You must awaken Zeus’ blood,” Dictys continued, though Perseus was half-listening. “Those in the past…”

There was something Perseus must do—though he did not yet know what it was—and representing Athena at the Fate of Heroes games would be a starting point.

Dictys stood and pulled a thin silver chain from his neck, a key hanging as its pendant. After feeling along the wall behind his desk, he paused at a spot and pressed the key into the stone. With a click, a drawer the size of a brick slid out. Retrieving a battered text bound with twine, he slid the hidden drawer back into place before sitting.

Placing a palm on the small worn book, Dictys met Perseus' eyes. “You will take this book and study its content daily until the words are etched in the walls of your mind.”

Perseus took the book. The leather was soft with age and its parchment paper had browned, but it was the words written in it that surprised him the most. Absolute gibberish. How was he to understand what he couldn’t even read?

“Starting tomorrow, Antigoni will double the fire of your training. You may wish for death but you must not die. If you succumb to death, weak Linos will take your place in all areas.”

Terror seized Perseus at the horrifying thought.

“You know as well as I do that Linos will perish before the gates of the games are even lifted. So, you must live. At the games, you must win and ascend. If you fail and die at the hands of beasts, you prove my brother—your father—deserved his end.”

Dictys’ words triggered a volcanic, nearly mindless rage in Perseus. Clenching his fists, he struggled within himself, fighting to suppress his turbulent emotions. Soon, his rage dissipated like mist, replaced by a clarity of mind and purpose.

Perseus lifted his eyes and hoped to Athena that Dictys saw his burning determination and sincerity. “I will awaken Zeus’ blood and honour my father’s death at the Fate of Heroes.”