Clotho was insane. What else could explain her ridiculous suggestion?

How could Medusa convince her parents to let her not only visit but stay in Tartarus for at least three years? Three years! Even suggesting visiting the bogs had triggered a vehement refusal from Phorcys. Now Tartarus?

“She must be insane,” Medusa mumbled as she broke through the waves. She wiped water off her face and peered ahead. The beach was deserted to her relief.

Stay in Tartarus for three years?

“Hah.” Medusa released a dead chuckle as she waded through the gently lapping waves. Though the sun was yet to appear, the sky was already brightening with the promise of a new day.

But was Tartarus as terrible as rumours suggested? Not according to Clotho. The goddess had claimed that Tartarus was far removed from its reputation. Curiosity was beginning to suppress Medusa’s initial disbelief and terror.

Medusa hugged herself as she shivered from the chill of the sea breeze. “I must be insane too,” she said with a sigh.

Tartarus was known as one of the four evils of Cosmolith. Even babies knew that thanks to a popular rhyme mothers sang to misbehaving children.

Beware the second evil, where Titans roam in chains. They’ll crush the heads of children, who dare to disobey.

When Medusa was five, a tutor had taught her the rhyme which was part of a page-long poem. Then for a whole month, she made Medusa read a heavy volume of The Cursed Beasts of Cosmolith. All the while Medusa suffered through those pages, there was a sadistic glint in the tutor's eyes.

The illustrations of the monsters were rendered with such great detail that, despite it being the last thing Medusa wanted, she soaked up every bit of information. Their horrifying appearance, where they lived, and how they hunted. From that day, the terror of beasts latched on to her very soul. Pretty ironic that she ended up being one.

Nightmares haunted Medusa's sleep even several months after her father dismissed the tutor. And the first line of that poem stuck because of its catchy tune. There were even moments in her previous lives when she found herself humming the rhyme.

Despite Tartarus’ reputation of keeping those beasts from mortal lands, Clotho expected Medusa to look her parents in the face and ask that they permit a vacation there. How laughable.

But Medusa must do it. Not the part about asking her parents to let her stay in Tartarus for three years—they’d rather die than agree to that—but finding a way to leave the villa.

Perhaps she could sneak away without her parents' notice. Despite Galene’s warning about not going off alone, going to the cliff the second time and taking a dive without a single servant spotting her had been too easy. The trick was to leave before the cock crowed.

At least Clotho hadn’t entirely left her alone.

Medusa blinked down at her hands. A tiny rune in the shape of an inverted V with a dot at its zenith marked the centre of each palm.

Clotho assured Medusa that no one would see the marking unless they had also sworn an honour oath to her. According to the deity, the rune would enable two-way communication between them, unlike the one-way communication they had before. Clotho had said nothing about the function of the other identical rune.

Was Medusa being naive? Clotho had made an honour oath, but trusting the deity to this extent had to be foolish.

Feeling eyes on her, Medusa looked ahead and did a double take. “Father?”

Phorcys’ face was unreadable as he beckoned to Medusa.

What was this? Was he angry? Could he tell she had been visiting Clotho?

As Medusa drew nearer, her nervousness eased a little. Even though Phorcys’ expression was flat, she could sense no anger from him.

The purple himation Phorcys wore over his chiton rustled in the breeze, and at his feet was a box covered with a white cloth. There was an odd majesty about how her father lived his life, a trait Medusa never observed in other gods she encountered in her first life.

Maybe it was how Phorcys carried himself, like nothing could ever ruffle his calm and everything was beneath his feet. Or it could be his physical appearance that gave the effect.

Medusa took after Phorcys’ dark hair and green eyes, but her skin was fairer—an appearance she shared with her mother. Like Medusa, Phorcys was incredibly good-looking, and Ceto clung to him perhaps in part awe and disbelief that they managed to remain married for nearly eighty years.

Maintaining an innocent demeanour, Medusa hastened her steps and offered a customary bow when she reached Phorcys. “Father, I give my greetings.”

“Do you enjoy morning swims?” He asked in response. “This is the second time I’ve observed this behaviour.”

Medusa’s heart launched within her chest. He must have noticed her yesterday, too. Damn it. What to say? Why was it hard to come up with a quick answer?

Phorcys sat on the sand and patted his side. “Sit.”

So unexpected was the gesture that Medusa gawked, unable to immediately comply. It seemed unimaginable that Phorcys could sit on the ground—like witnessing an unspeakable travesty. “Huh?”

A small smile, though slow in appearance, began in Phorcys’ eyes before ending on his lips. It was like looking at a different person. Medusa blinked hard in disbelief.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Do not look so shocked, Medusa. Sit with me.”

In a daze, Medusa did as he asked.

The world was upside down. Something must have shifted. What was happening? No way was she sitting on the sand next to her father.

In all the lives Medusa lived, some things remained constant. Every parent she had had been nonchalant. And none of them paid particular attention to her. This sudden interest… Medusa was at a loss on how to act.

“I have not swum in the ocean in two hundred years.”

Medusa whipped her attention to Phorcys. How was it possible for him to stay away from the ocean for two centuries when he was the deity of the deep? “Why?”

“Politics,” Phorcys answered simply. He suddenly chuckled. “I must not worry my child with unfamiliar concepts. Are you still sad?”

Why was he asking her that? Oh! Medusa recalled yesterday’s breakfast. “No. Swimming made me feel better.” And it was true. Swimming to Clotho’s domain and back was tiring but enjoyable.

“Is that so?” There was a wistful note in his voice.

“Yes.”

“That shouldn't come as a surprise. You are the daughter of your father after all.”

“What does that mean?” The question slipped out before Medusa could stop it.

“I am the god of the deep. It would be strange if you didn’t enjoy the ocean.”

Medusa nodded. In silence they sat, staring at the lapping waves as the morning sun rose.

As Medusa watched a stone crab creep past, a question banged in her head, begging to be let out. Though Clotho had warned her not to act out of character, it felt impossible to stop herself from asking.

“Father?”

“Hmm?” Phorcys’ gaze was still fixed on the ocean. He appeared sad.

“Why am I mortal?”

Shutting his eyes with a deep sigh, Phorcys remained silent for a moment. When he opened his eyes, there was no hesitation, no guile that Medusa could see. He shook his head. “I do not know.”

Medusa believed him. Maybe she was a fool to do so, but believing otherwise—that her parents cursed her. No. That would be too much for her heart to take.

“I have thought of many ways to answer that question because I suspected you would ask one day.” His voice was low and solemn. “I am sorry that I do not have the answer.”

“It’s fine, Father,” Medusa mumbled morosely. What had she been expecting? Her entire life was full of more questions than answers anyway.

“Do you wish to see something interesting?” Phorcys asked. Though he was not smiling, his visage was so open and warm that Medusa found herself nodding eagerly.

Grabbing a fistful of sand, Phorcys mumbled in Theos tongue and breathed into it before opening his hand.

Sand in the shape of a small cauliflower jellyfish floated off Phorcys’ palm. It bobbed in front of Medusa’s face before travelling a short distance and disintegrating.

“Whoa.” Medusa clapped in genuine amazement. She had never witnessed her parents manifest any sort of power despite being ant deities. Seeing Phorcys’ trick was beyond fascinating. Perhaps, if she unlocked her powers she could perform cool tricks too.

Come back to your senses, Medusa.

Medusa's face fell as her mood dimmed. There was no space for wishful thinking. A lot was on the line. She had to find a way to convince her parents to let her off this villa for at least three years.

How do I get out of here? Think, Medusa.

“I mentioned getting you a gift.” Phorcys retrieved the covered box and placed it before her. “Open it.”

Warmth unfurled in Medusa’s chest at the sight; the feeling was similar to what she felt whenever Antonii gave her a surprise gift.

Medusa gasped when she pulled the cloth away. Curled in the corner of the cage was the cutest creature she had ever seen. It resembled a cub of a lynx and sea otter mix. Its coat was grey with dark stripes, and its face looked like a kitten’s with tufted ears, but its body was long and it spotted a tapered tail. When it blinked its dark eyes open and gazed at Medusa, her heart squeezed.

“What is this creature?” Medusa squealed in pure delight. “I love it!” She had never seen something this adorable in The Cursed Beasts of Cosmolith.

Phorcys released a deep chuckle. “It’s called a western water cat. Very rare.”

Medusa's cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. Then she remembered Rico and her eyes began to water. The urge to cry pressed at the back of her throat as she reached into the cage with trembling hands and cradled the small warm creature. When it mewled, her heart squeezed again.

“What would you name it?”

“I—” Medusa hiccupped as she hugged the cub and swept a hand down its sleek fur. It wiggled a little before settling comfortably over her shoulder.

“Why are you crying?” There was panic in Phorcys’ voice. He wiped Medusa’s tears with his thumb. When more tears flowed, worry bunched his brow. “Did my gift fail to lift your spirit?”

Medusa burst into laughter at Phorcys’ flustered words and expression. How could she explain her crying was because she suddenly recalled little Rico?

“I’m crying because I love your gift.” Medusa beamed at Phorcys.

“Oh.” Phorcys blinked before smiling too. “I’m happy you love it. What will you call him?”

“Rico. I’ll name him Rico.”

Phorcys frowned. “What does Rico mean? I know nothing and no one by that name.”

Medusa giggled. “I just thought of the name when I looked at him.” She held up the water cat and rubbed his cold nose against hers. She giggled again when he licked her nose. Light from the early morning sun caught the collar hanging around its neck.

“The collar helps it comfortably live on land.” Phorcys touched the coin-sized jewelled tag hanging from the collar. “He’s only two months old, but they can grow as big as a spotted mountain bear when fully grown.”

“No way!” This tiny pocket of cuteness could grow that big?

Phorcys’ warm boisterous laughter was unexpected but it served as a balm to Medusa's grieving soul.

This felt nice, Medusa thought with a smile. Laughing with her father on the beach as she held an adorable future vicious predator was very nice.

“You will see what I mean when his growth spurt awakens,” Phorcys continued. “They're very protective and are excellent swimmers.”

Medusa marvelled at the thoughtfulness of Phorcys’ gift. “Thank you, Father. Thank you very much.”

Phorcys hummed and ruffled Medusa’s damp hair. “Do not be sad, my child. Though your mortality deeply worries me, I also envy you. The life of an immortal…”

Shaking his head with a sigh, Phorcys rose to his feet before lifting Medusa as if it were a regular occurrence. He began strolling towards the villa.

Too shocked to react to being suddenly carried, Medusa forced herself to relax in Phorcys’ embrace as she considered his words.

In some way, she saw his meaning. Even though she was caught in what seemed like an endless loop of reincarnation, there was a satisfaction that came with living a full life and finally dying.

Just how old were deities? What happened when they got tired of living? High deities were recorded to be even more ancient; lower deities revered and obeyed them to a ridiculous degree. Miserable. Absolutely miserable.

As Medusa rested her temple on Phorcys’ shoulder, a solution to her earlier concern came so suddenly that she nearly whooped in triumph.

First, bone-melting relief came but following behind was a sense of trepidation. If Medusa did this right, she could earn a chance to learn from Clotho for more than three years.