“... and she gave me some honey cakes her mother made. It was warm and delicious.”

Annoyed at Linos’ endless talking, Perseus whacked the training dummy with more force than necessary. The wooden sword snapped in half, the front end sailing across the air and piercing the earth a breath from where Linos stood.

Linos yelped and jumped away. “Brother!” He looked from the spot to Perseus’ face. “Y-you scared me.”

“Did I not tell you watching me train is dangerous? You never listen.” Perseus rotated his right arm and grimaced. By the gods, his muscles were sore. Dictys had made him work on the javelin last night. After hammering into the next day, he barely got three horai of sleep.

“I listen,” Linos said with a huff. “And that was scary.”

Perseus peered at his brother.

Those wide naive eyes. So trusting. And Perseus could sense it, Linos was beginning to show the flawed aspects of their father’s personality. Barely eleven and he wouldn’t stop singing about Elder Kadmos’ youngest daughter—his latest beloved.

Perseus should apologise for almost hurting Linos, but his pride wouldn’t let him. And it didn’t help that he had been irritable since he got out of bed. He had assumed that the gibberish in the book would do something, perhaps open a path in his mind, make his swordsmanship stronger or even give him some powerful ability. Save for a fleeting understanding he gleaned from the lines of nonsensical runes, he had nothing to show for the three horai he poured in before his training. And where was Antigoni?

“Go home. You only start training when you're eleven. Stop pretending to forget,” Perseus said as he strolled to the shade of the only tree in the training ground.

Perseus’ body always ached on training day but today felt worse. And the scorching mid-afternoon sun wasn’t helping matters.

Tossing what remained of his wooden sword, Perseus dragged an arm across his sweaty brow and retrieved the little book from where it sat on the bench. If he tried again, something may happen.

Leafing through the pages, Perseus followed the lines with his gaze. When a brief understanding came this morning, he almost couldn’t believe it. He understood that a certain writing meant ‘drain’ and that the word was… heavy? That was the only description he could give it, but other than that, his mind remained stubbornly unyielding. Even now, as he stared harder at the runic lines, desperate for another insight, nothing happened.

“But you need me,” Linos said, breaking Perseus’ attention. “Water?” A bright smile lit his face as he raised a large jug, the water sloshing over the rim and wetting his white tunic.

Unable to help himself, Perseus smiled. “Thanks.”

After taking a long drink, he nodded at his side. “Sit, I need to tell you something.”

Perhaps, there was a possibility that his words would pierce through the delusional clouds in his brother’s head and align things.

Linos eagerly did as he was told. Though only four years separated them, Perseus dwarfed Linos. Helping Dictys at his blacksmith shops for years and the regular training had given Perseus a lean muscular build. Linos, on the other hand, was an image of fragility—thin arms and legs, the face of a puppy.

“What’s her name?” Perseus pretended to struggle to recall Linos’ latest obsession.

“Glykeria?” Linos offered shyly. “She also likes me. She keeps giving me cakes and telling me tales of the sea. She smells really nice too.”

By the gods, the besotted way his eyes sparkled. Perseus would have laughed if it was funny.

“Do you know why father died?”

The spark vanished from Linos’ eyes. He frowned for a moment before answering. “Because he trusted a woman.” Then the spark returned almost immediately. “But Glykeria is not our mother. And there are no kings here for her to… to whore herself to. She is just a girl, brother.” Linos’ voice grew increasingly desperate as he continued talking. “She is not like our mother. Her sisters, too. They are kind. They are not like the whore.”

Perseus scowled. “Recall the beast that attacked you?”

Linos blanched. “Yes. Yes, I do.” He hugged his knees. “I can never forget.”

“Why did it attack you?”

“Because… because it is bad.”

Perseus patted Linos’ shoulder and hoped to Athena that he caught his meaning and sincerity. “The mormo attacked you because it is its nature to attack. There are no good beasts.”

Linos nodded, eyes still downcast. “There are no good beasts.”

“Just as it is the nature of beasts to attack, it is also the nature of women to betray and be easily deceived. You were too young when our father died because of the whore’s betrayal, so you may not understand.”

Perseus remembered, a little too vividly if you asked him.

“Think of them as tools or ornaments.” Dictys would say whenever he caught Perseus’ gaze following one of the island girls. “All are replaceable—even the useful or beautiful ones.”

The sound of approaching footsteps drew their attention to the low gate of the training compound. It was Dictys and Antigoni, one of his uncle’s guards and Perseus’ trainer.

Standing smartly, Perseus tucked the little book behind his belt. “Uncle,” he greeted with an incline of the head.

Perseus’ gaze slid to Antigoni. Why was he wearing a dark hooded robe in the sweltering heat?

“I saw the javelin. Almost perfect,” Dictys said as he looked over the training ground. His focus lingered on the broken wooden sword. “Antigoni will tell you what to do,” he finally said before beckoning Linos. “Come, boy. I need your help with something.”

Perseus watched them go. Linos was chatting happily, probably about that Glykeria girl. Dictys’ expression appeared softer as he listened with rapt attention.

Dictys always overlooked the formalities of stiff greetings with Linos, and he never treated him harshly either. Not that Perseus was complaining—it just seemed a bit concerning that his uncle continued to coddle him.

“Why are you wearing that?” Perseus asked when he shifted his attention to Antigoni. It must be boiling under that robe.

“Come with me.” Antigoni walked past Perseus instead of smacking him on the back of the head for being rude to his trainer.

Absurd robe aside, there was something odd about Antigoni's mood today. His solemn silence was strange. And why were they heading into the western grove, the opposite direction of the town?

Twigs snapped underfoot as Perseus pushed low-hanging branches aside and pressed deeper into the forest.

“Would you not speak?” Perseus asked, unable to stand the silence and mystery. “And slow down a little.” They’ve been walking for about half a horai.

“Your training will be different today.”

“Oh.” A spark of excitement lit Perseus’ bored heart. “Is this about awakening Zeus’s blood?”

“That is why we are on this path.”

Perseus grinned. It was general knowledge that training was linked to awakening deity blood in mortals. How his family went about theirs was a closely guarded secret only known by the patriarch, and in the past generations, no son had awakened Zeus' blood except his great ancestor who founded the islands.

Last year, when Perseus followed Dictys to the Singing Sailors, he had picked up on a conversation a table away. Both men chatting about influential families and kingdoms in Southern Greece going as far as adopting, or in extreme cases, kidnapping children discovered to be blood carriers. Fear had seeped into his veins at the news; he was a blood carrier, the topmost if there was one. But as soon as the fear came, it vaporised. No one knew of his existence outside Seriphos.

Perseus’ family had stubbornly remained humble for centuries, choosing the obscured islands and satisfying themselves with wielding local power. Well, except for the first nine years of Perseus' life.

Putrid memories mocked Perseus, the worst of them crystal clear.

Mother, I hope you are dead.

Now that Athena had chosen their island, things would change. Soon, news about Perseus being a blood carrier may spread. To protect himself, he must awaken Zeus’ blood fast. And Perseus could feel it. He was bigger than these islands.

After pushing through thickets, taking winding turns and breathing in the suffocating loamy air of the forest, they finally came upon an odd clearing. It was a wide circular space with pristine interlocking stone flooring.

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Unable to explain why, a surge of unease assailed Perseus. Palming the back of his neck, he eyed the bushes and trees behind him. “Antigoni, something feels—”

“Follow me.” Antigoni stepped into the circle and marched for its middle.

Shrugging off his paranoia, Perseus followed Antigoni’s lead. Soon, he reached the centre.

“Give me your hand.”

Perseus placed his palm upon Antigoni’s roughened one.

“You are about to partake in a solemn ritual,” Antigoni said in an even voice. “Do not speak.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Perseus nodded. He flinched when Antigoni pierced his index finger with a silver needle. “Press out a drop over there.” He nodded at the smaller circle in the middle.

Curiosity hummed within Perseus as he took a closer look at the spot. He blinked in surprise when he recognised the runes lining the circle. They were similar to what he saw in the book.

When Perseus’ blood touched the stone, there was the sound of a click. The stone rotated with a grinding sound, grew hollow and pushed out of the earth. He watched with no small fascination as sparkling water filled the stone basin.

Grinning in Antigoni’s direction, Perseus was about to speak when the man brought his finger to his lips indicating he remained silent. And for some reason, he looked…

Perseus cocked his head. Though he couldn’t tell why, Antigoni seemed unsettled. No, that wasn’t quite it. Was that fear? But it made little sense. Nothing terrified Antigoni.

“Dip your hands in the water,” Antigoni said in a low voice.

“So, we can speak now?” Perseus asked with a cocked brow.

“After you dip your hands in the water, cover your eyes with this.” Antigoni retrieved a tattered red cloth from the folds of his robe.

Perseus immediately sensed it. The blindfold was not a regular piece of cloth. Antigoni’s hands trembled as he held it, and his fingertips were red.

“Why must I wear that?” Perseus eyed the blindfold with misgiving.

“For training. When your eyes are covered, you will come upon a space with opponents that match your skill.”

“You should have started with that line.” Perseus snatched the blindfold and tied it behind his head with wet fingers.

Huh? He frowned. Nothing felt different. “Is this a joke—”

What felt like a flaming thread coiled around his heart and pulled Perseus forward. Groaning from the searing pain, he brought his hand to his chest only to find he could see.

Whipping around, Perseus took in his surroundings. It was morning and he was back on the street in front of his uncle’s blacksmith shop. When his arms felt heavy, he saw he was holding an iron sword and a wooden shield.

A slow smile curved Perseus’ lips. “Was this the fire of training uncle spoke of?”

Buzzing with anticipation, Perseus tightened his grip around his weapons and waited.

Shadows shifted. Something was hiding behind a pile of crates to his left. Scratching sounds. It peeked from its hiding place. First a turf of curly brown hair then a familiar face.

“Linos?” Beyond confused, Perseus glanced around. Was he expected to fight his brother? When he returned his focus to Linos, he flinched away.

It was like the day of the lamias attack. Though still wearing the appearance of his brother, one of his arms had stretched out, and his dark pink claws scratched the stone floor as he stepped forward.

“Brother.” The mormo canted his head and blinked black eyes at Perseus. “Our meeting was brief the last time, but now… now may it be long.”

“Do not call me brother.”

Perseus rushed forward, his sword held ready. Unlike the other day, he was prepared, his blood did not run slowly in his veins, muddying his concentration and turning him into a coward. This time—

Perseus noticed too late. A blur of movement. That too-long arm lashed out like a fat whip, striking him across his stomach and sending him arching across the street.

Pain exploded at his back as he slammed into a wall, his weapons slipping from his grip and clanging to the ground.

Blinking bleary eyes open, Perseus watched as the mormo strolled forward, long arm dragging along and leaving a trail of venom behind. There was a wet grin on his face.

“He thinks it’s like before.” The mormo’s voice was soft and childlike.

Groaning and blinking hard, Perseus sat straighter. The mormo kept his pace, eating the distance between them in measured steps.

“He pierced my heart with a hot rod.”

Perseus needed to stand but his legs...

“Now he has no fire. He is weak.”

Finally rising on shaky feet, Perseus winced at the spreading pain across his midsection. Just how powerful was this mormo?

“He is fourteen. He will not be as sweet as the other.” The mormo stopped, grin slipping and features turning hardened. “But I can manage. Meat is meat.”

Enraged, Perseus snatched his sword and shield and took a step forward. “Take off my brother’s face,” he spat through clenched teeth.

Instead of answering, the mormo attacked again. Whipping that abominable arm at Perseus, his claws glowed red.

This time Perseus was ready. He slashed at the mormo’s arm, but the weapon slid off.

Stumbling away, Perseus looked from his sword to the mormo, aghast.

“If you have no fire, you would need more than an iron blade to end me.” His second arm twisted at an odd angle, the sound of bones snapping following the movement. Like his other arm, it grew claws and lengthened.

Holding up his shield, Perseus shuffled away.

The arm came for him again. Rolling to his left, Perseus hurled his shield at the mormo. Not waiting to see if his attack hit its target, he dragged the tip of his sword across the stone ground.

One glance and Perseus confirmed his shield had been slapped away. That was fine. All he needed to do was ensure he was fast and maintained quick reflexes. One hit from that arm and his body was still aching.

“I see what you are planning.”

Ignoring the mormo, Perseus darted about, dragging his sword against the ground. Sparks flew from the contact, but the heat wasn’t strong enough.

Perseus released a panicked breath when the arm came for him again, missing him by a pinch when he dove to the right. The other arm followed after—claw flashing and whistling next to Perseus’ right ear. But the mormo missed.

Sweat poured down Perseus’ brow as his breathing grew to harsh pants.

“You will die by my sword,” He mumbled the line like a prayer as he ran this way and that. Finally satisfied with the heat of the sword, he took his next move. Diving for his discarded shield, he held it before his face as he bounded for the mormo.

As expected, the arm came for him. Using his shield to slap it aside, Perseus slashed the other with his sword.

The mormo hissed at the heat from the weapon.

Dragging the sword again across the ground, Perseus aimed for the mormo’s heart at the last moment.

Burning pain flared at Perseus’ back. Twisting around in agony, he barely reacted before the claws came for him once more. This time it got him across the chest.

The pain was paralysing. His sword slipped from his grip as he fell to his knees.

“Watching you try was entertaining.” The mormo strolled forward, arms dragging behind him.

“Can you feel my venom?” The mormo cocked his head. The black of his eyes was so wide that there was hardly any white. “I like my prey pliant.”

It messed with Perseus’ mind seeing the beast twist his brother’s face into something hideous while spitting those ugly words. It was too much. Maybe this training was more mental than physical.

The mormo’s arms snapped forward and wound around Perseus’ ankle. As he dragged him, his other arm wound up his torso like a serpent.

“Where’s that moving heroism of yours? Where is that pride, blood of Zeus?” The mormo laughed, head cast back and small shoulders shaking.

Snapping his focus back to Perseus, his smile slipped as he began constricting him.

Arms. Perseus needed to move his arms but this weakness he was feeling. It made it seem like his arms were weighed down with rocks.

Breathing soon became hard. Perseus’ lungs were on fire.

“Wouldn't you answer?” Venom slid down the corner of the mormo’s mouth. “Where is that nauseating confidence?”

How do I escape? Perseus racked his mind, thinking up possibilities and searching for hope.

The mormo dragged Perseus forward until he was on his knees before him. He took a long sniff and wrinkled his nose. “Old meat. Still manageable.”

The blindfold. If Perseus could remove it, he may be able to escape this nightmare.

Maybe it was fear or whatever speck of ability being the blood of Zeus gave him, but Perseus was able to lift a shaky hand to his face. He felt around and sighed when he touched the rough material of the blindfold.

He ripped it off.

Blinking his eyes open, Perseus took in the stone basin. He was back. Knees weak with relief, he collapsed to his side, chest rising and falling with his harsh breath.

The ground was cool against his face despite the heat of the afternoon sun.

Groaning, Perseus sat up and gingerly pulled at the open side of his tunic. A large bruise had formed across his stomach.

Antigoni strolled over and stared down at him. “You did not wait for instructions.”

Flinging the blindfold at Antigoni’s feet, Perseus glowered in return. “I nearly died. Why am I feeling pain?”

Antigoni scowled. “What did you expect? Would it be effective training without pain or the fear of death?”

“I—” Perseus shut his mouth when he realised he had nothing to say. “Fine. But if you had just…”

A tall bald man emerged from the thicket and strode into the clearing.

Perseus frowned and leaned to the side to get a better view. “Who’s that?”

Antigoni turned.

The whistle of a flying arrow. It hit its mark, going through Antigoni’s forehead and bursting out the back.

What?

So sudden was Antigoni’s death that Perseus knelt there, eyes following Antigoni’s body as it swayed and crashed to the ground.

What?

Perseus blinked at the slow spread of blood. He vaguely registered more movement from the corner of his eyes. The bald man was not alone.

Perseus’ body would not move, as if he was still suffering from the mormo’s venom.

“Check and confirm.”

Someone appeared out of thin air to Perseus’ right, and before he could react, they grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head viciously against the ground. Once. Twice. The third time.

Stars dotted Perseus' vision, his brain rocking within his skull as bursts of pain stunned him.

Someone ripped his tunic open, exposing his back.

His assailant whistled. “He is the one. Almost can’t believe it.”

“Tie him up,” said the first man.

All the while they bound Perseus, he stared at Antigoni’s body. His blood. The smell of it. This death before his eyes. His detached shock soon gave way to something else—an urging he could not resist. There was something he must do.

“There will be no waste,” Perseus mumbled. “Drain.”

Like water sinking into loose sand, the ground drank Antigoni’s blood. His body rapidly greyed, shrivelled to a husk and crumbled into a pile of ash amid his robe.

“Is this normal?” The man tying Perseus asked before hefting him over his shoulder.

“Our assignment is not to feed our curiosity. Make him sleep. We leave at once.”

"As you wish."

A cold finger pressed against the nape of Perseus’ neck.

First bliss came. Then nothingness.