Born from Chronos, literal god of time, and Philyra, goddess of grace and elegance—yeah, you read that right—Chiron was about as far from the rowdy centaur stereotype as you could get. He was calm, wise, smelled faintly of cedarwood and sage, and had this irritating way of knowing exactly what you were thinking before you did.
He also had the patience of a god. Probably because he was one.
"Self-defense?" Chiron raised an eyebrow, kneeling to meet my eyes. "That's your request?"
I sat cross-legged on the grass, still winded from my glorious dismount off Poseidon's personal warhorse (read: I got flung like a ragdoll and ate dirt).
"Yeah," I said, trying to sound steady. "I want to learn how to counter attacks. No swords, no glory. Just… survival stuff."
Chiron tilted his head, studying me. "Why?"
"Because life is dangerous," I said honestly. "War, monsters, gods. I'm not trying to win battles. I'm just trying to stay in one piece."
He plucked a leaf from my hair, real gentle. "Only self-preservation?"
I gave him a look. "You saying that's not enough?"
Chiron smiled. "No. I'm saying it's rare. Most of my students want to be remembered in poems. You, Cyd… you just want to be left alone."
"Exactly. You get me." I grinned. "Also, can I call you Sensei?"
That earned a proper laugh. "Of course."
"Just warning you, I'm probably your weirdest student."
Chiron stood, then offered me his hand. "Magnificent or ordinary—it doesn't matter. If you're my student, I'll guide you."
I took his hand. "Thanks, Sensei."
"Shall I introduce you to the others?"
"Nope!" I said, too fast.
He chuckled. "You'll run into them eventually."
"Not if I'm faster than fate."
Three Years Later
Let's be clear about something: ambushing Chiron is a terrible idea.
But it was training. So, technically, I was encouraged to try.
Chiron strolled casually through the woods, a basket of apples slung across his back like he was on a picnic, not walking straight into my latest elaborate trap.
"I can sense you, Cyd," he said, sidestepping the hidden snare like he was avoiding a puddle.
He pressed a hoof to the ground. A pit opened. The one I spent all morning digging.
"Nice trap," he said, picking out a red apple. "Good for deer. Not for me."
He leapt over the pit with zero effort.
Cue phase two.
"Now!" I shouted from the bushes.
A shadow flew out of the pit—me, wearing a mask and swinging a stick aimed at Chiron's head. At the same time, a decoy yanked a hidden wire to trip him, and three arrows shot toward his eyes from opposite trees.
It was a good plan.
Too bad Chiron wasn't a normal teacher.
He deflected the arrows with the basket—with the basket—then spun, kicked me in the stomach midair, and sent me flying into a tree.
I hit the bark with a loud whump, slid down, and landed face-up, seeing stars.
"Okay," I croaked. "Ow."
"You've improved," Chiron said calmly, retrieving a crossbow from the grass. Where had that come from?
"Watch it with that thing!" I groaned, pulling off my mask. "Just because I'm tougher now doesn't mean I'm indestructible."
He shrugged. "Tougher than me."
"Yeah, but I don't heal like you," I muttered, clutching my ribs. "Seeing people fly when you kick them is traumatizing, by the way."
"The River Styx didn't just toughen your skin," Chiron said, kneeling beside me. "Your muscles, your bones—they're stronger. You've come far, Cyd."
I blinked, then instinctively ran a hand through my white hair. "Really?"
"But…" He gave me a teasing smile, ruffling my hair. "You're still half a head shorter than Hercules."
"Seriously? Let it go, man," I said, snatching the apple basket from him. "I eat plenty."
And I did. Mostly whatever didn't try to eat me first.
Despite the beatdowns and lectures, I stayed. Chiron never forced me to join the others—heroes-in-training, sons of gods, kids with tragic backstories and shiny prophecies.
I didn't want that. I still didn't want that.
Especially not after hearing about Hercules' "minor disagreement" that ended with him accidentally killing his own nephew. Note to self: do not spar with Hercules. Or borrow his snacks.
Still, part of me wondered… if even he could feel remorse—maybe fate wasn't a straight line after all.
"Normal, huh?" Chiron said, brushing pine needles off his tunic. "Cyd, when's the last time you met someone with your strength?"
I didn't answer. Because he was right.
He reached out, taking my hand. Not a gesture of power. Just calm, serious trust.
"It's not good to hide from the world," he said gently. "Go. See it. Travel. Talk to people. That's how you stay human."
I looked down at my hand. Scarred, calloused, firm.
It didn't feel like a hero's hand. Just… mine.
"…Okay," I said.
Because deep down, I knew Chiron was right.
Even if I didn't want glory, I had power now. And power that sits still? That kind of power turns sour.