"I think… it's finished," Cyd muttered, exhaling as he stepped cautiously toward the downed beast.
The invincible lion—yeah, that lion—lay like a smashed watermelon at a banquet. Five straight minutes of Hercules playing Whack-a-Beast had finally done the trick. Blood, shattered bones, and something that looked way too much like a kidney spilled across the jungle floor.
"I haven't had this much fun in years," Hercules said, wiping the sweat from his brow with a grin that made him look more like a satisfied farmer than a demigod fresh off a monster beatdown.
Cyd crouched beside the lion's caved-in skull and gently poked at it with two fingers.
With a moist wheeze, the lion's head collapsed like a soggy loaf of bread.
"Yeah… definitely not edible anymore," Cyd muttered, cringing as the smell hit. He quickly covered his nose. "Not that I ever planned to eat it. Still. Gross."
Chiron's herbs had done their job. Whatever invincibility the beast once had didn't matter once its guts were turned to soup under Hercules's fists.
"You sure you don't want the pelt?" Hercules asked, toeing what remained of the lion with one sandal. "It's still got its invulnerability."
Cyd gave him a look. "Did you already forget how it died? That hide didn't save it from its own bad decisions. Overconfidence and a fragile skeleton—that's what did it in."
"Fair enough," Hercules nodded. "Teeth and claws are yours, like we agreed."
Cyd reached into his satchel and pulled out a cloth-wrapped tool kit. He didn't enjoy what came next—the wet squelch as he yanked teeth from the lion's gums made even Hercules flinch—but at least the job went fast.
"You're the one who turned it into a jelly-filled piñata," Cyd grumbled, flicking spittle off his gloves.
"True," Hercules admitted sheepishly. "Still—those claws? Top-tier dagger material."
"Don't mess with them," Cyd warned, swatting Hercules's hand away before he poked himself. "They're sharp enough to cut your ego."
"I was just curious," Hercules said with mock innocence. "What're you planning to make, anyway?"
"Gauntlets," Cyd said, clenching his fist as he bagged the claws. "Something lightweight, precise. I'm not strong enough to brute force my way through life—I need finesse."
"I might know a good smith," Hercules offered, scratching at his chin. "But if you're thinking big, there's really only one name that matters…"
"Hephaestus," Cyd said with a sigh. "Yeah. That's the one."
"You planning to go knock on his door?" Hercules blinked. "You got guts, I'll give you that."
"I'm just hoping he's not in one of his bad moods," Cyd muttered.
"You survive this jungle? You'll survive that," Hercules said, clapping him on the back. "Good luck. Hope we cross paths again."
"Why do you sound like I'm not gonna make it?"
"Because people usually don't," Hercules said cheerfully.
Cyd shook out the lion's hide, flinging the blood off like water from a soaked towel. He handed it to Hercules with a flat look. "The poison's gone, but clean it with fresh water anyway. And if you're gonna cut it, go from the inside."
"Got it. You sound just like my teacher," Hercules said, rolling the pelt over one shoulder.
Cyd paused. That hit a little closer than expected—but he brushed it off.
"Guess you're the kind of student that gives your teacher gray hair," Hercules added with a wink.
"That's what mine says," Cyd replied, tightening the strap on his pack. "But I think you're gonna make yours proud."
Hercules blinked. "Why does that give me so much confidence?"
"Because confidence suits you," Cyd said, turning to go. "Farewell, big hero."
"Wait—leaving already?" Hercules stepped forward, but Cyd was already gone, vanished into the trees like a whisper.
Hercules stood still for a moment, staring at the empty space where Cyd had been. Then he smiled, clenching his fist. "Guess following the whispers of the Goddess of Virtue was the right call. We'll meet again, kid. And if not…"
He looked down at the pelt. "You'll still be a hero."
Cyd walked alone through the jungle, the echoes of battle fading behind him. Hercules was… good. A rare kind of good. One forged in glory, destined for songs and statues.
Cyd wasn't like that.
He wasn't chasing songs or splendor. He just wanted to live—quietly, preferably. Maybe open a bakery. Or a nice little smithy. Was that so much to ask?
He rubbed his forehead. "Should've studied survival skills instead of wasting time reading myths."
A soft hoot above drew his eye to a large eagle perched silently on a high branch.
"Great King of the Gods—Zeus," Cyd said, eyeing the bird.
The eagle had been tailing them for a while now. And in this world? Unusual animals didn't show up without divine strings attached.
"Watching over your son?" he asked quietly.
The eagle met his gaze, unmoving. Then it ruffled its feathers and preened like Cyd was just some squirrel.
"…Alright," Cyd muttered. "Guess I was wrong. No way Zeus would personally check in on me."
He kept walking, head down, cheeks pink.
"I am not letting a bird make me feel self-conscious," he mumbled.
"West," he announced to no one. "We're going west. Purely coincidental. Totally not divine guidance."
A breeze brushed his back.
"Why so grumpy, child?"
The voice came soft—ancient and kind.
Something nudged him forward gently. The trees around him shimmered and fell away like mist, replaced by towering bronze walls. The smell of ash and iron hit him like a forge blast.
A knock echoed through the air—clear, rhythmic, heavy.
Cyd swallowed.
He had a feeling he knew exactly whose door he'd just arrived at.