Day Four in the Land of Women.
The guys were still partying like Dionysus threw a rave and forgot to end it.
From tallest to shortest, Heracles, Atalanta, and Cyd sat in a lazy triangle on the slope overlooking the glimmering city. Only Heracles seemed remotely concerned that Jason and the others were still AWOL.
"I say we go in again," Atalanta said, glancing sideways at Cyd.
He didn't look at her. "We'll have one more match. Just one. I'm not a saint—and if we keep betting like this, we both know what kind of mess that leads to."
Atalanta's fists clenched. "I'll own up if I lose."
"That's why it'll be one final round," Cyd said, his voice suddenly quieter. "Let the gods be witness."
She nodded once, slow and solemn. "Got it."
Heracles blinked between them, completely lost. Romance? Duel? Emotional cryptic something? He had no idea.
And just like that, the fourth day passed.
Day Five. Change arrived like a drunk oracle—loud and confusing.
A Greek hero stumbled out of the city gates. His name was something like Mel-something, and for a second, Heracles thought maybe—finally—someone had come to their senses.
Nope.
He was just here to complain that his back hurt.
Heracles was ready to slap him into the next century, but Cyd held him back.
It turned out to be the right call. They got something useful out of him—news that the women of the island had started making requests.
Simple stuff. Like, you know… working. Farming. Providing.
Cyd thought it made perfect sense. After all, these "heroes" had done nothing but eat, sleep, and roll in satin for five straight days.
But apparently that was too much to ask.
"What? I'm a hero! You want me to farm?" one of them scoffed, strutting back toward the city like he'd just been insulted by Zeus himself.
Cyd didn't even try to hide his disgust. "Trash. Absolute trash. They eat, sleep, play, take—then when it's time to give anything back, it's 'I'm a hero'? These guys are the real plague."
Even Heracles couldn't find a defense. Atalanta? She was already halfway to "told you so" before anyone opened their mouth.
"Maybe the gods bet on the wrong men," Atalanta muttered.
Later that night, as Cyd sat alone on the ship's edge under moonlight, the goddess Athena appeared beside him.
"You sound like you've already given up," she said gently.
"I've just accepted the script," Cyd replied with a sigh. "This whole Golden Fleece thing—it started as a messy, selfish quest. No surprise it's ending the same way."
Athena twirled her ankle, watching him curiously. "Still… this is one of the gods' bets, you know. Whether Jason can finish the journey."
"And you're rooting for…?"
Athena's smile was sly. "You tell me. Didn't I help build this ship?"
Cyd gave a tired laugh. "He'll come back."
"Oh? Why?"
"Because they're cowards, all of them. If they had even a speck of real responsibility in them, they'd stay. But they don't. That's why they left the ship in the first place—and why they'll come running back soon."
Athena tilted her head, surprised—and maybe a little impressed. "Maybe I chose the wrong man."
"No," Cyd said, eyes on the dark waves. "You chose the wrong group."
Day Six.
They came back.
Not all, but a chunk of them. Jason was MIA, but the rest trickled in with the shameless grace of cats returning to an empty food bowl.
"You're back!" Heracles said, way too emotional for what these idiots deserved.
One of the heroes—same guy who complained about his back—grinned. "Yep! Our journey isn't over!"
Cyd raised an eyebrow. Yesterday he couldn't lift a hoe; today he's a noble adventurer again.
Atalanta gave them a single withering glare before heading for the forest. She'd rather live with wild boars than these clowns.
Cyd didn't waste breath. He followed her without a word.
Heracles watched them go and sighed. Sure, he wanted to knock the others out like carnival moles, but the truth was: this ship didn't move unless the crew did.
Day Seven.
Cyd leaned against a tree, eyes scanning the gathered crew like he was checking attendance.
"All here… except Jason," he muttered.
Atalanta dropped from a tree branch beside him. "So what now? We can't sail without him."
Cyd tapped his fingers together. "He'll be back. Either tonight or by noon tomorrow. He's probably packing."
"You really know him."
"I know what kind of guy he is," Cyd replied, catching a fruit she tossed and taking a bite. "Let's head back. This ridiculous vacation's finally over."
Sure enough, that night—
"GO-GO-GO-GO-GO!"
Jason came sprinting out of the city like Cerberus was snapping at his bare heels—pants half-on, eyes wide with panic.
Without needing a word, the other heroes kicked the ship into motion like it was rehearsed.
On the mast, Cyd gave a shrug. "Told you."
Atalanta sat beside him, sneering at Jason, who was now collapsed on deck gasping for air. "He looked like a piglet escaping the butcher. Pathetic."
Cyd looked back at the burning torches now lighting the night behind them. "From lovers to lunatics overnight. Those women… they were never docile. We just chose to pretend they were."
"And the gods?" Atalanta asked, eyes on the moon.
"They wanted a show," Cyd said flatly. "And they got one."
Jason, still wheezing, launched into his monologue.
"They were insane! Making us work the fields! Demand jewelry! Then they wanted us to find silk from the East—silk, I tell you!"
Heracles' jaw clenched. He'd seen Jason sneak into the city during "hunting trips." That same guy had once shouted he wanted to live there forever.
And now he was whining?
The others gathered around, nodding like they'd all been war prisoners instead of five-star guests.
Atalanta gave Cyd a side glance. "Men are really like this?"
Cyd snorted. "Not all. You just keep running into the wrong ones. Though… Heracles is an exception."
You are too, she thought—but didn't say it out loud.
"He doesn't fit in here," Cyd said. "Neither do you. One day, you'll have to leave this ship."
"And when I do," Atalanta murmured, "I'll still find you."
"Good," Cyd said, lowering his gaze.
"Because if anyone's ready to leave this ship," he whispered, "it's me."