Cyd stared out at the endless sea, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line.
The Argo—Greece's pride and joy, a ship boasting fifty heroes at the oars—had long since disappeared over the horizon. Even if Poseidon himself handed him a speedboat and a GPS, he wouldn't catch it now. And considering he didn't even have a paddle, much less a boat, all he could do was stand there and sulk.
And then—whoosh.
A gust of wind slammed into him from above. He looked up, eyes squinting into the sunlight… and nearly forgot how to breathe.
A winged horse—white as seafoam and majestic as anything from a dream—landed gracefully in front of him.
"…A horse?" Cyd blinked, reaching out cautiously.
The creature snorted and lowered its head, pressing its muzzle gently into his hand.
"No way… it's really you!" Cyd's face lit up, his fingers tightening around the horse's neck. "What are you doing here?!"
Obviously, the horse seemed to say with a shove of its head against Cyd's chest, Poseidon sent me, you idiot. Get on already.
Cyd didn't need to be told twice. With a grin, he vaulted onto the horse's back in one smooth motion. Then he turned, holding a hand out to the still-stunned Medusa.
"That's Poseidon's warhorse," she whispered, wide-eyed. "Why… why would it come for you?"
"I've got a hunch," Cyd said, helping her up behind him. "Let's just say Athena might've sweet-talked her way into Poseidon's good graces—for once."
He could imagine the conversation now:
"I want Cyd to get the Golden Fleece before Jason does. I'll give Jason a fake one later."
Poseidon, still fuming over his son being punched, probably agreed before she even finished her sentence. And this flying horse? Yeah, it was Poseidon's version of a fast pass.
Medusa settled against him, still too dazed to speak.
"Hang on," Cyd said, and tugged the reins.
The wings snapped open like sails catching the wind, and with a rush of air and a beat of those massive feathers, they were airborne. Soaring above the waves, above the world.
Cyd didn't even flinch.
He wasn't that scared kid who used to squeeze his eyes shut when flying anymore.
He was stronger now.
And there was work to do.
"So, how exactly am I supposed to get the Golden Fleece?" Cyd muttered, mostly to himself, as the wind whipped past.
Jason had done it with a lot of help—namely, Medea's magic. She'd neutralized every trial thrown his way, and when it came time to put the dragon guarding the fleece to sleep? Music.
Cyd snorted. "Right. Me, singing to a dragon. Apollo said I sound like a dying goat."
Stealing it wouldn't work either. That fleece was the crown jewel of a kingdom, guarded like a paranoid squirrel hoards acorns. Going in loud and smashing everything? It wasn't his usual style—but maybe the most honest option. Heck, if he made it dramatic enough, maybe even Ares would give him a nod and a bloodstained blessing.
But… there was a problem.
If he fought the dragon in public, everyone would know he'd taken the real fleece. Athena wouldn't be able to swap it with a fake for Jason. And then Jason would come after him. Or worse, the entire Argo crew. And without Hercules on board? Cyd wasn't scared, just… annoyed. Fighting fifty drama-obsessed demigods wasn't how he wanted to spend his week.
"I need everyone to believe Jason got the fleece," Cyd murmured, "even if he didn't. Athena, you really like making things complicated, don't you?"
"You've got that look," Medusa said quietly, turning her head to glance at him.
"Hm?"
"The one where you're pretending not to have a plan but already decided to do something stupid."
Cyd chuckled and ruffled her hair. "I've got it under control."
"I'm staying with you," she said softly. "I don't care how dangerous it gets. I won't let anything happen to you."
He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded, exhaling slowly. "Then I guess it's time to visit a certain little princess—before she becomes a full-blown witch."
Meanwhile, on the deck of the Argo…
"Jason, did something just fly past us?" one of the crew asked, tapping his shoulder.
Jason squinted at the sky. "Don't think so. Just clouds."
"Pretty sure it was a horse."
Jason laughed and clapped him on the back. "Relax. You're seeing things. We're almost there. Focus."
"You're really calm for a guy about to face a kingdom and a dragon."
"Come on. It's just a fleece," Jason said, spreading his arms with a grin.
Lies. All lies.
Jason wanted to hurl himself into the sea and let the waves drag him back home.
He'd had confidence—when Hercules was still with them. But now? Now he was leading a boat full of heroes who were more interested in being famous than being helpful. They didn't care if he got eaten by a dragon. They wanted stories. Songs. A tragic end they could say they witnessed.
He couldn't turn back. Not with all those swords metaphorically pointed at his spine. He'd be gutted for even suggesting retreat.
So yeah—time to beg a god for help.
High above, watching from the tallest mast, Athena frowned.
Jason's legs were trembling, and he was hiding it behind forced swagger. Disappointing.
"The boy's heart is hollow," she muttered. "He prays for rescue, not for wisdom. Perhaps I misjudged him."
To gods, the world was a stage. Mortals were actors, and the mundane was boring. What they wanted were heroes—bold, unpredictable, tragic. Jason had seemed promising once. So she backed him.
But as she watched him flinch from his own reflection, her interest cooled.
She preferred those who burned quietly. Like Heracles. Or the new one.
Her eyes shifted, catching a glint of white slicing across the sky.
"Cyd."
Not as massive as Heracles. But stronger in restraint. Less noise, more control.
He didn't whine. He didn't posture. He moved.
And he chose to fight.
Athena smiled slightly.
"I'm watching, Cyd," she whispered. "Let's see what kind of hero you become."