"Hey, Cyd—wake up! You can't seriously be sleeping right now!"
A pair of pale, slender fingers poked insistently at the face of the silver-haired boy slouched in the corner of the room. But each time Medea tried to get close, her hand was intercepted by another—smaller, but lightning-fast. Medusa, curled like a cat in Cyd's arms, swatted her away without even lifting her hood.
"Are you two… cuddling?" Medea scowled, voice rising in exasperation. "Unbelievable. We're about to start a trial by fire, and you're both playing nap-time in the corner!"
"Relax," Cyd muttered, his voice thick with sleep as he stretched with all the grace of a lazy lion. "I rise with the sun. First light always brings me to perfect fighting condition."
"You do realize," Medea said dryly, pointing at the shuttered window, "that my room faces away from the sunrise? You've been basking in the shadow of my excellent taste in architecture all morning."
"…"
"You couldn't pick a room with better lighting?"
Arena of Ares – The Capital of Colchis
The stone arena roared with anticipation. Every noble, soldier, and curious onlooker had packed the stands of Colchis' most sacred battleground: the Arena of Ares. At its center stood a lone figure—Jason, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed as though praying or maybe just trying not to panic.
High above him, on the central dais beneath a canopy of golden drapes, King Aeëtes lounged like a lion with too much power and too little patience. He rested his chin on his hand, eyes sharp as daggers as they tracked Jason's still form.
"She's late," the king murmured. "That's unlike her."
"Princess Medea is en route," said the court magician quietly at his side. "However, there is… a complication."
"Complication?" Aeëtes arched an eyebrow.
"There's a spell woven into the arena floor."
Aeëtes straightened. "A spell?"
"A very sophisticated one," the magician added. "Rage magic. Highly refined. The kind that could only come from your daughter."
"You waited until now to tell me this?!"
"I didn't want to interrupt your breakfast," the magician deadpanned. "Besides, there's more. She embedded an enhancement glyph beneath the rage charm. If I'm reading it right… it'll double the size and aggression of the Dragon's Tooth Warriors."
The king paused. Then blinked. "My daughter… did all this overnight?"
The magician shrugged helplessly. "She really didn't want Jason to survive this."
A sudden burst of clattering footsteps echoed through the upper corridor as Medea finally burst into view, breathless.
"Father! I'm so sorry I'm late! I—uh—stayed up a little late studying," she gasped, cheeks flushed.
Translation: Stayed up hexing the battlefield and sabotaging the trial. All for you, Cyd.
"No worries, dear," Aeëtes said smoothly, gesturing for her to sit beside him—an honor almost never granted. "Sit, rest."
"I—I can stand—" Medea tried, a little too fast.
"Nonsense," he insisted, gently but firmly pushing her into the seat.
Her older brother clapped her shoulder as he leaned over. "Just sit tight, sis."
Medea blinked, a strange warmth creeping up her neck. For a moment, she felt… almost guilty. Then she remembered she'd saved two raging fire-bulls from the brink of death and made sure Jason wouldn't walk away from this with all his limbs. Yeah. That guilt faded real fast.
Back in the arena, Jason opened one eye.
He scanned the crowd for a familiar face—anyone from his team that looked remotely concerned. Nope. They were all treating this like intermission at a comedy play.
"Cowards," Jason muttered, veins bulging with frustration.
But then… he saw him.
Silver hair, arms crossed, leaning on the lowest railing with an expression as unreadable as ever. Cyd stood alone, not clapping, not smiling—just watching him.
Jason's breath caught.
Cyd raised a single finger to his lips.
Then, without speaking, mouthed three words:
Trust. In. Me.
Jason nodded, heart hammering. "I do," he whispered.
He turned toward the royal dais. "Your Majesty," Jason called, louder now, voice echoing across the coliseum. "I'm ready to begin the trial."
Aeëtes smirked. "Confident, are we? Well then. Let the trial—BEGIN!"
A deep groan echoed through the arena as the massive stone gates creaked shut behind Jason. A second gate—hidden directly beneath the royal platform—rumbled open, revealing a tunnel of pure blackness.
The rules were simple: yoke the fire-bulls, plow the field, plant the dragon's teeth—and then survive whatever the teeth sprouted.
Easy, right?
Jason cracked his knuckles.
Then the screaming started.
A stablehand—eyes wild with terror—came sprinting out of the tunnel, clothes half-burned, arms flailing.
"WHAT THE HADES—" Jason began—
And then the fire hit.
A gout of flame, orange and searing-hot, erupted from the tunnel mouth and swallowed the poor stablehand in a single breath. Jason dove, narrowly missing the edge of the inferno. The smell of scorched cloth and cooked sand filled his nose.
Then came the thunder.
Clop—clop—clop.
Two colossal bulls, cloaked in living fire, stepped into the arena. Their hooves left molten craters with each step. Their horns gleamed like molten gold.
"Perfect," Aeëtes said above. "They're in peak condition."
Jason's mouth went dry.
He almost turned to run. Almost.
Then he heard a whisper in his mind. Or maybe it was his memory.
"Trust me."
He forced his legs to stay rooted.
The fire-bulls roared—low, guttural, ancient—and charged.
Jason didn't even have time to dodge. He raised his arms in sheer panic, bracing for the burn—
But it never came.
Right before contact, both bulls froze, their bodies jerking to a halt. Flames sputtered, then died with a soft puff. With a pitiful groan, they dropped to their knees—frothing at the mouth and shaking like puppies who got yelled at for chewing the couch.
"What…?" Jason blinked, staring at his unharmed hands.
The crowd fell into stunned silence.
Even Aeëtes sat up straighter, eyes narrowing.
Cyd, still leaning on the railing, gave a thumbs up.
Jason nearly cried. You magnificent, crazy genius.
He grabbed the yokes, locked them on the bulls, and began to plow—his heart pounding with the knowledge that this was only the first part of the trial.
Beneath the arena, the earth was trembling.
And the dragon's teeth were waiting.