"It's starting."
"Mhm. Finally."
A ripple of tension passed through the divine courtyard as Artemis fidgeted at the edge of a wide marble balcony. Below, the Pool of Vision shimmered, its waters showing a boy marching toward death.
"Hey… Ares, maybe—maybe this is a bad idea," Artemis said, clutching Ares's armored wrist like she could physically stop what was already in motion. "We don't have to do this."
Ares raised an eyebrow, running a gauntleted hand across his face like this wasn't the first time they'd had this argument. "You're the one who said he could take the Golden Fleece from me. You handed him the challenge. What, cold feet now?"
"It was Athena's idea!" she said quickly, jabbing a finger at the goddess of wisdom, who stood nearby in her usual calm and annoying glory.
"I merely offered… guidance," Athena replied, her voice like honey over steel. "You're the one who let your emotions cloud your judgment."
Artemis scowled but didn't argue. Deep down, she knew Athena was right. Again. Stupid logic goddess.
"I'll go to him," Artemis said, stepping toward the edge.
But Ares caught her arm. "No."
Her eyes widened. "What? Why not? If I tell him the curse is fake, that I don't care about the Fleece anymore, he'll stop. He'll turn around. He'll—"
Ares shook his head. "You'll only insult him. You think he's doing this for you? He's doing it because this is his war."
Athena stepped beside her, her eyes cool. "Every mortal has a trial they cannot run from. Even if you save him from this one, the next will find him. They always do."
She dipped a hand into the pool, and the image shifted—closer now, focused on the band of crystalline gems on Cyd's wrist. Only three of the thirteen trials were lit.
"There are ten more," she said quietly. "You going to protect him from all of them?"
Artemis bit her lip, frustrated and helpless. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being played like a lyre.
Ares, however, leaned forward, watching the water like it was a gladiator pit. "Let's see what kind of legend he really is."
The sky above the sacred forest was bruised with dusk, casting long golden streaks across the treetops. Wind whispered through the leaves as Cyd stepped quietly toward the glade where the Fleece hung—dripping gold light like honey—from the branches of an ancient tree.
And beneath it, coiled like death itself, lay the dragon.
"You can still turn back," Medea said behind him, her voice unusually small.
Cyd glanced over his shoulder, giving her his usual crooked smile. "Trust me."
"That's the problem," she muttered.
He tugged open his collar, revealing the necklace she had crafted for him—fangs from the Nemean lion, threaded on braided cord, enchanted with her magic.
"I believe in the one who made this," he said. "You named it 'Victory,' remember?"
Medea clenched her fists. "That doesn't make it real."
"It makes it real enough for me." He ruffled her hair gently. "Today, you're my goddess of victory."
Medea turned her head, hiding her blush—and her worry. "Ugh. You're so annoyingly sincere."
"Medusa," Cyd said, nodding toward the forest line. "Watch her. Don't let her follow me."
Medusa nodded and pulled out a length of enchanted chain.
"Wait, what—" Medea started, but it was already around her.
"Sorry," Medusa said without sounding sorry. "He asked."
Medea struggled, then froze. Her magic couldn't override the chains. Cyd had planned for that too.
"You're so frustrating," she hissed at his back.
Cyd gave her a thumbs-up without looking back. "It's because I care."
And then he stepped toward the dragon.
It uncoiled like a living mountain. Gleaming scales the color of blood and obsidian shifted, catching the light as its golden eyes fixed on him.
"I only want the Fleece," Cyd said calmly. "If you're willing to—"
BOOM.
The dragon didn't bother with diplomacy. Its claw slammed down like a divine hammer, kicking up a shockwave of dust and cracking earth.
"CYD!" Medea screamed, yanking at her chains.
Medusa held her tight. "Wait."
Smoke and dust hung in the air.
Then a voice floated up.
"Okay, so we're doing this the hard way."
The smoke cleared. Cyd stood between the dragon's claws, brushing off his shoulder like someone had spilled soup on him.
The dragon snarled, eyes narrowing.
It struck again.
This time, the impact was harder. Trees cracked, and the ground split like a fault line. Cyd was caught under its weight, slammed into the dirt again and again.
"Cyd's not going to last," Artemis said, watching in horror.
Athena's face was tight. "He has no divine weapon. No backup. No chance."
"But that's what makes it interesting," Ares whispered, grinning as blood trickled from Cyd's mouth in the reflection. "This is what glory tastes like."
Cyd spat dirt and stood.
"It doesn't even hurt. That's the annoying part," he muttered.
The dragon blinked. It had reduced entire war beasts to mush with less. What was this kid?
Cyd rolled his neck. "Being unkillable is a great base for a victory. Problem is, time's ticking."
The dragon struck again—claws flashing.
But the pit it made was empty.
Ares raised an eyebrow. "Clever."
Cyd had climbed it.
He gripped one of the beast's thick, scaled limbs and was already halfway up its forearm, using the gaps in its armor like handholds.
"Oh hey," he said as he reached the dragon's head.
Then he punched it.
The force was astronomical. The dragon's head jerked down like a struck anvil. Then came the second blow. Then the third.
The beast howled, whipping its neck to throw him off.
A sickening crack—and the scale he was clinging to gave way.
Cyd went airborne.
And that was when the dragon opened its mouth.
A cone of pure fire—white-hot dragonbreath—shot skyward, engulfing him midair.
"No!" Medea screamed.
"He's done for—" Artemis whispered.
But Cyd's voice echoed out of the flames.
"I've been waiting… for you to open your mouth."
Out of the blaze came a flash of silver.
He dove straight into the dragon's gaping maw
————————-
Medea stood frozen, her eyes wide and empty as she stared at the dragon slithering back toward the tree. The Golden Fleece shimmered above it like a cruel trophy. Cyd was gone—swallowed whole, just like that.
She should've done something. Slipped him a binding potion while he slept. Chained his soul to hers so he'd never go charging off into death like a lunatic.
Instead, she let him go. And now…
"Medea," came a low, cold voice behind her. Chains clinked as they loosened. "Move."
Medusa's amethyst eyes glinted, her long violet hair writhing like it had a mind of its own. The air around her thickened, charged. The chains binding Medea fell away, slithering to the ground like shed skin.
"You cut it open now…" Medusa stepped forward, her body shifting—shoulders widening, her silhouette rising with unnatural grace. "You might still reach him in time."
The dragon paused mid-step. A cold chill swept across its massive scales. It turned slowly, pupils narrowing at the sight of the Gorgon growing stronger with every breath.
It had never felt fear before. But now?
It did.
ROAR.
Its wings spread wide. Heat gathered in its throat, burning and volatile.
Medusa didn't flinch.
"Don't you dare."
Her eyes flashed, and a wave of petrifying pressure rippled outward. Even the dirt cracked.
The dragon opened its jaws—ready to incinerate her in one breath—but froze mid-roar. A sharp, wet gurgle escaped its throat. Its fire sputtered, snuffed out before it could ignite.
Blood—thick and black-red—spilled over its fangs.
It stumbled, clawing at its neck. Something inside it… something was tearing it apart.
No, someone.
Inside the Dragon
Cyd stood ankle-deep in steaming blood, his hands slick with gore. Behind him throbbed the dragon's beating heart—massive and pulsing like a war drum.
"Not so invincible now, huh?" he muttered, his voice raw. He gripped a shard of broken scale—his only weapon—and drove it deep into the heart's flesh.
The dragon screamed.
"Yeah, I hear it too. Real loud down here."
Blood burst from the wound like a geyser, slamming into Cyd's chest and knocking the shard from his hand. He cursed, blinded, and flung his arms out, trying to stay upright.
The heart shuddered—then started healing.
"Oh, come on!" Cyd roared, throwing himself forward. "You think you're the only one who can regenerate?! I've got rage and bad decisions on my side!"
He bit down—yes, bit—into the sinewy muscle. His teeth scraped bone. His fingers clawed at arteries, ripping whatever he could grab. The heart convulsed violently, trying to crush him or shake him loose, but he'd already braced himself inside a cavity. A gory nook. Real cozy.
"You're not killing me from the outside, and you sure as Tartarus aren't doing it from the inside either!" he shouted. "So let's see who gives out first—you, or me!"
Above, at the Pool
Artemis knelt beside the divine scrying pool, her face buried in her hands.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
She only wanted to test him. She didn't mean for it to become… this.
"This is war," Ares said, voice thick with awe. His eyes gleamed like a child watching their favorite toy explode. "This is real war."
Athena narrowed her eyes at the scene. Cyd wasn't fighting like a warrior. He wasn't even thinking. He was tearing through the dragon like a beast—feral and unthinking.
"This wasn't the plan," she murmured.
"And yet he's winning," Ares said with a wild grin.
He removed his gauntlet, revealing a scarred, muscular arm. "It's been a long time since I've seen a mortal bleed for victory like that."
"You're giving him your blessing?" Artemis asked, lifting her head.
"I am the god of war," Ares replied. "That's all I am. What I offer isn't safety, or wisdom, or light."
His hand hovered above the water's surface, fingers crackling with crimson energy.
"But from this day forward…"
The water rippled.
Cyd's bracer—white, inlaid with thirteen dark crystals—flared with blinding light.
"…his wars will never end in defeat."
A single crystal lit up—blood red. Crimson war-marks spread across Cyd's arm and face, burning like brands, then seeping into his skin.
Inside the Beast
Cyd roared, his left arm now glowing with divine fury. With a guttural scream, he punched forward—his hand spearing straight through the dragon's heart.
The organ spasmed.
"Say it with me," Cyd growled through gritted teeth, dragging his arm downward and tearing the heart open. "I. Don't. Lose!"
Outside
The dragon collapsed, eyes wide with shock as death finally caught up.
Its wings twitched. Its chest caved.
It didn't breathe again.
Medea's eyes snapped to Medusa. "It's over?"
Medusa nodded slowly, her serpentine hair going still. "It's dead."
From the dragon's corpse came a crack. Then another.
And then—bursting out from its chest—a blood-covered hand.
Sunlight glinted off the white bracer now pulsing with an orange glow. The blood evaporated into mist the moment it touched the light.
Medea gasped. "Cyd!"
She didn't wait—just grabbed Medusa's arm and ran.
This time, Medusa didn't hold her back.
Cyd emerged, dragging himself out of the shredded ribcage. His white hair, stained red moments ago, returned to its usual ghostly purity as the sun touched it. Steam rose from his bare shoulders.
He looked up, saw her sprinting toward him, and instinctively lifted a hand—
"Stop!"
Medea froze mid-run, eyes wide.
Cyd pointed at his naked torso, breath still ragged. "I'm not… wearing anything."
A beat of silence.
Then Medea turned bright red, spun on her heel, and shouted over her shoulder, "Next time I'm definitely giving you that anti-stripping charm!"