Cyd laid there in a half-dried pool of dragon blood, staring at the sky like it had personally offended him.
"Seriously…" he muttered to no one in particular. "It's not like I asked to be roasted."
To be fair, being half-naked in the middle of a battlefield soaked in still-warm monster gore was not his ideal end to a quest. And yeah, fine, technically he was shirtless. But it wasn't like he was parading through town flexing. He'd just survived being inside a dragon. Cut him some slack.
What did he get for his troubles? Medea—sweet, dramatic Medea—storming up, slapping him in the face, yelling "pervert!" and storming off like he'd just mooned Olympus.
It's not like he had control over the whole shirt-incinerated-by-dragonfire thing.
"Some people go topless on purpose," Cyd muttered. "You don't see them getting yelled at…"
He sank a little deeper into the rapidly cooling pool of blood, only his head sticking out now. From the edge of the battlefield, two goddesses watched with awkward tension.
Artemis was covering her eyes, though the enormous gap between her fingers betrayed her curiosity. Her face was as red as the dragon's ichor. Athena, meanwhile, had turned fully away, pretending not to care—but the tips of her ears were flushed pink. Ares, the god of war, was the only one who looked entirely unfazed—arms crossed, eyes openly studying Cyd like he was a particularly interesting sculpture.
"Gross," Cyd grumbled and ducked his head back under the dragon's chest cavity, leaving only the top of his hair poking out.
"Tch," Ares clicked her tongue. "Was just getting interesting."
Suddenly, a golden glow appeared beside him. Medusa—stoic as ever—was holding out the Golden Fleece like it was a loaf of bread. She didn't blink.
"Here," she said flatly, "the fleece."
Cyd just groaned and rubbed his cheek against it like a cat.
"Thanks," he murmured. "I mean, I was hoping for a shirt, but this'll do."
"It smells like sunlight," he added absently. "Warm."
Medusa blushed a little, which—considering her usual stone-faced demeanor—meant a lot.
"Little princess is probably grabbing something for you now," she muttered, then sat beside him, kicking her legs like a bored child. "Should be quick. Dragon's cooled off enough to use as a couch."
Cyd raised his left hand, the white bracer on his wrist now pulsing faintly with red light. One of the thirteen crystal nodes embedded in it was glowing—a symbol of Ares' blessing burning hot beneath his skin.
"Only nine more blessings left," he whispered, half to himself.
Medusa leaned over and ruffled his hair. "You've grown," she said softly, voice drifting between wistful and proud.
"I used to be able to pat your whole head with one hand. Now it's like trying to ruffle a lion."
Cyd grinned. "And you haven't changed at all."
She didn't deny it. "This body's close to my sisters'. I like it. No more being the giant monster."
"You're still plenty scary," he said. "But, y'know… charmingly so."
Medusa tugged her hood lower, cheeks faintly pink. "You're just saying that."
"Nope. You've always been captivating. You don't even need a Gorgon curse for that."
"Even if you say that," she murmured, "it won't make me happy."
"Sure it won't."
Before Medusa could swat him, a blur of black and purple stormed across the field.
"HEY!" Medea skidded to a stop, panting, holding a bundle of fabric like it was a crown jewel. "I got it!"
She unfurled the cloth dramatically—an ordinary but clean tunic and cloak. "I painstakingly prepared this. So you could stop flashing goddesses."
Cyd blinked. "It's… nice."
"That's it? Just 'nice'?" Medea looked mildly betrayed. "I risked blisters for this."
"Appreciated," Cyd said, accepting the outfit and giving it a casual sniff. "Smells like you."
Medea's face exploded into red. "W-Why are you sniffing it?!"
"I was just wondering," he said with a sly grin, "if my favorite little sorceress might've… slipped in a potion or two. Just a drop. Love spell? Truth serum? Itching powder?"
Medea kicked the ground with her toe, suddenly very focused on the dirt. "…I was testing your alertness."
Cyd raised an eyebrow. "So there is something in it?"
"Give it back if you're so suspicious!" she snapped, holding out a hand.
"No can do," he smirked. "I'm not walking back into town shirtless. Eyes forward, please."
Medea turned away—way too quickly for someone who hadn't been planning to sneak a peek.
"You too, Medusa," Cyd said.
"You've been naked in front of me before," she replied evenly. "You were six."
"I'm not six now," he muttered.
"That's what I'm checking."
"OUT," Cyd barked.
Medusa grumbled but joined Medea, who was now blushing so hard her ears were red.
As Cyd stood and tugged on the tunic, Artemis peeked—only to get her eyes covered by Athena, who dragged her away like a scolding mom with a toddler in the candy aisle.
"You could show some restraint," Athena grumbled.
"Oh please," Ares rolled her eyes. "You're just mad he grew up hot."
Athena flinched. "I just want to ensure he isn't wounded."
"Same," Ares said with a crooked grin.
"I doubt that," Artemis muttered beneath the hand covering her face.
Back near the dragon's body, Cyd flexed experimentally in the shirt. "Feels cool."
"That's it?" Medea turned around.
"Yup."
"But—there was supposed to be a reaction! I had a whole reveal planned!" She groaned and pulled out two tiny potion bottles, one full, one half-empty. "Even had the antidote ready."
"Doesn't work on me," Cyd said. "Apollo's blessing. Under the sun, all curses and toxins are purified."
Medea puffed up like a balloon. "I didn't use curses! Or poison! It was a harmless little spell!"
"Want to drink it yourself, then?" Cyd offered, nodding at the remaining potion.
She uncorked it—then dumped it on the ground.
"I'm not giving my dad the fleece," she said.
"I figured," Cyd said, holding it up. In the sunlight, the Golden Fleece shimmered like woven sunlight, glowing with a magic that couldn't be faked.
"No one will question it," he added. "Not if I'm the one holding it."
"But… he'll be angry."
"Probably," Cyd said. "But that's his problem."
Medea's expression twisted. "Do you feel guilty?"
He looked at her for a long moment.
"No," he said softly. "But if you don't leave soon, he's going to start asking questions."
The words weren't just a warning. They were protection. A quiet, heavy truth wrapped in care. And she understood.
"Then…" she whispered. "Let me walk with you. Just until the hill."
Cyd smiled.
"Until the hill."