"Lady Athena, are you going to keep hiding all day?"
Cyd sighed as he stared down at the now-cold corpse of the dragon he'd fought earlier. He'd just watched Medea storm off with an angry huff after delivering him some much-needed clothes and a side helping of attitude. The forest had gone eerily quiet again, like the calm after a thunderstorm. And now…
A head slowly popped out from behind the enormous dragon's skull, silvery eyes glinting with amusement.
"Oh?" Athena tilted her head, stepping out with measured grace. "Have you grown so perceptive that you can sense my presence?"
"Not really," Cyd said, brushing a fleck of ash off his shoulder. "Just figured you'd show up about now. The dramatic timing is kind of your thing."
He pulled the Golden Fleece from his bag and held it out.
"I got what you wanted. Would you mind passing it on to Lady Artemis?"
Athena stepped fully into view, her sandals silent even on the cracked stone beneath her. The Fleece shimmered in the light, almost humming with divine energy.
"That won't be necessary," she said cheerfully. "Artemis has decided she doesn't need it anymore."
"…Wait, seriously?" Cyd blinked, then stuffed the Fleece back into his pocket like a kid hiding candy. "And here I thought I was doing you all a favor."
"The gods are fickle," Athena said with a smile too knowing to be comforting. "But we're nothing if not fair. You completed your trial, mortal. And so the Golden Fleece now belongs to you."
"So you have been watching me."
Cyd scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly avoiding her gaze.
"Every moment," Athena replied, tapping her chin. "And I must say, you were… impressive."
"Flattered," he muttered. "What happens now?"
Athena produced another Golden Fleece—identical in every way—and offered it to him.
"This one," she said, "is for Jason."
"…Wait. Isn't this just a fake?"
"It's real," she replied, eyes gleaming. "Just… not the one meant for Jason."
Cyd squinted. "That doesn't make any sense."
"You'll understand in time," she said cryptically. Then she turned serious, her expression softening. "Your trials are far from over, Cyd. The dragon was only the beginning."
Of course it was. Because things were never allowed to just end.
Aboard the Argo
Cyd landed lightly on the deck of the Argo, dragging Jason out of the celebration circle where the rest of the crew was toasting like there wasn't an angry king on the verge of realizing his treasure had vanished.
"Your trial's over," Cyd said, a little breathless as he shoved the real Fleece into Jason's arms. "You should leave. Fast."
Jason stared down at the glowing artifact like it might bite him. "How… how did you even get this?"
"It's a long story involving fire, teeth, screaming, and emotional trauma. You're welcome."
Jason blinked again. "You're insane."
"You're welcome again."
Cyd clapped him on the back. "You've got what you came for. Get out before Aeëtes realizes he's been played."
"You're not coming?" Jason's face fell a little.
Cyd shook his head. "I was never meant to be your crewmate forever. And someone has to stay behind to keep the fires low."
"You're a hero, Cyd," Jason said quietly.
"No, just a guy who's very tired and smells like dragon blood."
With a wave, Cyd flipped off the deck and landed on the sand. He watched the Argo sail off with the tide, carrying Jason and the Golden Fleece into legend.
"Finally," Cyd murmured, letting out a breath, "that mess is over."
Later in the woods.
"I wonder if he'll thank you."
The voice came from behind him—Medea, again, cloaked and defiant as always, her bag now clearly packed for a journey.
"I told you not to follow me," Cyd said, turning around. "You'll make your father suspicious."
"Then I'll just run away with you."
It came out light, almost playful, but the weight behind it hung in the air.
Cyd glanced at her bag, then at her face.
"You're serious."
Medea shrugged. "Why not? It's not like there's much left for me here."
"That's not true." A second cloaked figure stepped from the trees—Medusa, her lilac hair peeking out beneath the hood. "You have family. A home. A future that doesn't end in blood."
"Oh, and you don't?" Medea snapped. "Why do you get to stay with him?"
"Because my purpose is to protect him," Medusa said, cool and certain. "And because we agreed not to dress exactly alike. Honestly, this is just embarrassing."
"I'm incognito!"
"You're cliché."
"Ladies," Cyd interrupted, lifting a hand. "I appreciate the loyalty, really. But this isn't your fight."
He turned to Medea and reached under her hood, gently placing a hand on her head.
"You have a family. Don't throw that away over a choice made in the heat of the moment. That kind of regret… it never fades."
Medea's fingers curled around her robe, knuckles white. "You think this is just a whim?"
"I think you're scared, and you want a way out. But this isn't your escape. It's my path."
She didn't respond.
"…Also," Cyd added, "Hestia would be very upset if you broke up your family over me. The hearth goddess is really into that whole 'stable home' thing."
"Hestia doesn't care," Medea said, scowling. "My home is already broken. The Fleece is gone—my father will lose his mind."
"Then let's fix that."
Cyd reached into his pocket and pulled out the other Golden Fleece.
"This one's for you. Give it back to him."
Medea looked horrified. "But—what? No! You're the one who earned it!"
"I still have what I need," he said, pressing the Fleece into her arms. "Jason has one. Your father gets this one. Everyone's happy. Just… pretend I never existed."
Her eyes narrowed. "And what do you get?"
Cyd smiled, tapping the blood-red crystal on his white jade bracer.
"A fight I probably won't win. A few extra scars. Maybe a good story to tell if I make it out alive."
"That's not enough."
"It is for me."
She looked down at the Fleece, torn between frustration and something like heartbreak.
"You're a fool," she muttered, clutching the fabric.
"Sometimes," Cyd agreed, then pulled down her hood and gently cupped her face, brushing his thumbs across her cheeks. "But sometimes fools get the most unexpected blessings."
The light from his bracer shifted—the crimson glow in the gem slowly turning white.
"You don't need to wear this mask," he added softly. "Princesses should look like princesses."
Medea looked away, cheeks flushing. "What if I don't want to be a princess?"
"What was that?"
"Nothing!"