The courtyard, illuminated by sunlight filtering through leaves, would be serene if not for the atmosphere. Circe stood at its edge, Harold safely nestled in her palm, her expression carefully neutral. Lucas stepped forward, his heart steady, resolve hardened. Opposite him, Medea stood like a storm gathering force, her magenta aura swirling subtly, hungry and predatory.
"It seems I will do Olympus a favor by putting you in your place, boy." Medea said coldly.
Without another word, she struck. Magenta energy crackled violently in her palm before erupting toward Lucas. At that exact instant, Lucas locked eyes with her, glimpsing her immediate intent and diving instinctively out of the way, narrowly avoiding the lethal attack.
Medea's eyes narrowed sharply. "Mind-reading? Clever."
Lucas wasted no time, crafting illusions; duplicates of himself scattering across the courtyard. Medea sneered, unimpressed.
"A childish trick," she mocked, her voice echoing harshly. With a whisper, she summoned powerful gusts of wind, dispersing the illusions instantly and knocking Lucas backward, rolling painfully across stone tiles.
He rose quickly, thrusting his hand forward. Telekinetic energy surged, hurtling fallen stones and debris toward Medea. She flicked her wrist dismissively, shattering the projectiles midair with a pulse of magenta energy.
"Pathetic," Medea scoffed. She advanced, her voice suddenly taking on an enchanting quality, soft and beguiling. "Why resist, Lucas? You're fighting a losing battle."
Lucas felt the subtle pull of her charmspeak but smiled defiantly, completely unaffected. Medea's expression twisted briefly with surprise, then darkened.
"Interesting. Resistant to charmspeak," she murmured dangerously. "But I have many ways to break a stubborn fool."
She raised her hand, and thick vines exploded violently from the ground, rapidly ensnaring Lucas's limbs. Panic surged briefly before he gathered himself, conjuring flames to sever the vines. Yet Medea countered effortlessly, extinguishing the flames and tightening her grip.
Lucas summoned a dense fog, cloaking himself and buying precious seconds. He reached out with telekinesis, pulling a fallen pillar toward Medea. But she moved swiftly, teleporting instantly in a cloud of smoke and reappearing behind him.
"Too slow," she hissed, her voice cold in his ear.
He spun around, trying to retaliate, but Medea's magic surged forth, draining his strength. Lucas staggered, desperately attempting to access the Mist, but found himself suddenly isolated from its power.
"Enough games," she hissed.
With a final incantation, Medea's aura exploded outward, enveloping Lucas completely, pinning him helplessly to the ground, breath stolen from his lungs. Her eyes glittered triumphantly as she approached, she raised her hand, purple energy gathering in her hand. She casually waved it towards Lucas, aiming to kill him.
"Enough," Circe intervened calmly, her voice commanding immediate attention. A shield appeared around Lucas, protecting him from the force, diverting it to around the courtyard. Pillars toppled, walls were crushed and the ground was torn from the shockwave, Medea hadn't held back.
Medea stepped back, glancing dismissively at Circe. "You've changed, Circe. There was a time you'd leap at the chance to punish a male. Now, look at you, protecting one against your own niece."
"Leave, Medea," Circe replied, her tone firm and unyielding.
"You would do well to reconsider your stance," Medea cautioned mockingly. "The offer to join us remains open."
Circe's expression remained impassive yet resolute. "You know my answer. I shall remain neutral, as always."
"Pity," Medea sighed mockingly, magenta smoke rising around her. "Should you reconsider, you know how to contact me."
As the smoke cleared, Medea vanished, leaving behind only an unsettling silence.
Circe moved quickly to Lucas's unconscious form, eyes filled with quiet strength and sympathy. "Rest, Lucas. There's much to learn before you face someone like Medea again."
Circe glanced around the devastated courtyard, sighing softly. It would take considerable time and effort to restore. Summoning attendants, she instructed them to carry Lucas to a private suite, allowing him to recover safely.
...
"It seems Medea has chosen her side."
Hecate's voice was quiet but firm, as she surveyed the damage Medea had left in her wake.
"It was never truly in question," Circe replied. "She was always one to hold grudges and too little conscience. Pair that with her cold ambition... there was only one direction she would turn."
"A shame," Hecate murmured. "I once believed she would rise above it all. I named her my priestess because I thought she might surpass even you one day."
Circe let out a soft, humorless breath. "If not for my divinity, I might have followed in Lucas' footsteps." She paused, her gaze narrowing. "Speaking of him, when he used illusions, those did not come from the Mist."
Hecate turned slightly, her tone warning. "Don't. Some truths are secrets for a reason, Circe. For his sake, and yours, it is best you let that particular mystery be."
Circe gave a slow nod. "Always the cryptic one." She exhaled through her nose, brushing dust from her robe. "Very well. I won't press further. But know this, despite today's loss, I won't be joining their cause. I value my peace."
A silence passed between them, thick but not unfriendly.
"When he wakes," Hecate continued, her voice softer now, "test him. I don't believe him to shatter from this defeat... but I would be lying if I said I wasn't concerned. Even the strongest minds falter when forced to reckon with such a devastating failure, especially when faced with potential death."