Lucas stepped into the light, still sore from the memory of defeat. Circe stood opposite him, hands loose at her sides, her expression unreadable. She had not armed herself. Her only weapon was her presence, and that was enough.
"This isn't a spar to judge your power," she said, her tone measured, silken, with the effortless elegance of someone used to bending truth like light through glass. "I will show you the difference divine essence makes."
Lucas nodded once, his jaw set.
He moved first. His mind weaving illusions, blade flickers, smoke veils, ghostly doubles darting across the marble. A spree of movement to hide a focused throwing knife aimed at her ribs, wrapped in telekinetic force.
Circe didn't counter. She mirrored him.
"You're clever," she said, "But a demigod's cleverness is sometimes nothing to a god's power."
The same illusions, the same attack, only hers moved faster, smoother, denser. Her telekinesis crushed his midair, turning his into a harmless wind that scattered the knife, while her summoned knife struck true.
Lucas dodged to his left, but the blade still nicked his side, drawing a thin line of blood.
Lucas summoned some wind, forming an invisible spear and launched it towards Circe.
Circe moved as though she had been waiting for it. A small bullet of air neutralized the strike with surgical precision.
"You are too used to using illusions as distractions to cover your actions, but what will you do if the opponent doesn't play your game? What if they locate your true self?"
Lucas circled. His body was tense, but his mind began to quiet. His teleportation spell flickered in his thoughts, tempting. A quick reposition. A clean flank.
"Don't," Circe said, reading him without effort. "You lean on teleportation as a crutch. It is useful for most, but against gods it is useless. Learn to use other methods t-"
Circe started coughing, raising a hand to her mouth. Lucas took this opportunity to launch a barrage of knives. Even when distracted Circe showed her prowess as an ancient witch, she conjured a shield, rendering an attack pointless, but Lucas wasn't aiming to strike.
The minute the knives hit the shield, they exploded; releasing a burst of confetti with loud laughter echoing, a small audio-illusion, a mocking taunt meant to disrupt her state of mind. Engulfed in the after-effects of the attack, she lost sight of Lucas, she wanted to use this opportunity to try and cure herself of whatever was ailing her.
From behind, Lucas attacked again, a second wave of knives sent with precise timing, seeming to disrupt her attempt at curing her discomfort. She dismissed her attempt at healing and with no time to dodge, swept her arm wide to summon a gust of wind.
The gust surged outward, colliding with the knives, Circe intended for the wind to send the knives back at Lucas, giving her time and space to act. But when the wind met with the knives, they vanished.
Illusions.
"Ok that's enough." Circe declared. Irritated at the continued discomfort.
A wave of pressure swept outward, clearing the courtyard. Silence settled. She raised one hand, a soft glow blooming and curling around her, soothing the minor poison that had entered her.
With a second gesture, chairs appeared around a low table. Attendants stepped from behind the arches as if summoned from the stones themselves, placing wine, fruit, warm bread, and herbs onto silver trays. Then they were gone.
Circe sat first. Lucas joined her across the table, his heart slowing, his limbs still humming from the duel.
She drank once, savouring the taste, before speaking.
"As you experienced, divine essence changes everything. It allows even the weakest gods to be superior to demigods, making our attacks more potent. Every attack you sent, I could copy and return with more power but with the same cost."
Lucas nodded, having seen how her spells had indeed crushed his even when less magic had been used.
Lucas stared at his reflection in the wine. "Then I need to think differently. If I can't overpower... I have to outshape."
Circe's lips curved faintly. "Now you understand. Your illusions are clever. Your instincts are sharp. It's not about being stronger. It's about being smarter."
Lucas tilted his head slightly. "Earlier, you said teleportation was useless against gods. Why?"
"Speed," Circe replied. "Most gods cannot teleport, but they don't need to. Their roles demand presence, and so their they exist at multiple-places at once. Some of us move almost faster than thought. You'll appear where they've already reached. So teleportation against gods is either opening yourself open to an attack or just a waste of energy"
She leaned back slightly.
"I must admit, that little trick of diffusing the air with poison was interesting."
Lucas gave a slow smile, already refining the next version of the attack in his mind.
"Take today as your foundation," she said, rising. "The next time we meet, I want to see you stronger."
He stood as well.
"I will."
Circe didn't smile. But her eyes, calm and deep, held a glimmer of approval.
...
After one final night spent on Circe's Resort, Lucas made his way toward the docks. The paths were quiet, lingering with the perfume of wild herbs. He had spoken his goodbye to Circe the evening prior, now, only the sea awaited.
His boat swayed gently in the tide's pull, tethered to the dock where he last left it. He stepped aboard, casting off into the horizon. The water stretched before him: vast. Somewhere beyond the blue horizon lay Polyphemus' island, and the next page of his journey.