Pyranthos let out a sigh and explained. "Medusa was one of the three Gorgons, who were the daughters of Phorcys and Ceto. Unlike her two sisters, she was a mortal. She was also once a maiden... a Priestess of Athena, sworn to celibacy. A woman of grace and devotion. But one day, she was wronged, violated by Poseidon in the Temple of Athens itself. And yet... instead of giving her justice, she was cursed."
Selene frowned. "Athena cursed her? Why?"
He replied, giving a distant look to the barrier. "Some rumors say that Athena cursed her because it was Medusa's job to protect the temple's sanctity, but Poseidon's act has desecrated the sacred space. Turned her into a monster. Her hair twisted into snakes, her gaze turned men to stone. And some rumors say that Athena's curse is actually a form of protection. Athena was a virgin goddess, and after that incident, Medusa lost her right to be her priestess. So, as a parting gift, Athena turned her into this monster to give her the powers in order to take revenge on men. Whatever the reason was, in the end, she turned quite vengeful, causing chaos everywhere. In time, Zeus' son, Perseus, was sent to end her."
Zephyr looked uneasy. "He killed her?"
"Not quite," Pyranthos said. "He cut off her head, yes, but when she turned into a monster, she also became an immortal. She didn't die. He merely used her head in certain missions of his, but for some reason, he sought Apollo's help. Perseus managed to reattach her head to her body and sealed her in a tomb, far from the world's eyes. Why both reattaching her to her body, only to seal her later? No one actually knows. Perhaps, she once again caused chaos when she was revived. Or perhaps she wasn't actually immortal, and this was all just a giant scheme. Only those gods know the truth, and we won't question the motives of gods."
Selene stared at the dark hill and quietly asked, "Can she be saved?"
Pyranthos smiled, caressing her hair. "Only the Gods decide one's destiny, daughter. We merely follow it."
The chariot moved steadily under the shade of olive trees, the dark hill long behind them—but its memory lingered like a cold breath down the spine.
Selene's gaze was fixed on the road, though her thoughts wandered far back to the story for a long time. "She didn't deserve it," she said softly. "She was innocent."
Zephyr exhaled deeply. "Doesn't matter," he muttered. "As Father said, the gods are gods. We're not meant to question them."
Selene looked sideways at him. "That doesn't make it right."
As Zephyr stayed silent for a moment, King Pyranthos gave a small shrug. "That's the world, children. You've spent eight years mastering swords, bows, tactics, and philosophy. But the real world doesn't always follow the scrolls. Wars don't wait for fairness. Justice bends according to the person and the circumstance. And power doesn't always lie in clean hands."
Zephyr fell silent, chewing on the thought.
Selene folded her arms. "I know that. Still, what separates the elite from the rest isn't just strength. It's the ability to act, even when the world throws chaos at your face. To stay sharp. Adapt. Decide."
The king turned to her, a slow smile spreading beneath his beard.
Zephyr gave a low whistle. "Someone's been reading too many strategy scrolls."
Selene smirked. "Better than sparring with squirrels in the woods."
"Hey!" he protested, laughing. "That squirrel was aggressive."
"Hahaha"
Pyranthos laughed too, his chest rising with pride as he looked at his children. He missed this feeling for a long time.
*
By late afternoon, the golden sun dipped toward the western hills, casting long shadows over the marble streets of Athens. The royal chariot crossed through the great arched gate, flanked by guards and greeted by cheering voices.
Citizens lined the roads—traders, workers, farmers, noblewomen—all pausing their work to raise their hands in salute.
Children ran along the edge of the path, waving laurel branches.
"Welcome home, King Pyranthos!"
"All hail Prince Zephyr! Princess Selene!"
Drums beat in rhythm, echoing through the grand avenues. Banners bearing the Aetherian crest fluttered in the breeze.
Zephyr leaned over the side, eyes wide. "This is… incredible," he whispered. "Look at the stonework. That new colonnade wasn't there before. And the canal! They finally finished it."
His face lit with awe as he took in the grand temples, the towering buildings, the fresh paint on old stone. "Athens looks twice the city it used to be. In just eight years, the city has become so prosperous, right, Sister?"
Selene, sitting beside him, said nothing at first. Her gaze wandered past the grandeur to the alleys tucked behind the celebration. Where barefoot children huddled in corners. Where a man with hollow cheeks watched the parade, not cheering, just watching.
Her voice was barely a murmur. "The rich got richer…"
Zephyr turned to her. "Hmm?"
"But the poor stayed the same."
Zephyr sighed in disappointment, looking around. "Yeah, it is true."
King Pyranthos heard them. He said nothing, only looked ahead—his face unreadable.
Trumpets blared as the chariot approached the palace gates, but Selene's thoughts lingered in the shadows that the marble couldn't hide.
The King could understand her thoughts. After all, for 8 years, his son and daughter spent on the hills, studied under Pan, away from society. It'll take time for them to adjust and get back to the ways of royalty.
Just when he thought everything would be alright once they entered the palace and spent a few days there, as the chariot drew closer to the grand gates of the palace, a large group of people moved slowly through the street, blocking the path.
At the front of the crowd, an open palanquin was being carried on the shoulders of four men. There, someone who looked like an ascetic was waving to the people with a smile as he was being showered with flower petals by the followers. In however one looks at it, this looks like an abomination. Flowers are usually only used in rituals and the worship of gods or as decorations. It cannot be used to shower a mortal.
King Pyranthos' face darkened immediately. He raised his hand to signal his soldiers. "Clear the way."
The soldiers hesitated, but the king's command was absolute. They advanced, pushing the crowd aside. And just as they neared the procession, the man sitting on the palanquin raised his hand.
A sudden gust of wind swept through the square, and the soldiers were sent tumbling backward, their weapons scattering and throwing them aside like ragdolls. The crowd gasped in shock.
Pyranthos' fury surged at once. "What is this nonsense?" he demanded.
The man from the palanquin rose, stepping lightly onto the ground, his movements as fluid as water.
He was a tall figure, dressed in simple robes that hung loosely around his frame, his face framed by long, wild hair and a beard that touched his chest. His eyes were calm, almost serene.
"I come in peace, King Pyranthos. No need for such aggression against us," he said, his voice calm but steady, as if nothing had happened.
The king's nostrils flared in anger at his reply. "No one comes in peace by using force first. If you had peace in your head, you would have tried to talk your way out of it and only use force as a last resort. You were merely showcasing your abilities as a demigod. But I don't fear you."
His general, a broad-shouldered man clad in armor, stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. "Let me take care of this, Your Majesty."
The ascetic held up a hand, stopping the general in his tracks. "So, you get offended if one uses force, but you don't find it any shame in using force against others?" he said, his gaze sharp and direct. "What can be expected? Like Gods, like their worshippers. After all, it is what your gods did, and you are merely following their path."
Pyranthos' eyes narrowed.