Chapter 219: Chapter 63
Overworld.
The wooden ship creaked as it cut across the glittering surface of the endless ocean, sails stretched wide under the push of steady winds.
Herios stood near the bow, both hands gripping the railing as his golden hair whipped about from the sea breeze, his bright blue eyes reflecting the shimmering horizon.
He had seen rivers, lakes, and waterfalls in his time, but never had he seen the ocean, never had he heard the low rhythmic roar of waves rolling endlessly, or smelled the salt carried on the air.
In his past life, his kingdom only extended to the mainland, never reaching the seas at all, so this is a first for him.
His lips curved into a smile, almost childlike, and for a long moment he simply breathed it all in, as if trying to etch the memory deep into his soul.
Athena, standing a step behind him, folded her hands before her and watched him with quiet fondness.
The goddess, so often stern and composed, found her heart softening at the sight of the young man marveling at something so simple.
His wonder was genuine, unguarded, and it made her heart flutter like it always does whenever she was with him.
She caught herself smiling without even realizing it, a warmth settling in her chest.
Herios turned suddenly, his expression still bright, and asked, "Athena... what kind of woman is Medusa?"
His tone carried curiosity more than anything, though beneath it there was the faint trace of worry, as though he wished to know who awaited them at the Shapeless Isle.
Athena’s smile faded into something gentler, tinged with gravity, as she drew closer to the railing beside him.
"Medusa," she began, her voice steady but low, as if recounting something both sacred and painful, "was born to a pair of Primordial Gods, beings older than the Olympians, whose power surpasses even mine. Yet, to them, she was a defect. Her blood carried their divinity, but her body... her spirit... was frail, no greater than a mortal’s. They saw her as an imperfection, an embarrassment to their line, and so they cast her aside like she was a mistake."
Athena paused, her gaze fixed on the sea. "I found her when she was still a child, lost and alone. I took her in, gave her sanctuary, and raised her as one of my priestesses. She grew into a woman of grace and kindness, devout and gentle, a soul too pure for the cruelty of the world."
Herios’s brows knitted together as he listened, his fingers tightening on the wood of the railing. "Thrown away by her own parents... and yet she remained kind? That... is certainly rare. Many would grow to hate."
Athena gave a small, wistful laugh, her gray eyes soft. "Indeed. Medusa bore no resentment toward them, nor toward the gods themselves. She was content to live in peace, to serve in my temple, and her days were quiet... until Poseidon’s malice reached her."
Herios turned sharply at the name, his jaw tightening. "Poseidon, huh."
Athena nodded, her voice hardening, the faintest trace of anger burning through her usually calm tone. "Yes. He resented me. I had thwarted him many times, and in his bitterness, he sought to strike where he thought me weakest. He found Medusa, and in his cruelty, he wished to defile her, to shatter her purity in revenge against me. But I sensed his intent. I came to stop him, and we fought."
Herios’s eyes widened slightly. "Oh, so that’s the reason the two of you fought."
Her lips curved into a thin smile, though it held no joy. "Yes. Our clash tore the land apart. Mountains split, seas boiled, and the sky trembled. The devastation was great, and though I saved Medusa from him, the destruction I caused in our battle was not forgiven. Zeus decreed punishment upon me. Thus, I was cast to walk the earth as a mortal, stripped of my divinity, to learn humility. That is why I stand before you now, not as the Olympian Athena, but as a woman bound to flesh."
Herios was silent for a long moment, his heart heavy as he looked at her. He could see the weight she bore, the pain hidden behind her calm recounting. "But... what of Medusa? You saved her... did she not escape unharmed?"
Athena’s hands tightened against the railing, her expression clouding. "No. She did not. Before I reached her, Poseidon cursed her. His power twisted her being, darkening her beauty into something monstrous, and she suffered greatly. It was only through Hecate’s intervention that the curse was lifted, though not without scars. Medusa still carries fragments of it, reminders of the cruelty forced upon her."
Athena exhaled, her voice softening again. "When all was said and done, Zeus—perhaps guilty for his brother’s actions, perhaps merely wishing to quiet the scandal—gave her an island, a place where she could live freely, untouched. The Shapeless Isle. A land without form, that shifts and bends according to its mistress’s will. There, she lives in peace, away from gods who scorned her."
Herios leaned back, gazing out at the endless waters again, his eyes thoughtful. "So we go to meet a woman who has known only rejection and cruelty... yet still lives and endures. It feels..."
He paused, searching for the right words. "It feels like she is a very strong woman."
Athena turned her head toward him, a small but proud smile gracing her lips. "Perhaps you are right. For all her suffering, Medusa still remains. And soon, you will see her for yourself. Remember, Herios... do not see her as a monster, nor as a victim. See her as who she is, and you will understand."
The young man nodded slowly, his hand pressing against his chest as if to anchor the promise in his heart. "I will. I swear it."
Athena’s heart stirred at his words, at the earnest fire in his eyes, and she found herself looking away toward the horizon, her smile lingering, softer now.
The sails snapped in the wind, the ship pushing steadily forward toward the mysterious isle that awaited them, where a woman cast aside by gods now ruled in her own right.
*
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*
The ship had sailed for days more, the endless blue stretching in all directions, until at last the shadow of land emerged beyond the veil of horizon.
The sailors whispered of curses, of strange illusions and shifting landscapes, but Athena’s sharp eyes recognized it immediately.
The Shapeless Isle.
A place Zeus had gifted in name, but in truth, an exile wrapped in solitude.
The vessel slowed, anchors dropped just short of the shallows, the water turning pale and sandy beneath the rocking hull.
Without hesitation, Athena leapt over the side, her divine grace evident even in her mortal body, the waters parting gently around her as she landed.
Herios followed after, the weight of his sword slung across his back, his boots splashing against the shallow surf as he straightened and stepped onto the sand beside her.
The island itself was rocky and uneven, with jagged cliffs rising in the distance, their peaks wrapped in pale mist.
The shore was barren, no songs of birds, no sway of trees, only the sound of the ocean crashing and the faint whisper of something unnatural pressing against the air.
It was a place of isolation, where silence seemed to hold dominion, a place built for someone who wished not to be found.
Just then, Herios’s senses prickled.
His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his blade, and in the very next moment, steel sang against steel-like impact.
A nail-shaped dagger, unnaturally sharp and connected to a long chain, struck against his sword with a loud clang.
He skidded back a step, sand scattering beneath his boots, his sharp eyes narrowing as he raised his blade to guard again.
From the mist, she appeared.
A woman of breathtaking, almost divine beauty, her long purple hair cascading like liquid amethyst down her back, shimmering faintly in the sea air.
Her attire was bold, a tight one-piece dress with a skirt cut so short it clung dangerously close to indecency, each movement accentuating long, toned legs that carried a deadly grace.
Over her eyes, a blindfold rested, yet even with it, Herios could feel her gaze, piercing, unrelenting, as though the cloth was nothing but a thin veil between them.
Before he could recover, she moved.
Chains rattled as the weapon lashed toward him again, forcing him to parry, sparks flying as steel clashed.
Then her body spun, a sudden kick tearing through the air with such speed and strength that Herios barely raised his arm to block, the impact resounding through his bones.
His teeth clenched in surprise. Her frame was slim, yet her strikes carried power far beyond what her build suggested.
The two exchanged blows rapidly, steel against chain, his sword deflecting her lashes while her movements flowed with uncanny precision.
Despite her blindfold, she fought as though she could see every motion, her attacks sharp, unrelenting, testing him at every turn.
Athena, who had been calmly watching until that moment, finally raised her voice.
Her tone was firm yet filled with a warmth that cut through the hostile air. "Medusa!"
The sound of that name froze everything.
The chain halted mid-swing.
Herios, noticing this, lowered his blade, his chest heaving faintly, his eyes still locked on the strange, fierce woman.
Slowly, the tension melted away from her stance, and she turned, her head snapping toward the voice with a sudden jolt.
Through the blindfold, Herios caught the faintest flicker of movement, as though her eyes widened beneath the cloth.
Her lips parted, her breath catching audibly.
"Lady Athena...?" Medusa’s voice trembled, torn between disbelief and overflowing joy.
The chain clattered softly to the ground as she dropped the weapon, her legs carrying her forward before she collapsed to her knees in the sand.
She lowered her head, the mist curling faintly around her like a veil, her hands trembling as they pressed against the earth before her. "It... it truly is you! Ah, forgive me for my actions, I didn’t know."
Athena’s expression softened, her features touched with both sadness and affection.
She stepped closer, the hem of her robe brushing against the sand as she looked down at her lost priestess, the girl she had once sheltered.
"Ah, no need to apologise."
Herios sheathed his blade silently, watching with careful eyes as the deadly aura that had hung so heavily over the woman dissolved into something vulnerable, almost childlike.
He could not reconcile the fierce opponent who had fiercely attacked him with the trembling figure kneeling at Athena’s feet.
Athena extended her hand, her voice warm, though tinged with guilt. "Rise, Medusa. You need not kneel before me. You are no longer just a priestess of mine. You are Medusa of the Shapeless Isle, mistress of your own domain."
Medusa’s breath hitched, and though she obeyed, lifting herself slowly to her feet, she reached forward and clasped Athena’s offered hand as though afraid the goddess would vanish if she let go.
Her lips trembled into a smile, tears hidden by her blindfold, her voice breaking as she whispered, "I thought... I thought I would never see you again."
Athena’s hand squeezed hers gently, her gray eyes softening.
"How could that be? You are my beloved priestess."