“What kingdom?” Medusa retrieved the needle sitting next to her stone slab and observed it.

  Judging from Eristes’ silence, her question must have stunned him. The child. If she combined the years she’d lived, she’d qualify to be his ancestor more than thrice over.

  “How… how dare you?” he sputtered, aether flaring around him. Some students glanced in their direction but none was bold enough to openly stare. Interesting. He was a prince, just as Chilion claimed, and a feared one at that.

  “Later,” Medusa said as she took in the intricate markings on the needle. “You can educate me on this kingdom of yours later.” She made a mental note to ask Vaso to change her sitting position after the class.

  Ignoring the seething boy, she glanced around. Most of the students wrote on scrolls but a few used stone slabs. She wondered what qualified her to get a slab. Was it a new student thing? A skill she must figure out on her own?

  Curious, Medusa poured a thin stream of aether into the needle and attempted to write a line across the slab. It flowed naturally like a hot knife through butter. Nice.

  She had just attempted to write another line when she felt it. A sudden vice grip around her right wrist. She hissed from the pain.

  “What?” Eristes cocked his head in question. “Do I have your attention now?”

  In a moment of burning rage, Medusa considered destroying the dimension and unleashing the bees on him, but she discarded the emotional idea. Not only was she incapable of controlling the bees, it made better sense to hide such a card.

  “One of the attributes the Western Locratian kingdom looks for in blood carriers is subservience.” As he spoke he increased the pressure around her wrist; her fingers turned red and began to tremble. “Even though you obviously lack that, I’m willing to give you an offer. Join our ranks.”

  His boldness was no surprise. Over the years, a few Western Locratia royals had ascended as low deities, and the kingdom's influence, both in commerce and the military, was not something to be scoffed at. That Medusa presented herself as the daughter of Venetis, a common name with no weight, meant arrogant scums like Eristes will see her as easy picking.

  “I heard you’re the daughter of some unknown merchant.” A condescending smile brightened his face. “My kingdom is a foremost beneficiary of House Plutus; joining us will help your family business.”

  You think I give a damn about that? Medusa’s left fist tightened around the needle. “And if I refuse your generous offer?”

  The beaded band around her wrist grew warm, and though it kept her wrist from shattering, it barely stopped the pain.

  “For an unawakened nobody, you are quite bold.” He frowned as his gaze roved over her face. “And you handle pain well.” Now he didn’t even bother whispering. At least two rows ahead should be in on their conversation, and if Vaso was worth his salt, he should be aware of Eristes’ blatant bullying. But the instructor continued his lesson, acting like nothing was happening at the back.

  “Let go,” Medusa said through clenched teeth. The needle felt hot in her grip as she pumped in aether in increments of her rising pain and anger. Some bullies only understood force; Eristes seemed like the type who would greatly benefit from a sound lesson in that area.

  “I will let go if you agree to join my faction,” he said.

  Making up her mind, Medusa raised her hand.

  Eristes chuckled. “What are you doing? You think the instructor will save you?”

  Ignoring him, Medusa kept her hand up.

  Vaso looked in their direction and released an exasperated sigh. “If you plan to sob about your fellow student harming you, you’re in the wrong class. I’m not responsible for your protection.”

  Medusa was hardly surprised at his response. “Thanks for the permission, instructor.”

  Without waiting for a response, she positioned the pulsing needle between two fingers and flicked it at Eristes while manipulating air to increase its velocity by tenfold.

  It hit its target like a mini-missile, the blast sending dust and debris flying about. Eristes leapt away, righting his steps at the last moment to keep himself from falling. Amidst his demolished stone desk was a crater with a blackened impact point. The needle was nowhere in sight.

  Though shocked at the extent of the damage, Medusa maintained a schooled expression as she met Eristes’ trembling eyes. “I promise not to miss next time.”

  She had intended to use air alone for the attack, thinking aether would escape the needle before it hit its target, but that wasn't the case. Maybe it had to do with the inscriptions on the needle or the speed of the attack. One thing was clear, the impact turned out to be ten times more effective because aether was involved.

  Possibilities exploded in her head. If Clotho’s link was present, she would have discussed her ideas.

  “You dare threaten a Locratian prince?” Eristes cried. “You’re done. Do you hear me?” He stabbed a trembling finger at his ear, eyes flashing with black fury. “By the time we’re done with your little merchant shops, you’d be buried—worse than beggars!”

  Medusa was more impressed by the fact everybody quietly watched his tantrum. Even Vaso. Now she understood why Dog House existed. It has been ages since she witnessed the raging of a scorned royal.

  Just to be petty, Medusa gave in to her inner child and simpered. “Should that scare me? Your kingdom is nothing compared to House Venetis; my father can pound yours to dust.”

  Medusa laughed on the inside at Eristes’ volcanic reaction. Never in her life had she witnessed a person turn red that fast. The poor throbbing veins on his face.

  Indirectly boasting about Phorcys felt good. She wondered how he was doing. The little time she shared with him had felt strangely comforting. As for the non-existent father called Venetis, even if they searched all of Cosmolith, they’d find no Venetis with a daughter named May. Good luck with your revenge.

  “Return to your seat, Eristes.” Vaso’s voice, tight with impatience, cut through Medusa’s thoughts. “You've both sufficiently entertained me; any more and you’d be tossed in the screecher maze.”

  Though the threat was directed at Eristes, Medusa felt a sudden chill. Of all the beasts to mention, it had to be a screecher.

  After the class, Eristes fled in a huff while some students gathered around Vaso to ask questions. Since she already knew all there was to know about the beast his lesson was based on, she spent the bulk of her time struggling not to sink into horrid memories.

  Those who came to seek her head used screechers, even Perseus. The ugly sound the beast made, that blood-red third eye that glowed when they found their target. More memories fought to claw out but she resisted, casting her mind to new ideas instead. Her ability to create dimensions, the needles and the mini-missiles—even the bees. There was something there, something that could work if she gave it more thought.

  Unbidden, a thought of caution bubbled up. One day, these memories and emotions you continue to suppress will escape and consume you.

  Medusa immediately slammed the door on the thought. That day was not today. So there's that. Suppressing the worst of her emotions and bitter memories was something she excelled at, a skill polished to near perfection throughout her lives until Antonii's—

  “How are you so bold?”

  Medusa blinked, grateful for the interruption. A slender girl with sharp eyes lined with kohl smiled down at her. She touched the blackened impact point, light bouncing off her polished sharp nails as she rubbed the pad of her fingers together.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Very strange.” There was a rolling note in her voice, an accent Medusa couldn’t place.

  She grinned, and Medusa half-expected to see fangs. “Have my accent given me away?”

  Though Medusa had vast knowledge stored in her head, things like accents were impossible to label because of how sheltered her first life had been. Both at home and in the temple. Even when others were sent on missions, Medusa was never allowed to.

  “How could I endanger Phorcys’ beloved daughter? It is too dangerous for a mortal. Stay here and offer your worship.”

  “Please, allow me to show my devotion. I know all the stances. I can help. Let me help, please.”

  Athena had only offered a kind smile as she refused her plea yet again. Medusa had confused selfish ‘concern’ for affection. She was nothing but a well-protected sacrificial lamb.

  Bitterness churned on her inside and she found herself scowling. “What do you want?”

  “Woah!” The girl raised both hands all the while maintaining that sly smile. “I was merely curious. I’m Hoxha from West Locratia, by the way.”

  So she was from the same kingdom as Eristes the ass. But the Prince had no accent. Was it a province thing?

  Medusa blinked at Hoxha and said nothing. From what she recalled of the pillar race, this was the same person who viciously pulled other contestants down.

  “What do you want?” Medusa repeated.

  “Fine.” She settled next to Medusa as if they were friends. “That explosive attack. I noticed aether was still in the needle when it made contact. That should be impossible. Tell me how you did it,” she demanded.

  Taken aback, Medusa frowned. “I—”

  “You shouldn’t give away the secret behind your skill.”

  Hoxha’s mood visibly soured as she glared at the person behind Medusa. “You should mind your business, Arcas.”

  Instead of replying, Arcas faced Medusa. He was blonde-haired with a serious air about him. If he were older, she could easily picture him as some stoic general. He offered a slight bow. “Greetings, May. I am Arcas, third prince of the Eastern Locratian kingdom.”

  “Now you have the boldness to speak because Eristes is gone?” There was spite in Hoxha’s voice, and Medusa wanted to get away fast.

  To be polite, Medusa mirrored Arcas’ bow. “Thanks for the advice.” Even though she didn’t need it. Explaining what she did with the needle would be useless to Hoxha anyway. Clotho hinted that manipulating air was not something awakened blood carriers could achieve.

  Judging from the tense atmosphere, Medusa put two and two together. The Western Locratian kingdom was more prosperous and influential than their neighbour. But that had not always been the case. Before the last war of the continent two hundred years ago, East Locratia was beyond prosperous, even reaching the point of an empire. But war broke out and destabilized the established power structure. To say both kingdoms hated each other was an understatement.

  Medusa stood, ready to bolt. “If you would both excuse me…” her words faded when she noticed Nestor enter the hall. He spoke to Vaso in a low voice as both instructors looked in her direction. Vaso motioned for her to come over.

  Heart sinking, Medusa groaned on her inside. What now? And it was worse because everyone in the hall had turned curious gazes in her direction.

  Do not be so weary. This is a good thing, Clotho said in the same instant Medusa felt her link return.

  What’s this about?

  Remember you have a backer now.

  And?

  Getting a backer improves the kind of training you receive in Drys Valon.

  Oh. Do others know who my backer is?

  Not the students. The instructors know, though.

  As she stopped before Vaso, she noticed he looked at her with different eyes. There was a certain sharpness to it.

  But do I need this type of attention? I don’t think it’s wise.

  To catch a fish, we need a bait.

  Hey! What does that mean? Am I the bait? Medusa asked in a panic.

  Where is that fire I saw on the cliff? Clotho asked in a low but serious voice. You said you wished to kill gods and now that my sister has taken a step, we must be even faster, if not…

  If not what?

  “Come with me,” Nestor said as he led her out of the hall.

  My sister is death. Clotho’s voice was grave, the most serious Medusa had ever heard it. The being who stands at the end of every life. Whatever compassion she possessed thousands of years ago has been crushed—smashed to nothing by the callousness of the greedy.

  Medusa didn't need to be told just how dangerous Clotho's sister was. That singular encounter was enough to drive the point home. The dark energy that poured off the snipper she wielded, her rage and cold determination when she moved for the kill. Her power had felt different, like an unavoidable natural disaster—something that can't be cursed at when it falls upon a person because it was simply nature doing its thing.

  I see.

  No, you do not see. What she plans… Clotho's voice died down. Then she released a heavy sigh. There is someone we must find before she does and to do that you must be more than ready.

  And if I fail?

  She will find you next, kill you and destroy your soul. Her rage… it's worse than I thought.

  Soon they came upon an annexe. Unlike the three-story and above structures in Drys Valon, this one was a bungalow structured with the same building style bearing pillars in front. The door opened to a wide hall with tall windows and two doors, though one gave her the same feeling as the one at Phorcydes’ house. Perhaps a portal door.

  “The red god was particular about some things,” Nestor said as he walked her to one of the doors. It opened to a lab similar to what she saw in Clotho’s domain, and the walls were covered with ceiling-high shelving holding scrolls, vials, slabs and a wealth of things she did not recognise. Too stunned to speak, Medusa mutely took it all in.

  Isn’t this a bit much?

  Ares never does things in halves.

  Wouldn’t people talk?

  Yes, let them. That is what we want. You keep forgetting you are wearing a different face. They can't link you to Medusa, the daughter of Phorcys. Be bold, even arrogant. The more of that, the better.

  Why?

  So Athena will act. She has an odd obsession with Ares.

  Oh. Cold seeped into her bones. Yes, her rage at the goddess remained but if one were to look at it factually, Athena was in the same league as Ares—ridiculously strong.

  How can I possibly face such a monster in my current state?

  Clotho laughed and it sounded genuine. Medusa relaxed a little, finding that the Moirai’s tense mood had rubbed off on her. You are not facing her anytime soon. Don’t worry, that child is too cautious to act carelessly.

  When Nestor led her out of the lab, he nodded at the other door with the strange energy. “The portal door is not yet complete; even so, only the red god can open and close it.”

  “I see.”

  Nestor paused and looked at her. There was confusion in his eyes and it seemed like he was about to say something before he changed his mind. “Did you see the details of your Physical class in the scroll?”

  “I did.” Two hours daily either before breakfast or dinner. They had assigned her to a gymnasiarch called Rea.

  “You will be training under me, instead. The red god provided a regimen.” Seeming to lose the battle against his curiosity, he asked, “How did you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “How did you get the red god to choose you?”

  Medusa shrugged. “My performance at the trial must have impressed him.”

  “Very well.” Surprisingly, her answer seemed to satisfy him. “Atalanta told me you are awakened. From my understanding, it happened when you faced the bear.”

  Medusa nodded.

  “Demeter was correct,” Nestor shook his head wistfully. “I only wish she were around to witness you. She would have been boundlessly entertained.”

  “Thank you?”

  “Be proud of these achievements," Nestor said. "Though only the instructors know you are backed by the red gods, using this annexe will show the students that you already have a backer, and a strong one at that. Telling them who your backer is is up to you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Take this.” He passed her a wooden plaque with no markings. “The pass for the door. And I’d advise you not to spend too much horai here; attend as many classes as you can manage. That will be all.”

  Medusa blankly stared after Nestor, watching until he shut the door behind him. "How?"

  Head to the research room, Clotho said impatiently. The bees you caught, there is something we can use them for.

  Medusa paused, an eerie feeling racing up her spine. “C-can you read my mind?” Only a moment ago, she had been thinking about the bees and how to use them.

  No, Clotho answered in an exasperated voice. When I told you I saw glimpses of the future, did you think I was lying?

  Oh. Another question came to mind, one that threatened the control she had over her suppressed emotions. So, when will I kill Perseus?

  Clotho remained silent, saying nothing even after Medusa entered the lab.

  Are you not allowed to speak of it?

  Not allowed by who? Clotho chuffed, that familiar lightness returning to her voice. It is foolish to tell you exactly what I see in the future; hints are all I can spare. Know this, your paths will cross sooner than you expect.

  Flashes of Perseus casually shooting Antonii returned. The cold dismissiveness with which he ended the lives of those he deemed as lesser. Her heart rate doubled from fury and fear. She was still terrified of him, but that shouldn't matter. Even terrified cornered beasts attack with ferocity. My fear will be my weapon.

  I need you to focus, Medusa. That seriousness was back in Clotho’s voice, signalling the start of another lesson. Today, we'll be creating weapons.

  Folks, we passed 13k views. That felt nice. ??

  Until next Saturday.