Medusa remained in a daze as she trailed after Nestor, her mind reeling from Clotho's world-shattering revelation.

  Phorcys was once a topmost general until he betrayed Zeus for my sake.

  Then she went on to reveal wilder things that made Medusa’s ears tingle.

  Beyond the seas were other continents and numerous islands, well populated and maintained like a farm. There were no gods like Athena or Zeus, or even the concept of blood carriers, just blissfully ignorant people existing with made up ideas of supreme beings.

  The real purpose of Zeus’ generals is to oversee the continents and islands behind a veil. Wars. Pestilences. Famine. Natural disasters. An overwhelming portion of those occur through careful planning to bring about a potent harvest. The immortality of deities is a farce. Life must be given for more life. That is ambrosia.

  Unbelievable. Utterly unbelievable. Medusa hugged herself, shivering.

  Questions crowded her mind. How did it work? Once these lives were harvested, how was it distributed among deities? Why didn't Zeus end her father's life by withholding ambrosia?

  Clotho had offered to open her eyes to see a vision, but Medusa declined. Her mind still felt fragile from the deluge of memories, and she was not particularly eager to see her father slaughter thousands.

  Nestor led her to a large building with multiple tall doors. There were other students littered about, some chatting as they made their way in.

  Clotho was present but silent, perhaps waiting for questions. Medusa was hardly prepared to ask. Her thoughts were still all over the place, and there was another heavy question hanging between them. If Zeus had Phorcys, wasn't it wiser to ask for her father's release if she won the game?

  And it was too dangerous. It didn't matter that deities’ immortality was false, getting Zeus’ attention was the issue. If her father had suffered for helping Clotho, wouldn't it be idiotic to demand for Clotho's sister's release boldly?

  So many questions and too many memories shouted to be acknowledged. Something was fraying in her mind, almost similar to how she felt when she unintentionally switched languages. Was it the change in her blood that triggered it?

  She would have asked Clotho but she was worried that the Moirai could see past her wavering loyalty. My father or her sister.

  Nestor opened the door and revealed a large empty hall. Across the walls and ground were what resembled sword slashes; there were also numerous footprints etched in the stone ground and shattered practice dummies were strewn about.

  Ahead was a stone basin balanced on a stand. She frowned when she felt it. Dense pulses of aether spread from the spot and washed over her.

  “This is where you would be training for the time being. Come.” Nestor headed for the basin, his strides measured and brisk.

  He stopped beside the basin. “For one who came to us as an unawakened blood carrier, you have done well.”

  Taken aback by the sudden praise, Medusa went with a polite nod. “Thank you.” Even though I'm far from strong enough to face a fully realised blood-carrier.

  He produced a plain rectangular box and revealed a black blindfold.

  A training method she was familiar with. She had used the seeing blindfold to learn her combat and dagger techniques while at the temple.

  “This is from the red god,” Nestor said. “It would be expedient to keep that in mind as you go about your training.”

  There was the fear that Ares’ training would be far harsher than whatever she went through at the temple's training, but she had no choice in the matter. The goal was to learn enough to be able to protect herself.

  “Understood.”

  Nestor tossed a needle in the basin filled with sparkling water. It was then Medusa noticed a stone sitting at the bottom of the basin. Though the water muted the energy pouring off it, she was convinced it was an aether stone far stronger than the ones she currently possessed.

  “What is the month after the next?”

  “Huh?” Medusa blinked, tearing her eyes from the water. “The month of the lizard?”

  Nestor hummed in affirmation. “There is a trial among the houses at the start of that month.” He handed over the blindfold. It was soft to the touch and hummed with aether in her grip. “The trial is in honour of Demeter.”

  She understood what Nestor left unsaid. “But the goddess is absent.”

  Across Cosmolith, the festival of harvest in Demeter’s name would begin from the first day of the month to the tenth. Though Demeter had no temples, many households set up shrines in her honour, with many even dedicating their babies to her—some superstition about the children growing up to be strong farmers with blessed hands.

  “She will return to witness the trial.” Worry flashed in Nestor's eyes then vanished almost as fast.

  “Demeter appreciates a good show. If the Dogs perform well, who knows what decision the goddess may make concerning your water cat.”

  So she must speed up beating the dogs into shape? Got it. “I will take your advice to heart.”

  Nestor reached into the water and retrieved the needle. Knowing the process, Medusa offered her hand.

  “It doesn’t matter if you die there.”

  “What?” Medusa snatched her hand away before he could prick her finger.

  Gaze flat, Nestor raised a brow. “Did my words shock you?”

  Of course! Funny how she suddenly feared death. All it took was that single encounter with Clotho's murderous sister and a fierce sense of survival was burned into her soul. She hugged her arm to her chest. “Why wouldn’t it matter if I die?”

  “Your body is weak; it is a given that the red god’s training will lead to your death but look at that.” He nodded at the basin. “Do you know what that is?”

  Medusa looked at the stone again. It was pure white but that was all to it apart from the energy it pulsed out. “An aether stone.”

  “Not just any aether stone, that is premium aether stone.”

  Stunned, Medusa did a double take. According to rumours, shouldn’t she have lost consciousness by now?

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “As your understanding of aether broadens, you will understand how it works.”

  “But—”

  “Even if you die a thousand times in there, it would work for your benefit.”

  Clotho, what is he saying? I don’t trust him.

  You are concerned you will meet my sister.

  Yes. Yes, I am. Medusa never wanted to repeat that encounter.

  That wouldn’t happen. She can’t access that plane, and neither can I. And the instructor’s words are correct. Her voice grew musing. How did Ares think of this method? Perhaps because he is also cursed?

  Nestor motioned impatiently. “Let’s get this done.”

  Gulping, Medusa offered a trembling hand. She had experienced death five times but that did not mean she enjoyed the process, and she suspected the deaths she’d face would be violent.

  “You know how to sever the training?”

  “Yes,” Medusa muttered in a hollow voice. Her heart was in her throat. I don't want to die. “Remove the blindfold.”

  “Good.”

  In her blindfold training at the temple, she had always opened her eyes to an instructor bearing the face of Athena. Training had been gruelling but enjoyable to some extent. But she had heard something different from other priestesses. They spoke of the beasts they encountered and how some sessions even wrecked their bodies, Athena never let her suffer through that. Then she felt a bit special. Oh, naive tender lamb.

  Nestor poked her index finger with the needle. “Do the needful. And remember, try not to sever the training because you’re scared of dying.”

  Seems like that would be the toughest part. Clenching her jaw in preparation, Medusa pressed a drop of blood into the water and tied on the blindfold.

  The transition was always unremarkable—like blinking through a scene change.

  She frowned when she opened her eyes. A similar-sized hall in pristine condition. Ahead was a door without a knob.

  Turning around, she flinched and took quick steps back.

  “R-red god?”

  What was that next to him? It resembled a cross between a wolf and a red fox with iron claws and glowing eyes. Though it appeared emaciated with patches of skin exposed here and there, there was a ferocious glint in its eyes, like a dog straining at its leash, mad with the desire to attack.

  “Daughter of Phorcys,” Ares’ voice reverberated around the space and his eyes were doing the same yellow glowing thing as the beast beside him, “for your training to begin, release your curse.”

  The detached tone of his voice reminded her that Ares wasn’t really present, but his murderous air remained, and it took great effort to appear calm.

  And what was that he said?

  Medusa frowned. “But my curse is dangerous. Why should I release it?”

  “Your curse is behind that door,” he said, ignoring her question. “Open it and go in.”

  “You’re not listening to me,” Medusa said, frustrated. “Did the Moirai not tell you? My curse is… different.”

  “This is my curse.” Ares placed his hand on the wolf's head. “The first time I met him, he was taller than this roof.”

  Medusa gawked at the snarling lanky beast. “No way,” she muttered in English

  “What you are likely to face beyond that door may be similar. Not necessarily a canine but a beast all the same.”

  “A beast? My curse is a beast?” What a ridiculous notion.

  “The goal is to subjugate it,” Ares continued. “Because you have a weak body, you may die in your attempts but that should play a role in ridding you of the fear of death by its hands.”

  “Subjugate it with what?” Medusa asked in a panic. “I have no weapons.”

  “Your body is your weapon,” Ares answered. “I provided a premium stone, the best grade in all of Cosmolith. Even if it takes a thousand deaths, you must learn to use your body to protect yourself and control your curse.”

  Ares was different from Clotho in how he trained Medusa. If Clotho was serious and prone to praise when she got a concept right, he was cold and grumpy. And how could he speak of dying multiple times so casually?

  “Right now, your mind is a mess.” He tapped his temple.

  “How… how did you know that?” A chill washed over her body.

  “I'm like you, remember? Curses have similar symptoms. Though I had mine ages ago, it is impossible to forget. Ignoring it can lead to madness.” He paused and peered at her with glowing eyes. “Have you ever seen a mad god?”

  Medusa shook her head, unable to use words.

  “It's a disaster. If your mind breaks, it would be worse for you because of your mortal traits.”

  “You're not joking?” Medusa whispered.

  “Why should I?” He shifted his focus to the door. “The Moirai said you work well with time.” As he scratched the back of the wolf's ear, it leaned into his touch but maintained its glare. “A tenth of a horia should be enough to open the door.”

  Dread twisted her belly. “And if… if I fail to open it in time.”

  “I will release him.” The wolf snarled as if it understood Ares’ horrifying words. “This process will be repeated until you pass.”

  What sort of insane…

  “Please.” Medusa pressed her hands together. She had to make him understand that her case was different. Her curse was not a beast; it was something else. “My curse is different. It changes my body.”

  “How do you know that?” He peered at her with those eerie eyes. “I could tell your curse was dormant from the moment I first sensed your presence. How would you know how it manifests?”

  “You do not understand!” She clamped her jaw shut. What was she doing trying to explain things to an extension of Ares’ consciousness?

  “Your time has already begun.”

  “M-my sisters,” Medusa said desperately. Perhaps, if she could convince him. There had to be another way to get stronger aside from using her curse. “You must know of my sisters. They have the appearance of gorgons.”

  He shrugged, expression infinitely bored. “Blame Athena for that.”

  Medusa blinked at him. “What?”

  “The Moirai praised your intelligence, but you seem foolish.” A frown darkened his expression. “The stone will keep your real body from dying, yet you hesitate?” There was irritation and impatience in his voice

  “I…” Just how could she make a being that has never tasted death understand her fear?

  Lacking words to defend herself, Medusa drew in a resolute breath and approached the door.

  Her eyes had not deceived her. The door truly had no knob or handle. She sensed nothing from it like she did with portal doors. If Ares’ words were true and her curse was a beast…

  What if it's a ten-foot-tall gorgon?

  It would be catastrophic if a gorgon was waiting at the other side of the door. The winged beasts were incapable of speech, and though they possessed some humanoid traits, they had no humanity. Beast through and through. At least they wouldn't have the eye of petrification.

  Please don't be a gorgon. Please don't be a gorgon.

  With a trembling hand, Medusa pressed against the door, channelling aether into its frame to see if that would work. To her surprise, it flowed in at an alarming speed.

  Thud. Then a scraping sound.

  Flinching, Medusa snatched her hand back. Something… something was beyond the door.

  The wolf growled, its claws scraping across the stone ground signalling its approach. What now? Was her time up?

  Medusa dared a backward glance and instantly regretted it. The wolf stood with its legs braced apart, the skin of its snout wrinkling as it bared menacing fangs. It seemed poised to strike, and to make matters worse, her disoriented mind struggled to grasp how much time had slipped by.

  Turning back to the door, Medusa struggled to calm her breath as sweat dripped down her back and her pulse beat heavily in her throat. Tentatively extending a hand, she touched the door again and resumed pouring in aether. Medusa only noticed it when she felt how warm the door had gotten. She couldn't pull away.

  The surface around her hand rippled like water before pulling in her fingertips.

  “No. COME ON!” Grabbing her arm and digging her heels, Medusa fought against the pull but it was useless. Aether drained through her and poured into the door even faster than before.

  “Dammit,” Medusa swore when the door sucked in half her arm. What was this? Wasn’t the instruction to open the door? Why wasn’t Ares saying anything?

  Like a nightmare unfolding before her eyes, a dozen hands pushed through the rippling door. They grabbed her by the shoulders, arms, legs, and hair, dragging her beyond the door.

  “Help!” She strained her neck, struggling to catch a glimpse of the red god.

  Ares merely shrugged. “And your time is up.”

  The wolf leapt at her, fangs bared, eyes wild and claws shining.

  No way she would let herself be torn apart. Instead of fighting the grasping hands, she ceased her struggle, letting the door pull her into the unknown.