Kairos 38: Veni, Vidi, Vici (Patreon)

Cassandra Bato was no stranger to death.

Few people lingered in her life for long. She had buried parents, siblings, lovers, friends, and foes; outliving them all. She had served under three captains of the Foresight over two decades: Chron, strong and shrewd; his brother Panos, daring and reckless; and Kairos himself. All three she had loved.

Two had perished on her watch, and the third might follow.

Even now, while Lady Julia and priestesses sang an ode to Queen Persephone, Cassandra could hear the clashes outside, steel fighting steel, a dance of flames and wind. She had heard it before, that fatal night where the Argo nearly sank the Foresight and her quiet friend Rhadamanthe perished.

Outside, Kairos fought Jason of Iolcus; a foe he couldn’t hope to defeat.

The truth wasn’t hard to glimpse. Her daring captain wagered his life on her success, trusting that Cassandra could complete the [Nekyia] Ritual, and summon the only people who could talk Jason out of murdering everyone on that island. For hours the Twice-Born had prayed before Queen Persephone’s statue, asking her to summon the shades of the dead, to show mercy for the living.

The goddess had answered with silence.

As always, Cassandra blamed her terrible [Luck]. It had always cast a shroud of misfortune on her. It was why she had refused the post of captain when Kairos offered it to her, in the first days of their association. She would only drive the crew to an early demise. Why else would the Fates have given her such a dreadful Quest to complete?

Instead, Cass had dedicated herself to Kairos’ ambitions, which she supported. She had wanted him too, as she had desired all the Foresight’s captains at one point or another. Only now did she realize the true nature of her affection; that to be with a pirate lord, to serve as their support and confidant, was the closest thing she could get to being a captain herself. To be in charge of her life, to reach heights she could never achieve on her own. All of Cassandra’s successes had turned to ashes, so she could live through someone else.

Cassandra had never dared to admit her feelings to Chron, out of affection for his wife Aurelia, whom Cass considered her truest friend. Her relationship with Panos had been passionate, until she realized he was only stringing her along. Kairos… Kairos was the one she felt closest to. He was bold without being foolish, cunning and ambitious, loyal too. He was younger than Cassandra, but wiser than his age. And when she perished, he raised her from the dead. He had loved so many people, and yet he chose her. How could a woman stay indifferent after that? When she had awoken again on that pyre, all Cassandra desired was to be with him.

In the end, Cass had wasted her chance, and let others claim his heart. And now he would perish, her life debt to him unfulfilled.

And in his wake others would follow. Her rival Andromache, whom she had grown to respect; that braggart Nessus, with whom she had fought side-by-side with so many times; Thales, that awkward dreamer; Tiberius, who was already half in love with her, she could tell…

They would all die, unless she succeeded.

“No,” Cass whispered under her breath. “Please no, not this time.”

The warrior had done all the steps, sung all the songs. She was the catalyst, a living doorway between the Underworld and the land of the living. She had researched the ritual in-depth. So why wasn’t it working? Because she wasn’t a [Spellcaster]? What was she missing?

She had sacrificed two rams to Persephone, their blood flowing onto the temple’s floor. Shades should have appeared to feed on this gift, to consume the lifeforce in exchange for wisdom. But the only dead were those outside the temple, ravaging the city.

What is missing? Cassandra thought, before glancing at the statue of Persephone. Why are you silent? What would it take for you to forgive this land’s people? What price must I pay?

Only then did she understand.

Kairos, that brave trickster, had cheated the Queen of the Dead of her due; like Sysiphus had once imprisoned Thanatos to avoid death. Only his own demise could balance the scales.

But the Queen would not have Kairos’ life. Not tonight at least.

But Cassandra…

After watching so many people perish around her, she wouldn’t mind dying to preserve thousands of lives.

The fighter searched under her chiton, and brought out a sharp, bloodied athame; the same weapon that slew the sacrificial rams. Men and women were beasts too, in the end.

“The death that was stolen from you,” Cassandra pointed the dagger at her heart, “I return it.”

The warrior heard a scream behind her, drowned by the dirge, but she ignored it. Instead, she plunged the tip of the blade into her soft flesh, letting her blood spill on the ground. Red drops fell on the floor, warm, full of life.

The blade only inflicted a superficial cut, and yet its bite was cold. Cassandra breathed deeply, thought of all the people fighting for their lives outside, all those who would perish if she failed... and pushed deeper.

“You would give your life to me, child?”

The voice was cold as winter, as ominous as a tombstone. The temple trembled with each word, the air heavy and dreadful.

Cassandra’s hands froze on the dagger’s handle, her eyes looking up.

“All the dead envy the living, and the living who wish for death do not understand what awaits them.” The statue of Persephone spoke, the eyes shining like stars in the dark. The world around them had turned into a pitch black shroud, and though she could hear Lady Julia’s song, Cassandra couldn’t see her anymore. “Yet, you have been on the other side, and still wish to perish?”

This… this was her. The daughter of Demeter, who brought winter and summer to the Earth, Hades’ widow and Lycaon’s foe. The last living child of Olympus. A [God], speaking through a place of worship.

Cass’ prayers had been answered.

“For a purpose, Your Grace,” Cassandra said respectfully, her hands still wielding the weapon. “Please, Your Grace, there is a war outside, and this land is suffering. You can stop this.”

The goddess showed no mercy. “The land of a child killer, and a slaughterer of my priestesses. Her unburied victims suffer in hate and regret. All those who protect Helios’ granddaughter shall bear the weight of her crimes.”

“Innocents will die, Your Grace.”

“All things will die, child. Whether they come to me in ten or a hundred years, they all end up in my halls.”

“Then give a hundred years to the people outside, and none to Medea or her husband,” Cassandra pleaded, before frowning. “Unless… you cannot?”

“It is not my purview to slay the living before their time,” Queen Persephone replied with the serenity of a silent grave. “I welcome souls to their just reward. No more, nor less.”

“Has Fate decreed thousands will die?” Cassandra asked. “If not, then please, give me a chance to make things right. I only need ghosts to talk to each other. You allowed that once.”

“In an age long gone, when your kind hadn’t turned its back on mine.” There was a hint of bitterness in the goddess’ voice, cultivated over countless centuries. “I protect my followers, those who remain true. Why should I afford the same kindness to those who watched my priestess perish and let the slayer go unpunished?”

“Because you are a just and fair goddess, or so many say,” Cassandra argued. *You bring winter and summer both, not just the cold.”

The statue remained silent for a moment, the light in her eyes dimming. “Will you trade your second life for my mercy?”

“Yes,” Cass answered without hesitation.

“Does it have so little value to you?”

“I love living.” What little she remembered of the Underworld didn’t make Cass wish to return, if she could help it. “But not at the cost of thousands of lives… especially one to whom I own a debt.”

“A debt you repaid when you saved him from drowning,” the deity replied.

“Perhaps,” Cass admitted. “But it does not feel fair. He sacrificed his chance at seeing his family again for my sake. One life isn’t enough.”

“And if this debt is paid, what will you do with your existence? Waste away in his shadow?”

“No.” Cassandra would stay loyal to Kairos, as he had been loyal to her. But she wouldn’t live for him. “I… I would make the best of the second chance I was given. This whole situation took place because I did not dare to complete my Quest years ago, when I first received it. I shall not make that mistake again.”

Cass would not wait anymore. She would fulfill her dreams, of sailing with her own ship around the globe, to discover new places unknown to the living. She would carve out herself a place in history, like all [Heroes] before her.

“I will live.”

Cassandra could have sworn the statue of Persephone had cocked her head to the side for a split second, letting out a cavernous, strange sound.

A chuckle.

“Put that dagger away,” the goddess said. “You paid the death price once, Cassandra Bato. Twice would be greedy of me.”

“I…” Cassandra lowered the weapon in confusion. “I will not die twice?”

“Not today. But one day. This once, I shall honor the ancient [Nekyia] ritual, and grant you an audience with my citizens.” Queen Persephone focused her full attention on Cassandra. “Whom do you wish to speak to?”

Cassandra smiled, and spoke two names.

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The path to the underworld had opened, its doors rattling in the wind.

A chilling, otherworldly wind had torn down Jason’s ectoplasmic barrier, and smothered the fires consuming Moros. Kairos shivered, not only in his flesh, but also in his soul. The air choked with the smell of fresh corpses, the taste of death itself.

Cassandra walked out of the temple of Persephone, while Julia and priestesses sang a dirge tune behind. A child held each of the first mate’s hands, specters as translucent as water. The twins were no older than ten, and might have grown into bold, handsome men if they had been given the chance to live. Their clothes had holes near the chest, the marks of a dagger stabbing their heart.

Medea let out a wail of horror, tears filling her eyes, while Jason of Iolcus flinched as if he had been hit by a sledgehammer. The flames surrounding his fork instantly died, smothered in the crib.

“Father,” said one of the ghost twins, his voice no more than a whisper in the wind.

“Mother,” said the other.

“Mermeros.” Jason’s voice no longer brimmed with rage or hate, only sadness. “Pharas.”

Jason and Medea’s murdered children. The first victims of their parents’ feud.

Kairos watched on as Cassandra and the ghost-children climbed down the stairs, followed by the rest of the funeral procession. Only their cohort’s dirge echoed across Moros. The flames consuming the city had died, the undead were as mute as tombstones, the living watching the scene in respectful silence. Medea collapsed to her knees, a hand on her chest as if she had been stabbed herself.

Cass had succeeded. The ritual had worked, and summoned the shades of the dead. The only spirits to whom Medea and Jason would listen to.

“Father, Mother, stop this madness,” one of the twins said when they climbed down the stairs and faced their parents. Kairos couldn’t tell which of them was Mermeros and the other Phares. They were so alike, he couldn’t distinguish them from the other. “This country is suffering.”

“But not as much as you,” the other twin continued, clutching Cassandra’s hand. The woman remained silent, letting the family reunion take place without any judgment on her part. “You have both lived too long. The burden of the past is crushing you.”

Jason’s black fleece of a cloak whistled with the wind. His bident was down, the light in his eyes dimming. “I had almost forgotten the sound of your voice,” he whispered feebly. “It has been so long since I have breathed…”

“We have been children for centuries, waiting on the other side,” one of the twins said. “But you never came.”

“I…” Medea covered her mouth with her hands, sobbing. Gone was the vicious viper Kairos had grown used to. She had never looked so vulnerable, so weak. “I couldn’t bear… couldn’t bear to…”

“It is alright, mother,” the first twin reassured her. He raised a hand at his mother, the ghostly fingers going through her cheeks. Medea’s eyes were heavy with tears, a fountain flowing down her cheeks. “We forgave you long ago.”

The witch-queen of Achlys collapsed in front of her entire army, sobbing.

Jason’s response was fire and fury. “You forgive her?” he snarled, his fork shining in the dark. “She murdered you! She stabbed you, she stabbed you a dozen times, and I… when I found your remains, I couldn’t even recognize you. How can you forgive her for this?”

The first child remained calm and peaceful. “We have been dead longer than we were alive. We had time to learn, to understand. Our love for you never dimmed.”

“We forgave both of you, Father,” the second twin added.

Jason flinched, his skeletal hands reached for his black fleece mantle as if to protect himself from the cold. “You lie,” the undead said. “My true children would never… not after… not after this. You are not them. You are illusions—”

This time, Cassandra decided to speak up. “Open your eyes,” she said. “They are here. I spoke to Queen Persephone herself, who presented these shades before me. Don’t you feel her power at work here? These are your children, Jason of Iolcus, and their hands are as warm as their hearts.”

Jason raised his eyes to the temple, listening to the ghostly wind blowing from it. A blind man could have seen a god at work. “Impossible,” he whispered. “No one could…”

“It is not your hate for our mother that keeps you in this pitiful state,” one of the children said with a nod. “You hate yourself just as much.”

“It is not my hand who did the deed,” Jason said while glancing at his wife. “But I planted the seeds from which this disaster grew.”

“You made a mistake, but you do not have to suffer forever for it. You have accepted your guilt, and now… now you must stop slaying the innocent, and face the consequences.”

“Queen Persephone granted us our wish, to end this madness.” His brother shook his head. “Father, Mother, it is time to let go. For the sake of others, and your own.”

“Let go?” Jason asked, as if the word was foreign to him. His words were heavy, and in them, Kairos could hear the weight of centuries bearing down on the ancient [Hero].

“I… I can’t…” Medea said, pleading. “If I go… if I go…”

If she died, she would go to Tartarus. She had killed her own children, one of the greatest crimes to both gods and men; she had betrayed, killed, and sinned for centuries, her hands drenched in blood. There would be no Elysium Fields for her, no Isle of the Blessed.

“How long has it been since you have been happy, Mother?” one of the ghosts asked. “Truly happy?”

The witch looked down, ashes blowing on the brick ground. “A long time ago.”

“You may be breathing, Mother, but you have died with the old world.”

Medea’s hands fell down on her robes, her hands pale as death. She looked up at Jason, and for perhaps the first time in centuries, her hated husband responded not with a gaze of hate and fury, but understanding.

“It is time,” Jason said, accepting his demise. He had centuries to ponder his fate, and now, the time had come to face it. “We were always bound for the same destination.”

In the end, they were both ghosts of an age long past, unable to rest.

One of the children put a ghostly hand on his mother’s shoulder. Medea gently grabbed it, her fingers somehow giving her the specter substance. “Sharing your suffering is not happiness, Mother. It is just more pain, more tears. More torment and bitterness. You have lived too long, but you do not need to fear what lies beyond death.”

“Queen Persephone is just,” the other twin reassured his mother. “Your crimes and Father’s may be heavy, but the old gods treated you unfairly too. She will grant you a fair hearing.”

“Whatever she decides, your punishment will not last forever,” the other twin said. “In time, you will be purified and your soul shall finally know peace. We will drink from the Lethe river, and our souls will reincarnate. Maybe… maybe we can be a family again then.”

“No!” An Empusa found the courage to open her mouth, pleading with the witch-queen. “Mistress, do not leave us! If you go… if you go, we shall be helpless!”

“If you go, we will be nothing,” a veiled witch added.

Medea listened to their words, before glancing at the amazons. Perhaps she had expected that some would beg for her to stay, to lead them in the dark times ahead.

But for one pair of eyes full of support or compassion, ten more were cold and resentful. None of the amazons tried to hold her back, and even some of the witches remained silent. Medea sending Kairos to fight in her place had burned many bridges even among her most loyal supporters.

Andromache seemed sympathetic, and Cassandra sad, but in the end, Medea belonged with the dead.

The witch-queen took a long, deep breath, and said three words.

“I am tired.”

She extended her arms and hugged her children. The ghosts broke contact with Cassandra, their bodies losing substance. Yet they returned their mother’s embrace, even as her fingers turned wrinkled, her face into a skull. Her robes turned into tattered rags and then dust.

Time was catching up to the ancient witch-queen, aging her to dust. The weight of many centuries bore down on her, until the flesh fell from the bones and only dust remained. The ghost children glanced at their father, before vanishing as if they had never existed.

Of Medea of Colchis, nothing remained.

The chilling wind grew stronger, freezing the blood falling from Kairos’ left hand. The air swirled around the undead army of Jason, blowing them away like statues of sand. Castor and Pollux, the cyclops, the riders, and the horses. Their corpses collapsed one after another, puppets with cut strings rotting in place.

The Argo’s curse had been lifted.

“Is this long nightmare finally coming to an end?” Jason raised his skeletal hand at Cassandra, his bones cracking. The magic that sustained his undeath weakened. “I have you to thank for my liberation.”

Cassandra glanced at the ravaged city, at the dead and the living. “I should have come earlier.”

“Perhaps. But better late than never.” Jason appraised Cassandra for a few seconds, ribs falling off his chest and turning to dust before they hit the ground. The Argo’s captain offered his liberator his weapon. “Take this.”

Cassandra frowned, carefully grabbing the bident by the pole. The fork fumed, the air bending around the tip due to the otherworldly heat. “What…” the Foresight’s first mate gulped. “I am honored, but… what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Whatever you wish,” the undead warlord replied with a hint of amusement. “I told you before that nothing short of a [Hero] was worthy of my time… so you should wield a weapon befitting of your rank. Make better use of it than I did, and of my companions’ treasures.”

“I shall,” Cass answered before bowing deeply. Behind her, Julia and the priestesses reached the end of the funeral dirge, the ghostly wind losing potency. It would stop blowing after claiming one last soul.

Jason scoffed, his worm-tongue turning chalk white, bits of it falling off. He wouldn’t remain long in this world. “I was wrong, Kairos of Travia,” the undead said to his former foe, causing the Travian to straighten up. “You won.”

“We all did,” the pirate replied calmly.

“You gathered great friends to champion your cause. See that you treat them better than I did my own loved ones.” Jason removed the black fleece off his back. “Remember this lesson, each time you don this cloak.”

Kairos said nothing, as Jason of Iolcus draped his shoulders with his black ram fleece. The wool felt warm to the touch, and as it touched the pirate captain, the cloak changed color. A cloud of dark smoke escaped from the fleece, like a living being purging a poison from its blood.

The blackened wool turned golden.

“Farewell,” Jason said, before turning to dust like the rest of his army. For a brief instant, Kairos thought he had seen the specter of a man appear for a split second, strong and handsome, before the undead captain’s soul went to its final rest. Jason’s magical items disappeared, leaving only two behind.

A fiery fork, and a golden fleece.

Congratulations, you earned five levels (total 46) and 15 Skill Points.

Cassandra herself started shining with a golden, ghostly light illuminating the night. Her body brimmed with power as Kairos’ own once did, when he completed the Scheria Quest. All watched in awe, as Cassandra ascended to the realm of myths.

When the light died down, she and Kairos stood shoulder to shoulder as heroes.

Cassandra Bato

Legend: Lady of Cinders (Hero).

Race: Human

Class: Fighter (Shieldmaiden, Myrmidon, Vanguard, Raider, Champion)

Level: 45

The army around them erupted in deafening cheers, to the point Kairos wondered if people would hear them all the way in Travia. Some happy sellswords threw their helmets to the skies, while many more dropped their weapons or kicked the dust left by the undead.

“Victory!” General Petra shouted from atop her horse, raising her spear to the bloody moon above. The crowd echoed her joy, Achlysians, Travians, everyone. The Stymphalian birds screeched loudly, while on the Foresight’s deck Nessus ordered soldiers to use their fire rods. Fireballs exploded in the skies above Moros in a blinding song of flames and explosions. Not to be outdone, Andromache used her scepter to summon a phoenix-shaped fiery rune in the heavens above, a smile forming on the cruel Scylla’s face.

“We did it!” Rook rejoiced, leaping to Kairos’ side. “We did it, Kairos!”

“It’s over,” Cassandra whispered to herself, as if she doubted her own victory. Then she beamed with joy. “We won!”

“Congratulations, Cass,” Kairos said, though he had a hard time hearing himself over the deafening cheers. “You saved us all.”

Julia approached the two Heroes and moved between them. She seized Kairos’ right hand, the one holding the [Anemoi Spear], and did the same with Cass’ left one. The fiery bident and the wind spear connected in a burst of magic and light.

“All hail King Kairos and Cassandra!” Julia shouted as loud as she could. “All hail the pirate king and lady of cinders!”

Kairos’ heart skipped a beat at his wife’s brazen declaration, but to his shock, it worked.

“Cassandra! Kairos!” A chorus shouted. “Cassandra! Kairos! KAIROS!”

A thousand hands grabbed the two [Heroes] before lifting them above the ground. Kairos recognized those of Agron and Chloris and Julia herself, but countless others he didn’t. The Travian warlord was too shocked to react, though a smile spread on his face; Cassandra outright exploded in laughter, though he couldn’t tell if it was one of joy or nervousness.

“All hail the pirate king!” sang a thousand voices at once. Nessus, Thales, Astraea, Dag, the whole Foresight crew shouted as well, louder than any others. His last stand against Jason of Iolcus had made him a Hero, and not just a [Hero]. “All hail the griffin king! All hail the sellsword king!”

They called him by a dozen names, until one became popular enough to drown all others.

“ALL HAIL THE SELLSWORD KING!”

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By the time dawn rose on Moros, its defenders found the Argo’s rotting to nothingness in the harbor. It was said a captain should go down with the ship, and in this case, the vessel followed its owner to the grave.

Yet like Jason, the Argo’s husk left something behind.

A vast hoard had washed on Moros’ shores, the Argo’s bounty accumulated over countless centuries of preying on the Sunsea. Platinum statues of ancient, forgotten kings; carvings of ivory and gemstones; magical armors claimed from forgotten heroes, shining crystals and fossilized dragon eggs; copper jars and amber stones; and gold. Gold most of all. All day long coins washed over the shores, a golden flood shining brightly under the sun. Soldiers fought and died over them, until General Petra managed to enforce order.

Kairos wasn’t among those counting them; this task he had left to Cassandra, while he gathered with his wife and the Achlysians in a post-war council in Persephone’s temple.

In the end, losses had been small compared to what could have been. Roughly a thousand dead or missing out of a host of eight thousand. To the Achlysians’ relief, Thalestris hadn’t been counted among the dead. The old amazon queen had survived the night, though with heavy wounds. Witches and Empusas had sat her on a wooden throne, constantly casting healing spells on their charge.

It said something about the wounds Thalestris took that she wasn’t strong enough to walk by herself yet. The amazon queen had gained a Nemean Lion’s Pelt from the ordeal though, and seemed to consider it a fair bargain.

Kairos himself had kept his left hand, Atalanta’s arrow safely removed from it, even if he would wear bandages for a while. The Travian warlord could move his fingers enough to pet Rook on the head, while he and his wife faced the Achlysians.

“The port is burnt to ashes,” General Petra said, her voice echoing around the roundtable. “Even with the bounty from the Argo to fund the repairs, it will take months to make Moros fully operational again.”

“The Curse of Circe has been lifted with Queen Medea’s demise, which makes us more vulnerable than ever,” an Empusa added.

General Petra frowned at the spellcaster. “Don’t you witches have someone capable of reactivating it?”

“We will select another witch-queen from among our numbers, but none will have the late mistress’ power.” Though the spellcasters had kept their magical powers after their mistress’ demise, they had lost much of their political ones. The amazons had Thalestris, while the Daughters of Circe were left adrift and leaderless. “No man will turn to beast upon landing on our shores anymore.”

“It will help with trade, however,” an elder said. “We can retake the coast, establish more ports to replace Moros.”

“What about Lyce?” another asked, before glaring at Julia. “Should we even discuss this in front of a Lycean?”

“Julia is my queen, and the one who brought the sellsword army that helped defend your shores,” Kairos declared firmly, his wife’s fingers brushing against his right hand; half political calculation, half a display of genuine affection. “She speaks for Histria as much as I do, and you shall give her the respect she deserves.”

“Thank you, husband,” Julia replied, before giving the Achlysians a wolfish smile. “I am Lycean by birth, true, but I represent Histria first and foremost. As for my homeland, its hungry eyes are set on the Thessalan League. You are safe... for now.”

“But not forever,” an Empusa said with skepticism.

“I could certainly whisper a few words to my brother’s ears, and help you find friends among the Senex. For a price. Trade agreements will be a start, but we can discuss the finer details in due time.” From the way Julia said it, she had already drafted a treaty.

The Achlysians exchanged gazes, but they didn’t have much room to negotiate. “We will have to open our borders to the outside world, for better or worse,” an elder said. “Since we can no longer ensure our safety from Lyce, we will have to turn to Vali or Alexandria for an alliance.”

“Or Travia,” Kairos added with a smile. “We have a great need for mercenaries lately, and your bows and horses will find a warm welcome on my island.”

For the first time in the entire discussion, Thalestris opened her mouth, with roaring laughter. “I would rather pay with steel than gold,” she said with a smile. “If Travian males are half as brave as you are, I might look for a new husband there.”

“Perhaps I should do the same,” General Petra mused. “My spear has grown rusty, and Moros will need coins to be rebuilt. I am sure a Sellsword King will pay good money for a commander’s services.”

“Who coined this nickname?” Kairos whispered to his wife, annoyed. The common troops had started calling him that because his army was mostly made up of mercenaries, but he didn’t find the title fitting.

“Your satyr,” she replied with a smile, Kairos groaning in response. “Why do you look so unhappy? It sounds more acceptable than the Pirate King. Pirates are despised, mercenaries respected.”

Perhaps, but Kairos didn’t like it. True, his army had been mostly made up of Travian mercenaries, but he didn’t even use a sword.

“I liked griffin king better,” Rook said, as disappointed as his best friend. “I carried him on my back all night long!”

“You will be the griffin king, joyful bird,” Julia kindly reassured Rook. “Only a king is fit to carry another on his back.”

Kairos knew his wife didn’t care if people called him the King of Nowhere, so long as they kept the king part.

“Oh, right!” Rook nodded to himself. “Two kings are better than one!”

Kairos and Julia spent the better part of the hour discussing a trade agreement between Achlys and Histria, before retiring from the council. After reaching the island as foes, they would leave as good friends. Thalestris wouldn’t take sides between them and Mithridates though; the Poison King would keep his dragon, and what other support Medea had provided before her demise.

“You had soldiers openly declare me as pirate king on foreign soil,” Kairos told his wife as they walked out of Persephone’s temple, Rook hopping after them. “This will have consequences.”

“Was there a better moment?” Julia asked rhetorically. “Teuta calls herself pirate queen too.”

“Exactly,” Kairos replied grimly. “In the end, there can only be one.”

Teuta might have allied to Mithridates, but Kairos had hoped they might reach an agreement. Declaring himself pirate king all but secured her enmity.

“We both knew a conflict was inevitable, husband, and we earned more concessions from Thalestris as equals.” Julia touched his wool cloak with her soft fingers. “The Golden Fleece is proof enough of your authority and glorious destiny.”

Kairos glanced at his cloak with [Magical Knack], and reverence.

Golden Fleece

Artifact: Rank 4.

Value: Priceless.

The sacred fleece of the golden ram Chrysomallus, imbued with the powers of fertility. The wearer is immune to [Aging], [Disease], and [Poison] unless caused by a [God]; if used as a bedsheet during coupling, the fleece will also guarantee a fruitful union if possible. Additionally, if the wearer is a ruler, their land will benefit from heightened fertility.

“It has to be a copy,” Kairos said. Even though his Skills all said otherwise, he still couldn’t believe he had put his hands on the true Golden Fleece of myths. The [Anemoi Spear] had been a minor treasure, but the Golden Fleece was in a league of its own. The Travian felt almost unworthy to hold it.

“It is genuine, my love,” Andromache’s voice echoed as the couple emerged from the temple. The Scylla waited at the gates in human form alongside Cassandra; Kairos’ first mate had traded the priestess chiton for her armor, and her sword for Jason’s bident. “The Golden Fleece was last seen in Jason’s possession, when Medea burnt Corinthe to the ground.”

“His anger must have corrupted it,” Cassandra said while glancing at her new weapon. “The flames of revenge turned the gold black.”

And they still burnt within that bident.

Fork of Nemesis

Artifact: Rank 3.

Value: Priceless.

A powerful bident granted to the undead Jason of Iolcus centuries ago by the goddess of vengeance Nemesis. The fork is imbued with the power of [Fire] and can produce fireballs at will. These flames have a chance of canceling spells or magical effects, and if they do, will cause [Fire] damage to the spellcaster.

“You look displeased, Andromache,” Julia said upon noticing the frown on the Scylla’s face.

“You had me wait outside like a common servant, and now meet me with my man at your arm,” the witch replied with a glare. “Perhaps you wish to hasten your demise, cursed wolf?”

“Andromache—” Kairos began, only for his wife to interrupt him.

“You misunderstand our relationship, Scylla,” the Lycean noblewoman said with a shrewish gaze. “I have nothing personal against your person. I am not against my husband taking his pleasure of you, for I have my own bed warmer… so long as you do it discreetly. A king cannot have two queens.”

The witch sneered. “You can have the throne, so long as I keep the heart.”

“I shall have no quarrel between you,” Kairos said with an annoyed frown. “Especially not here and now.”

“Agreed, we should show a united front on foreign soil,” Julia replied, before glancing at Cassandra. “My dear Cassandra, have you finished counting our coins?”

“Thales did,” the first mate replied. “I had to haggle with the Achlysians to keep half the bounty, which leaves us with a total of around two-hundred thousand gold coins.”

That was more money than Kairos had seen in his entire life. Even Dispater’s colossal loan had only been half of that amount. “What should we do with these funds?”

“We should use half of it to reimburse Dispater’s loan,” Julia said wisely. “If he is true to his promise, he will lend Histria another two hundred thousand coins in return. The rest we can distribute among the troops as plunder. Rulers should be generous and open-handed.”

Once again, she saw everything through the prism of public relationships. Kairos would have split the plunder too, but because each soldier deserved a share of the treasure after all they had gone through. “How did the captainship election go?” he asked Cassandra.

“Do you even have to ask?” his first mate asked with a grin. “The crew voted to keep you as captain almost twenty to one.”

“That some of them voted against you at all is an insult, my other half,” Andromache said with a sneer. “Your men do not deserve you.”

By now, the Travian understood some people would always dissent no matter what. Unanimous support was a myth.

Kairos looked down at the temple’s stairs, watching his troops at work.

Soldiers cut and cauterized Delphyne the hydra’s heads, the creature having grown too many for her body to support. From afar, the reptile looked more like a mass of a hundred red snakes than a single being; she should regain the ability to move once she had six or five left.

The Foresight had rejoined the waters of the harbor, waiting to sail again. Thales oversaw the provisions gathering of the Travian fleet alongside Tiberius, while Nessus was showcasing Atalanta’s golden bow to an impressed Chloris. The satyr had claimed the weapon as repayment for his lost eye.

Agron also kept a trophy, but Kairos doubted the Orpheus’ Silver Lyre would find much use in his hand. The minotaur was pissed not to have earned a [Legend] from the ordeal; unfortunately, Eidolons had been mere extensions of Jason, shadows on the wall. They provided experience, but couldn’t spark a new [Legend].

Everywhere, he saw Travian sellswords with amazons or even veiled witches, sparring, playing dice, or even drinking together. Kairos had the feeling many couples would form by the day’s end, maybe with children on the way. More people would return to Histria than those who came ashore, especially if Petra would take them up on the offer of mercenary work.

These were Kairos’ people, and they had declared him king. The Travian had dreamed of such a day, praying for its arrival even. And only now, after facing a true [Hero], mutinies, foreign intrigues, and desperate battles, did he fully understand the difficulties ahead.

But no matter how difficult, this is the path Kairos had chosen.

“Kairos,” Cass said, clearing her throat. “Could I ask you for a favor?”

“Of course. What is it?”

“I wish to leave the Foresight’s crew.”

For a second, Kairos thought he had misheard, and so did the other women present. “Is this a jape?” Andromache asked, while Julia listened in silence.

“No, I am serious,” Cassandra replied, before focusing back on Kairos. “Don’t get me wrong, I intend to stay as your second-in-command, to serve as your sword and shield… but not as your first mate.”

“You would rather be a captain?” Kairos guessed, his surprise turning into joy. “You wish to command your own ship.”

“Yes.” Cassandra’s expression turned into a sheepish smile. “I feel ready to take the leap now.”

It took an undead invasion for it, but Cass had finally found the courage to step out of others’ shadows. Kairos couldn’t be prouder of her. “You will make a wonderful captain, Cass,” he said, making her blush a little. “Do you already have a name in mind for your vessel?”

“Yes,” she replied with a smile, looking at the sea. “The Rhadamanthe.”

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A/N: chapter made possible by you, dear patrons. And thus concludes the Hunt for the Argo arc ;)