Kairos 40: Sun and Moon

Kairos had to give it to the gods, they knew how to receive guests.

Prometheus hosted the banquet in his villa’s open hall, which provided a magnificent view of the sea. The stars reflected in the sea, the horizon shining brightly like a tide of silver. The moon was almost full above them, providing enough light for Kairos to see without torches.

The marble room itself was a wonder of architecture. It included a large pool deep enough to swim, with a golden sphere statue magically floating at the center; though Kairos couldn’t recognize the continents on it, he guessed it must have been how the Earth looked before the flood. Smaller orbs representing the sun and moon orbited around it, alongside glittering ghosts representing the constellations. Rook himself had decided to swim in the water rather than participate in the feast, playing with a group of swans.

Kairos had been granted a place of honor on a mahogany dais, with Prometheus to his right, and Heracles and Hebe to his left. Ganymede had retired to a balcony, playing a sweet song on a lyre. “My father forced him to be his cupbearer for centuries,” Heracles had told Kairos. “Parties make him uneasy even to this day.”

“Cupbearer and far darker things,” Prometheus had added.

Kairos hadn’t dared to refuse the invitation, but the whole setup made him uneasy. Heracles was the greatest hero of the ancient world; the myths of his exploits were so outrageous, that the Travian could scarcely believe half of them. After seeing his Eidolon in action, though, Kairos wondered if the legends had understated the giant’s power. His wife Hebe was a lesser known goddess, but also the previous cupbearer of Zeus himself.

As for Prometheus… tales said he was a titan, a deity older than Zeus himself. He had fashioned generations of humans from clay, stole fire from the gods to give it to mortals, taught them metallurgy, science, and astronomy. Prometheus had made men different from other beasts, and for that, they honored him to this day.

But how much could Kairos trust these myths? All these divinities were thought dead or lost in the flood, but not only were they alive, they had also invited him to a feast… and proven to be gracious hosts. The Travian would have wanted Andromache at his side to advise him, but he could only rely on himself and Rook.

His uneasiness must have shown, because Prometheus smiled warmly at him. “I have no ill-will towards you, Kairos, and you are a guest. The laws of Xenia bind us too.”

“The last [Demigoddess] I broke bread with almost slew me first,” Kairos confessed. “I’m just confused about why you invited me.”

“Should one have a reason to drink and eat?” Heracles asked.

“Truth be told, the map that led you here was never meant for you,” Prometheus said. “I expected your father to come to me as a [Hero], perhaps even your uncle. It was only after your ascension that I learned of your existence in my visions.”

Kairos blinked. “Why did you want to meet my family?”

“To warn them of great dangers to come,” the titan replied. “But we can discuss that after dinner.”

Kairos reluctantly agreed, holding off his questions for later. Prometheus rose from his seat and clapped. This signaled his staff to get on with the work. “Kairos, welcome to Deucalia.”

It seemed the palace came alive afterward, as dozens of people filled the hall. Half of them were golden automatons, but many species of the world called this strange island home too. Minotaurs, centaurs, humans, satyrs, a couple of harpies… Kairos even noticed a talking skeleton chatting with a living woman.

Many were entertainers and servants, but others weren’t. With [Observer], Kairos identified a few as smiths, astronomers, philosophers, mathematicians, musicians, artists, and even a few priests. And most importantly, none of them looked older than twenty. “How many of you are there?” the Travian asked his hosts.

“Roughly three hundred, half of them automatons of my creation,” Prometheus said. “Unless you count the monkeys roaming the palm forest.”

“They outnumber us ten to one, though they never defeated my husband at war,” Hebe japed.

Heracles erupted in laughter, that was so powerful yet so kind. “What they lack in strength, they make up for in bravery.”

“The monkeys will bury us all,” Prometheus said.

“Is that a new prophecy, my old friend?” Heracles asked, amused.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Entertainers took over the space before the dais, while automaton servants began to pour cups and serve plates; though they served Kairos and his divine hosts first, they also provided for the island’s inhabitants. The food was a strange, silvery cake that looked like a solid cloud, and the drink was wine as glittering as molten gold.

“[Nectar] and [Ambrosia],” Hebe explained. “I can craft these substances as part of my [Legend]. They will grant you health and youth for a month, though this will be redundant with your [Golden Fleece]’s effects.”

“[Gods] gain a form of immortality upon ascension, but not always eternal youth,” Prometheus explained. “Hebe fixed this.”

Kairos looked at his food with apprehension. Truthfully, he felt out of place, intimidated even. These were [Gods], legends of the old world, serving him food worthy of the heavens; and here he came like a peasant, with no gifts and only countless questions. Kairos didn’t think they would poison him, but he felt out of place.

“Go, take a bite,” Hebe said, her voice so soft and reassuring it reminded Kairos of his mother Aurelia. “You will love it.”

The Travian obeyed after some hesitation, taking a pinch of Ambrosia.

The taste almost brought him to tears.

It was sweeter than sugar without being sickening, mixed with the flavor of cinnamon and rarer spices he only ever touched while feasting in Lyce. The substance melted on his tongue, filling the Travian without making him feel heavy. He quickly took a second bite, then finished a full plate to his hosts’ amusement.

The drink was just as delightful, a perfect fruity wine that left Kairos wanting for more. Yet no matter how much he consumed, his appetite remained boundless, his stomach as lightweight as a feather.

Entertainers took the floor, pyromancers making rings while trained tigers jumped through them; pipers commanding great hooded serpents to twist and turn; a juggler played with colored spheres that caught fire as they rose in the air, turning into small meteors.

It was the minotaur sword swallower that fascinated Rook the most though. “Where did it go?” the griffin asked as a minotaur devoured a sword half his size. When the entertainer didn’t spit it out, the bird looked at the bullman’s butt from the pool. “Where did it go?”

Nubile dancers, male and female, moved their bodies in an arousing performance; many wore transparent veils for clothes, and one even dared to blow Kairos a kiss. A few even moved on to the pool, walking on the water as if it was solid ground while Rook and swans swam around them.

Mages soon asked the birds and dancers to exit the waters. When the animals did, the spellcasters raised the pool’s liquid to form animal shapes. A transparent wolf and a great falcon dueled in the fountain, before collapsing into droplets.

“Are there other gods on this island?” Kairos asked, after the taste of ambrosia grew stale. There was too much of a good thing, even in heaven.

Heracles laughed again. “Three gods, and it isn’t enough for him,” he said, patting Kairos on the shoulder with one hand while holding a cup with the other. The Travian could tell the giant had the strength to squash him like a mosquito if he so wished, but the pat was gentle. “I like this lad.”

“Only the three of us live here in Deucalia,” Hebe said, her warm smile faltering somewhat. “As for elsewhere, very few of the old gods remain alive, let alone active. Your ancestors were thorough in their hatred.”

Kairos had guessed as much. Only Prometheus, Heracles, and his wife Hebe were [God]-Ranked. Ganymede was a [Hero], while the automatons and attendants were [Commons] and [Elites].

“Our sons sailed west, to try and raise continents from the deep sea,” Heracles added with a hint of longing. “Every day I go to that beach, hoping to catch sight of their sails.”

“They will return,” Prometheus comforted him. “Though it could be in a fortnight or in a century.”

“Are your seers as accurate as ours?” Heracles asked Kairos with a grin.

His infectious smile made the Travian’s tongue loosen. The world’s strongest man must have had an A in [Charisma] too, if not more. “I’m afraid not. I can already imagine what they would say.” Kairos chuckled, trying to do his best impersonation of Rhadamanthe. “To find your children west, you must go east; to look forward you must go back. Beware false hopes and true friends.”

“Now, Kairos, you are very unkind with us seers, especially mortal ones,” Prometheus said, though he didn’t hide his amusement. “They receive only fragments of what their deities foresee, and we [Gods] get our visions from the Fate System. We are just as clueless as men sometimes.”

Kairos immediately caught on. “Lord Prometheus, you were the source of Rhadamanthe’s seer abilities?”

“Lord?” The title seemed to amuse the ancient titan. “I am no lord of anything. I have no wish to rule anyone or be worshiped, Kairos.”

“None of us here do,” Hebe added. “We have retired from the world of men.”

Prometheus nodded sharply. “All my existence I fought for the liberty of humans, my children. For mankind to be free of the capricious gods that ruled them, and master of its own fate. I do have priests, like Rhadamanthe, but I do not require sacrifices nor demand abasement. I do send visions and provide advice when asked, but little more.”

“You could still do a great deal of good,” Kairos pointed out, glancing at Heracles. “The world overflows with monsters and dangers.”

“How could I top my existing achievements?” Heracles asked. “Who can offer me a challenge nowadays? Lycaon? Typhon? Even I am not foolish enough to break their seals and risk the world for a shot at their heads.”

“Even if they aren’t a challenge for you, lesser monsters still kill people.”

Heracles let out a sigh. “Do you know how old I am, young man?” he asked. “And how many years have I spent fighting someone?”

“I…” Kairos looked into the deity’s eyes, and realized that though he looked young outside, he was old inside. “I cannot imagine, no.”

“Sometimes this place is boring, I will confess. But it is peaceful.” Heracles smiled at his wife. “I lost three wives before I married my Hebe, never got to watch my children grow. I could never enjoy simple pleasures like growing a garden, or watching clouds blown away by the wind. I had my fill of death and slaughter. I am tired.”

I am tired. Medea had spoken these words before time caught up to her, the weight of centuries turning her to dust in an instant. Heracles had lived for millennia, spending many of them warring; he had witnessed the world’s destruction and rebirth. Kairos couldn’t fault him for asking for peace.

“My adventuring days are long gone.” Heracles smiled at Kairos. “It’s time for new blood to get their chance at glory. Like you.”

“Thank you, Lor—” Kairos quickly corrected himself when the [God] sent him a quizzical look. “Thank you, great Heracles.”

“I could teach you a few things more important than empty courtesies,” Heracles said while playing with his cup. “Will you stay for the night?”

Kairos opened his mouth, before realizing the god didn’t mean it in a purely platonic way. “I’m… sorry, I already have partners.”

“Me too,” Heracles replied with a shrug. “My wife often participates. She is fond of young men like you.”

Hebe laughed at Kairos’ surprise. “When your marriage has lasted centuries, young man, you will have tried everything. We would gladly have you for the night.”

“I’m…” Kairos found the situation highly embarrassing. “I’m… I’m honored, but… I am not attracted to men. Or interested in cheating on my partners. My love life is already tumultuous as it is.”

Heracles raised an eyebrow, utterly confused. “In my time, it was considered a mark of education for a young man to learn the arts of love from an older male partner.”

“It is… uncommon in my homeland.”

Heracles shook his head in disappointment. “This world is growing more astray by the century.”

“The Athenians also forbade their women from going outside,” his wife pointed out, amused. “The freedom my gender enjoys in this era is unheard of.”

“So what is this place?” The Travian asked, trying to change the subject. “A refuge of some kind?”

“A retirement home,” Prometheus said. “Have you ever heard the story of my son, Deucalion, and the fall of the third humanity?”

Kairos did. His mother had taught him mythology. “After Zeus destroyed the men of the Silver Age for their impiety, rose the third humanity. They ruled during the Age of Bronze, making weapons to war on each other. One of their tyrants, Lycaon of Arcadia, then served the flesh of his own son to Zeus as a cruel test of his omniscience. As punishment for the king’s gruesome deed, the Olympians turned Lycaon into the first werewolf, and washed away the earth clean with a flood.”

“One of the few times when my father’s fury was entirely justified,” Heracles said grimly. “And even then he went overboard. How many innocents perished for the crimes of a few?”

Prometheus nodded. “It was not the first time the Olympians caused a flood, and it would not be the last. I foresaw the disaster and warned my son Deucalion and his wife, who took refuge in a chest capable of floating on the waters. When after nine days the waters receded, his chest ended up atop a mountain.”

“This one?” Kairos guessed.

“Indeed, though it wasn’t an island back then,” Prometheus mused. “My son and his wife then went on to create the fourth humanity, that of the Heroic Age.”

“My generation, until yours replaced us with the fall of Troy,” Heracles explained to Kairos. “A race of heroes and warriors. We had higher stats and it was easier to level up. The meanest peasant often had more Skills than your kings. But then the Trojan War killed most demigods and heroes, leaving a weaker, lesser race of men to take over.”

“I heard Zeus planned the war to weed out heroes and demigods,” Kairos said, remembering Andromache’s tale. “He feared that they might turn against Olympus.”

“True,” Hebe admitted. “Lord Zeus was wise enough to remember he had risen to power by overthrowing his predecessor, and that the same fate could await him should he prove complacent. But with the Heroic Age’s end, came the fifth humanity.”

Kairos’ ancestors. The men of the Iron Age.

“The fifth humanity has lower stats than their predecessors, except in [Intelligence] and [Charisma],” Prometheus pointed out with a prideful look. “Which proved to be Zeus’ undoing.”

“Those were dark times.” Hebe looked away in sorrow, her husband putting his enormous hand on her lap to reassure her. Her voice was haunting, a sad lamentation for an age long gone. “I will never forget the sight of the sun setting on the horizon, as the rain clouds cleared. Olympus’ stones had turned red from the blood, and the air was thick with the last breaths of the dead. And yet, the sun shone like gold above us, untouched. It made me weep, until I had no tears left.”

Kairos remembered Andromache’s tale, of the cataclysmic final battle that saw the gods overthrown. Millions, perhaps more, had perished. “Why did you fight with humanity?” he asked. Why did they wage war on their fellow deities for the sake of the oppressed?

“I didn’t,” Hebe admitted.

“My wife and I sat the war out,” Heracles said. “I loathed my ‘peers,’ but a son shouldn’t slay his father, or else he is cursed. As for why… my stepmother Hera sent serpents to slay me in my crib, you know that?”

“I’m aware,” Kairos said. “Your tales are well-known.”

“When she couldn’t kill my body, Hera instead attacked my mind. At her whim, I would go [Berserk] and hurt my loved ones. My first wife Megara, and my first children. My friend Iphitus, who believed in me to the end.” Heracles' face turned into a scowl, which Kairos found strikingly similar to Medea’s. “I slew them with my bare hands in a daze and woke up screaming, their blood dripping from my fingers.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Kairos said, while Hebe stroked her husband’s lionlike mane. They reminded the Travian of a kind maiden soothing a wounded beast.

“Hera and the gods sent me trials after trials to ‘atone for my crimes,’” Heracles continued, his voice oozing resentment. “I freed my good friend Prometheus from a tight spot during one of my labors, but even accomplishing all of Hera’s capricious tasks wasn’t enough for her. She drove my third wife Deianira mad with jealousy until she poisoned me with blood laced with hydra venom, believing it to be a love potion. My body wouldn’t die, but the pain… Deianira committed suicide out of remorse.”

The old gods were fickle and cruel. They reaped what they had sown.

“My companions burnt me alive on a pyre, destroying the man and leaving only the [God]. But though Hera was forced to give me my dear Hebe’s hand in marriage after I saved her from giants, I never forgot, nor forgave. I witnessed so many cruelties from my peers, young Kairos, I couldn’t recount them all.”

“It was Ganymede’s fate that opened our eyes,” his wife said. “When I married my husband, Zeus abducted him to replace me as a cupbearer. He used the poor man as a bedwarmer, whether he liked it or not. Once I caught him trying to cut his face off, so Zeus would find him less beautiful, but my ambrosia cured his wounds. To see my gift used to bring pain...”

“Ganymede was treated well by slave’s standards,” Heracles said, “but a slave is still a slave. There were thousands like him on Olympus, Kairos. Thousands. I had been a slave too once, and I sympathized.”

“As thanks for freeing me from my imprisonment, I forewarned Heracles and his family of the coming cataclysm,” Prometheus finished the story. “As the Olympians prepared to make their last stand against the armies of mortalkind, we took Ganymede with us into hiding, alongside all the mortals the gods kept as bedwarmers, slaves, pets, and servants.”

“These people?” Kairos asked, looking at the island’s population. By now most were singing and drinking to their heart’s content, the sound of their laughter covering even the music.

“Them, or their descendants,” Prometheus confirmed. “Many left across the centuries, because they had grown bored with eternal youth or lusted for adventure. Others I sent on missions like Rhadamanthe.”

“Talking of the past makes my body itch,” Heracles said while rising from his seat, gently offering his hand to his wife. “Shall we dance? Kairos, will you join us?”

“Perhaps later,” Kairos replied, not quite at ease with these celebrations. He should have brought Nessus. He had the feeling he and Heracles would have quickly become lifelong drinking buddies.

“Have men forgotten to amuse themselves?” the world’s mightiest said with a grin. “You and Prometheus make quite the pair.”

“I am no more at ease with dancing,” the titan said, rising from his seat. “Come with me, Kairos. I will show you something.”

The Travian followed the titan as he led them away from the celebration and open hall, climbing stone stairs built into the palace. It quickly became clear to Kairos that Prometheus led them to his home’s roof and highest point.

After climbing thirty meters or so, the duo reached a small room built above the living quarters. A dome of stained-glass oversaw it, filtering the moonlight into vibrant colors; a strange bronze and gold machine peeked through a hole in the structure, gazing at the stars with a single glass eye.

“A telescope,” Prometheus explained to Kairos, as they walked through the hole in the dome and towards a narrow ledge. A single guardrail of marble prevented the men from stepping into the void. “Through it, I can observe the stars and celestial movements.”

“I heard of these devices,” Kairos said. “My mother said that Lyce’s seers used it to predict celestial phenomenons.”

“I am sure your friend Thales will build one in time, if half of Rhadamanthe’s reports are accurate.” Prometheus smiled at his mortal descendant, hands on the guardrail. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“You have been keeping an eye on my family for a while,” Kairos said. “Why? What threats would you warn us against?”

Instead of answering immediately, Prometheus glanced at the world beyond the observatory.

Kairos joined him against the guardrail, gaining a high view of the entire island. Below he could see Heracles dance with his wife in the open hall, showing surprising delicateness for such a giant. Rook was flying through a pyromancer’s fiery rings, learning tricks. Beyond the palace, the island was asleep, the sea an endless expanse of pure water.

“What do you see when you look at the ocean?” the titan asked, his gazing losing itself in the distance.

“The unknown,” Kairos replied with a frown, “and freedom.”

“Freedom, yes. This is what I wished for mankind, first and foremost. Not justice or peace, Kairos. Freewill and freedom. Once there were mountains to block your path in that direction, but now you could probably sail from one side, circle the globe, and come back to this island from behind. Hebe regrets the fate of the old world, for she has a kind heart… but between us, I prefer an endless sea to chains of stone.”

“Are there lands beyond this horizon?” Kairos asked. “Beyond the unexplored regions?”

“Yes. Lands where other gods hold sway, or none at all. I have seen some in my visions, but so many remain unknown to me. The world is full of secrets to discover.” Prometheus trimmed his beard. “I am the very concept of foresight made flesh, Kairos. Though I leave humans to choose their own destiny, sometimes I nudge things in one direction so that your kind may keep its freedom. And what mankind needs right now is heroes and defenders.”

Kairos finally caught on. “Like my father?”

The titan nodded sharply. “I once foresaw that your sire, Chron, would grow to become a powerful [Hero] and champion of freedom. That he would confront forces bringing destruction to mankind alongside other great warriors. So I sent Rhadamanthe to advise him, like Chiron the centaur taught many [Heroes]; as I sent guides to other protegees.”

“My uncle once said that my father had the chance to slay General Zama of Vali, back when the man was an [Hero] instead of a [Demigod],” Kairos remembered. “But he never seized it.”

“In the end, Chron chose to ensure his family had a father to provide for them, rather than risk it all for fleeting glory. Some may have called your father craven, Kairos, but in putting his family above his ambition he was wiser than most. Yes, my plans for him were ruined, but as a father myself, I could not begrudge him. Rhadamanthe chose to remain at your father’s side, hoping destiny would go back on its course.”

“But it never did.”

“An opportunity does not come twice, no. Neither your father nor your uncle earned a [Legend], and the Foresight had no [Hero] to guide it… until you seized the moment.”

“I thought prophecies couldn’t be changed?” Kairos asked with a frown, confused. Didn’t the Fate System decide everything?

“Once, Zeus heard a prophecy that his son by his first wife Metis would overthrow him. So he devoured her like his father Chronus did with his children, and avoided his pre-ordained demise. He also stopped lusting after the nymph Thetis upon hearing a similar tale, and wisely had her married to a human. If anything, Zeus’ greatest strength was his uncanny ability to defy his own fate. In the end, it was not a scion of his loins who slew him, but Typhon the World-Eater.”

“By your will?”

Prometheus smiled. “It was Orgonos who freed and reimprisoned Typhon.”

“But you helped my ancestors overthrow the Olympians. I can see it in your gaze.”

“I provided assistance,” he confessed, “though I commanded no army. Unlike Zeus, I would not be haughty enough to think I have the right to command mankind’s destiny. Instead, I offered advice to those who asked.”

“It is you who told my ancestors to approach Gaia and secure her support in the uprising,” Kairos realized. “To gain the allegiance of the Cyclops, so they might make weapons powerful enough to slay the gods.”

“Knowledge is power, Kairos, and the right word can often defeat ten thousand swords. You learned that lesson, I believe.”

Kairos remembered his Quest in Achlys, how a few words had turned the Achlysians into friends rather than foes. “Some battles are won with blades, others with scrolls and oaths.”

“Both are important.” Prometheus coughed. “In any case, here is the bottom of things. Fate is a powerful force, but not an irresistible one. What would be the point of learning about the future, if you couldn’t change? The river’s current is strong, but a fish can swim upstream.”

Cass had made her own Quest harder by delaying it, and Kairos might have come to Andromache’s tower to find the egg hatched and the Scylla gone if he had followed in her footsteps. The world was ever-shifting.

“You said my father would have fought forces wishing to do mankind harm,” Kairos said. “These are the threats you wished to warn me about?”

“I had three nightmares.” A fiery light flashed in Prometheus’ eyes. “A second sun rising in the skies and burning the world to ashes. A colossal beast with oaken scales, sailing a sea of poison. And a great wolf’s jaws closing on the last human’s neck. Three great calamities will shake the Sunsea in your lifetime, I’m afraid.”

“A bit vague, though I have an idea of what threat each of these omens refer to.” The phoenix Kairos saw had inherited the power of Helios, the titan of the sun; the poisonous sea probably referred to Mithridates’ wars of conquest; and the wolf…

“The wolf god shall break his chains and rise again!” The armored figure had warned Kairos in his nightmare, back when Circe’s curse threatened to turn him into a beast. “His pack shall roam the earth!”

“I’ve had a vision of the third calamity, I think,” Kairos admitted. “Of Lycaon escaping his bindings and bringing about an age of beasts.”

“Be wary, Kairos. The more you believe you understand a vision, the farther you are from the truth. This is the nature of prophecies. Just ambiguous enough that one never fully interprets them correctly. Neither is it guaranteed to pass. Achilles was prophesied to either die young and forever remembered, or old and forgotten. He had two paths ahead, and chose one.” Prometheus coughed. “In any case, you and the other [Heroes] of this age will have a pivotal role in either avoiding these disasters, or letting them come to pass through inaction.”

“You could help fight these calamities,” Kairos said. Even Heracles seemed eager to do battle with Lycaon, if the tyrant ever escaped from his bindings.

“I could, but then mankind would grow used to gods making all decisions for them.” Prometheus shook his head. “Freedom is sweet, but it has a price, Kairos. It asks for sacrifices, even for me. I weep for all the wars I do not prevent, the lives I cannot save. But if a father is wise, he lets his children make their own decisions when they come of age. He can offer counsel, but never orders. It is up to you to make your way into the world.”

“I understand.” Some might have accused Prometheus of neglect, but Kairos knew better. It was trust that motivated the ancient titan; trust that mankind could choose its own destiny, and still turn out alright. “I hope to prove myself worthy of your confidence.”

“This is the thing, Kairos. You don’t have to prove yourself worthy of anything. The only judge of your actions is yourself.” Prometheus raised his hand, a scroll appearing within his fingers in a burst of ethereal flames. “Here. The old gods gave their champions gifts before they started their journeys. Here is mine.”

Kairos took the scroll, and opened it to find a strange map. The Travian immediately recognized the design as the one shown on the open hall’s globe, though large parts of it were left blank. “A map of the old world?”

“An incomplete map,” Prometheus said with a sly, cunning grin. “For you to fill.”

Kairos chuckled. “A [Rogue]’s gift.”

“Most expect fiery swords and unbreakable shields, but they misunderstand the true nature of greatness. It is not the weapon that makes the man, but the man who makes the weapon. If you are wise, you will find a way to make this paper scroll worth all of Zeus’ thunderbolts.”

“Thank you, Lord Prometheus.” Kairos smiled at the titan’s frown. “I know you are not lord of anything, but out of all the powerful men I have met, you alone deserve that courtesy. For all you did for my kind.”

“I will take that as a compliment.” Prometheus frowned. "But I can tell you would rather have someone else."

"A loved one of mine was cursed by Circe," Kairos said. "Others were turned into werewolves by Lycaon's blood."

"You want me to lift their curses?" The titan shook his head. "I would if I could, but unfortunately I am no [Spellcaster]. I am a [Rogue]. My purview is scheming, technology, the creation of new life. I cannot lift spells cast by other gods, and neither can Hebe or Heracles. I can break most chains, but not those woven with curses and blood."

"I worried you would say that." But he had to at least ask. "Don't you have an item that could do it?"

"You were offered a way out of Circe's curse, from what I heard," Prometheus said. "If someone can lift a divine witch's spell, it is Orgonos the mage. His spellcasting power is unmatched. As for the werewolf curse, it will remain so long as Lycaon breathes I am afraid. His [Legend] sustains it."

"Any advice on how to convince Orgonos?" Kairos asked. 

"That I can provide," the titan chuckle. "Even today, Orgonos is obsessed with old world artifacts; especially those belonging to his ancestor Poseidon or older gods of magic. If you find a memento of them, he will certainly oblige your request."

The Travian bowed deeply. "Thank you for your counsel."

“I will have a room prepared for you and your griffin, though you should leave at dawn if you wish to return home before the full moon. The way out is longer than the way in.”

As Kairos had suspected, powerful spatial magic shielded the island. Though the fact that his [Magical Knack] Skill couldn’t identify them meant they were beyond his ability to understand. “Will I find my way back here after I leave?”

“Perhaps,” the titan conceded, “but not before many, many years. In a decade, you and your griffin will remember this moment like a dream. I hope you will cherish it.”

-----------------------

The titan hadn’t lied. When Kairos and Rook left Deucalia the next day, the island vanished behind them. One instant it was there, and the duo flew over empty waters the next.

Only the map revealed it hadn’t been just a dream.

The threats foreseen by Prometheus ringed heavily in Kairos’ mind. It might not have been an official Quest, but it weighed on him like an old prophecy.

“Three disasters will shake the Sunsea,” he whispered to himself, as the griffin and his rider came within sight of Histria. The sun had fallen, the full moon bright above the skies. “Three threats we will have to face in our lifetime.”

“Three foes we will defeat!” Rook reassured him. “And whose shinies we will claim!”

His rider couldn’t help but smirk at his sheer optimism. “That’s the spirit.”

Mithridates, Lycaon, let them come, Kairos thought, as he watched his city. The Foresight waited in the bay’s waters, ready to defend the island like its captain. Anyone trying to destroy this place would have to walk over the Travian’s dead body.

Rook landed on the central watchtower of Kairos’ manor, next to the aviary. Horace and his flock slept in artificial nests under the watchful eyes of Spot the cerberus; Rook happily returned to his own home, a structure of metal parts, baubles, and other shiny stones the griffin gathered over the last seasons.

Kairos himself walked down black basalt stairs to the dungeons below his home, of which there were two levels. The first welcomed individual, somewhat comfortable cells for eventual prisoners too precious to be put in a separate jail. The second one housed only a single room, reachable through a claustrophobic stone hallway barely large enough for two humans to walk through at once. Torches on the walls cast a dim light. There were no guards here, because only fools would disturb the floor’s occupants.

Caenis waited at the end of the hallway with a hood and a lantern, before a steel, barred door. The emancipated former slave looked up at Kairos upon sensing his approach. “Lord Kairos,” she said.

“You have sharp senses,” Kairos replied. “[Sneak] prevents me from making noise.”

“But not from casting a shadow,” she replied with a shy smile. “Was your trip a success?”

“Somewhat.” Kairos looked at the door. Some of the iron bars were bent, but the werewolves had stopped trying to break it open. “They are inside?”

The dancer nodded slowly. “I tried to enter, but she wouldn’t recognize me. I… I had to step out, to not enrage them. I’m waiting for the moon to pass, so I can bring them clothes.”

“They will get used to your presence in time, if you give them food. Even beasts have memories.” Kairos’ hand reached for the door’s handle. “I will take care of them.”

“Are you certain?” the dancer asked, worried. Though Kairos couldn’t tell if she was mindful of his well-being, or her mistress’.

“I am. Open the door and close it behind me.”

Caenis obeyed reluctantly. The door squeaked as her keys entered the lock, and Kairos moved in. The dancer did as she was told, closing behind his back. “I will wait here,” Caenis said through the iron bars, reassuring. “If you need help.”

He wouldn’t, but he appreciated the gesture. That woman had a kind heart. Perhaps it was why Julia was so fond of her.

In the room, darkness ruled absolute, but the light of the corridor outside allowed Kairos to see a little. There was sand beneath his foot, and two large shapes chained to the walls by a street collar. Both were too big to escape into the corridor outside, even if they broke their restraints.

The largest of the creatures was a silver wolf the size of a large bear, huge enough to let a grown human ride her; she let Kairos do it when he was young. Her limbs were humanoid, though covered in fur and with sharp claws growing from the fingers. As the elder and larger of the two werewolves, she had taken most of the room’s space. Her grey eyes looked at Kairos, with a flash of recognition.

“Hello, Mother,” Kairos said, scratching her behind the ears. The transformed Aurelia licked his fingers, her warm tongue chasing away the room’s bitter cold, before looking at the door. “I’m sorry. That’s all the light I can provide yet.”

The exposure to moonlight enraged werewolves, making them go [Berserk]. The deeper they were buried under the earth, the calmer their nights. As for torches, they often tossed them to the ground in their bestial state, sparking fires. Kairos had Andromache research spells to make the room lighter and warmer, but she wouldn’t have the time to set them up until the next full moon.

His mother responded with a disappointed growl, before closing her eyes. Kairos moved to the second shape in the room, sleeping in a corner. She opened her eyes at his arrival, growling and showing her fangs.

“Julia,” Kairos said. The growls ceased, as [Beast Tongue] translated the words. “It’s me.”

Julia’s werewolf form was smaller and leaner than Aurelia’s, but fearsome in its own way. Her fur was crimson red, her jaws strong enough to break a horse’s neck in half. She raised her long nose to smell the Travian’s hand; perhaps she recognized his scent, or [Monster Lure] made her trust him. Kairos caressed her soft fur below the mouth, and the werewolf wagged her tail in pleasure.

“It’s okay,” he said, sitting at her side. She let him rest his head against her shoulder. “I’m here.”

The werewolf closed her eyes, and Kairos stayed at her side all night long.

-----------------------

A/N: Chapter made possible by you, dear patrons. Next one is the first volume's epilogue.

On a side-note, Royal Road now allows readers to vote for 'hot' fictions, putting them on first page. Any vote for Kairos would help.