Kairos 31: I Live, I Die, I Live Again

All Travians learned to swim as soon as they could walk.

Most sailors on the Sunsea were city folk, youths in search of adventure, or non-professionals looking for work. But seafaring was in a Travian’s blood, and swimming came as easily as breathing. That was why most of them favored light leather armor rather than strong metal shells, beside the materials cost. A ship might sink, but the crew would live to fight another day.

But though Kairos’ clothing didn’t hinder him too much, his broken ribs did. A raging wave threatened to swallow him, and a sharp pain erupted in his chest as he tried to keep his head above the water. He had to drop Cass’ sword, the wedding gift falling to the cove’s bottom.

Kairos refused to let go of his [Anemoi Spear] though, but the treasure that saved his life countless times dragged him down like an anchor. It was a struggle to keep his head above the seawater for even a moment, liquid threatening to fill his lungs. Only his [Seamanship 3] had prevented him from drowning so far, but it couldn’t make up for his injuries.

The pirate barely noticed what happened around him. An enormous gash had opened along the Foresight’s deck, threatening to split the living ship in half. Most pirates had fallen into the waters, trying to swim ashore. But the cove’s cliffs were tall, strong, and difficult to scale.

The tidal cave, Kairos thought in between two showers of cold saltwater. We need… reach the tidal cave...

The wounded Foresight answered his mental command, the ship’s fin-oars pulling it towards the Karkinos’ former nest like a wounded whale. Kairos felt warm arms grab him from behind, lifting him above the waters. He glanced behind himself, and though Jason’s flames had burnt her face’s skin and hair, he could recognize Andromache’s eyes anywhere. Her tentacles had grabbed other sailors besides Rook and Tiberius, the Scylla trying to save as many as she could.

The cursed monster that had taken so many human lives now fought to save them. Kairos had never been prouder of her.

The Karkinos, though wounded, hadn’t given up. Heracles’ Eidolon leaped from the Argo to wrestle with the beast, pincers against hands. The demigod fought the giant monster bare-handed, and to Kairos’ eyes, it looked like a small squirrel overwhelming a wolf.

As for the Argo itself, somebody rained spells on it from atop the cliffs. Kairos couldn’t distinguish them clearly; women in priestly garbs, raining fireballs, lightning, and ice shards on the undead ship.

The Daughters of Circe.

The witches had set up this scenario, to let their enemies, dead and alive, weaken each other. Only now did they intervene, to slay the winner with a magical bombardment. So low, so roguelike.

Kairos would have admired this tactic, if it had succeeded. But though their magic slew some of the undead, ghostly flames set the sorceresses alight like candles, while golden arrows nailed them like rabbits. Though the Argo unleashed deadly projectiles, none of the undead attempted to climb the cliffs to take the fight to the witches.

Why don’t they move inland to pursue? Kairos thought, before realizing that they probably couldn’t. Jason’s crew was cursed to haunt the sea each night, forbidden to step on Gaia’s soil. He could only prey on shores and ships.

An explosion suddenly shook the Argo, as a shining blast erupted from the sea of blood below it. The detonation sent bones, oars, and sinew flying in all directions, a fourth of the dreadful vessel going down in flames. The vicious melody following the ghost ship stopped abruptly, perhaps because Orpheus’ Eidolon had fallen into the waters.

As Andromache dragged him and others into the tidal cavern, Kairos noticed a friendly face swimming out of the bloody sea, carrying a fire rod in her hand.

Cassandra had Skills allowing her to swim well, even in metal armor. She had swum below the Argo once her [Blind] ailment’s duration had run out, detonating fire rods below the undead ship. Her [Fire Immunity] had allowed her to pull off this suicide mission and come back.

Her quick thinking had brought the pirates time, but not victory. Spines grew from one half of the Argo, to reattach the shattered parts of the vessels. Much like the undead that made up its crew, the ghost ship would keep fighting no matter the damage. The Karkinos had dragged the undead Heracles below the water, their clashes sending shockwaves ripple through the cove.

Jason of Iolcus’ voice echoed across the ocean, a maddened scream of fury. “You cannot delay justice forever, Whore of Colchis! Whenever the sun falls, we shall live again! We shall sail, and we shall slay!”

Half a dozen undead corpses jumped from the Argo’s deck and pursued the Foresight’s crew in the water.

“Close the cave!” Kairos managed to shout after vomiting seawater. The damaged Foresight had managed to enter the cavern, alongside most of the surviving crew. “Close it behind us!”

He prayed for Cassandra to hear him, and she did. After narrowly dodging a golden arrow to the head, she dived near the cavern’s entrance while Andromache dragged her lover into the tidal cavern. They entered a dark tunnel churning with old bones, seaweed, and giant fish carcasses. Clearly, the Karkinos had claimed many victims.

Kairos didn’t understand how many though, until they passed the tunnel and entered a large bowl of water bordered by a large beach of whitened stone. The cavern was colossal in size, littered with the remains of broken ships and illuminated by green, shining moss on the ceiling. The Foresight’s crew had landed on the rocky shore, and the ship soon joined them; Kairos noticed a few dark, dry tunnels leading deeper into the cliffs, and perhaps the land beyond.

Andromache hauled Kairos to the beach just as an explosion rocked the cavern’s exit. Stones collapsed from the entrance tunnel’s ceiling and closed it with a catastrophic crash, the waves tossing swimmers onto the cavernous shore. Cassandra’s head emerged from the waters unharmed, to her captain’s relief.

Andromache delivered the people in her tentacles to the shore, an unconscious Tiberius and a wounded Rook among them. She then collapsed on the stone, her hound heads coughing in exhaustion. The witch’s breathing was short, an exhausted rattle. Jason’s ghostfire had wounded her deeper than any mortal flame.

Kairos gasped for air, his gaze wandering around the cavern. A half-blind Nessus had managed to carry Rhadamanthe ashore. Though the minotaur miraculously delayed death thanks to his magic, a gaping hole had opened where his stomach should have been. The Foresight’s deck had been ripped open, both halves of the ship barely held together by the hull. Dozens of sailors had managed to take cover inside the dark cavern, but many had drowned or perished in the assault.

Explosions echoed beyond the cavern’s walls, as the battle continued outside. Though closing the entrance would buy some time, Kairos could only pray that the Karkinos and the witches would distract the Argonauts until daybreak. The Foresight’s crew was in no shape to fight anymore.

They needed to move deeper into the cavern. Deeper, away from the sea—

Pain interrupted Kairos’ thoughts, his mind going blank, an invisible chill spreading from within his innards to the rest of his body. His fingers shook, and blood vomit moved up his throat.

“Kairos!” Rook limped at his friend’s side, his right wing bleeding and broken. “Kairos!”

“Kairos!” Cass let out a scream of panic as she emerged from the waters and rushed to her captain’s side. Water and blood dripped from her hair and smooth skin, making her look like half a ghost herself.

The Travian captain couldn’t answer, though he heard the screams and the shouts. Everywhere, sailors rolled on the shore, holding their chests as pain tortured them. Nessus was among them, collapsing with his hands on his naked head.

Only the men were affected.

You have been [Cursed].

Kairos vomited blood, as he sensed his teeth grow sharper in his mouth, his nails longer. The smell of blood assaulted his nostrils like a putrid flood. The crew’s women screamed in panic, as men grew fur, claws, and fangs. Nessus’ fingers joined into hooves, while tusks erupted out of the unconscious Tiberius’ mouth.

“The curse of Achlys,” Cassandra realized after kneeling at her captain’s side. “Andromache! Andromache, we need your magic!”

But the witch didn’t answer, having fainted from her heavy wounds and exhaustion. With no other choice, Cassandra lightly stabbed Kairos’ side with a dagger, between two ribs. She had punctured his lung to drain the blood out, before it could asphyxiate him. “Come on, come on…” Kairos heard her pray, a faint echo. “Gods, don’t let him die… please…”

Kairos had once dreamed Cass would kiss him, but he felt only pain as her lips met his own, trying to breathe air into his throat. She pulled back quickly afterward, as he let out blood and air in response. His limbs shook as Circe’s curse took hold in him; yet Cass powered through, wiping his mouth and returning to her task.

She had seen so many people die on her, and wouldn’t let Kairos join them. His body was a battlefield, two opposing forces battling for control. The cold breath of a dead witch, and something else.

Something darker.

It didn’t take long for the Travian [Hero] to lose his grasp on reality. Within minutes he could no longer feel his body, no longer hear his own breathing. His thoughts turned blank, and he fell unconscious.

A grim darkness overwhelmed him, a pitch blackness swallowing him whole. The cavern, Cass, the abyss swallowed everything.

And then came the wolf dreams.

A vile force called to Kairos, awakened by Circe’s curse; the stain in his blood that he inherited from his mother, and from their dreaded ancestor Lycaon. The darkness between life and death turned into a vision, that of a solar eclipse rising to the tune of howling wolves singing.

The stars bled in the crimson skies, as giant jaws closed around the sun to devour it whole. Enormous wolves roamed the earth, devouring all in their path under a bloody moon. Men, women, children… none were spared, and all were devoured. The Sunsea had dried up, to reveal the red earth below. The nations of the world had turned to dust, the shining city of Pergamon a smoking ruin, the walls of Lyce nothing but rubble.

One man stood as the herald of this dreadful vision, a giant clad in golden Lycean armor. A blood-drenched mantle covered his shoulders, a helmet and funeral mask his face. He swung a sword too heavy for a man to wield, stepping over the skulls of thousands.

“I see you, blood of my blood.” The armored man looked at Kairos, black tears dripping from his golden mask’s eye holes. His reverberating voice reminded the captain of his father Chron, strong and terrible. “Come, now, accept the god’s gift! Shed your manskin for a beast’s hide. Let the human die, and the monster be born!”

Monsters. Scyllas and hydras, lions and sphinxes, griffins, and hateful birds. All were there, crows feasting on the world’s corpse. But they didn’t rejoice for long, as they too, were hunted. The great pack would not share with anyone. They howled for Kairos to join them, to surrender himself to the same curse that claimed his wife, and his mother before her.

“This is the coming age, the last age,” heralded the armored prophet. “The Age of Wolves! The wolf god shall break his chains and rise again! His pack shall roam the earth! Ride with me, blood of my blood! This is our time, this is our moment! This is the last call to answer, the final hunt!”

The armored man extended a hand at Kairos, offering him survival at the cost of his soul.

Kairos slapped it away.

He would rather die than help make this nightmare a reality.

The armored prophet let out a screech of fury, as a tide of thick black blood rained down from the despoiled heavens. “Not even fate can stop the bloodline,” he said, his mask’s lips moving to reveal sharp fangs. “There is no escape!”

The bloody flood swallowed Kairos whole to drown him, only for a great light to shine within him. A divine spark shone bright and banished the wolf dream, the armored figure covering his mask with a hand as a bright flash turned him to dust.

The Travian captain abruptly returned to reality.

The solar eclipse was gone, replaced with the comforting phosphorescent moss of a cavern. Air filled his lungs instead of blood, though he had trouble breathing and the pain didn’t vanish. His nails had returned to their normal size, and though his mouth felt dry, his fangs had turned back into teeth. His vision blurred, and he had trouble hearing.

But he sensed Rook nuzzling his chest in happiness all the same.

“Kairos...” Cass loomed over him, and didn’t hold back her tears. Her hands held his own tight, the [Anemoi Spear] laying on the stone nearby. “Kairos, I thought… I thought you were gone for a second...”

So did he.

But the late Circe’s curse couldn’t get to Kairos. Nor could Lycaon’s. Both had tried to transform him into a different beast, but in the end, the man had prevailed.

[Curse of Achlys] lifted by [Monster Reaver].

Your [Legend] refused to bow.

The divine spark within him had chased away the night.

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

Kairos faded in and out of consciousness for hours. Sometimes he woke up to see Rook watch over him faithfully, his right wing bandaged. At other times, Cass checked up on the Travian captain herself, and Andromache force-fed him mushroom brews that made him throw up. Each time the pain in his chest was lesser, but he could never stay awake for long.

The wolf dreams didn’t return.

Explosions kept echoing outside the cavern, before growing distant and then inaudible. It appeared the Argonauts had elected to pursue the Daughters of Circe and ravage Achlys’ coast, rather than finish off Kairos’ crew. Their survival would be bought with the blood of many.

In between his moments of wakefulness and the dark, dreamless sleep, Kairos briefly glimpsed a new System notification.

You earned one level (total thirty-nine) and 3 Skill Points.

Usually, one needed to defeat their foes to gain experience. But so dangerous was the Argo, that the crew had gained experience for surviving the encounter.

When Kairos woke up next, he didn’t feel like he would fall unconscious again. His ribs were back in their proper place, the wound Cass opened to drain the blood out of his lung closed. Andromache’s brews had saved his life.

But though the wolf dream didn’t haunt him again, Kairos couldn’t let go of it.

Had his mother and Julia seen the same terrible vision, when they transformed into werewolves? Was that dark prophet their ancestor Lycaon, the god-tyrant? Did he call his descendants from within his seal? Perhaps his prison prevented him from escaping physically, but not from communicating through dreams? Would he come back to haunt Kairos’ nightmares again?

Or was it something else? Kairos had heard a [Demigod] led the Beast Cult in Lyce, and the armored figure struck him as someone closer to Euryale than a true deity. In the end, he couldn’t tell for sure.

But Kairos had the grim feeling he would meet this figure again.

His right hand reached for his spear on instinct, his left for Rook. “Kairos, I’m so sorry…” the griffin apologized, his head against his partner’s chest. “I’m so sorry…”

“It’s not your fault,” Kairos reassured him while ruffling his feathers. “It’s not your fault.”

It was Kairos’ own. His plan had failed, all his preparations squashed in the face of the undead threat.

His eyes wandered to the cavern, acclimating themselves to the dim lighting; the first person he tried to check on was Andromache. His mistress had retaken her human form in the Foresight’s shadow, her burnt skin slowly becoming smooth again. The ungodly powerful regeneration that saved her from Kairos’ hydra venom could even heal Jason’s ghost fire. She tended to a broken, pitiful thing.

Kairos almost didn’t recognize Rhadamanthe.

The broken creature in Andromache’s care was a shell of his former self. The muscles had melted away, leaving scraps of skin and fur covering charred bones. The stomach was gone, leaving only a ribcage and frail legs. A faint halo covered Rhadamanthe like a mantle, flickering in and out of existence like a fading light. Andromache always cast a spell to restore it, but each time the power grew fainter.

Torn between relief over Andromache’s survival and regrets over Rhadamanthe’s state, Kairos looked for the others next. Cassandra was attending to a red ram with a missing eye, changing the bloody bandages covering his face. Satyrs were closer to men than beasts, but Circe’s curse had inverted the balance for Nessus.

The other men were no better. Dozens of pigs, goats, and boars had been put in a makeshift pen created from the broken ship’s remains, carefully guarded by the crew’s women. Only Kairos had kept a human shape among the men, and only because he had been a [Hero]. Circe couldn’t transform Odysseus either when he visited her island, after all.

Upon seeing her captain had woken up, Cassandra left Nessus the ram to rejoin Kairos. She didn’t say a word. She just smiled, a sad, bittersweet smile that meant so much.

“I lost your sword,” Kairos apologized as he rose up.

“You kept your life,” Cass said, hugging him so tight he thought she might crush him. “I would gladly give away a sword for you anytime. Anytime.”

She sobbed in Kairos’ arms, as he returned the hug. Andromache glanced at them, but instead of jealousy she only showed relief at seeing her lover alive and well. She didn’t leave her post though, tending to Rhadamanthe.

“How many?” the Foresight’s captain asked Cass, as he broke the hug. “How many lived?”

“More than I thought,” she answered, “less than I hoped.”

Out of the eighty people to have sailed to Achlys, fifty-five had survived the battle, flooding, and the chaos that followed Circe’s curse taking place. Twenty-six were women, and with the men turned into beasts, the crew might as well be down to one-third of its strength.

“I sent people into the tunnels,” Cass explained, having taken over command in his sleep. “They lead to Achlys’ rainforest. Horace and his fellows found us, and are keeping watch over the entrance.”

That explained where Andromache found the necessary resources to make her healing brews. As for Horace and co, the craven birds had fled the battle, but still came back to help afterward. Even monsters could feel loyalty, mayhaps. “What did they find outside?” Kairos asked, trying to focus on surviving now to cry later. “What happened to the cove?”

“Dawn and ashes, Kairos,” Cass said, her smile faltering. “The birds found ashes, but no corpses. Neither our own nor the witches’.”

The dead had won. Kairos couldn’t help but take a dark joy at this news. The witches that set up his crew to die had been caught in their own trap. If only that didn’t mean the undead might have replenished their numbers…

And though the night was over, Rhadamanthe’s state told Kairos that the undead would still claim another soul today. The minotaur had served decades on the Foresight, and the ship watched over him in his last moments.

Andromache raised her head, as Kairos and Cassandra joined her. Rook limped after them. “My other half.”

She didn’t rise up to welcome him, instead keeping her hands on Rhadamanthe’s chest. Kairos lowered himself to kiss his mistress on the mouth, her warm lips brushing against his own, before turning to the dying minotaur.

“It’s a miracle he hasn’t perished yet,” Cassandra said grimly. “He is already more beast than man, so the island’s curse couldn’t affect him, but…”

“I provide him with magic, so he might heal himself,” Andromache said, her eyes saddened. “But he has to tap into his lifeforce to fuel his spells now. He pays for minutes with years.”

Rhadamanthe would die.

Only then did this realization hit Kairos in full. No living creature could survive with these wounds. Only the minotaur’s magic sustained him through sheer force of will, but it would soon give out. The crew couldn’t put lost bowels back into the stomach, or transfer a soul into a new body. The bullman had already sacrificed almost all his lifeforce to stay alive this long; no matter how long a candle lasted, the flame always died out in the end.

Rhadamanthe had served Kairos’ father and uncle, before assisting the [Hero] himself. His magic had saved their lives countless times, and his wisdom lit the path when none could see. He had been one of the crew’s pillars, the only navigator the Foresight ever had. The minotaur had guided him after Uncle Panos’ demise and through the war with Orthia. Rhadamanthe officiated Kairos’ wedding, saw him marry.

And soon he would be gone forever.

“Captain…” Rhadamanthe rattled painfully, with tiny holes opening in his throat.

“Don’t speak,” Kairos pleaded, immediately kneeling to his old friend’s side. “Don’t… don’t hurt yourself.”

“I am… done Kairos…” There was no regret in the wise minotaur’s voice. Only calm acceptance. “Used all my strength so… so I could… could tell you…”

Andromache looked at Kairos, and he understood. The Foresight’s captain took Rhadamanthe’s hand into his own, to comfort him in his final moments, while Cass held the minotaur’s head on her lap to soothe him.

“A curse… a curse has an escape clause… always…” Rhadamanthe coughed blood. The Travian captain said no word, only listening. “My home… there’s a box… my wife… my wife will know.”

Cassandra frowned, holding back tears. “What… what does it contain?”

“The truth… where I come from… the one whom I serve.” Another cough. “My god.”

“Asterius?” Kairos asked. The lord of the minotaurs?

“My… my true god… friend to mortals… sent me… sent me to Travia.” Rhadamanthe let out a heavy rattle. “Burn me… if you don’t… if you don’t... I might rise again. Bring my skull to my wife… bring me… back to… to her...”

Rhadamanthe fainted from the blood loss, his breath halting to an abrupt stop. His hand, so weak, became heavier than stone.

He did not wake up again.

The magic that sustained him had run out, and this time… this time, Andromache couldn’t revive him. Nor did Kairos have a phoenix feather to use. Rhadamanthe would not rise again from a bonfire, wielding a [Legend].

He would never rise at all.

Cassandra carefully put Rhadamanthe’s head to rest on the ground, before covering his eyes with a bandage. Rook suppressed a sob, bravely standing vigil over the corpse. Andromache’s hands moved to Kairos’ arm, to warm it.

And Kairos said nothing. He said nothing, even as other crewmates came to nod at their navigator one last time, paying their respects to the priest who had buried so many.

“He…” Andromache opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say. She had killed so many, but never learned to comfort the living. “He died helping others, my other half. He will pass into the Elysium Fields, I am certain of it.”

“He still died.” Kairos shook his head in grim despair, before whispering back four terrible words. “We can’t beat them.”

It was one thing to say it, and another to accept it.

Kairos had rehashed the battle a dozen times in his mind, trying to figure what went wrong, how he could have turned this around. What if he had blown up the ship with fire rods from below from the start? What if he had prepared for the boreads’ magical shield? What if he had Rhadamanthe use [Sanctuary] offensively? So many things could have changed.

But none would have mattered.

Jason alone might have slaughtered the crew, and Heracles’ doppelganger would have without question. Both were a colossal challenge individually, and together they were beyond the reach of any mortal. Atalanta, Orpheus, and whatever other Eidolons sailed with them only widened the gap further.

How were they supposed to win this? Should they… should they turn tail and return to Histria, leaving Rhadamanthe and so many others unavenged? Kairos would prioritize the living over the dead, but the thought of abandoning left a sour taste in his mouth.

Even then, the Foresight was heavily damaged. Even if Kairos’ presence healed it, it would take days for the brave, valiant ship to recover, and for the crew to reopen the cavern. The group was shipwrecked on Achlys for the foreseeable future, with witches on one side and the Argo on the other.

Kairos thought he could bounce back from anything, but never before had a situation looked so grim.

Andromache tried to find words, but couldn’t. Instead, she made him let go of Rhadamanthe’s hand, before taking Kairos in her arms. She felt warm to the touch, and he returned the hug. They didn’t need to speak.

“I guess Nessus was wrong,” Cass lamented, glancing at the ram that used to be the satyr. “The Moira’s Quest can’t always be fulfilled. He was right about Heracles though. No mortal may match him.”

Kairos frowned. “The Moira in Boeotia pretended otherwise,” he whispered. “That they gave only Quests that mortals could complete, albeit never easily. Either they lied, or we’ve missed something.”

Cass said nothing, but her frown slowly turned into a shocked expression. Her eyes widened, as if she had seen something that eluded everyone else. “Nessus was right,” she declared, a hand covering her mouth. “We weren’t meant to win against someone like Heracles. Not through the strength of arms.”

Kairos frowned, and so did Andromache, whose beautiful face turned into a scowl. “What are you getting at, Cassandra?” the Scylla asked.

“Countless would-be heroes tried to sink the Argo and none succeeded. We can’t beat them either.” Cassandra’s hands tightened into fists. “I can’t beat them, and yet, the Moira still gave me the Quest expecting that I would fulfill it. I never tried to do so on my own, because… because I feared something like this would happen. I always thought we would have to slay the Argo’s crew in battle, like any other monster.”

Kairos started to catch on, before glancing at his confused mistress. “I didn’t need to kill Andromache to fulfill my Quest,” he whispered, holding the Scylla tight.

Cassandra nodded slowly in confirmation. “My Quest is not about fighting the Argonauts. Rhadamanthe… Rhadamanthe never believed in words. He spoke so little, because to him, the wise should only open their mouth because they have something to say. If he struggled against death itself to speak to you, then it mattered more than anything.”

All curses had an escape clause.

Kairos thought he meant it as encouragement for Andromache; that even if Circe had lied about her magic’s conditions, that the god Orgonos could still undo her curse. But now…

“Even a ghost ship can sink,” Cass said. “The Argo is cursed to rise again each night, true. But perhaps only until it can fulfill a task, or specific conditions are achieved.”

The minotaur priest had delivered one last kernel of wisdom before passing on.

The Argo’s crew couldn’t be defeated in battle, but that didn’t mean the undead ship couldn’t be destroyed. Cassandra’s Quest was to destroy the vessel and give the Argonauts the sweet release of death; nowhere did it mention that they had to be bested in combat.

The living had to find a way to let the dead pass on, no more nor less.

“There is another solution to lift the Argo’s curse. One that doesn’t necessitate fighting its crew.” Kairos let Andromache go, his skin pale. “You cannot kill a ghost, but you can make him rest.”

And if the Moira gave it to Cassandra while she didn’t have a [Legend], then the solution might be a question of wits rather than brute strength.

Curse the hags and their misleading words!

But most of all, Kairos cursed himself for his foolishness. He should have seen it. It was so obvious now. His distraughtness must have shown on his face, for Cass put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You couldn’t know the Argonauts would be so powerful.”

“They were the Old World’s greatest heroes. Of course, I should have. I should have seen, and Rhadamanthe…” Kairos’ eyes wandered to his transformed men, his dead crewmates, and his wounded griffin. “So many paid the price for my mistake.”

“It’s okay to stumble from time to time, Kairos,” Rook reassured him. “I don’t blame you. Nobody does. Sometimes you fall, and it’s easy. Getting back up, that’s the hard part. But I will heal, and I will fly again!”

“Your songbird is right, my other half,” Andromache spoke up, her fingers brushing his cheek to reassure him. “We can mourn the dead after we put them to sleep for good.”

“Kairos, take it from someone who knows,” Cassandra said. “I know how it is to be the last person standing after everyone perishes. It’s a harsh feeling, and in the end, all it does is make you blame yourself for events outside your control.”

“We should have expected Heracles,” Kairos replied grimly.

“We prepared as best as we could, with the information we had available. This doesn’t make you foolish, Kairos, but fallible.” Cass gave him a bright, encouraging smile. “All we can do is take the lessons for that defeat, learn from them, and use that wisdom to win next time. As long as there’s life… as long as there’s life, there’s hope Kairos.”

She was right.

Kairos had to focus, for the sake of his crew. He banished his regrets and dark thoughts, focusing on saving the living. He seized his spear and rose up, his crewmates looked at him for leadership.

“And all the Eidolons’ [Legends] referenced Jason’s,” Kairos said, trying to assess what they learned from this terrible rout. “They are puppets and mindless shadows, like the Spartoi. Heracles ascended to become a [God], yet it was a [Demigod] who answered Jason’s call.”

“So the Eidolons have the same powers and levels as the originals when they were part of Jason’s crew?” Cassandra crossed her arms. “The captain was the only revenant among them. He’s the last true Argonaut, the only one who matters.”

“Then our goal remains the same,” Andromache said with bloodthirst. “We send him back to Queen Persephone, and his corpse-ship too.”

“Will it work?” Cass asked with a frown. “Or will he rise again with his ship next time the sun falls? I fear that even if we somehow kill him, it might only prove a temporary solution.”

“Why does he rise from the grave again and again?” Kairos asked. To end the Argo’s curse, they had to understand it first.

“Ghosts rise for justice and revenge,” Andromache said with a grunt. “The corpseling wants his dead wife’s head on a spike. She took everything from him. His ambitions, his kingdom, his seed.”

Cass’ frown deepened in skepticism. “Is she? Medea, I mean. Is she dead?”

“She should be. The corpseling is hunting another ghost.”

“Should,” Kairos picked up.

“I cannot say, my other half. Medea was Circe’s niece, and the witch-queen and her apprentices were killed for certain.” But doubt crept in Andromache’s words even as she spoke.

“Jason clearly thinks Medea still lives.” Cassandra pointed a finger at Kairos’ cursed ring. “He thought she gave it to you to force a fight.”

“He said it was his wedding ring,” Kairos replied, frowning at the item. “I don’t know how. My [Barter] and [Magical Knack] should have picked this up.”

“Deceitful magic,” Andromache said. “The witches played a trick on us both, my love.”

Perhaps they pulled one on the whole world.

Medea was Circe’s niece, indeed; and a [Demigoddess] claiming to be her ruled Achlys’ witches. People whom Jason preyed on with a vicious passion.

What were the odds?

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

A/N: chapter made possible by you, dear patrons. 

To explain my thought process, my intent was always to focus on ending the Argo’s curse rather than prevailing in a straight fight. I mean, the Argonauts are the Avengers of Greek Mythology. You can’t really beat them in a fight without doing them disservice, or at least not at Kairos’ current level. I foreshadowed as far as Kairos’ first Quest that there are more than one ways to solve them than simply killing the target. A major theme in the story is that some battles are won with steel, others with words and wits. The defeat to Jason (Kairos' first one, instead of a mixed victory at worst) is meant to kickstart his transition from [Hero] to Hero.

While Kairos is written as a web serial, in my mind, it’s a forty or so chapters book (and the first of a trilogy). The Hunt for the Argo is a whole arc, the last of the first volume, and the ship battle was just the setup for it. All I can ask is that you reserve your judgement until the book concludes and judge it as a whole, rather than on an individual chapter basis.

However, I do admit I was a bit surprised by the fact some thought the story was a bit too bleak. I thought I had managed to find a balance between the characters struggling and making their way into the world, but apparently not. So... I'll take that into account and give Kairos more straight victories from now on. Hindsight is 20/20.

In any case, I hoped you enjoyed the chapter. Peace.