2. Perseus, Amphitryon, and the Academy's Secret
Amelinda hugged her mother tight. “I’ll make you proud.”
Alcmene’s voice gentled. “Let’s take this outside. The
garden’s quieter.”
They stepped into the sunlit garden. Blossoms glowed, the
breeze carrying a trace of something divine. A stone Athena watched from the
corner, eyes glinting faintly, as if aware of their summons.
Alcmene smoothed Heracles’s golden hair, her gaze shining.
“You leave soon. I’ll be fine with July and Lena. Don’t worry for me.”
Heracles searched her face, trying to memorize its warmth.
“You’re sure, Mom?”
“I’m sure,” she whispered, fingers brushing the old pendant
at her throat. Her eyes turned distant, as though she knew more of Hippocoon
than she would say. “Look after yourself—and them.”
His jaw tightened. A question burned through his chest.
“Mom… does Amphitryon love me?”
Her hand stilled. Pain flickered across her face. “Of course
he does. Duty keeps him away.”
Heracles’s fists clenched. Memory stabbed—leaving the castle
of Tiryns at seven years old, his mother’s hand gripping his as they walked
into exile. Behind them remained the marble halls, the guards, and his twin
brother, Iphicles. Since then, they had lived in this modest home, far from the
king’s court.
“Then why hasn’t he ever come? Why’d we leave him?”
Silence pressed heavy between them.
Alcmene cupped his cheek. “We built a life here. That has to
be enough.”
He swallowed hard, the ache sharp in his throat. Yet even as
doubt clawed at him, Heracles pushed it aside. Amphitryon was his father—the
king of Tiryns, his blood, his truth. He could not imagine it otherwise.
And still, the letter from Hippocoon weighed in his pocket,
whispering that his story was only beginning.
Nearby, Amelinda leaned against the garden wall, scroll
shaking in her hands. She’d read it three times, yet her pulse still thundered.
Being July’s daughter had always meant scouring floors, not stepping into
legend. She glanced at Heracles, wondering if her strength could ever match the
storm she saw in him.
“It really chose me,” she whispered.
July stepped closer, folding the parchment into Amelinda’s
palms. Her touch was gentler than usual, but her tone was firm. “It did. So go.
No doubts.”
Amelinda’s voice wavered. “What if I’m not ready?”
July brushed a curl from her daughter’s cheek. “Then you’ll find your strength
along the way.”
Amelinda leaned into her mother’s shoulder, her words small,
eager. “Think it’ll be like the stories?”
A rare smile touched July’s lips. “Life’s messier than stories. But Hippocoon’s
call is one you answer.”
Alcmene turned to Heracles, her voice soft as moonlight. “Do
you know anything of Hippocoon?”
He shook his head. “Only what the letter says. You’ve mentioned it before.”
“It’s a school of magic,” she said, mystery curling at the
edges of her smile. “For the gifted. Perseus trained there—our ancestor, the
first hero.”
Heracles’s eyes flared. “No way. Anything else?”
“That’s all I know,” she said. “The rest is for you to uncover.”
“I will,” he promised. “And I’ll tell you everything.”
“Do what feels right,” she whispered. “But stay safe.” “I understand, Mother,”
he said, falling quiet.
At the gate, Gwen’s carriage waited, horses snorting and
pawing at the dirt. The wiry coachman tugged at the reins, practiced and
impatient. Gwen bounded ahead, grinning like he’d stolen Apollo’s lyre.
“Heracles! Amelinda! Come, haste—we must reach All-for-You before dusk falls!”
Heracles hesitated, gaze snagging on the road. A faint
golden shimmer quivered on the horizon—unnatural, god-sent. A low rumble
followed, too far to place. He helped Amelinda climb aboard, then swung in
after her. The coachman snapped the reins, and the carriage jolted forward,
wheels clattering, hooves striking sparks.
Inside, they pressed shoulder to shoulder. Amelinda leaned
forward, scroll clutched tight. “So, what’s Hippocoon really like?” Her eyes
gleamed with hunger, bright as Athena’s shield.
Gwen’s grin widened, like he’d waited all day for the
question. “It’s where the gods first shared power with mortals,” he said,
dropping his voice to a conspirator’s whisper. “They split the jobs—guarding
borders, taming storms, healing wounds—so the world kept turning. Hippocoon
trains their heirs. Always has.”
“So everyone there’s… a hero-in-training?” Amelinda asked.
“Pretty much.” Gwen leaned back, smug. “My dad works for King Amphitryon, but
that’s just a cover. Hippocoon folks don’t serve kings. They stay hidden until
the world’s about to crack—then, swiftly,” He snapped his fingers. “They step
out.”
Heracles turned to the window, fields of gold streaking by.
That strange glow still pulsed on the horizon. “Hiding in plain sight,” he
murmured, unease tightening his voice.
“Exactly,” Gwen said, catching it. “The stories you’ve heard? Polished. Edited.
The truth’s sharper.”
“All the great heroes came from there?” Amelinda’s words
buzzed with awe.
“Most of them,” Gwen said with a smirk. “Even now, a few walk among us. Not
many, but each one strong enough to level a city.”
“Like a one-person army?” Amelinda laughed nervously.
“Not all fight,” Gwen countered. “Some heal. Some tame beasts. Some forge
blades that split stone. Everyone’s got a gift—but each one’s next-level.”
The carriage slowed behind a fish cart, the stench spilling
in. Amelinda wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Still… this is the adventure of a
lifetime.”
Heracles’s fingers tightened around his scroll, his gaze
locked on the horizon’s glow. “As long as we’re ready for what’s coming,” he
said, voice low, doubt coiling in his chest.
“You’ll see.” Gwen’s tone brimmed with certainty. “We’ve got this.”
The horses surged. Sunlight bled into long shadows across the fields. The wind whispered, carrying no words—only warning. And in Heracles’s chest, unease twisted tighter, telling him their lives were about to change forever.
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