1. The Feather, The Blood, and The Storm
Heracles stood frozen before the heavy oak door, his knuckles hovering, breath catching in his throat.
Amelinda nudged him gently, her eyes warm with encouragement. Gwen, lounging against the wall with a restless grin, flicked a pebble into the air and caught it without looking.
“Come on, Herc, it’s just a door, not a hydra,” he said, his voice light, like he was daring the world to surprise him.
A weary “Come in” drifted from inside, rough as gravel.
Heracles yanked the door open, its groan echoing in the narrow hallway. The trio stepped into a dim room, where oil lamps cast a soft blue glow, like moonlight trapped in glass. Shelves sagged under rows of scepters—some twisted like ancient vines, others humming with faint, otherworldly light. The air buzzed with a sharp tang, like a storm about to break.
A man slouched in an armchair, half-buried among the scepters. His tangled black curls hid his face, and his patched jacket hung loose, as if he’d worn it through a hundred adventures. He didn’t look up.
“What do you want?” he mumbled, voice heavy with sleep.
Amelinda stepped forward, her braid swinging.
“Hey, uh, we’re new here. Came up from downstairs. Can you help us?” Her tone was earnest, laced with a quiet resolve.
The man—Ham—lifted his head, brushing back his hair to reveal shadowed eyes and a stubby beard framing a crooked smile.
“New blood, eh? You’ve landed in the right spot.”
He stood, stretching with a groan, his jacket rustling.
“I’m Ham, scepter-maker. Who’re you lot?”
“Amelinda,” she said, chin lifting slightly.
“Heracles,” he muttered, glancing at the floor.
“Gwen,” he announced, tossing the pebble one last time before pocketing it. His grin widened, like he was already imagining what trouble they’d find next. “Ready to see what this place has got.”
Ham’s eyes twinkled, as if he recognized a kindred spirit.
“First time at All-for-You?”
“Yep,” Amelinda nodded. Heracles echoed her quietly, while Gwen just shrugged, like he’d wandered into a dozen magical shops before breakfast.
“Then let’s find you something special.”
Ham’s energy sharpened as he drifted along the shelves, fingertips brushing scepters like a musician tuning strings. He stopped, tugging out a sleek rod crowned with a crystal orb. Inside, a feather shimmered in five shifting colors, glowing as if a breeze lived inside the glass.
“Amelinda,” Ham said, holding it toward her. “Steady, gentle—but with a spark. Like a river that knows its path. Ever heard of Hera’s peacock?”
Amelinda’s eyes widened. “The goddess’s bird? Of course.”
Ham’s chipped-tooth smile flashed. “This feather came from one of its kin—rarer than a star falling twice. Beechwood handle, light as the plume itself. Touch it. If it’s yours, it’ll tell you.”
Amelinda hesitated, then wrapped her hand around the scepter.
“What do I do?” she asked, voice hushed, hopeful.
“Close your eyes. Listen. Scepters have souls—reach for it.”
She drew a breath and obeyed. The feather flared, painting the room in fleeting rainbows before settling into a soft, steady glow.
Her eyes snapped open, a gasp escaping. “I felt it—like a hum in my bones, then it faded.”
Ham clapped once, the sound sharp as flint. “That’s it. It chose you.”
Amelinda beamed, twirling the scepter, the glow sparking in her eyes like a promise. “It’s… incredible.”
Gwen whistled low, leaning closer. “Not bad, Mel. But I’ll top it.” His grin stayed wide, though Heracles caught the flicker of nerves behind it.
Ham’s grin widened as he turned. “Gwen—you’ve got a spark I can’t miss.” His gaze narrowed, weighing him. “Not chasing glory, not really. You’re chasing sky. Untamed. Like wind that refuses chains.”
He brushed past them, jacket whispering against wood, and pulled free a rod. The air rippled silver. Within its crystal orb swirled a single droplet of liquid light—moon-silver, alive.
“This,” Ham said, lifting it, “holds a drop of Griffin’s blood. King of skies, ruler of wilds—half eagle, half lion, all storm. Its wings ride the wind itself.”
The oak handle gleamed, scarred and knotted from a storm-beaten peak. Ham offered it. “It won’t yield easy. But for you? Worth the chase.”
Gwen’s eyes lit. He snatched it, fingers twitching. The scepter felt weightless, as if ready to leap free and soar.
“Tricky, huh?” His grin sharpened. “Perfect.”
He spun it once, testing balance, then closed his eyes. His stance shifted—shoulders easing, breath deepening—like he stood on a cliff with wind in his hair.
Nothing. The room held still, waiting. His brow creased, one eye cracking open.
“C’mon. Don’t make me look bad here.”
“Patience,” Ham urged, leaning forward. “The Griffin bows to no one. Feel the wind in its blood—reach for it.”
Gwen exhaled hard, grip tightening. A crooked smile tugged at his lips, daring the scepter to fight him.
The air stirred. A hum rose into a gust, swirling around him, tugging his curls, snapping his cloak. The silver droplet flared, flooding the room with light before dimming back to a pulse. Silence pressed close again, charged and waiting.
Gwen’s eyes flew open. A wild laugh burst out of him. “Yes! That’s what I’m talking about!”
He spun, hauling Amelinda and Heracles into a lopsided hug with the scepter still clutched tight. “Told you I’d get it,” he said, winking at Amelinda.
She rolled her eyes but grinned anyway.
“Well played, kid,” Ham said, clapping Gwen’s shoulder. “That staff’s got your name—wild and free, just like you.”
Heracles and the Nemean Lion
The first epic in the Heracles and the Twelve Labors series — witness Heracles' legendary battle against the invincible lion. A tale of strength, fate, and immortal valor.
Heracles and the Dragon Hydra
The second chapter of the Heracles and the Twelve Labors series. Heracles faces the monstrous Hydra — a dragon-like beast with many heads, each reborn from the last. A mythic journey of courage, strategy, and divine challenge.
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