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4. The Lyres and the Return
Amelinda’s smile flickered, fingers closing around her ring as if it could shield her from the alcove’s lingering chill. “Thanks, Ham,” she said, her voice bright but threaded with unease.
Heracles lingered, silent, dragon scepter still warm in his thoughts. “We’ll see you again?”
Ham’s crooked grin returned, though his eyes never left the corner. “Count on it. Now move.”
The trio stepped onto the staircase. Wood groaned underfoot, the air shimmering as they passed another hidden door.
Gwen bounded ahead, ring humming faintly like a spark chasing adventure. Amelinda followed, her peacock scepter tucked safe in the cozy nook her ring had woven—lined with books and sketches only she could see. Pride shone in her eyes.
Heracles trailed last. His dragon’s rod sat in the void of his ring, but his thoughts snagged on the memory of that green-black pulse below, a shadow that still coiled in his chest.
The second floor unfolded into a bookshop. Dusty shelves towered, spines of old tomes breathing the scent of parchment and ink.
A woman in a flowing white chiton rose from a desk, her dark eyes bright as lantern flame.
“Welcome! I’m Doris. Here for supplies?”
Amelinda stepped forward, braid swinging. “Yes! First-years for Hippocoon.” She pointed them out with a grin. “I’m Amelinda. This is Heracles, and that’s Gwen.”
“Newbies?” Doris’s smile widened. She took Amelinda’s parchment list, scanning quickly.
“History of the Gods and Goddesses, Basic Magic Control, Art and Lyre, Basic Herbs and Poisons. Got it.” She winked and slipped into the stacks, her chiton whispering across the floor.
Gwen leaned on a shelf, smirk sly. “Art and lyre, huh? Bet I can make mine howl like a storm.” His ring flashed as his fingers twitched, itching for play.
Heracles rubbed his ring, the white void pressing heavy in his mind. “Lyre’s not my thing,” he muttered, shoulders tightening.
“Same,” Gwen said easily, his grin playful. “But hey—we’ve done worse. Dragon fire’s no picnic.”
Amelinda rolled her eyes but smiled. “You two are hopeless. Magic Control’s what I’m excited for—and History. Can you imagine all the powers we’ll study?” Her voice bubbled, but her hand clenched her ring, the memory of the alcove’s shadow still clinging.
Doris returned with a stack of books and three gleaming lyres. She set them down with a thud.
“Here’s your starter kit. Leather-bound, lightly enchanted—they’ll grow with you. And the lyres? Golden-thread strings, sturdy, portable. Pick one, then store them in your rings. Quick practice before you head up.”
Amelinda chose a pale lyre. One strum rang clear, bright as her laughter.
“This one’s mine.” She closed her eyes. Her ring shimmered, and the lyre vanished with a hum—tucked neatly into her imagined nook beside her sketchpad. She gasped, grinning as she made her books vanish the same way.
“So splendid!”
Gwen grabbed a deep-red lyre and plucked a string—off-key and brash. He winced, laughing. “Oof. Needs work.” He pictured his storm cave—waves crashing, wind roaring. The ring pulsed, a gust swirling his hair, and the lyre vanished with a pop. His books followed, quick as a snap. He twirled his ring, grinning. “Not bad. Got myself a private stash.”
Heracles lingered. The ring pressed cold and heavy, the void yawning behind his eyes. He picked a dark, sturdy lyre, plucked a bold note, steady and grounding. “No clue what I’m doing,” he muttered. Still, the ring warmed, and the lyre slipped into the void, the books vanishing after.
“It works,” he said, voice firmer, though his gaze swept the shelves like he expected the shadows to move again.
“Nice work,” Doris said, clapping her hands. “Those will grow with you at Hippocoon. Next floor’s waiting.”
“Thanks, Doris!” Amelinda chirped, her smile bright though her grip on the ring stayed tight.
“See you again?” Heracles asked softly, unease threading his voice.
“Bet on it,” Doris said, her grin wide. She waved them toward the far door. “Go on—the stairs know where to take you.”
The three stepped back into the stairwell. Marble gleamed underfoot again, spiraling higher. They climbed, expecting another realm—until the steps ended on familiar stone.
They had returned to the ground floor.
“Welcome back, Heracles, Gwen, Amelinda!” Chun called, spectacles glinting as he waited at the foot of the stairs. His cheer carried through the shop like sunlight through glass. “Thought you’d gotten everything already.”
“Seems like it,” Heracles said, uncertain.
“Exactly. Since you’re here, it means you’re finished.” Chun gestured with a flourish. “Follow me to the payment counter. Your uniforms are waiting. After you pay, you’re free to go. Hope the shop’s treated you well.”
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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