A voice rang out behind him. “What’s that?”
He nearly dropped it. Amelinda slipped into the seat beside him, eyes gleaming.
“Someone left it for me,” Heracles said. “I don’t know who.”
“So… are you going to open it or just stare at it?”
“I’d like to know who sent it first.”
Amelinda nudged him with her elbow. “If the answers are inside, why are we still talking?”
Heracles studied the box a heartbeat longer, then exhaled. “Fair enough. Let’s see.”
They lifted the lid together.
Golden light burst outward, blinding, forcing them to shield their faces. When the brilliance faded, a suit of gold gleamed inside, folded with impossible care. A scroll, tied with ribbon, rested on top.
The armor shimmered faintly as if its threads were alive. A sharp, earthy scent drifted up—metal and wild air—so fleeting Heracles almost thought he imagined it. Then the moment was gone.
He left the armor untouched and unrolled the parchment. Green ink shimmered, the letters curling as though alive. They bent close to read:
Heracles,
Since the hour of your birth, I have watched, though duty kept me afar. Now word of your deeds has reached me.
I know you walked the halls of Hippocoon, and that land has tested you well. More, I heard of the beast that shattered its gates—a terror no mortal should have faced. Yet you stood, and you prevailed.
Though work still binds me, I will not come empty-handed. Accept this gift: a suit spun from the mane of a creature whose strength shook the earth, wrought in fire by the greatest smiths. Enchanted, it will shift to fit its bearer and yield to no hand but yours. To awaken it, simply touch.
This gift comes from—
Heracles’s eyes darted to the final line—just as the name shimmered, blurred, and bled into the parchment. In a heartbeat, it was gone.
“Did you see it?” He snapped his head toward Amelinda. “The name?”
She blinked, startled. “No. It vanished too fast.”
Heracles groaned, raking a hand through his hair. He flipped the parchment front to back, shaking it as if the missing word might tumble loose. Nothing.
“Why would it disappear?” His voice was tight.
Amelinda leaned closer, brushing her fingers over the empty space. Her brows knit. “Someone doesn’t want us to know who sent it.”
He set the parchment flat, fists pressing into the table. “Can you bring it back? Some kind of spell?”
Amelinda hesitated, chewing her lip, then nodded. “I can try.”
She spread her palms over the scroll and began chanting, a low murmur under her breath. Runes flickered to life, glowing faintly green before sputtering out.
Heracles leaned forward, hope flaring—then fading with the light.
Amelinda tried again, faster this time, her voice rising. She sprinkled silver powder from a pouch at her belt. It hissed as it touched the parchment, smoke curling upward before vanishing. The scroll stayed blank.
Scowling, she uncorked a small vial and let a few drops fall. They spread like ink across the fibers, then sank in and disappeared. The page gave nothing back.
Heracles’s hand tightened on the table edge, knuckles pale. His jaw set. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, clipped.
“Still empty.”
Amelinda brushed the last traces of ash from her fingers, lips pressed thin. “It doesn’t make sense. The spells should’ve shown… something.”
Heracles glanced at the parchment again. “So why didn’t they?”
Amelinda shook her head slowly. “Maybe the magic’s too advanced. Or… maybe it was written by someone who knew how to hide their name.”
“It must be someone who knows us,” she added after a pause, voice uneasy.
Heracles leaned closer, frustration edging into his tone. “They know me—that much is obvious. But why hide? Why not come to me directly?”
Questions tumbled through his head, colliding until his thoughts tangled into knots.
“Maybe it’s one of the professors,” Amelinda offered. “Or someone tied to your family. The letter mentioned your birth.”
Heracles shook his head sharply. “Not a professor.”
“Then Queen Alcmene might know. We should ask her,” Amelinda suggested.
“You’re right,” he said at last. But his eyes had already strayed back to the box. The golden suit seemed to hum faintly, each fold shimmering as though it were breathing. The longer he stared, the harder it was to look away.
“Heracles?” Amelinda’s voice pulled at him, distant.
His chest rose and fell quicker. A warmth coiled in his stomach, tugging at his hand, urging him closer. The armor was calling.
“Wait.” Amelinda grabbed her scepter, crystal tip glowing as she raised it between them. “At least let me put a ward first—”
But Heracles was already leaning in. His fingertips brushed the golden threads before he realized what he was doing.
The suit stirred instantly. Threads unwound like living vines, wrapping his wrist and racing up his arm. Light flared, dazzling.
“Heracles!” Amelinda cried, thrusting her scepter forward, a shield spell sparking across his shoulders. It flickered once, then shattered under the surge of magic.
The armor climbed fast, relentless, weaving itself over his body. Scales shimmered down his arms and sides, and across his chest an emblem formed—regal, fierce, alive.
Heracles stood frozen inside the glow, breath ragged, the golden light wrapping him like a second skin. The emblem on his chest blazed, fierce and alive, glaring at the world.
Amelinda didn’t lower her scepter. She edged closer, her voice tight. “Heracles… stop moving. Don’t fight it. Just—just stay still.”
His fingers twitched against the scales. “It’s not letting go.” His tone was clipped, but beneath it his eyes betrayed unease.
Amelinda’s knuckles whitened around the scepter. “It shattered my ward like it was nothing. That… that isn’t normal magic.”
The glow pulsed, heat radiating outward. Heracles gritted his teeth, chest rising with effort. “It feels like it’s inside my blood.”
Amelinda flinched, half-raising her scepter again. For a moment she looked ready to strike, but she hesitated, torn between fear and the thought of hurting him. “If it’s a curse—”
“It doesn’t feel like one,” Heracles cut in, voice low, strained. “It feels… different. Stronger. But it’s not mine.”
The light surged once more, then began to sink. Scales dulled. Threads unraveled into lines of fire that crawled across his skin. They twisted, gathered, and burned into the shape of a lion’s head—its eyes glowing gold, regal and unblinking.
The glow drained at last, leaving Heracles bare-chested, breath heaving. The golden light vanished as though it had been swallowed by his skin. Only the faint outline of the lion’s head lingered for a heartbeat before dissolving.
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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