Heracles pressed his palm to his chest, where the mark had been. “It’s gone,” he muttered, though his voice sounded uncertain.
“No,” Amelinda whispered, still gripping her scepter. “Not gone. Hidden.” She circled him slowly, her gaze sharp, as if she expected the suit to flare back to life at any moment.
Heracles lifted his arms, turning them over, scanning for any trace of the armor. “I don’t feel it anymore.” He forced a shaky laugh, but it rang hollow. “Maybe it disappeared because it wasn’t meant to stay.”
Amelinda lowered her scepter at last, but her eyes never softened. “Or maybe it’s inside you now. A gift that binds. Or a trap waiting to tighten.”
The words settled heavy in the air. Heracles’s jaw clenched, his shoulders stiff. He didn’t want to admit she might be right. Something deep inside still hummed, like an echo of the glow, refusing to let him forget.
“Who would send me something like this?” he asked finally, voice low. “Something that knows me… that chooses me?”
Amelinda rolled the parchment back up, hands trembling slightly. “The letter said the sender was there when you were born. That narrows it down to only a handful of people.”
Heracles’s eyes flicked toward the wooden box, then to Amelinda. “You think my mother knows.”
“She must,” Amelinda said firmly. “If anyone can explain this, it’s Queen Alcmene. And until then—” She lifted the parchment in warning. “—don’t let your guard down. That armor isn’t just a gift, Heracles. It’s a claim.”
For a long moment, Heracles didn’t reply. Then he drew a steady breath, reached for the box, and shut it with a hard snap.
“Then we’ll ask her,” Heracles said at last, his voice even. But his hand lingered on the lid, and Amelinda noticed he didn’t lock it.
Carrying the wooden box, he strode down the hall toward his mother’s chamber, Amelinda close on his heels. They crossed the living room, ascended the stairs, and at last reached the far end of the upper floor.
Heracles knocked. “It’s me.”
“Come in, my son,” came Alcmene’s gentle reply.
He pushed the door wide, Amelinda slipping in beside him.
“Mother—”
“My queen—” Amelinda added softly.
Alcmene looked up from a book at the window, set it aside, and gestured to them. “Sit, both of you.” Her voice was warm, steady.
They obeyed. Heracles placed the wooden box on the table, lifted the parchment from within, and offered it with both hands. “Please, Mother. Read this.”
Alcmene unrolled it. As her eyes moved over the page, the green ink shimmered, then reshaped itself into words only she could see:
“It is I, Hephaestus. By the command of the Ever-Known, this armor was forged. A gift for Heracles, wrought from power itself, to guard him in the trials yet to come. Conceal the truth. Let him believe it a legacy of his blood until the appointed hour.”
Her fingers tightened on the parchment, knuckles whitening. A tremor passed through her lips before she forced them still. The secret script pulsed once, then melted back into the ordinary lines.
Heracles leaned forward, hope burning in his eyes. “Mother—did you see a name? Please, anything.”
Alcmene lowered the parchment slowly. She paused—long enough for Amelinda to notice her breath catch—then spoke with practiced calm:
“Yes. The hand, the lettering… I know it. This is your grandfather’s script. Perseus. The armor is his gift.”
Amelinda let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “A family legacy… that does make sense.”
Heracles frowned faintly, as though sensing a shadow beneath her words, but then nodded. “Grandfather Perseus. I should have guessed.”
Alcmene smiled, though her fingers still pressed the parchment too tightly. “He has always watched over you. Let this gift remind you of that.”
Silence lingered. Then she reached to touch Heracles’s cheek. “You’ve grown, my son. Stronger, steadier. But promise me—don’t rush toward dangers before your time.”
“I promise,” Heracles said, though his voice was firmer than his years.
Her smile warmed again, softer now. “Good. That’s enough serious talk. Tell me—how is Hippocoon? Do the halls still smell of parchment and ink?”
Amelinda’s face lit. “Yes, my queen! The libraries are incredible. I could stay there forever. And the professors—they know everything. It feels like the whole world is waiting to be discovered.”
“That’s wonderful to hear.” Alcmene’s eyes softened. “You’ve always loved learning, Amelinda. Keep that spark alive.” She glanced at Heracles, half-teasing, “If only my son had the same patience for books.”
Heracles flushed. “Mother…” He pushed back his stool and stood. “We’ve taken enough of your time. You should rest.”
Amelinda rose as well, smoothing her dress. “Yes, my queen. Thank you for seeing us.”
Alcmene inclined her head with a gentle smile. “Go then, both of you. And remember—whatever comes, you are not alone.”
“See you later, Mother.”
“And I, my queen,” Amelinda echoed softly.
The door closed quietly behind them, leaving Alcmene alone in the stillness of her chamber.
The sound of their footsteps faded, and silence returned. She sat unmoving, her book forgotten on the table. Her fingers still tingled from the parchment, her lips pressed tight as though holding back words she dared not speak. Slowly, she turned toward the window, eyes clouded with thought, carrying the weight of a secret too dangerous to share.
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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