Hippocoon land

2. The Ascending Hum The boys ducked into cubicles, shedding their armor. Chun hung the sets back on their racks, then led them deeper into the hall. The air pulsed again, a hum beneath their steps. “Where’s Amelinda?” Heracles asked, voice low. “With Chin, my assistant,” Chun said slyly. “Daughter of a tree nymph. Helping her pick something special.” They reached neat rows of uniforms—navy or black trousers, crisp jackets, white shirts, canvas shoes. Nearly identical… except for the buttons. Heracles caught a faint shimmer, the same glow his armor carried. “Not much to see,” Chun said, hoof clicking. “Check the buttons—silver, gold, even enchanted if you order early.” He leaned close. “Those pack a punch.” “I’ll take enchanted,” Gwen said at once, already fingering a gold-button jacket. “Try them on.” Chun hurried off as the bell above the door chimed for a new customer. “Let’s do this,” Gwen said, grin wide as he snatched a uniform. Heracles grabbed one too, more ...

1. The Black Armor's Whisper The alley lay silent, broken only by a slow drip against the stones. The shop’s crooked sign creaked above its sagging doors. Gwen glanced at his friends, then shoved the doors open. A brass bell clanged, sharp enough to cut the quiet. “Welcome to All-for-You Shop!” A warm voice rose from inside, lilting with odd rhythm. Behind the counter stood a goat-legged man in a neat jacket, spectacles sliding down his nose. He grinned, barely taller than Amelinda. “First-timers?” “Yeah,” Gwen said, smirk in place, confidence dripping like he already owned the room. “Hippocoon first-years, I’d guess.” The man’s eyes twinkled. “I’m Chun. Call me your guide.” The dingy alley dissolved behind them. In its place stretched a vast marble hall lit by golden lamps that hummed softly overhead. Racks of jewel-toned clothes gleamed, mirrors multiplying the space. The air carried the polished tang of fresh wood. Heracles narrowed his eyes. Threads of light shimm...

3. The Map, the Shop, and the Pleading Eyes “My little master, we’re in town,” the coachman rasped, voice rough as stone as he eased the carriage onto sun-warmed cobblestones. Gwen looked up from his scroll, a smirk tugging at his lips, eyes bright with anticipation. “Good work. Stay close—we’ll need you this afternoon.” He swung the door wide and strode out like the street belonged to him. Heracles and Amelinda followed, both watching Gwen’s tall frame cut through the sunlight. The noon glare lit his short curls bronze, a fleeting halo that made him look like the gods themselves had spotlighted his arrival. “Keep the horses ready,” Gwen called, voice easy but commanding. “Yes, little master,” the coachman replied, giving a stiff nod before steering the carriage away. The three stood in the heart of a bustling square. Perfectly cut cobblestones stretched beneath their feet, worn smooth by generations of steps. Ochre, pale blue, and rose-dust facades leaned together, their paint fad...

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....

1.  The Map, the Shop, and the Shadowed Eyes Morning light streamed through the cracked window of Alcmene’s stone manor, spilling gold across the kitchen’s rough-hewn walls. Heracles slouched at the scarred table, thumb worrying at a splinter. A memory pressed at him—shadows slipping into the night, his mother’s trembling hand gripping his shoulder. Across from him, Amelinda wrestled a blackened loaf. Her knife skidded uselessly against its crust. “This thing’s tougher than Minotaur hide,” she muttered, curls falling into her face. Gwen lounged by the wall, an apple spinning through his fingers, grin sharp enough to start trouble. Outside, his family’s polished carriage gleamed in the morning sun, the wiry coachman perched stiff on the bench. “Give it up, Amelinda,” Gwen called, snatching the apple mid-spin. “Bread’s winning. I came here to be a legend, not a baker.” Heracles tipped his chair back with a smirk. “Legend? You’re more like a disaster waiting to happen.” “D...