Hippocoon land

They stood beneath a marble colonnade, the air unnaturally still. Other children clustered nearby, whispering in nervous tones. “So… what now?” Amelinda asked. “We wait,” Gwen said confidently. “The carrier comes to take us.” “The carrier?” Heracles frowned. “Who—what is that?” “Beats me.” Gwen shrugged. “Everyone talks about it, but no one ever says what it is.” Before Heracles could press, a round blot of blackness slid across the floor—flat and liquid, moving like spilled ink. “There!” Amelinda pointed, her voice sharp. “Are those… eyes?” Two narrow white slits gleamed within the shadow. “And a mouth,” Gwen muttered. The shape glided forward, silent but deliberate. Suddenly, the floor beneath several children dropped away, as if the marble itself had melted. They vanished with startled cries, their shouts cut off by heavy thuds. “Watch out!” someone screamed. Panic exploded. The crowd scattered, sandals slapping the stone, bags clattering to the floor. The black mass stretched and s...

“Heracles, wake up! We’re late.” Amelinda’s voice yanked him from uneasy sleep. He blinked, yawning, and pushed upright against the wall. “I was just… trying something,” he mumbled. “Hurry! We’re already at the gate,” Amelinda called, striding off. Groggy, Heracles tugged on a suit, slung his bag over his shoulder, and bolted. He barreled down the stairs, across the hall, through the garden, and into the waiting carriage. The Old Gardener sat at the reins. Heracles greeted him quickly before climbing inside. His mother, July, and Amelinda were already seated. Alcmene, draped in a white chiton that lent her an almost divine glow, gestured to the seat opposite her. “Here, Heracles,” she said gently. “Go on, Old Gardener,” July said, and the carriage lurched forward. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll be at Hippocoon,” Alcmene said softly. Her gaze lingered on her son. “Take care of yourself. And Amelinda. Don’t be stubborn, don’t do anything foolish. Follow the rules—they’ll keep you safe.” ...

The Explosive Next Chapter in the Twelve Labors Series In the world of classical Greek mythology, the second Labor of Heracles was a solitary battle against the Hydra—the vicious, multi-headed serpent whose heads regrew in double upon every strike, forcing the hero to use fire to cauterize the stumps. But what if Heracles wasn't a solitary warrior? What if he was a still-uncertain 15-year-old boy, grappling with newly awakened power, who must confront his deepest fears alongside his two closest friends? That is the spirit of "Heracles and the Dragon Hydra" —the second book in the modern, school-based fantasy series re-imagining the Twelve Labors, written by author Hung Nguyen (following directly from Heracles and the Nemean Lion ). This is more than a simple fight against a monster; it is a journey of discovering bloodline secrets, forging friendship in the face of destruction, and realizing true power comes from the heart—where ancient mythology meets modern emotion, ma...

The First Fantasy Book in the Twelve Labors Series In the world of classical Greek mythology, Heracles is the ultimate symbol of indestructible strength—the hero who completed the Twelve Labors to atone for his sins and claim his demigod status. But what if Heracles wasn't the flawless warrior he was destined to be? What if he was just an angst-ridden 15-year-old boy, grappling with a shadowy past, jealous of his half-brother, and completely unaware of his true, terrifying power? This is the starting point for " Heracles and the Nemean Lion "—the first book in a modern, school-based fantasy series that brilliantly re-imagines the Twelve Labors , written by author Hung Nguyen . More than just a mythological adventure, this is an emotionally charged journey of growth, where ancient lore meets magical academia, and a hero is forged in the fires of failure. Synopsis: From a Mysterious Invitation to Vanquishing the Nemean Lion The story begins with a prophetic dream: Heracles ...

5. The Market, Roger, and the Unyielding Scepter He led them to a desk near the door. Three sets of uniforms were stacked neatly across the polished surface. Behind the counter stood a figure cloaked in black. The hood fell low, hiding his face; only long dark curls and a pair of cold, unblinking blue eyes showed through the shadows. His silence pressed heavier than words. “That’s Argose,” Chun murmured, voice dropping low, as if the name itself carried weight. “He bears the gift of Argus Panoptes. Don’t expect warmth—but when it comes to his craft, there’s no one sharper.” Argose remained still, his presence more statue than man. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat, each word cut with precision. “Three sets of outdoor uniforms. Three sets of class uniforms. Three sets of books. Three scepters. Three lyres with picks. Total: five hundred.” Amelinda, quick as always, stepped forward with a bright smile. “I’ve got it.” She pulled a neat stack of paper bills from her pouch. Argo...

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 tow...

3. The Space Rings and the Serpent's Gaze Heracles’s gaze snapped to it. The venomous glow collapsed, vanishing as though it had never been. A cold knot tightened in his gut. He shook it off, breath ragged, hands trembling around the dragon’s rod. Against the sweat and ache, a grin broke across Heracles’s face—fierce, defiant. He had held the dragon and not let go. Amelinda whooped, her rainbow scepter flaring as she threw her arms around him. “Herc, you’re unreal!” she cried, her voice bright but trembling. Her gaze darted to the far alcove. “But… that thing. It’s giving me chills.” Heracles’s grin softened. He followed her stare. The shadows seemed to watch back. Gwen leaned against a shelf, Griffin scepter slung over his shoulder like a wanderer’s prize. He gave a low whistle. “Man, Herc, you just wrestled a dragon and won,” he said, his grin sharp as a gust through fog. His eyes flicked to the alcove, curiosity sparking. “That glow, though? Looks like trouble worth poking.” His...

2. Dragon's Blood and the Huntbound Curse Ham’s gaze locked on Heracles, eyes narrowing. For a heartbeat, they flashed gold, then dimmed. “You’re the tough one,” he murmured, voice low, almost a growl. “I see threads of past and future in most—but you?” He tapped his temple lightly. “You’re a blank. Fogged. Unreadable.” Heracles stiffened, fingers twitching. “Still,” Ham continued, studying him, “I see fire in you. Independence. Strength that won’t bow. That screams dragon.” He turned, moving deliberately to a shelf and pulled down a heavier rod. Its ironwood shaft glowed black and red, warm as coals beneath his hands. At its crown, a crystal orb cradled a single drop of crimson, swirling like molten lava, pulsing with a heartbeat all its own. “Dragon’s blood,” Ham said softly, reverent. “From a beast that kneels to none. Fierce. Untamed. The ironwood’s the only thing strong enough to hold it. Harder than the wind, harder than the feather. It will test you, Heracles—every ounce of ...