Hippocoon land

Over the next few days, the household slipped back into its rhythm. Aunt July vanished often, leaving at dawn for business in town and returning only when the lamps were lit. Lena busied herself with meals, humming as she chopped herbs, her laughter spilling now and then from the kitchen. Alcmene remained serene, dividing her time between her books and the roses that bloomed beneath the eaves, their fragrance wrapping her in quiet solitude. Amelinda, however, withdrew. When she wasn’t with Heracles, she shut herself away, bent over tasks she never explained—ink stains on her fingertips, strange powders lingering on her desk. Heracles alone could not settle. He drifted from room to room, restless. Sometimes he lingered with his mother, listening to her voice while she read aloud, though his thoughts wandered. Sometimes he tapped at Amelinda’s door, curious, only to be waved off with a distracted smile. Most often, he found himself outside, beneath the eaves, watching the Old Gardener te...

Meanwhile, Heracles and Amelinda walked back down the corridor to his room. Heracles pushed the door open, set the wooden box beside his bed, and dropped heavily onto the mattress. Amelinda lingered near the window, her expression tight, watching him. For a while neither spoke. Then Heracles broke the silence. “It vanished. Just like that. Why would armor choose me… only to disappear?” Amelinda leaned forward, her brows drawn. “Not disappear. Hide. That’s what it felt like. The spell was intentional.” Heracles sat up, restless. “So it’s still here? On me? Inside me?” “Maybe,” she said slowly. “The letter mentioned a binding charm—to ensure no one else could use it. That doesn’t sound like a prank. It sounds like protection.” He rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. “Then how do I bring it back? There must be a way. A word, a sign—something.” Amelinda crossed her arms, thinking. “Some enchantments answer to commands. Others to emotions. We don’t know which. Not yet.” Heracles gave a fr...

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?” Amelin...

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 clo...

Morning light spilled through the window, stabbing Heracles in the eyes. He groaned, threw an arm across his face, and sat up. The floor was cool against his feet as he shoved them into his sandals and dragged himself toward the bathroom. A splash of cold water shocked him awake. By the time he padded down the stairs, the smell of bread and roasting meat was already drifting from the kitchen. “Morning, Mom. Morning, Lina,” he said, dropping into a chair beside his mother. He kissed her cheek, earning a warm kiss back. “What’s it going to be today?” Lina called from the fireplace where she was turning a pan of meat. “Bread, eggs, jam—take your pick.” “Milk first,” Heracles cut in. “Thirsty.” Lina grabbed a jar near the fire and handed it over. He poured a cup, gulped, then slid the jar toward his mother. “Want some?” “I’ll take it later,” Alcmene said with a soft smile. Heracles nodded and looked around. “Where are Amelinda and Aunt July?” “They left early. July had business in town and...

Gwen was falling. It wasn’t a stumble or a slip; it was a deliberate surrender. He sank into a bottomless abyss, where light was refracted and darkness wasn’t an absence, but a solid, heavy presence. He landed on a solitary, jagged peak, so high that the stars above had long since died. Beneath his feet, the ground was a slab of black obsidian glass, reflecting only absolute solitude. Then came the roar. It wasn't a sound, but a shockwave of antiquity, vibrating through his joints and ribs. Before Gwen, space tore open. A colossal Griffin descended. It was the color of oxidized bronze and lightning. Its eyes were two chips of glacial emerald, and its wings, when folded, cast a shadow over Gwen’s entire meager world. This was the King of the Griffins, and Gwen knew the King saw straight through his skin, directly into his Sherwin soul. The King lowered its head, a slow movement that carried the weight of millennia. “O descendant of Sherwin,” its voice was a torrent of icy thought, c...

If the first labor was merely a test of strength within the Academy's walls, the second is a violent escalation: a journey into the kind of darkness that lies beyond the control of gods and mentors alike. In Heracles and the Nemean Lion, the story was about an unwitting boy forced to accept the mantle of a legend. We saw Heracles learn how to find courage, despite being crippled by doubt. But Heracles and the Dragon Hydra is no longer his story alone. As the walls of Hippocoon’s false safety crumble, the weight of the next Labor proves too heavy for one person to bear. Heracles must rely on his two indispensable companions: Gwen, the bold guide who trusts her gut, and Amelinda, the brilliant strategist who protects with her mind. Their quest becomes a desperate race for survival into lands where myth is still feral and dangers multiply with every footstep. In the cursed swamps of Lernaen, the trio must face the multi-headed Dragon Hydra—a creature that doesn't just kill with ve...

The pace slowed, the great body easing to rest. Darkness swallowed the light outside. Columns rose from the black earth, oil lamps burning atop them, their glow faint against the vast night. “Disembark,” Grogon rumbled. “Your journey with me ends here.” The doors slid open. One by one, children filed out, gathering beneath the lamps, dwarfed by the dragon’s colossal bulk. Aiden’s husky voice cut through the murmurs. “Stay close! The dark here is not kind.” He raised his flickering oil lamp, its glow carving a narrow path forward. Heracles, Gwen, and Amelinda fell in line, walking with the others along the dim trail. Whispers flickered and died quickly as nerves tightened. Eyes darted to every shifting shadow, but no one dared fall behind. At last, the path opened to a wide river. Dark water stretched silently into the gloom, boats waiting along the bank. Hooded boatmen stood motionless by their vessels, faces hidden, lamps glinting faintly off the curve of their oars. Aiden stepped int...

The compartment was warmer than Heracles expected—soft benches lined either side, a narrow aisle running between. Amelinda and Gwen slipped in behind him, taking the seats nearest the door. “So this is real,” Heracles murmured, still uneasy. “Feels real enough,” Gwen replied, smirking. “First time?” Heracles nodded. “Yeah. First anything like this.” “There’s plenty they never let us see unless we’re chosen,” Gwen said quietly. Amelinda leaned forward, her braid slipping over her shoulder. “They’re incredible. When I first read about ground dragons in the Histories of the Gods , I thought it was just a legend. Grogon’s terrifying—fastest and longest creature alive. Its scales can’t be pierced, and its venom is said to kill even half-bloods.” Gwen whistled. “Comforting. And here we are, riding inside it.” “What about that shadow thing?” Heracles asked. “The Shadow-shifter?” Amelinda’s brow furrowed in thought. “Only a few lines. A shadow born from nothing, able to move th...