Hippocoon land

Before Heracles could retort, a knock came at the door. “Heracles—Gwen, are you in there?” Amelinda’s voice called. “Yes, we’re here,” Heracles replied, rising to open the door. “Hi, Amelinda,” Gwen greeted smoothly, flashing a bright smile. “Hi, Gwen. I heard you just arrived,” she said as she stepped inside, eyeing the table with curiosity. “Fresh off the carriage,” Gwen said lightly. “And already dragging Heracles into trouble.” Heracles muttered, “He’s not wrong.” Amelinda folded her arms. “Then why lock the door?” “Obviously,” Gwen said with mock gravity, “because we were sharing the deepest secrets of manhood.” “You’re not men. You’re just boys,” she teased, lips curving. “True,” Gwen said, pointing at Heracles. “He’s a boy. I’m a boy genius.” Heracles groaned again. “Ignore him.” Amelinda arched a brow, looking between them. “You’re not hiding something from me, are you?” “Nope,” Gwen said instantly, too fast. Then he softened it with a grin. “Unless you count how many sweets I ...

Silence lingered, thick. Then Gwen’s grin crept back, sly and secretive. He shot a glance at the door, rose, and slid the latch into place. When he turned again, his voice was hushed, almost conspiratorial. “Forget waiting for your mystery armor to make up its mind,” he said, eyes gleaming. “I’ve got something better. A journey. I’m leaving soon—and I want you with me.” Before Heracles could reply, Gwen’s space ring pulsed. A roll of brittle parchment shimmered into view, landing on the table with a soft thud. Heracles narrowed his eyes. “What’s that?” “A map.” Gwen unrolled it carefully, the parchment cracking faintly with age. His finger pressed to the center. “Here. Aurelia Isle. The old tales call it the Isle of the Sky-Beasts.” Heracles leaned in. The island’s outline was uncanny—an eagle’s head carved into the sea, beak jutting east, the rest of it adrift and alone in endless waters. “And here’s us,” Gwen added, tapping the coast on the far edge of the parchment. Heracles frowned...

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...