𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓷

I

In France, deep into the fields of grapes and lavender, lay a house. Covered in ivy, the outside left a remnant of what once might have been a gorgeous chateau. The peaceful silence was broken by a woman's scream. Covered in a sweat-stained nightgown with fresh blood that wouldn't stop coming. She writhed on the bed, hands clutching the sheets desperately for any release from the pain deep inside of her. There was no doctor present to tend to her predicament, only her mother, father, and older brother.

It was hours of agony, of needless pushing and wailing, until her voice died out. She pleaded with her mother, begging her to end her pain. She only looked back with intense sorrow, knowing how it was going to end. The babe would not come, stuck inside their mother, refusing to leave. Too much time had passed, and too much blood was lost. Anything, she whispered, put me out of this torment. Her father was whispering with her brother on the other side of the room, casting furtive glances at the two women.

With a nod of his head, the father sent his son over. The man, barely coming out of boyhood, grabbed his mother's shoulders, gently at first, and then more insistently. She struggled, grasping at her daughter's hand, yelling for him to let her go. He forced his arms around her, holding her fast. Her husband, with shaking hands, pulled out a knife. She began to scream. He leaned towards his daughter, stroking her hair with a shaking hand. It will all be over soon; I promise my dear. I'm going to get the babe out now. She nodded, in too much pain to notice what he was doing before it was too late.

He took his knife to her skin, starting to cut before he could change his mind. At the first drop of red blood, the girl wailed, trying to move away. no, no, no, she whispered over and over. On the other side of the room, her mother was in hysterics, clawing at her son's hands with all her might. No matter how much she struggled, he held fast.

It was over in mere seconds. Out of the bloody mass of skin and organs of his daughter's stomach, he pulled the child out. It was a girl, so small, so fragile. This is what his daughter died for. The silence in the room was deafening. The baby cried out, strong, insistent, and angry at the world. The man holding her, suddenly felt a feeling of disgust. This was not his granddaughter. She held none of his beloved daughter's features. Instead of light brown hair, this girl's hair was a shade so dark it almost looked black. When she opened her eyes for the first time, instead of the honey color of her mother, they resembled the clearest days at sea. A deep, hypnotizing green, too bright to be natural.

He wanted to throw her out of the window.

He didn't. He handed the babe over to his sobbing wife, before pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket, and walking out of the room as the first billow of smoke left his mouth. His hands were still covered in his daughter's blood.

The woman remained in the corner of the room long after dark, rocking the naked babe in her arms. Her daughter's body still lay on the bed, the smell starting to permeate the room. She did not realize that a strange man was standing in front of her until he cleared his throat. She clutched the child closer to her chest.

Hermes could not have predicted this. When Poseidon asked him to take one of his children to safety, he did not picture the scene in front of him. A dead girl, butchered on the bed, stomach wide open. A woman, huddled in the corner of the room, holding a babe still covered in blood and other substances, rocking back and forth like it was her lifeline. He walked over, making sure to dampen his presence and make his steps softer. She did not even look up. He cleared his throat, before kneeling in front of her. Her eyes looked up in fear, holding the baby closer to her.

Do not take her away from me, she begged. She is all I have left of my daughter.

Hermes looked at her with pity. Mortals always had a way of pulling at his heart, mourning their fragility. She is her father's daughter, not her mother's any longer. He could see it clearly. She radiated power, even as a newborn. Her features were a shadow of his uncle's, and Hermes could believe that she was purely created from Poseidon, and had no mother at all.

Have you named her? The woman shook her head, and Hermes smiled. This girl deserved a name fit for a goddess, a name that spoke of power and history and heritage. He looked down at her again. She belonged to the ocean in all senses and must have a name that honored her heritage.

Andromeda, that will be your name, little one.

The first Andromeda feared her sacrifice to the ocean, needing to be saved. This Andromeda was born from seafoam and saltwater, taking shape in the riptides and tumbling waves, and she would not be afraid of its depths. He pulled her from the woman's arms without much resistance, rocking her slightly as he stood up. Without taking his eyes off of the newly named babe, Hermes flashed away in a swirl of feathers and light, no trace left behind that either a god or a baby ever resided in the room at all.

The god reappeared in Britain, a no-name coast without any town to speak of. However, over the hills, overlooking the ocean and its rocky shores, resided a legacy of Greek divinity. A sprawl of buildings and temples, training rings and pools, statues, and springs. The Estate where the gods' children, legacies, and devotees stayed, safe from the constant change of the modern world. Hermes walked slowly to not jostle the babe, tucked safely in his arm. With the other he held his staff, snakes twirling around it rapidly. He approached the biggest building, a shadow of the Parthenon in Greece, with its carvings and white façade. Everyone he passed, children and adults alike, dropped to their knees, heads down. A whisper of Lord Hermes echoed from every side. He did not tell them to rise. They kept their prostrated positions as he passed, afraid to move.

A host of priestesses greeted him, on their knees with veiled faces turned downwards.

"Which one of you is a Priestess of Poseidon?"

A willowy woman raised her head. With light green eyes, there was a legacy of godly blood, no matter how removed.

"She is his daughter. I leave her in your care."

"As you wish, my Lord Hermes." From his back, her heard the slow sound of a hooved animal approaching. He turned to face Chiron. The centaur looked down at the babe, face paling.

"The first daughter of Poseidon in centuries" He whispered, although the words carried in the silence. There seemed to be an endless crowd of Greeks in front of them. He could spot a few of his children amongst the throng of divine beings.

"What is her name, Lord Hermes?" Chiron asked.

Facing the masses, Hermes smiled. He glowed with power, wrapping him and the babe in a sheen of gold. He held her up, presenting her to the heavens.

"All hail Andromeda Vautour, daughter of Poseidon, earth-shaker, storm bringer, lord of horses, ruler of the seas."