The Sixth Life of Medusa

39. Water vs Sword

Ares climbed the steep steps to Phorcys' villa with measured strides, gathering his thoughts along the way. Since this was something he must do, he had resolved not to dread it.

A stiff sea breeze snagged at his red locks and rustled his himation. His attire was black from head to toe, following the old tradition and showing his willingness to reflect the solemnity of her loss. Yet he doubted it would matter. This visit was wildly out of character.

I apologise, Ceto. If you view me as some unfeeling cad, then so be it.

How many times has this happened to Ceto? Four, five times? He wasn't sure. He had never paid a condolence visit in the past. It still surprised him that the Moirai insisted he be the one to visit. When he argued that Demeter was a better option, she waved it off, talking about how the goddess had earned a well-deserved break.

And you and Phorcys are brothers in arms. The Moirai had said, reminding Ares of his accursed duty. Ceto will trust you more.

It was at the tip of his tongue to mention that Demeter was also Zeus' general, but he gave up. He had since learned the Moirai always had a reply in these types of arguments.

The villa entered his view, its high limestone walls, towering pillars and fluttering house flags painting an imposing picture. Everything appeared ostentatious, with bubbling fountains, regal sculptures and trimmed hedges marking the expansive front lawn.

Though it appeared majestic, the home hardly reflected Phorcys' person. The man Ares remembered was a quiet, deadly fellow who abhorred excessive finery in appearance and fighting style. This villa... Ares' gaze lingered on the imposing doors bearing intricate carvings of sirens and vines. The villa was too grand to exist outside Olympus. Zeus had called it a fitting compensation.

Despite the burn of your disloyalty, you have given the most to the monolith in the past two centuries. I shall stagger your punishment.

It was one of those memories Blue Tears brought back with stark clarity. Ceto had been present that day, watching in sorrow as Phorcys knelt and stonily took his punishment. Rumours in Olympus said he had rejected her affection since the beginning, so what happened within the two hundred years of his punishment? They even married, with Ceto being the only goddess to bear a child four times.

Very odd, indeed. It was impossible to reconcile that bloodthirsty general with the image of a doting husband and father who led a carefree life in the chosen continent.

"Ah, I'm curious," Ares mumbled as the call of seagulls and the sound of crashing waves mixed in the background. But not like this. This wasn't how he planned to answer his curiosity. And Phorcys wasn't even here.

Now before the door, Ares paused as he raised a hand to touch the brass knocker. The Moirai's instruction returned to his mind, emphasising the importance of this moment.

Turning to his right, Ares peered into the distance and frowned. Despite seeing nothing out of place, he did as the Moirai asked and made a beckoning motion.

His action made no sense, but he had experienced enough wonders in the hands of the Moirai to trust her directives. Perhaps someone he couldn't see was watching.

Turning back to the door, he knocked twice. A stocky maid, awakened from what he could sense, opened the door. Her eyes widened when she saw his face; offering a deep bow, she ushered him.

Ares sensed it the moment he stepped over the threshold. Death. A harvest happened within these walls, and very recently. So the staff weren't just murdered. How unfortunate.

He took it all in as he trailed after the servant, noting with disinterest the extravagance of his surroundings. Those blasted symbols. Carvings of owls over every doorpost. Because there was only so much Zeus could do to punish one who can never die, he had grown creative with his punishment. Even the villa's interior hadn't escaped Zeus' will to pass a message.