After that, once we returned to the Argo and even the next day, the men were still flirting with the women of Lemnos.
After several days of carefree flirting with no sign of return, Heracles, evidently fed up, marched toward the town wearing a furious expression.
I followed Heracles and helped round up the other men—after all, I had no intention of lingering here either. Within about a week, Heracles and I had dragged everyone back aboard, and the Argo finally set sail.
But one must never forget: this is end-of-days Greece. When the gods go off the rails, humans soon follow. Especially Greek men—these so-called heroes have assembled like some mythic Avengers, each more volatile than the last.
Some of them charged up a mountain they shouldn't have, fought through a raging storm, only to realize the opponent was the very king they'd sparred with yesterday.
Others massacred a tribe of giants for no reason, incurred the wrath of a goddess, and only escaped backlash by hastily offering her a sacrifice.
And in a bare-knuckle duel with Amycus, king of the island of Bebryces, they killed the monarch outright.
Yes, it truly is end-of-days Greece.
Still, not all of their exploits were utter disaster. And yes, the duel with King Amycus was justified—after all, he had a penchant for hammering people to death with iron spikes built into his gauntlets. That was more than enough cause for self-defense.
The real reason I can't dismiss them as complete wrecks is what they did for Phineus.
They brought food to Phineus, the blind former king of Thrace who'd been left to starve.
In return, he revealed the prophecy of the Symplegades—the clashing rocks that stand as the most deadly barrier between us and Colchis.
We managed to slip through, but it was painfully close. If we'd hesitated even for a moment longer, both ship and crew would have been crushed.
"Colchis!!!"
At the shout from one of the crew, every oarsman erupted in cheers. I joined in too—at last, our endless voyage was nearing its end.
The fools' reckless trolling had set us back more than once, but those delays were finally behind us.
"That is… Colchis…!"
Jason stared at the shore with uncharacteristic awe. He looked like Odysseus setting foot on his homeland after ten years—except, of course, Odysseus was from a later age.
It might seem over-dramatic, but who can blame him? Colchis held the Golden Fleece—the very prize that would force his usurping uncle to surrender the throne he'd stolen.
But the fleece is the greatest treasure of Colchis, and its king won't relinquish it willingly. And though we outnumber his palace guards fifty to one, he's not someone to be bullied lightly.
He'll surely lay down impossible conditions to refuse us. Yet myth holds that Jason overcame them all—though his uncle broke his promise and paid the ultimate price at Medea's hands. Wait… if that's true, wasn't Jason himself the one who failed to keep his word?
"Iskios, Iskios!"
"Hm? What is it?"
"We've arrived. That's the coast of Colchis."
Heracles called beside me, pointing toward the shoreline. By now most of the expedition had disembarked, led by Jason, all heading for the royal palace. The instant I saw him take point, a far more serious thought struck me.
If we don't keep an eye on Medea here, the Argo expedition is bound to suffer further delays. I can't accept that. I vowed that no matter what, I'd act swiftly to keep her from derailing the mission.
I slipped around to the far side of the ship and climbed down the gangplank. Heracles shouted from behind the moment he spotted me, but I paid him no mind—I could already make out the gist of his complaint.
"Iskios! Where do you think you're going?!"
"Just sneaking off for a little recon!"
Heracles's irritation eased a bit, but I knew I couldn't stay idle. Once on the shore, I recalled how I'd evaded Apollo's pursuit and melted into the shadows.
Even in the broad daylight, neither the sentries nor the curious townsfolk took the slightest notice of me. If even the gods can't track me down, ordinary humans are hopeless. I melded with every shadow, slipping past the guards and into the heart of the palace.
"Welcome, expedition! I am Aietes, king of Colchis. This is my queen, Astrodea, and this boy is my son, Absyrtus."
Inside the palace audience hall, the king, queen, and heir apparent stood to greet us. Then, with visible pride, the king introduced his daughter.
She was a striking beauty with long hair tied in a pale purple ponytail. I barely heard her introduction before her name was already on my lips.
"And this is the princess, my daughter, Medea."
'Ah, shit.'
-The truly dangerous enemy lies within.-
Medea, princess of Colchis, is the witch of betrayal renowned throughout Greek mythology.
It was the expected twist, but no less dire: Princess Medea had fallen head over heels for our hapless Jason. Such is end-of-days Greece in all its madness.
Her blind devotion was nothing short of dangerous—her most infamous act being the murder of her own brother, his body cast into the sea as an offering.
While the rest of the expedition feasted merrily at the king's banquet, I quietly slipped away with a few pieces of meat and some wine, indulging in my solitary meal as always.
"So you were here, Iskios?"
As I sat alone in a tucked-away corner, a familiar female voice drifted behind me. I snapped on my mask and swiveled around. Atalanta stood there.
"I thought you were missing from the ship—where did you go?"
"I've been following in secret, just in case."
"Just in case, huh?"
"Exactly—just in case."
It's obvious that this damn king will never hand over the Golden Fleece. Anyone with half a brain—Jason included—knows that.
"This fucking king! Crazy!! Is this how it's gonna go? Shit! Shit!!"
But Jason being Jason, his temper flared unabated. Outside the palace, he was kicking a wall to vent his frustration, and both Atalanta and I watched in muted amusement.
It wasn't the first time we'd witnessed his theatrics, so we hardly batted an eye—just sighed that Jason had yet again snapped. I stepped forward and asked.
"Hey, Jason. So they've tasked you with an impossible trial to claim the Golden Fleece?"
"Yeah! They want me to plow a field with fire-breathing bulls, then sow dragon's teeth into the furrow, and fight the warriors that sprout up—all alone?!"
As he raged, his face grew whiter with each word. Honestly, only Heracles could hope to handle fire-breathing bulls.
The dragon-spawned warriors might be doable, but those bulls? Impossible without superhuman strength. And Jason—among all of us—was by far the weakest in body.
He's dead last in running, dead last in weapons, dead last in swimming. Sure, he's skilled at steering a ship, but this isn't a sailing challenge. It's blatantly a death sentence in disguise.
But I won't step in. In the myths, someone ends up helping Jason overcome this trial. And I have faith in Jason—flawed as he is, his real strength emerges in moments of crisis.
"Alright, let's head back, Atalanta. I don't see anything here that warrants our help."
"At least I'll pray for your soul, Jason."
"Oh shit!!! What did you two even come here for? Damn!!! Damn!!!"
-Rest assured, Jason. You will pass that trial.-