Guided by the palace guard, Callisto and I reached the empty chamber. I set down my pack and stepped back outside.
Just as I moved to leave, Callisto called after me in a worried tone.
"Lord Iskios, where are you going?"
"Ah—just taking a moment alone to look at the night sky."
Lately, I hadn't had a spare minute to myself. Back in Iolcos, I was busy teaching the children, improving the school's shortcomings, helping Jason with his official duties—or pulling him aside to offer advice. And when I was with Callisto, I spent so much time standing watch outdoors while tutoring her.
Because of that, I'd never managed to carve out a moment of peace. Tonight, I decided to seize the opportunity. I slipped outside the room and climbed onto the palace roof. In my past life I'd never dared scale trees or walls—but Chiron taught me otherwise. The man who raised countless heroes is a sage in every sense; his lessons in mobility have made my body far stronger than it could ever have been before.
Well… aside from raw strength, I still can't match Hercules's might. But I was always a quick study, and thanks to that, my physical abilities have reached levels I never thought possible.
"…What a beautiful night sky."
Sure enough, the air was clear. In my former life the sky had always been too shrouded in pollution to see the stars. But here, with no smog to dull the heavens, the constellations spread out as if painted across the dome of Olympus.
I've rarely allowed myself the luxury of gazing upward. In the past year, I could count those moments on one hand. Still, life at the end of the world hasn't been nothing but hardship.
There was the day I met Chiron. The moment I was freed from Apollo's watch. The time I tended my hives alone in the forest. The warmth I felt teaching the children…
Huh? That's surprisingly few, isn't it?
"Why are you crying, Iskios?"
"Huh…? Y—you!?"
The stars I'd forgotten were so few must have brought tears to my eyes. Someone at my side had noticed.
It was Atalanta. She stood facing me, her expression unreadable. But more surprising than her presence was that I hadn't even noticed her approach until she spoke.
"Why… why are you up here?" I blurted out.
"Even if you say that… this place feels like home to me."
"I know that—but why here of all places…?"
"When I need to think, I come here. I feel at ease."
Hearing her answer, I finally understood. This rooftop was Atalanta's secret refuge when she needed solitude. Few could climb here on their own.
We fell silent, gazing at the sky together. Atalanta spoke so little—I realized I actually knew nothing about her, nor had I tried. All I remembered was that Artemis saved her as an abandoned infant, raised her in the wild, and she became the famed huntress who joined the Argo expedition and the Calydonian boar hunt.
…I know nothing else. But I was curious.
"Hey, Atalanta. Can I ask you something?"
"What is it?"
"Your father abandoned you, right? So why not just run away when he told you to marry?"
"Run away…?!"
In an instant, Atalanta's hands seized my tunic, her eyes blazing red with anger.
Quiet though she usually is, I never expected her to erupt like this. She shouted as if the words scorched her throat.
"Are you telling me to run away?! I will not run! I will not flee at that man's trashy command!"
"Ah…"
I understood. That's why she refused to marry the man she beat in a footrace. She couldn't forgive herself for fleeing from her father's demand. This princess's stubbornness runs deep.
"Then tell me… Atalanta, what do you want to do?"
"What…?"
"I mean, what do you truly desire? What do you wish for?"
"Of course I have such things."
Her face was impassive as always, but her voice held undeniable resolve.
"I want this world to be kind to every child. I don't want anyone to suffer as I did."
Saving children… her wish is noble. After all, she was once a helpless infant abandoned in the woods.
Her desire is beautiful. It's touching—but meaningless if she doesn't know how to approach it. I wondered if she could really save anyone, let alone herself.
Cold as it may sound, I gave her an unflinching NO. "I guarantee you: in your current state, you can't save one child—or even yourself."
"What did you say?"
I didn't sugarcoat it. Atalanta's glare sharpened, but I pressed on.
She knew I had just denied her hope. Of course she was furious—I would say more, regardless of her anger.
Her dream is good. Thinking of others in this harsh end-of-the-world Greece is admirable. But right now, she can't save anyone—not even herself.
"Here's my third question, Atalanta. Are you human… or are you a beast?"
"What?"
Atalanta rose to her feet. I stood as well, removed my mask, and faced her directly for my third question.
I ask everyone this: human or not. Even if someone is technically human, I seek to discern whether they act with humanity.
"You need to know yourself. Whether you're human… or a beast."
It's crucial. But I won't give her the answer. She must discover it herself—I used this with the children I taught before.
Whether in modern times or at the end of the world, growth hinges on understanding and realization. It's my opinion, yes—but Atalanta needs to hear it.
A world where every child is happy… her wish is fine. But a wish greater than one's own strength will crush its bearer. Atalanta, raised in the wild, thinks with the logic of beasts.
"What's so important about that, Iskios?"
"Are you really asking without knowing?"
The logic of beasts is survival of the fittest: the strong devour the weak. No matter how noble the wish, unless one shatters one's own nature to pursue it, Atalanta will never get there.
I've seen it in books and in my past life. At the world's end or in our world, the weak suffer under the petty desires of the strong. In my volunteer work, the orphans, the grief-stricken, the elderly living alone, the disabled, those displaced by disaster—so many were oppressed and exploited. In the harshest regions, children became soldiers and rivers ran red with blood.
"Listen well, Atalanta. A beast might save someone, but it cannot lead them."
"Can't lead them?"
Everyone's abilities are limited. What matters is how one acts within those bounds. I refused to give her the full answer, but offered a single hint.
"If you need help, just ask."
With that final word, I donned my mask and climbed down from the roof. I've only said this much because of our bond from the Argo and the Calydonian boar hunt.
That's my special service—everything else she must forge on her own. Atalanta, I hope you become truly human. Become human… and convince me.
Growth never ends. It must continue.
Atalanta couldn't reply. She had no retort to my words: that she can't save even herself, that a beast cannot lead, and that she must discover her nature.
Rumors of Iolcos had reached her, too. She felt each word I spoke carving deep into her chest. When she slept, when she woke, even when she ran alone in the forest, Iskios's questions hovered in her mind.
'Atalanta, are you human… or a beast?'
'A beast might save someone, but it cannot lead them.'
The weight of those words pressed on her spirit. Though it didn't hinder her running, she couldn't stop recalling them.
She had no rebuttal. Iskios made Jason king and changed Iolcos—ensuring everyone received an education and no one was deceived. Atalanta heard how great his role had been.
About a week later, as Iskios and Callisto prepared to depart, another challenger appeared before Atalanta. He was handsome, lean—Atalanta thought another casualty was certain.
The footrace against the man called Melanion was set for tomorrow morning. But she wouldn't hold back—there was a prophecy that if she married, she would meet her ruin.
On the night before the race, Atalanta walked through the palace halls to clear her mind and saw a shocking sight.
"Iskios?!"
In a secluded corner, she found Iskios gripping the collar of the very Melanion who was to challenge her marriage tomorrow.