What is fear? It's the dread of something. What makes people quake in terror, above all, is fear of the unknown.
Everyone is bound to fear what they don't understand. At our core, humans face this whether in modern times or at the end of the world in Greece. Jason, Heracles—same for them.
Me...? Ever since I was reborn into this apocalyptic Greece, all I've known is fear. Starting life over as a baby without a clue, just like the typical pattern, and the men around me spoke nonsense—threatening to rape me or court me—so I developed a terror of men despite being one myself.
Then, the moment I graduated under Chiron, as if in some twisted joke, Apollo—the god—hunted me down. That transformed my fear of men into outright loathing, and at the same time, I grew hateful toward the Divine Spirits.
So while others pray to the gods for success or mercy, I have never bowed my head in prayer for myself. Frankly, I don't hold the gods in high regard… especially here in end-of-the-world Greece. Their schemes are worse than any backstabbing politician from the old days.
"Goddess Aphrodite, I will return these [golden apples] to you."
"Hmm… so Melanion ran off, did he…?"
It's dawn. After parting ways with Atalanta, I found myself compelled to call upon Aphrodite in prayer. I hate doing this more than anything, but if I don't give these back, who knows what nightmare I'll face. So I resolved to return the three [golden apples].
Exactly three. I honor a bargain—I'm not like some craven king who breaks promises. An oath with another person is built on trust, and I never break it.
I'm standing before Aphrodite herself—a blonde goddess whose beauty no mortal could fathom—and I'm tense. Yes… this is fear. But it's fear born of knowing how colossal her power is.
Beyond that fear, I can sense one thing: Aphrodite is angry with me…
"Melanion prayed to me and received these [golden apples]… returning them now—why… oh my…"
"I have no excuse, Goddess Aphrodite. Yet, that man didn't seem like someone who could bring happiness to Atalanta, so I dared to interfere."
As days passed, I realized my beauty, which draws men like bees, also had the gods ensnared. When I convinced Hera to pardon Callisto, my appearance played a crucial role.
As I removed my mask and spoke face-to-face with Aphrodite, the goddess's cheeks flushed crimson—her eyes lighting up as if she'd spotted something adorable.
"Oh my… what a charming boy… gulp… ahem… Very well. Looking at your lovely face, let us pretend this never happened."
"Thank you for your grace."
The Divine Spirits are like natural disasters to me—never welcome. But if I don't kowtow now, who knows what wind might blow over Atalanta later.
I don't mind suffering myself, but I refuse to let others be harmed because of me. Having returned the three [golden apples] seized from Melanion, I prepare for the race later that day with Atalanta.
Atalanta and I—comparing our speed, there's not much difference. Of course, I'm talking about my usual pace. In my prime—when I was on the run from Apollo—my limiter was off all the time, that was my peak.
I've always assumed Apollo could ambush me from behind or above, so I kept my senses razor-sharp. Since gaining my freedom, I'd sealed away that instinct—until now, when I needed to call it back.
"Ready…! Go!!!"
At that moment, to reclaim that feeling of overtaking Atalanta—of fear morphing into my own strength…I shed mask and cloak, revealing my face to the onlookers.
When the king gave the start signal, Atalanta and I took off together. Racing across the meadow, our speeds matched; I could see her running side by side.
We were fast even by everyday standards, but she was Atalanta. I ran this race with my life on the line for her sake…but I would never die. If I died, Callisto's pardon would end.
'Remember… remember, Iskios…! That feeling…!'
I fought through the burning stares and sticky gazes of the crowd—recalling that day when Apollo tried to seduce me with his honeyed voice and lavish feasts, playing the lyre, staging surveillance with familiars in the baths…
As those awful memories resurfaced, the moment Atalanta and I reached the great tree at the halfway point… gooseflesh broke out all over me. I envisioned Apollo chasing me, drooling, his eyes bloodshot, nose bleeding… a version of him I'd never known, the worst of him.
'Is—ki—os!!! Got. you.~♪'
At the instant those cruel words echoed in my mind, it went white. My body surged forward without thought.
—Fear sometimes grants a person unknown strength.—
***
Callisto watched Iskios as he raced Atalanta, concern etched on her face.
He was not only a savior to her and to her son Arcas, but she worried for him on his own merits. He didn't look likely to lose, yet Callisto feared something else entirely.
"Hehehe… hehehehe…"
"Even better than the rumors…! Handsome all the way…"
"Far more beautiful than my wife…"
"I want to do it… oh, I want to do it so much…!"
Some soldiers, seeing Iskios's appearance and the poised posture as he launched himself forward, turned red. A few covered themselves down below; others panted harshly; some exhaled sharply through their noses.
Not only the soldiers—the palace maids watching the race screeched at his cuteness or stared with lust in their eyes. Even Atalanta's father, the king, had blood trickling from his nose.
At first, Callisto had felt the same way when Iskios revealed his face to save her from Hera, but she held that feeling back, looking away to compose herself and worrying for him.
As you can see… Iskios hid his face with a mask and cloak for this very reason. If he were a stunning beauty in a dress, Zeus would have raped him; if a handsome man, men wouldn't leave him be.
Thanks to that backdrop, Iskios became known as a hero who distrusted the color blue and feared the gaze of others.
"They reach the tree at the same time…!"
"This is where it really starts…!"
While most were enraptured by Iskios's looks, a few clear-headed watchers tensed as Atalanta and he touched the tree.
Truth is, the gap between Atalanta and me really started to open once we rounded that tree. From that point on, no one could catch Atalanta.
The sane few wondered how I might close the distance, but before they could watch further, a gust of wind swept over everyone.
"Huh...?"
"What...?"
"What's happening...?"
"How…how is this…!?"
"She should be right there! Princess Atalanta and…"
"Yes… she was running beside him…!"
When the wind died, the one to cross the finish line was Iskios. In an instant, spectators and the spellbound alike were left stunned by the sudden turn of events.
Atalanta had just begun to sprint past the tree when Iskios appeared at the line as if from nowhere. Atalanta, still running, was thrown into confusion, and the crowd was too shook to react.
He slowly walked to the king.
"It's… over? I… did I win…?"
"Uh…um…yes…yes, it seems… the victor!!!"
"Uuuuuugh…!"
Just as the king was about to crown Iskios as champion, Iskios's face turned even paler. He clapped a hand over his mouth and bolted off.
He ran so fast no one could catch him. Though he showed no sign of fatigue, his complexion was ghastly—a sight only Callisto, his closest, witnessed.
Worried, Callisto raced into the woods where he'd fled to check on him—but then…
"Uwaaaaaaaaaargh─!!!"
"Iskios…!?"
Hidden behind a tree, avoiding prying eyes, Iskios suddenly began to vomit.
He'd stripped away mask and cloak to unlock every restraint for victory, but suddenly unleashing the long-suppressed limiter brought back that vivid terror from the past.
He tried to run through it, but couldn't hold back. Weakening, he threw up. It hardly looked like a victor's image, yet he stumbled back to the starting line—sealing the outcome: his victory.
It was undeniably a landslide win, but emotionally, Iskios felt he neither won nor lost.
-Hm. End of the world, just like they say. It never betrays you. By Iskios-
***
From the Temple of Olympus, where Iskios and Atalanta ran their race, Zeus and Poseidon glared at each other, ready to battle.
Their usual lightheartedness was nowhere in sight; their eyes sliced through each other. Zeus crackled with his thunderbolt, Poseidon held his trident with waves swirling around it.
As the two enraged gods stared each other down, heaven and earth trembled.
Inside the Temple of Olympus, the mere sight of these two powerhouse Divine Spirits wrangling plunged the sanctuary into chaos. Zeus was the first to shout, and at his roar, the surrounding gods flinched.
"Thetis belongs with me, Zeus, king of the gods!"
"What nonsense! Thetis is a sea goddess—so of course she belongs with me!!!"
They bellowed like childish rivals, warring over a single goddess both of them coveted.
That goddess was Thetis. Enraptured by her beauty, Zeus and Poseidon turned on each other, each determined to claim her.
Unable to calm the uproar, Hebe—daughter of Hera—feared disaster and raced to fetch her mother. Yet the chaos in the Temple of Olympus showed no sign of abating.
***
Outside the temple's outer courtyard, Apollo was practicing his lyre when a raven's report startled him so badly his eyes nearly popped out.
"What…?"
"Yes…! I'm certain…!"
"Oh…? Iskios shed his mask and cloak on his own…!? I cannot remain idle!"
The black raven, having witnessed Iskios in Arcadia reveal his face, flew this intel to Apollo.
At once, gripped by an irresistible desire to see Iskios's true face before a month had even passed, Apollo threw aside his precious lyre and mounted a cloud, racing toward Arcadia.
"W-what is it…!? Ugh… uuuuuurk…!"
"Iskios…!? What's wrong?!"
"Why is this… Iskios? This is no champion's conduct."
Apollo's approach triggered that same chill across Iskios's skin, and he began to retch again.
While Callisto fretted helplessly, Atalanta—unaware of Iskios's ordeal—gazed at him with her usual stoicism and spoke.