After feasting, Medea's sudden entrance left the heroes flustered. These renowned warriors, famed for their feats, stood no chance against the princess. Not a single sword left its scabbard in her presence.
"I know why you've come."
Medea cut short Jason's awkward pleasantries. "With Hecate's favor, we've clashed with the dragon before, but we've never slain it."
"The goddess has already foretold your arrival. Spare the pleasantries—the Fleece is yours, the dragon is mine. Cooperation is the only sensible course."
The heroes exchanged uneasy glances. Their experience with princesses had been limited to demure ladies, not someone so commanding.
Medea's glare hardened. "We've prepared for this long enough. State your terms before I lose what little patience I have."
Her tone dripped with disdain, as if their deliberation insulted her intelligence.
Reluctantly, the strangers agreed to an alliance. Midnight at the temple—then Medea departed.
King Aeëtes, disappointed no man had captured his daughter's interest, dismissed them with cold indifference. "The priestesses have been overwrought with worry. Do not mind her harsh words."
In the temple, the coven's incense filled the air with pungent smoke. The heroes watched as black-robed priestesses chanted in unison, their foreheads glistening with sweat beneath the firelight.
Medea, now cloaked in darkness, sang a haunting melody—the Soporific Lullaby taught by Hecate herself. The chant invoked Hypnos, the god of sleep, who, at Hecate's behest, lulled the dragon into slumber.
Deep in the mountains, the beast's immense form succumbed to torpor, its fiery breath fading to a gentle rasp.
"We can only keep it asleep for so long," Medea warned, leading the heroes into the cavern. "Strike swiftly and true. The first blow must sever its head—if it wakes, we face a maddened beast that will slaughter us all!"
The adventurers, gripping their swords, surged forward.
The dragon's cavern reeked of decay and sulfur. Jason led the charge, his nostrils flaring at the stench. Beyond, the Fleece glimmered on a withered tree, its golden threads pulsing faintly.
Medea moved like a shadow, her fingers weaving spells. A coiled rope slithered up the tree, snatching the Fleece before vanishing back into her grasp.
"Now," she signaled, stepping aside.
Jason stepped forward, his blade blazing with magic. The first strike pierced the dragon's scales, spraying black ichor that scalded his face. The beast's crimson eyes snapped open just as he aimed for its neck—
Medea threw her cloak, cloaking herself in darkness. The dragon twisted, its fangs grazing Jason's shoulder. Pain seared through him, but he drove his sword deeper—
The blade, tempered by magic, red-hot and hissing, began to melt. With a roar, the dragon thrashed, forcing him back.
Medea seized the moment. Her whispered curse ensnared the creature, tangling its limbs in magical vines. The heroes surged forward, driving spears into its side.
The dragon thrashed violently, its blood—black as night—spilling across the cavern. The plants bathed in its toxic breath withered instantly.
Jason's blade found the dragon's chest, piercing its heart. With a deafening roar, the beast collapsed, shaking the cavern walls.
Medea approached, her voice calm. "The Fleece is yours. Take it and leave."
But as Jason reached for the treasure, the dragon's claws raked his side. Medea's eyes flashed with fury; a final curse silenced the beast forever.
Exhausted, the heroes gathered the dragon's remains while Medea secured the Fleece.
"You've proven your worth," she said, handing Jason the trophy. "But remember—power demands vigilance. Leave Colchis before my father changes his mind."
Jason nodded, his gaze lingering on her. "And what of you, Medea?"
Her smile was enigmatic. "My path lies elsewhere. One day, you'll understand."
Under the moonlight, they departed—heroes with a treasure, and a sorceress with a secret.
Medea's words lashed the heroes like whips, urging them to swing their blades with renewed fervor.
Cornered and desperate, the dragon unleashed its remaining strength in a frenzy, nearly breaking through the encirclement.
Medea's spells faltered before the creature's willpower, forcing her to retreat to the warriors' rear, where she wove her magic to shield the endangered. The golden cord coiled around her wrist, darting like lightning between the fighters to bolster their resolve.
A dazzling arc of light erupted—blinding the dragon momentarily. The heroes, per Medea's command, had shuttered their eyes. When the glare subsided, they seized the chance to sever one of the beast's wings.
Blinded and maddened, the dragon spewed flames wildly and charged for the cave's exit. Medea hurled her cord, binding its hind legs. The beast tumbled, crashing into Jason before screeching to a halt.
Jason reflexively plunged his sword into the dragon's eye—arm and all. The creature thrashed, flinging him into a heap of comrades. Medea, untouched, regarded the carnage with detached precision.
She approached the dying beast, her ceremonial dagger flashing as she silenced its anguished roars. Hecate's power claimed its soul, leaving the cavern eerily still.
The priestesses arrived, their earlier exhaustion forgotten. Their eyes gleamed as they claimed the dragon's remains. Medea herself slit the carcass open, extracting its still-beating heart. The coven descended into chaos, fighting over scraps of flesh and blood. The heroes, witnessing such savagery, fell silent.
Only when the witches had extracted every drop of dragon blood did they depart, leaving behind a stench that lingered long after their silhouettes vanished.
Servants carted the priestesses' spoils away. Medea, after entrusting her share to her tower, finally handed the Golden Fleece to Jason.
"Well done. You've earned this."
Jason stared at the artifact, suddenly feeling its weight diminish. "Why the frenzy over the dragon's corpse? Poison-soaked earth can't even sprout weeds."
Medea's smile could rival dawn's glow. "The goddess Hecate possesses a relic that conjures wine and food—a symbol of her bounty. My tutor presented it to Hecate, who shared its magical runes with us. Neither gold nor mercury could replicate its enchantments, but dragon blood and hide may suffice."
Her eyes burned with purpose, eclipsing sunlight. Jason gripped the Fleece tighter.
As Medea departed, Orpheus, the lyre-strumming Argonaut, roused him with a chuckle. Descended from Apollo and a muse, Orpheus sang a serenade to love, earning amused glances from his peers.
The return voyage weighed heavily on Jason. King Aeëtes had subtly questioned their departure, and the savage customs of Colchis grated on the heroes' refined sensibilities. Foreigners were extorted for basic necessities, and the memory of Medea's witchery haunted their every step. Longing for home, they yearned to leave.
After much deliberation, Jason sought Medea in her tower, invoking Hecate's faith as pretext to invite her to distant lands. She agreed, boarding the Argo with unfinished tomes, her heart brimming with hope.
Jason's homecoming was triumphant, his father's legacy fueling the people's adoration. Yet his uncle, Pelias, clung to the throne, discrediting Jason's Golden Fleece.
A seasoned warrior, Jason was powerless against his uncle's deceit. Medea, disillusioned by Jason's prioritization of politics over their shared mission, considered drastic measures.
She feigned compliance, muttering, "Curses rebound thrice, sapping the caster. My spells are but harmless scare tactics—fear alone claims lives."
Jason relaxed his vigilance.
Pelias's daughters observed Medea from the garden, intrigued by her strange rituals. She slit a ewe's throat, hacking it into pieces before tossing it into a cauldron. Amid incantations, a lamb emerged youthful and whole.
Screams of astonishment escaped the princesses. Emerging from concealment, they begged Medea to restore their father's youth.
"You see?" Medea whispered to herself, her dagger glinting. "The pieces are already in play."