The next morning, sunlight spilled over the rooftops of Ephyra like liquid gold.
Hercules stretched, his muscles groaning under the simple miracle of being alive. The battle was behind him now, but the world felt… strange. Too bright. Too real.
He stepped out of the small stone house the villagers had offered him and blinked at the street ahead. People smiled. Children waved. Someone even shouted, "There goes the hero of Ephyra!"
He wasn't used to that kind of attention.
He wasn't used to any attention — unless it came from angry merchants chasing him down for stealing apples.
As he walked, people offered him fruit, trinkets, flowers. He smiled awkwardly, muttering "thank you" too many times, clutching a loaf of bread he didn't remember accepting.
And then came the girls.
A group of them — young women in linen dresses, hair braided with olive leaves — giggled as they spotted him. One, bolder than the rest, called out, "Hercules! You should come to the spring festival tonight! They say heroes get the first dance!"
He blinked, trying to respond, but another one leaned closer, smiling like a cat with a secret. "Or maybe the last dance," she whispered.
He nearly choked on his breath.
"Uh—thank you, I—uh—don't really dance."
"Then you'll learn!" the first girl teased.
From across the market, Selina stood with a basket of herbs, watching the scene unfold. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she muttered under her breath, "Oh, great. The hero of Ephyra — slayer of beasts and breaker of hearts."
When he approached her, she raised an eyebrow. "Making friends already?"
He grinned sheepishly. "They were… being polite."
"Mm-hm," she said. "Polite looks different where I come from."
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of what to say. The way she looked at him — half amused, half annoyed — was strangely disarming.
"Selina," he began softly, "you're not jealous, are you?"
She scoffed, but her cheeks betrayed her. "Of them? Please. You couldn't handle me if I were."
He laughed, and for a moment the air between them was easy again — light, teasing, alive.
⸻
Later that day, Hercules wandered toward the town's old library — a crumbling building filled with scrolls and dust. He wasn't much of a reader, but something about the silence drew him in.
And that's where he met Lycus.
The young man was leaning against a stone column, flipping through a faded scroll, his tunic stained with ink. His eyes were sharp — curious — like someone who saw the world as a puzzle waiting to be solved.
"You're the new talk of the town," Lycus said without looking up. "The man who killed the Four-Armed Terror."
Hercules blinked. "Word travels fast."
"Faster than wine on feast night," Lycus replied, finally glancing up. "Name's Lycus. Scholar. Occasional fighter. Professional skeptic."
Hercules smiled. "Skeptic?"
"Someone who doesn't believe everything he hears — even if the gods themselves say it."
Lycus rolled up the scroll and stood, studying Hercules like a riddle. "You don't look like the legends describe."
"That's comforting," Hercules muttered.
Lycus laughed. "No, I mean… the real Hercules was said to carry himself like a storm. You, on the other hand, look like a man still trying to find where the thunder went."
Hercules froze for a heartbeat. "Maybe I left it somewhere."
Lycus didn't press. Instead, he handed him a cup of watered wine. "Tell me, hero — did you feel anything strange when you fought the beast?"
He hesitated. "Strange how?"
"Like you were meant to fight it," Lycus said quietly. "Or like someone wanted you to."
The words sent a shiver through Hercules. He thought of the godly whisper he'd heard during battle, the strange pull in his chest.
"Maybe," he said. "I don't know."
Lycus nodded, eyes gleaming with the thrill of discovery. "Then maybe you should. Because I've been studying the old scrolls — the ones about the gods' quarrels. There's mention of a fallen god, one who defied Olympus and sent beasts to torment mortals in secret."
"Do they name him?" Hercules asked.
"No," Lycus replied. "But the last record says Zeus banished him beyond the shadows of the Styx. And since then, no one's seen or heard from Zeus either."
Hercules's chest tightened. He remembered calling out to Zeus after the battle — remembered the silence that answered him.
"Zeus is gone?" he asked, voice low.
Lycus nodded grimly. "Or hiding. The people say he abandoned them, but I think something else happened. Something none of us understand yet."
⸻
They spent the afternoon talking. Hercules listened as Lycus spoke of old prophecies and divine wars, of heroes reborn and fates rewritten.
The way the scholar talked about mythology — as if it were still happening — made Hercules wonder if maybe it was.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Selina joined them, her eyes wary but warm.
"New friend?" she asked.
"Selina, this is Lycus," Hercules said. "He knows more about the gods than I ever will."
"Flattery," Lycus said, bowing slightly. "But I'll take it."
Selina smirked. "Another scholar? Wonderful. Just what we need — two men who think too much."
Hercules laughed. "He's not that bad."
Lycus grinned. "I'll take that as praise. Though, if I may — you two have the air of a storm brewing between you."
Selina crossed her arms. "And you talk too much for a scholar."
"Occupational hazard," Lycus said with a shrug.
They all laughed then, and for the first time in a long while, Hercules felt like he belonged.
For a few fleeting hours, he wasn't a god or a thief or a soul trapped in a myth.
He was just a man — sitting between two people who made him feel human again.
⸻
But as the moon rose, the warmth faded, replaced by something heavier.
Lycus leaned forward, voice lowering. "Tell me honestly, Hercules — when you look in the mirror, do you recognize yourself?"
The question hit him like a blow.
He thought of his reflection in the river, of the strength that wasn't his, of the eyes that didn't quite belong to him.
"I'm still figuring that out," he said.
Lycus nodded slowly. "Then maybe you're part of something greater. Maybe the legends got it wrong — maybe the gods aren't done writing their stories through us."
There was silence after that — heavy, thoughtful, almost sacred.
Selina stood, brushing off her cloak. "Well, whatever story this is, let's make sure it has a good ending."
Hercules smiled faintly. "That's the plan."
Lycus raised his cup. "Then to beginnings — and to secrets worth uncovering."
They clinked cups, and the fire between them flickered bright.
⸻
As they walked back toward the village, the streets quiet and the stars sharp above, Hercules found himself lost in thought.
If they ever find out who I really am, he thought, would they still stand beside me?
Selina brushed her hand against his — accidentally, maybe — and he felt his chest tighten.
He didn't pull away. Neither did she.
Behind them, Lycus walked with a curious smile — not the smile of a man fooled, but of one who had just started piecing together a truth too big to name.