Chapter 220: Chapter 64
The Shapeless Isle was quiet, save for the faint crash of waves against the rocky shore and the whispers of mist that never seemed to leave the land.
Within its center stood a small temple, built of stone Medusa herself had carried and carved, a shrine simple in its form yet full of devotion, every line of its structure bearing her reverence for Athena.
Offerings of flowers, seashells, and carved idols filled the altar, proof that even in her isolation, Medusa had never ceased her worship.
Herios stood silently at the side, his arms folded across his chest, watching with a solemn gaze as the blindfolded woman sat across from Athena.
Her voice carried a mix of fondness, weariness, and frustration as she recounted her life since being cast upon the Shapeless Isle.
"My sisters visit me, from time to time," Medusa said softly, her lips curling faintly upward as if remembering something amusing. "Euryale and Stheno... they have not changed. They laugh loudly, tease me endlessly, and even play pranks on me when I least expect it. They treat me like the child I once was, and I... I cannot deny it warms my heart, even if it annoys me."
Athena’s expression softened, her gray eyes shimmering with guilt as she listened. "I am glad you were not entirely alone."
Medusa tilted her head, her blindfold shifting slightly as her mouth twisted into a wry smile. "But, Lady Athena, solitude is not the worst of it. What has become unbearable are the intrusions. Time and again, men—heroes, they call themselves—arrive upon this island. They step upon my land not to greet me, not to seek understanding, but to raise their swords against me."
Her hand clenched into a fist, her chains rattling faintly at her side. "They come to slay the ’monster of the Shapeless Isle.’ They believe my head will bring them glory."
Herios’s jaw tightened, his fingers brushing against the hilt of his sword.
How despicable. How dare they sully the name "Hero".
That was the word Lord Hades have named after him, it was meant to symbolised bravery and strength, to describe those who can achieve legendary feats that no other can do.
It was not meant for people who would attack an innocent woman just for fame and vanity.
Athena clicked her tongue sharply, her hand curling into a fist upon her knee.
Her face, usually calm and composed, twisted in anger, her eyes flashing with divine fury. "It reeks of Poseidon’s hand. He spread the tale, I am certain of it."
Medusa tilted her head at her words, though her lips pressed thinly together as if she had suspected as much.
Even while Athena walked the world as a mortal with Herios, she had heard the tales sung by bards.
They say that Poseidon violated Medusa in her temple, and that in her wrath, it was she who cursed her and cast her into exile.
How shameless. How utterly shameless!
If that man can twist the truth like that, it’s not strange for him to actually forge some tales to have hero-wannabe go to Shapeless Isle to take Medusa’s head.
Herios glanced at her, surprised by the raw anger in her face. This was not the calm strategist, not the goddess of wisdom who always measured her words.
He guessed that even the ever calm and calculative goddess of wisdom has moments when her emotions bursts out.
Medusa’s lips trembled, though she smiled bitterly. "So the world believes I was cursed by the very one I worshiped most."
Her voice cracked faintly, though she forced it steady. "That I am nothing more than a monster punished for a crime I never committed."
She reached forward, her hands trembling as she gripped Athena’s robe tightly. "Lady Athena... Poseidon is truly hateful and petty. It seems like he is the type of man who doesn’t accept a loss."
Athena’s smirked. "Oh boy, you have no idea. I believe if I am not Zeus’ favourite daughter, he would’ve long since sent me to Tartarus."
The amount of time she have gone against Poseidon and humiliated him can already be compiled into books.
And that man can only seethe in anger and doesn’t do anything to her because not only is she the strongest second generation Olympian, whose power is only below Zeus and Poseidon, but also because Zeus absolutely doted on her.
If Poseidon went to far and severely harmed her, or if Athena complained to Zeus, then it would plunge Olympus into generational civil war.
Medusa smiled softly, "I believe I have some idea, my lady."
Even while she was still a priestess in Athena’s temple, the infamous beef between the goddess of wisdom and god of the seas was known throughout the land.
Herios stood a step away, his sword arm twitching faintly as though he longed to cut down Poseidon himself.
His voice rumbled low, sharp with conviction. "For now, we should solve her predicament. How do we stop those men from disturbing her here?"
Athena looked at Herios before turning back to Medusa, eyes firm. "It’s a simple matter really."
Then she extended her hand, cupping the girl’s cheek with uncharacteristic tenderness. "Medusa, why don’t you come with us?"
Indeed. If Medusa were to dissappear in the isle for awhile, those heroes who came here would realized that she was no longer here and would eventually stop coming.
In fact, they can even tell the sailors on the ship they boarded that they have slain the monster and have them spread the word.
Athena’s proposal hung in the air like a sudden storm cloud, unexpected and difficult to grasp.
Medusa, who had been speaking so timidly about her life on the Shapeless Isle, froze, her lips parting but no words leaving her throat.
She blinked several times, her body tense as though she had been struck by lightning.
For so long, she had resigned herself to isolation, to quiet prayers and the occasional laughter of her sisters’ visits.
Now the goddess who had once been her patron, her symbol of strength, was asking her to leave everything she knew behind.
"You... you want me to come with you?" Medusa’s voice trembled, her hands clutching the fabric of her simple robe. "To leave this place? But... I cannot. I do not belong anywhere else. I am—"
She faltered, pressing her lips together as though afraid the word itself might break her. "...a monster."
Athena stepped forward immediately, her eyes flashing with rare emotion, her voice strong and unwavering. "You are not a monster, Medusa. You are a soul too kind, too gentle, far purer than most who dare call themselves mortal or divine. You have been wronged, cursed, and cast out for the crimes of another. This isle is not your prison nor your cage. You deserve to breathe the air of the wider world, to see the mountains, the seas, the cities, and the stars beyond these shores. You are beautiful, Medusa, inside and out, and no curse can change that."
Medusa’s lips trembled. She dared not lift her head, dared not show her face, though a faint blush colored her pale cheeks.
"Beautiful...? No, Lady Athena, you speak too kindly. Look at me. My legs are long, too long, awkward and unshapely. My hair is a wild mess, crawling where it pleases, never soft or neat. My eyes... they are not eyes. They are weapons that could turn anyone I looked into stone. I could never—" She broke off, clutching herself, her voice shaking.
Athena turned sharply toward Herios, who had been silently watching. Her expression softened as she asked, "And what do you think? Do you see her as she sees herself?"
Herios blinked, caught off guard by the direct question. He looked at Athena, then at Medusa, who stood fidgeting nervously, her head bowed, her fingers twisting at the edges of her robe.
He exhaled slowly, scratching at his cheek in hesitation, then gave a small, crooked smile. "I think... she is beautiful. More than that, she’s an attractive woman. Anyone with eyes in their head could see it."
Athena opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to reinforce his words, but froze when she noticed movement.
Medusa, trembling but drawn forward as though by an unseen hand, had stepped closer and closer to Herios, her breath shallow and uneven.
She stood before him now, her face tilted down, her fingers clenched tightly at her sides.
"Y-you... really mean that?" Medusa stammered, her voice almost pleading. "Even when my legs look clumsy, even when my hair... writhes like this? Even when my eyes are cursed, hidden away, so no one will ever see them again?"
Herios’ expression grew serious, his gaze firm as he looked at her.
"Everything you say, Medusa, is what makes you beautiful. Your legs carry you with strength, your hair marks you as unique, a woman touched by divine mystery. And your eyes..." He paused, his voice lowering as if speaking something sacred. "...perhaps they were once so beautiful that even the gods grew jealous. Perhaps that is why they cursed them, so that no one else could look upon them and be lost. I think your eyes are still yours, and I think they are still beautiful."
Medusa’s entire body shivered, as though his words had struck her to the core. Her lips parted, her breath hitching, and then, almost desperately, she reached forward and grasped Herios’ hands in both of hers.
Her palms were cold, trembling, but her grip was firm, as if she feared he might vanish if she let go.
"Th-then... if you truly mean it... if you and Lady Athena would have me... I-I would be honored to go with you. To see the world again. To walk beside you both." Her words tumbled out in a rush, stuttering and uneven, her eyes behind her blindfold her blindfold.
Herios squeezed her hands gently, giving her a reassuring nod.
Athena, however, stood frozen, her face stiff, her smile strained.
For a goddess who rarely allowed herself to lose composure, her expression now was almost comical, as though she had swallowed something foul.
She had spoken to encourage her priestess, to soothe and uplift her spirit.
She had not expected Medusa to leap so quickly into another arms, much less the man she had loved for eons.
Her gaze flicked between Medusa and Herios, still holding hands, still standing so close, their nervous but genuine emotions radiating in the air.
Athena’s lips twitched as she forced a smile, though her eyes betrayed her annoyance.
’Truly,’ she thought bitterly, ’this was a case of shooting oneself in the foot. I had set out to comfort my priestess, and instead, I had created a rival.’