He looked at the bow, tapping the bow's handle as he continued. "He was just a vassal king of a tiny region in the hills—but he rode beside Athena into the flames. He saved Ares from the jaws of Atlas himself. And for that, Zeus gave him a gift… not just any weapon, but the very bow once wielded by Cronus, father of the sky-lords. The Bow of Aegis."

The baby squirmed.

"And so we come, little one," Damonis whispered, "to seek its blessing upon you."

He lifted Icarus so the baby could peer at the golden string. "Go on," he murmured. "Touch it, if you feel you must."

With tiny fingers, Icarus reached forward. His small fingers curled around the string, and he tugged once, lightly, almost shyly. The bow trembled and gave a faint hum as if it called out.

King Damonis' moved back in reflex, pulling the baby into his embrace, only to witness its movement.

Damonis's breath caught, a frown appearing on his face. "What in—?"

To his astonishment, the whole bow slid from its cradle, hovering inches in the air. Icarus's eyes also widened in delight as the weapon glowed softly, veins of gold pulsing. His mouth opened, burst out into laughter of excitement.

No one touched it—no priest, no pulley, no magic circle. The massive weapon rose into the air as though summoned by an unseen hand. Its light grew brighter, golden veins flaring like sunrays.

Damonis' mouth also fell open, but in shock and disbelief. "By the Gods…"

Icarus gave a little giggle. The child's hand was still extended, fingers curling playfully.

And then, just as suddenly, his grip slipped and the bow dropped.

CRACK!

It slammed back into the stone with a deafening crash. The entire temple shook. Dust fell from the ceiling. Cracks rippled across the marble dais like spiderwebs. Outside, pigeons scattered into the sky as a low rumble rolled through the city—a mild quake beneath the earth, enough to rattle pots and awaken goats.

Laerti stumbled, shielding Icarus against his chest. The child let out a startled cry, but was unharmed. He hugged him close, heart hammering. "Are you all right?" he asked, voice shaking.

Icarus gurgled happily in response.

Priests came running from the inner sanctum, panic in their faces. "Your Majesty! Are you hurt?"

Damonis didn't answer right away. He was staring at the cracked slab, where the mighty Bow of Aegis now lay once more, as still as stone.

"Icarus…" he whispered, holding the baby away from his chest to look him in the eye. "What did you do, little one?"

Icarus just cooed and reached for his father's beard.

Damonis turned slowly to the priests, his voice quiet but firm. "Send word to the oracles. Summon the keepers of the old myths. My son has just lifted the bow. I need to know his fate, right now."

One of the priests looked between the baby and the shattered dais, his eyes widened as he commented. "It's impossible. Only a Titan or an Olympian God can lift that bow alone."

Damonis stared at his son in silence, his heart pounding nervously. "O' Mother Goddess Gaia, what could be the reason for you to send such a divine child into my life?"

A few months later, more than three thousand kilometers away from Achaea, in the city of Athens, Aetherian Kingdom;

A middle-aged man was seen moving back and forth in the corridor lying before the Queen's room. He is Pyranthos, King of the Aetherian Kingdom/Athens—a mortal human who was already nearing 50.

Time to time, his eyes shift to the door, which remains shut, tense look in his eyes was evident. However, the screams and the cries could be heard from behind that door.

Eventually, a piercing scream passed through the walls before multiple cries of babies were heard, relief breaking across King Pyranthos' face like sunlight.

When the doors finally opened, Queen Mother Acantha walked out with two babies in her arms, one wrapped in white and the other in blue cloth. The babies were no longer seen crying but fell asleep.

Pyranthos rushed forward and snatched the babies from his wife, as if he couldn't wait anymore to look at their faces.

"Name your children, Pyranthos. Until you do, we can't show the face to their mother." Queen Mother urged him as he just stared at the babies with a goofy smile on his face, but in silence.

He affectionately brushed his fingers over the baby wrapped in blue cloth, the eldest twin. "I still remember the gods informing me that the moon goddess herself would be reincarnated as my eldest child. My daughter, my moonlight, I will give you the name you held in your previous life, too. Your name will be Selene, the daughter of Pyranthos, and the heiress to the throne of Athens."

The Queen Mother furrowed her brows upon listening to those words.

*10 years later*

Ten summers and winters had passed since Gaia handed King Damonis his little miracle. And on this bright morning, under the cloudless skies of Achaea, that little miracle, grown up into a little warrior, was drawing a weapon.

Icarus stood barefoot in the center of the palace training ground, a wooden practice sword gripped in both hands. His tunic clung to his back with sweat, his black curls damp and wild, his eyes locked onto his opponent—a grown warrior twice his size, a veteran of real wars, and still panting from the boy's last strike.

Around the courtyard, nobles, guards, and servants had gathered in a loose circle. Even the Queen watched from the shade, fanning herself slowly.

The captain of the guard barked, "Again!"

The adult warrior lunged.

Icarus pivoted, ducked under the man's swing, and struck the back of his knee.

The warrior stumbled.

Not giving him any chance to regain his footing, Icarus then spun, his practice sword cracking against the man's ribs, then jabbed forward with the hilt. It thudded into the warrior's chest and knocked him flat onto the dusty ground.

A voice called out from the crowd, "By the gods! Bless the Prince!"

"By the Gods! Bless the Prince!"

"By the Gods! Bless the Prince!"

The crowd chanted nonstop as the guards, stoic by training, exchanged impressed glances.

The defeated warrior grunted, propping himself up. "I yield, Your Highness. I have never seen a ten-year-old with skills such as yours. You are a natural-born fighter, My Lord."

Icarus smiled, panting. He stepped forward and helped the man to his feet. "Ariad, don't be so flattering. I saw that you were holding back."

"Not a lot, Your Highness." The warrior rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. "I merely didn't go for the vital spots. But even if I do, now I realize that you will still triumph over me."

From the royal box, King Damonis stood and clapped slowly. "Well done, Icarus."

Icarus looked up. His father's eyes were sharp with pride but measured, always watching, always weighing.

Commander Tychon walked up and placed a hand on Icarus's shoulder. "This boy… no, this young prince—he moves like fire. Too fast for the eye, too clever for brute strength. If I didn't know better, I would think Ares trained him in secret."

"Oh please, Tychon," Damonis burst into laughter, walking down the steps toward them. "My son will one day beat even Ares."

The crowd hushed. Icarus looked at him, puzzled, by such a strange declaration which almost sounded like defaming the God of war.

Meanwhile, Damonis approached his son and placed a hand on his son's back. "The Oracles told me, son. You were destined to become a great warrior, compared to Alcaeus."

Icarus tilted his head. "Alcaeus?"

"Alcaeus is Heracles, my son," Damonis said, smiling in pride. "Alcaeus is his real name."

Meanwhile, the training ground buzzed with laughter and praise. Servants rushed to bring water. Guards clapped each other on the back, and young squires looked at Icarus like he was already a legend carved in stone.

But not everyone smiled.

From the edge of the gallery, cloaked in silk and silence, Chief Minister Thalos watched with narrowed eyes. His arms remained crossed, fingers twitching at the hem of his robe as if itching to tear something apart.

"A fine show," he muttered under his breath. "But no matter how strong you become, Icarus, you will never be the King. You are no royal blood."

—

**A couple of months later;**

The full moon hung heavy and full in the sky, casting a cold silver light over the palace grounds.

Those who were patrolling looked quite lazy, as if they weren't anticipating any trouble. The city around the palace was also deep in a peaceful sleep. The winds are gentle and slightly on the chilling side. Even the animals were sleeping without any issue.

But inside Icarus's room, sleep brought no peace.

His body was drenched in heavy sweat, and a deep frown was seen on his face, but motionless. His conscious was in the middle of a dream.

He was just there in the middle of nowhere, in a void where no ground, no sky, no stars, or anything could be seen. Everything is just dark—pitch dark.

There was only silence… until it came.

A voice. Not loud. Not near. But everywhere around him.

"It is time for the Wake..."

"Time for the Wake..."

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