THE HEART IN THE STONE - TALES FROM TORIN 01

(Notice: Tales From Torin takes place before Torin Youth.)

On a sunny afternoon on Crystal Island—known elsewhere as Iracal Island—a giant harpy alights outside an abandoned mine called the Crystal-light Caverns.

At 32 meters—107 feet—in height, the bronze-skinned harpy with white hair and feathers towers above other creatures. Yet, in this world, there is nothing unusual about her. Even at her height, she is surrounded by trees of far greater size.

Her shoulder-length hair is adorned with a violet headband, matching the cropped tube top covering her chest—both skillfully crafted by human hands.

Riding on her right shoulder is her best friend, a human teenager standing 182 centimeters—or 6 feet—in height.

The two carefully observe the remnants of a long-abandoned elven mining operation.

Mining tools lie strewn about, overgrown by plant life and marked by years of exposure to the elements.

A metal sign written in an unknown—possibly elven—language hangs precariously from its post, creaking as it sways in the mild breeze.

The boy's spiky auburn hair, almost down-feather-like in texture due to his Torinian genetics, hangs over his piercing hazel eyes as they scan the scene.

The giant harpy regards the mine poorly. She raises an eyebrow and curls her lip.

“Call me crazy for thinking it sounds perfectly reasonable to leave the abandoned mine abandoned, Atreus.”

The boy smirks in response.

“Oh—you expect me to be scared of a big stinky cave after all the times you've swallowed me, you big glutton? By the way, we now know pigs can indeed fly thanks to you.”

The harpy's cheeks puff out and her face scrunches in offense at the remark, but she can hardly maintain the act.

“WHY YOU—I oughta gobble you up right now for that one, you screeching hairless monkey,” she threatens in her soft yet raspy voice, trying her best not to laugh.

“Don't you dare, Helia,” Atreus yells, backing away from her mouth as she pretends she's about to eat him.

“Fine, go inside the stupid cave if you want to,” Helia pouts. “But if somethin' in there eats ya, I bet you'll feel stupid for ever complainin' about being in my stomach.”

The harpy kneels and positions her right wing for Atreus to slide down to the ground.

The boy gives her a thumbs-up before descending toward the mine entrance.

“At least you wouldn't have to put up with my singing anymore then,” he laughs as his feet touch the forest floor.

Helia's smile fades at those words.

As she watches her friend disappear into the mine, a troubling thought creeps into her mind: could she live without hearing Atreus's voice again?

She's left alone with the sounds of the forest and the breeze blowing through the trees—yet it feels unbearably silent now.

Traveling beyond where the outside light can reach, Atreus relies on the caeli crystal crafted into his bow, charging it with his innate lightning magic to illuminate his path.

So much of the mine has been stripped of the luminous crystals once found here. Unlike the caeli crystals above ground that give the island its name, these subterranean crystals were their own source of energy. From what little he can see, there is only dirt, cart rails, and discarded tools to be found—and possibly some skeletal remains.

Atreus is determined to march deeper into the gigantic tunnels, large enough for a giant to crawl through, and he's beginning to lose his sense of time.

“How long have I been in this mine?” he breathes, surrounded by darkness.

At last, in the distance, he sees a faint glow illuminating a section of the cavern.

As he approaches, he discovers that the light is coming from smaller stones protruding from the rock walls. Apparently, these stones had been passed over by the elves who once owned the mine because of their lack of luster.

Peering deeper into the cavern, he can see the glow of even brighter crystals. He doesn't bother asking himself why those crystals were left unmined; he can already think of plenty of reasons he should have turned back long ago.

The daring—perhaps even foolish—delver quietly steps over rusted tools that appear to have been hastily abandoned until a spectrum of glowing crystal formations surrounds him.

He can hardly choose among the stunning crystals, but by chance, perhaps, one particular stone captures his attention.

Its warm red-orange glow, with hints of purple beneath its surface, captivates him. It isn't the most spectacular gem to be found there, nor is it likely to impress most people, but he doesn't care what others might think.

“This is it. This is the one for Rhea.”

Atreus retrieves a small hammer and chisel from the leather bag on his back and begins chipping away at the surrounding rock, careful not to cause a collapse.

He digs the stone—about the size of a walnut—free and places it in a leather pouch hanging around his neck. He then tucks it into his shirt for safekeeping.

The sound of shifting dirt and rock startles him, setting him on edge.

This isn't the usual sound he's been hearing since entering the mine.

This is something else.

He quietly starts making his way back toward the entrance, but he knows he's come a long way by now—perhaps too far.

The movement grows louder, more hurried, as if trying to prevent his escape.

The young man grimaces. Terror sends a cold wave through his body.

A giant, shadowy tentacle comes into view, feeling its way toward him.

Atreus draws his bow, charges it with lightning magic, and unleashes a bolt.

Thunder echoes through the cave, shaking loose dirt and rock.

Outside the abandoned mine, Helia is jolted by the sound, her bronze skin turning pale.

She swallows hard.

“ATREUS! I'm getting your dumb ass outta there,” she declares.

The giant harpy drops flat onto her belly, causing another tremor inside the cave. She places her mouth over the entrance, her eyes narrowing with determination as she prepares to inhale and suck the boy out.

As Atreus fires lightning bolts at the giant tentacle, gaining only split-second glimpses of its form, he senses that the creature behind it is drawing closer.

“Okay, I'm probably as good as dead,” he says while trying to navigate the darkness as quickly as possible.

When he isn't firing lightning bolts to keep the tentacle at bay, he uses the glowing crystal in his bow to light his path.

A low, feminine voice echoes from deep within the mine—undoubtedly belonging to a creature of giant size.

“An unexpected visitor.”

“Tentacles... and a voice,” he gasps. “It's a chlaena!”

A chlaena here means the mine must connect somewhere to the sea, and Atreus can almost picture the giant human-octopus hybrid in his mind.

He is unnerved by the sound of the creature squeezing her body through the tunnels as she reaches toward him with a tentacle. She's faster than he can move with so little light to guide him.

Just when the boy thinks all hope is lost, he feels wind rushing past him and pulling him forward.

“Helia?” he asks as he feels himself lifted off the ground.

The vortex carries him forward until he collides with a warm, wet surface.

Outside the cave, the harpy stops inhaling the moment she feels him land on her tongue.

“I've got him,” she mumbles.

She sits upright with her legs folded beneath her.

“You okay?” she mutters with her friend in her mouth.

Atreus breathes a sigh of relief, recognizing Helia's voice surrounding him.

“Yeah, thanks,” he says, aware that feeling safe in a giant harpy's mouth is absurd. “There was a predator in there—she almost got her tentacles on me.”

Helia turns her head and carefully lets Atreus out onto her right shoulder.

“If only someone had warned you ahead of time—OH WAIT,” she reminds him, gloating a little.

Atreus shoots the gigantic white-haired harpy a smug grin as he takes hold of her shoulder's plumage.

“I didn't die, though.”

Helia purses her lips defiantly at his lighthearted arrogance.

“Boy—with the Watchers as my witness, I swear…”

Atreus interrupts her with laughter.

“The Watchers? Ha! There you go again.”

“Whatta ya mean, ‘there I go again'?” Helia challenges. “The Watchers are real! They see and hear everything we do. Just ’cause we can't see them doesn't mean they don't exist—they're watching you and me right now.”

Atreus sighs, amused.

“In other worlds, right?” he asks. “As much as I'd love to believe you, I think you take your dreams a little too seriously.”

“Oh, shut your pie hole, you hairless monkey,” Helia jests. “At least Gale and Daphne believe me.”

She playfully sticks her tongue out at him.

“What'd you get in that creepy old mine anyway—anything nice?”

“Yes—I think it's sunstone,” he answers, resting a hand over the pouch beneath his tunic. “Something about it reminds me of Rhea.”

A gentle smile touches Helia's lips.

“Good—I'm happy for you,” she says.

She carefully rises and shifts her weight onto one leg before planting the other foot, fanning out her wings for balance.

“Let's head home.”

The giant harpy stands and beats her wings to lift off the ground. With Atreus holding tightly to her plumage, she ascends high above the colossal trees of the wilderness, flying toward the mountain on the horizon.

Further north, on the lush green slopes of Mount Litocoro, lumberjacks from the city of Torin are loading logs into a giant crate made of iron and wood. While most trees in this world are tall enough for gigantic harpies to nest among their branches, the tiny Torinian humans find the fallen sticks more than sufficient to meet their need for lumber.

Assisting with the work is a harpy named Dirai, who carries the loads up the mountain and drops them off in the land between the two Great Walls surrounding the city.

Watching over the workers are two other harpies and twelve legionnaires whose presence alone is enough to deter most predators from attempting to prey upon the lumberjacks.

Dirai prepares to airlift the crate to the city. Balancing on one leg, the beige-feathered harpy takes hold of the cords tied to the crate, designed to be carried in her talons.

A tall, muscular man wearing a gray tunic and brown trousers sends her off.

“Come on, you feathery eyesore, get your overgrown arse moving,” he tells her with a smile.

The giant harpy fans out her wings and gazes down at the tiny human.

“I'd squash your pathetic little butt if I weren't so sure you'd enjoy it, Dominik,” she laughs, her untamed light-brown hair partially obscuring her smiling face.

The black-haired man bids her farewell with a wave of his hand, his axe held in the other.

“See you at home, Dirai.”

“Don't dilly-dally,” the harpy replies as she lifts the crate from the ground.

She flies toward the city atop the mountain while the workers below board two wagons pulled by hippogriffs, which will carry them back to Torin.

Dominik inhales deeply and exhales in satisfaction after another day of hard work.

He looks at the many gigantic trees surrounding him, growing denser the farther down the mountain they stretch. It never ceases to amaze him how small they make him feel. He can't help but think that the world belongs to the giants and that humans are merely fighting for a place within it.

As his gaze settles on the distant trees, movement catches his attention.

“Strange,” he says.

“What's strange?” asks his colleague, a broad man with thick eyebrows.

“I could swear I just saw a tree move,” Dominik answers, stroking his dark beard.

“A tree? Moved?” the other man asks as he starts climbing into the nearby wagon. “Maybe it's a dryad.”

The hippogriffs pulling the wagons suddenly become unsettled, stamping their hind hooves and clawing at the grassy ground with their front talons.

“What's gotten into them?” one of the passengers asks.

Just as the legionnaires and harpies begin to sense danger nearby, a giant body bursts from the trees.

They hardly have time to react before the centaur descends upon the workers, snatching at them before they can board the wagons.

Dominik has only a brief moment to take in the predator's appearance. She has the lower body of a deer and the upper body of a human. A leafy garment covers her chest while a cloak drapes over her head and shoulders. Long green hair flows from beneath her hood. A bow and quiver of arrows rest upon her back.

Startled, the man turns to run from her outstretched hand, but to no avail.

The centaur grabs him and the thick-browed man beside him in a single sweep before snatching five more workers from the wagon with her other hand.

The legionnaires hastily fire bolts of lightning and bursts of flame from their bows, forcing the centaur to shield herself. Unable to seize any more prey under their assault, she merely flashes them a smug grin before retreating.

Dirai looks back at the commotion and is instantly mortified.

Her eyes search the scene for Dominik, but there is no sign of him.

“NO!” she cries, nearly dropping the crate she is carrying and placing even more lives in danger.

While Dirai sets the crate down safely, resisting the urge to panic, two other harpies swoop after the hooded centaur in pursuit.

The centaur hurriedly devours the workers in her hands, swallowing them one or two at a time as she gallops through the forest.

With her hands free, she draws her bow and takes aim at the pursuing harpies.

Each arrow narrowly misses its target.

The harpies slow their pursuit, realizing it is only a matter of time before the centaur finds her mark.

Flying overhead, Helia spots the centaur fleeing while the other harpies trail behind.

“Oh no. It looks like she might've eaten some humans!”

“We gotta do something,” Atreus says. “I can hit her with a lightning bolt from here.”

“No—you could fall,” Helia replies as she descends toward the galloping centaur. “Let me try to stop her. Close your eyes, Atreus.”

Atreus nods and obeys, gripping her plumage tightly.

The predator glances at the approaching harpy and smirks confidently before fixing her eyes on the human boy clinging to Helia.

“The Matriarch's daughter has a human friend,” she chortles. “Aren't they cute together?”

She reaches into a leather pouch at her waist and retrieves a wooden visor with two narrow eye slits.

Despite Helia's command, Atreus peeks and spots the visor.

“No you don't.”

Taking a chance, he releases one hand from Helia's plumage and aims his bow.

A lightning bolt shoots forth and strikes the visor from the giant predator's hand.

“Why you little—” she breathes in begrudging admiration. “Not bad.”

As Helia's body begins to shine with brilliant light, the cloaked centaur comes to a halt and shields her face.

The early evening sky flashes with Helia's radiance.

But the attack is ineffective. The deerataur saw it coming.

After realizing her opponent protected her eyes, Helia groans in frustration.

“Damn it,” she mutters. “I still can't do it right.”

“We managed to slow her down, at least,” Atreus reminds her as the other harpies draw near.

The centaur bends down and plucks several white feathers from the ground.

“You all have a bad habit of leaving these lying around,” she says. “But I'm not complaining.”

She places the feathers into her pouch and withdraws a flute.

“She who hunts and runs away lives to hunt another day.”

The centaur plays a tune, summoning a whirlwind that sweeps through the forest.

The swirling winds pass over her, and she vanishes.

Atreus clings tightly to Helia as she struggles to maintain her position against the powerful gusts.

“She's gone?” he breathes in amazement.

A harpy meets them in the air and glares in disappointment.

“You two,” she murmurs, looking them over.

“Did you really think farting sparkles was going to stop that centaur?” she asks Helia. “Next time, try actually fighting her, you flickering buffoon. If you weren't the queen's daughter, I'd gut your worthless arse.”

The harpy flies away, returning to the scene of the attack where legionnaires are helping the surviving workers return safely to the mountain summit.

Atreus gently tries to comfort his friend.

“You tried your best. That's what matters, Helia.”

But Helia remains downcast as she approaches the site.

She lands beside Dirai, who has carefully set down the crate of logs. It is immediately obvious that the other harpy has lost someone important.

Atreus rises to his feet on Helia's shoulder and gently nudges her.

“Can we get closer?”

Dirai weeps silently but notices the white-feathered harpy and her human companion nearby.

“Dominik,” she says. “We loved each other for forty years. And now he's gone. Just like that.”

“W-we don't know that for sure,” Helia says hesitantly, trying to offer encouragement.

“Stop it,” Dirai snaps. “I always knew this was going to happen one day. That's why I wasn't supposed to fall in love. If you love someone in this world—especially a human—you're just asking for pain.”

“Ourana brought this upon us. It never should have been. Predators and prey living together—madness.”

Dirai collapses forward onto her face, sobbing.

Helia exhales quietly, closes her eyes, and swallows hard.

Her lips part, but no words come.

Atreus wipes tears from his face as he watches Helia struggle to find something to say.

Finally, he speaks softly.

“Let's just... be here.”

Helia nods, her lip quivering as she contemplates everything Dirai has said.

She kneels beside the grieving harpy and drapes a wing across her back.

The night passes, but Dirai's words linger with Helia.

As the sun rises over Torin, the many apartment buildings that fill the maze of city streets come alive with activity as people begin their daily routines. Some buildings are more lively than others. The more spacious residences are closer to the heart of the city, while the taller, more crowded buildings stand along the outer edge.

Naturally, rumors spread quickly in that outer edge, known as the lower district. Whispers concerning the attack on the lumberjacks travel even faster.

By the time the news reaches the city's center—the upper district—everyone is talking about the tragedy.

A man and a woman stand outside their home in the upper district, both taller than average and blond-haired. The man, dressed in legionnaire attire, wrings his hands uneasily as he speaks to the woman beside him, who wears a toga.

“I feel terrible for our son,” he says, pain evident in his voice. “Dominik was like family. He was a brother to me and an uncle to Leon.”

The woman gently takes his hands in hers.

“Leon will be okay,” she reassures him. “He's training to be an Elite Legionnaire, after all. He understands the dangers that come with leaving the safety of the city's walls.”

The man nods.

Inside the home, Leon kneels in his room, dressed in a white tunic for his lessons at the academy. In his hands rests a wooden carving of a hippogriff. He handles it carefully, unwilling to damage it, while remembering how roughly he used to play with it as a child.

He rises and places the figure on a shelf beside several other wooden carvings.

Then he stands motionless, head lowered.

A girl peeks through the doorway of his room.

Her light-green eyes watch the tall, broad-shouldered young man as he mourns in silence.

Compassion softens her expression.

Stepping fully into the doorway, she lowers her head of strawberry-blond hair.

Leon lifts his eyes and sees her.

“Rhea,” he says warmly.

The girl approaches slowly, seeing the pain on his face.

“You were there for me when my father died,” she reminds him. “It's my turn to be there for you, cousin.”

Rhea wraps her arms around Leon and embraces him.

The tension leaves Leon's face as his cousin comforts him.

“Thank you,” he breathes, returning the embrace.

Rhea's thoughts drift back—

To when she was six years old, more than a decade ago.

She lies in bed while her father, Phoebus, sits beside her telling a story, still clad in his legionnaire armor.

“The great Torinian hero Ovus fought the frightful sphinxes one by one, unmatched by any foe.

He was said to be invincible, clad in iron armor blessed by Soma, King of the Gods himself, to be as light as a feather.

Only his breastplate was not made of iron. Soma forged that piece from gold.”

Young Rhea interrupts with a question.

“But why would Soma do that? Isn't iron stronger than gold?”

“So that Ovus would never forget he was human,” Phoebus answers. “His armor was left with one vulnerability.”

“How does it end?” Rhea asks, her eyes wide. “Did he live happily ever after?”

Her father smiles.

“Wouldn't you rather hear about all the giants he slayed?”

“No,” the little girl says. “I want to know how the story ends.”

“I can tell you when you're older,” Phoebus offers.

“Please, Father,” Rhea begs.

Phoebus pauses, weighing whether she is ready for the rest of the tale.

“Maybe you are,” he says. “But not tonight. It's late. I'll finish the story when I return in a few days.”

He tucks her beneath the blankets and strokes her head.

“You promise?” the child asks hopefully.

“You have my word,” Phoebus promises.

Taking up his sword, he walks out of his daughter's room.

She would never see him again.

Rhea remembers sitting alone in her room, kneeling before a box of wooden puzzle pieces and an unfinished puzzle.

Leon enters, a boy of seven years, and kneels beside her.

“Father never finished the story,” she weeps. “And he was supposed to help me finish this.”

Leon picks up one of the puzzle pieces and studies the incomplete image spread across the floor.

“Cousin,” Rhea says, stopping him. “Don't start unless you can finish it.”

“We'll finish it,” Leon promises. “Together.”

Rhea's thoughts return to the present.

She hugs Leon a little tighter.

Meanwhile—

On the western side of the city, at a legion post outside the Inner Great Wall, the Demon Harpy Aello receives a report from another giant harpy and a legionnaire standing upon her shoulder.

The Demon Harpy scowls as sunlight gleams against her scarlet skin and blood-red feathers, which harden like steel as her agitation grows. The two horns protruding from either side of her head only add to her intimidating appearance. Her violet sclera and scarlet irises narrow as she demands answers.

“You bumbling idiots—how could you lose track of a giant centaur?”

“The wretched thing just vanished as soon as she entered the trees, General,” the harpy defends herself.

“I suspect some form of magic, General,” the human legionnaire adds.

Aello purses her lips.

“Magic? Powerful enough to make a giant bark-biter disappear?”

“Yes, General,” the legionnaire answers nervously. “We would never lie to someone as horrifying and nightmare-inspiring as you.”

Aello almost smirks, exposing her serrated teeth.

“Just answer ‘yes' or ‘no' next time, you pale-skinned appetizer,” she replies. “Flattery won't win you any favor with me.”

She considers the report, reluctantly finding it believable.

“The fact that the centaur appeared out of nowhere and that none of our patrols spotted her before the attack does lend credibility to what you're saying,” she concedes. “But that's a disturbing thought. An attack we can't see coming.”

“We'll be extra vigilant, General,” the harpy promises.

“Damn right you will, dung-for-brains,” Aello snaps. “Let everyone know I want sharp eyes on everything. You're dismissed.”

The harpy flies away with her partner.

Moments later, another airborne legionnaire arrives.

Riding atop a hippogriff, she glides gracefully to the ground and lands beside Aello.

“General Aello,” the woman greets the towering harpy. Long golden curls spill from beneath her helm.

The Demon Harpy looks down at the tiny human officer.

“Legate Nikela Titan,” Aello replies. “What do you have for me?”

“The Wrath Maiden knows the predator's identity,” Titan reports, craning her neck upward. “Her name is Artemis, and she leads a small tribe of nomadic centaurs. Powerful magic is preventing the Maiden from seeing her location. That's all we know for now.”

Aello's eyes widen.

“Oh, so Prissy's getting involved,” she mutters, annoyance evident in her tone. “That means this whole thing might turn into a pain in the ass before it's done. At least the damned sphinxes announced themselves before attacking. Made dealing with them a whole lot simpler.”

She scratches her chin with the tip of a blood-red feather.

“Increase security around workers outside the walls and see if our scouts can track these centaurs,” she instructs. “If Prissy can't see them, that's very concerning. I'll brief Queen Ourana.”

“Understood,” Titan replies.

The Legate clicks her tongue, commanding her hippogriff forward. Her red cape streams behind her as she takes flight upon the wings of the eagle-horse hybrid.

Two days pass after the attack outside the walls.

Life in the city gradually returns to normal.

As the sun hangs high above Campus Taiyo, legionnaire trainees enjoy their lunch break in the inner courtyard.

Rhea sits in a windowsill on the third floor, her back resting against the frame and her legs crossed. Her head leans against the glass as she watches the students below.

She wears her long strawberry-blond hair in its usual style—bangs parted in the front, with a braided lock of hair from each side tied together behind her head and adorned with a large pink ribbon.

Her white tunic falls to her thighs, while leather sandal straps wind nearly to her knees.

Enjoying a rare moment of solitude, her thoughts begin to drift.

A familiar voice snaps her back to reality.

“So this is where you disappear to every lunch break!”

Rhea turns toward the freckle-faced girl with shoulder-length curly brown hair.

“I knew you would find me eventually, Kore,” she says with amusement.

“It's not just me—Maximus has been looking for you too,” Kore explains. “He's got something to give you. I wouldn't keep the second hottest boy in the whole city waiting.”

Rhea raises an eyebrow.

“Is that all you think about?” she asks, amused.

“Uh... yeah?” she answers, unashamed. “What else is there to think about? Facing giant predators and getting eaten alive? No thanks!”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Rhea concedes. “Well then—if Maximus is the second hottest, dare I ask who the hottest boy is?”

“Leon,” Kore answers with a dreamy look on her face.

Rhea recoils and gags.

“My cousin?” she laughs.

“Huh? What's so funny? He's a stud,” the freckled girl argues.

“Okay then—who's your number one, Rhea?” she asks.

The strawberry-blond girl's laughter catches in her throat.

“Mine?” she asks, clearing her throat.

“Yes—your number one,” Kore repeats. “Who makes you want to growl like a feral beast?”

Rhea fixes the other girl with a stiff look.

“Do you think I have the luxury of entertaining such worthless thoughts?”

“You have time to stare out a window,” Kore points out as she steps closer. “What's so good about this view anyway?”

Rhea hastily rises and blocks her path.

“W-wait... um...”

She stretches out her hands to keep Kore away from the window.

“Um... y-you said Maximus has something he wants to give me, right? L-let's go.”

She grabs Kore by the wrist and drags her toward the stairwell.

“Ow, Rhea!” the girl cries as she is helplessly pulled along. “You're going to rip my hand off!”

Meanwhile, in the courtyard below—

Atreus lies on the grass gazing at the sky.

He is alone, resting beneath the shadow of a wall, far removed from the other students gathered with their friends to eat lunch and talk.

Having worked his way into the Elite Legionnaire training program—a distinction earned by only a small percentage of students—Atreus finds that the accomplishment has done little to improve his standing among his peers.

To them, he is still the Devil's Son.

Or, if they're feeling charitable, the Traitor's Son.

Beside him rests a pear and a piece of flatbread.

He hums softly to himself while moving his hands with his bow as though playing a lyre.

The peace he enjoys is shattered by a sudden cry from inside the academy.

“She’s crazy! Somebody stop her!”

Atreus sits upright and turns toward the nearby door set into the red-brick wall.

“Leon?” he breathes, recognizing his classmate's voice.

Someone collides with the wooden door with a loud thud, apparently forgetting to turn the handle in their panic.

The door swings open and Leon stumbles out of the building before slamming it shut behind him.

His eyes dart about in search of a hiding place.

Then he spots Atreus.

“Excuse me!”

The 193-centimeter-tall—6'4"—student quickly decides to crouch behind the slightly smaller young man.

A moment later, a thunderous crack echoes across the courtyard.

The wooden door and the cylinder it pivots upon are kicked free from their frame.

The heavy door crashes to the ground beneath a young girl's sandaled foot. She looks as though she barely noticed it had been there.

Atreus recoils, pulling his legs back as air rushes past him.

“Woah,” he gasps. “Oh—it’s what's-her-name.”

A collective groan rises from the other students in the courtyard.

“Bia.”

Finding none of this unusual, the students return to their previous activities.

Only Atreus appears surprised, as though he has somehow remained oblivious to her antics all this time.

“I mean Bia,” he quickly corrects himself.

“Welcome back from the stars—or the clouds—wherever your head's been all this time,” Leon jokes quietly from behind him.

Not knowing where Leon has gone, the brown-skinned girl's eyes sweep across the courtyard.

“Come on, Leon—it's about time ya showed me how strong ya really are,” Bia challenges. “Quit holding back!”

Then her gaze lands on Atreus.

Instantly, it breaks.

The eyes that had been narrowed with playful aggression widen dramatically.

Her violet irises twitch as they rapidly scan him.

“AH!”

She jerks backward and stiffens.

Fidgeting nervously with her wild black hair and academy tunic, she suddenly seems unsure of what to do with herself.

“I—I didn't expect to run into you,” she says shyly.

Atreus glances at her, completely bewildered by the abrupt transformation.

“Is that a good thing?” he asks cautiously.

The girl begins trembling with excitement despite her best efforts to contain herself.

She wraps her arms around her torso as if trying to physically restrain them.

“I... I wasn't ready,” she admits, looking as though she might burst apart at any moment. “This is the first time you've even looked in my direction. I spent so much time tryin' to figure out how to approach—”

“Oh look, it's Rhea,” Leon interrupts loudly.

Atreus and Bia immediately turn their heads.

Leon seizes the opportunity to scramble to his feet, shooting Bia a quick glance to make sure she stays distracted.

Bia searches for Rhea only briefly before her eyes begin drifting back toward Atreus.

Seeing her attention shift, Leon breathes a sigh of relief.

Atreus rises to his feet.

His gaze remains fixed on the far side of the courtyard where several students are clamoring for Rhea's attention.

His hand reaches beneath his tunic and closes around the pouch containing the sunstone he intends to give her.

He presses it against his heart.

Seeing how much Atreus adores Rhea, the tension leaves Bia.

She sighs quietly.

Then she retreats back into the academy—

Unnoticed once again.

Students from throughout the courtyard gather around Rhea to wish her a happy birthday.

“Thank you all so much. I appreciate it,” she says with a warm smile. “How about we save it for tomorrow—my actual birthday?”

Atreus glances toward Leon.

As Rhea's cousin, Leon gets to see a side of her that others do not.

“What's it like to be so close to her?” Atreus asks.

Leon shrugs.

“She’s very human, in case you had any doubts.”

Atreus laughs.

“It's easy to forget that.”

“You're not alone there,” Leon assures him. “Everyone forgets. Then it causes Rhea to forget.”

Atreus sighs.

“I wish she didn't hate me. Every time we cross paths, she turns her nose up at me.”

Leon nods.

“Unfortunately, letting go of a grudge is one of the few things she isn't good at. She's still angry with the midwife for slapping her tushy when she was born.”

Atreus laughs.

Then he pauses, appreciating Leon's company.

Considering his status as a pariah, even a simple conversation means something.

“Thank you for taking a risk by talking to me,” Atreus says with a smile.

The other young man nods.

“We define ourselves—that's what I always say,” Leon replies. “For what it's worth, I've never heard Rhea blame your mother for the lives that were lost that day—including her father's.”

“Maybe she just doesn't like talking about it?” Atreus asks, puzzled by the revelation. “Why else would she hate me so much?”

As he ponders the question, he watches Rhea.

It occurs to him that she seems to have two faces.

Yet he only ever gets to admire the pleasant one from afar.

By now, nearly every student in the courtyard—except him and Leon—has gathered around her.

Among them, a handsome, well-built boy named Maximus steps forward.

He combs his dark hair back with one hand and presents a small box he has been hiding behind his back.

Inside is a jewel-encrusted necklace that glitters even from a distance.

Rhea pauses to consider both him and the gift.

Around her, several girls watch with growing envy and admiration.

Atreus looks on.

His eyes fill with envy as Rhea smiles at the other boy.

“I need to become an Elite Legionnaire and kill the Scarlet Vixen,” he says quietly. “Then everything will get better. I'll be a hero—even in Rhea's eyes.”

As though she heard him speak her name from across the courtyard, Rhea's eyes move past the gathered students and lock onto him.

She politely refuses Maximus and his gift, disappointing the boy and bewildering Kore.

Then she starts walking toward Atreus.

“Oh—looks like she's coming this way,” Leon remarks.

Atreus swallows nervously.

“She probably wants to talk to you,” he suggests, taking a few steps away. “I'll just stand over here so I'm not in the way.”

But Rhea's trajectory shifts again.

“Nope,” Leon says. “She's definitely headed your way.”

“Why? What did I do?” Atreus asks helplessly.

Still following Rhea is Kore, who smiles invitingly at Leon while absentmindedly twirling a strand of curly brown hair around her finger.

Leon offers her a warm smile in return.

Although Rhea stands only five centimeters shorter than Atreus, who is 183 centimeters—6 feet—tall, she approaches him like someone looking down from a greater height. Her light-green eyes meet his hazel ones, as though challenging him to be the first to blink.

“Don't stare at me,” she says.

Atreus hesitates.

“I'm sorry. I didn't know you could see me.”

“You're still looking at me. Stop it.”

Despite her demand, he doesn't look away.

Realizing he may never get another opportunity like this, he gathers his courage.

“Rhea,” he begins nervously, “I think you're the most amazing person in the world. When you're around, it makes me want to become a better and stronger person. I can't take my eyes off you. I don't know how else to explain it...”

Rhea tenses.

She already knows where this is going.

“Don't—” she gasps, her cheeks turning bright red.

Atreus takes a deep breath.

For a moment, he notices the faint scent of strawberries.

Then he says it.

“I love you.”

The confession freezes Rhea, Kore, and Leon in place.

An awkward silence follows.

Then Rhea's teeth begin grinding together.

Kore bursts into laughter.

“You?” she howls. “Do you know how many boys have told Rhea they love her? You've got some nerve thinking you have a shot!”

Rhea's bright-red face twists in embarrassment.

“YOU FOOL! Why would you just blurt something like that out?”

Atreus sweats nervously, but he refuses to retreat.

“I wanted you to know how I feel,” he says, doubling down. “And I hope that one day you'll love me too.”

Rhea takes a menacing step forward, invading his personal space.

“STOP TALKING!”

Atreus backs against the wall and falls silent, suddenly concerned that she might become violent.

Leon motions frantically for his cousin to calm down.

“Come on, Rhea. It's not like he can control who he falls in love with,” he reasons. “We all suffer from that same weakness.”

Rhea shoots him an offended glare.

A bell rings from the uppermost floor, signaling the end of lunch.

Leon breathes a sigh of relief.

“Saved by the—”

He is interrupted by Instructor Titus Maedi's booming voice.

“You have got to be kidding me!”

Standing in the doorway—or rather, where the doorway used to be—Titus stares in disbelief.

“What in all the hells happened to this door?”

The answer is fairly obvious.

The fallen door bears the unmistakable imprint of a sandal.

A small sandal.

About the size one might expect from a 175-centimeter—5-foot-9-inch—girl.

The door itself is nearly split in half where it lies on the courtyard grass.

The muscular instructor, dressed in a legionnaire tunic and trousers rather than the toga favored by most instructors, might have been impressed if he weren't already imagining the lecture he was about to receive from his superiors.

Given the amount of force required to tear the door free of the wall—and similar incidents in the past—he has little doubt about the culprit.

“Wait. Don't tell me—”

“BIA!!!”

Titus storms back into the building in pursuit of the door-destroying girl, steam practically jetting from his ears.

Later that day—

On the third floor of the academy, Instructor Titus stands before his students seated in rows of wooden desks, reading from the writings of Heseodorus.

Rhea, however, is distracted.

Outside the open window beside her, another lesson is underway.

In the field beyond, a giant harpy with brown feathers and long orange hair draped over her shoulders participates in a demonstration led by a guest instructor—Sophethia Korele, head of Torin's Zoological Institute.

Freckle-faced and energetic as ever, Sophethia wears her favorite light-blue tunic. Her long brown hair is braided into a ponytail.

Though distant, her enthusiastic voice carries easily.

The zoologist’s students sit on the grass before the 31-meter—103-foot—harpy, who sits with her legs folded beneath her while blushing furiously.

“Have any of you ever been eaten by a harpy before?” Sophethia asks with a broad grin.

The students collectively shake their heads.

“None of you?” Sophethia asks, genuinely surprised. “Well, do you want to?”

The students recoil.

“No way.”

“Ew. Gross.”

“Are you crazy?”

“We could die!”

Sophethia appears genuinely puzzled by the reaction.

“Hm. That sounds extremely unadventurous of you all,” she says, disappointed. “We're probably all going to end up getting eaten one day anyway—especially you legionnaires.”

Listening through the window, Rhea grimaces.

“Not a chance,” she mutters. “It's never going to happen to me.”

Sophethia tries again.

“Gale here is a very gentle harpy, I assure you,” she says, gesturing toward the orange-haired harpy with purple highlights. “She'll spit you back up before any harm comes to you.”

“What exactly are you trying to teach us, lady?” one student asks.

“Harpy anatomy, of course,” Sophethia replies. “While they may appear human on the outside—aside from the wings, feathers, talons, and whatnot—they're actually very different internally. When we discuss their respiratory system, we'll cover the air sacs they possess in lieu of lungs like ours. Today, however, we're discussing the digestive system.”

“So you want us to take a tour of it ourselves?” another student asks.

“YES!” Sophethia squeals, nodding enthusiastically. “Starting at the mouth and ending at the stomach. I'll even give you a caeli crystal to use as a light source.”

“I'm telling my parents,” a third student declares.

Gale hides her face behind her wings.

“Sophie,” she whispers. “I'm sorry, but you never said anything about me having to eat the students. I don't want to do that.”

“Really?” Sophethia asks, surprised. “Eating humans comes naturally to you, doesn't it?”

“I don't like eating things that can talk and tell me stories,” Gale admits. “Besides... it feels kind of private, you know?”

“Oh, right. You're the harpy the librarian raised,” Sophethia remembers. “I thought you were the other one... what's-her-name? The one who's always eating her friend.”

“You mean my best friend Helia?” Gale asks.

“That's it!” Sophethia says, snapping her fingers. “I'm so sorry for the mix-up. But just to be sure—how would you feel about eating me for the demonstration?”

“I-I suppose that's better than swallowing one of the students,” Gale admits as her blush fades. “But then I'd have to spit you up in front of everyone. No, never mind. That's even more embarrassing.”

“Not for me,” Sophethia laughs. “Pride is the nemesis of scientific exploration and discovery.”

As Rhea listens to the exchange, her thoughts drift back to a memory she has never forgotten.

Years ago.

Rhea is fifteen years old.

Students stream from the dormitories toward the academy as morning lessons approach.

A crowd has gathered in one of the fields bordering the gardens.

They are watching Rhea win sparring match after sparring match against students eager to test themselves against her talent.

Leon and Kore stand among the spectators.

The daughter of the Taiyo family makes victory look effortless.

She wins through speed, intelligence, discipline, and mastery of psiki—the innate Torinian magic used to enhance physical ability.

Then Bia steps forward.

A wide, almost unsettling grin spreads across her face.

The two begin to spar.

Rhea is disciplined, intentional, and precise in every movement.

Bia is unrefined, unrestrained, and unpredictable.

What she lacks in training, she makes up for in raw talent. Rhea can tell that, with minimal effort, the other girl is multiplying her strength to dangerous levels.

A jab dodged, a kick blocked, a grapple escaped—any one of them could have spelled defeat.

“She’s good,” Rhea admits, leaping backward out of Bia’s reach. “Even the wind following her strikes feels like an attack.”

Rhea raises her hands in surrender.

“You win, Bia,” she says. “There’s no shame in losing to a worthy opponent.”

Bia relaxes her stance and frowns.

“Aww. I was hoping you'd go all out and show me your true strength.”

“Do you think I don't know my own limits?” Rhea asks jokingly. “Besides, we're going to be late for class if we don't get moving.”

As the crowd begins to disperse, a gigantic shadow passes overhead.

Students look up to see a bronze-skinned, white-feathered harpy descending onto the field.

“It's Helia. What's she doing here?” one student asks.

“Mornin', meat-wads,” Helia greets them cheerfully.

Rhea watches the giant harpy, unaware that her own mouth has fallen open.

It isn't her first time seeing a harpy up close, but the feeling of being small and insignificant in their presence never truly goes away.

Helia crouches and lifts her head.

Students watch in curious silence.

Her belly begins to undulate. Subtle waves travel upward beneath her skin. After several seconds, a bulge rises through her throat and into her mouth, filling out her cheeks.

Helia bends forward, bringing her mouth close to the ground.

“Bleh—”

She extends her tongue, using it as a slide to safely lower a boy face-first onto the grass.

The crowd stares wide-eyed.

“What the hell?” Rhea gasps.

Bia grimaces while Leon turns noticeably pale.

Helia, meanwhile, appears quite pleased with herself.

The gathered crowd tells her that classes haven't started yet.

“See, Atreus? I told ya I could get you here on time,” she says proudly. “I betcha feel real dumb for insistin' on walking now.”

Atreus lies motionless in a puddle of saliva.

Helia's smile falters.

“Um... Atreus?” she calls quietly. “Say something, buddy.”

“I think he's dead,” Kore remarks.

“NO!” Bia gasps. “It can't be!”

“I'm... sure he's just... taking a quick nap before class,” Helia suggests, wishing her bangs were long enough to hide behind.

Rhea's memory fades.

Her thoughts return to the present.

“Why must he be so weak?” she mutters to herself. “Why must he constantly choose to be prey?”

Turning to her right, she spots Atreus sitting several rows back near the center of the classroom.

Her lips tighten.

“That boy...”

Atreus listens intently to Instructor Titus's lecture, completely unaware that Rhea's light-green eyes are fixed upon him.

“He is everything that's wrong with humans.”

She continues watching him, forgetting the classroom around her.

“I hate him.”

“I hate his ugly hazel eyes...”

“...and the way his messy hair somehow makes him look cool without even trying...”

“...and the way he works so hard to stay in shape only to get eaten by a predator one day...”

“...and...”

“...I hate...”

Her thoughts trail away.

Slowly, she wraps a lock of strawberry-blond hair around her finger.

Instructor Titus clears his throat loudly.

Rhea snaps back to reality and immediately faces forward.

“Miss Taiyo,” he says, disappointment evident in his voice. “I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but you seem far less interested in my lectures than usual.”

“My apologies,” she replies, fixing her hair. “It won't happen again.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

As Rhea tries to focus on the lesson, Sophethia's voice drifts through the open window once more.

“Fun fact,” the zoologist says, gesturing enthusiastically toward Gale's lower body and causing the harpy to blush furiously. “Harpies do not possess a cloaca like birds. Their biology is actually much closer to that of humans, meaning they have both a vagina and an anus. Some adult harpies, however, dispose of solid waste in fecal sacs much like bird chicks do. It's remarkably sanitary. Honestly, I'm a little jealous. Imagine never needing to wipe.”

She turns toward Gale with a bright smile.

“How about it, Gale? Mind if we take a closer look?”

“That's it—I'm reporting you, lady,” one of the students declares.

The day passes.

The sun sinks below the horizon.

The stars take their places in the sky.

That night, in the Taiyo Villa on the eastern side of the city—

Rhea sleeps atop her large bed beneath fine silk sheets.

Moonlight pours through the open balcony doors while the curtains sway gently in the night breeze.

For a brief moment, the shadow of a harpy flying beneath the stars passes over her.

Words replay in her mind like whispers carried upon the wind.

“I love you.”

“It's not like he can control who he falls in love with.”

“We all suffer from that same weakness.”

Rhea groans softly and grips her sheets tighter.

Her brow furrows.

No matter how hard she tries, she cannot quiet her thoughts.

Her eyes slowly open.

Dawn light warms her room.

“It's morning already?” she yawns.

Though still tired, she welcomes the end of her troubled sleep.

She rises, stretches, and begins preparing for another day at the academy.

After bathing, she sits down for breakfast in the garden.

Sweet honey-glazed bread, cheese, and fruit await her upon the table.

The table itself is large enough to seat eight people.

Yet she sits alone.

To her surprise, her father approaches and takes a seat across from her.

He is still wearing his legionnaire armor—

The same armor he wore the last time she saw him over a decade ago.

“Good morning, daughter,” he says.

Emotion wells within her at the sight of him.

She wants to tell him how much she missed him.

Instead, she restrains herself.

“You've been gone so long, I thought you were never coming home.”

“The battle proved more difficult than I anticipated,” he replies.

Rhea sets a slice of pomegranate onto her plate.

“You never finished the story of Ovus,” she reminds him. “I have to know how it ends.”

“Ovus...” Phoebus says quietly. “If you must know, he died.”

“How?”

“His golden breastplate was beautiful, but it could not stop the arrow that pierced his heart,” Phoebus answers. “Isn't that the obvious conclusion?”

“Why didn't he replace it with something stronger?” she demands.

“Maybe we're not meant to know,” her father replies. “Or perhaps it's something we'll understand as we grow.”

“I want answers,” she says angrily. “Why did you leave me with loose ends? Why can't you finish what you started?”

Phoebus falls silent.

For a moment, he seems unable to answer.

Eventually, he opens his mouth.

But not to say what she wants to hear.

“I must go now. Be strong.”

Phoebus rises from the table and walks toward the garden gate.

Tears well in Rhea's eyes.

Her anger ignites.

“How dare you tell me to be strong?” she shouts, hurrying after him. “I am being strong! You're the one who allowed yourself to be betrayed! You allowed yourself to get eaten by the Scarlet Vixen! You broke your promises to me!”

As she speaks, her father reaches the gate.

Then he fades away.

Rhea falls to her knees and reaches after him.

“Come back! I'm not finished!”

She chokes back her tears—refusing to let a single one fall.

Her teeth grind together.

Her fingers dig into the dirt path.

And amidst her quiet groaning, a familiar voice speaks gently to her.

“I'm here for you,” the masculine voice says. “Just take my hand.”

Rhea lifts her eyes toward the outstretched hand and considers it.

She raises her own hand toward his but hesitates, her fingers curling shut.

Slowly, she tries again.

“You can do it,” the voice assures her.

Her gaze travels upward beyond the hand.

It comes to rest upon the boy's face.

At the sight of his smile and hazel eyes full of kindness, warmth fills her.

Then realization strikes.

The comfort vanishes instantly.

“Atreus!”

Her eyes dart around her surroundings.

She is still in the garden at home, yet somehow she suddenly knows none of it is real.

“I'm dreaming...”

“Wait...”

“I'm dreaming of—”

Rhea bolts upright in bed.

“ATREUS!”

Her shout startles Kore awake.

Still half asleep, the girl frantically looks around the room.

“WHERE?” she asks in alarm.

Rhea quickly realizes she isn't in her bedroom at the Taiyo Villa.

This is her dormitory room at Campus Taiyo.

Moonlight pours through the window between the two beds, bathing the room in a pale glow.

“I-I was h-having a bad dream,” she murmurs, struggling to force the words out.

Her control over her voice falters.

She looks around in disbelief.

“I a-always thought it w-was j-just curiosity,” she confesses.

The dream may not have been real.

The feelings were.

“What are you talking about?” Kore asks. “You thought what was curiosity?”

Rhea bites her trembling lip.

Her hands press tightly against her face.

“N-no... I... I c-can't,” she whispers. “I c-can't!”

Drawing her knees to her chest, she sits silently on the bed while Kore watches with growing concern.

Later that morning—

In the western region of Torin, before sunrise, Atreus washes in a Lower District bathhouse in preparation for another day at the academy.

Afterward, he dresses in his tunic, trousers, and sandals before beginning the long walk to Campus Taiyo.

While many students live in the dormitories, Atreus prefers sleeping in his family's apartment.

There, at least, he doesn't have to worry about being tarred and feathered—or subjected to some other form of bullying—in his sleep.

As he walks through the awakening streets, he watches merchants on the ground floors of the surrounding towers prepare to open for business.

One thing catches his attention.

Several legionnaires are fastening a massive sign to the side of a building.

Painted upon it is an image of Rhea Taiyo clad in armor, drawing the sword from her back.

Atreus pauses to read it.

ALL YOUNG CITIZENS MUST REGISTER WITH THE TORINIAN LEGION!

DUTY, STRENGTH, VICTORY!

He admires the image.

It fills him with renewed determination to prove himself—not only to the people of Torin, but to Rhea as well.

The farther inward he travels, the smaller the residential towers become.

The insulae of the Middle District do not rise as high as those of the Lower District. Small private homes become more common. The cobblestone streets are cleaner and better maintained.

Often, Atreus dreams of living in a place like this.

Perhaps one day he might even reach the Upper District, closest to the Temple District at the city's heart.

Once he slays the Scarlet Vixen, redeems his family name, and becomes a hero, that dream will become reality.

Continuing eastward, he reaches a crossroads.

To the north lies the city center and the Temple District.

To the east lies Campus Taiyo.

He continues east.

The brick road carries him across the campus grounds.

The fresh morning air fills him with optimism.

As the academy comes into view, his thoughts drift toward tonight's event—Rhea's birthday celebration.

His hand instinctively touches the pouch concealed beneath his tunic.

The sunstone.

Again and again, he runs through possible scenarios for giving it to her.

Eventually, he reaches the academy.

Beyond the entrance, a worn trail joins a brick pathway running through a central garden bordered by training fields.

The moment he steps inside the building, a bronze plaque above an archway catches his eye.

Inscribed upon it is a quote attributed to Novus Taiyo, grandfather of Rhea Taiyo.

TO WILL IS TO BE

Atreus pauses.

Students pass around him as he contemplates the words.

“To will is to be?” he murmurs. “That could mean so many things. If to will is to be... does failing to will mean ceasing to be?”

Further ahead, something else catches his attention.

A series of marble busts line the wall.

The previous three generations of Taiyo patriarchs.

The campus itself bears their name.

Atreus studies the likenesses of Pyros, Novus, and Phoebus Taiyo.

For a moment, he feels unworthy of even being there.

The feeling only inspires him to work harder.

Eventually, he turns away and heads for his classroom.

Atreus takes his usual seat in the back row.

He is early.

Only about half the students have arrived, and Instructor Titus is nowhere to be seen.

Morning sunlight streams through the windows to the left, illuminating the center of the room.

A straw dummy stands there, representing the torso of a giant predator.

Beside it sits a table covered with miniature legionnaires arranged in formation.

Titus intends to use them for a lesson on anti-predator tactics.

Atreus studies the display from his seat.

In his mind, the dummy becomes the Scarlet Vixen herself—the giant fox-human hybrid with scarlet fur and hair.

Suddenly, his view is blocked.

A white tunic fills his vision.

Atreus looks up.

“Rhea?”

He begins to stand.

“Do NOT stand unless I tell you to,” Rhea snaps.

“What is this about?” Atreus asks.

The girl with the pink ribbon stands over him, frowning.

Several classmates watch with growing interest.

“Stay out of my way.”

“Huh? When have I even gotten close to you?”

“You're always in my way,” she insists, frustration seeping into her voice. “Stay the hell away from me.”

“I don't understand—”

“Do not speak to me unless I tell you to,” she interrupts. “Which I won't. And do not so much as look at me without my permission.”

The unfairness of it stings.

Still, Atreus fights the urge to respond in kind.

Matching her anger will only make things worse.

He forces himself to remain calm.

“Why won't you give me a chance?” he asks quietly.

Rhea hesitates.

For a brief moment, she is afraid she might say something honest.

Something she will regret.

Instead, frustration wins.

“I DIDN'T GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK TO ME!”

She turns away and heads for the door.

Then she notices the training dummy and the miniature legionnaires arranged upon the nearby table.

Her course changes.

Marching into the center of the room, she drives a powerful kick into the table.

The furniture topples.

The miniature legionnaires scatter across the floor.

The classroom falls silent.

Rhea throws one final glare at Atreus before storming out.

The remaining students turn their attention toward the bewildered boy.

Slowly, Atreus rises.

Still struggling to process what happened, he walks over to Leon.

Reaching beneath his tunic, he removes the pouch containing the sunstone and places it in Leon's hand.

“I'll show everyone that I'm nothing like my mother,” Atreus says quietly. “I'll train even harder.”

Leon feels the small leather pouch, curious about the object inside.

“That's my gift to her,” Atreus explains. “I've decided not to attend tonight. Please give it to her for me.”

He pauses.

“And don't tell her it came from me.”

Leon nods sadly.

His cousin's stubbornness pains him.

As Atreus returns to his seat, he pauses beside the overturned table.

Without a word, he lifts it upright.

Then he gathers the scattered miniature legionnaires and carefully returns them to their proper positions.

Kore watches from the back row.

Concern is written plainly across her face.

Moments later, she rises and leaves the classroom.

She hurries after Rhea.

Outside, roughly five minutes from the academy's main entrance, Rhea stands alone.

Now that her anger has faded, she lifts her eyes toward the sky.

Clouds have begun gathering overhead.

Pain spreads across Rhea's face.

“Why?” she mutters.

As her anger rises, she covers her head with both hands.

“WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY, DAMN IT? WHY?”

Kore's voice answers from behind her.

“Why what, Rhea?” she asks. “What's wrong?”

Startled, Rhea turns around.

The distress on her face is obvious, but she quickly tries to compose herself. Turning away again, she forces her voice to remain steady.

“It's nothing.”

“Well, you seem a bit out of sorts today,” Kore observes. “Is it about the traitor's son?”

“W-what do you mean by that?” Rhea asks, whipping her head around. “What do you know?”

“I don't know anything,” Kore says defensively. “It's just... I've never seen you show that much emotion before. You've always been so solid. Unshakable. Almost like stone.”

Her thoughts drift briefly to the night before and the way Rhea had awakened from her dream.

“I'm your friend, Rhea,” she reminds her gently. “You can tell me. Did he do something to you?”

Rhea remains silent and resumes walking.

Across the road from the academy stands the Inner Great Wall.

A gate set within it—smaller than the main eastern and western gates—leads into the land between the two walls.

The legionnaires stationed there open the gate and allow the girls through.

Immediately, the atmosphere changes.

Though there are training fields, farms, military outposts, and other important facilities scattered throughout the area, it feels as close to wilderness as one can get without actually leaving the city's protection.

The giant training grounds where harpies learn to fight alongside the Legion lie out here as well.

Interesting as they are, the girls walk right past them.

Unsure of where Rhea is going, Kore begins to squirm awkwardly in the absence of conversation.

“You know, Rhea,” she says nervously, “there might actually be smaller predators lurking out here. I'd rather get in trouble for being late to class than get eaten alive.”

Nearly thirty uncomfortable minutes pass before Rhea finally breaks the silence.

“Are you afraid, Kore?”

“Well... yeah. Kinda.”

“Don't be,” Rhea replies. “Fate favors the brave.”

She inhales slowly.

A sense of calm settles over her.

“That's what my father used to tell me.”

By now, the two girls have wandered far from the established paths.

Ahead, a cluster of trees catches their attention.

Something about them seems wrong.

“Weird,” Kore says, tilting her head. “Some trees are swaying in the breeze and some aren't. It's like they're frozen.”

“Hm.”

Rhea studies them thoughtfully.

Then, after only a brief pause, she asks a question that seems directed more at herself than anyone else.

“What does he see in me?”

“Who?” Kore asks.

Rhea stops walking and stares down at her hands.

“I mean...” she corrects herself, “what do people see in me?”

Kore thinks for a moment.

“We see the girl who has everything.”

“Everything...” Rhea repeats quietly.

Kore nods enthusiastically.

“Beauty, talent, popularity, wealth, and a military academy named after her family!” she says. “Everything!”

Rhea sighs.

“What good is all of that?” she asks softly.

“Huh?” Kore blinks. “What else could you possibly want? Were you always this unhappy?”

Rhea shakes her head and forces a smile.

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

Kore shrugs, though confusion lingers in her eyes.

“I'll race you back to campus,” Rhea suddenly declares.

“Are you going to give me a head start, at least?” Kore pleads.

Rhea playfully turns up her nose in refusal.

“Ready?”

“NO!” Kore shouts, clenching her hands into fists.

Rhea lowers into a runner's stance.

“Go!”

The other girl hurriedly follows suit.

“WAIT!”

Rhea launches forward, kicking up grass as she races through the wooded area.

“DON'T LEAVE ME!” Kore cries, sprinting after her. “It's creepy out here!”

That evening—

As the setting sun paints the Campus Taiyo grounds in warm colors, festive lanterns and glowing crystals illuminate the celebration below.

A woman who appears to be in her thirties gracefully steps onto the stage.

Her long strawberry-blond hair cascades over a white stola adorned with a golden sash.

Her beauty immediately draws comparisons to her daughter.

“I am Vestia Taiyo,” she announces, “and I would like to thank all of you for joining me in celebrating the birthday of my dearest daughter, Rhea Taiyo.”

“Happy birthday, Rhea Taiyo!” the crowd cheers.

Standing beside her mother, Rhea bows her head and waves to the applauding guests.

Tonight, her favorite pink ribbon has been replaced by a laurel wreath resting upon her head.

She wears a bright white tunic trimmed in gold, secured by a golden belt. Gold bracelets adorn her wrists, and golden sandals grace her feet.

Soon afterward, she steps down from the stage to mingle with the guests.

The evening sky provides a beautiful canopy overhead, painted in shades of blue, violet, yellow, and orange.

The air is warm, accompanied by an occasional cool breeze.

From the northern field behind the academy, the monuments of the Temple District are visible beyond the fences and trees that separate the two grounds.

Near the fence, Leon and Kore converse quietly.

Kore looks troubled.

“Do you think there's any truth to the rumors that the city might be attacked soon?”

Leon frowns.

“It's strange. I don't know what to think. I'd expect the Legion to have more concrete information about the threat.”

“I think it has something to do with that centaur attack,” Kore says firmly.

“But she was alone,” Leon argues. “How dangerous could one centaur be?”

A cheerful shout cuts through the music and conversation around them.

“Heeeeeey!”

Bia approaches, skipping toward them while tugging at her purple-and-gold tunic.

Leon and Kore greet her.

“Sorry I'm late,” Bia says. “Instructor Maedi made me fix the door I broke.”

She grins.

“He said if I break another one, he's gonna chop it up and force-feed it through my backside.”

“Woah,” Leon says. “That has to violate some kind of code.”

“Nah,” Bia replies dismissively. “He doesn't mean it. He always says that when I break stuff.”

Suddenly she pauses.

A finger touches her lips.

“Hm?”

Her eyes widen.

“Wait... he's not over here either.”

“Who's not?” Kore asks.

“Atreus.”

Kore recoils at the mention of his name.

“Are you serious?” she asks. “You think the traitor's son would be welcomed at an event like this?”

“Why wouldn't he be?” Bia replies. “He didn't do anything wrong.”

“The fruit doesn't fall far from the tree,” Kore insists. “Everyone in Torin learns that from birth.”

Leon sighs.

“He's not coming, Bia,” he explains. “He told me in class.”

“Are you his friend now?” Kore asks.

“I wouldn't be opposed to it,” Leon answers with a shrug. “But as it stands, he only told me because I'm Rhea's cousin.”

Sadness washes across Bia's face.

“I'm going to find him,” she declares before walking away.

As she heads toward the academy building, she passes Rhea, who is speaking with Senator Tacitus Pontius, father of another outstanding academy student—Maximus.

“My son speaks highly of you,” the dark-haired man says. “And I'm sure you've noticed that his athletic and scholarly achievements rival your own. What do you think of him? Your mother seems very impressed with the young man—which is quite significant.”

“Yes, I've noticed him,” Rhea replies. “He is impressive indeed.”

“How old are you now?” the senator continues. “Maximus turns eighteen soon.”

Kore approaches only after she is certain the upper-class admirers have finished fawning over Rhea.

She finds her trapped in conversation with the senator and looking eager for an escape.

“It's almost time to open the gifts,” Kore says excitedly, dressed in her finest purple tunic. “I can't wait to see what everyone got you.”

“Kore—finally,” Rhea breathes in relief.

Using the interruption as an excuse, she politely excuses herself from the senator's company.

“I honestly can't wait to have some time alone after all of this,” she admits with a weak laugh.

“I wish I could say I understood that feeling,” Kore says enviously.

As the two girls talk, Rhea notices Maximus standing beside several barrels of water and wine.

He is speaking with two academy girls—Krista and Julia.

“Ah, look at him,” Kore says. “Should've known a guy that handsome wouldn't stay heartbroken for long after you rejected him.”

Rhea pauses.

“Hmm.”

Without another word, she begins walking toward him.

Maximus notices her approach.

He and the two girls greet her together.

“Happy birthday.”

“On the correct day this time,” Maximus adds with a chuckle.

Rhea simply stares at him.

The gears in her mind are practically visible.

Maximus begins shifting uncomfortably.

Krista, standing beside him and bearing an uncanny resemblance to Rhea herself, shares the same uneasy expression.

Finally, Rhea speaks.

“Dance with me.”

The request shocks all four students.

Maximus blinks.

For a moment, he wonders if he imagined it.

Neither Krista nor Julia appears particularly pleased.

Especially Krista.

Her green eyes remain fixed on him beneath her red bangs.

Maximus gulps.

He knows he probably shouldn't accept.

Yet he does.

Extending his hand, he offers it to Rhea.

She places her own in his.

Together, they move toward the center of the field and begin a slow dance.

Before long, the attention of the party shifts toward them.

Vestia notices immediately.

“How wonderful,” she exclaims while mingling with the guests—including Senator Tacitus. “Rhea and Maximus have come together to dance. They would make such a powerful couple, wouldn't you agree, Senator?”

“Indeed,” he replies, raising his cup of wine. “I look forward to arranging it with you.”

Meanwhile, Maximus gently embraces Rhea.

She wraps her arms around him in return.

Yet despite their closeness, her thoughts drift elsewhere.

She searches inwardly for something.

No matter how hard she looks, she cannot find it.

“Nothing,” she whispers.

A pause.

“But that's not a bad thing... right?”

Maximus glances down at her, having caught the movement of her lips.

“Did you say something?”

“I feel...” Rhea hesitates.

Then she finishes.

“...good.”

The answer only confuses him.

“Good?” he repeats. “So you're happy being with me?”

Rhea remains silent.

Even if she wanted to explain herself, she doubts she could.

Eventually she releases him and takes a step back.

“Thank you for the dance, Maximus.”

Turning toward Krista and Julia, she gestures toward him.

“Sorry about that. You can have him back now.”

Then she walks away.

Kore watches as Maximus and the two girls immediately begin arguing behind Rhea.

Her confusion deepens.

“What was that all about?” she asks.

“I wanted to see something.”

“See what?”

Rhea exhales.

Disappointment flickers across her face.

“I... I don't know.”

“But you never do anything without a reason,” Kore points out.

“Just drop it.”

Rhea walks on.

She continues greeting guests and making polite conversation.

Yet as the night progresses, Kore notices something troubling.

Rhea grows increasingly dissatisfied.

She seems determined to meet everyone at the celebration.

Yet every interaction leaves her looking less happy than before.

Finally, Kore's suspicion gets the better of her.

“Rhea,” she says cautiously, narrowing her eyes, “if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were searching for someone. Could it be—”

Rhea snaps.

“Stop asking so many god-damned questions, Kore!”

The outburst nearly silences the entire celebration.

Guests turn toward her.

“Mind your own business and back the hell off!”

Kore immediately raises her hands.

Taken aback, she steps away.

“Excuse me,” she says quietly. “I'll give you your space.”

Across the party, Maximus watches with raised eyebrows.

He has never seen this side of Rhea before.

Leon hears the shouting and turns toward his cousin.

“Uh oh,” he mutters through a mouthful of bread and cheese.

He quickly pushes through the crowd.

“Come on,” he says, beckoning her with a wave. “Let's take a break from all this and sit inside the academy for a bit.”

Rhea follows him toward the rear doors.

As they leave, Vestia steps onto the stage.

“My daughter certainly has that Taiyo fire running through her veins,” she says with a laugh. “Please, resume the music and dancing. We'll conclude the evening with the gift presentations shortly.”

Inside the northern wing of the academy building, Leon and Rhea sit together on a bench in the main hall.

“We've got to work on venting before it gets to the point where you're erupting at people,” Leon suggests jokingly.

Rhea sighs and looks down at her hands resting in her lap.

“I'm fine.”

Leon leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs.

“I'm positive you'll feel much better if you just get everything off your chest. As family, I promise I won't judge you.”

Rhea glances up at him, then quickly looks away.

For a brief moment, she seems to weigh the possible outcomes.

“No.”

She shakes her head.

“Some things are simply too...”

Her voice trails off.

“Too what?” Leon asks gently. “You can tell me.”

A scoff interrupts them.

Vestia's sudden appearance startles both teenagers.

“Rhea is a Taiyo,” she declares. “Whatever she's carrying, she can handle it. Don't underestimate her strength.”

“With all due respect, Aunt Vestia, that doesn't inspire much confidence in me,” Leon replies. “I don't want to discover what the problem is after it's already too late to do anything about it.”

“There is no problem with me,” Rhea says firmly. “What makes me angry is everyone thinking they know me when they don't.”

Vestia studies her daughter.

The hardness in her gaze softens slightly.

“I try, Rhea,” Leon says. “But you only let me in so far. I keep hoping you'll open up someday.”

“Hope?” Rhea laughs. “What a silly notion. That's for people who can't handle reality. I won't live in a fantasy world with the rest of you.”

“You?” Vestia repeats, raising an eyebrow. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

Rather than elaborate, Rhea exhales heavily.

“Hope isn't fantasy,” Leon argues. “It gives us a way to endure what we can't control. Please don't lose your ability to hope.”

Rhea lowers her gaze.

“Why can't I simply eliminate the things I can't control?” she asks quietly. “As the great philosopher Heseodorus once said: One who is afraid to lose has lost already.”

“That doesn't mean what you think it means,” Leon warns, concern evident on his face.

Before the discussion can continue, Vestia remembers the guests waiting outside.

“Enough of this. I know exactly what will lift everyone's spirits right now—gifts!” she announces. “Come. Let's not keep our guests waiting. A Taiyo must never disappoint.”

Rhea rises and adjusts the laurel wreath resting on her head.

“Fine. Whatever.”

Outside, in the northern field behind the academy, the guests have begun growing impatient.

Relief spreads through the crowd when they see Rhea emerge alongside her mother and cousin.

The three walk onto the stage where a collection of gifts rests upon a long table.

Vestia slowly waves her hand over them while deciding where to begin.

“Ah, yes.”

She picks up a jewel-encrusted hairbrush.

“Lovely.”

Holding it up for everyone to see, she consults the list of gifts.

“A brush from Kythera,” she announces.

Rhea accepts it and briefly runs it through her long, hip-length hair.

“Thank you for the gift, Kythera.”

She places it back on the table.

Kythera, a local beauty-shop owner, calls out from the crowd.

“I know how much you care about your appearance, my dear. My brushes will ensure you remain the most beautiful girl in Torin.”

Immediately, several girls in attendance begin asking where they can purchase one.

The presentation continues.

A hand mirror.

Perfume.

A painting.

A music box.

Each gift receives a polite smile and a gracious thank-you.

Eventually, only one gift remains.

It sits alone in a small leather pouch.

Compared to the others, it appears almost pathetic.

Vestia empties the pouch into her hand.

A glowing stone falls into her palm.

She frowns.

“Seriously?” she mutters beneath her breath. “It's not even polished. It's fractured. Who would want something like this?”

She hands the stone to Rhea.

Then she checks the list.

A moment passes.

Her brow furrows.

“The gift isn't on the list.”

“It's from an anonymous giver,” Leon explains.

The truth strikes Rhea almost immediately.

“Wait...”

She studies the stone.

Its warm glow.

Its imperfections.

The fractures running through it.

“Indeed...” she whispers.

Tears begin forming in her eyes.

“Who would want something like this?”

She closes her fingers around the stone.

Her eyes squeeze shut.

Emotion rises within her chest.

“Damn.”

“Damn him.”

Vestia notices none of it.

Instead, she leans closer and whispers:

“Do your best to seem grateful.”

Rhea nods mechanically.

Stepping forward, she keeps her head lowered so the crowd cannot see her face.

She parts her lips.

Attempts to speak.

Nothing comes out.

Her throat tightens.

Her tongue feels glued to the roof of her mouth.

A nervous silence spreads through the gathering.

Guests exchange uncertain glances.

Rhea struggles to force out a single word.

Finally—

“I...”

Her voice breaks.

“I-I c-can't do it!”

Before anyone can react, she turns and flees the stage.

She hurries back into the academy building.

She crosses the central courtyard enclosed by the structure and passes through to the opposite side.

All the while, she curses the boy she knows sent the gift.

“That boy...”

“I hate him.”

“I HATE HIM!”

Rhea bursts through the academy's main entrance and emerges into the night air.

Far to the west, the lights of the residential districts shine beneath the stars.

She stares toward them.

Toward the city.

Toward the place where Atreus is.

Despite her words, tears glimmer in her eyes beneath the moonlight.

Tears she refuses to let anyone see.

(PART TWO)