Hero In Ancient Greece

The door to Archillaus' inn creaked open, and Diomedes stepped inside, greeted by the boisterous hum of laughter, clinking tankards, and the occasional crash of a dropped plate. The aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the air, mingling with the distinct, pungent smell of sweat and spilled ale.

Archillaus, the rotund and perpetually sweaty owner of the inn, waddled over as soon as he spotted his friend. His tunic was slightly stained—probably from his last attempt to carry a tray without dropping it—and his grin stretched wide.

"Diomedes!" Archillaus bellowed, his voice cutting through the din. "You've finally shown your face! I was starting to think the forest had swallowed you whole."

Diomedes smirked and waved off the comment. "A bear tried its best, but as you can see, I'm tougher than I look."

Archillaus laughed, his belly jiggling with the motion. "You and those wild creatures! One day, I expect you'll bring me the hide of a lion, claiming it picked a fight with you."

Diomedes chuckled as he slid onto a stool near the counter. "Maybe I will. But for now, a bowl of beef soup and a tankard of ale will do."

"You're in luck," Archillaus said, patting his sizable belly. "Freshly made this morning. The soup, I mean—not the ale." He disappeared into the back to personally fetch the order.

As Diomedes waited, he leaned back and let his gaze wander around the inn. The place was alive with energy, packed with patrons celebrating the festival of the gods. Men were swapping exaggerated tales of heroism, drunk on both their egos and the copious amounts of ale.

A storyteller at the center of the room commanded a small crowd, his voice rising theatrically as he recounted the feats of Hercules.

"...and with his bare hands, he strangled the Nemean Lion! A beast whose hide could not be pierced by blade nor arrow!"

Diomedes smirked. He had always appreciated these grandiose tales. True or not, they were entertaining, and sometimes they provided valuable insight into this strange, myth-filled world.

Archillaus returned moments later, carrying a steaming bowl of soup and a foaming tankard. "Here you go," he said, setting them down with a flourish.

Diomedes sniffed the soup and grinned. The spices he had provided Archillaus made all the difference. A year ago, this inn had been just another struggling establishment in Argos, with food so bland it could hardly attract a steady clientele.

That was before Diomedes had stepped in.

As a Chinese man accustomed to bold flavors, Diomedes had been horrified by the blandness of the soup on his first visit. Out of habit, he'd sprinkled a pinch of his personally crafted spice blend into the bowl. Archillaus had caught him in the act, tasted the result, and the rest was history.

Their deal had been simple: Diomedes would supply spices and cook once a week. In return, he'd receive a 10% share of the inn's monthly income. It had been a lucrative arrangement, transforming Archillaus' business into one of the most popular establishments in Argos.

"Eat up," Archillaus said, sitting across from him with his own tankard in hand. "Business is booming, and it's all thanks to you. We should drink to that!"

"Let's drink to you not running it into the ground," Diomedes quipped, raising his tankard.

Archillaus laughed, the sound hearty and genuine. "Fair enough!"

They clinked their tankards together, the wooden cups producing a satisfying thunk.

Around them, the revelry continued. Drunks stumbled over their own feet, telling corny jokes that elicited groans and laughter in equal measure.

"What's a Titan's favorite musical instrument?" slurred one man, leaning precariously against a post.

"No idea," replied another, hiccupping.

"A lyre! Because they're all liars!"

The table erupted in laughter, though Diomedes suspected it was more from the ale than the joke itself.

Archillaus shook his head, his grin never fading. "Idiots," he muttered fondly.

Diomedes took a sip of his ale and leaned back in his chair, letting the warmth of the inn wash over him. For a moment, he allowed himself to relax.

But even as he laughed at the drunks' antics and enjoyed the richness of his meal, a part of him couldn't shake the feeling that this peace wouldn't last.

In a world filled with gods, monsters, and heroes, calm moments like these were as rare as they were fleeting.

Meanwhile,

In the gilded halls of the palace of Argos, the air was heavy with the scent of roasted lamb, spiced wine, and vanity. Laughter echoed off marble columns as King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopeia hosted a grand feast in honor of their latest triumph.

At the heart of the celebration, the king sat on a golden throne, flanked by nobles and foreign dignitaries who had traveled great distances to witness the splendor of Argos. At his side, the queen reclined languidly, her beauty enhanced by the flickering glow of countless oil lamps.

"To Commander Draco!" Cepheus declared, raising his goblet high. "For his bravery in sacking the temple of Zeus and bringing us riches beyond measure!"

The hall erupted into cheers as Commander Draco, a burly man with a scarred face and an intimidating presence, stood and bowed. Behind him, soldiers entered, carrying plundered treasures: gilded statues, jeweled goblets, and piles of silver coins.

But what caught everyone's attention was the lone figure dragged into the hall.

"Your Majesty," Draco said, his voice deep and commanding. "We found this one in the sea, clinging to the wreckage of a capsized boat."

The man was young, his black hair matted with seawater, his wrists bound by rough ropes. He looked up at the king, his piercing eyes defiant despite his haggard appearance.

"What is your name, boy?" Cepheus asked, leaning forward.

"Perseus," the young man replied, his voice steady.

The name stirred murmurs among the guests, but Cepheus waved a hand dismissively.

"A castaway, nothing more," he said, motioning for the guards to take him away.

As the night wore on, the festivities grew wilder. Cassiopeia, emboldened by wine and her own arrogance, stood to address the gathering.

"Argos stands unmatched!" she proclaimed, her voice ringing with conviction. "My daughter Andromeda's beauty surpasses even that of Aphrodite herself, and my king's wealth and power outshine the very gods!"

The room erupted in applause and drunken cheers, but the revelry was short-lived.

The air grew cold, the flames in the lamps flickering as if caught in an unnatural wind. The shadows in the room deepened, coalescing into a figure draped in black robes.

Gasps filled the hall as the figure stepped forward, his pale face illuminated by an eerie, otherworldly glow.

"Hades," Cepheus whispered, his voice trembling.

The god of the underworld fixed his cold gaze on the king and queen.

"Foolish mortals," Hades intoned, his voice resonating with an unnatural echo. "You dare to mock the gods? To defile their temples and claim superiority over them?"

Cassiopeia shrank back, her earlier bravado crumbling under the weight of his presence.

"For your hubris," Hades continued, "Argos shall be destroyed. I summon the Kraken to lay waste to your city and drag it into the depths of the sea, unless you offer your daughter who you claimed is equal to the gods as sacrifice to the Kraken. 15 day from now Argos may or not be destroyed."

"No!" Cepheus cried, falling to his knees. "Spare us, mighty Hades!"

But the god's gaze remained unyielding. He turned to Cassiopeia. "As for you, queen of vanity, your punishment shall be eternal. The stars themselves shall bear witness to your shame. I will take your youth from you"

Hades touched the queen's face and her beauty went away,she grew old at speed visible to the eye

With a wave of his hand, Hades vanished, leaving the hall in stunned silence.

Cepheus stood shakily, his face pale. "Commander Draco," he said, his voice breaking. "Take the castaway—this Perseus—and throw him in the darkest prison. Let no man speak of him again."

Draco nodded, motioning for the guards to drag Perseus away.

Later that night, as the city reeled from the god's curse, a figure emerged from the shadows of the palace corridors.

Io, a maiden draped in a simple white chiton, approached the king. Her steps were graceful, her expression serene despite the chaos that had unfolded.

"My king," she said, her voice soft yet commanding. "There is a way to save Argos."

Cepheus looked up, desperation etched into his features. "Speak, maiden. What must I do?"

Io hesitated, then took a deep breath. "You must seek the Stygian Witches. They alone hold the knowledge you need to defeat the Kraken."

"The Stygian Witches?" Cepheus repeated, his voice tinged with dread.

"Yes," Io said. "But beware, for the path to their lair is perilous, and their price for knowledge is high."

Cepheus swallowed hard, his mind racing. He had little choice; the survival of Argos depended on this quest.

Summoning his remaining resolve, the king called for his council. "Prepare an expedition," he commanded. "We leave at first light to find the Stygian Witches."