Cursed Harpe
The old woman had given him a direction.
Beyond the valley of stone.
Beyond the mountains.
A tomb hidden beneath the earth.
And within it, the Harpe.
The boy travelled for three days.
The landscape changed as he moved deeper into the mountains.
The trees disappeared first.
Then the grass.
Then even the birds.
Nothing lived here.
Only stone.
On the morning of the fourth day, he found the entrance.
Two enormous serpents had been carved into the mountainside. Their bodies twisted around one another, disappearing into the rock.
Between them stood a narrow passage.
The boy stopped.
He remembered the old woman’s words.
She has guarded the Harpe since the age of heroes.
He stepped inside.
The darkness swallowed him.
The passage descended beneath the mountain.
Every few steps, another carving appeared.
A warrior holding a curved blade.
A king kneeling before it.
A monster falling beneath it.
And finally, an ancient power.
Its face had been deliberately destroyed.
The boy ran his fingers over the broken stone.
Someone had wanted the figure forgotten.
He continued downward.
The air became colder.
Then he heard it.
A whisper.
Not a voice.
A hiss.
He stopped.
Nothing.
He continued.
Another hiss.
Closer.
The passage opened into a vast chamber.
At its centre stood an altar.
And upon it rested the Harpe.
The blade was smaller than he expected.
Curved.
Dark.
Its edge seemed to absorb the light around it.
The boy took a step toward it.
Then another.
A voice came from behind him.
“You should have listened to the old woman.”
He turned.
A woman stood at the entrance.
At first, she looked almost human.
Then the boy saw her eyes.
And the serpents twisting through her hair.
They moved around one another, their tongues flickering in the darkness.
He knew who she was.
Euryale.
Sister of Medusa.
One of the immortal Gorgons.
The keeper of the Harpe.
For centuries, she had guarded the weapon deep beneath the mountain.
The same blade that had killed her sister.
She looked at him.
“You have come for the blade.”
The boy tightened his grip.
“I have.”
“Then you have come to die.”
He looked toward the altar.
“I need it.”
The guardian laughed.
“Every man who enters this tomb needs something.”
She took a step forward.
“None leave with it.”
The boy reached for the Harpe.
She moved.
He barely escaped.
Her hand struck the stone where his head had been.
The ground cracked beneath the impact.
He stumbled backward.
Euryale smiled.
“Run.”
He did.
She followed.
He moved through the chamber, searching for a way around her.
There was none.
She was faster.
Stronger.
Every attack forced him farther from the altar.
The Harpe was within reach.
But every time he approached it, she drove him away.
Then he made the mistake of looking into her eyes.
Everything stopped.
His body became heavy.
His feet would not move.
His hands stiffened.
He looked down.
Stone was spreading across his skin.
Euryale approached slowly.
“Your mother should have taught you better.”
The boy’s heart stopped.
“You knew her?”
Euryale smiled.
“I knew enough.”
Stone reached his knees.
“She came here once.”
“When?”
“Long before you.”
The stone climbed higher.
“She begged me for the Harpe.”
His breath caught.
“Why?”
Euryale leaned closer.
“I didn’t give it to her.”
“Why?”
“Because she wasn’t the one meant to wield it.”
The stone reached his waist.
The boy looked toward the altar.
The Harpe remained there.
Waiting.
He thought of his mother.
Her stories.
Her hands.
Her voice.
Don’t be afraid.
He had heard those words his entire life.
But he had never understood them.
Until now.
Euryale raised her hand.
The boy closed his eyes.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then he felt it.
Something beneath the stone.
Something beneath his fear.
Something that had been sleeping inside him since before he could remember.
His heartbeat grew louder.
Once.
Twice.
Then the entire chamber trembled.
A crack appeared across the stone covering his chest.
Euryale stepped backward.
The boy opened his eyes.
The stone shattered.
He fell forward.
He caught himself with one hand.
Something surged through him.
Not like Athena’s awakening.
This was different.
This belonged to him.
He stood.
Euryale stared.
“What are you?”
The boy didn’t answer.
He didn’t know.
She attacked.
He moved.
For the first time, he was not running.
He caught her strike.
The impact sent a shock through the chamber.
She recoiled.
He stepped forward.
She attacked again.
He ducked.
Turned.
Struck.
Euryale crashed against the altar.
The Harpe fell.
The boy reached for it.
His fingers closed around the hilt.
The chamber erupted.
A wave of force tore through the tomb.
The serpents screamed.
Euryale fell to her knees.
The blade burned in his hand.
For a moment, he could hear everything.
The mountain above him.
The blood in his veins.
The heartbeat of the earth.
And somewhere far away—
his mother’s voice.
Euryale looked at him.
Fear had replaced the smile on her face.
“The Harpe has chosen you.”
The boy looked down at the blade.
“What does it want?”
Euryale laughed softly.
“You still don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
She looked at the power moving through him.
“The blade isn’t the dangerous thing.”
The boy stared at her.
She disappeared into the shadows.
Her final words echoed through the chamber.
“Neither are you.”
Silence.
The boy stood alone.
The Harpe rested in his hand.
He thought of Athena.
She had not given him this power.
She had only awakened it.
Whatever had been sleeping inside him was awake now.
He still didn’t know what he was.
He still didn’t know why the ancient powers were watching him.
And he still didn’t know what had happened to his mother.
But for the first time, he was not afraid of what lived inside him.
He turned toward the darkness beyond the tomb.
And began the journey toward the sea.
Toward Poseidon.
Toward the River Styx.
Toward the truth.