Chapter 3

"I want to go to the mortal lands. I want to live among them."

The words hung in the air like a curse.

Silence fell over the room, save for the quiet hissing of my siblings.

Yes, my siblings.

I was not Medusa's only child.

To my right stood my elder sister, Nyssa. Her dark, serpentine locks coiled and shifted with a life of their own, streaked with emerald-green highlights that gleamed like venom under torchlight. Her piercing golden eyes gleamed with a predatory sharpness. Her skin was flawless, yet beneath it, faint patterns of serpent scales shimmered under certain light, a testament to the power in her veins. Clad in a flowing obsidian chiton embroidered with gold, her every movement was a calculated display of grace and lethality. She was our mother's fiercest daughter, her fangs carrying the purest form of our blood's cursed venom—Death Venom.

To my left, my younger brother, Krios. The middle child of Medusa's lineage. His rose-pink hair was wild and constantly shifting, untamed like the storm that fueled his soul. Unlike Nyssa, whose serpent scales remained hidden, Krios' shimmered beneath his skin—emerald-green and jagged, forming a natural armor that absorbed damage like a second skin. Though he lacked fangs or a tail, his piercing amber eyes carried a different kind of terror. If one met his gaze for too long, they would find their body betraying them—frozen in place by a power that had yet to fully awaken.

Despite our differences, we were bound by the same truth—we were Medusa's children.

Which meant… we belonged nowhere.

Nyssa blinked at me like I had just declared I wanted to wrestle a Hydra. "I'm sorry. What?"

Krios, who rarely reacted to anything, slowly tilted his head. "Wait, is this a joke? Are we joking? Because I can laugh. Ha. Ha." His face remained completely deadpan.

I sighed. "No, I'm serious."

Nyssa groaned and ran a clawed hand down her face. "Of course, you are. Because why wouldn't you be? Gods forbid we have a normal day where one of us doesn't decide to do something incredibly stupid."

Krios pointed at me. "This is worse than when you tried to wrestle that Cyclops."

"Hey, I almost won," I muttered.

"You almost got thrown into the ocean," Nyssa corrected.

Nyssa threw her hands in the air. "Okay, let's pretend for a second that you're not a complete idiot. What exactly do you plan to do in the mortal world? Walk into a village and say, 'Hello! My name is Raezel, son of Medusa! Please don't throw pitchforks at me'?"

Krios nodded sagely. "You do have a very pitchfork-able face."

I glared at him. "What does that even mean?"

Nyssa ignored us both and turned to our mother. "Mother. Please. Talk some sense into him before he does something that makes us all look bad."

Medusa had been silent through this entire conversation, simply staring at me. Unblinking.

And suddenly, I realized something.

…She wasn't mad.

She was processing.

Which was somehow much worse.

Then she let out a long, slow exhale, as if contemplating whether or not to throw me into Tartarus for my own safety.

Finally, she spoke.

"If that is your wish…" her voice carried the weight of storms. "Then I will see it done."

Nyssa froze mid-eye-roll. "Wait, what?"

Krios frowned. "That was… easier than expected."

Even I was caught off guard. I had expected an argument, maybe even a flat-out refusal. But instead—this?

Medusa turned, her golden eyes locking onto mine. There was no rage, no disappointment.

Only concern.

Not for the world.

For me.

She said, "Come, Raezel. If you are to live among mortals, then we will do this my way."

It was supposed to be a normal day for the King Eldors, The King of Velmor.

He woke up, stretched, probably admired himself in a polished bronze mirror, and then sat on his golden throne, ready for another day of ruling over people who had no choice but to listen to him.

Then, something strange happened.

A guard—a fully armed, battle-hardened warrior—ran into the hall screaming.

Not shouting. Screaming.

"W-WE HAVE A PROBLEM!" the guard stammered, pointing frantically toward the entrance. His face was pale. His hands shook. His knees looked like they wanted to quit their job.

The King frowned. "What kind of problem?"

The guard opened his mouth—then closed it—then opened it again. "I—It's—She's—"

Then another scream.

This time, from outside the palace.

And then the great doors swung open.

Not by force.

Not by magic.

No, they simply moved aside, as if they knew better than to stand in her way.

A noble gasped so hard he fainted.

A servant girl threw herself on the floor and started praying to every god she could name.

And the King?

The King went completely still.

Because stepping into his grand hall, uninvited, unannounced, unbothered—was Medusa.

The living nightmare of Olympus. The creature whispered about in horror stories. The monster who made even gods think twice before crossing her.

She walked in silence, her golden eyes sweeping across the terrified faces of mortals who wouldn't even dare to breathe too loudly in her presence.

And behind her?

Me, Raezel—her son, and current problem.

Nyssa, my older sister, who looked unimpressed but was very obviously enjoying watching people have full mental breakdowns.

Krios, my younger brother, smirked like he had been waiting for something exactly like this to happen.

The King, still frozen, finally managed to speak.

"…Why?"

It wasn't even a full question. Just the word why, as if he wasn't sure which question was the most important right now.

Then, very carefully, he turned his gaze upward.

"O mighty Zeus, if I have wronged you, please smite me now rather than let me die like this!"

And then, the air in the hall grew heavy, crackling with divine energy. A voice, deep as the churning sky and vast as the heavens, echoed from above.

"Even I, who sit upon the highest throne of Olympus, do not know the purpose of medusa's arrival."

The King's soul left his body.

Silence clung to the air, thick with unspoken fear. No one moved. No one breathed.

And then, Medusa took a step forward.

She did not glare. She did not raise her voice.

Yet when she finally spoke, her words carried the weight of inevitability.

"Take care of him."

The King blinked. Looked at me. Then at Medusa. Then at me again. Then back at Medusa.

"...I'm sorry. What?" 

Medusa's gaze remained steady. Unyielding. Absolute.

The King felt his entire bloodline shrink into nothingness. "O-Of course, great one," he stammered, nearly choking on his own words. "I will care for him as if he were—" He hesitated. He did not dare say my own son, for how could a mere mortal father a child of Medusa? "—as if he were a prince of my own kingdom."

His voice wavered, but his soul knew there was no room for refusal.

My mother's golden eyes studied him for a moment that stretched far too long. A flicker of something crossed her expression—satisfaction, perhaps. Or warning.

She turned to me. Her hand, cold yet impossibly gentle, brushed against my cheek.

"You do not yet understand what it means to bear my blood," she said softly. "But you will."

Then, as swiftly as she had arrived, she turned away. The serpents in her hair shifted, hissing softly, their movements a whisper of power.

A soft hiss. A shift in the air.

From the nest of serpents coiled atop Medusa's head, one moved.

Not in the usual restless, slithering way. No. This was deliberate. Purposeful.

The serpent uncoiled itself, its sleek, dark scales shimmering as it lengthened and stretched beyond what should have been possible. Then, with a ripple of magic, it took form.

A man—if one could call him that. Tall, draped in flowing obsidian robes, his eyes slitted like a viper's, his presence as sharp as a drawn blade.

Nihaga.

I didn't flinch. Because I knew him.

"My Queen," he said, his voice smooth as silk, his gaze unwavering. "I will not leave his side."

The King, who had just barely managed to start breathing again, went stiff as a corpse.

Medusa's expression remained unchanged. "You doubt my decision?"

Nihaga turned his piercing golden eyes on the assembled mortals, scanning them with the same warmth one might reserve for vermin.

"I do not trust them," he said bluntly. "And I do not like them."

The King looked visibly offended but had the survival instincts not to argue.

"I will remain with Raezel," Nihaga declared. "To protect him. To guide him. To ensure he is not…" He paused, then glanced at the King. "...contaminated."

The King swallowed hard. "C-Contaminated?"

And then, before the mortal ruler could even process the insult—

More hissing. More movement.

And then—chaos.

Every. Single. Serpent. That had ever lived in this kingdom—whether hiding in the forests, slithering in the cracks of ancient stone, or coiled beneath the palace itself—came forth.

The ground shook with their arrival.

The King aged five years on the spot.

Some were small, some were monstrous, some divine—yet all bowed before Medusa, before me and my siblings.

And then, in one singular voice, they declared:

"We will protect him."

A beat of stunned silence.

Then:

"No, I will."

"You? You're a garden snake, shut up."

"Excuse me? I was personally blessed by Lady Medusa herself—"

"You hiss too much in your sleep."

"I DO NOT."

"Enough, all of you," one of the larger serpents boomed. "We should be discussing who among us is most suited for this sacred duty."

"It is obviously me," Nihaga stated, exasperated.

"Like hell it is!" Another serpent snapped. "You're Medusa's favorite, that doesn't mean you get the first claim."

"I am not her favorite." Nihaga's eyes twitched. "I am simply more competent than the rest of you."

"Who?"

"Says literally everyone."

"You've never even fought a chimera!"

"Because I kill threats before they become chimeras, you brainless worm."

"Oh, now I'm a worm?"

"That's offensive to worms."

The argument grew louder. More heated. More terrifying.

The King, sitting utterly paralyzed, watched as his throne room turned into an arena of serpentine warfare.

Meanwhile, I just… sighed.

"Nyssa," I muttered, nudging my sister. "How long do you think this will last?"

She smirked, arms crossed. "At least another hour."

Krios groaned. "I hate family gatherings."

At the center of it all, my mother merely watched, the faintest smile playing on her lips.

She already knew the truth.

It didn't matter who won the argument.

Because no matter what—if a single scratch appeared on me, every last one of them would burn this kingdom to the ground before she even had to lift a finger.