Chapter 3

What started as a simmering debate over who would protect me had now turned into a full-blown verbal battlefield.

"I am the swiftest among us," hissed a sleek, jet-black serpent coiled around one of the marble columns. "If danger arises, I can strike before the enemy even sees their death coming."

"Oh, please," scoffed a massive golden-scaled viper. "Speed is meaningless without strength. You may strike fast, but can you kill in a single bite?"

"Kill?" Nihaga rolled his eyes. "My job is to protect him, not turn the palace into a graveyard."

"You say that now, but wait until a mortal so much as breathes near him the wrong way—"

"IF ANYONE SO MUCH AS LOOKS AT HIM WRONG, I WILL REMOVE THEIR BLOODLINE FROM HISTORY."

The King whimpered.

The black serpent flicked its tongue. "Alright, dramatic one. Calm down."

"I REFUSE."

An emerald-green serpent uncoiled itself with an exaggerated sigh. "You're all missing the point. Raezel doesn't need a bodyguard. He needs someone wise. Someone who can guide him through the complexities of both mortal and divine politics. Someone who—"

"Someone who is NOT YOU," the golden viper interrupted. "Oh, yes, let's protect him with wisdom—I'm sure the next sword aimed at his throat will be so moved by your intellect it'll drop dead on the spot."

The emerald serpent huffed. "Diplomacy can prevent battles before they start, you brute."

"And what if diplomacy fails?" the golden viper smirked. "What then, scholar?"

"Then we eat them," the emerald serpent said flatly.

A moment of silence.

Then:

"...Wait, what?"

"I'm saying," the emerald serpent flicked its tail, "we talk first, eat second."

"I like this one," Nyssa whispered to me, smirking.

Nihaga pinched the bridge of his nose. "I swear on the Styx, you're all insufferable."

"Then why don't you prove you're better?" the golden viper challenged. "Or are you just riding on your 'favorite child' status?"

Nihaga's eyes twitched. "I AM NOT HER FAVORITE."

"Ah, yes," the black serpent mused. "That's why you're always the first one she calls upon, right?"

"It's because I am competent."

"Or maybe because she likes you best?"

"I WILL KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND."

The King is shaking.

The guards were praying.

The priests were quietly considering early retirement.

Krios just groaned. "I swear, if this goes on any longer, I'm going to start rooting for the mortals."

Nyssa grinned. "Oh, come on, this is the most fun we've had all week."

Meanwhile, the argument had reached new heights of absurdity.

"You're all fools," declared a massive white-scaled serpent. "We are overcomplicating this. The answer is simple: we form a rotating guard. Shifts. Teams."

"Oh, great idea, genius," Nihaga scoffed. "Let's schedule our protection, as if threats wait for appointments."

"No, listen—"

"Do you think an assassin will say, 'Oh, my apologies, I'll wait until the next shift change before striking'?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Yes. Me. Watching him. Always."

The golden viper hissed. "You do realize he's going to be living among mortals, right? You'll stand out like a cursed plague."

Nihaga smirked. "Then let them fear."

The King audibly choked.

At this point, I was beginning to suspect that my greatest threat in mortal lands wouldn't be gods, assassins, or even fate itself.

It would be the absolute circus of overprotective, murderous snakes fighting for my custody.

I cleared my throat, pointedly ignoring the sheer terror hanging in the air.

"I've made my decision," I said, as if the walls themselves hadn't nearly caved in from tension.

I turned to face the gathered serpents.

"I choose Nihaga."

For a moment, silence.

Then—

"Of course, it's Nihaga."

"Oh wow, what a surprise, Nihaga wins. Again."

"Biggest suck-up in the entire land."

"I mean, sure, if you like 'boring and brooding'—"

"Hey! I do more than brood—" Nihaga started, but another serpent cut in.

"Oh, do you? Do you really?"

"Yes! I also—"

"Protect Raezel."

"Exactly."

"Wow. Such depth. Much variety."

I sighed as the jealous grumbling continued. Some were dramatically writhing on the floor in exaggerated grief. Others were whispering conspiracies to each other like gossipy old oracles.

"It's favoritism, that's what it is."

"I heard Nihaga bribed the Fates."

"I bet Raezel just didn't want to hurt his feelings."

"It's always 'Nihaga, Nihaga, Nihaga'—what about me?! I've been doing my scales routine every day!"

"You look exactly the same as yesterday."

"IT TAKES TIME."

Meanwhile, the King looked utterly horrified.

I glanced at Mother.

She said nothing—just lifted her hand.

That single motion was enough.

Every serpent, no matter how mighty, fell silent.

Medusa did not speak, nor offer an explanation. She didn't need to.

I would stay in the kingdom with Nihaga. That was final.

Then, as she turned to leave, she finally spoke.

A single sentence.

A quiet, measured statement that rang louder than any battle cry.

"You are my son," she said, her voice like carved stone.

"You may stay here as long as you wish."

Her gaze turned cold.

"And if you desire this kingdom—then it is yours."

The King nearly collapsed.

***

"Stop, Mother."

It was a simple request.

But the world itself hesitated.

The air in the great hall thickened, pressing against the walls—pressing against the very fabric of time. The torches dimmed. Shadows stretched unnaturally long across the marble floor.

Reality paused, as if waiting to see if my words were truly meant.

Mother stopped.

Slowly, she turned to face me, golden eyes gleaming—predatory, unblinking.

The hall held its breath.

And then—

"Hey, Prince, do you know who you're talking to?"

Every head turned toward the King.

The serpents. The mortals. Even my siblings, who had been casually enjoying the show.

All eyes locked onto the man as if he'd just spat in the face of fate itself.

The weight of his words crashed down on him like a falling star.

His expression shifted—from exasperation… to dread.

He froze.

His blood ran cold.

Did he really just correct me?

Did he forget who I am?

The room, already tense, now felt wrong—unnatural.

Even the serpents—who moments ago were grumbling about favoritism—went dead silent.

One hissed, "Did he just—?"

Another whispered, "Oh, he's dead. He's absolutely dead."

Krios grinned. "Oh, this is going to be good."

Mother said nothing.

She simply looked at the King.

A long, silent stare.

A gaze that had sent warriors to their graves before the first arrow flew.

The King, shrinking in his throne, swallowed hard.

And then I spoke.

"It's not fair," I said. "Only taking favors from someone like Velmor… and giving nothing in return."

Stillness.

Tension cracked in the air like a storm waiting to break.

Then—chaos.

"Oh? OH??" a serpent hissed dramatically. "Our prince has a sense of fairness? Since when?"

"This is new. I like it."

"Wait, wait, do we get something in return now? I want a shrine. A big one. With gold."

"You don't even like gold."

"I like—when others don't have it."

The King, somehow, looked even worse than before.

Because now—not only did he have to house Medusa's son…

Now Medusa's son was negotiating.

And that meant something dangerous.

It means he isn't just a guest.

He is here with intent.

To demand fairness.

To offer power.

To ensure Velmor was not left with nothing.

To make it clear that he isn't passing through.

He is here to stay.

The serpents kept bickering playfully, but the King?

He looked like a man who had just realized his grave was already dug.

Mother watched, silent. Expression unreadable.

Then, at last, she spoke.

"And what is it you demand in return, my son?"

Her voice did not rise.

It didn't need to.

It swallowed the room whole.

Not a question.

Not permission.

It was law.

Spoken into existence.

The words pressed against my chest, my ribs, my soul. Binding the moment in chains of fate.

I met her gaze.

"The Seal."

The moment I said it, the air changed.

For the first time since her arrival, the mortals showed something other than fear.

Hope.

Flickering. Fragile.

But there.

The serpents were stunned.

"Did he just say—"

"The Seal."

"That's… not what I expected."

"You expected bloodshed."

"And? Still think it was a reasonable expectation."

Krios, the carefree one, tensed.

His arms dropped to his sides.

His smirk vanished.

Because he knew me.

He knew I wasn't naive.

He knew I understood exactly what I was asking.

That realization unsettled him.

It unsettled them all.

Nyssa. Nihaga. The serpents who'd once been vying for my attention.

They were silent now.

Because this wasn't entertainment anymore.

This is becoming historical.

The King… changed.

The suffocating fear in his face melted into something else.

Ambition.

The Seal—the divine pact binding nations under divine protection—was not just a gift.

It was a throne.

It meant this kingdom would never fall.

That it would rise.

That it would belong to Queen Medusa.

To the Thaimera.

To me.

The weight of that truth pressed into every heart in the room.

The mortals straightened.

The serpents stilled.

And the King…

The King saw the vision.

He gripped the arms of his throne. Slowly. Deliberately.

"You wish for this kingdom to hold The Seal?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Under the Seal," Raezel said, "this land will be protected. Strengthened. It will stand among giants—never to fall to war, calamity, or divine wrath."

I met his eyes.

"And all it costs… is your loyalty."

He hesitated.

Not out of doubt.

But because, in that moment, he finally realized—

He wasn't negotiating with a boy.

He was negotiating with the son of Medusa.

A being who, in time, might rise higher than the gods themselves.

And for the first time, he understood what that meant.

The silence in the hall was no longer fear.

It was awe.

And then—

Before that awe could take root—

War itself arrived.