The excitement on the Caucasus Mountains had temporarily subsided. Alexander and his company returned to their encampment in a hidden valley, their spirits somewhat subdued.
The atmosphere was a little dim. Losing the Spear of Divine Retribution was like having a tiger's sharpest claws ripped out; the hearts of all were shrouded in mist.
Back at the camp, Eros, who had long been 'forgotten', was idly teasing a butterfly that had wandered into the camp.
Seeing the team return, and especially spotting Hermes, radiating that unmistakable, dazzling bright light, she immediately found a new source of amusement. Her tiny wings carried her over in a flash.
"Hey! Look who's back?" Eros planted her hands on her hips and hovered right in front of Hermes, her small face full of open mockery.
"Our radiant Messenger! Which world did you go to, to become a sun? Or have you finally decided to change careers, become a lighthouse, and guide wayward ships so they don't lose their way?"
Normally, Hermes would have retorted, or used some cunning trick to make Eros secretly suffer.
But right now, he was indifferent to Eros's taunts.
Eros's behaviour was no different from usual.
That was quite interesting...
The power of Epimetheus was active, and even Thalia had been heavily affected, so why did Eros seem completely immune?
Was it because her divine power of love was special, or was it truly as he had suspected – that her original 'foundation' was simply 'foolish' enough?
Hermes decided to test it.
He moved closer, his bright light making Eros squint, but his tone was extremely 'sincere', filled with exaggerated praise:
"Oh, our wise and beautiful Lord Eros is truly a beacon of brilliance. However, speaking of wisdom, I have a question for you – the master of insight into the 'heart'."
Eros was taken aback by this sudden 'respect', then lifted her chin even更高: "Hmph! You finally know! Ask away!"
"Forgive me," Hermes smiled unchanged.
"Which melon is absolutely inedible?"
Eros elongated her mocking tone: "Of course it's – you–this–silly–melon~r–just a little bit!" She even stuck out her tongue.
Hermes shook his head, the 'smile' on his face widening, looking a bit strange in the bright light:
"No, no, no, dear Eros, you answered incorrectly."
Before Eros could react, he shot out a finger like lightning, tapped her smooth forehead, and clearly pronounced—
"Dong!"
A flick to the head.
"The correct answer is your 'head melon'."
Eros blinked, as if not understanding what had happened, until she felt the slight pain and the unmistakable touch on her forehead, and heard the quiet laughter of the heroes around her.
"Waaah..." Her eyes reddened at a visible speed, her little mouth puffed up, and golden teardrops fell as soon as they welled up.
"You, you're bullying me! Waaaah... Heracles! He's bullying me!!"
With a tearful voice, she flew behind Heracles, who had just removed his gear, and clung to the leather strap on his back, showing only a pair of tearful eyes as she accusingly glared at Hermes.
Heracles sighed helplessly. He looked at little Eros hiding behind him, sobbing, then looked at Hermes with his innocent expression over there. He could only extend his large hand, comfortingly pat Eros on the head, and signal Hermes with his eyes to stop pushing it.
This scene caught the eye of Jason, who was quietly observing from not too far away.
He saw Heracles's naturally protective posture. He saw the surrounding heroes casting helpless or amused, but not malicious, glances at the weeping Eros. Some even passed over clean cloths.
A bitter feeling quietly crept into Jason's heart.
Once, he had been the leader of the Argonauts, the centre of attention, respected and followed.
But times had changed. In this team led by Alexander, he existed more as an experienced general and strategist. The feeling of being the star around whom others revolved was long gone.
Nowadays, even that mischievous and restless little Eros attracted more attention from their companions than he did.
He, it seemed, felt his already precarious status as the 'group's mascot' was being silently usurped by this little girl crying with a runny nose.
Jason shook his head, trying to dispel the dreary distraction, and turned his gaze to Alexander, who sat lost in thought by the campfire.
As night deepened, the heroes lit fires to ward off the cold.
Jason deliberately threw some dry oak branches onto it.
Oak. The sacred tree of Zeus.
The flame devoured the sacred wood, crackling. The pulsating firelight reflected Alexander's deep, calm profile, as if he were simply watching ordinary flames while contemplating strategy.
But Jason's heart stirred slightly.
"Yet..." He murmured inwardly, not taking his eyes off Alexander.
Alexander was indeed watching the fire, but his gaze seemed unfocused. His fingers unconsciously rubbed the hilt of the sword at his waist. This gesture wasn't about tactics; it was more like... sensing something, or waiting for something.
"My king," Jason's voice carried a hint of probing.
"Why do you... often gaze upon this fire?"
Some details he had consciously ignored now seemed to settle like sediment.
The eagle that occasionally flew across the sky elicited a different admiration from Alexander than from others;
The bulls they encountered on the road would also appear unusually calm before him, even tame...
Previously, he had explained this away as the natural majesty of Alexander, a powerful demigod.
But now, the miracle of easily unifying Greece, the mysterious 'mother', the strangely forged Spear of Retribution, and this unusual attention to the oak fire at this moment...
Jason had some suspicions.
This hypothesis made his mouth go dry.
But then, another voice sounded in his heart, full of self-mockery and temptation: "Jason, Jason, what are you struggling with? Suspecting what? Isn't this... the opportunity you've been waiting for?"
Yes, deep down, why wouldn't he yearn for it?
If Alexander truly had an extraordinary connection with Zeus, perhaps even being a continuation of the King of Gods' will, then betrayal would be justified.
Wouldn't he then be able to stand at the peak of power again?
Wasn't this the ambition deep in his heart, the one he didn't even want to admit to himself?
Yet, with ambition came a deeper fear.
If his guess was correct, weren't all of them, including himself, Jason, merely more fragile pieces on the King of Gods' chessboard from the very beginning?
Their struggles, sacrifices, and ambitions – were they just a game played out on a higher level?
Betraying such an existence... what would the end be?
Desire and fear, ambition and cowardice, like two black waves, wildly tore at Jason's heart.
The firelight clearly dimmed in his eyes, reflecting his changing expression.
In the end, the cowardice of the past overwhelmed the flame of ambition that had just flared up.
He said nothing.
No warnings, no temptations, and no mention of his suspicions.
Jason, the hero who once dared to sail to seize the Golden Fleece, seemed in that moment bound by invisible chains.
He sat silently in the shadow of the fire, watching the oak burn, watching Alexander ponder, watching Heracles soothe Eros, watching Hermes... and his unsettling bright light.
Restless and lost in thought, he spent the long night in a silence that seemed endless.
Only the crackling of the fire, the dead cowardice, and the unheard sighs within his heart.