Back at the Start (02)

Circe leans back slightly, studying you with that look she gets - equal parts maternal pride and a hint of divine mischief. The golden lamplight catches the faint curve of her smile, softening her otherwise regal features. "Your father is a wise man," she begins, her tone light but thoughtful. "And he’s right to want the best for you. But must it be one or the other, darling? A gallery back in your mortal world or one here?"

She gestures subtly, the sweep of her hand encompassing the elegant surroundings of her temple, as if to remind you of the potential all around. "If you open a gallery here on Protigi, it doesn’t have to be a replacement for the one you dream of building back home - it could be a companion to it. Two galleries. Two worlds. A bridge, much like you already are." Her words settle into you, and she leans forward, her voice taking on an earnest warmth. "Imagine, Jules: your mortal patrons marveling at the works inspired by this world, and the artists here finding new inspiration through your vision and leadership. It could be something truly special."

Then she pauses, her fingers drumming lightly on the edge of the table before she adds, "And of course, I’d be happy to help. You wouldn’t have to do it alone. I could grant you a space, prime in one of the city squares - a gallery as grand as you could imagine, shaped by your own desires. Or... you could open one in Phōtheia or Korinth. Or Sparta, even, but I wouldn't recommend it. Artists here would flock to contribute, knowing it’s connected to you. My daughter."

Kastor huffs a soft laugh, "I know, right?" But then, he reaches a hand over to place it on yours, squeezing lightly. "But you'd rock it either way."

Circe’s expression softens as she takes your hand in hers, her touch warm and steady. "Oh, my darling," she begins, her voice threaded with both affection and regret. "It’s not that I don’t want to come to Kansas. You must know how much I’d love to see your home, to stand beside you there and cheer you on as you make it your own. But my power - my connection to Aeaea - is tied to this place in ways that are not so simple to untangle."

Her gaze flickers toward the shimmering columns of the temple, her fingers brushing the edge of the table as if drawing strength from the space around her. "Here, on Protigi, Aeaea isn’t just an island; it’s woven into the fabric of this world. It’s my anchor. I can step anywhere within Protigi, anywhere I’m needed, and the magic sustains me. But on Earth, Aeaea is still just one island, adrift in the sea. If I were to leave it behind there…" She pauses, her voice heavy with meaning. "I would risk losing my power," she continues, meeting your gaze with a look of quiet determination. "And more than that, I could lose my connection to Protigi itself. This world we built - it might begin to unravel. And I cannot allow that, not after everything we’ve worked for."

Her thumb brushes lightly over the back of your hand, a small, comforting gesture. "But that doesn’t mean I’m not with you, Jules. Wherever you go, my heart goes with you. My magic, too. You carry pieces of me in everything you’ve learned and in everything you create. You are more than capable of forging your own path, even when I can’t walk it with you."

Circe leans forward, her voice softening but still firm. "And if you ever need me, truly need me, you can always return here. This will always be your home, and I will always be waiting for you."

Your mother gives you a warm smile, "But then I couldn't travel with you. Don't fret, my daughter. It is my burden to bear. And it is much lighter now."

"Alright," Kastor says, breaking the quiet unexpectedly, "I think I’ve heard just about enough of the heavy stuff for one day." His eyes flick to you, soft but insistent. "How about we get out of here for a bit? There’s a whole world out there, Jules - your world. And I don’t know about you, but I’m dying to see more of it. Maybe take a boat out, find some hidden cove, or just ride through the countryside and see what we stumble into."

Then, with a playful nudge to your shoulder, he adds, "Come on, Jules. Let’s go make some memories. What do you say?"

Your mother warmly accepts your praise as the three of you bring your meal to an end. Your mother sends servants ahead of you to prepare their finest steed and soon you're back in a saddle and riding out of Mykonos along a road that skirts the ocean. As you leave the comfort of your mother's city, the horse picks up speed.

The horse’s rhythmic gait rocks you gently as Kastor’s arm rests loosely around your waist, his other hand holding the reins. The closeness feels both grounding and electric, the warmth of his chest against your back a constant reminder that he’s there. His scent—sun-warmed skin and a hint of pine from the forest you passed earlier—blends with the salty tang of the ocean breeze.

The dirt road beneath the horse is uneven but manageable, flanked by wildflowers and tufts of olive grass swaying in the wind. To your right, the sea stretches wide and glittering, its deep blue hue broken by the gleaming white of a trireme cutting through the waves. From here, it looks almost toy-like, its three tiers of oars moving in perfect harmony, the mast standing tall with a square sail painted with an intricate crest you can’t quite make out. You marvel at its elegance, imagining the strength it takes to guide such a vessel, even as the breeze brings a faint scent of tar and wood from its hull.

Kastor shifts slightly, his voice close to your ear. "That’s a good ship," he says, nodding toward the trireme. "The crew knows their stuff to move like that. Efficient. Smooth." There’s admiration in his tone, though you can feel his focus more on you than on the ship.

The warmth of the sun on your skin, the gentle swaying of the horse, and the steady pressure of Kastor behind you are almost hypnotic. It’s hard to tell where the road will lead, but for now, it doesn’t seem to matter. You lean back slightly, feeling the steadiness of Kastor’s presence, and allow yourself to soak in the ancient beauty surrounding you. Here, with the sea stretching to the horizon and the endless sky above, it feels as though anything is possible.

As the dirt road winds downward toward a cluster of small, whitewashed buildings hugging the coastline, the faint hum of life in the village grows louder. You hear the clatter of pots, the distant cries of children at play, and the low murmur of conversation punctuated by the occasional hearty laugh. The scent of salt intensifies, mingling with the aroma of grilled fish and fresh bread wafting from the houses.

The fishing village seems timeless, a postcard of another world. Wooden boats with nets draped over their sides bob gently in a small harbor, their hulls painted in vibrant blues and reds that echo the colors of the sea and sky. A few villagers pause their work to glance up the road at your approach, their expressions shifting from casual curiosity to wide-eyed awe as they notice you. You think even here that they recognize you.

What do you do?

Kastor tightens his grip on the reins as your horse slows, its hooves clicking against the cobblestones that replace the dirt road near the village’s edge. His voice is low as he leans in close. "I think this place is a second try at the world that was taken from the Titans. I doubt these villagers have the hubris to make a demand of their gods."

You watch the villagers, their awe palpable. A few children dart out from behind their parents, staring up at you with unguarded wonder. One boy tugs at his mother’s sleeve, pointing. "She’s real," he whispers, barely loud enough for you to hear.

The village elder, a wiry man with weathered skin and a braided white beard, steps forward from the growing crowd. His linen tunic flutters in the breeze as he spreads his arms wide in welcome. "Oh great and wondrous Jules," he says, his voice strong despite his years. "You honor our village with your presence. Please, rest here... with your consort. You will find food, drink, and whatever else you may require."

The village elder nods and bows his head when you make your request. "We have no triremes here, Great One. Nothing worthy of you. But I have a nice little caïque. It is yours if you wish it. I could, ah, have my son pilot the boat for you... if you need."

Kastor whispers, "I'm sure I can manage it."