Six days later, the carriage rattled toward Thessaly with an unusual passenger.

  Eros. The god who nearly got us killed.

  He looked barely old enough to shave, but already had that god-smile—the one that said everyone adored me, and I knew it. Stylish brown hair fell in soft waves around a too-beautiful face, eyes glittering with mischief. Even sitting still, he radiated the confidence of someone who'd never been told no.

  He was being scolded by Ergana and Hebe for giving his arrow to a Keres.

  "Aunt Ergana, please! It was just a little arrow!" A whine. "She was cute! Stygere was so insistent, and she said it was for... uh..."

  "A tool you gave to an agent of ruin." Ergana's voice was ice-cold. "Which nearly birthed a Calamity."

  "Think Diamy can hear this?" Lena elbowed me, whispered.

  "Oh, she definitely can."

  So the god who caused our last problem is sitting right here, getting lectured like a child. Sometimes I forget how terrifyingly whimsical the gods can be.

  "Giving divine instruments to agents of ruin, Eros, always hurts someone." Hebe's normally gentle expression hardened into something unyielding.

  "And do not call me 'Aunt', child. Show some respect." Ergana fixed him with a look that could freeze the Aegean Sea solid.

  Then came the bombshell.

  "Nine hundred drachma." Ergana announced. "Guild registration fee. Due upon arrival in Thessaly."

  Lena appeared like she'd been punched. "Nine hun—! We just spent everything on repairs!"

  Eros, oblivious to the devastation he'd caused, clapped his hands together. "A problem I can solve! To make amends for my... slight error in judgment—" He ignored Ergana's derisive snort. "—King Midas of Phrygia needs assistance with a golden problem. Five hundred drachma!"

  Ergana's expression remained cold. "My guild has pressing business in Epirus. A wedding." Her tone made clear she considered it far more important than their problem. "You're on your own, Hebe."

  A familiar story. Thrown into the deep end with an anchor tied to our feet.

  I turned slowly toward Hebe, a fox-like smile playing on my lips, but a vein throbbed at my temple. "So." My voice was deceptively calm. "You kept this debt silent for this long?"

  Hebe had the grace to look utterly chastised, shrinking into her seat. The remaining hour passed in tense silence, broken only by the clatter of wheels and Eros's failed attempts to lighten the mood.

  Finally, the carriage stopped at a dusty crossroads outside the city. We disembarked—myself, Lena, and a visibly anxious Hebe.

  "Do not squander this opportunity." Ergana said curtly from the shadowed interior.

  As we turned to go, Eros leaned out the window, flashed a dazzling smile at Lena. "Farewell, fierce one! Perhaps our paths will cross again?"

  Lena didn't even glance back. She simply raised a hand, made a swift dismissive flicking motion—as if shooing away a gnat. Eros's smile faltered into genuine surprise. From the driver's seat, Diamy let out a single sharp bark of laughter.

  The carriage pulled away, left us alone in its settling dust. In the distance, the palace of Midas gleamed ominously—no divine safety net, no powerful allies, just a secret debt, a goddess in over her head, and a king with a problem literally worth its weight in gold.

  "Right." I sighed. "Let's go see about this 'too much gold' problem."

  -?-

  The silence was shattered by a grating screech of metal on stone. Ahead, what I'd mistaken for a grotesque statue lurched to its feet—a humanoid form over two meters tall, its features blurred and melting like fever-dream sculpture. It turned its blank face toward us, began a slow grinding charge.

  "Lee!" I barked, planted my feet, brought shield and spear to bear. My quarterstaff glowed with faint emerald light as I channeled my will into the wood. "Sideros!" The verdant leaves entwined near the spearhead withered instantly to black dust, their life-force consumed to harden the wood to iron-like strength.

  Lena shoved Hebe behind her, hands curling into fists. "Stay back, Dia!"

  The Molten Gold Golem lurched forward, its roar—metal tearing, grinding—making my teeth ache. Slower than the forest wolves. But if that fist connects...

  Its gleaming bulk promised one thing: we didn't want to get hit. I waited for the perfect moment as it lurched within range, then lunged. The iron-hard point sank deep into its molten leg with a sickening squelch, golden ichor—spatters of searing liquid metal—sizzling as they flew from the wound.

  The creature bellowed. I pivoted, spun the butt of my spear in a low sweep aimed at its weight-bearing leg. The hardened wood cracked against its shin with a resonant CLANG, staggered the creature, left a visible dent.

  Lena exploded into motion, Promethean Flame erupting around her fists. "My turn, you walking treasury!"

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  CRACK! THUD!

  Each impact sprayed droplets of molten gold, caused the golem to reel, its form visibly softening under the intense heat. Enraged, it swung a massive golden fist in a wide arc. Lena twisted, but not quite fast enough—the blow connected with her side, staggered her back. Golden slag spattered across her armor and cooled into dull metallic scabs.

  It's so slow... and its force isn't even half the Crimson Minotaur's. Still strong enough to hurt us, though.

  "Here!" I barked, drew its faceless gaze. In one smooth motion, I hurled my spear like a javelin, aimed for where its face should be. The weapon sank deep with a wet metallic thud—the construct stumbled, movements becoming jerky.

  I rushed forward, ducked under a sluggish swing, planted a boot on its chest for leverage. With a grunt, I wrenched my spear free in a wide sweeping pull that tore through its substance.

  The inner light died, snuffed like a candle. The bubbling ceased, its forward momentum stopped.

  It toppled backward with a heavy final CLANG. It lay on the road, inert, now nothing more than a very valuable, very scarred solid gold statue.

  Lena shook her stinging hands, droplets of cooled gold flicking from her knuckles. "Well. That's one way to get a down payment."

  Hebe cautiously approached. "Is everyone alright?"

  "Some kind of metal construct." I muttered. "No idea how it works." A sudden rhythmic THUNK. THUNK. made me turn. Lena was delivering extra kicks to the motionless statue's torso, testing its inertness.

  "Yep. Definitely dead." She confirmed.

  We caught our breath, the road ahead clear, palace gates waiting. Then the unnatural silence was broken—not by another monster, but by a sound far more human.

  A sob. A raw gut-wrenching whimper of pure despair.

  Our heads snapped toward the source. In a shaded courtyard ahead, kneeling in the dust before a beautiful golden statue of a young woman, was a man in fine disheveled robes. His shoulders shook with grief.

  The statue wasn't artistic rendering—the pose was too natural, too full of life frozen in a single terrible instant. Surprise or joy forever etched in cold priceless metal. A young woman, frozen mid-step, hand reaching out, face full of concern.

  The fight hadn't been the crisis. Just a symptom.

  Gold. All gold. This was the problem.

  As Hebe took a sympathetic step forward, my arm shot out, barring her path. My spear rose slightly—not a direct threat, but caution. "King Midas?" I called out.

  The man flinched as if struck, his head snapping up. His face was streaked with tears and dust, eyes red-rimmed and hollowed by sorrow. He glanced at my weapon, then at our faces.

  "Who... who are you?" He rasped. "More thieves? Just... just leave me with my Marigold." His hand—wrapped in thick cloth—reached out to touch the golden statue's foot with infinite tenderness.

  "Who is Marigold?" Hebe's expression softened. She took a careful step forward.

  The question broke another dam. Fresh tears came, but he spoke through them, gaze locked on the golden face. "My daughter." He choked out. "My only... my beloved daughter."

  Now I get why Eros gave us this mission... "Love." Paternal love. Not some romantic fling—this. A father's grief, a heart shattered.

  Lena planted her hands on her hips, tone blunt but not unkind. "We're not thieves. We're here to help. The Sky Guild sent us. Cupid requested it."

  Midas's head jerked up, eyes widening with desperate angry recognition. "Eros? He sent you? After what he did?" His cloth-wrapped hand trembled as he pointed toward his daughter's statue.

  Midas wiped his face, gathered a sliver of strength. "I am known for my hospitality. Weeks ago, I found an old satyr, Silenus, lost in my gardens. I took him in, gave him wine, let him rest."

  "Silenus?" Hebe interrupted softly. "The companion of Lord Dionysus?"

  Midas nodded grimly. "Yes. The god himself appeared to reclaim his teacher. He was so grateful... he offered me any boon I desired." He let out a bitter laugh that cracked into something worse.

  Oh no. I know where this is going.

  "And I, fool that I am, asked that everything I touch turn to gold."

  Lena scoffed before she could stop herself. "You didn't think that through for five seconds? What about food?"

  "I DIDN'T!" Midas cried out. "For a day, it was a miracle! This throne? Gold! That vase? Gold! I was the richest man alive!" His euphoric memory shattered as he watched his hands as if they were diseased.

  "Then I tried to eat... the bread turned to metal in my mouth. The wine, solid gold in the cup. I was starving amidst a fortune." His gaze returned to the statue, voice dropping to a whisper. "And then my Marigold heard me crying out. She came running, her face so full of worry... for me."

  I can see it. The king crying, the daughter running to help. Not knowing.

  "She ran to embrace me." Midas whispered. "To comfort her foolish father. And the moment my skin touched hers..." He didn't finish. The golden statue was the end of the sentence.

  A wish not thought through. But if Dionysus was grateful, and this gift has caused such suffering, why hasn't he just taken it back?

  My voice stayed level, analytical. "If Lord Dionysus was grateful, why haven't you simply asked him to remove it?"

  Midas's face contorted in fresh frustration. "I have TRIED! For weeks, I've sent messengers, begged for an audience! But I'm never permitted to see the god himself." He gestured vaguely north.

  "I'm always met by his executives. The Hyades, they call themselves. Women who manage his affairs." He described them with a mixture of awe and resentment. "Ariadne—clever as a serpent, always smiling. She says my request is an insult to divine generosity. Altha Vie—loud, brash, smelling of wine. She laughs and says I should enjoy my fortune. And Deiah... the quiet one. She looks through me and speaks in riddles." He slumped in defeat. "They're a wall I cannot pass. They won't let me near him. They say I'm ungrateful."

  The real blockade. Not that the curse couldn't be lifted—the god's inner circle was actively preventing the solution.

  Perfect. Because fighting a Triton wasn't enough. Now we had to bypass divine executives.

  My eyes found Hebe's. At the mention of the Hyades, her expression tightened with recognition. "They are formidable." She confirmed quietly, stepped closer. "Ariadne, Altha Vie, Deiah. Not just retainers—Lord Dionysus's chosen trio. His voice and will when he's indisposed. Their combined Sthenos can create divine madness—euphoria for allies, confusion for foes. They reflect the three faces of his domain: desire, intoxication, and prophecy."

  "The three faces of his domain?" The image of Pheren and his mirror shield appeared in my mind, then his words. "Enkráteia...?" Not a monster to overpower. A puzzle—a wall of divine bureaucracy and power.

  "If they're that skilled, we don't stand a chance in direct confrontation."

  Lena cracked her knuckles, undaunted. "So we don't fight them. We sneak past. Or we talk our way through." Her fists unclenched slowly. "We'll fix this." Her voice was unusually quiet—not a promise, a vow.

  Hebe nodded, expression resolute. "A child should not pay for her father's mistake."

  Fragile desperate hope ignited in Midas's eyes. He quickly ensured his hands were wrapped in thick rags, gathered a small pack. The four of us stood at the edge of the courtyard, the golden statue of Marigold behind us in silent witness.

  "We have to find Dionysus." I said, the weight of it settling over us. "It's the only way to reverse the curse."

  Lena adjusted her pack. "Then let's go get our god."

  Hebe stared at Midas, at the statue, then at us. "The Thracian Forest. That's where his revels are held."

  Midas shuffled forward, a mournful figure wrapped in rags and grief. "I'll take you there."

  The road ahead wound into deep shadowy groves. Somewhere in that darkness, past a wall of divine bureaucracy and madness, was the god who could save Marigold.

  Or doom us all trying.

  We set out, left the golden daughter standing alone under the fading sun. My jaw tightened. My hand found my spear.

  The hunt for a god had begun. Not with strength, not with divine favor. With cunning, with patience, with whatever scraps we could turn into weapons.

  A fox-like smile touched my lips.

  They think we're just pawns. Let's show them what pawns can do.