Look, growing up with two minor goddesses sounds cool on paper. Like, wow, mystical powers and divine knowledge and all that jazz.
Yeah, no. Try living fifteen years on an island where your two moms are ancient, stunning, immortal, and terrifying.
Let me explain.
It all started with a baby in a boat—me, apparently—drifting up onto a quiet beach like some cliché prophecy child. A girl in a flowing white gown with violet hair and too much curiosity leaned down, poked my nose, and said:
"Is this… a boy?"
And because the gods love irony, I was an adorably pale little gremlin, complete with ghost skin and silver hair. Classic.
"But he's so cute," she cooed, like I was a puppy she found in the rain. She plucked me out of the boat and smiled—sweet on the outside, but underneath? Yeah, no, that smile could ice over a volcano.
"I'm Euryale," she said, cradling me like I was the world's fluffiest toy. "From now on, you're Cyd. You better stay adorable, got it? Or else…"
She didn't finish the sentence, but the way her eyes glinted said plenty.
Fast-forward fifteen years. That whole "stay adorable" thing? Yeah, apparently I was failing the assignment.
The sea was calm that morning. Too calm.
I sat on the edge of the island, white hair tousled by the wind, staring out at the horizon like it owed me answers. Some kids fantasize about long-lost parents or magical destinies.
Me? I was just waiting for a miracle or a monster. Whichever showed up first.
"Albinism," I muttered to myself, glancing at my pale arm in the sunlight. "Genetic curse or aesthetic blessing, who knows."
The thing about having no melanin is you're basically allergic to daylight. But thanks to some divine TLC from Euryale and Stheno, my skin didn't burst into flames. Perks of being raised by gorgons, I guess.
Now, if you're imagining a peaceful life sipping nectar and petting dolphins, think again.
My childhood was… complicated.
Like the time I tried to cut my hair when I was five. Thought I'd try a bold new look—bam, scissors to the scalp. Bad idea. They didn't say anything. Just stared at me. Euryale with that unsettling smile, Stheno with her unreadable glare.
I kept the hair.
And the tea-serving. And the nonstop "look how precious he is" treatment.
And I tolerated it. I really did. I figured a little creepy affection was better than getting eaten by a hydra or stomped on by some angry demigod with daddy issues.
Until I heard that conversation.
"He's not cute anymore," Stheno said, sipping her tea like she was discussing the weather.
Euryale twirled a lock of hair, pouting. "He's getting… manly. Like, with muscle definition and everything. Ew."
I froze behind the rock I'd been hiding behind, praying I'd misheard.
"Maybe we should… snip that part off," Stheno mused. Her tone was deadpan, but the glint in her eyes was not.
Euryale gasped—happily. "Ooh! Good idea!"
…Yeah. That was my sign from the gods. Time to run.
Back on the beach, I dug into the sand and yanked out my secret weapon—a tiny, handmade boat I'd been building in secret. Call it therapy. Call it a cry for help. Either way, it was my ticket out.
"No food. No water. No plan," I muttered, dragging it into the surf. "Perfect."
With a grunt, I shoved it off, climbed in, and let the current carry me. My hands were shaking, but I had one last thing to do.
I pulled out a dagger. Nothing fancy, just sharp enough for what came next.
Grabbing a handful of my long silver hair, I took a deep breath.
"Great Poseidon," I said, trying not to sound desperate, "I offer my most precious possession. My freedom. My past. My hair. Please… just don't let me die."
One slice. The wind caught the strands and whipped them out over the water like silver ribbons. Then—splash—a wave slapped me square in the face.
"…Thanks," I muttered, coughing up seawater.
The hair was gone. The offering accepted?
Or maybe the sea god just liked slapping runaways.
I wiped my eyes—only to find a fish flopping at my feet.
"Really?" I asked the heavens. "You send divine fish now?"
Not the weirdest gift Poseidon had sent me, to be honest. Once, he dropped a cooked chicken from the sky. Another time, a talking crab gave me directions.
I sighed and gutted the fish on reflex, like I'd done since I was eleven.
Inside? A pearl.
Of course. Poseidon-style travel funds.
But then the sea moved.
Ripples turned to waves. Bubbles frothed up like some mythological jacuzzi, and then—boom—dozens of fish leapt out of the water like I'd triggered a seafood apocalypse.
"POSEIDON, NO!"
I ducked as fish rained down, but just before they crashed into me, they all veered off and dove back into the sea. Like they were showing off.
Then—thud—my boat jolted forward.
Not wind. Not waves.
Something under the boat.
"Please don't be a sea monster," I whispered.
But no teeth came. No tentacles.
Just speed. The boat surged forward, faster than it had any right to move, skipping across the waves like it was being pulled by an invisible force.
I gripped the edges, wind roaring in my ears, salt stinging my eyes. Behind me, the island shrank fast.
No turning back now.