A few days later, Samael declined the prince's hospitality and pleas to stay, stepping out through the gates of Calydon's royal city.
"Hey, I heard you're leaving, so I came to see you off."
By the roadside, Jason—who had clearly been waiting for him—walked over with his signature crab-like swagger, a grin spread wide across his face.
"That's thoughtful of you. Thanks."
Samael stopped and nodded in appreciation. Whatever Jason's character might prove to be in the future, at least for now, he treated his male friends with genuine warmth.
Of course, there was no denying Jason's friendliness with the Greek heroes served a purpose of its own. But even so, his willingness to put in the effort was, in itself, a rare quality.
"Bro, Caenis was sent by Areopagus to protect you, right? Since you've got that kind of pull, could you pass a message to Teacher Horse for me? Tell him I've graduated—and I'm not coming back."
Jason pulled a wine jar and two clay bowls from under a rock, pouring generously for both of them as he spoke with that familiar mischievous tone.
Teacher Horse?
You students really have kept Chiron's nickname alive all this time.
Samael accepted the bowl, swirling the amber liquid lightly. Watching Jason's characteristic dramatics, he couldn't help but chuckle.
Come to think of it, Jason had once been a member of the Academy of Athens—several years ahead of Caenis.
He had been the prince of Iolcos, but in his youth, his uncle Pelias usurped the throne. Exiled alongside his father, Aeson, Jason was later taken in by Chiron and became one of his pupils.
At the same time, the exiled prince studied Samael in turn. His gaze lingered on the snow-white owl perched on Samael's shoulder, and a complicated emotion flickered in his eyes.
A man personally approached by the Areopagus, under the favor of the Goddess of Wisdom—judging by his age and the rumors circulating, this fellow likely had ties to that childless old king.
For Jason, that realization stirred a sense of kinship.
If this man ever went home, he'd face a brood of fifty predatory cousins and an uncle waiting to devour him. Jason, at least, had already been driven out by his own.
"When are you heading back to Athens?"
The golden-haired youth draped an arm around Samael's neck with the air of a seasoned schemer, leaning close to whisper conspiratorially.
"I'm heading to Arcadia."
"Oh? Lying low for now, then slipping into the city later once you've got a handle on things—smart move."
Jason gave his shoulder a pat and smirked knowingly.
"And you? Where to?"
Samael didn't answer right away. He just glanced at the man with whom he'd built a modest camaraderie over the past few days.
"I've been gone from Iolcos long enough. I've made a bit of a name for myself. Time to go back."
Jason stretched lazily, his tone light and offhanded.
Samael's eyes narrowed slightly in thought. It seemed the Argonaut expedition for the Golden Fleece was about to begin.
In his recollection, Jason—exiled by his uncle—had returned home after more than twenty years of wandering, demanding to reclaim his father's throne. Pelias had agreed, on the condition that Jason retrieve the Golden Fleece.
So Jason gathered his crew, captained the Argo, and led a company of heroes to Colchis to claim the Fleece.
From an outsider's view, the exiled prince had shown impressive patience—spending years cultivating connections, joining countless ventures, and building the leverage needed to win back his crown.
But once he achieved power, his indulgence and lack of restraint came to light. In the end, he succumbed to pleasure, decayed in spirit, and in his later years abandoned both wife and children in pursuit of new desires.
"Alright, travel safely. If you ever need anything, just reach out."
Samael gathered his thoughts, patted Jason on the shoulder, and gave a brief word of advice.
"Sure thing. Just don't regret it later—I'm really good at being other people's problem."
The blond youth grinned lazily, his expression half-rascal, half-sincere, his laughter bright and open.
Then Jason's eyes darted slyly. He clapped his hands as a signal, and a towering, broad-shouldered figure stepped out from the bushes to his left.
"Headed to Arcadia, right? This friend of mine happens to be going the same way. How about you two travel together?"
Samael looked up at the man, who stood half a head taller than him, long hair framing a calm yet formidable presence. His expression turned slightly strange before he inclined his head in a polite bow of acknowledgment.
"Then I'll be in your care on the road, Lord Heracles."
The usually stoic man gave a serious nod in response.
Moments later, under Jason's envious gaze, Samael summoned his silver-winged Pegasus, while Heracles called forth his monstrous, man-eating steed. The two mounted their awe-inspiring companions and rode off, vanishing in a blur of dust.
If only I had a mount like that… Jason thought wistfully. When I return home, my uncle would drop his jaw on the floor.
Snapping back to reality, the golden-haired youth sighed, his face tinged with quiet frustration.
Heracles too—he just up and followed that guy without even a word to me.
If he came back to Iolcos with me, I'd have a much stronger hand when negotiating with my uncle.
What a waste.
Feeling somewhat dejected, Jason shook his head and turned back toward Calydon. From Prince Meleager's stables, he carefully picked a decent horse before setting out on his lonely journey home.
...
Because Prince Calydon's repeated invitations had delayed him, Samael picked up the pace once he left the city, with Heracles keeping close behind.
After several days of travel together, Samael gradually came to understand the hero's temperament.
Heracles was burdened by deep guilt and anguish. Other than the occasional necessary exchange, he rarely spoke, his mood dark and heavy.
He clearly wasn't one for conversation, and Samael was tactful enough not to press him, allowing the silence between them to settle into a quiet rhythm.
After a few joint skirmishes—bandit raids, beast hunts, and the like—the two had developed a mutual understanding of sorts.
It wasn't until they were more than halfway through their journey that Heracles, in a moment of drunken honesty, revealed his reason for traveling with him.
He had received an oracle from the Areopagus, instructing him to seek Athena's wisdom so he might break free from his agony, his curse, and the trials that bound him.
According to the divine revelation, a future king of Athens would hold the key to his redemption.
"Theseus, you're Athena's foster son. Once you return to the Areopagus, you'll surely have a chance to meet her. Please, ask the goddess how I can escape this fate.
In return, I'll do everything in my power to see you safely back to Athens—to take the throne that's rightfully yours."
Samael's face darkened as he reluctantly agreed to the heartfelt plea. But as he lowered his head, a flicker of divine resonance stirred—and in it, he seemed to see a white-haired little brat clutching her stomach, rolling on the bed in uncontrollable laughter.
Foster son? Foster son my ass. I'm your father!
That damned girl… she's getting bold, daring to mock me now.
Grinding his teeth in silent fury, Samael mentally jotted Athena's insolence into his private list of grudges.
...
By midday, the silhouette of a city rose faintly over the horizon. Heracles pulled on his reins and turned to Samael.
"Beyond this city lies open wilderness. We should restock our supplies before we go any farther."
Samael nodded in agreement, slowing their pace. In perfect sync, they concealed the divine traces and monstrous signs of their steeds as they rode toward the city gates.