I thought a two-week journey at sea was going to be boring. Or at least, that’s how it should have been, if not for the two beings on board who completely changed the situation: Elesya and Thanida.

  Since there was no direct route to Boeotia, we had to buy tickets on a sailing brig that made numerous stops at ports along the coast. Still, these stopovers had a small advantage: the ship anchored overnight in each harbor, allowing us to rest comfortably on land.

  Thanida had barely stepped onto the deck before she became the most popular presence among all the passengers. Naturally, her appearance drew attention first. She was tall, strong, and imposing, and her carefree, cheerful face carried the arrogant beauty of a war goddess who had descended among mortals. But that wasn’t all. There were other reasons she stood out on board.

  In the mornings, Thanida held fencing and magical combat demonstrations with the soldiers assigned to protect the ship. The upper deck turned into a small arena where she fought—even against three opponents at once. Unsurprisingly, she always emerged victorious from these mock battles, disarming her opponents with astonishing speed. Yet the soldiers were not offended in the least; on the contrary, the list of volunteers for her training sessions was always full. When she finished, Thanida patiently explained where they had gone wrong and how they could improve their technique, while the soldiers listened in delighted fascination.

  I had to admit to myself that the spectacle was thoroughly captivating. If it had occurred to Thanida to sell tickets to her training sessions for five sesterces apiece, we would have become rich very quickly. Unfortunately for us, she was interested only in glory, not money.

  After noon, Thanida would begin recounting the adventures of heroes from ancient legends to the passengers. She spoke effortlessly on such topics, as she knew the ancient writings perfectly—from the Iliad and the Odyssey to Ovid’s Metamorphoses and Apollodorus’s Bibliotheca. Unlike the writers of old, however, Thanida was familiar with many details that had not survived in the chronicles. That was how I learned, for the first time, that Herakles had been given not twelve but sixty-four labors by the gods, or that Achilles had besieged six cities, not just Troy.

  At times, Thanida gave the impression that she had personally known the figures she spoke about, as though she had lived for at least two millennia and visited every ancient city herself. Rather than diminishing her reputation, these ambiguities only enhanced it, and the people on board began to wonder whether they were dealing with a goddess disguised as a mere mortal.

  The most fascinating tale concerned Odysseus. According to Thanida, he had wandered the seas for thirty years, during which he circled the entire world to reach his homeland, the island of Ithaca. Along the way, he discovered new continents, reached both poles of the earth, descended into the depths of the Ocean to visit Atlantis, and even entered Mount Etna to ask the god Hephaestus for magical weapons.

  Of course, such a journey would have meant little without constant battles—ranging from pirates to monsters like Scylla and Charybdis. There were also brief romantic interludes, when the hero encountered various local princesses eager to offer him their undivided attention.

  If Thanida had told me that Odysseus had even set foot on the Moon, I wouldn’t have been all that surprised. Still, two weeks were not enough for the story to reach quite that far.

  Yet the most captivating moment for the audience came every evening. Using her magical ability to shape movies of fire, Thanida projected a forty-five-minute episode depicting her own imaginary adventures. These were not isolated stories, but parts of an entire season. Nearly all the ship’s passengers gathered on deck to watch a heroic tale being created on the spot, with Thanida herself as the protagonist.

  I noticed that Thanida had given me a role in her series as well. It wasn’t very important, but it was useful: I polished her weapons, shoed her warhorses, and fed them. From time to time, I cleaned her riding boots and harness until they gleamed. Elesya also received a secondary role, becoming a sort of maid who, in addition, cooked meals. Occasionally, in her generosity, Thanida allowed us to accompany her on dangerous missions—but things would inevitably go wrong, forcing her to look after us and rescue us whenever we made an unfortunate decision.

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  Since I did not wish to draw unwanted attention to myself, I asked Thanida to remove me from the series until the end of the season. She agreed. In the next fiery episode, a massive wave tore me from a ship and dragged me beneath the waters. I hoped with all my heart that my fate would remain exactly that—vanished without a trace—but Thanida disliked leaving things unfinished.

  Grieving the loss of such a dear friend as myself, Thanida devoted the next four episodes to an extraordinarily complex rescue mission. First, she had to discover where I was, which required questioning all the gods of Olympus. Then she gathered a team to help her, composed of the greatest heroes ever to walk the earth. After many twisted adventures and countless battles, Thanida finally tracked me down in the Underworld. Without much hesitation, she entered that dreadful place—though not before fighting Cerberus, the three-headed dog who guarded the realm of the dead. Impressed by her courage, Hades allowed her to retrieve me, especially after Thanida assured him that he could rely on her should the god of the underworld ever require help with a more difficult task.

  In the final scene of the last episode, I appeared embracing Thanida gratefully, while she explained with great modesty that she would do anything to save a friend, even bring him back from the dead, if necessary. Immediately afterward, I returned to the stables to tend to her horses. Moved to tears, the audience applauded at length, and Thanida promised that on the return journey she would create an even better season, filled with spectacular twists and suspense. I sincerely hoped that in that season I would be sick or away on vacation, so as not to take part in any more adventures.

  Despite her vanity, Thanida was, in the end, tolerable. As long as she didn’t cause me any serious trouble, I preferred not to interfere in her affairs—even if I wished she wouldn’t stand out quite so much.

  However, I had failed to take into account that there was another variable on board—one far more difficult than the first: Elesya. Upset that only Thanida shone in the eyes of the passengers, she decided to take matters into her own hands.

  Every morning, Elesya stepped onto the deck wearing a black outfit almost identical to Thanida’s, though much more form-fitting. It was a radical departure from the elegant Academy uniform she usually wore. The way she was dressed now immediately brought to mind the girls who jogged through Boston Common every morning to stay in shape.

  Elesya did not stop at changing her clothes; she had invested heavily in makeup as well. Her eye shadow emphasized her eyes in an almost aggressive way, and her eyebrows were now carefully shaped. She had pulled her hair back into a short ponytail so it wouldn’t get in the way during a potential fight. At her hip she carried a stiletto with a thin blade, barely larger than a pen. It was hard to believe it would be of any real use in an actual battle.

  Despite all her efforts, Elesya’s attempts to stand out did not have the desired effect. If Thanida looked like a war goddess ready to charge into battle, Elesya resembled an assassin who managed—perhaps too well—to blend into the background. Apart from me, no one paid her any attention. The sailors walked past her without a greeting, and the passengers ignored her completely, absorbed by the spectacle provided by the other girl.

  Every day, I watched Elesya closely observe the fights on deck. With eyes full of quiet envy, she tried to understand why Thanida—standing imposingly beside a mast—earned the admiration of everyone around her with almost no effort at all.

  In fact, Elesya did manage to draw attention once, when a sailor shouted at her to move because she was getting in the way of the ship’s maneuvers. Sighing, she withdrew to a corner of the deck, and none of my attempts to lift her spirits had any effect.

  It surprised me to see a girl like Elesya react so strongly to Thanida’s fame, but then I realized that even intelligent people have their own weaknesses. As an old proverb said, only the gods could truly understand what lay in a woman’s soul.

  One day, Elesya approached the soldiers training on deck and asked Thanida to let her join the fights. At first, everything went smoothly, but after a few minutes things spiraled out of control. The mock duel quickly turned into a real fight, and the two girls began hurling fire spells at full intensity, risking killing each other. Blazing flames flew in every direction, alarming both the passengers and the crew.

  Without hesitation, I immediately activated protective spell No. 46 and stepped between them, preventing them from continuing the attack. To calm the two stubborn girls, I had to resort to the ultimate argument: I warned them that if they failed to maintain strict discipline for the rest of the journey, I would abandon the mission to recover the Scepter. That would mean giving up the adventure, the glory, and the chance to claim the grand prize.

  Exactly like a corporate executive dealing with two overly ambitious associates, I had to explain that teamwork was essential to our success and that it was time to set excessive pride aside.

  In a professional tone, I stressed that this internal conflict was generating an unjustified waste of resources and undermining their ability to deliver results. If they did not immediately adopt a working model based on full commitment to the group’s objectives, I would be forced to declare the mission unfeasible.