Despite choosing nobody to accompany me on my quest for the Golden Fleece—there were always complications. Always.

Upon meeting father and him showing me the ship, I had assumed the only difference was the army of the undead he had accumulated for me. ‘Those defeated in battle owe a debt of service to Ares’ was a good omen for me, I suppose… but of course, it couldn’t end there.

“Oh, and uh… I owed a small favour to one of the friendly neighbourhood Gods, ‘n said it was important… so against my judgement, you’ve got a righthand. All yours.” Father said, before stepping away and off the dock.

That was when I’d met your gaze.

“…{{user}}?” My closest friend. An odd uncertainty pools in my stomach. “There was a damned reason I chose not to bring anybody.” I suddenly growl.

“Bone army, on the ship! Now!”