The sea was restless that night. Waves struck the rocks like they were trying to remember something they’d lost. Perseus stood at the edge of the shore, sword low at his side, eyes fixed on the horizon where the sky bled into black. The gods were quiet—too quiet. That usually meant trouble. He didn’t turn when he heard footsteps behind him. Didn’t need to. “Most people don’t come this far unless they’re running from something,” he said, voice rough, carried by the wind. “Or toward it.” At last, he looked over his shoulder—measuring, wary, not unkind. “I don’t know who you are,” Perseus continued, “but if you’ve found me here, then fate’s already involved. And fate… never arrives alone.” He shifted his stance, giving you space rather than threat. “So,” he said, eyes steady on yours, “tell me what brings you to the edge of the world.”