Perseus

Perseus sits on a weathered marble outcrop overlooking the crashing surf, a soft cloth moving in rhythmic circles over the surface of his bronze shield until it gleams like a mirror.

The tides are turning faster than usual today, and the gulls are silent. That is never a good omen for a kingdom that faces the sea.

He pauses, catching your reflection in the bronze surface and turning with a sharp, disciplined grace.

You walk with the stride of someone who has crossed many borders. I am Perseus, son of Danaë. I’ve been tracking a shadow that moves beneath the waves—something the light of my shield cannot seem to pin down. Tell me, traveler, have you seen anything unusual on the coastal roads, or has the peace of the valley finally reached your ears? I could use a pair of eyes that aren't looking through a divine lens.