The celebration in Argos erupted into an exuberant frenzy, surging from within the palace walls and spilling into the streets beyond. The air crackled with excitement as people poured outside, their faces alight with joy. Dancing and laughter swept through the crowds while voices rose in jubilation, punctuated by the rhythmic drumbeat of countless feet against the packed earth.

  One soldier, grinning widely, set up a wireless speaker that flooded the megaron with pulsating modern beats. The locals had never heard music emerge from a box before, and they stared in wonder as the infectious rhythm took hold. Wide-eyed and curious, they began to bounce and sway, their bodies moving to the alien sound like children discovering a new game.

  They attempted to mirror the soldiers' fluid movements but couldn't quite master the technique—not that it mattered. Their stumbling steps dissolved into laughter and exuberant freedom, creating a chaotic yet endearing spectacle of pure joy.

  The palace had transformed from its usual solemn grandeur to something resembling a toga party thrown in a barracks. Servants moved briskly through the crowds, carrying trays piled high with food and passing around goblets of wine that seemed to flow without end. The tables, once formal and pristine, were now overflowing with platters of roasted meats, fruits, and cheeses. Every corner of the grand halls was alive with laughter, the clinking of cups, and the unrestrained joy of the people.

  Time seemed to have stopped, giving the Argos people a brief, beautiful moment of happiness and unity. As the music continued, each pulsing beat fueled the wild and untamed revelry. This was a night of pure, unfiltered joy.

  As Jim wandered unaccompanied through the crowd, he found Medusa coiled up on a balcony, her gaze fixed on the port area below, lost in thought. He approached quietly, stepping up beside her.

  "Hey," he began, his voice soft but sincere. "You did good out there—saving the princess, the city, and that little boy."

  She didn't respond immediately, her eyes still locked on the horizon. After a long moment, she simply said, "Yes, Cetus is no more."

  Jim hesitated, his thoughts pressing against him. "I wanted to ask you something about what happened earlier today."

  Medusa turned slowly toward him, her face calm. "Yes?"

  "You deliberately changed the plan and went off on your own, didn't you?"

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  She blinked, her expression unreadable. "What? I don't remember."

  Jim furrowed his brow. "You sure? Tell me—did you purposely maim Cetus?"

  For a long moment, Medusa didn't answer. She looked down; her gaze shifting away.

  "Medusa," Jim said gently, but with growing concern. "Please. Be honest with me. Tell me you wanted it to suffer—that this was part of your plan."

  Medusa's face hardened, and for a split second, Jim thought he saw something flicker in her eyes. Then, with an angry exhale, tears welled up. Her voice trembled with frustration. "Fine! Yes, I did. I despise him! I hate everything about him—everything he is. And I hate his vile pet! I wanted it to suffer for what he did to me!"

  Jim let out a slow, steady sigh, his expression softening—not with anger, but with something heavier. Concern. Disappointment. A quiet hurt.

  "It's all right, Medusa," he said gently. "I know you do. I'm not upset about what you did—just concerned you didn't tell me ahead of time."

  Medusa's jaw clenched and her snakes writhed, their small hisses making the air tense.

  "Why?" she snapped, her voice edged with defiance. "You would've tried to stop me!"

  She turned away quickly, as if shielding herself from his gaze.

  But Jim stepped forward, unwilling to let the distance grow. "Hey," he said, stepping closer, his voice steady—gentle but resolute. "You didn't even give me the chance to." He exhaled slowly, trying to ease the tension crackling between them. Then, more softly, he added, "Medusa... look at me, please?"

  A long pause preceded her eventual turn, her annoyed expression clearly visible in her furrowed eyebrows.

  Jim held her gaze. "We could've at least talked about it. At least everyone would have been in the know. We could have gone over the plan together—understanding and anticipating the risks. But instead... you went off the rails. This deviation resulted in two injured men and a loss of valuable resources."

  Medusa's breath hitched, and the fire in her expression wavered. She murmured, "I know." Jim could hear the guilt creep into her tone, curling around the edges. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen."

  Her snakes, once bristling, now drooped slightly.

  Jim studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "I know you didn't. I'm going to take a big hit because of this. But the good news is, Cetus is gone. That's still a victory. If we're going to work together, we can't be blindsiding each other. We've got enough surprises coming from out there."

  Medusa lowered her head. "I hope I didn't get you in trouble with your superiors."

  Jim exhaled. "Next time, if you decide to rage out on someone—or something—just give me a heads-up, okay? Please?"

  Medusa's breath became even as she nodded slowly.

  "All right. I'll take that as a yes."

  She sniffled, wiped her eyes, and nodded again.

  "Good enough," Jim said. "You feeling better about all this?"

  Medusa took a deep breath, gathering herself. "A bit. You're very kind. People in this world wouldn't have been as forgiving as you."

  "I wouldn't expect them to be, as they're not as forgiving in my time either," Jim admitted. "But thank you." He offered a small smile. "Now, how about we get back and enjoy the celebration?"

  Medusa managed a small smile of her own. "Yes. Let's."