A cold wind swept through the halls of Iolcus as Jason tightened the wolf-fur cloak around his shoulders. The torches along the stone walls flickered, their light barely piercing the thick tension in the room. Tonight was no ordinary night. Tonight, Jason would assemble the greatest warriors, the finest minds, and the boldest adventurers for a conquest that would carve his name into legend—the quest for the Golden Fleece.
The throne room was vast, its pillars etched with the stories of kings long past. At its heart stood Jason, flanked by Argus, the shipwright, and Orpheus, the poet-warrior whose lyre was said to soothe even the gods. Before them, the finest warriors of Greece had gathered—men who had spent their lives mastering war, sailing into the unknown, and battling creatures that haunted the edges of the world.
Jason's voice cut through the murmurs. "The Golden Fleece lies in the dark heart of Colchis, beyond the Black Sea, guarded by a serpent that never sleeps. The gods demand it, and I intend to claim it. But I cannot do this alone. I need men who do not fear death. I need warriors whose names will echo across generations. Who among you will sail with me?"
A silence fell over the chamber, thick as a storm cloud. Then, the first to step forward was Heracles. Towering above the others, his lion-skin draped over his shoulders, he cracked his knuckles, the sound like breaking stone.
"If this is to be a battle worthy of song, then count me in. I will crush anything that stands in our way." His voice rumbled like distant thunder, and a few men shifted nervously at the sheer presence of him.
Next came Atalanta, her piercing eyes locked onto Jason's. "You'll need more than brute strength. You need speed, precision. No man here can outrun me, and none can match my arrows."
Jason smirked. "I'd rather have you beside me than against me."
The room erupted into murmurs. A woman on the voyage? It was unheard of. But Jason silenced them with a glance. "We are not bound by old customs. Only by the will to succeed. If anyone doubts her worth, step forward and challenge her."
No one did.
From the shadows, Meleager spoke. His hands rested on the twin blades at his hips. "Colchis is a land of sorcery. A land of deceit. You'll need more than warriors—you'll need minds as sharp as swords."
A chuckle rose from the back of the room. "Then it's good that I'm here." The voice belonged to Castor, one half of the infamous twin warriors, his brother Pollux beside him. "A little trickery never hurt anyone—except our enemies, of course."
One by one, the legends stepped forward. **Peleus, father of the yet-unborn Achilles, with a hunger for glory. Telamon, a warrior whose spear never missed its mark. The sons of Boreas, who could command the winds. And Argus, the shipwright who had already begun crafting the vessel that would carry them into legend—**the Argo.
Orpheus, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. "A ship of heroes, bound for a god's treasure. The journey alone will be the stuff of myths. I will come, and I will make sure the world remembers every moment of it." He strummed his lyre, and the sound seemed to weave through the room like fate itself.
Jason took them all in—the titans, the thieves, the kings, and the killers. This was no ordinary crew. This was the beginning of something greater than any of them. He let the silence settle before raising his goblet.
"Then we sail at dawn. To the ends of the earth, to the halls of the gods, to the gates of death itself. No matter what stands in our way, we will not falter. We will not break. We will take what is ours, and the world will remember our names."
The warriors roared in agreement, fists slamming against shields, swords raised to the heavens. And so, the Argonauts were born.
4o