Under Apollo's prophecy, Poseidon's demands, and the gods' watchful eyes, Suren made a resolute choice: rejection.
He denied Apollo's prophecy, rejected Poseidon's conditions, turned down Jason's desperate plea, and declared before the gods, "I alone am enough to solve this."
Both the island of Propontis would remain, and the Argo would sail onward.
However, the gods' test did not end there. Suren's resolve marked a perfect start, but the question was whether he could match it with an equally flawless finish.
Simply declaring noble ideals would not prove Suren to be the one capable of bearing such a burden.
The crucial test still lay ahead: to cross the perilous Clashing Rocks without divine aid, relying only on his own strength and wit.
Should he cross—even if with heavy sacrifice—the gods would witness Suren's will and choices, potentially shifting their favor toward him in the end.
This thought made Athena tense as she cast a glance at Suren. The Clashing Rocks, impassable for any raven or bird—at the speed the Argonauts rowed, even if Heracles himself were there, they'd likely be crushed before reaching halfway.
Only the strength of a chief god could part those rocks or lead a ship safely through.
At Suren's words, the Argonauts raised their arms in a cheer, calling his name with all their might, though they couldn't yet fathom the task before him.
Not all had Jason's worldly wisdom to grasp the essence of every choice. They only knew that the Argo would continue forward, without betraying their friend.
Jason's expression softened as he looked toward Suren, murmuring, "Thank you, Suren…"
"Oh, come on, man, don't thank me for this," Suren dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Besides, it has nothing to do with you—don't go adding extra burdens on yourself."
He knew well this was a test orchestrated by the gods. Having grown bored for centuries, they finally had a lively drama at hand and couldn't resist taking center stage.
These tests would only cease once the father god, Zeus, recognized him and handed down a decision.
Every mortal was but a pawn in this game, save Suren himself. He had seen Jason's fierce resolve to sacrifice himself, only to be denied even death by the gods' will.
"Your resolve is admirable," Jason said at last. "I understand now."
"From now on, I'll no longer place my hope in the gods. The future of humanity… must be created by humanity."
Jason looked at Suren earnestly. "So, can you tell me honestly?"
"Do you truly have a way to cross the Clashing Rocks?"
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Just between us… If you're out of options, I can order a retreat. I'll take full responsibility. My dream, after all, is nothing compared to the impact you're poised to make for Greece, for all humankind."
Jason's sincerity shone through; he had been utterly moved by Suren's ideals and was even willing to abandon his cherished expedition for him.
"Idiot!" Suren retorted, smirking. "I don't make empty promises—what kind of man do you think I am?"
A retreat would have one outcome: Jason, once back in Greece, would choose death.
The Golden Fleece was his only leverage against his uncle Pelias, who had seized his father's throne. Without it, Jason would be a penniless fugitive with no way to challenge Pelias—he would choose death.
Laughing, Suren glanced toward him, "Captain, give the order! Argo's next stop?"
"Right!" Jason shouted. "The Argo sets sail! Next stop, the Bosporus—the Symplegades!"
—
"How fascinating, Suren! I'm only growing more intrigued!"
In the deep ocean, Poseidon burst into laughter within the palace of Atlantis. A lofty, high-minded hero's epic—this was leagues more entertaining than any Gorgon performance!
He instinctively reached to offer a gift of appreciation, only to remember the Trident of Oceanic Dominion clutched in his hand.
"That's right… I'm one of the players in this drama, too!"
"Now then, what was I supposed to do next?"
"Windstorm? Rainfall? Tsunami?"
Only now did Poseidon remember he was not only a spectator but also an actor. His role in the drama wasn't over.
With an air of theatrical gravity, Poseidon brushed dust off his robe and straightened, scowling, "How dare these insolent Argonauts defy me, Poseidon, and yet expect safe passage upon my seas?"
"If you will not heed my terms, then be torn to pieces amidst gales and tempests!"
Poseidon lifted the trident high. Instantly, as though a colossal hand churned the water, the turbulent sea grew wilder by the second.
A hurricane, waves, thunderstorm, hail, earthquake, volcano eruption…
Disasters erupted one after the other—any single one enough to destroy an entire fleet, let alone a mere ship.
In this ancient age, boats were simple wooden sailing vessels, and even the Argo, under divine guidance, was no exception.
The Argo shuddered and groaned with every towering wave, always on the edge of capsizing.
A monstrous waterspout descended from the clouds, its width enough to swallow ten Argos whole. Its devastating winds paled the faces of the Boreades, gods of the northern winds.
The Dioscuri, the divine twins of navigation and sailors, should have been able to guide the Argo through.
The Boreades, too, held dominion over the northeast and northwest winds. Yet in the face of Poseidon's fury, none could oppose the wrath of a chief god.
The Dioscuri looked pale, struggling against the winds. "So, this is the power of Poseidon, Sea King among the Twelve Olympians?"
Pollux gritted his teeth. "Suren, Jason—throw me overboard. It was I who killed Poseidon's son; I'll bear this alone."
"Silence! Don't burden Suren with such nonsense!" Atalanta shouted as she stowed the sails. "Rather than coming up with dumb ideas, work together to survive this!"
"I too have slain Poseidon's bloodline. Shall I be thrown out to calm Poseidon's rage?"
Castor pulled his sister close and sighed. "Suren would never abandon anyone to Poseidon. So let's face this storm together."
"Sister, come on. Let's use our powers to help the Boreades steady the Argo!"
Pollux turned to see the North Wind brothers struggling to unleash their limited powers against Poseidon's cyclone.
But Poseidon was the Sea King. He ruled the ocean, tsunamis, earthquakes, storms, horses, all sea creatures, and every maritime disaster. To embark on a voyage without honoring Poseidon was unthinkable!
Though they pushed themselves to their limits, even their control over wind was nothing against Poseidon's summoned cyclone.
Yet they fought on, hoping to shield the Argo.
Seeing this, Pollux said nothing further. She joined her brother, channeling all their strength into calming the chaotic seas.
Meanwhile, Suren, Jason, and the rest of the Argonauts gripped the oars under the direction of the helmsman, Tiphys, and began rowing in unison.
Against the gales, their strength—far above ordinary men—drove Greece's largest ship forward, forcing it through the raging Marmara Sea.
The Argonauts adapted gradually, stabilizing against the waves, though the Argo still swayed perilously. Yet under Suren's guidance, it drifted with the current rather than being swallowed by the sea.
Suren and the Argonauts knew that their true trial still lay ahead.
Even on calm seas, the Clashing Rocks were impassable for even the swiftest of birds. Any ship that dared enter would be shattered.
They rowed so furiously the Argo kept pace with doves, but even that might not suffice to cross the rocks.
Now, not only did they face the Clashing Rocks, but Poseidon himself, who turned the winds and waves against them with every stroke.
Each inch forward demanded an almost impossible effort, a price of defiance paid in an era when defying the gods carried a grave toll.
"Jason, Suren, we're nearly at the Clashing Rocks! If we continue, the Argo will be smashed!" Tiphys, gripping the tiller, shouted.
Before them lay the final barrier: two colossal cliffs that slammed together, separating and crashing anew at speeds invisible to the naked eye.
"So, this is it…" Tiphys muttered. "The impassable Clashing Rocks…"
"Suren, if you truly have a plan, now would be the time!"
Suren emerged from the ship's hold, standing on the deck. The winds seemed to soften at his presence as he gazed calmly into the face of Poseidon's rage.
"Just a little breeze, that's all."
"I said I'd cross, and so I shall."
Though his words were steady, Suren was braced for the worst. It looked like he'd soon be joining a rematch in the Underworld.
As the Argo neared the Clashing Rocks, every god watching grew intently focused, curious about Suren's next move.
Would he falter and beg the gods for aid?
Would he turn to Athena, Hera, Hestia, or Artemis?
If he sought aid, the gods would respond.
Whether from the three goddesses or others—even Ares or Zeus, king of all gods—they would lend their support to Suren.
But…
If Suren remained no more than Greece's greatest hero, that would not suffice for his vision of peace among gods and humans. The gods would support him but deny his dream.
Returning to stand with Hera and Hestia, Athena grew tense. She supported Suren fully, hoping he could surpass this trial and earn the gods' approval, lightening her own burden.
If he failed…
But no. There will be no failure.
Athena murmured, "My dear Suren, the Symplegades are no simple task. Formed from Gaia's wrath, even we gods find them perilous…"
"Suren, I pray you surpass every hardship in your journey."
The Clashing Rocks were indeed massive mountains that loomed over the Argo, its wooden frame dwarfed beneath their shadow.
Yet another danger lay in wait: monstrous birds, red-eyed and bloodthirsty, eager to tear out the eyes of any who dared venture too near.
Said to be manifestations of Gaia's wrath, they symbolized nature's fury against foreign gods.
With her bow drawn, Atalanta's arrows shone like streaks of light, felling hundreds of birds within moments.
Suren, however, remained unfazed.
As expected, within moments, new birds filled the cleared space, the air once more teeming with countless red eyes.
Atalanta, brow furrowed, gripped her bow. "Suren, this isn't right. These birds… they're endless!"
"Of course they are."
Suren nodded. "Didn't you notice the storm calm around us? Even Poseidon's rage subsides here—I doubt he's just being polite."
The waters had stilled, the raging waves now a mere ripple.
The Argonauts emerged from below deck, gazing in awe at the endless flock above.
Argive King Amphiaraus, favored by Zeus and Apollo, paled. "This is Gaia's curse—birds who eat the eyes of all who pass."
Gaia's punishment for humans—retribution for those foolish enough to forget her.
The flock descended, eager to rend and devour, as the Argonauts drew their weapons.
Suren calmly lifted the Aurum Altissimum bow, drawing a golden arrow—
With a single shot, the arrows split mid-air, one becoming two, two into four, until an infinite rain of arrows blotted out the sky.
The endless birds each found an arrow to the eye, the heads pinned where they stood, alive but effectively sealed.
A masterful display of archery, Suren had reached a new pinnacle.
These foul creatures, bound by Gaia's malice, were at last silenced.
But Suren's solution to this minor problem was merely prelude to the far greater challenge now before him.
The ultimate trial had arrived. Suren faced the true, seemingly impossible task—to defy the very rocks themselves!
Tiphys dared not give the command to advance. Yet, after all they'd endured, the Argonauts were unwilling to turn back.
Among them, Orpheus, Greece's greatest bard and Apollo's son, stepped forward, his voice soft yet resolute.
"Suren, I leave it in your hands."
"Please, do not let us grow old regretting this adventure's end."
"Otherwise—" Orpheus raised his quill with a wry smile, "I'll have no words for my epic of the Argo."
Suren said nothing. Instead, he touched his divine bow, the Aurum Altissimum, its gleaming string flowing like liquid, transforming into a golden rope.
He looped it around the Argo's prow and tied the other end around himself.
The Argonauts watched, breath held, as Suren set one foot onto the bow.
In that moment, he knew what he must do.
He would push the very rocks aside, dragging the Argo along with him, to force open the way.
Should the rocks be parted, cast into the sea, they would trouble the Greeks no more.
With a heart resolute, Suren was prepared to face the impossible.
Even the gods fell silent, for a path unlike any they could foresee had been set before him.
"Suren!"
In the next moment, Suren stepped onto the Aurum Altissimum, his radiant golden vessel. Like Ishtar's celestial vessel, Maanna, it could both draw arrows and bear passengers across the skies.
What he intended to do was beyond belief.
He planned to push apart the rocks that only a chief god could move, dragging the Argo laden with heroes and forcing the Clashing Rocks aside—out of the Bosporus Strait and into the Black Sea!
If the rocks could be removed into the vast expanse of the Black Sea, then even ten more sets of Clashing Rocks could disappear like mere drops in its waters, creating a safe passage for mortals forevermore.
In other words, Suren intended not only to lead the Argo through but also to free all of Greece from this fatal obstacle—a path that had previously destroyed any who dared challenge it.
But—
This was a task only a chief god could achieve, nearly a death wish for anyone else.
Were someone to claim that they could both drag a ship and move the Clashing Rocks, the Argonauts would laugh them off as absurdly foolish.
Normally, anyone attempting such a thing would either perish at the rock's edge or be crushed upon them.
Yet here they stood, watching, as Suren—wise beyond his peers and unmatched in strength—was prepared to carry out what was surely a suicidal feat, a hero's act that no mortal had dared before.
He intended to forge a new world for all of Greece.
The gods' will would not be absolute.
Atalanta, gripped with fear for Suren's life, shouted, "Suren, you—"
But her words were cut short by Jason. "Atalanta! Keep silent!"
"A noble girl should not interfere with her beloved. Do you not see, Atalanta? Greece's greatest hero stands before you."
Jason's tone was fierce, even scolding. Under normal circumstances, Atalanta would have decked him, using her skill to show Jason his place.
But now, seeing Jason's solemn expression and hearing his words, she couldn't help but lower her head, biting her lip as she murmured, "Suren, please… do not fall. If you die, then even if it means defying Hades himself, I will drag you back from the Underworld!"
Atalanta was not the type to succumb to grief or follow a lover to death.
She was Greece's most formidable heroine, a warrior who had bested demigods and divine descendants alike with her peerless swiftness and unyielding strength, someone whom even chief gods could scarcely overcome.
Thus, she would never resign herself to mourning; she would fight with every ounce of her strength to save her beloved.
But, did Suren even need saving?
Suren tied the golden, shining rope around his waist. At that moment, the two towering rocks, which had been colliding ceaselessly, came together once more. Yet, unlike before, they did not meet. Suren's hands gripped the inner edges of each rock, holding them apart with an incomparable force.
The impact was so tremendous that, even with his undying body, Suren felt himself on the brink of being crushed. Fortunately, he did not rely solely on the gods' gifts, but used practiced techniques to channel some of the force into the sea, reducing the pressure.
The first step, barely managed.
The immense rocks didn't collide, meaning they wouldn't rebound with lethal force. Yet each rock continued pushing, as if determined to meet, with Suren's arms holding them apart through sheer might.
This, the Argonauts and Orpheus beheld—the stuff of legend itself.
The poet Orpheus, struck by inspiration, immediately took up his quill, intent on penning a tribute, a hymn fit for the gods—
"The stars brush past his midnight hair, casting glimmering ripples…
Eyes shining as twin flames, the crescent moon crowning his brow…
My heart knows naught but love for him.
Who is he? Who is he?
Where does he come from?
The light of his honor fills the earth!
His arms, powerful, hold back disaster!
Zeus watches you. The gods watch you!
'—What a beautiful irony!'
(Unfinished—more to come)—
—
Suren's face was steely, his eyes blazing with unwavering fire. He would succeed. He would push these Clashing Rocks apart, completing a feat that only the gods were believed capable of.
As Suren's muscles swelled with effort, the rugged leather armor, a gift from Artemis and sewn from the hide of a mythical beast, stretched and tore, revealing the perfect physique beneath.
Were he to enter the Olympics, the world would run dry of towels to mop the sweat.
What had been two immovable mountains, slowly inching together under crushing force, began to halt in place, stilled by a far greater strength.
His body, cleansed of mortal frailty by divine fire, a form invulnerable to ordinary weaponry, now bore fissures along its muscles and skin, torn in his unyielding defiance. The body that no blade could mar had been wounded not by any foe—but by his own choice to uphold his will.
Indeed, who in all of Greece could wound such a great hero?
Only himself. Only Suren himself could inflict this pain.
"Move!" he roared, his voice vibrating from deep within his throat. With this shout, strength surged to push the rocks apart, a martial technique channeling his power with every breath, every shout.
With Suren's exertion, the rocks, which had begun to settle in place, gradually shifted forward, toward the Bosporus Strait, toward the Black Sea.
This was no mere collision, but the steady, determined advance of a great hero forcing them open. With his might, he was pushing the mountains, inch by inch, toward the Black Sea.
But as the rocks shifted, Suren's wounds widened, blood flowing freely from the cracks. What had begun as faint streaks of red now ran like streams.
Blood trickled down the golden rope and into the Argo, or fell to join the waves of the Marmara Sea.
At some point, Jason's eyes had brimmed with tears. Blinded by his own sobs, he dropped to his knees and began to pray.
Since learning of the gods' interference, Jason had sworn to rely on no one but himself.
Yet now he knelt, pleading to the gods, not for his sake, but for the great hero moving mountains for all of Greece.
"Gods above, I, the future king of Iolcos, Jason, humbly beg you—"
"Grant Suren success. Let him emerge victorious over these Clashing Rocks, even if it costs my life! I am willing to give my all!"
It was unclear whether the gods heard Jason's plea, but the Argonauts, having witnessed Suren's unparalleled feat, had become his followers, all moved to tears by his display.
Orpheus continued his verses—
"To the land that gave you breath, to the air that filled your lungs!
To the courage it gifted you, to the strength it gave you!
Listen now…
Your name is Suren, heaven-sent hero!
You must stoke the fire within your heart; you must uphold the justice in your soul.
When wounds rend your skin, will you cry in pain?
If you yield to unjust gods, you are not Greece's son.
When rivers of blood flow, will you weep?
If you yield to unjust gods, you are not heaven-sent."
(Unfinished—more to come)—
—
Zeus smiled, a rare expression for the father of gods, who usually watched humans with a benevolent, parental gaze.
But now, gazing at Suren, his smile lost some of its gentle quality, becoming more like that of a strict examiner, assessing Suren's every move with exacting judgment.
"To do this without the gods' aid?" Zeus mused, "Suren, even in you there is love for humanity."
"Such tenacity, O child of man—"
"Fitting. Without the courage to lead the Argo, how could one hope to speak of peace between gods and humankind?"
For the first time, Zeus referred to humanity not as "children," but as "man."
Zeus's eyes were full of admiration, though he could not help but shake his head. "So close… but just shy."
"Still, with Athena's help, this gap might yet close, hmm?"
"Fascinating. I, too, look forward to witnessing that golden age."
Why did the gods deem a golden age between humanity and divinity a childish dream, a fantasy?
Because the age of humankind meant the end of the age of gods.
For humanity to reign, the divine must fade.
In history, neither mankind nor gods had made space for the other—no peace between mortals and immortals could stand.
Suren would have to solve not only the gods' challenge but also prove humanity's value.
This goal demanded every ounce of strength Suren had; it could not be achieved with idle words alone.
…
Deep beneath the sea, Poseidon, in his palace of Atlantis, was so ecstatic he was nearly dancing. Were the gods not inherently clean, he might have rolled about in the muck to show his joy.
As the god most passionate about spectacle, an avid fan of rankings and idols, Poseidon devotedly supported the Gorgon sisters, showering them with sea otters and seals as fan tributes. Suren's display, a performance fit for a mythic opera, had utterly satisfied him.
Poseidon was overjoyed; even each strand of his hair seemed to vibrate with pleasure.
Poseidon finally settled down, sighing, "Well, I suppose I missed the Gorgon sisters' performance for this…"
"Strange, their acts suddenly feel a bit dull, no?"
"Oh no, must I now rely only on Suren for my entertainment?"
"Blast it, aren't there more heroes fit for a saga here in Greece?"
The god, pouting over his lack of entertainment, suddenly remembered. "Ah, that's right—what was Suren saying?"
"Something Apollo mentioned? And Athena said a few things… but I was so absorbed by the Gorgons that I forgot…"
Poseidon paused, pondering, then struck his fist in realization. "Ah yes, he spoke of a golden era for gods and mortals!"
"I support this! Wholeheartedly!"
"What Suren seeks, I will support in every way!"
"For the path you've chosen, Suren, the dream you're pursuing, surpasses my own ambitions—it's a vision I couldn't achieve. You surpass even the gods in will. I will back you, even if it means placing your ideals above ours."
"Pursue your path to the end, Suren. Let me see how far your legend can go."
Unknowingly, Poseidon had become a dedicated follower of Suren.
To him, Suren's ideals and conviction made him the ultimate hero, the perfect lead in an eternal saga.
Yet Suren's own situation was dire. His resolve seemed unbreakable, but his body was nearing its limit.
Were it not for Athena and Hestia's highest-level Olympian spells, which gave Suren an immortal form, his body might have been crushed into dust beneath these rocks.
But immortality did not equate to infinite strength.
---
Thanks for reading! Let me know if you spot any mistakes or inconsistencies!
Posture and water check!
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