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(Enchanting Melodies) Chapter 468: A Legacy Reborn
🕑 Added 2025-05-08 14:00:38 +0000 UTCChapter 468: A Legacy Reborn
29 June 1995, Athens, Greece
Perseus Marinakis sat alone on the balcony, high atop the white-stoned spire of his father’s safehouse, watching as the first rays of dawn spilt over the distant hills and bathed the city of Athens in gold. On the other side, the sea stretched endlessly, dark blue waves shimmering into silver as the sun slowly climbed. The air was still cool, the city quiet, save for the distant cries of gulls and the gentle crash of waves against the shore.
The view was beautiful at this time of the morning, something that he knew his father loved. He likely chose this place as a safehouse because of the view. Or he just liked looking down at the city of their ancestors, marvelling at how much they had progressed since then.
Thoughts of his father darkened his mood a lot. His relationship with the man was complicated, to say the least. The man had been distant and cold for most of their lives and had even tried to arrange his death. Sure, he’d been under the control of immortal gods who had forced him to use Perseus as a sacrifice, and the man decided to make the best of it, but that didn’t change what he did, what he put Perseus through.
And yet, every day for the past week, he couldn’t help but stand in his room, watching him sleep peacefully, as the curse ravaged and weakened his body, unable to do anything. Harry and Daphne had done their best, stopping the progression of the curse and even weakening its effects immensely, but it had already been too late by the time they arrived there. The damage was just that severe, and no one knew if his father would ever wake up.
And yet, he’d been instrumental in the stopping of Ragnarok. Every moment that halted Grindelwald and Dumbledore mattered immensely, and his father’s last attack, alongside Vlad Drakul, had allowed Harry Potter to imprison Grindelwald for a few moments, a feat that no one had ever thought possible.
Yet, that didn’t change the fact that only his father had been injured in their little super squad. Vlad had gotten a lot weaker, of course, but Harry Potter had returned unscathed, and most of the casualties were mercenaries that Arcturus Black hired, and Lycans, including their leader, Remus Lupin. And even then, most of the dead mercenaries had been commemorated by their countries, and their families honoured with gifts and in a few countries, even sometimes given gold in celebration of their sacrifice for mage-kind.
It was slightly the same for his father in Greece, but people still remembered the destruction of Olympus and his father’s hand in it. Perseus might clear the air slightly, blaming the whole thing on Dumbledore and Grindelwald, rightly so, but that didn’t change the fact that the chances of death were high on that count. He could argue and clear his father’s name, but it didn’t seem to be worth his effort, as the man was too injured to even appreciate it.
Instead, he invited a small legion of healers from all over the world to see his father, and all of them couldn’t even make heads or tails of it, even the ones specialising in curses. They all asked who managed to stabilise him, as it seemed like a small miracle to them, yet Perseus remained silent.
A small part of him had wished that Harry and Daphne had messed up, intentionally or not, to fail to save his father, but that was the final nail in the coffin.
He had tried to ignore the dark thoughts swirling around in his mind, but it was getting harder and harder to do every day. He was angry. He wanted to blame someone, anyone, but he couldn’t find a culprit, not anymore.
A voice spoke up behind him, “These are dark thoughts swirling around in your mind, Perseus.”
The water elemental jumped and turned, only to relax as he saw Vlad’s form standing behind him. “Are you a mind reader now?” he spoke up with sarcasm in his tone.
“Given that the Mind Arts exist, it’s not a completely absurd possibility, even with that tempest guarding your mind and thoughts. But, no, I did not need any Legilimency. The pool has been thrashing like it’s in a storm.”
That brought Perseus short, as he looked at the pool in the courtyard and saw it roiling violently despite the stillness of the morning air, the water forming spirals and crashing against the marble edges like it was caught in a tempest.
He froze, feeling a bit embarrassed, and the pool calmed itself down. “Sorry about that.”
The former vampire spoke up kindly, “Believe me, I don’t particularly care if you destroy the pool, but someone of your power losing control like this is worrying. The bond between an elemental and his magic is deeper than most mages understand. It reflects more than intent, it mirrors the soul. You are angry, Perseus. Hurt. And that fury has nowhere to go.”
“I don’t know what to feel,” Perseus admitted, “I know that what we achieved in Ragnarok was a small miracle, but why does it feel like I’m the one who lost the most? Why do I even care? He betrayed me. He tried to use me as a sacrifice.”
“And he saved you,” Vlad replied gently. “Both truths can exist. That is the curse of legacy.”
Perseus turned back to the sea, exhaling sharply. The waves glinted beneath the rising sun, almost mocking in their serenity. “It just doesn’t feel fair. Everyone else got their moment. Their recognition. Their peace. And all I have is this.”
“You have much more than you believe, child. Your father might have failed you many times, but your world does not revolve around him. You seemed quite attached to that British witch you invited here. Grief and rage are all anchors, which could eat you from the inside if you do not manage them, enough that it could even end up destroying whatever chance you have at happiness.”
Oh, Angelina. Thoughts of her calmed his mind. He didn’t know if his feelings towards her came from just the life debt she owed him when they met in Olympus, but stopped caring a while back. She was easy to talk to, didn’t judge him for what his father did, and most importantly, didn’t care about his strength. The time he spent with her before Ragnarok was some of the best in his life. It felt so freeing, and after he had withdrawn himself because of his father’s injury, she stayed with him until she had to leave alongside her parents. He had asked her to give him time, but he felt so lost.
Everyone left the safehouse by that time, ready to continue their own lives, while he stood still, with just Vlad as his companion, “Despite it all, I don’t know if I can forgive him. I’m not even sure I want to.”
Vlad gave him a sympathetic look, “I can understand that. I have done my share of monstrous things, even if I hadn’t wanted to, and they all haunt me to this day. And now, that I am mortal, that I am dying, I found it easier to write them all down, a recollection of my failings, so that they wouldn’t fade away from me.”
That brought Perseus short, “You’re dying?”
The former vampire snorted, “Everyone is dying, boy, and I’m old. Whatever life force was untouched by the Dark is slowly being spent. I likely have a few years left, but I want to make the most of them.”
He was about to continue, but something stopped him, “Huh.”
“What is it?” Perseus asked.
“It appears that your father is waking up. I did not expect that.”
It took a few moments for Perseus to process that little piece of information before running to his father’s room and slamming the door open. Vlad was right, his father’s eyes were fluttering open, sluggish and unfocused, as if the very act of waking was a battle on its own. Alexander Marinakis, former headmaster of the Olympus Academy, one of the most powerful mages in the world, and architect of half his son’s trauma, groaned softly, his chest rising with shallow breaths.
“Where…” he rasped, voice raw like shattered gravel. His eyes found Perseus, still dazed, still unsure whether this was reality or some final delusion.
“You’re in the safehouse,” Perseus answered hoarsely. “In Athens.”
The man blinked slowly, as if tasting the name on his thoughts, grounding himself. “Ragnarök,” he whispered. “Did it—did we…”
Perseus nodded, swallowing thickly. “Harry did it. The Light and Dark are gone. Their champions, too. It’s over.”
His father slumped back into the pillow with a sigh that sounded like a fortress collapsing. A weary breath. A man letting go. And then, after a moment of stillness, he asked the question Perseus hadn’t been expecting. “How long do I have?”
The words landed like a punch to the gut. “What?”
“I can feel it,” Alexander murmured. “My body. My magic. It’s fading.”
Perseus hesitated, then nodded. “You were cursed. Something that eats through magical circuits, conceptual magic designed not to wound but to erase. The only reason you’re still here is because Daphne Greengrass stabilised you. She kept your magic from being completely infected, and Potter somehow diminished the curse’s effect. But…”
“But too much was already taken. Gellert Grindelwald could be vicious like that. At least the bastard is finally dead,” his father finished.
“I brought the best healers in the world, paid them a small fortune each, but they all arrived at the same prognosis. Your pathways are blocked. The damage was too deep. Your magic is trying to rebuild what’s broken, but everything it repairs starts failing again. The circuits atrophy, making whatever healing your magic can do slowly fade away, a slow collapse.”
Alexander nodded grimly, the acceptance settling in his eyes. “It’s fine. I knew what I was walking into. I entered that fight knowing it would probably be my last.” His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the edge of the blanket. “If this is the price… then it was worth it.”
Perseus turned towards him and asked, pleadingly, “Why did you knock me out, Dad? Why didn’t you let me fight? I could have helped. I could have saved you.”
“You would have died,” the former headmaster spoke up with absolute conviction. “You’re a brilliant young man, more powerful than most mages could ever dream, and with potential that surpasses my own, but you are inexperienced and still haven’t mastered your magic. I fully know what you’re capable of, and you wouldn’t have lasted a minute against Grindelwald. Perhaps in a decade or two, you would have been able to hold your own, but not now.”
“Harry Potter seemed to manage it easily enough,” Perseus argued.
“Harry Potter is a freak of nature who commands magic like a composer does an orchestra. He also had the privilege of having a prophecy backing him, and not any prophecy, but likely the strongest one in existence. Things might have turned out differently if he weren’t the hero of Ragnarok, or maybe things would have remained the same. I do not know, but that doesn’t change the fact that you were not ready.”
A part of Perseus wanted to protest, but he had to accept his father’s judgement on this. Looked at his father, a pale, broken man, who could barely speak, and he added weakly, “I fought against the vampires easily enough. I could have helped without fighting directly. I could have been of use to you…”
“You’re my son, Perseus, not a weapon. Perhaps you could have helped, but I couldn’t bear the thought of you dying on a battlefield. I just couldn’t.”
That struck the young mage speechless. Perseus sat frozen in place, the weight of those words pressing down harder than any argument. He had once ached to hear these words, which other children received and often took for granted.
“I failed you, in more ways than I can count,” his father whispered, more to himself than anything else. “But not this. Not this. I saved you, and I would do it again.”
Perseus lowered his head, a dozen retorts dying on his tongue. There was so much he still wanted to say, questions, accusations, grief knotted into guilt, but all of it felt meaningless now, “Why now Dad? I have waited years for you to say this.”
“When a man is dying, he sees the world for what he truly is, and you, Perseus, are my legacy, my greatest pride, and perhaps, I hoped that my words would help ease your mind a bit. I can see the anger in your eyes, like a storm ready to swallow everything in your path.”
“It’s just not fair,” Perseus whispered.
“Life rarely is fair, my dear boy. We all entered our battle, knowing that it might be our last, and none of us did anything untoward. We fought with everything we had in that fight. Just as I am injured, anyone else could have suffered the same fate. In a way, I am happy that I am the one injured. I have done things, unforgivable things, to you, to my charges, all in the name of freeing my people from the Olympians. Perhaps, dying to stop the Apocalypse will atone for my sins.”
Perseus didn’t know what to say about that last part. There was no denying it. Alexander Marinakis had committed monstrous deeds, and that was understating things. Seeing the pain in his father’s eyes made him decide to change the subject slightly, “I know that they didn’t betray you, that they did everything they could to save you, but while you sat here, dying, they celebrated their victory. They all moved on, as if nothing happened.”
Alexander didn’t flinch at the bitterness in his son’s voice. He just stared at the ceiling; his expression unreadable. “Then let them,” he said quietly. “That’s the reward of survival. You live. You move on. You find meaning where you can. That’s not a betrayal, Perseus. Perhaps, you should find meaning on your own. I have been planning on arranging this after my inevitable death or if I retired, but perhaps, it’s time.”
“Time for what?”
“Time to finally understand what it means to be a legacy of Olympus. With me gone, you will be all that was left of our legacy, and as despicable as the Olympians became after their corruption from the Light, Ancient Greece had once been a bastion of stability and power. I fought tooth and nail to free our people, and now, they will need someone to guide them, someone to push them forward. They’ll need you.”
The water elemental froze, “I don’t think I can.”
“Not right now, you can’t,” Alexander rasped, “But one day, you will. We are of the sea, Perseus, legacy of the only Olympians who stood uncontaminated from Olympus’ madness, Poseidon.”
He raised his hand, weakly, and golden light appeared, morphing into a golden trident with small lightning bolts moving through its runed shaft, humming faintly with power, “Take it.”
Perseus felt like he was hypnotised, his hand instinctively touching the weapon. He expected to be shocked, but instead he felt the weapon cool down. The golden light slowly turned into a deep green-blue, which seemed to shift, much like the sea. That realisation made him feel comforted, or at least, he would have, if it wasn’t for the sheer power that seemed to course through his body. He felt like he was burning from the inside out, while also being soothed like a pool, no, it was more like an ocean moving through him.
He must have said something out loud as his father snorted, “You are correct. I am the storm, and you are the sea. This is proof of our legacy, of our origin, and I pass it onto you.”
He closed his eyes briefly, gathering strength, then opened them again, softer this time. “I don’t have much time left, Perseus. But if you’ll have me… I’d like to spend what little I do teaching you. Not just how to wield this power, but what it means to carry it. To carry all of this.” He hesitated, then added, almost awkwardly, “Only if you want that. I won’t ask anything of you.”
Perseus stared at him, speechless. His father had never asked. He had commanded, dictated, and expected. But this… this was different.
He looked down at the trident in his hands, its deep green-blue light still shimmering faintly like sunlight on water. For the first time, it didn’t feel like an obligation. It felt like an offering.
And so, he nodded.
“I’d like that,” he said quietly. “I want that.”
Alexander smiled, just barely, but it was real. Something old and weary in his face finally loosened, like a tension he had held for years, “Thank you, son.”
The anger in his chest was still there, but it had changed. It wasn’t aimless anymore. It had edges. Purpose.
He sat beside the bed, not as a son looking at a dying father, but as a legacy being passed from one pair of hands to another. And for the first time since the battle ended, Perseus felt like he knew what to do next.
The sea had always moved forward. Now, so would he.
AN: And now that the Perseus part is over. I had planned on doing a bit more with him when I introduced him, especially during the battle and the preparation, but it never really felt right. Every time I tried to do some character development with just him, it felt like I was veering off the story completely, so I decided to keep it as is. As for this chapter, this is essentially how Perseus is moving on, forgiving his father slightly, and starting to become the next Archmage of Greece, just like his father did, when he acted as a shield to them. I thought about keeping Alexander alive, but I felt like he should die for what he’s done over the years, but make his death somewhat bittersweet. I don’t know if I pulled it off, but I don’t mind rewriting it depending on your feedback. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
Comments
athass_prkr
I finished the first volume, but I started a second Volume with Harry and Daphne's multiversal adventures, with the first arc being in ASOIAF. I restarted the chapter count, so you should be able to see when the first volume officially ends.
Mekistorm
The novel is already completed author?
Jethro Frank
You know, one of my other favorite series is Odyssey of a Mage, by mootjeman7. I wonder who would win in a battle, your Harry Potter, or Atticus Sayre from that series. If he ever gets around to writing the next story, I think a crossover would be amazing. Though, I can’t want to see what you’re doing next Athass! As long as it’s not a femHarry story. There are very few circumstances where I can read those.
