The Argo sailed skillfully through the sky, cutting through clouds and steering cleverly around flocks of birds and ducking below the occasional airplane. Aeolus, controller of the winds, stood at the stern of the ship, his arms crossed over his chest, brow furrowed in concentration. No one but the most observant onlooker would notice the slight movements of the demigod's lips as he whispered to the winds, commanding their direction and velocity and, as such, steering the Argo through the skies.
In the bow of the ship, Arges lay back, his eye closed. The heavy sounds of his snoring wafted through the entirety of the Argo. In his mammoth hands, however, rested his axe and his hammer - two weapons of his own creation. Arges was a skilled weaponeer, having been part of Hephaestus' team which constructed Zeus' lightning bolts, Ares' sword and helm, Athene's spearheads, and so many more of the weapons carried by the original Pantheon. If there was one thing that Arges was never without, even when he was sleeping, it was a weapon.
Morpheus sat next to the sleeping Cyclops, slowly pouring his dream sand like an hourglass from hand to hand, guiding the giant's dreams. Still, in spite of himself, Morpheus could not help but let his own thoughts wander away to the chance encounter from earlier that evening... or the seemingly chance encounter. Could Nyx be the Dark One? Her dark side was, as he'd recalled earlier, all-encompassing. It was who she was, after all. This... this couldn't have been a coincidence. Why else would Nyx be outside of Dionysus' shrine if not to look for the god she had not killed? And, if she were not the Dark One... was it not possible for him to be a spy.
Morpheus' attention momentarily diverted, Arges' dreams suddenly became void and the Cyclops shifted restlessly.
In the crow's nest, the Gorgon Sthenno stood silently, alone - as was her custom. She was one of the final two Gorgons on earth and, while Gorgons are not exactly social, she was far less so than her sister Euyrale the Far-Roaming, whom she had not seen in at least 100 years. As the most forceful of the Gorgons, Sthenno was not known for words, but for action... and she defied anyone to tell her differently.
Toward the back of the ship, another member of the Pantheon sat alone... though not due to her own choice. She was not like the other members of the group. While Aeolus and the rest fought for survival, Pandora was a mortal... a mortal with a box. She was the first woman and, because of her, evil existed in the world. The weight upon her shoulders seemed too often more than she could ever bear... if not for the last remnant within her box - Hope. Perhaps it was this thing that kept her here at all. And then, perhaps not...
Echo's boredom, while not contagious, was surely evident by the look on her face. All was quiet on the Argo and, as such, there was nothing for the nymph to do. Rather than creating mischief, which was never her way, she looked over the hull of the ship and made clouds repeat patterns in the sky.
The Gemini, as he had been called since the death of his brother, sat silently, twirling his sword around on the deck, watching the light refract off of its glimmering blade. His thoughts were consumed by one thing - avenging the death of his brother. Pollux would not allow himself to be forgotten... and the bond the brothers shared was unique. Perhaps the reason why Castor was no longer called by his given name was the fact that others noticed too much of his brother in him...
Huddled in a corner by himself, Orpheus covered himself with a blanket, not yet used to the fierce winds at such high altitudes. His cropped black hair shifted slightly as Aeolus' charges carried them ever closer to their destination. He suddenly felt someone walking up to him and, looking up, he beheld the familiar place of Medea.
"How are you holding up?" she asked, sliding down next to the hero.
"About as well as can be expected," he said, glancing around his surroundings. "As often as we were on this ship, I never really got the hang of sailing."
"Especially not at these altitudes," Medea said, her stoic features unchanging. "You'll get used to it."
"So..." Orpheus said after a moment of silence, "...how are things since... well... since the last time I saw you?"
Medea grunted and narrowed her eyes. If she was anything at that moment, she was brooding. Orpheus had expected some resentment, certainly. The history between she and Jason had been anything but pleasant, to say the least... but he detected a hint of sadness behind the bitterness and anger in the sorceress' eyes.
"I... have become something of... a collector," Medea answered shortly, doing her utmost not to allow her emotions to show.
"How do you mean?" Orpheus asked.
Medea reached up a hand and patted the hull. "How else do you think I came into possession of the Argo? Or your father's lyre? Or this?" Medea raised the goblet of Dionysus to her lips, enjoying the ambrosial nectar within.
"So, you've collected items from our past?" Orpheus said. "Items of the gods..."
"Among other things," Medea said.
"Where do you keep all these things?" Orpheus said. "The treasures you must have accumulated over the last few millennia... surely you can't keep them here on the Argo?"
Medea smiled subtly. "No, surely not." Standing, she beckoned for Orpheus to follow suit. Peering over the edge of the Argo, she looked at her hands, which began to glow with magical energies. Medea held her hands together and slowly parted them. As she did, the clouds that obstructed their view of the ocean separated, revealing the Mediterranean below.
"Where do I keep them?" Medea asked, pointing to a small island located some ways off the coast of Greece, just off of the Cyclades. "My home, Orpheus. The Isle of Lesbos."
