Par šo e-grāmatu
If Pan calls me a terrible Muse one more time, I’m going to flatten him into a Pan-cake.
I may need the musical son of Hermes to help me solve tasks six and seven, but if the lecherous Satyr goes for the grope on me, I'm chopping off his fingers. It’s going to be hard to play that magical flute he loves without them. Pan hurt one of my Muse sisters once. He’s lucky to still be alive.
Did I tell you about the robot I have to fight? Yes, robot. I don’t know what else to call him. Hephaestus, the God of Fire made Talos long ago as an unbeatable metal warrior to guard Crete. Now the robot with laser beam eyes serves as a guardian for Gaia. There’s not enough room for both of us on the Great Mother’s secret island and I'm not leaving until I'm done.
This is only a fraction of why I have bigger problems than worrying about what chaos a lecherous Satyr is causing. Or what’s got Athena’s panties so twisted up. I haven’t killed the amnesiac version of Zeus yet. Actually, I kind of like him now. I'd be fine never restoring him.
So far, I’m staying as upbeat as I can about things, but I’d be better if Cale stopped releasing his inner Dragon out into the world in the middle of the hardest challenge of the prophecy.
Gaia’s gardener—who gender identifies as “we”—helps the way the Fates do. In other words, "they” weren’t inclined to provide me with any real information. I haven’t felt this alone in a very long time.
