The city never truly slept. Even in the early hours, Las Vegas pulsed with artificial light and false promises. The Strip glimmered beneath a haze of neon and heat, loud and alive in a way that made Lucas feel both detached and quietly focused. He wasn't here for entertainment. He had work to do.
Lucas adjusted the strap of his satchel as he walked past a row of blinking ATMs built into the outer wall of a gas station. Harold shifted inside the pouch, snorting softly, tail twitching beneath the fabric, content with the motion. The drakon-turned-guinea pig had grown used to travel by now, only fussing when they stopped moving for too long.
He walked instead of hailing a cab, reflecting on Vegas. After all, the last time he'd come to this city, it was with a mission from Olympus and a borrowed sense of purpose. He'd failed that time, watched the Chains of Prometheus auctioned off to a hooded figure while he stood powerless in the crowd.
They passed a storefront filled with mannequins dressed like Roman senators. Tourists still lingered on corners, laughing too loudly and squinting at their phones. Lucas moved through them unseen.
He took a breath and stepped beneath the gilded arch of Caesar's Palace.
The lobby of Caesars Palace was colder than he remembered. The hotel's inner sanctum still smelled of polished stone and stale gold. Lucas walked across the marble floor, beneath the painted domes and statues of long-dead emperors. Tourists moved past him without notice. No one paid attention to what seemed like just another teenager in Vegas.
He kept moving, past the front desk, past the luxury counters, until the floor changed from marble to carpet. The casino lights brightened. Machines clinked and blinked on all sides. The smell hit next: liquor, sweat, and tobacco buried beneath cheap perfume.
Lucas ignored it all.
At the far end of the casino, tucked behind a velvet curtain near the private theaters, he found the lounge.
Plutus was already seated.
He was as Lucas remembered: impeccably dressed, radiant without being bright, his dark beard trimmed to perfection. Golden thread shimmered at the edges of his suit cuffs.
He looked almost bored, sipping wine and picking lazily at a plate of lobster. A stage comedian performed in the background, telling a joke about divine taxes and Hermes' delivery fees. Plutus didn't laugh.
Lucas stepped forward without waiting to be noticed.
"You returned," Plutus said, still facing the stage.
"I had something to ask." Lucas said
Plutus finally faced him, eyes sharp, glistening like light glancing of a golden coin
"You again. The boy with big dreams and no sense of diplomacy."
Lucas didn't flinch.
Plutus gestured to the empty seat. "Sit. I admire you standing up not just against me but also Olympus. But you're not getting my vaults out of a little admiration."
Lucas sat. "I don't want admiration. I want a deal."
Plutus leaned back in his chair, looking amused. "You're serious."
"I was serious last time. You just didn't like what I had to say."
"And now?"
"I need funding. Materials. Infrastructure. I'm building something bigger than myself and need financial support to get it off the ground."
The god arched an eyebrow. "And why would I invest in a demigod with a habit of irritating the gods?"
"Because I'm not alone," Lucas said evenly. "The world's changing. And you know it. You can hoard your wealth until it turns to rot, or you can invest in something new."
That silenced the table for a moment.
Then Plutus chuckled.
"Very well. Let us speak plainly." He swirled his wine. "I'll fund your sanctuary, but not for free. I want something in return."
Lucas narrowed his eyes. "What?"
"The Golden Fleece."
Lucas blinked. "As in-"
"Yes. That Golden Fleece. The magic-laden pelt that heals, nourishes, strengthens."
Lucas thought for a long moment.
"Where is it?" he asked.
Plutus nodded. "The Sea of Monsters. Many Satyrs have tried to traverse the sea, believing the aura of life they can sense is their little god, Pan. They never returned. I suspect it's not Pan at all they sense, but the fleece itself radiating life. As for what is killing those little goats, I can take a guess as to the monster."
Lucas frowned. "Polyphemus."
"Indeed."
Lucas's shoulders straightened. "Then I'll get it."
Plutus raised an eyebrow. "You sound certain."
Lucas nodded. "It's doable"
Plutus raised his glass. "Then I wish you the best of luck, little demigod."
...
Outside, Lucas leaned against a marble column and exhaled.
A near all-powerful fleece guarded by a dangerous cyclops.
Harold snorted from the bag.
"Yeah," Lucas muttered. "I know. This is going to be fun"
He stepped back into the glittering madness of the city.
The sea was waiting.