The Chimera, with three heads and three opinions, had two of them express visible disdain toward the old water serpent's "bully the cub if you can't beat the parent" tactic.

"Roar," the lion head growled, clearly unimpressed.

"How predictable," muttered the serpent tail.

"So it came here for revenge, right?" Cohen asked, covering his face. "What exactly did you do to scare its cub?"

"Well… when it went hunting during the day, I'd sneak into its den and pretend to eat the baby griffin..." the old water serpent admitted. "But the little thing had guts! Every time I popped my head out and opened my mouth to bite, it didn't even flinch. It wouldn't cry unless I started fighting it for meat—"

"That's just plain wicked," said the snake tail, judgingly.

"Absolutely nasty," agreed Sissoko, who had been spectating the drama like it was popcorn-worthy.

"That's a bit—" Cohen was about to hop onto the moral high horse too… until he remembered that he'd done similar things. Like stealing lollipops from kids. (Hey, it was just one time.)

Sigh… karma's a boomerang, he muttered, giving up his scolding and just sighing.

"Why not ask the lion to apologize for you?" suggested the goat head. "We can all go with you—keep things civil, avoid any accidents."

"You're the best, Goathead!" The old water serpent perked right up, shedding all his earlier shame and gloom. "Let's go as a team! If that griffin wants revenge, it can try scaring my baby too—"

"You're shameless," sighed the snake tail.

"Is this a Greek magical creature thing?" Cohen asked the goat. "Or is it just the ones I meet who are mentally invincible like this?"

"Hard to say," the goat replied, not committing to an answer.

——

Cohen had originally assumed that the goat said "hard to say" to avoid throwing shade at their foster father…

But once they entered the Forbidden Forest and actually found the griffin in question, he realized the goat wasn't covering for just one magical creature, but probably for the entire Greek beast population.

"Skreee!"

The griffin, which had been dozing in a clearing, suddenly bolted upright at the sight of Cohen and his strange crew creeping toward it.

The moment it spotted the old water serpent, though, its eyes sharpened—and it lunged.

"Eh? Wait—why you?" the old water serpent said, puzzled.

"Roar..." The lion stepped between them and slammed a paw on the incoming griffin, pinning it to the ground while growling low and threatening.

"Skree!" the griffin squirmed beneath the lion's paw, squawking anxiously.

"Roar?"

"Skree!"

"Roar..."

"…Now I know how the Earl feels when he listens to me and Sissoko chat," Cohen groaned.

The lion finally released the griffin, which immediately rushed to the old water serpent's side, squawking non-stop like it was venting its soul.

"What? What are you saying? I don't understand a word—" The old water serpent backed away awkwardly as the griffin shoved its head against him. For a snake with horns, this was uncomfortably weird.

"Skreee—"

"Roar..."

"The lion says... this griffin's father is dead. It wants you to take it for revenge," the goat translated.

So... not the parent coming to settle a score—it's the kid coming to find an old... friend?

"Dead?!" the water serpent gasped.

"You did it?" Cohen turned to him suspiciously. "So you are a cold-blooded schemer—"

"If I could beat its dad, that'd be a miracle!" the water serpent protested. "Back when we used to fight over fish, he just clawed at me nonstop—I never fought back!"

The young griffin curled up beside the water serpent, letting out a few pitiful cries.

The water serpent instinctively patted its head with the tip of his tail. Comfort. Awkward but sincere.

"Roar."

The lion translated the scene in real time.

"It says… now that it's lost both parents, you're the closest thing it has to family," the goat relayed, clearly doubting whether he'd translated that correctly.

"Yeah, makes sense," Cohen nodded thoughtfully. "Textbook Stockholm syndrome. Victims often develop affection for their abuser… You've just leveled up your evil score again."

Ahem. This chapter first published at 69 Book Bar—

"I only stole one fish from it, years ago!" the old water serpent cried. "Can we not exaggerate this?!?"

Since only the lion could understand the griffin's cries—which sounded more like emotional expression than real language—he became the sole interpreter in this bizarre game of Telephone: Griffin → Lion → Goat → Everyone Else.

After half an hour of exhausting screeches and roars, Cohen finally pieced together the full backstory:

The griffin's mother died ages ago. Its father was often away hunting, so it actually spent more time as a cub with the old water serpent than with its own dad.

"This is so melodramatic," Cohen shook his head. "Two lonely single dads..."

The old water serpent said nothing. Now he understood why the little one had never feared him…

"Its father probably never meant to really hurt you. I don't see any scars on you," Cohen said, inspecting the serpent. "Maybe he already saw you as a friend. Of course, it's also possible you shed your skin and lost the evidence…"

"Friends don't claw each other that hard," the serpent grumbled. "And he stole so many fish from me—"

"Are you going to help it get revenge?" the goat asked. "Its father was killed by poachers. It remembers their scent."

"Me?" the old water serpent turned away. "…I'm not deciding. Not my kid… plus wizards are scary. You decide."

"Then we're not going," Cohen said, raising an eyebrow. Testing the waters. "Greece is far, after all."

"You're really not going?" The old serpent looked from the griffin to Cohen, then to the Chimera. "None of you? For real?"

"This poor little creature is so pitiful—are you really not going??"

"My precious grandson," he whispered, wiggling closer to Cohen, "Don't you want to see Greece? It's fun there—"

"In a rush, are we? If you want to go, just say so," Cohen said with a satisfied smirk. "Making us initiate everything… you're ancient and still dodging responsibility…"

"You lot—!" the old water serpent fumed.