The boat rocked gently on the Aegean sea, but Perseus did not mind. Nestled close to his family, he felt the warmth of his mother, of his little sister, and that was enough to reassure him that everything was alright.

The catch had been good that day – the skiff's bowels were rife with the fruits of the sea, and salty air was everywhere, a soothing sent for a young fisherman, barely a man made. Spyros had told him – or rather confirmed – that this was his sixteenth summer. Perseus felt ridiculously proud of this fact, though he had done nothing in particular to feel that way, he thought to himself as he shifted a little, and let Morpheus claim him.

Clouds and a river, scintillating faintly, like a landscape touched by a god's hand. He blinked, looked at himself and found that he was wearing the same tunic he last remembered.

"Perseus," the voice was calm, soothing, almost like a song. "Perseus," he turned, looked for the source of the call – a woman's voice, he mused, but not a woman he knew. Something unearthly about it made his skin prickle with anticipation.

"Who are you?" He blinked again, hoping perhaps to wake, but the landscape still sprawled beneath his feet. A cliff and nothing more but this river, these clouds and a sun shy enough not to blind his eyes.

"I am Io," she murmured, and he felt her presence before he saw her face.

White skin and eyes dark and old, filled with knowledge. He liked it, but felt wary. The name meant nothing to him, but he knew, as he looked at her, that she was not human.

"What do you want?" But his body told him already what his body wanted, and that made him more cautious – women's wiles, goddesses' wiles, his father had told him, were not to be discounted trivially.

She said nothing, but her hand rested on his face a moment. Eyes, so deep he could drown in them. Her lips curled into a wise smile.

"You know what I want," she murmured, and her fingertips dissolved into nothingness, as did the rest of her, until only her veil, a thing of silky wonder, flew into his hands, into his face. It was an unbearable caress.

Perseus clutched the veil and smelled it – jasmine and honey, the scent of heaven, he thought, and called out, "Io!"

The boat rocked a little harder, and a wash of salty water dunked over board. "Perseus!" Spyros was calling urgently, and the boy stood abruptly, ignoring the way his body felt suddenly awkward, heavy, filled with longing.

"Pull down the sail," Spyros was calling, and Perseus obeyed, hands working deftly at the rope. When the momentary rolling had subsided, he was himself again, but his nostrils were still filled with the scent of jasmine and honey.
"Io," he murmured to himself as he looked at the black waters ahead.

"What was that?" His little sister asked, voice heavy with sleep.

"Nothing. It was only a dream," her brother told her, "I'll be along shortly."