“My name is Asterion. I am not a monster.”

A short pause, then,

“My name is Asterion. I am not a monster.”

Therion stilled, slowly sliding his bow off his shoulder.

“My name is- is Asterion.” The voice broke, interrupting itself with a soft sob. “I am not- I am not a monster.”

There’s someone else in here, Therion thought. He strung his bow with the ease of practiced fingers, and set an arrow to the string. He didn’t draw it, however; instead he summoned his courage.

“Asterion?” he whispered.

The labyrinth was silent. “W-who’s there?”

“My name is Therion,” he answered quietly. “Asterion is yours?”

He heard a low scraping sound, then the soft voice answered, “Yes?”

“How long have you been in here, Asterion?” Therion crept forward slowly, tightening his grip on the soft leather. “Are you alone?”

He could barely see in the blackness, but he could make out the hunched shape against the wall. It was. . . big. Very big. Bigger than a man, that was for sure.

His grip tightened. “Asterion?”

The shape shifted. Suddenly Therion had a terrible thought, one he didn’t want to voice but couldn’t help asking:

“Asterion, are you the Minotaur?”

Asterion wept, a hiccuping wail of grief and remorse and sorrow. “I-I’m a monster!” he wailed. “I’m a monster, Therion! A monster!

“My own mother thinks I’m a monster!”

Therion swallowed hard. “Asterion,” he said again, trying to ignore the frantic beating of his heart against his ribs.

“Are you scared of me, Therion? Are you scared?”

The boy was quiet for a long moment. “I. . . I don’t think so,” he answered slowly.

“It’s just- I’m so hungry, Therion, always so hungry! I can’t- I can’t control myself!” The Minotaur- no, Asterion wept louder. Therion flinched instinctively.

“I scare you, don’t I?”

Therion shook his head. “I’m not scared of you anymore. I don’t think you’ll hurt me.”

The shape moved closer to him. Therion held himself carefully still. Then he replaced the arrow in his quiver, unstrung his bow, and set it across his back again. “I don’t think you’ll hurt me,” he repeated.

“And I don’t think you want to hurt anyone else, either,” Therion continued. “I think you just want out.”

“I’ll hurt someone if I leave the labyrinth!” Asterion cried. “I- I hurt people!”

Therion’s vision sharpened slightly, and he gave a silent prayer of thanks to his mother.

Something darkened Asterion’s fur, seeping and dark. One of his horns was broken, hanging by a few sinews.

“People hurt you too,” he pointed out. “You’re bleeding.”

“I deserve it,” Asterion insisted miserably. “I hurt people.”

Therion was running out of words. How did he convince someone they didn’t deserve their suffering?

“I think the real monster is up there.” Therion pointed to the ceiling above them. “Minos.”

“He’s my father,” Asterion tried, but the words fell flat.

“What kind of father keeps his son locked up?” Therion shook his head. “I know a place. A wonderful place, I think you’d like it. You’ll be safe there. And it’s beautiful.”

He extended his hand. “Come with me,” he urged. “I’ll take you there.”

Asterion was still and silent for a long moment. Then-

“Okay.”

Therion smiled as a massive -but gentle- hand wrapped around his. “Let’s get you to your new home, Asterion.”