The Mouse and The Monarch

1

~MOUSE~

The boat sliced through the calm waters of the Asian Pacific, leaving a foamy trail in its wake.

The sky clouded in grey swirls, the promise of rain carried on the wind.

The water churning below like an abyss of darkness.

Ophelia Moreau stood at the bow, her keen eyes fixed on the horizon where the silhouette of Ashika Island emerged from the mist.

The salty air was almost thick with anticipation.

The soft breeze tousled light brown hair around her head.

Ashika Island, bathed in the warm hues of the setting sun, boasted a rugged coastline adorned with emerald foliage.

Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, their fronds whispering secrets to the wind.

The island's cliffs, adorned with vines and lush greenery, framed the landscape like the edges of a hidden paradise.

It may have been hidden. But it was no paradise.

Ophelia's tactical gear clung to her like a second skin, the matte black material blending seamlessly with the shadows around her.

She crossed her arms, feeling the subtle shift of the fabric against her lithe frame as she took in the scene ahead.

One boot propped against the bow, her arms slung over her chest lazily.

She felt calm despite the questions and words being flung around in her mind.

She knew this was where she belonged.

This was the right choice.

That was what she kept telling herself anyway.

The subtle shift of a body beside her made her stiffen, her muscles getting ready to move at a moment's notice.

She calmed her body when she noticed it was only Zeus.

She had only just met the colossal figure, but she knew he towered over everything around him.

His imposing presence didn't just come from his mountain of muscles and confidant stance. It was ingrained in his very being.

Powerful, confident and strong.

He was the epitome of a leader.

His grey eyes, sharp and watchful, met Ophelia's as a mischievous smirk played on his lips.

His grey well well-kept beard twitched around his face as he smiled.

She noticed one of his front teeth was chipped at the bottom.

"Nervous, Souris?" Zeus rumbled, his deep voice resonating like thunder in the tranquil air.

Ophelia rolled her eyes, but a small wicked smirk of her own danced across her lips.

It was a habitual response to the nickname that had followed her from the streets of France, Britain and now America.

Souris was a French word that meant Mouse.

It may sound like a sweet thing to call someone, but it had not been a term of endearment for Ophelia.

It was a taunt that never seemed to go away.

A reference to the fact she was five foot five and although she hated to admit it, in the first years of training, she had been weak.

She had been riddled with self-doubt, physically weaker than anyone else and slower at picking up common skills.