"Hey!!! Comrades! We're nearing the Hellespont strait! Everyone, take your positions now! We need to control the ship carefully—otherwise, we'll crash into the cliffs! Come on, up, up, don't waste time!" Typhis shouted from the prow, calling all of us aboard the Argo to get ready for navigating the narrow strait.
When I hear the name "Hellespont," I can't help but think of the tragic tale of a girl named Helle, who fled with her brother from a cruel stepmother. Riding on the back of a golden ram given by Poseidon, they journeyed toward Colchis in search of refuge. But Helle fell from the ram and plunged into the sea. What saddens me isn't just that she drowned—it's that her brother, Phrixus, didn't even try to save her. (What a heartless brother… that's your sister, man.)
Poor Helle… Maybe her name wasn't exactly the most auspicious—Helle, "Hell," fittingly enough.
But that wasn't the end. That ungrateful brother went on to sacrifice the golden ram that saved him as an offering to the gods. (Honestly, he should've been thanking the ram instead.) That poor creature saved them, only to be killed in the end.
Another curious detail about Greek mythology is how people who die in a certain place often have the area named after them. In Helle's case, after she fell into the sea and never returned, the body of water was given the name "Hellespont," a slightly fancier version of her name.
It makes me wonder—if I fall into the sea, would I have a part of it named after me too? Probably not. I'm just a background character, someone without even a proper name to begin with. Ha!
Navigating the Hellespont is no easy feat. The path is winding, riddled with rocky outcrops and flanked by towering cliffs on both sides. The overhanging ledges nearly scrape the Argo's mast—it's no wonder poor Helle's sky-bound escape didn't go so smoothly.
Now we've reached the entrance of the strait. Every hero on board is waiting on Jason's orders.
"The current's really strong…" I heard Jason mutter. His face showed visible doubt. His confident aura as a leader was dissolving, swept away by the fierce waters.
Honestly, Jason seemed far too unprepared for a journey of this magnitude. People might think his quest for the Golden Fleece was epic, but if you really knew the story behind it, you'd probably reconsider. Jason's heroic image didn't come from his own strength, but from having powerful allies and favorable luck—especially with women.
He didn't have Herculean strength like Heracles, nor the cleverness of Theseus, nor divine powers like some of the other demigods. Jason was just an ordinary guy who coasted through danger mostly by charm and good fortune. The only reason his quest went smoothly (if you could call it that) was because he dragged along practically every protagonist in Greek mythology to help him.
He hardly ever fought. The real heavy lifting was done by his companions. And thanks to his good looks, even Hera, the Queen of the Gods, took a liking to him. It was his charm that won over Medea, which ultimately got him the Golden Fleece.
What a heartthrob.
"So, what now, Jason?" Typhis broke the silence with a shout.
"Uh… um…" Jason still looked uncertain, torn over what to do next. Normally, he'd consult the carved figurehead of Hera for guidance—but with that missing, he was left clueless.
To be blunt, Jason didn't know how to make decisions on his own.
Still, I couldn't blame him too much. The waters were ferocious. Even mermaids would drown in this current. Only a madman would dare to go through it.
"Well?!" Typhis called again, clearly annoyed. Sleep-deprived and stressed, his temper was wearing thin.
"Uh… everyone to your stations! We're going through the Hellespont now! From here on, Typhis will be our helmsman!" Jason finally declared, though his voice lacked confidence.
Don't worry, Jason. As long as Typhis is steering, we're not going to sink. Trust me—I swear on the River Styx.
With the command given, Typhis moved to the front of the ship, gripping the railing as he peered into the swirling waters below. He then shouted for everyone to prepare.
I rushed to my spot and grabbed the oar, ready to help row through the deadly channel.
I've got to say—Typhis was incredible. He knew exactly how much force to use to guide us through the jagged rocks, calculated the winds and waves with pinpoint accuracy, and turned this treacherous passage into a smooth cruise.
All credit goes to you, Typhis.
We were almost out of the strait, the shore in sight. Typhis was the first to cheer—understandably so, after nearly a month of no rest.
"At last, land! I can finally rest… I just want to sleep… sleeeep… zzzz…" Typhis suddenly began to doze off as if drugged.
And then, something I never expected happened.
Typhis fell overboard, vanishing into the turbulent waters below.
And just like that, I never saw him again.
We're in trouble now. Without Typhis and with the sea as wild as ever, this is a disaster waiting to happen.