Everyone on the ship was thrown into a state of shock at the sudden loss of Typhis. The Argo had lost its one and only skilled helmsman.
My mind was reeling. In the Greek myths, Typhis wasn't supposed to die at this strait. So what happened to him? Why did he suddenly fall into the sea like that?
Hmm… could it be that he wanted to have a sea named after him like Helle? (Yeah, probably not.)
"Can anyone see his body?" Jason shouted, urging everyone on board to look for Typhis. His face was etched with panic, and he ran back and forth like a frantic mouse.
"We can't see a thing… the waves are blocking everything!" Achilles shouted in reply.
"We can't navigate the strait without Typhis… without him, the Argo is doomed to sink!" Jason cried out, stating the obvious problem.
"Forget about him, Jason. We can't save him now. We need to find a new helmsman," Achilles suggested.
Now the Argo was in serious trouble. A new navigator was needed—but who could possibly take Typhis's place?
One thing I knew for sure—it wouldn't be me.
Orpheus? … All he does is play music. Useless. Pass.
Asclepius? … He's a doctor. Nope. Pass.
Zetes and Calais? … Sure, they can fly, but they're more likely to ditch us when things get tough. Pass.
Theseus, Achilles, Heracles? … Definitely not. They're muscle, not brains. Pass.
Rely on Jason's luck? Hopeless. His luck depends on his companions and the favor of women. But on this ship, there's only one woman—Atalanta—and she's more of a feral tomboy than a gentle maiden. Pass.
The others? That guy? Who even is that? No idea. Looks like he'd drown before helping. Pass!!!
Come on! A ship full of legendary heroes and not a single one is fit to guide us through this mess?
If the Argo sinks now, half the pantheon of Greek legends will go down with it. The entire mythological world might as well end right here—and I, for one, am not ready to die yet!
What should we do!?
"We're cursed! Hera is cursing us! She's furious we disrespected her carved image!" shouted one of the lesser-known—actually, unknown—heroes, panicking about the statue's bad omen.
"Nonsense! If Hera really wanted to curse us, she would've killed us back in Iolcus," Achilles replied, refusing to believe that Hera was behind Typhis's death.
But there was one hero who did believe it—Jason himself.
I saw his face pale as the crew spoke of Hera's wrath. He immediately dropped to his knees, clutching the mast and began praying desperately. "Great Hera, please forgive me! I was careless and did not protect your sacred image… forgive me… I don't want to die!"
This completely unexpected turn of events—outside of what should have been the 'script' of the myth—had turned Jason into a different man entirely.
All of us stared at him, the legendary hero now weeping and begging for mercy while hugging a wooden post. Who would've thought he'd cry like that in front of everyone?
And that's when things truly fell apart. Jason's humiliating breakdown began to unsettle the crew. Whispered doubts rippled through the ship, and I could clearly hear what they meant: "They were losing faith in Jason."
Then another shock came. The violent sea caused the ship to lurch. Crates scattered. One chest flew open—and out rolled the carved statue of Hera.
It struck Jason square on the head with a sickening thud. He collapsed instantly, blood pouring from his skull. Asclepius rushed to him and checked for signs of life… then shook his head.
Jason was dead.
What just happened? Why did his end come so soon? Something about this felt wrong.
The alliance of the Argonauts had collapsed at the Hellespont. The quest for the Golden Fleece—over. Was this truly a curse from Hera?