The thing called Ixion made its way to Qubel Lighthouse. The human guards here were alert and wary, but they weren't terribly suspicious of yet another commoner. He hunched his shoulders and kept his head bent down, shuffling along like a beaten dog, and didn't warrant much attention. People paid more heed to the fish.
Ixion possessed a few coins. It had been days since he'd incarnated into this wretched realm, and longer still since he'd had a true meal. He felt ashamed that his human shell was getting hungry, and more ashamed still that his eyes saw the fishermen and fish mongers hawking their juicy fresh catches and that he wanted to eat the fish. Fish! Still, it would serve as sustenance, at least until his powers grew.
His mouth worked to form words in their crude language. "I will have a fish."
"One?" the fisher looked Ixion up and down, mouth twisting in suspicion. "Two coppers."
In a just world, you'd be paying me for the gift of peeling the skin from you. But he couldn't say that. "Two. Fine. Here." He fumbled the pieces of metal out with his clumsy, weak human fingers. The fisherman took the coins with a look of distaste and handed him some sort of fish, holding it out at arm's length as to ward away the smell.
Ixion walked away gnawing on the raw fish. There was a disappointing lack of blood. He looked resentfully at the humans, gathered around their barrels and markets. Always with the transactions and trades, these people. As if mortal existence were not really just a farcical veneer poorly covering up the petty and meaningless suffering that was everywhere.
Even the lowliest of these miserable creatures thought him some kind of fool. But soon, soon he would burst forth from his shell, and reveal his true form. Then they would at last understand. They were the real fools!
