There was an exhibit at the art museum of Ancient Greek art and artifacts; as soon as Delia Colt had learned about it, it was an automatic part of the family summer itinerary. Sam would be moving into high school soon, and even with the last year having been spent in home school, there was nothing Delia wanted more than to continue to bring culture and education into her son’s life, especially when it had something to do with their heritage. That was how Samson Colt found himself dragged out of bed and brought to the slightly cold museum. It was chilly in comparison to outside, and Sam knew that the temperature helped to maintain the artifacts, as well a low light level.

The dark haired boy was caught standing in line waiting for a tour guide to gather a group together so that they could explain the exhibit. An audio tour would have been by far preferable, as he could have at least wandered at his own pace. He had been abandoned there, as his mother had been called off to try and prevent a catering disaster in the works. She had insisted that Samson stay, with some moderate adult supervision and learn something. So he waited, with mild agitation, for the tour of the gallery to begin.

A statue here, a model reconstruction of a temple there. It was all things he had seen before and, to be honest, didn’t really care that much about. Now, had this been the science center, Sam would have been more interested. But he had seen enough painted vases and columns to fill a lifetime. Nude statues were hardly anymore interesting to him either.

Going through the motions, Sam followed the tour guide and his group only halfheartedly listening to what was being said. It wasn’t until he heard his name that the boy started to pay more attention. It just wasn’t his civilian name that he heard.

“ And this vase, depicts the punishments given to prisoners in Tartarus, a part of the Greek underworld. Can anyone tell me who these figures are?....... This is Sisyphus, forever pushing a boulder up a hill, and Tantalus, who cannot eat or drink with both beyond his grasp. Then there is Ixion, tied to a flying burning wheel.”

The tour guide had said his name. There it was, and Sam’s ears almost perked up at the utterance of ‘Ixion’. Like a moth to a flame, Sam drew closer to inspect the painted vase, his eyes eager to see a painted version of himself, if it even was supposed to be him. Mythology and history, or at least senshi history seemed to have blurred lines, and he was never sure what was purely fiction or what may have been based on factual occurrences. This very well could have been him, or another past Ixion’s fate. Sam raised his hand.

“Yes? Do you have a question?”

“What do you know about Ixion? I mean, the myth, what did he do to deserve a punishment like this?” For him, it was a serious question, and he stared at tour guide waiting for his answer.

The tour guide thought for a moment before answering. “That’s a good question. I guess the story has two parts to it. One, being that Ixion married the beautiful Dia. He was supposed to pay her father as an exchange for her, however Ixion had refuse to do so. His father in law instead stole some of Ixion’s prize horses. He planned to get revenge for that by inviting his father to a feast. However, when there, Ixion pushed his father in law into a pit of burning coals. Some say that was the first act of kin-slaying, murdering ones family. “

Sam winced when the guide said the word ‘coal’. There was a resonance of truth to the story it sounded like. The details seemed to have some connections to the real Ixion. Nodding along, Sam was curious to hear more, “and part two?”

“Well, they say he went mad with the guilt. Everyone refused to help him except the gods. He was welcomed to Olympus, and there he became interested in Hera, Zeus’s wife of course. Angry at his lustful manners, Zeus made a cloud in the form of Hera, Nephele. He caught Ixion … er, in the act with the Hera-like cloud and was then expelled from Olympus. Then Zeus commanded he be chained to a burning wheel for all eternity. Though interestingly, the race of Centaurs begins with Ixion and Nephele, and their son Centauros. So that’s kind of neat.”

“Uh… Thanks for that info.” Casually, he looked back at the vase. A bearded figure was painted on a large wheel, with a pained expression. As he stared at it, he wondered if he could see himself there. A murderer and a philanderer, that was just great.