The tale of Hylas begins far from the shores of Bithynia, in the rugged lands of the Dryopians. Hylas was the son of King Theiodamas, a man of pride and hard labor. The myth recounts that one day, the great hero Heracles, wandering through the wilderness and famished from his travels, encountered Theiodamas plowing a field with a team of oxen. Heracles demanded one of the beasts for a meal, but the King, protective of his property and his people, refused. In the ensuing struggle—a clash between mortal royalty and the semi-divine strength of the son of Zeus—Theiodamas was slain. Rather than leaving the King's young son to a life of wandering or death, Heracles was struck by the boy's grace and potential. He took Hylas under his wing, not merely as a servant or a squire, but as a beloved companion and protégé. Under the tutelage of Heracles, Hylas grew into a youth of extraordinary beauty and skill, learning the ways of the warrior and the virtues of the hero. Heracles loved the boy with a devotion that eclipsed many of his other legends, treating him with the tenderness a father might show a son, while training him to be a man of legend.
When the call went out across Greece for heroes to join Jason in his quest for the Golden Fleece, Heracles answered, and Hylas went with him. They joined the ranks of the Argonauts, the most illustrious assembly of heroes ever known, and boarded the mighty ship Argo. Throughout the early stages of the voyage, Hylas was a constant presence by Heracles' side, helping him manage his massive bow and the club made of wild olive wood. The other Argonauts admired the boy's spirit, and he became a vital part of the crew as they navigated the treacherous waters of the Mediterranean and moved toward the Propontis. Their journey eventually brought them to the coast of Mysia, specifically to the mouth of the river Cius, near the city of the same name. The crew was exhausted from rowing against the currents, and as the sun began to dip toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of violet and gold, they decided to make camp on the shore to rest and gather supplies.
While Heracles went into the deep woods to find a suitable tree to carve a new oar—his old one having snapped under the weight of his immense strength—Hylas set out to find fresh water for the evening meal. He carried a heavy bronze pitcher, the metal gleaming in the fading light. He wandered away from the noisy camp, seeking the silence of the inner forest where he had been told a sacred spring called Pegae lay. The path was thick with lush vegetation; the air was heavy with the scent of damp earth, wild plums, and blooming lilies. As Hylas moved deeper into the woods, the sound of the salt waves fading behind him, he found himself in a place that seemed untouched by the hands of men. The spring of Pegae was a pool of crystalline purity, surrounded by ferns and soft, emerald moss. The water was so still that it looked like a mirror reflecting the first stars of the evening and the pale face of the rising moon.
Unknown to Hylas, the spring was the home of several water nymphs, or Naiads. These spirits of the water—Eunice, Malis, and the one known as Nycheia—were beginning their nightly dance. As Hylas approached the edge of the water and knelt on the soft bank, the moon's light fell directly upon him, illuminating his youthful features and the golden curls of his hair. The nymphs, peering up from the depths of the pool, were instantly captivated. They had never seen a mortal of such radiant beauty. As Hylas lowered his bronze pitcher into the water, the vessel gurgled as it filled, creating ripples that danced across the surface. At that moment, one of the nymphs reached out her white arm and wrapped it around Hylas's neck. She sought to draw him down into her world, fearing that if he left, she would never see such beauty again. Another nymph took him by the hand, and before Hylas could even cry out a full warning to his companions, he was pulled beneath the surface. The water closed over him, leaving only the bronze pitcher sinking slowly into the silt and a few bubbles rising to the top. Hylas did not drown in the traditional sense; instead, he was transformed or taken into the immortal realm of the nymphs, becoming a permanent resident of their hidden, watery halls.
Back at the camp, the hours passed, and Heracles returned from the woods with his new oar, only to find that his beloved Hylas had not returned. Concern quickly turned to panic. Heracles called out the boy's name, his voice booming through the trees like thunder, but there was no answer. Polyphemus, another Argonaut who had heard a faint cry in the distance, met Heracles and told him that Hylas had gone toward the spring but had not been seen since. Driven by a frantic, desperate grief, Heracles abandoned all thoughts of the Golden Fleece and the quest of the Argo. He drew his sword and rushed into the thicket, shouting "Hylas! Hylas!" over and over again. It is said he shouted the name three times, and three times the boy's voice replied from the depths of the spring, but it sounded so thin and distant that it was mistaken for the mere sighing of the wind in the reeds. Heracles spent the entire night roaming the hills of Bithynia, tearing through briars and scaling cliffs, his heart broken by the loss of the youth who was the center of his world.