Page 17 of The Stars

The sun-darkened skin of the men and women spoke of lives spent laboring under the sun. Still, they were more olive toned than his own rich blackness. He wondered if they’d ever seen a Black person before. His serious lack of history lessons frustrated him for the first time in his life.

He remembered a few stories of how Africans had visited the Egyptians before. But this was Greece and he wasn’t sure just when he was.

Their reaction to him unsettled him. Thankfully, they didn’t appear to be afraid of him. Instead, their reaction was more akin to awe. His heart raced as he continued his steady walk forward, his dark skin and modern jeans anachronistic in the extreme. His footsteps echoed in the quiet as whispers surged through the crowd, rippling like the wind.

“M-Mythos... Epimetheus,” someone whispered, their voice trembling with disbelief.

Dante froze when he recognized the name. Epimetheus? That was a figure from Greek mythology, the brother of Prometheus. Did they think that’s who he was? But why would they think that?

“Epimetheus!” another voice cried, this one stronger, more certain. “The god has returned!”

Suddenly, the villagers rushed forward, surrounding him like the children had. They fell to their knees in front of him and bowed their heads low, as though they were in the presence of divinity. Dante’s mind reeled as they muttered praises in what sounded like ancient Greek. And yet... he could understand them. It was like his mind was translating their words automatically, something that shouldn’t be possible.

He swallowed hard, trying to make sense of what was happening. His mouth went dry as he looked at the villagers, their faces shining with hope and reverence. Could this be a part of the spell, or was there something else at work?

“I... I’m not...” he stammered, but his voice was drowned out by the rising wave of exclamations from the crowd.

“Epimetheus has returned!” an older man shouted. “The gods have answered our prayers!”

“The gods?” Dante repeated, bewildered.

He looked over the heads of the kneeling villagers towards the looming Mount Olympus. Of course. The gods. Greek gods. The myths about deities ruling over humans started around twenty-seven hundred years ago. Which could mean that he had been sent back to somewhere near 700 BCE.

The people continued to chant his supposed name—Epimetheus—their voices rising in feverish devotion. His pulse raced. Whatever they believed, it was tied to something much larger than he could understand at that moment. But one thing was clear: they thought he was their god.

Brea’s cryptic words echoed in his mind: “Everything will be revealed. This is what we know. This is all we can tell you. You are the next step in saving this world.”

“Water,” he asked once all the chanting died down, and seconds later a clay cup was thrust into his hands. He drank deeply until his thirst was quenched.

Before he could utter another word, a man in his early fifties approached. Unlike the others, this man didn’t kneel or tremble. Instead, he regarded Dante with a discerning eye, his weathered face framed by a beard streaked with silver. His clothes were finer than those of the villagers, his tunic intricately embroidered, and around his neck hung a medallion that marked him as someone of importance.

“You must come with me,” the man said, his voice firm yet respectful. “Please, I am the village leader. I have been directed to help you, Epimetheus.”

Dante hesitated but realized he had no choice. The people believed he was something divine, and if he was to learn anything about why he was here—or how he could possibly return—he needed to play along, at least for now.

The man led him through the narrow streets and welcomed him to Thessalia, which Dante instantly realized was the name of the town. They moved past humble homes built of stone and timber as the children and some of the townspeople followed along.

Once they stepped outside of town, however, everyone else dropped back. As they climbed higher into the valley, Dante’s gaze drifted to the imposing presence of Mount Olympus, its peaks shrouded in mist as the evening began to set in. The air grew cooler as they approached a large structure perched atop a hill. It wasn’t a grand temple like the ones in his history books, but more of a sacred gathering place—a sanctuary of sorts, built from smooth marble and adorned with carvings of gods and goddesses.

He briefly wondered if this place was still standing in the future. He’d never heard of a town called Thessalia, but he knew there were plenty such villages near the base of Olympus that had been unearthed by archeologists.

Once inside the building, he was led to a bathing chamber. The moment he entered, young attendants dressed in ritual robes, both men and women, stepped forward with reverence in their eyes. They guided him towards a sunken pool filled with cool crystal-clear water. The faint scent of lavender and oils hung in the air, soothing his nerves despite the bizarre situation.

When the women started tugging on his clothes, he initially brushed them off, but seeing the distressed look in their eyes stilled him.

They didn’t view undressing him as anything other than helping him.

After a moment, Dante allowed himself to be undressed and bathed, which was strange but very relaxing.

He felt like he was being prepared for something—some ritual or ceremony that he couldn’t escape.

Once they had removed all the dirt and sand from his hair and body, they left him alone. He leaned back and allowed the water to relax his tired muscles.

He was drifting towards sleep when they returned and helped him out of the tub. Then they dressed him in a fine white chiton, the fabric light yet luxurious against his skin. Gold clasps held the garment in place at his shoulders, and a wide leather belt was fastened around his waist. His feet were slipped into soft leather sandals, and a crown of laurel leaves was placed upon his head.

He guessed that he probably looked like a freaking gladiator except that he didn’t have a sword.

The attendants stepped aside, and the village leader reappeared, offering him a subtle nod of approval. “Come. You will dine now.”