Page 23 of The Stars

Pandora.

He had no choice now. He had to go. And somehow, some way, he would get there.

The next morning, Dante woke to a knock at the heavy wooden door of his chamber. Before he could call out for whoever it was to enter, the door creaked open, revealing the village leader.

The man appeared to be eager. His long white hair was pulled back into a knot at the base of his neck. He was wearing ceremonial robes and had a few more medallions around his neck. There was a gleam of certainty in his eyes, like he held the answers to the universe.

“You must travel to Delos,” the leader said, his voice soft but resolute.

Dante sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “How did you⁠—”

“I was shown, just as I was shown of your coming,” the leader interrupted, stepping into the room. His gaze never wavered, as if the gods themselves had spoken through him. “I saw it in my dreams. You are to go now to Mount Cythus. There, you will stand before the gods and get guidance.”

Dante swung his legs over the side of the bed, his thoughts immediately returning to Hope’s cryptic message from the night before. It wasn’t a choice anymore. Whatever was happening, he was a part of it.

He dressed quickly with the man standing over him, then the village leader gestured for him to follow, and soon they were walking through the winding pathways of the temple grounds, past tall pillars draped in vines, until they reached the docks. The sun had barely risen, casting a golden glow over the calm waters of the Aegean.

Two sleek, narrow boats waited for them, carved from dark wood and adorned with intricate designs of sea creatures, their eyes and bodies inlaid with shimmering silver. The sails were made from thick linen, painted with symbols of the gods, bright against the pale canvas. A small crew of men, their faces solemn, stood ready by the boats, awaiting the journey ahead.

“You will be safe with them,” the leader assured, motioning towards the sailors. “The gods have blessed this passage.”

“Why? Why have you helped me?” he asked the man.

“You being here has saved our village from the Fates.” He nodded. “What was to come has now been avoided. We thank you.” He bowed again. “Safe journey.”

Dante nodded, though the word “safe” felt thin and fragile compared to the enormity of everything weighing on him. He climbed into the lead boat, taking a seat at the back while the crew pushed off from the docks.

The boats glided effortlessly through the calm seas, cutting across the water like birds in flight. The wind was light enough to fill the small sails and keep their speed steady. There was a sense of tranquility in the air, as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to unfold. The crew barely spoke, their eyes focused on the horizon ahead as if they too sensed the importance of this journey.

Dante watched as the coastline of Thessalia slowly shrank behind them. The waters were a deep sapphire and as they sailed further he could see several small islands dotting the horizon. As they got closer, he noticed that some had jagged cliffs and others a gentler slope to them. He wanted to explore them each and wondered which one they traveled to. However, hours passed as they moved around and beyond those islands.

Soon, the faint outline of Delos appeared in the distance. He could tell it was their destination, as they were heading directly towards it. The island rose like a crown from the water, its slopes green and fertile. Looming above it all was Mount Cythus, its massive peak a sharp contrast to the flatter lands.

As they neared, he could make out the great temples that dotted the landscape, their white stones gleaming in the sunlight. Marble columns towered over the island, grand structures built in honor of gods that he barely understood.

The boats drifted into a small cove, where a narrow path led up through olive groves and cypress trees towards the heart of the island.

As they made their way up the cove, one of the rowers blew a horn of sorts. Short fast bursts from the land followed in reply. Once they docked, one of the rowers stepped off the boat and handed something to a man who quickly took off towards a building.

Moments later, a different man stepped forward.

It was obvious that this man, another older, gray-haired gentleman dressed almost identically to the other village leader, was the head of this town. The man helped Dante disembark and then pointed towards the mountain. “You will get guidance there. Follow me.”

Dante followed the leader and a group of men up the pathway, each step bringing him closer to whatever awaited him near the base of Mount Cythus. Somehow, his unease grew more as the trees thinned and they grew closer to the sprawling temples.

At the foot of the mountain was a massive outdoor theater, carved into the rock itself. Rows and rows of stone seats rose up the hillside in a semi-circle. The place looked capable of holding thousands of people, but today it was empty, save for the whispers of the wind.

The village leader stopped just before the entrance to the theater. “This is where you will stand, where the gods speak.”

Dante looked all around him. There was a large circular stage in the heart of the amphitheater, surrounded by the empty seats, which seemed to watch him. The vastness of it was overwhelming.

He’d attended several large concerts in his time, but none had ever been in an arena this large.

Were there even this many people on the island? Did people travel from all over to watch plays or fights here?

Who had built this place? From what he could tell, it was older than the town. Centuries older. Had the townspeople found this place and assumed that the gods had built it?

As he watched the leader disappear, he realized that he had expected an audience, maybe a gathering of priests or locals, but here, in the middle of this grand place, there was nothing. Just him and silence.