Marco and Roberto, their journey along the coastal village leading them to a shabby house near the sea, approached the weathered door with cautious determination. The wood, worn by the ceaseless embrace of salty winds, bore the scars of time. Marco raised his hand, and with a firm yet measured knock, they announced their presence to whoever resided within.
''Remember speak in greeks''Marco briefly said to Roberto as they both turned towards the closed door
The echoes of their knock lingered in the air, momentarily drowning out the distant sounds of the village waking to the day. The rhythmic murmur of waves crashing against the nearby cliffs served as an irregular accompaniment to the quiet suspense that enveloped the moment.
After a brief pause, the door creaked open, revealing a weather-beaten face framed by strands of graying hair. The resident, a fisherman by the looks of his attire, regarded Marco and Roberto with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.