On the deep night of the next day, the palace of Thebes.
A cold wind passed through the doors and windows, pouring into the great hall, where King Pentheus, sitting alone on the throne with eyes closed in meditation, heard a creaking noise. He couldn't help but shiver and, in a fluster, stood up, drawing the bronze longsword from the rack beside him and looked around vigilantly.
"Who's there? Quit these ghostly tricks and come out!"
Waving the bronze sword in his hand through the air, Pentheus issued a warning.
However, the only response to him was the whistling of the wind outside the door.
It was merely a false alarm.
A faint blush colored Pentheus's face, which subsided as he sheepishly slid the bronze sword back into its sheath, relaxing his anxious heart slightly.
Yet, even so, the thought of that handsome young intruder who had appeared and vanished without a trace in the great hall last night caused the young king's expression to become uncertain.