The Gods Speak

A young man moved quietly through the cobblestone streets.

His clothes, meticulously tailored to fit his lean frame, were a deep, inky black, and bore a deep contrast against the vibrant colours of the bustling city around him.

He didn't stay quiet though, after all, it was the day that would shape his life.

Or end it, the walking figure thought with dark amusement.

The fabric of his suit whispered with each step he took, a soft, rhythmic sound that was almost drowned out by the city's symphony of voices.

Passersby couldn't help but glance his way, their curiosity piqued by his passing.

However, most of them stopped almost immediately and snorted.

Achlys' gaze fell on a little girl who was staring around in confusion.

"What's wrong with the black man?" he overheard the said girl asking her father when he moved by them.

It's simple, you innocent, little girl. I'm rich and I'm not strong. Do you know what that means? he questioned inside his head, his thoughts dripping with sarcasm.

"It's because he's a spoiled, pampered up brat!" the man answered his daughter with unmistakable disgust in his voice.

Achlys suppressed a sigh at the easily given insult and continued walking, imitating the confidence of someone who knew exactly where he was going, which he did…

Despite not stopping even for a bit, and standing taller than one point eight metres, meaning that he had a long stride, a crowd somehow managed to form around him.

Not this shit again.

He was being cornered.

Achly's face didn't reveal his inner turmoil, save for an occasional flicker of contemplation in his dark eyes as they swept over the crowd.

Someone would soon emerge from the encirclement and try to humiliate him publicly, in front of everyone.

It wasn't the first time someone did so.

I'm not going through this again though, not today, he thought with conviction and pushed through the crowd, uncaring if he caused pain to those trying to hold him back.

For some reason, with the appearance of the mythos and the apotheosis of the human race, strange and irrational behaviours such as the current one—mocking and beating wealthy aristocrats who couldn't hold their ground—weren't so unusual.

It wasn't done in public though, not without a good reason.

Not unless you are me…

"HEY ACHLYS," a tall, bulky man shouted.

Achlys didn't even bother turning back and took his cue for all it was worth.

In the next moment, he started running…

Luckily he was almost at his destination and he didn't have to worry about any gifted mortal catching up with him.

Passing by the familiar sights of the city he was born in, Thessaloniki, he barely stopped in front of a church before heading inside, uncaring about the many gasps coming from behind him.

The approach to the temple was marked by a wide, sweeping staircase made of polished white stone, flanked by statues of mighty eagles and bulls.

Achlys' heart pounded in his chest, not from the exertion of running, but from the anticipation of what lay ahead.

Finally. Finally. I can become a gifted mortal now, he thought, running his eyes over the statue of Zeus stood ahead.

Zeus, not Christ.

The building that was Achlys' destination wasn't a church but a temple.

A temple made for the father of the Gods.

The temple itself was a marvel of classical architecture, constructed from pristine white marble that seems almost translucent in the sunlight as if the very stone were imbued with the essence of the heavens. The columns, each one a towering monolith of perfect proportions were intricately carved with scenes from myth and legend.

The carvings depicted the epic tales of Zeus' victories over the Titans, his 'wise' judgments from Mount Olympus, his interactions with both gods and mortals and so on.

Achlys came to the temple of Zeus to enter a mythos.

Mythos.

A word which had become almost synonymous with both damnation and salvation.

Mythos was widely believed to be a concept created by the twelve Olympians.

In simple terms, mythos, was a test of sorts.

Upon reaching adulthood, a human acquired the right to fight in long-forgotten eras and myths.

It was simple to do so, one just had to find a temple of a god and pray to them, asking for a passage to the past.

That is how humans walked the road of divinity, something which was unheard of in times of old.

By entering a myth and completing the given task, the human acquired some kind of system that further enabled them to empower themselves and enter more myths, older, and more known ones.

Thus a vicious cycle was born…

Humans were born, many tried to reach the pinnacle of divinity, to become gods, and then they died.

Somewhere along the way, they met with an insurmountable obstacle, an enemy or a landscape, and they fell dead, their bones littered in the same lands as their progenitors.

The young man's heart raced with anticipation as he approached the sacred threshold.

Achys had heard whispers of the power that awaited those who dared to enter a mythos, of the transformation that could elevate a mere mortal to something more.

I won't be mocked anymore.

With a deep breath, the young man steeled himself for what lay ahead, knowing that his life would never be the same once he crossed that threshold.

At the heart of the temple lay immense bronze doors, adorned with gold leaf and inlaid with precious gemstones. They opened into a vast interior hall, where the air was cool and fragrant with the scent of incense.

The floor was made of polished marble tiles inlaid with patterns of lightning bolts and laurel wreaths, symbols of Zeus' power and authority.

Achlys' eyes were immediately drawn upward to the immense statue which dominated the space.

The statue was crafted from ivory and gold, portraying the king of the gods seated on a grand throne, his expression both serene and commanding.

In one hand, he held a sceptre topped with an eagle, and in the other, a thunderbolt poised to strike.

Achlys moved closer to the magnificent sculpture and fell to his knees.