Chapter 6

Chapter Six

D ante trudged through the foreign landscape. The heat of the sun was relentless, its intensity more searing than anything he'd felt before. He had long since discarded his jacket and had slung it over his shoulders. His shirt had followed not long after. The heat seemed to radiate off everything, so he'd tied it around his head for a little more shade.

He had determined right away to stick to walking on the edge of the water instead of trudging through the thick trees that surrounded the beach. This way he could dip in the cool water when he overheated, which he had a few times already. Each time, he'd removed his clothes until he was walking around in his boxer shorts and shoes.

His feet started to ach with each step, and he figured he'd been walking almost three hours so far. The landscape stretched on for as far as he could see. Directly beside the long stretch of beach was a mixture of rugged terrain and rolling hills. Eventually, the harsh landscape gave way to a stunning valley, which he decided to explore after seeing hints of life. Long fields filled with some sort of crops had been a welcome sight.

As he descended into the valley, he saw a small village nestled at the base of a looming, jagged mountain. The town looked ancient and was made up of low stone buildings with thatched roofs. Dusty, worn paths wound between them. Surrounding the village was a patchwork of fields that stretched out for miles, their crops basking under the shadow of the looming peak.

Mount Olympus, he realized with a slight shock. He recognized it from a few videos and pictures that he'd seen of the area. He'd always dreamed of visiting Greece someday.

If it wasn't for the obviously ancient buildings and the lack of modern machinery, he would have just assumed it was a small untouched modern village.

The village itself seemed eerily quiet at first, save for the distant bleating of goats and the murmur of the wind through the crops. As Dante got closer, he noticed people—simple farmers and townsfolk—going about their daily business. When they spotted him, however, they stopped what they were doing and gathered around him.

A group of them stepped out from stone buildings, their gazes locked onto him as though he were an apparition. The men were dressed in short, loose linen robes and sandals. The women wore similar robes but slightly longer, and some of them carried clay jugs or wooden tools. Children, dressed in shorter versions of the same clothes, gathered around him, reaching out and touching his dark skin with childlike curiosity.

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."

Dante followed the leader through a series of halls that opened up into a large, open-air dining area. The space was bordered by columns, and beyond them, the view took his breath away. Stretching far into the distance was the shimmering expanse of the sea. The water was impossibly blue, sparkling under the fading light of the setting sun. It was beautiful, almost surreal, like something out of a dream.

He'd always wanted to visit this region. Somehow, coming back in time and seeing it undisturbed by the chaos of the future was even more rewarding.

Then again, he was probably delirious and really just passed out on the hot sand somewhere, dreaming all of this up.

The dinner itself was simple but filling. Fresh fish, olives, bread, and honeyed figs were laid before him. Despite the strange circumstances, Dante found himself eating hungrily, his body finally catching up with the exhaustion of the day. The village leader watched him in silence, occasionally offering a nod but saying little.

When the meal was over, Dante was escorted to a private chamber, high up in the sanctuary. The room was modest but comfortable, with a large bed draped in linen and an open balcony that overlooked the sea. The night breeze drifted in, carrying the scent of salt water and olive trees.

The attendants bowed, then turned and left him alone.

He stood at the edge of the balcony, gazing out at the stars that were beginning to pierce the darkening sky. In the distance on the left, Mount Olympus loomed, ever-present and ominous, like a silent guardian watching over this ancient world. To the right, far below him, was the Aegean Sea.

What was he supposed to do now? He had no map, no plan, and no real understanding of why he was here. The people thought he was Epimetheus, a god from legend, but he was just a man—a man thrust into the past with no idea of what was coming next.

Brea's words haunted him still. "You are the next step in saving this world."

But how? What role did he play in this ancient place, and what fate awaited him?

Dante closed his eyes. His head felt dull and yet was spinning with questions. As the moon rose high in the sky, he wondered if Amy had been sent somewhere as well and if their paths would cross again.

Never in a million years had he imagined his life would take a turn like this. He'd always hoped that Amy would come back into his life. Dreamed of it. He knew that she'd gone down several dark paths since leaving town.

Still, he'd hoped that she'd grow tired of wandering around and dating losers and eventually come home. He had no idea it would mean that he'd end up in a place like this, waiting for her to join him in this primitive paradise.

Watching the last rays of sunlight disappear to the west, he was about to turn towards the massive bed and try to get some rest when he saw a strange purple light coming from the water far below him.

His first thought was that it was a boat, a ship heading in from a long voyage. Then it dawned on him that, while there must be boats in this time, none would have a purple light shining so brightly. Oddly enough, it was heading directly towards him.

Dante froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He gripped the stone edge of the balcony to steady himself. His eyes widened as the purple light hovered just above the water's surface, slowly rising like some kind of ethereal mist. The air around him changed—warmer, electric, like the charge before a storm.

His instincts screamed at him to back away, but his feet remained rooted to the spot. The light moved closer, impossibly graceful, shimmering in the deep hues of twilight. As it ascended higher, the details within the glowing mist started to take form—a figure cloaked in flowing light, delicate and otherworldly.

"Hello, brother," the soft, oddly familiar voice echoed in his mind, not through the air but directly in his thoughts. His stomach twisted as the realization set in—this was no hallucination. He wasn't imagining it. The voice belonged to Hope, his sister.

But how? How could she be here?

The figure grew clearer, the purple mist dissipating to reveal her. Her features were as he remembered, but sharper, more refined, as if shaped by something greater than time. She floated just beyond the balcony's railing, her long, dark hair swirling around her in a haze of violet light. Her eyes, once warm and comforting, now glowed with a strange luminescence, a reflection of the power coursing through her.

"Hope?" Dante whispered, his voice strained. "What in the hell?" She was supposed to be at a dance school in New York. The last time he'd seen her, she'd just gotten the lead in a holiday production.

The familiarity of her face contrasted so violently with the sheer impossibility of the situation that it left him disoriented. She looked like his sister but not entirely. She was something else, something more.

Long flowing purple fabric swirled around her like clouds and mist as she hovered hundreds of feet above the ground. Her eyes were impossibly violet in color. Her long dark hair flowed in perfect ringlets around her face.

She was the spitting image of how their mother had once looked, long before the cancer had taken her years before he'd graduated high school.

"You've finally come home," Hope repeated, her voice filled with both sorrow and something he couldn't quite place. Relief? Expectation?

Home? What did she mean by that? He wasn't home—he was in ancient Greece, thrust into the past by forces he couldn't understand. The same forces, it seemed, that had taken Hope and turned her into... this.

The wind stirred around them, carrying with it the scent of the sea. His mind raced with questions, memories flooding back.

"How are you here?" he demanded, his voice stronger now, though his pulse was hammering in his ears with fear and confusion.

Hope tilted her head slightly, her expression soft but distant, as if the answers she carried were too heavy for words. "I've always been here, waiting for you. Waiting for this moment."

His chest tightened as he stepped closer to the railing. "What are you talking about? Waiting for what?"

"For you to fulfill your destiny," she replied calmly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "For you to become who you were always meant to be. Your journey has only just begun."

Dante shook his head, frustration mingling with disbelief. "What journey? None of this makes sense. Why did Brea send me here? Why are you here?"

Hope's glowing eyes softened and, for a moment, the ethereal light around her dimmed, revealing more of the sister he remembered—the one who had played with him when they were kids, who always had a smile for him no matter how hard things got. But this version of her felt beyond his reach, like she was more of an idea than the person he once knew.

"All will be revealed in time," she said, her voice distant, almost mechanical. "There are forces at play you cannot comprehend yet. You must trust what you feel."

"What I feel?" Dante nearly laughed, bitterness creeping into his voice. "I feel like I've been thrown into a nightmare I can't wake up from. And now you're telling me I'm supposed to just go along with it?"

Hope reached out her hand towards him, palm open. A gentle wave of purple energy shimmered between them, beckoning him to take her hand.

"You have a choice, brother," she said softly, "but the fate of everything depends on what you do next."

His heart clenched at her words. The fate of everything? He didn't know what to believe anymore. His life had been turned upside down in a matter of hours, and now his sister—this glowing apparition of his sister—was asking him to trust in something he didn't understand.

He hesitated, his hand twitching at his side.

"Dante." Hope's voice softened to a whisper. "You've always known deep down that you're part of something bigger. Now is the time to embrace it."

Dante's jaw tightened as he stared at the hand reaching out to him, the violet glow casting shadows across his face. He wanted to believe her—wanted to believe that somehow there was a purpose to all of this, that everything would eventually make sense. But trust was hard to come by when the world felt so upside down.

"What if I don't want any part of this?" he asked quietly, meeting her eyes.

Hope's expression didn't change, but the glow around her flickered for a brief moment.

"Then everything... will perish."