Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

D ante had lost track of time. Days passed in a haze, blending like sand in the wind. The people of Thessalia treated him as though he were a deity, bowing, offering him food, and whispering prayers when they thought he wasn't listening. But despite the reverence, he felt nothing but isolation. No one dared speak to him directly, except the village leader, who would visit each evening to ensure his "needs" were met. Dante's so-called "freedom" was confined to the luxurious temple chambers and the surrounding courtyard. There were ever-present servants to make sure that he never crossed the threshold into the streets.

Hope came and went as she pleased every evening, always in that mystical form—purple light shimmering in the night, her voice soft but commanding. She was there, but not there. Like a dream, she appeared when the sunset and the village quieted, leaving Dante alone with his thoughts. He had tried explaining her presence to the temple leader, but his words were dismissed as divine visions meant only for him.

"Your path is guided by the gods," the leader had said, bowing deeply. "It is not for us mortals to interfere."

It was frustrating. He wasn't a god. He wasn't divine. He was just a man, a police officer, trapped in a time he didn't understand, waiting for answers that never seemed to come. He had tried to press Hope for more information, but she would simply smile, her form dissolving into the mist as quickly as it had come.

On the seventh night, Dante stood on the balcony once again, watching the sea. The moon's pale reflection shimmered on the water, casting an ethereal glow across the horizon. His thoughts drifted to Amy, wondering where she was and if she was safe. He had no idea what was happening back in his own time, but he couldn't shake the feeling that she'd soon be there. That she was supposed to be with him.

"Brother." The soft voice filled his mind again.

He turned to see Hope materializing before him, the familiar swirl of purple mist solidifying into her form.

"You've been quiet," he said, crossing his arms. "Not much for conversation these last few nights."

Hope smiled faintly. "I have been watching, waiting. Your time here is coming to an end."

Dante frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You are not meant to stay in Thessalia. Your path leads elsewhere," she said, her voice as calm as ever. "Tomorrow, at first light, you will travel to Delos Island."

"Delos?" The name rang with a distant familiarity, something he vaguely recalled from a long-forgotten history or geography class. "Why Delos?"

Hope's glowing eyes met his. "There, you will find Pandora. You must awaken her."

Pandora. The name hit him like a punch to the gut, dredging up a thousand questions all at once. Pandora—the woman who had unleashed the evils of the world in ancient myth. The one cursed by the gods. What did she have to do with his own life, his time?

"Why me?" he asked, his voice quieter now, unsure. "What does Pandora have to do with me?"

Hope's smile faltered for a brief moment, her gaze softening. "You are more connected to her than you know. But that knowledge will come in time."

"Why can't you just tell me now?" he asked, frustration creeping into his voice. "Why all the cryptic messages? I'm flying blind here."

"You will understand when you reach Delos," she said softly. "And when you find Pandora, you will know the truth."

Dante's chest tightened, anxiety clawing at the edges of his mind. The weight of everything—being called a god, trapped in this ancient world, and now being tasked with saving someone who was nothing more than a myth—felt too much.

"How am I even supposed to get to Delos?" he asked, voice tense. "I'm not exactly free to roam."

Hope's figure shimmered in the moonlight, her smile returning. "The path will reveal itself. All you need to do is be ready."

He opened his mouth to protest, to demand more answers, but before he could say anything, Hope's form began to dissolve into the purple mist once again.

"Wait!" he shouted, stepping forward. "Hope, wait!"

But it was too late. She was gone, leaving him alone once more with nothing but questions and the cold sea breeze. He clenched his fists in frustration as his mind raced with a million questions.

Delos Island.

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.

He stepped forward, his feet carrying him down into the middle of the theater. His footsteps echoed as he approached the center of the stage. By the time he made it there, the sun was hanging high in the sky, casting long shadows across the empty stone seats.

He stood silent for a moment, the calm seas at his back, the high mountain peak hovering ahead of him. Dante had never felt more isolated. Endless questions flooded his mind.

Suddenly, the wind picked up, a soft breeze brushing against his skin, and for a moment he could almost hear whispers. Voices from another time, or maybe another world.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and waited for whatever was to come next.

"What are you doing here," a deep voice boomed so loudly that the ground shook, "out-of-time cop?" The last was a hiss.

Dante opened his eyes and blinked, his heart racing as he took in the sight of a towering figure before him.

There, in front of him, blocking out the view of the mountain, stood a giant. Like, for real. The man was more than three hundred feet tall. His skin was bronzed, and chiseled as though carved from the same marble as the ancient temples around them. He held a massive trident with an odd live creature wrapped around the staff. Both man and creature looked at him, waiting for an answer.

The giant—Prometheus, he realized—loomed over him, his voice vibrating through the stones beneath Dante's feet.

"What in the…" Dante took a few steps back.

"Epimetheus?" The giant's eyes narrowed slightly when Dante spoke. Then Prometheus smiled and a burst of laughter shook the ground once more. "Brother, I did not recognize you."

He shrank to human size, though the force of his presence didn't diminish. Now the oppressive weight of his gaze felt more personal, more pointed.

"Brother?" Dante repeated, his mind spinning. He felt disconnected, caught between this ancient world and his memories. "I'm not… I'm not…" It dawned on him then that the townspeople had called him Epimetheus, who was indeed Prometheus's brother. "Epimetheus," he finished quietly.

Prometheus, now standing at Dante's height, chuckled darkly. "You wear his face, and his essence clings to you like smoke. You may not be Epimetheus in mind, but in soul... you are him, whether you know it or not."

Dante opened his mouth to protest, but Prometheus waved him off, his movements graceful for someone who had once been a hulking giant. "It matters little. Names change. Faces change. But the roles remain the same. You are here for her, are you not?" His voice softened.

Dante frowned. "Her? Pandora?"

Prometheus's eyes darkened, his smile fading into something more dangerous. He stepped closer, his face inches from Dante's now. "Do you know what it is you are about to do?"

Dante swallowed hard but didn't back down. "I'm supposed to find her. To wake her."

"To wake her?" Prometheus's laugh was harsh, filled with something more than mere amusement. "Brother, you are playing with forces you cannot comprehend. Pandora must remain asleep. If she wakes, only ruin will follow. No one can stop what comes next."

Dante shook his head. "But I thought?—"

"Thought what?" Prometheus snapped, cutting him off. "That you would find her and everything would be well? That you, together, can save the world? No, brother, it is not that simple. Pandora's slumber is the last barrier between the world you know and utter chaos. She is more than a woman, more than a story—she is a force. And forces like her should never be unleashed."

"But Brea, Hope, they told me I had to save her," Dante said, his voice cracking with uncertainty.

"Hope." Prometheus spat the name like venom. "You mean Elpis." His eyes narrowed again. "Elpis, like so many others, believes too easily in the promise of redemption. But you, you must understand—this is not about saving Pandora. It is about keeping her locked away. She carries the weight of destruction. If she wakes, the world as you know it will burn. It will collapse under the weight of her burden. It always has."

"What burden?" he asked, wondering if he wanted to know the answer.

"To save all." Prometheus sighed.

Dante's throat tightened. His mind reeled as he tried to piece together the puzzle. "But if she's asleep, doesn't that mean everyone dies anyway?"

Prometheus looked at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "There are those who still believe in redemption. They think they can control the uncontrollable. That they can fix what was broken so long ago. But I am telling you, brother—Pandora is not the solution. She is the end. The end to you. To all of us."

Dante felt a wave of doubt wash over him. "So what do I do?"

Prometheus took a step back, his eyes flashing with warning. "You let her sleep. You turn away from the path they've set for you. If you wake her, you will unleash not only her curse but the fury of some of the gods. They will not forgive. They will not show mercy. In time, they will come for her and you."

Dante clenched his fists at his sides. "But what if she's the only way to stop this? What if I don't have a choice?"

Prometheus's gaze softened, but the danger in his voice remained. "There is always a choice, brother. Always. You can choose to leave her in peace, to let the world keep its fragile balance. Or you can wake her and watch everything crumble around you. The rest of the gods will not intervene. They will only watch as the chaos unfolds."

Dante's breath came in short, shallow bursts as he processed Prometheus's words. He had been sent here to find Pandora, to wake her, to somehow save this world. But now, standing before someone who had seen the consequences of such actions, doubt gnawed at him.

Prometheus stepped closer again, placing a firm hand on Dante's shoulder. "I have warned you. I have done what I can. The rest is up to you. But mark my words, brother—Pandora must not be unleashed. Let her sleep."

With that, Prometheus turned and began to walk away, his figure fading into the shadows of the massive amphitheater. Dante was left alone. Every instinct told him that the stakes were higher than he could imagine and that his decision here would ripple through time and worlds in ways he couldn't yet understand.

He closed his eyes again, feeling the cool wind brush against his skin. The path ahead was uncertain, and Prometheus's warning echoed in his mind, but somewhere deep within him, there was a pull—a pull.

Dante opened his eyes and looked out at the empty seats of the theater, his heart pounding in his chest.

What in the hell did he know?