In the warm golden light of the afternoon, two girls sat in a sun-dappled room, nestled within the marble bones of a Greek hillside home. The architecture whispered of history—white marble columns supporting the arched ceiling, and open spaces designed to breathe with the rhythm of the earth. The walls were built from smooth, pale stone, cool to the touch, and decorated with faded frescoes of olive groves and celestial figures. A single column stood by the open window, its fluted body catching the light like a guardian of the past. Terracotta tiles lined the floor, partially covered by a woven rug dyed with natural earth tones. Small clay oil lamps rested in niches carved into the walls, and a low wooden table near the corner bore a bronze bowl filled with pomegranates. A tall window stood open, letting in the soft breath of a coastal breeze. The wind stirred the linen curtains and played with the ends of their hair. Thalia stood before a polished bronze mirror, adjusting the folds of her chiton, while Callista gently helped pin a strand of her hair in place.
As she brushed through Thalia's hair, Callista smiled. "You have such beautiful hair," she said softly. "Like woven sunlight."
Thalia met her eyes in the mirror. Callista's vivid green eyes watched her with quiet admiration, glowing like emeralds in the reflection. For a moment, the room was still, full of unsaid warmth.
Their voices were low, weaving stories into the still air of the sacred house. One was Thalia, daughter of Mnemosyne, the Muse of memory. The other, Callista, was a demigoddess with the laughter of nymphs in her breath.
Callista broke the silence, her voice almost trembling with honesty. "You are very special, Thalia. You were chosen—between all of us—to become the oracle. I'm very jealous. I can't even hide it."
Thalia turned toward her, surprised by the confession.
Callista gave a soft, self-conscious laugh. "I was always lucky. Even back then, when we were just kids. Do you remember? I always thought I'd be the one picked for something great. But it was you. And now, I understand why."
"Do you ever remember your earliest memory?" Callista asked, her fingers lingering at Thalia's shoulder as she stepped back.
Thalia smiled softly. "Yes. It's clear like a painting in my mind. I was only a child then. We were near the coast, in a wide field where wildflowers stretched like a sea beneath the sky. I remember the other children—some from the village, others like me, not quite mortal. We played, laughed, and ran through the tall grass."
Callista leaned in, her eyes curious.
"And then?"
"Then it happened," Thalia said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Something descended. Not one of Olympus, nor any god I had ever seen. He had wings like burnished silver, and light shimmered around him like a storm of stars. We all saw him. The children stopped. We didn't run away. No, we ran to him. I remember the feeling—the pull, like something deep in my chest recognized him."
Callista held her breath.
"He reached down," Thalia continued, "and lifted me. Just me. As though he had come for only one purpose. I remember the others watching, their eyes wide, not with fear, but awe. He whispered something in my ear, but I've never been able to recall the words. Only the warmth of his breath, and the strange comfort that filled me."
"Do you think he was a god?" Callista asked.
"No," Thalia said, shaking her head. "He was something older. Something not bound to the myths we know."
She looked back toward the window as if searching for that memory again. "After he lifted me, I remember all the kids laughing and full of joy. Their voices echoed in the field like birds in spring. Then, he gently set me back down. I watched him move slowly toward our teacher. He was... breathtaking. Each step he took seemed to shimmer."
Callista was silent, listening.
"He looked at her," Thalia continued, "and she looked right back, wide-eyed. And then she said it—called him by a name: Lucifer. She didn't seem afraid. Only... full of longing. She turned to the window and whispered, 'I hope he came to save me too.'"
Callista reached out and took Thalia's hands in hers. "Thalia, are you afraid?" she asked gently. "I'm here. Even if he isn't."
Thalia didn't answer right away. Her eyes stayed on the window.
Callista squeezed her hands. "But Olympus needs you. Zeus needs you. I need you."
Thalia turned to her, but couldn't meet her gaze for long. Her head dipped slightly.
Callista leaned closer, her voice softer now. "Look at me. I know."
Thalia looked up, her expression full of things she couldn't say.
Then Callista gave a small, hopeful smile. "I have your dress."
She moved across the room and returned with a flowing white dress, the fabric catching the light like water. It was beautiful—elegant, pure, and almost glowing in the golden afternoon.
Thalia reached for the dress with hesitant hands. Callista gave her space, stepping back as Thalia slowly began to change. She slipped out of her chiton and into the white dress, the fabric whispering as it settled over her skin.
She moved closer to the mirror, her bare feet silent on the stone floor. For a moment, she simply looked—taking in her reflection, as if trying to recognize the person she had become.
Her voice came quietly, but firmly. "We need to go now. It is time."
The soft wind curled around them like a memory, the unseen threads of fate pulling gently at their lives once more.
Far from the room, at the heart of the sacred city of Delphi, the capital of prophecy and pilgrimage, the architecture sang of divine presence. White marble columns lined the pathways leading to amphitheaters and temples, glowing with golden accents beneath the sun. The Parthenon—"of the virgin"—stood tall, a tribute to wisdom and silence.
At the center of the sacred precinct, the Omphalos Stone rested—carved and dome-shaped, pulsing with ancient energy. Before it stood the Pythia, the priestess of Apollo, seated on a tripod above a chasm that breathed the breath of Gaia. As vapors rose, she entered trance-like states and delivered prophecies, often in riddles that echoed through the chamber.
Groups gathered in reverence, watching with wide eyes as her words bridged the mortal and the divine.
On this day, the divine themselves had gathered—Zeus, with his eyes like stormclouds, sat regal and silent beside Hera, her face a mask of composed curiosity. They had come not as gods above all, but as seekers of truth.
The great bronze doors creaked open.
Thalia entered, clad in the flowing white dress that shimmered like starlight. She walked slowly across the sacred floor, the weight of the gods' gaze falling over her like a mantle. Her steps were silent, measured.
She moved to the center of the sanctuary, where the carved Omphalos Stone stood between flanking sacred stones. The air shimmered faintly with heat and incense, and a low hum seemed to rise from the earth itself.
Thalia bowed once to the gods, then once more to the stone.
As she stepped behind the sacred veil, the attendants gently closed it behind her. There, in the heart of Delphi, she took her place at the tripod, seated between the ancient stones. Her hands rested over the sacred chasm, where vapors curled and danced.
The ritual began—slow, deliberate.
Thalia closed her eyes and breathed deep. The air was thick with the essence of laurel, the scent of ash and wild honey. Her fingers trembled slightly as the trance took hold, the breath of Gaia entering her lungs.
Her head tilted back. Her lips moved without voice, then with a whisper, then a murmur. Her body swayed gently as though her soul had been caught in a distant current.
The priests stepped forward, silent, reverent.
And then—her voice rang out, sharp and clear, the voice of one not entirely her own:
"Born of stone and shadow's plight, A flame arose and drowned in light. Its crown beneath the ocean lies, Yet still it speaks though none replies."
The room held its breath.
Even Zeus leaned forward.
Thalia's eyes were open now, glowing faintly. But it was not Thalia who looked through them.
The Oracle had spoken.
Zeus stood, his expression unreadable. He stepped toward Thalia with measured grace, then took a soft piece of white cloth and gently draped it over her shoulders, shielding her from the gazes of those around.
"You've done a great service to Olympus," he said quietly. "You may rest now."
He turned to Callista. "Help her to her feet, and take her to her room."
"Yes, my lord," Callista replied, rushing to Thalia's side. Thalia could barely stand, her limbs weak from the trance. With Callista's support, she moved slowly, her gaze dazed and distant.
As they passed him, Zeus watched them go. Then, without looking away, he addressed the chamber:
"What are you waiting for? We have an Oracle to decipher."