For over a dozen consecutive days, faint, haunting screams echoed every morning from a certain civilian residence in Knossos.
The neighbors who caught wind of it gradually grew anxious, fearing some evil spirit had slipped into the city.
Some households closest to the source even pooled money to hire temple priestesses to perform exorcisms.
Fortunately, the effect seemed immediate, the daytime screams vanished completely, though at night, vague tremors could still be felt.
Finally, as the Dionysian festival approached, even those odd sensations faded away.
In their place rose an atmosphere of joyous celebration.
Under the temple's call, wines from every city-state on Crete were shipped to Knossos to compete in quality, vying for the honor of becoming next year's sacred offering.
Thanks to the island's thriving maritime trade and convenient location, travelers and merchants from both within and beyond Crete flocked in, some simply to revel in the festivities, others to seize business opportunities, joining the grand event together.
The ports teemed with ships shuttling like woven threads; the streets brimmed shoulder-to-shoulder with people.
Stalls and inns were packed day after day.
The city guard suddenly found themselves under immense pressure; even the precious divine-blood royal guards were forced into patrol and defense duties.
The temple coordinating everything worked around the clock.
In just a few days, High Priestess Ariadne had lost several pounds.
There was no helping it.
King Minos was already old and still bedridden, barely clinging to life after the last war's toll.
It was already a feat that the princes managed to diligently perform their duties under the old king's pressure.
The only one familiar with all state affairs and capable of shouldering the burden, the chief scribe, was in seclusion.
At her limit, the overwhelmed high priestess had no choice but to seek help from the wisdom goddess she revered.
It was precisely thanks to that, Lorne finally earned a breather from his daily beatings and miraculously escaped Athena's demonic clutches.
After two days of rest before he could even leave the bed, the long-suffering victim finally sat at the dinner table after half a month, able to enjoy a normal meal.
As the hot food entered his mouth, the young man glanced at the empty seat beside him, nearly moved to tears, and let out a heartfelt sigh.
"..The Minos family—truly good people!"
Hestia and Medusa at the table nodded fervently in complete agreement.
Only Stheno and Euryale, trying desperately to lower their presence in the corner, felt far less cheerful when they saw a certain someone casually brandish a whip after dinner.
They let out silent wails toward the empty chair.
Big bro! Come back soon! Save us!
The snakes are dying!
~~
Early morning.
Having perfectly released his pent-up stress, Lorne left two weeping snake sisters curled up together on the bed and stepped out in high spirits to greet the Dionysian festival's dawn.
The streets surged with people, figures of varied dress and appearance coming and going in endless excitement.
Some gathered in groups of three or five, raising cups and chatting freely; others wandered the markets, buying Crete's famous spices, wines, and ores; still others were drawn by the street performances and food, stopping to watch and taste…
Just after daybreak, all of Knossos was immersed in an ocean of joy.
Watching the neighbors who had set up stalls at dawn already swarmed beyond capacity, feet never touching the ground, Lorne couldn't help but smile from his window.
Satisfied, he tossed several pages of densely written parchment into the trash.
Festivals weren't just empty rituals for the gods or self-contained revelry; they could draw crowds, attract visitors and attention, inject fresh blood and vitality into the city, and in turn boost commerce, population, economy, and even political and cultural influence.
Thus, any city-state capable of hosting grand celebrations often left a bold mark in world history.
Athens, Delphi, Rome…
Though Lorne had been tormented by Athena these past days, since this was his own ascension ceremony, he had spared no effort behind the scenes, offering plans and ideas, hoping to make the festival a success while benefiting the entire island of Crete as much as possible.
Win-win was the only healthy, long-lasting partnership.
The morning sun rose, the thin mist scattered.
The long-awaited opening ceremony proceeded in perfect order.
On the sacrificial field surrounded by spectators, white-robed priestesses gathered before the altar, chanting hymns.
High Priestess Ariadne, holding a torch woven from fennel, olive branches, and grapevines, approached the altar and lit the sacred flame.
As blazing light shot skyward, the central statue of Athena seemed to come alive.
The spear of victory in her right hand struck the Aegis shield in her left, producing a resonant, exhilarating peal.
In an instant, golden ripples spread outward from the statue in all directions, covering the entire city in moments.
Then, countless specks of golden light drifted down from the heavens like luminous rain, showering every corner of Knossos.
Those bathed in the light felt invigorated, their fatigue vanishing, hidden ailments easing or curing.
Experiencing tangible divine grace, the people erupted in excited, reverent cheers, prostrating toward the benevolent great mother goddess.
The statue inclined its head slightly in response, then shed its aura and reverted to an ordinary sculpture, leaving the celebration to mortals.
With the divine rites complete, the mortal revelry officially began.
Bards strummed lyres; opera troupes sang softly to flute accompaniment.
People wearing ivy crowns and animal skins, bearing thyrsus staffs, carried enormous wine jars in procession.
Barrel after barrel of fine wine from Knossos, Athens, Samos, and other city-states was freely distributed to cheering passersby for drinking and judging.
Women clad in furs, faces painted wildly, the Maenads, shouted the name of the wine spirit "Dionysus," thanking him for the soul-nourishing nectar and heaven-granted joy.
Fueled by wine, the crowd caught the wave of merriment, raising cups in toast and loudly praising the name.
As intoxication deepened, impromptu speeches, debates, dances, contests, and magic displays sprang up in every street and alley, drawing waves of applause.
In the light foam of wine, people's dreams sank into bliss, different yet the same.
Their blood ran thick as water; their pulses beat as one.
Under wine's baptism, tens of thousands of golden motes surged from the crowd's joyous emotions, forming torrents of divinity that converged toward some unseen destination.
At the same time, Lorne, the vessel of this divine power, officially faced the trial of ascension.