The moment Elian opened his eyes, the scent of roasted coffee beans hit him like a quiet wave sharp, rich, familiar.
The clinking of cups and the low hum of conversation floated through the air, anchoring him back to the present.
The transition from ancient Athens to the modern cafe was disorienting, like waking from a lucid dream and wondering which world was truly real.
He sat up slowly in the velvet armchair, the same one he'd left what felt like a lifetime ago. His fingers were trembling slightly not from fear, but from the weight of experience. In his mind, Socrates voice still lingered, not like an echo, but like a memory imprinted on his soul.
Selene was already seated across from him, her expression unreadable as always, but softer than before. She held a ceramic mug in both hands, cradling it as though it contained more than just warmth.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The cafe around them carried on, blissfully unaware of the journey they had just taken through time.
Then Elian finally broke the silence.
"He regrets it," he said quietly. "Socrates. He regrets more than the world will ever know."
Selene didn't react immediately. She sipped her drink before replying. "And yet, he accepted it. Not with resistance, but reflection."
Elian leaned forward, elbows resting on the polished table. "I thought philosophers were supposed to have answers. But he… he only had questions. So many questions."
She nodded. "The pursuit of truth doesn't guarantee clarity. Only the brave accept that truth is a horizon, not a destination."
Elian looked down at the table, his thoughts a storm of introspection. "He said something to me about alienation. About the cost of challenging what people believe just to feel safe."
"That's a lesson you'll hear again," Selene said, her voice almost a whisper. "Many of those who dared to question the world paid dearly for it."
A waiter passed by and refilled Elian's water without interrupting their conversation.
For a brief second, Elian watched the reflection of light on the surface of the glass. Time moved differently now. Or rather, he moved differently through time.
He stared at Selene. "How many places have you been?"
A subtle smile curved her lips. "More than you could count. Fewer than I still long to see."
"And how long have you been doing this?"
She set her mug down gently, the porcelain tapping against the wood. "Long enough to know that history isn't just about remembering it's about understanding. And most of the time, we only learn what we're ready to hear."
Elian didn't speak for a moment. His heart was still tethered to Socrates candle-lit room, to the man's weary eyes and quiet doubt. "Was he ready to die?"
Selene looked straight at him. "He was ready to live truthfully until the very end. That's what mattered."
The words struck something in him something raw and real. He wasn't the same man who had walked into this cafe days ago. And yet, he hadn't changed in a way that was visible to others. It was subtler than that. A quiet shift. Like a river changing course beneath still waters.
Selene pulled something from her coat pocket: a slender, bronze coin, worn smooth by time. She placed it on the table.
"Elian," she said, her tone now serious, "history is calling again."
He eyed the coin. "Where are we going?"
She didn't answer at first. Instead, she tilted her head toward the window, where the pale blue sky of afternoon stretched wide across the city. "You've glimpsed philosophy. Now you need to witness the rise and fall of empires and the land of Emperor's"
"Rome?" he guessed, breath catching in his chest.
Selene nodded once. "The Rome. The Land of Emperor's. "
Elian's fingers hovered over the coin. It was cold to the touch, metallic and heavy with purpose.
He turned it over and studied its worn engravings ancient glyphs that seemed to shimmer faintly in the light.
"I'm not sure I'm ready," he admitted.
"No one ever is," she replied gently. "But readiness isn't a prerequisite for discovery. Willingness is."
Elian closed his eyes, took a breath, and nodded.
The cafe was still around them the scent of coffee, the quiet music, the murmurs of modern life. But something else had changed
Not in the room.
In him.
He stood slowly, pocketing the coin, and looked around the cafe one last time. It struck him then how static the present felt how little it moved compared to the rushing river of the past. Here, people sipped their drinks, read their books, laughed with friends. Out there out then people built legacies, struggled with belief, died for ideas.
And he was beginning to understand why.
Selene stood beside him. "We leave at sunset. There's still time to rest."
"Rest?" he said with a smirk. "After Athens, I don't know if I can ever rest the same again."
Selene smiled, something almost wistful in her eyes. "Good. That means it's working."
Elian stepped out of the cafe with her into the fading afternoon. The air smelled of stone and city life. But in his mind, he was already standing in the heat of ancient
sand, looking up at structures built to touch the heavens.
He turned to Selene as they walked. "Why do you do this? Why show all this to someone like me?"
She stopped, her voice hushed. "Because you asked."
And with that, she walked ahead, leaving Elian to absorb the weight of it all. In a few hours, he would step into another past one even older, one built not on words but on stone and silence and reverence.
But for now, he walked slowly.
Savoring the now.
Understanding the then.
And knowing the journey had only just begun.