Both of his parents had gone inside, still heavy with the weight of their quarrel. Daniil remained outside, staring at the meteor shower. His two little sisters stood beside him, eyes wide and blank, unsure what to do. Their parents had fought for the first time; the silence that followed left the children lost. When Meri called them, only the girls went inside. Daniil stayed, rooted in a corner of the yard.
Beautiful, he thought. The flaming rocks falling from the sky had captured him completely.
But now… what? For the first time, he truly pondered the words of those women. His gaze stayed fixed on the hauntingly beautiful display above. "Are we all really going to die?" he whispered.
Ever since the women had left, Daniil had hardly given the prophecy a thought. He remembered only the question about his love for the city. He had lied then, but now, a faint melancholy tinged his thoughts. What if the city ceased to exist?
He laughed, a hollow sound. "Haha… there's no way something so random could be true. It's stupid." He spoke louder this time, as if trying to convince himself.
Turning, he walked toward the well behind the house. His footsteps crunched clearly over the gravel, each step marking his restless thoughts. Before the dark stone well, the meteor shower above reflected in the water, tiny lights dancing on its surface. Normally, such reflections were for sunny days, yet here, at night, nature performed a miracle.
Grateful? He should feel it. But his mind remained anchored in a single, relentless thought:
What if it's true?
He lowered the broom to the ground, tossed the pail into the well with a splash. The water rippled, reflecting the celestial glow. Daniil stared into it with an empty gaze, pulling on the rope as if to summon clarity from the water. The pail reached him; he set it on the stone curb, cupped his hands, and splashed the water onto his face. Droplets hissed faintly on the scorched gravel.
"Haa…" he exhaled, drained. "I'm so tired. I can't process anything anymore…"
Another handful of water, another splash, rubbing his cheeks, setting the pail down. He began walking back to the house, leaving the broom behind, his body heavy from labor and the mental toll of the day. Mutters escaped him: "To hell with the city… to hell with everything…" Memories of struggle, hardship, and survival flashed through him, making the thought of the city's end almost welcome.
At the doorway, he bent to remove his sandals, setting them neatly aside. Inside, the family gathered quietly. His little sisters finished their dinner and went to bed. Andreas and Meri ate in silence, fragments of their earlier quarrel lingering in the air. Daniil remained quiet, sitting on the floor as Meri handed him a bowl of vegetable broth and thick bread. He ate slowly, the room steeped in silence. Oil lamps mingled with the meteor light outside, casting a warm, ethereal glow.
Finished, he rose. "Thanks for the food," he said softly, heading to his room.
Dimly lit by the meteor shower, his room held a faint shimmer through a tall window. He drew the curtain partially, lay down on his kline beneath it, and gazed upward. Meteors streaked endlessly across the sky. How long would it last? He let the soft mattress pull him in, keeping his chiton on, thoughts heavy with the day's events. Slowly, his eyelids sank. The moment of wonder had left the Alkmanis family burdened with uncertainty and fear.
"I hope tomorrow is a good day," he whispered before sleep claimed him.
***
Admetus sat by his window, a kyathos of wine in hand, the meteor glow painting his room in faint light. He was drunk, the world spinning, yet despair remained steady within him. The heavens' splendor filled him not with awe, but with crushing sorrow and hopelessness.
His aging mother entered quietly. "Son, come have dinner. The food's getting cold."
He tilted his head, nodding faintly, not turning fully. She repeated herself and left, words echoing in his mind. Thoughts drifted back to his childhood, to the orphanage, to the foster parents who had taken him in. His life had been full of memory and meaning, now threatened by a fate beyond his understanding.
Tears streamed down his face, unbidden, while he collapsed onto the kline. The ladle from earlier rested on the small table beside him, heavy in his weakened grip. "Why… why does it have to be us? What could the people have done to deserve this?" he whispered.
Images of the city flashed before his eyes. Nothing seemed just. Resignation took hold. Khnouphis' unwavering belief in the city's doom left no room for hope. Questions burned unanswered. His gaze fell to the polished armor resting on a rack—the Arcadia crest glinting dimly—then back to the ceiling, then the sky beyond the window.
Memories and thoughts swirled until exhaustion overcame him. The meteor light danced across his white chiton. A cool breeze offered deceptive calm. Peaceful, yet not.
His mother entered again, softly calling. "Admetus… what are you doing in here? The food's gone cold…"
She noticed the damp pillowcase, the tear-streaked sheets, and her son asleep, still glistening from his tears. Her heart ached. Slowly, she reached out, stroking his head.
"Oh, Gods of Eden, bless my child with peace and prosperity. May he grow to become a great man."
She lingered, watching him rest, sorrow softening to tranquility. A silent prayer, a mother's plea for her son.