The Prophecy!

Eight years passed.

Lykas had just turned thirteen, and with age he had only become more beautiful—and considerably sassier. No matter how dramatic or troublesome he could be, Lydia and Lysander adored every part of his soul.

Now that he was thirteen, it was finally time for him to begin helping his father around the farm.

The morning after his birthday, long before dawn, Lysander gently shook his son's shoulder.

"Lykas... wake up. It's time to work," he whispered.

"Work?" Lykas mumbled sleepily, refusing to open his eyes.

"Yes, work. Don't you remember? I told you last season that once you turned thirteen, you'd start helping around the farm."

"I don't remember you saying that," Lykas grumbled, pulling the blanket over his head. "And I definitely don't remember agreeing to it. Good night."

Lysander pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Lykas, don't be ridiculous. I need you out of bed before the sun rises, or I'll put one of the chickens in your bed."

Silence.

"I'm serious, Lykas. And it's morning, not night."

A muffled groan came from beneath the blanket before Lykas slowly peeked out.

"But, Papa... you know I wasn't made for manual labor." He flashed his father a dazzling smile and widened his bright blue eyes. "Why don't you do all the difficult work, and I'll... brush the horses' manes?"

Lysander stared at him for several long seconds, visibly fighting the urge to give in.

"...No."

"What?!"

"I said no, Lykas."

"But Papa, why are you saying no to me? This is practically abuse!"

Lysander sighed and rested a hand on his son's shoulder.

"Lykas, I'm only asking you to help around the farm. I can't do everything myself forever." His voice softened. "One day I won't be here, and you need to know how to care for yourself."

Lykas immediately sat upright, his eyes filling with tears.

"Papa! Don't say things like that!"

He threw his arms around his father.

"I'll help! I'll do anything! Just... please don't ever say that again."

Lysander smiled sadly and ruffled his snowy hair.

"Alright. Be ready by sunrise. I've already laid out your clothes."

Then he added with a knowing look,

"And try not to provoke the farm animals."

Lykas placed a hand over his heart dramatically.

"Of course, Papa. I would never."

Lysander raised an eyebrow.

"...That's the biggest lie you've ever told."

Lykas looked deeply offended.

"I can't believe you'd accuse your own son of dishonesty."

"You challenged a goose to a duel when you were nine."

"...It started it."

Lysander couldn't help laughing.

"But before we head to the farm," he said, "we're making a stop at Athena's temple."

Lykas frowned.

"Why?"

"Because your brain is a little... smooth around the edges."

Lykas gasped dramatically.

"What is that supposed to mean?!"

"Nothing."

"It absolutely means something!"

"It doesn't."

"It definitely does!"

Lysander simply walked away before the argument could continue.

---

By sunrise, Lykas had bathed and dressed in the simple tunic his father had prepared.

Outside, Lydia and Lysander were already waiting.

Lydia smiled warmly as she straightened a loose strand of his white hair.

"My beautiful little worm," she said affectionately, "let's hurry before the temple becomes crowded."

"Yes, Mama."

The three of them walked through the quiet streets as the first golden rays of sunlight spilled across the city. Birds sang from olive trees, merchants were only just beginning to open their stalls, and the scent of fresh bread drifted through the cool morning air.

Lysander carried a woven basket filled with offerings—olive oil, honey, fresh bread, laurel branches, and a finely woven cloth—to present before the goddess Athena.

The temple stood proudly atop its hill, its marble columns glowing softly beneath the dawn light.

Inside, priests and worshippers knelt in respectful silence.

Lysander carefully placed the offerings before the magnificent statue of Lady Athena. Together, he, Lydia, and Lykas bowed their heads in prayer.

For nearly five whole minutes.

Which, in Lykas' opinion, was roughly three days too long.

His attention wandered almost immediately.

He counted the pillars.

He watched a pigeon land outside.

He wondered if statues ever got bored standing still.

Finally, convinced nobody was looking, he quietly stood up and slipped outside.

The instant he stepped beyond the temple entrance—

Thunk!

He walked straight into someone.

"Oof!"

Lykas stumbled backward before looking up.

Standing before him was an elderly man wrapped in a tattered, dirt-stained cloak. His long white beard reached almost to his waist, and he leaned upon an ancient wooden staff.

The old man suddenly threw both arms into the air.

"BEHOLD!"

His booming voice echoed across the temple courtyard, causing several nearby worshippers to jump.

"I am a prophet!" he declared dramatically. "Sent by Lady Athena herself to deliver a warning!"

Then he pointed directly at Lykas.

"You!"

Lykas blinked.

"...Me?"

"Yes, you, you wonderfully foolish child!"

Lykas frowned.

"Hey..."

"You are destined for greatness!" the prophet continued, his eyes blazing with conviction. "And one day... you shall fall for the Sun!"

Lykas stared blankly.

"...The sun?"

"Yes!"

"But... it's in the sky."

"...Yes."

"So... how exactly am I supposed to fall for it?"

The prophet froze.

"..."

"I mean," Lykas continued thoughtfully, "unless I grow wings? Or someone throws me? That seems dangerous."

The old man's eye twitched violently.

"It... isn't... literal."

"Oh."

"So you understand?"

"No."

The prophet inhaled a long, slow breath through his nose.

"There will be light..." he muttered through clenched teeth. "But where there is light... shadows will always follow."

Lykas nodded solemnly.

"So... should I carry a torch?"

Another twitch.

"...No."

"A lantern?"

"No."

"What about two torches?"

The prophet closed his eyes.

"I can actually feel myself losing brain cells."

Lykas crossed his arms.

"Well, at least I'm not standing in front of a temple screaming like a madman."

The old man opened one eye.

"..."

"Oh," Lykas added innocently, pointing behind him.

"And... half of your bottom is showing."

The prophet's eyes widened.

"WHA—"

He frantically reached behind himself, trying to pull his torn cloak back into place.

By the time he looked up again, Lykas had already skipped happily back toward the temple entrance.

The old prophet simply stood there in stunned silence.

After several moments, he lifted his staff once more and resumed shouting his prophecies with all the passion of a man who had clearly begun questioning every life choice that had led him to this exact moment.

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