Steven Thorne sat hunched over the desk of a motel room in Northern Alabama, the soft glow of a crooked desk lamp illuminating the scattered books, maps, and half-translated scrolls before him. His pen scratched quietly, the rhythm calm but deliberate, as he wrote his message on a letter before finishing, collected an envelope, and sealed the letter inside.
The room was quiet, save for the rattle of a heater that struggled to warm the space from the remaining winter air. Dust coated the worn blinds, and the carpet held stains that no one had bothered to clean or couldn't clean.
Steven didn't care about the state of the place, having only used the room to sleep for the night. He glanced at the time on his wristwatch. 9:34 AM. He had to be going.
Then, with a quiet breath, he began closing the tomes and notebooks, sliding them into the worn leather messenger bag at his side. When the last paper was tucked away, he rose, shrugged on his jacket, and clicked the bag shut.
Outside, the sky was grey, a hint of rain threatening to fall. Wind scraped against the metal railing of the motel's second floor, making the flag in the parking lot flicker. He pulled the collar of his jacket higher and walked the length of the balcony before descending the stairs and making his way to the street, where he quickly signalled for a taxi to pull over.
Steven opened the door and stepped in, giving the driver a location without further explanation and refraining from idle chatter, as his thoughts were elsewhere.
The ride was uneventful. Rain had begun to fall by the time they reached the university district, creating a somber atmosphere. The buildings in the university were old brick structures with ivy, their windows already starting to fog with condensation, but this didn't detract from the scholarly atmosphere they naturally had.
When he stepped out, he joined the tide of faculty, students, and guests making their way toward the central lecture hall. Steven moved with his head down and bag held to his chest, allowing himself to bear the rain while shielding his messenger bag.
An older man in a brown tweed suit with elbow patches waited alongside a younger woman in red glasses, carrying a clipboard. When they spotted Steven in the rain, they waved him forward, hurrying him towards them.
He climbed the steps of the hall slowly, boots echoing on wet stone. He exchanged greetings with the old man, embracing him in a familiar hug, before the woman brought them inside, away from the rain.
Inside, the hall buzzed with low conversation. It was a blend of academic murmurs and idle gossip. The kind of atmosphere that belonged to conferences like these, where scholars finally got to meet up after a long time to discuss and connect. Several of the individuals attending murmured greetings to Steven as he passed.
Steven slipped past the rows of folding chairs and climbed the side stairway to the stage. The wooden platform groaned faintly under his step. Behind him, a whiteboard was already set up with markers. A projector idled in the background, quietly humming. He set aside his wet jacket on his prepared chair, placing his bag alongside it, but not before grabbing what was inside. While he was doing this, the younger woman was organising the crowd who came into their seats, seemingly wanting the conference to start right away.
After a few minutes of waiting, the hall was quiet, apart from the soft creaks as some people shifted in their uncomfortable chairs. Steven approached the lectern.
"Good morning," he began. His voice wasn't loud, but it held clarity. "Thank you for attending this year's conference on Hellenistic texts."
Steven placed what he was carrying onto the lectern, once more engaging the crowd. There wasn't much need to introduce himself, as his name was already recognized in this topic.
"Recently returned from a field site in Southern Istanbul, where a previously unmapped ruin has yielded some... unexpected insights. Much of what I found is still undergoing official authentication, but based on my experience of finding similar ruins, it is unofficially recognised as authentic." Steven went on to explain what he found in the ruins: the intact buildings, murals, and inscriptions covering the walls. Finally, he arrived at his main discovery.
Among the ruins, an extraordinary find was made: a Roman account. A diary, of sorts. Dated to shortly after the sacking of Athens." He picked up a thin notebook from his stack and opened it to a marked page. He hadn't brought the actual items, as they were undergoing evaluation of authenticity, but he had copied everything down or taken pictures of the papers. Allowing him to translate some extracts into this notebook.
"This particular legionnaire wrote in some detail about a particular assignment, one his commanding officer insisted be kept quiet. They were ordered to remove the statue of Athena Parthenos from its place in the Acropolis and transport it back to Rome, intact."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"According to the account, it was moved under guard by a legionary force, brought to a location in Constantinople, and then hidden, vanishing from record. The soldier, disillusioned with the secrecy, left behind coded directions: routes, markers, names of now-extinct towns. I believe, given time, I can piece together where the statue was hidden, and maybe, if it was constructed out of gold like it was recorded, we may discover what is left of the statue."
Murmurs rippled across the seats. It was well known that the Athena Parthenos was taken and destroyed, but the location of its disappearance was never revealed, and no remnants of the statue were ever recovered. This diary may allow the discovery of such information, and more so, the possibility of recovering an intact statue.
Steven looked out over the room. Most attendees were frozen. Some were furiously scribbling notes. A few had narrowed eyes, considering implications, while others argued over their fellows.
Steven continued speaking for another twenty minutes, answering questions on his discovery and the likelihood of all this being true, especially when it was expected for the authentication process to be completed.
The lecture concluded with mild applause. The kind of academics give when they're still thinking, more focused on their own thoughts, so they just physically follow along with what others seem to be doing.
He thanked them for their time and stepped down from the stage.
Outside, the rain had picked up. Steven pulled his collar up against the wind and walked through the rain. His hand gripping the letter hidden within his coat pocket.