Admetus was not the type to go with the flow. When someone said something that went against the crowd, he listened. Often, that patience allowed him to see the truth others missed. That was why, when everyone dismissed the prophecies of the shrouded women as baseless rumors, he believed Khnouphis when he said they might be true.
He sank into one of the chairs he had just pulled out, eyes falling on the papers spread across the table. Documents about city finances—he ignored them for now. Instead, he looked directly at his childhood friend with intensity.
"Are you sure?"
Arcadia. The city of hope and dreams, hidden by the gods from common humans, chosen for its pure residents. A paradise alive with abundance, beauty, and peace. Its people were devout, honest, and humble. Admetus, though not born here, had grown to love this place more than anything. He could not take chances—not when so much was at stake. And he trusted Khnouphis more than he trusted himself.
Khnouphis set down the quill and dragged his chair back. Dark-skinned, Egyptian by heritage, he too had grown up away from this city, in an orphanage. Fifteen years of friendship bound them inseparably—no words were needed at times to understand one another. Now, in this moment, Admetus knew Khnouphis was serious.
"Yes, I am sure," the mayor said, meeting his gaze.
The mayor's office was spacious, the large window revealing the market beyond. Yet inside, there was only calm. A rustling beneath the table drew Admetus' eyes: a caracal with dark brown eyes and pale yellow fur had climbed into Khnouphis' lap. The mayor exhaled, gently stroking the animal.
"Admetus…" Khnouphis began.
Admetus leaned back, feet resting on the soft turquoise carpet. "Yes, Khnum. I'm listening." The name, known only to him, sounded strange among Arcadia's Greek residents.
"I've lived my life in peace. So much peace that I never wanted more. No dreams, no desires, no ambitions. Sometimes I wonder if I deserve this…"
Admetus stayed silent, listening. Khnouphis continued, lightly patting the caracal.
"Everything ends… everything. And this utopia we live in—its end is closer than we think."
Admetus looked down, understanding.
"I fear Arcadia's end because of those women—their carriage, their crest… the crest of the mythic Cerberus. Three years ago, during the Holy War, I saw it. The gods…" Khnouphis shifted, sitting upright.
"Gods? What?" Admetus was dumbfounded.
"Yes. Gods have descended, fighting alongside humans. The residents of Arcadia have never glimpsed the true horror. Humans and demons tear each other apart, and the gods' involvement has only worsened the chaos. The good prevails, but the collateral damage… it's catastrophic. The demons have grown cleverer." Khnouphis gazed at the ornate ceiling.
"I saw that crest on the chestplate of the strongest gods—the Orestes bloodline. If the crest on the women's carriage matches the holy Cerberus… we are doomed. Nothing remains but prayer."
Admetus' voice rose. "We could evacuate the people! It won't take long if we start now!"
Khnouphis met his eyes, calm but resigned. "Do you really think that will work? Seven and a half million people—mountains surround this valley. The old, the children, the women—they've never struggled. Even if we start… Hahaha…" He laughed, bitterly, shaking his head. "No point when we don't even know how much time we have."
A wave of hopelessness hit Admetus, but hope was never far from him. He abruptly rose.
"B-but… we can't be sure. What if they were bluffing? Yes, they must be bluffing."
Khnouphis scoffed—not in disrespect, but pity—and returned to his papers.
"Tonight, there's supposed to be a meteor shower. Something we've never witnessed, only our elders have. The women said it would be proof of their warnings." He locked eyes with Admetus before returning to his writing.
A chill swept through the office. Papers fluttered under the soft breeze but stayed anchored by gemstone paperweights. Admetus was lost in thought, dread settling over him. Khnouphis wrote on, not in hope, but in silent despair.
***
The sun was sinking. The sky burned orange, bathing the land in its final light. Birds returned to nests, farm animals sought shelter.
Daniil wiped sweat from his brow as his father, Andreas, finished tending the fig trees. Daniil swept weeds into a neat pile.
"I'm almost done, son. You go ahead; I'll be done shortly," Andreas said.
Daniil rested the broom on his shoulder and walked toward the house, admiring the sky. The warm orange light soothed his eyes, easing his fatigue. Then, he noticed something—a bright shimmer in the sky.