The night passes in held breaths. The city sleeps regardless. Meteors thin gradually, and the sky darkens as their glow fades. The burly guard at the townhall stands vigilant, eyes fixed upward, unsure of what to expect. A sigh escapes him, and he mutters a quiet prayer:
"Oh, Exalted, protect us and this city," unconcerned whether it will be answered.
Inside the townhall, the mayor of Arcadia sleeps. Surrendering his fate to the gods, he rests without worry. What is destined will come to pass, he believes. He lies upon a rare imported bed, a testament to his stature and tastes. Arcadia's slumbering streets hold no knowledge of him, nor of Khnouphis, yet all await the cruel fate hinted by yesterday's visitors.
Beyond the mountains, Volios, the divine angel tasked with Arcadia's protection, glides silently over the plains. His wings span wider than an ancient olive grove, his hair white and flowing, eyes black as starless voids. Though he appears a man no older than twenty-three, his existence stretches over a million years.
Volios hovers above the city, the meteor light bathing him in brilliance unnoticed by mortal eyes. A prayer reaches his ears, and he shifts his gaze to the guard below.
"The protection of Arcadia has stood for eons. Nothing unusual seems to be happening… nor will it…"
He recalls the shrouded women who foretold the city's doom. Their carriage bore the holy crest of Cerberon, yet no divine confirmation followed. Even for an angel, knowledge is limited: he can witness what lies before him, hear the prayers of mortals, and observe the skies, but not all is revealed. Still, one detail lingers.
"It was strange that I could not hear the name of their leader… the one who spoke for them. Something is amiss…"
The woman's visage has faded from memory, both for mortals and Volios. He does not dwell on what he cannot comprehend, turning his attention to vigilant observation instead.
***
The sun rises. Its light brings unease rather than peace. Arcadia awakens quietly, without enthusiasm. Fear lingers in every household.
Daniil stirs, drenched in sweat, his chiton clinging to him. From his bed, he glances at the window, only the sky in view. Thoughts of the previous night gnaw at him.
Alexia enters, struggling with the curtains. "Brother! It's so late! The sun's been up for a while—it's almost noon!"
Her voice breaks his trance. Daniil blinks. "Ah, Alexia… What's wrong?"
"Sigh… your breakfast is getting cold. Mother's reheated it for the third time."
He rises slowly, planting palms on the mattress, and exhales. Stepping past his parents—his father's head pressed into his hand, his mother staring at the meal—he exits. Agapi plays quietly in the corner, unnoticed.
Outside, Daniil lowers the bucket into the well. The splash echoes. Water meets his face, clouds reflecting in the bucket. Words escape involuntarily: "Is it really going to happen…?"
He washes his face, dries it, and returns inside, sitting to eat leftovers from the night before. A cat slips in unnoticed, then leaps onto a shelf, sending bronze cookware crashing.
Andreas shrieks, "Argh! Oh god! Please spare me!"
The cat bolts. Silence, then laughter. Andreas bursts out laughing, uncontrollable. Daniil joins, Alexia perplexed at first, then caught up as he explains. Soon, laughter fills the room—a fleeting spark of relief amidst fear.
Catching his breath, Andreas grins. "This is the first time I've laughed in ages. Maybe the end isn't so bad after all…"
He rises, straightening his chiton. "We can't be certain of anything, but that doesn't mean we should sit idle. If we have time to laugh, it's best we spend it being productive."
Meri nods; the others listen, absorbing his words.
"Alright then. I still need to weed the orchards. These past days have been wasted. Daniil, I'll need your help after you finish eating."
He fetches a sickle and shovel, slips on his sandals, and disappears to the right of the doorway. Daniil tears off another bite of bread, mumbling through it: "Mhm." Confirmation given, simple and silent.