The dining hall door swung open. Warm firelight spilled out. Wall paintings of Trojan heroes flickered in the shifting light. Clay vessels were neatly arranged on the long table. The aroma of stewed meat intertwined with the scent of freshly baked wheat cakes.
Aeneas stepped inside. He saw his mother, Aresya, seated at the table. She smiled and nodded to him. In the main seat sat Anchises, his hair and beard streaked with white. An oak walking staff leaned by his hand. His sharp eyes were fixed on Aeneas.
Aeneas's memories informed him his father had been crippled by a wound in his youth. It had made his temperament serious… well… very serious…
He took a deep breath. Stepped forward and bowed respectfully. "Father."
Anchises's gaze lingered on the bandages. He nodded slowly. "Hmm. Good that you're well. Sit."
Aeneas took his seat beside his mother. His eyes scanned the stew pot. He thought, "That smell… in the modern era, this would be Michelin-level."
The atmosphere was stiff at first. They ate in silence. The soft clink of pottery echoed. Terani stood properly to the side. But her eyes were locked onto the basket of golden bread.
Achates stood by the wall like a statue. His gaze was watchful.
"Young master," Terani finally whispered, unable to contain herself. "That bread… it looks even better than this morning's!"
Aeneas nearly laughed aloud. His mother shot Terani an amused, chiding look. Terani immediately clasped her hands behind her back. Tried to look innocent.
The mood in the hall shifted subtly. Aeneas realized this was his first proper dinner in this world.
He sat straight. Tried to recall ancient Greek etiquette. The stew was passable. The vegetables were boiled to mush. He bit into the fragrant bread. It lacked sugar. Was poorly leavened. He couldn't help the internal critique: "This isn't bread. It's a weapon! I could knock out a goat with this!"
The wine smelled nice. But it was watered down. Weak as dishwater. And poorly strained. This entire meal would ruin a modern restaurant's reputation.
He fought the urge to complain. Noticed Terani staring fixedly at the bread. Her throat moved in a tiny swallow. Aeneas bit back a laugh. He discreetly tore off a small piece. Passed it to her behind his back.
Terani's eyes lit up. She snatched the bread. Stuffed it into her mouth. Her cheeks puffed out like a hamster's.
Everyone present saw it—his mother's lips quirked. Achates pretended sudden interest in the wall paintings. Only Anchises remained stern. He cleared his throat softly. Everyone straightened up.
"That boar," Anchises began, his voice low and authoritative. "Was no ordinary prey. Killing it is a mark of honor."
Aeneas set down his spoon. Paid close attention.
"But such honor shouldn't stay at the dinner table. We should make an offering. Give thanks for the gods' protection. Ask for their continued favor."
The table fell quiet. Firelight danced across his gray-flecked beard.
"I propose we offer the greater part of the beast to Athena. In thanks for the wisdom and strength she granted you for victory."
Aeneas instinctively straightened his back.
"As for the wooden sword in your hand," his father's gaze fell on the cracked oak blade. "It should be offered to your mother—Aphrodite. In thanks for her guardianship."
Aeneas was stunned for a second. His mind raced.
"An offering? The ancient version of a PR stunt and resource display. Giving the boar to the gods shows piety. And demonstrates the family's strength…"
A faint smile touched his lips. He kept his expression serious.
Did he feel reverence for the gods? Of course. Superstition? Not a bit. The scenes of sacrifice in his mind always carried the smell of blood.
"Still, a dead pig is better than a live human on the altar." He decided to clarify the details.
"Father," Aeneas looked up, his tone respectful. "After the offering… what becomes of the sacrifice?"
Anchises set his cup down slowly. "After the rites, the head and hide remain at the temple. The meat… a portion for the priests. A portion for our family, as the donors. The rest is distributed among the nobles and the needy faithful nearby."
Aeneas had a sudden realization.
"So it's the ancient version of pork barrel politics! The Temple of Athena is the royal family's. Sending it there leaves us with scraps! Offering it at Aphrodite's temple—that's Mom's turf! Giving it to her priests helps Mother's standing. And distributing it to the local needy is what a lord's family should do! So there's only one real choice!"
He suppressed a laugh. Pretended to ponder deeply. Spoke with respectful formality.
"Father, I wish to offer the entire boar to the Lady Aphrodite. She shielded me in my peril. I should repay her with the most direct offering. And this wooden sword I will offer to Athena, to signify that the victory came through her inspiration. What is your opinion?"
The table fell silent for a moment. Anchises studied him with a deep, penetrating gaze.
Achates looked down, pretending to find the floor fascinating. His shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. The tips of his ears turned red.
Terani just stared with wide, shining eyes, thinking, 'The young master is so impressive.'
Aeneas was pleased with himself. 'Keep the meat for our own temple's goddess, give the sword to Athena. Offend no one. Perfect!'
When Aresya heard her son would offer the boar to Aphrodite, she first looked startled. Then a pleased, proud smile bloomed on her face.
"My child," she said, her voice soft, "your piety will surely be rewarded by the goddess." She touched the purple silk ribbon at her chest. A sacred relic from her temple wedding.
"That divinely-given cloak, I will perfume it with my own hands. Offer it with the boar. Furthermore, I will lead the apprentice priestesses to gather fresh flowers. Weave them into baskets. This is not just a priestess's homage. It is a mother's gratitude to the goddess. For guarding her son."
Aeneas bowed his head respectfully. Thought, 'Professional-level execution, complete with flower baskets. That's my mom.'
Anchises gave a slow nod. The sternness in his eyes softened just a fraction. "This is good," he said simply.
The mood at the table lightened. Candlelight flickered, casting a warm glow on every face.
After dinner, Aeneas slipped out of the hall, excusing himself for 'fresh air.' The estate was profoundly quiet under the night sky. He put his hands on his hips. Strolled along the flagstone path. Moonlight lay like silver dust on the ground.
He looked up at the sky. "These stars… in the future, you'd have to drive for hours to see them! Pity there's no telescope…"
Rounding the back of the kitchens, he saw two slaves clumsily processing grain. One thrashed it with a flail, sending kernels flying. The other bent over, winnowing the wheat.
Aeneas frowned. "The efficiency is truly touching. Hmm… How does a threshing machine work again?"
Thump, thump. Footsteps approached, followed by a dog's bark. The night watchman walked past, torch in hand. Two black hounds followed him.
"Security by men and dogs… Maybe we should set some traps? Alarm bells or something…"
He stopped. Stretched towards the night sky. His mind grew sharper, more awake.
"Alright. I'm here now. Troy infrastructure plan, activate!"
He started a mental checklist. "First, improve sanitation. Second, upgrade the cuisine. Third… start with paper. No paper, the tech tree is stuck in the beginner's village."
He chuckled aloud. Startled a distant dog into another round of barking. He quickly schooled his expression. Pulled his cloak tighter.
Aeneas walked on, lost in his 'grand blueprint.' He didn't notice he was muttering out loud.
He started in English. "Toilets… flush principle is simple, just a U-bend… need cement first… Oh right! They're still in the Bronze Age… need a blast furnace first…"
Then he switched back to ancient Greek. "Wheat improvement is tricky… but boosting farming techniques is easier… crop rotation, manure, bone meal… Wait! If the war comes early, military upgrades take priority…"
His speech sped up and slowed down. Like a priest reciting divine secrets.
Just then, Achates happened to approach, carrying a clay pitcher for the night's drinking water.
He stopped dead in the doorway. He heard the strange words from his young lord's mouth.
In the moonlight, Aeneas gazed at the stars, his eyes profound. His black-gold curls stirred in the night breeze. Those incomprehensible words seemed to carry an impossible weight.
Achates held his breath. "Divine oracles! The gods are speaking through him!"
He didn't dare interrupt. Held his breath. Stood frozen for a moment. Then retreated on silent feet.
Aeneas, completely unaware, kept talking to himself. "If we can make paper, we can record all knowledge… not sure about the ink formula yet…"
When he finally looked up, the courtyard held only the sound of the wind. Achates had long since retreated. Filled with awe. 'The young lord… is conversing with the gods.'
Achates hurried back into the hall. Nearly knocked over a bronze candlestand by the door. His breath came fast. His eyes were wide.
Anchises frowned. "Why this panic?"
"Master! My lady! Young Lord Aeneas—he's in the courtyard, speaking to the stars! In words I cannot understand!"
"His voice… it was like a god had descended! Like divine oracles!" Achates gestured excitedly. "He said 'paper,' 'flush principle,' 'blast furnace'! Just hearing them felt… like profound wisdom!"
Anchises and Aresya exchanged a look. Their expressions shifted subtly.
Aresya asked softly, "Could it be the Lady Aphrodite? Or Apollo?… Which god has granted him this wisdom?"
Anchises was silent for a long time. His thumb rubbed the wood grain of his staff. "Do not disturb him. Keep watching. Perhaps… this truly is the will of the gods."
Silence fell in the hall. Only the fire crackled.
Aresya added in a low voice, "If this is truly a god's revelation… then our Aeneas may be destined for an extraordinary path."
Anchises nodded slowly. His expression was unreadable.
From the hallway outside came the sound of quick, light, hurried footsteps.