Chapter 2: The First Steps and Whispers of the Past
The golden light of Homerus's materialization faded, leaving the ancient bard standing clearly in the dusty chamber. Lykos, still reeling from the shock of his new reality, found himself staring at the legendary figure with a mixture of awe and pragmatic gamer assessment. Homerus, the epic poet, wasn't exactly a frontline warrior, but his presence, and that magical lyre, hinted at powerful support abilities.
"Homerus," Lykos finally managed, the name feeling strange on his tongue.
"You're… real."
The old bard chuckled, a warm, melodious sound. "As real as the dust on these floors, young Prince. And perhaps, a touch more enduring. The Whispering Lyre and I are at your service, as the System has decreed." He gestured vaguely towards the shimmering blue screen that only Lykos could see.
Lykos's gaze flickered to the System interface.
First Mission: Restore Basic City
Functionality. Objective 1: Secure a Stable Food Source.
Objective 2: Recruit 10 Basic Citizens/Laborers.
"Alright, Homerus," Lykos began, his mind already shifting into problem-solving mode, "this city is a mess. We need food, and we need people. What can you do?"
Homerus stroked his long beard. "My primary gifts, Prince, are inspiration and the preservation of tales. The Whispering Lyre," he lifted the instrument, its strings shimmering, "can stir the hearts of men and women, rekindling hope where it has long died. It can also, subtly, recall forgotten knowledge or skills, though that requires a deeper connection."
Recall forgotten knowledge or skills… Lykos's eyes widened. He remembered the System's rule: "Skills and powers and memory of summoned people are sealed and must be unlocked with system points." This 'recall' ability of the lyre sounded like it might tie into that.
"Memory," Lykos mused aloud. "What exactly does that mean for you, Homerus?"
Homerus's kind eyes seemed to deepen, a hint of ancient wisdom in their depths. "Ah, the 'Memory' of a summoned soul is not merely a recollection of past events, Prince. It is the very essence of who we were, the sum of our experiences, our innate talents, our deepest insights. For me, my 'Memory' contains the full breadth of my epics, the nuances of every tale, the complete mastery of my craft, and the profound understanding of the human spirit gained over a lifetime. Much of that is currently… dormant, awaiting your investment."
He paused, a faint sadness touching his features. "When a soul is summoned, it arrives with its core identity, its gender, and its fundamental nature intact. But the full power, the intricate tapestry of its past achievements and unique abilities, often remains veiled. It is as if a vast library is present, but most of its books are locked. Your System Points, Prince, are the keys."
Lykos nodded slowly, understanding dawning. So, Homerus was a male, and his "Memory" was his full bardic prowess. This applied to all summoned individuals. A warrior's Memory would contain their fighting techniques and battle instincts. A scholar's, their accumulated knowledge. A demigod's, their divine powers. And Lykos would have to choose who to invest in, making every point count.
"So, Homerus," Lykos said, a plan forming, "your lyre can inspire. We need to find people. Where are the citizens of this city? And how do we convince them to work for a prince they probably despise?"
Homerus sighed, a mournful sound. "Many have fled, Prince, seeking sustenance elsewhere. Others hide in their hovels, consumed by despair. A few, perhaps, linger in the marketplace, hoping for scraps. They are wary, and their trust is broken. Words alone will not suffice. But perhaps… a song of hope, a reminder of what Greece once was, might stir them."
"Good," Lykos said, already moving towards the chamber door, which creaked open onto a dusty corridor. "Let's start there. We need to find the marketplace. And while we're at it, we need to assess the city's resources. What's left of the granary? Are there any fields still salvageable outside the walls?"
Homerus followed, his movements surprisingly spry for his age. "The granary, I fear, is mostly empty, Prince. The fields… overgrown and neglected. But there is a small, brackish well near the old temple, and perhaps a few hardy olive trees still bear fruit."
Lykos's mind raced. Okay, basic survival. Food first. Granary empty means no reserves. We need immediate, short-term solutions.
"Homerus, can your lyre help us locate resources? Like, point us to the nearest edible plants or a hidden water source?"
Homerus considered this, his fingers lightly plucking a string on the lyre. A faint, almost imperceptible hum resonated. "The Whispering Lyre is not a divining rod, Prince. But it can amplify perception, perhaps. More importantly, it can draw people. If there are any skilled foragers or farmers left, your song might bring them forth."
"Alright," Lykos decided. "Then our first move is to the marketplace. We need to make a show of force – not military, but of hope. Homerus, prepare your most inspiring melody. Something about the glory of ancient Greece, the resilience of its people. We need to remind them who they are, even if I have no idea who I am yet."
As they stepped out of the dilapidated palace and into the dusty, sun-baked streets of the city, the true extent of its decay became horrifyingly clear. Buildings were crumbling, roofs had caved in, and weeds grew rampant through cracked cobblestones. The air hung heavy with the smell of decay and despair. A few emaciated figures huddled in doorways, their eyes hollow, their faces etched with resignation.
This wasn't a game map where resources glowed and objectives were clear. This was a dying city, and Lykos, the lazy prince, was now its last, desperate hope. He took a deep breath, the dust scratching in his throat. His first mission felt less like a quest and more like an impossible task. But he had Homerus, and the System. And a gamer's stubborn refusal to accept 'game over.'
"Let's go, Homerus," Lykos said, his voice firmer than he expected. "Time to find some citizens."
Homerus nodded, a faint smile on his lips. He began to strum the Whispering Lyre, and a single, clear note, pure and resonant, drifted through the desolate streets. It was a note of ancient beauty, a whisper of a forgotten past, a promise of a future yet unwritten. And for the first time in a long time, a few heads in the ruined city slowly began to turn.