Chapter 18: The Whisper of Olympus
The System Lottery. The words burned in Lykos's mind, a beacon in the otherwise daunting landscape of his task. 1000 System Points seemed an insurmountable sum, but the alternative, a "Special Condition Trigger," held the promise of a shortcut, a path to the legendary power he desperately craved. He needed a Hero of Renown, someone who could truly turn the tide, not just hold a meager gate.
But what constituted a "Special Condition Trigger"?
He spent the night restless, his mind a whirlwind of ancient myths and game mechanics. Could it be a hidden quest? Finding a specific artifact? Performing a deed of great heroism? He needed information, a guide through the labyrinth of this ancient world. His eyes immediately fell on the one being who possessed the deepest well of ancient knowledge: Homerus.
The next morning, after overseeing the continuation of the fortification work and dispatching the now more efficient resource gathering teams, Lykos sought out the aged bard. Homerus was seated quietly in a sun-drenched corner of the courtyard, gently plucking a tune that resonated with the tireless rhythm of the Laborers and the methodical tapping of the Apprentice Builder.
"Homerus," Lykos began, his voice low and serious, "I need your counsel. My 'System,' as you know it, speaks of a way to call upon a 'Hero of Renown,' a true legend. It mentions a 'Special Condition Trigger' for this, something beyond simply accumulating points. With your restored Memory, your knowledge of ancient Greece, can you shed any light on what such a 'trigger' might entail?"
Homerus paused his playing, his wise eyes focusing intently on Lykos. A faint smile touched his lips. "Ah, the System. It speaks in riddles, as the Fates often do. 'Special Condition Trigger,' you say? In the age of heroes, such triggers often involved deeds of profound significance, Prince.
They were trials, not merely tasks. Proving one's worth to the very gods, perhaps. Restoring a forgotten shrine, recovering a lost artifact tied to a deity or a hero's lineage, or even performing a feat of such courage or wisdom that it echoes through the very fabric of time."
He continued, his voice taking on a more resonant quality. "The gods, Prince, value devotion, and they value those who uphold the spirit of Hellas. This city, once a vibrant beacon, has fallen into disrepair. Perhaps a trigger involves awakening the sleeping spirit of this very place, or of a forgotten sacred site nearby."
Lykos's mind raced. An ancient shrine, a lost artifact… this was more concrete. "Are there any such places near here? Any forgotten temples, sacred groves, or landmarks that might have once held great power or significance?"
Homerus closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. The air around him seemed to shimmer faintly as his vast Memory searched through millennia of lore. After a long moment, his eyes opened, gleaming with an ancient light.
"There is a place, Prince. Not widely known, for its glory faded long ago. To the north, nestled in the folds of the hills beyond the olive groves, lies the remnants of an ancient Shrine of Hestia. It was never grand, built by humble folk who cherished the hearth and home, but its fire was said to burn eternally, a symbol of constancy and hope. It has surely fallen into ruin by now, forgotten by man and perhaps even by the gods."
Hestia. The goddess of the hearth, home, family, and the state. A humble, yet profoundly significant deity. If Lykos could restore her shrine, perhaps it would be a "deed of profound significance," a demonstration of his commitment to rebuilding not just physical structures, but the very spirit of his forgotten city.
"The Shrine of Hestia," Lykos murmured, a flicker of hope igniting within him. "That is our objective. It sounds like the perfect 'Special Condition Trigger'."
He quickly formulated a plan. He couldn't take his entire workforce; the palace needed constant fortification and resource gathering. This needed to be a lean, agile expedition.
"Homerus, you will accompany me," Lykos stated. "Your knowledge will be indispensable, and your abilities, should we encounter any threats, are our best defense."
He then looked for a suitable protector. His three Militia were currently guarding the palace. He couldn't strip the main gate of all its defense.
"Theron," Lykos called to the young hunter, who was diligently sorting harvested olives with Kalypso. Theron, despite his youth, had proven agile, observant, and surprisingly brave during the boar attack. "You will join us. Your eyes are keen, and your stealth might be valuable if we need to avoid trouble. Bring your sharpened stick, and be ready." Theron's eyes lit up with a spark of adventure, nodding eagerly.
Lykos considered taking one of the Laborers for their strength, but they were vital for the Builder. He decided against it. This was about discovery, not brute force. He would rely on cunning and vigilance.
The next morning, Lykos, Homerus, and Theron slipped out of the palace's eastern gate, moving northward through the still-dewy olive groves. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant pine. Lykos felt a thrill of purpose. This was different from foraging or fighting for survival; this was a quest.
Homerus led the way, his steps surprisingly light for his age. His gaze swept over the landscape, guided by echoes in his awakened Memory. He pointed out faded paths, ancient markers hidden beneath overgrown bushes, and spoke softly of the lore associated with these lands. Theron moved like a shadow, his eyes darting into every thicket, his ears constantly listening for the telltale signs of danger.
As they ventured deeper into the northern hills, the landscape grew wilder. The olive trees gave way to gnarled oak and thorny scrub. The ground became rockier, rising in undulating waves. Lykos felt the weight of his crude tunic, the uncomfortable sandals, and the absence of any real weapon. He was relying entirely on his wits and the ancient power of his companions.
After several hours of strenuous climbing, Homerus stopped abruptly on a low ridge. "We are close, Prince," he said, pointing to a dip in the terrain below them. "Beyond that rise… the Shrine."
They descended carefully, Lykos's heart pounding with anticipation. As they crested the final slope, the sight that greeted them was disheartening. The Shrine of Hestia was indeed there, but it was nothing more than a few tumbled stones. A small, circular foundation, overgrown with weeds, indicated where the altar once stood.
The eternal flame, a symbol of Hestia's constancy, was long extinguished, replaced by a tangle of thorny vines. A single, broken stone amphora lay half-buried in the dirt, its intricate carvings faded by centuries of neglect. It was utterly, tragically derelict.
Lykos felt a pang of disappointment, quickly followed by a fierce determination. This wasn't merely a ruin; it was a challenge. And a chance.
"This is it," Lykos said, walking into the center of the ruined shrine. He knelt, picking up a handful of the dry earth. "Homerus, Theron, help me clear this. Every stone. Every weed. We will restore this place, even if only in its simplest form. We will rekindle the flame, not with fire, but with our effort and our respect."
The task was arduous.
Theron, with his surprising strength, pulled up thick roots and cleared away large stones. Lykos, despite his weakness, worked relentlessly, his hands aching as he pulled weeds and smoothed the earth. Homerus, surprisingly, also pitched in, his movements slow but deliberate, clearing debris with surprising dexterity.
As they worked, Homerus began to hum a low, reverent tune, a melody that felt as old as the earth itself. It wasn't one of his active skills, but a simple outpouring of his restored reverence for the ancient ways.
They spent hours, their bodies aching, their clothes caked with dirt. Slowly, painstakingly, the outlines of the ancient shrine began to re-emerge. The circular foundation was cleared, revealing a few intact paving stones. The central altar, though fractured, was carefully pieced together from larger rubble. They even found a few small, smooth stones to form a rough, new hearth at its center.
Lykos cleaned the broken amphora, carefully placing its pieces at the base of the altar as an offering.
Finally, as the sun began its slow descent, painting the western sky in hues of gold and crimson, they stood back. The shrine was still a ruin, but it was a clean ruin, restored to a semblance of its former, humble dignity. The hearth, though empty of flame, felt alive with their effort.
Lykos stood at the altar, feeling the weight of the ancient place. He closed his eyes, and a single, heartfelt thought formed in his mind: Hestia. We remember. We honor. Let this be a sign that the Forgotten Flame still burns in our hearts, in this city.
Just then, a profound sense of warmth, subtle but pervasive, washed over him. It wasn't a physical heat, but an ethereal comfort, a deep sense of calm and acceptance that seemed to emanate from the very ground beneath his feet. It was as if the ancient spirit of the shrine had stirred, acknowledging their efforts.
A familiar shimmer appeared before his eyes, and a new System notification flashed, this one more vibrant than any before.
[Special Condition Trigger Met!]
Objective: Rekindle the Forgotten Hearth (Shrine of Hestia restored!)
Reward: Access to the System Lottery!
[System Lottery Unlocked!]
Lykos gasped. It was done. The impossible had been achieved. He hadn't just cleaned some rocks; he had, somehow, rekindled the dormant spirit of a forgotten goddess. The System Lottery was now available. His heart hammered with a new kind of anticipation. He looked at Homerus, whose eyes held a deep, knowing calm. Even Theron, though he couldn't see the System screen, felt the shift in the air, a quiet reverence settling over the place.
They had found their trigger. And now, the true legends of ancient Greece awaited their call.