Chapter Text
The sun’s rays hit her skin and the summer’s breeze rustled through her hair. There she stood like so many times before, atop the Parthenon with the statue of Athena standing proud and tall in the center. She stood at the edge and overlooked the city that was beloved by her dear friend Perikles all those centuries ago. Athens still bustled with the buzz of life even though Korinth had become the trade center of the Greek world. She smiled to herself, Alkibiades would have laughed at the idea of Korinth being more important than Athens. Surely it was supposed to be a city of pleasure and not commerce.
Kassandra steeled her fist, she hated the Roman occupation of her home land. The war between Sparta and Athens had ended so long ago, she had quit counting the years. After all, she was some four hundred years old. Though she was still Greek to the core.
She turned her head to survey the land and a fairly large crowd in the agora caught her eye. It looked like a debate. She squinted at them from the Parthenon and desperately wished Ikaros was still there to spy on them for her. If she wanted to learn more, she would have to go down there and observe them herself.
She climbed down the Akropolis with ease, she had done it countless times. As she neared the crowd in the agora she noticed the speaker was a foreigner. He dressed like a common man but held himself like an important politician. His feet were covered in dust and his robes looked like they were held together by chance. He was a well worn traveler.
“Listen here mighty Athenians, I see that you are religious and believe in many wondrous signs! I have come to you from as far away as Jerusalem to spread the good news. I have seen signs that no man can explain,” said the foreigner.
A local blacksmith scoffed at him, “Speak what you wish to say, don’t confuse us with your words!”
The speaker smiled at him, “As you say. You there, you are a fisherman? Once you catch a fish and prepare it, can it come back to life?”
The fisherman regarded the man, “Of course not, it’s dead.”
“Right! So then, what happens when a man is killed?”
The fisherman waved his knife in the air, “He stays dead.”
“Right again! But what if I told you that was not the case where I come from,” the foreigner rested his hands on his hips and the crowd laughed nervously.
This man’s interesting conversation had drawn other people and a few philosophers emerged from the crowd, “What nonsense is this man speaking?”
Kassandra watched from the back as a small group of philosophers led the man up the well-worn stairs of the Akropolis. They asked him questions the entire way and Kassandra gained much knowledge of the man by tailing the group at a safe distance.
This man’s name was Pávlos, or rather Paul since he was a Roman citizen. He seemed friendly enough, but Kassandra learned to never trust a Roman further than she could throw one. On the other hand, he was also a Jew who seemed well educated and civil. Paul told the Greek philosophers crazy stories of raising the dead, healing the blind, and casting out spirits. Kassandra smirked, she would have loved to compare stories with this man, nothing tops the things I’ve seen, she thought to herself.
They reached the top of the Akropolis and Paul stood in the center. Kassandra meandered off and blended in with a group of worshippers on the side. She watched with curiosity as Paul addressed the members of the Areopagus.
He outstretched his arms as if greeting all the people in front of him, “Athenians, I see that you are all very religious in everything you do.”
A few nodded their heads in agreement.
“I have explored every street of your magnificent city and spent much time among your temples. You have an altar and place of worship for each of your gods like the mighty Zeus, but I have found an altar attributed to ‘the Unknown God,’” he motioned over to a small altar nestled between two bigger temples.
It was once a grand statue of a mighty warrior with a spear and an eagle. Its glory had long since been eroded by the years of wear and tear. Kassandra smiled at the mention of her own statue. She remembered when Herodotos had her pose for several hours so that a sculptor friend of Phidias could get all the details set in stone. A few details of her true image had to be changed so that it might blend in better with the surrounding altars. The Spear of Leonidas became a full spear gripped in her right hand. Though she never fought with a shield, Herodotos thought it would be wise to add one to her statue. She protested the idea of having the Athenian owl on her shield, but a Spartan lambda would have gotten the statue thrown off the Akropolis. A marble Ikaros rested on the statue’s left shoulder. Her face was concealed by a helmet and her armor looked like any soldier’s standard battle armor.
The foreigner’s voice brought her back to the present moment and she gazed at her statue. Nature’s forces had snapped the spear tip off, Ikaros now looked like any other bird, and any defining features like her braid had been eroded. The plaque that originally had the words “The Eagle Bearer” had worn off into some illegible scribble and was replaced by the Akropolis caretakers with the words “The Unknown God.”
Paul’s eyes caught her gaze from the center of the crowd for a moment, “People of Athens, I raise you this: your altar to the Unknown God is an altar to the God of the universe! It is a tribute to the one who made the heavens and the earth. He is one that does not live in temples or sanctuaries, he is not served by anyone. He gives life and breath to all. He has made mankind from one in the hopes they seek God and find him.”
His words turned the heads of even the everyday worshippers and people were starting to get uncomfortable.
“Worry not, this God I speak of is not distant from man. We are his children and he has made us righteous through the one he raised from the dead.”
The philosophers scoffed at him and yelled at him to leave the Akropolis. A handful of people seemed to be interested in what this man had to say and followed him back down the steps. Kassandra considered following him to make sure the others did not send guards after the man. She had no quarrel with this man, her statue had long since resembled her and the confusion was a common mistake.
She found Paul later that night at the Port of Piraeus. He was speaking with a merchant at the exact dock the Adrestia used to harbor at so many years ago while she conducted her business in the heart of the city. She approached him, “Where to next, stranger?”
He looked at her with kind eyes, something that only someone who knew extreme pain could show, “I have business to attend to in Korinth, my work is never done and there are people throughout the world that I must speak to. I am called Paul, but you already know that. Tell me, what are your thoughts on my teachings in the agora and Akropolis?”
Kassandra was impressed that he noticed and remembered her, “I am Kassandra,” but you can call me the Unknown God, she thought to herself, “I certainly think your teachings are interesting and your manner of speaking reminds me somewhat of the great Sokrates, great man he is.”
Paul blinked at her, “You make it sound like you knew him personally!” he paused for a beat, “That’s impossible my dear, certainly you are younger than me.”
She smirked and felt the weight around her neck, the Staff of Hermes had taken to the smaller form of a necklace.
“Well, Kassandra, I must say that your city is breathtaking and I hope to visit again. Many people seem to be lost and though I know little of you, I have the feeling you are their protector,” he embraced her arm and smiled at her in a way that resembled her old friend Barnabas.
She nodded, “I have a long history with this place.”
“No doubt, you are a beacon of hope. May God bless your travels, Kassandra,” he shook her hand once again and turned to board the merchant ship.
“Chaire, Paul,” she waved at him.
Kassandra climbed to the rooftop of one of the ship sheds and watched him sail out of the port east towards Korinth like she had centuries ago to find her mother.
Things had changed so much since then, life was almost simpler when all she had to worry about was which Cultist she had to hunt down next. Life as an immortal became a drag and she hated the feeling of outliving everyone she met. But little interactions like this made things a little brighter.
A glimmer in the long dark, like the ship’s light on the horizon.