On a late autumn evening, the entire village of Axios held its Harvest Festival. It was an ancient tradition, a rare occasion for them to temporarily forget their hardships and give thanks to the land and sky.
A large bonfire blazed in the village commons, sending sparks soaring up into the starry night sky. Everyone brought out the best they had: a jug of home-brewed barley beer, a few coarse baked cakes, one family even contributed a roasted chicken. The sounds of laughter and chatter, the lilting music of an old villager's lyre, and the playful shouts of children created a warm and vibrant scene.
For the first time in weeks, Lycaon's family had a moment of true relaxation. Father Orpheus sat by the fire, his usually weary face seeming to soften. Mother Theona even smiled as she watched Lyra happily running and jumping with the other children.
But as they stepped into the crowd, Lycaon, with his increasingly sharp intuition, immediately noticed something was off. A few neighbors looked at them and quickly turned away. Some who were talking suddenly fell silent as they approached. Then he saw Kretos, standing in a corner, whispering with a few other men. He didn't look directly at Lycaon's family, but his glances and sneers said it all.
A short while later, Icarus found Lycaon, his face full of worry.
"Lycaon, you have to be careful," Icarus said softly. "Kretos is spreading rumors everywhere. He's saying your family had a bad harvest but somehow has new shoes, and that you're always sneaking around with that knife, questioning if you're a thief. The whole village is starting to shun your family."
Lycaon just nodded. He had expected it. His family was not only poor but now also faced suspicion and hostility from their own neighbors.
Just as the festival was at its most cheerful, Priest Lycomedes appeared. His imposing figure and pristine white robe immediately caused the atmosphere to quiet down. The music stopped, and the chatter died away.
He stood before the fire, his voice booming, and announced that, by the will of the great Goddess Hera, a special "Winter Purification Ceremony" would be held to pray for a peaceful winter for Axios village.
"The purest flower of the village," he said, his eyes scanning the crowd, "a virgin maiden, will be chosen to serve the Goddess at the central Temple in Argonia for one year. This is a great honor, a blessing for both the family and the village."
The entire village fell silent. An honor? Or a sentence? What did "serving the Goddess" mean? No one knew, but a vague, cold fear began to spread, extinguishing the warmth of the bonfire. The fathers and mothers of teenage daughters unconsciously pulled their children closer.
Amidst the silence of the crowd, Lycaon's gaze immediately found his sister.
He saw Lyra, still laughing and playing innocently by the fire, chasing a moth, completely unaware that she could have just become the sacrifice for a terrifying honor.
In that moment, his keen intuition, his "mortal's gaze," showed him a dark future. He needed no prophecy. He knew that with Lyra's pure beauty, she would undoubtedly be the "purest flower" in the priest's eyes. He saw the shadow of the Church, of the gods, slowly falling over his family.
Lycaon didn't move, but his hand had unconsciously tightened on the hilt of the iron knife hidden beneath his cloak.
The peaceful interlude was over. The storm had officially begun.