Chronicles of Phthia & Beyond: 50+1 Stories and Myths from the Past

"Ismini!" As Nikolas ran toward the location where she had disappeared, his voice rang off the stones. He was closely followed by the others, who trod clumsily on the ragged path.

"Where did she go?" Alexandra's hands were folded in fists while her eyes searched across the ruins.

"I saw her slip through there!" Panos pointed toward a narrow opening between two weathered columns. Without waiting, he squeezed through first.

Dimitris groaned. "Or, we could stop and think before charging headfirst into a place that looks like a bad idea."

But Panos was already gone, and hesitation was no longer an option. One by one, they followed.

Mr. Lazaridis, meanwhile, drove the kids to the Castalian Spring, a natural water source that had been revered for centuries and was named after a nymph.

"The Castalian Spring1," he explained, "was where priests2, pilgrims, and even the Pythia herself would come to cleanse themselves before entering Apollo's temple. Water here was believed to have purifying properties, preparing visitors to receive prophecies. Even today, you can still see the remains of the ancient fountains that once carried this sacred water."

Whilst some students were looking around absently, others took notes. Mr. Lazaridis glanced over his shoulder. Nikolas should have been right in front, practically bursting with excitement. But he wasn't there.

Frowning, he scanned the group. Dimitris, Alexandra, Panos, and Ismini… all missing.

"Has anyone seen Nikolas and his friends?" he asked. A murmur spread among the students.

His stomach tightened. He'd been on enough trips to know when something wasn't right.

The five friends realized that they were in a place that was different from any other they had ever seen. The smell of moss and stone filled the moist air. Drops of water falling from above are the only source of sound.

Ismini rubbed her elbow while sitting on the ground. She murmured, "I'm fine," before anyone could ask her. "But you must see this."

Nikolas stepped forward, his eyes widening. In the center of the chamber stood a stone structure—smooth, round, strangely familiar.

"The Omphalos1…" he whispered. "Like the one in the museum."

Dimitris crossed his arms. "Great. Because one ancient rock wasn't enough."

"It's more than a rock," Nikolas said, excitement creeping into his voice. "The Omphalos was believed to mark the center of the world. According to myth-"

"Yeah, yeah, history is great," Panos interrupted, glancing around. "But is anyone else getting the feeling we shouldn't be here?"

Before anyone could answer, a low hum filled the chamber. The walls trembled. A gust of wind—impossible in an underground space—rushed past them, carrying something with it.

A voice—low, stretched, and unnatural—slithered through the chamber. It didn't come from one place but from everywhere at once, curling through the air like something searching, something waiting.

"Ismiiiiiniiii...."

It dragged out the syllables, distant yet far too close. The temperature in the room dropped.

"Nikolaaaaa...."

A shiver ran down their spines. It wasn't just a voice. It was knowing. Calling. Expecting.The air thickened, the edges of the room blurring. The ground trembled beneath their feet.

"That's not normal," Alexandra muttered, stepping back.

Then, in front of them, a figure appeared—an old woman, draped in robes, her eyes clouded yet sharp. Her presence was imposing, commanding attention from all who stood before her. The kids are both terrified and intrigued by her mysterious aura, unsure of what to expect next.

A shiver went down Nikolas's back. There was no mistaking this presence. He has read about her and even imagined her presence in his mind.

"Pythia1…" Nikolas whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.

Dimitris stiffened, his skepticism kicking in instantly. "No way. She's been dead for centuries."

"And yet," Pythia's voice filled the space, "here I stand."

Panos let out a nervous chuckle. "Unless we inhaled some ancient fumes and we're all hallucinating."

Pythia turned her gaze to him, her lips curling in the faintest hint of a smile. "You jest to hide your fear, young one. But laughter does not shield from truth, nor will it delay what has already begun."

Alexandra didn't speak, her gaze locked on the figure in front of them. Logic told her this was impossible, but every part of her instincts screamed that this was real.

Ismini, silent until now, took a slow step forward, her expression unreadable. She swallowed, then spoke with a steady and hushed voice. "I've read about this. The Oracle... she was never just a person. She was a voice, a force. Maybe time doesn't work the way we think it does here."

Pythia's eyes settled on Ismini. "A seeker of wonders, yet doubt lingers in your heart. Will you trust what you feel, or only what you see?"

She turned to the others, her voice flowing like an unseen current.

"The doubter asks, yet fears the reply.

The scholar reads, yet the truth drifts by.

The builder shapes, but hands may break.

The dreamer watches, yet must awake.

The wanderer roams, but paths are spun.

Threads are spun, yet none may outrun."

As her eyes ran over them, they stood motionless before her, each one of them feeling as if they had been measured, scrutinized, and deemed deficient. Her presence was overwhelming, and they were terrified.

"You come seeking answers," she said. "But time is no ally. Listen well, for what I speak cannot be undone."

Her voice deepened, and she began to chant:

"Five stand where past and present meet,

Bound by steps long laid at their feet.

The doubter, the scholar, the builder, and the seer,

The wanderer lost, yet drawing near.

The jester may grin, but truth he will find,

Laughter and fate, forever entwined.

A tale unfinished, a gift yet to give,

Through time's great turning, so must you live."

Dimitris folded his arms. "What does that even mean? This is just more riddles."

Pythia's gaze deepened, as if seeing beyond them, into something even they did not yet know. Her voice, steady and knowing.

"You demand answers yet refuse to hear,

Seeking the truth but bound by fear.

Not all is seen, not all is told,

Yet the lost must walk where fate takes hold."

"You see...just as I told you...more riddles..." Dimitris scoffed.

A heavy silence followed Pythia's words. The air itself felt charged, like the moment before a storm.

Panos shifted uncomfortably. "So… we're supposed to do what exactly? Fulfill some ancient prophecy? Because I did not sign up for this."

Alexandra exhaled sharply. "This is ridiculous. None of this makes sense. We should be looking for a way out, not listening to riddles."

Nikolas, eyes still locked on Pythia, muttered, "It's not just riddles. The way she speaks—it's deliberate. Every word has meaning."

Ismini, who had been quiet, finally spoke, her voice softer than before. "Maybe we're meant to understand later… Maybe it's not about knowing now."

Dimitris scoffed again. "Oh, so we're just supposed to believe? Sorry, but that's not how the world works. Either things make sense, or they don't."

Pythia's gaze was fixed on Dimitris like a predator on its prey. Then with a cold voice, she said. "You search for reason in a world beyond reason. Tell me, doubter, will you listen only when the past speaks in a voice you understand?"

Her gaze lingered on them, measuring, weighing. "Not all who seek find, not all who stand walk. The thread has been spun, yet only you may choose to follow where it leads." The skeptic who seeks proof, the thinker lost in knowledge, the maker with hands restless for creation, the dreamer who sees beyond sight, and the wanderer who walks with no path."

She looked at them one after the other, with a confident look. "You stand where fate has led you, but destiny by itself cannot help you. Whilst some will take the lead, others will follow, but everyone must see their path.

As her last words fade, the room starts to change. As abruptly as she appeared, Pythia vanished, causing the air to tremble like a candle flame in the wind. Everything was just still and quiet, and there was no sign of her.

"Well," Panos broke the silence, forcing a laugh, "that was... something. So… are we cursed? Or is this just some cosmic prank? "

Alexandra crossed her arms. "I don't care what that was. We need to find a way out of here."

Nikolas ran a hand through his hair, still staring at the space where Pythia had stood. "This is—this is unbelievable. Do you realize what just happened? We spoke to her. The Oracle of Delphi."

Dimitris let out a frustrated sigh. " We think we did. Or we all just imagined the same impossible thing at once."

"Oh, sure," Panos said, "because shared mass delusions are super common."

Ismini, who had been quiet, traced a hand along the stone wall. "What if she was right? What if we were meant to be here?"

Dimitris shook his head. "No. We're a bunch of high school kids on a field trip. Whatever this is, there has to be a logical explanation."

"Then let's find one," Alexandra said, already moving ahead towards the exit. "Because standing around arguing about fate won't get us out of here." The rest of the group—except Nikolas—follow Alexandra.

He left behind because something at the edge of the chamber caught his eye—a worn stone slab, half-buried in the dust. Frowning, he brushed his fingers over the ancient carvings.

"Wait... this isn't just another inscription. This looks different."

The others turned as Nikolas leaned in closer, tracing the strange markings. "These symbols—I've seen similar ones in texts about ancient gateways. But this one... it almost looks like instructions."

Panos took a step back. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Nikolas swallowed hard. "I think this might be more than just an old engraving. I think... it's a key."

Before anyone could respond, the air in the chamber changed. The stone beneath them rumbled with an invisible force, and a gust of wind—something impossible for this underground space—swept through the room. The markings on the slab glowed faintly, just for a fleeting moment—like little sparkles.

And then, the world once again twisted.

The last thing they heard was the faintest sound, something neither entirely present nor entirely gone:

"Through time's great turning, so must you live."

Then, in an instant, everything vanished….