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

The words still lingered in the air.

"The thread is spun, as Lachesis sees,

The Moirae weave, none escape what is decreed."

The silence that followed was thick, heavy—like the stillness before a storm.

The Pythia's gaze, deep and knowing, rested on them. It wasn't threatening, nor was it exactly kind. It was simply... inevitable. As if she had already seen this moment long before they had even arrived.

A shiver ran down Ismini's spine.

She had felt out of place ever since they'd arrived in this time, like they were standing at the edge of something too vast to comprehend. But this? The way the Pythia spoke of fate, the way Apollo watched them so closely... It made her stomach turn.

And then, the thought struck her.

"What if we can't go back?"

The weight of it pressed against her chest, sudden and suffocating.

She turned, glancing at the others—at Nikolas, still caught somewhere between awe and anxiety, at Alexandra, standing tall but tense, at Dimitris, ever skeptical, and at Panos, whose usual smirk had dimmed just slightly.

No one had said it yet.

But they were all thinking it.

She swallowed hard and took a breath.

"…How much time has passed?"

The words left her lips before she could stop them.

The others blinked, caught off guard.

Nikolas hesitated. "Uh… I don't know. A few hours? Maybe more?"

Dimitris frowned. "Does it matter?"

Ismini looked at him sharply. "Yes. It does. Mr. Lazaridis—our class—everyone back home. They don't know where we are. They don't know we're stuck in the past. What if—" She stopped herself, trying to steady the frantic thoughts racing in her head. "What if they're already looking for us?"

That thought sent a ripple of unease through the group.

Alexandra shifted her weight. "She's got a point."

Nikolas' face paled. "Oh gods. What if it's been days?"

Dimitris groaned. "If we come back and find out we've been declared legally dead, I swear—"

Panos, uncharacteristically quiet, muttered, "Yeah, okay. Now I'm worried."

Ismini took a deep breath, her hands tightening into fists. "We need to figure this out."

She turned to Apollo, her voice steadier than she felt. "How much time has passed in our timeline?"

Apollo studied her for a long moment, as if weighing her question, before his golden gaze softened.

"You fear for what you have left behind… yet in the world you know, only a moment has passed. But be warned—time does not wait for those who forget their way."

It wasn't a question.

The weight of his words pressed down on them, heavy as the mountain itself. Ismini shifted, concern flickering across her face. "Then… everything's okay?" she asked, hesitant. "They don't even know we're gone?"

Apollo did not answer. Instead, he turned and began walking.

"Come," he said. "Before any vision is granted, you must first be cleansed."

The kids exchanged glances. Alexandra narrowed her eyes. "Cleansed?"

Nikolas' brain clicked into overdrive. He pushed his glasses up, realization dawning. "The Castalian Spring," he whispered. "That's where priests and the Pythia purified themselves before entering the temple."

Sure enough, as they followed Apollo along the winding path, the soft murmur of water reached their ears. They rounded a bend—and there it was.

A small, sacred spring, nestled between the rocks. Sunlight danced on its surface, and smooth stone basins stood at its edge, worn by centuries of devotion.

Apollo gestured toward the water. "Purify yourselves. No mortal may look upon the paths of fate with unclean hands."

Panos groaned. "We have to take a bath?"

Nikolas sighed. "It's not a bath, it's ritual purification."

Alexandra, already kneeling by the water, splashed some over her face. "Honestly? After today? I'll take it."

One by one, they followed suit. The cool mountain water sent a jolt through their skin, sharp and refreshing.

The moment Ismini's fingers left the water, Apollo lifted his hand.

The air stilled.

The spring's surface rippled—then darkened. Like ink spilling across a page, shadows swirled within the reflection. The kids tensed.

And then, they saw him.

Mr. Lazaridis.

Walking through the ruins of Delphi, hands in his pockets, glancing around—but not frantically. Not searching in a panic.

Nikolas' breath hitched. "He's still there—"

Dimitris frowned, arms crossed. "He's not worried," he observed.

The late afternoon sun stretched long shadows over the site. A student jogged up beside Mr. Lazaridis, gesturing toward something in the distance. Their teacher nodded, mildly amused.

Alexandra's eyes narrowed, gears turning. Something wasn't adding up.

She stared at the water, thinking. 'We've been here for hours.'

If time were passing normally… someone should have noticed.

Her brain locked onto the only logical conclusion.

Her stomach dropped. "Wait." She turned to Apollo. "How much time has passed there?"

Apollo met her gaze but didn't answer. He didn't need to.

Nikolas looked between them, blinking rapidly. "Wait, wait, wait—" He pushed his glasses up, doing the math in his head. 'If one year here was five minutes there…'

His eyes widened. "We've been here almost a full day…" He turned to Alexandra.

Her jaw clenched. "That means only seconds have passed back home."

Dimitris scoffed. "Hold on. That doesn't make sense. If that's true, then we could be gone for—" His voice trailed off, realization finally settling in.

Panos, ever the one to sum things up bluntly, whistled low. "Sooo… we could spend a week here, and to them, we just got lost in the gift shop?"

Ismini exhaled in relief. "So they don't even know we're gone."

Apollo's gaze was steady. "Not yet."

Something about the way he said it made Alexandra head spining.

Panos, sensing the shift, rubbed the back of his neck. "Sooo… just to clarify. If we take too long, we're basically stuck here forever?"

Apollo did not confirm or deny. Instead, he let the waters of the spring go still. The vision faded.

"The past is patient," he said at last. "But only for so long."

Silence.

Nikolas swallowed. The past will claim them.

A weight settled over the group.

Then Apollo turned, walking toward the path leading back to the temple. "Come. The Moirae have already set their threads in motion."

And with that, the start to walk but in Apollo's temple.

The path leading up to the Temple of Apollo was steep and winding, carved into the mountainside. Sunlight shimmered on the polished white marble, the Sacred Way stretching before them. Each step carried them deeper into the heart of Delphi's glory days—a world of priests, supplicants, and prophecy.

The kids walked in silence at first, still shaken by what they had seen at the Castalian Spring.

Nikolas, ever the history lover, could barely contain himself. His eyes darted around, drinking in the sights—the treasuries, the statues of past kings, the bronze tripods dedicated to Apollo. This was everything he had ever dreamed of seeing, and it was alive, not ruins.

"This is insane," he whispered to himself, awestruck. "We're literally walking up the Sacred Way…"

Panos snorted. "Yeah, yeah, dream vacation for you. For the rest of us? We still don't know what's waiting for us at the top."

Dimitris crossed his arms, his mind still fixated on their situation. "We need answers," he muttered. "We know time moves differently, but that doesn't tell us how we got here. Or why."

His voice carried frustration—the need to put things into rational categories.

Alexandra shot a glance at Apollo, who walked just ahead of them, his golden tunic flowing behind him as if he were untouched by the mortal world. She narrowed her eyes.

"You're awfully quiet for someone who dragged us through time," she said. "Are we ever getting an actual explanation?"

Apollo didn't stop walking. "You will receive what is meant for you."

Alexandra groaned. "Right. More riddles. Perfect."

Ismini, however, was watching the young Pythia.

She had said little since they left the spring, her movements graceful yet measured. There was something unsettling about her, something that made Ismini's instincs kick, like a wild animal sense danger.

Finally, she asked the question on her mind.

"…You knew we were coming."

The Pythia lifted her gaze. "Yes."

"Because of Apollo?"

The young Oracle smiled faintly. "Because of fate."

The words sent a shiver down Ismini's spine. Fate. That word had been thrown at them a lot since this journey began.

Ismini swallowed hard, forcing herself to press forward. "You're the Oracle of Delphi, right? That means people come to you for answers. To see their future."

The Pythia studied her, then nodded. "They seek what cannot be changed."

Nikolas, snapping out of his historical trance, finally turned toward her. "Wait, so… you actually see the future? How does that work?"

The Pythia didn't answer right away. Instead, she knelt beside a small laurel tree, plucking a single leaf from its branches. Holding it between her fingers, she turned it in the light.

"The voice of Apollo does not come easily," she said softly. "The Pythia must be purified. She chews the laurel leaves, she inhales the sacred vapors… and only then does she speak his will."

Nikolas inhaled sharply. "The vapors… The chasm beneath the temple, where the gases rise…" He turned to Dimitris, his eyes wide. "That's what the modern theories say! The Oracle wasn't just in a trance—she was breathing in natural fumes from the earth. Some people think it caused hallucinations."

Dimitris crossed his arms. "So let me get this straight. The Pythia wasn't exactly channeling divine wisdom—she was high?"

The young Oracle didn't react to his skepticism. She only tilted her head slightly. "Does it matter if the truth is spoken?"

Dimitris faltered. He opened his mouth, then shut it.

The Pythia turned back to the laurel leaf in her hands, pressing it between her palms before letting the wind carry it away.

"The gods do not give clear answers," she said. "They do not tell us what we wish to hear. Only what must be."

Ismini's throat felt tight. "So if someone asked about their future… they wouldn't always understand the answer?"

The Pythia nodded.

Nikolas exhaled. "Well. That explains all the cryptic riddles."

Alexandra scoffed. "Fantastic. So even if we get an answer about why we're here, there's a good chance we won't even understand it."

They rounded the final curve, and the Temple of Apollo came into full view.

It towered above them, massive and unyielding, its columns carved with offerings from various city-states of Greece. Golden tripods, jeweled offerings, and inscribed stele, all given in gratitude for Apollo's guidance. Now, they finallyy see the entrance to the Adyton—the inner sanctum—of Apollo's temple.

Apollo came to a halt at the threshold. He turned, golden eyes meeting theirs.

"You seek clarity," he said, his voice smooth, measured. "But no mortal may receive truth without proving themselves worthy."

Alexandra tensed. "Here it comes…"

Apollo stepped aside, gesturing toward the temple's shadowed interior.

As they crossed its threshold, the air shifted—cooler, heavier. The scent of burning laurel lingered, curling in unseen tendrils through the space. Their footsteps echoed off the stone, a quiet reminder that they were intruding upon something ancient, something sacred.

Nikolas swallowed hard, adjusting his glasses. We're actually inside. His mind raced through the history of this place, the weight of centuries pressing down on him. Kings, warriors, and philosophers had walked these very halls, each seeking answers. Some left wiser. Some left broken.

The walls bore inscriptions—Delphic maxims, carved deep into the stone.

'Know thyself.'

'Nothing in excess.'

'Certainty brings ruin.'

The flickering oil lamps made the letters dance, warping their meaning as if the temple itself was reminding them that truth was never absolute.

A passage loomed ahead—narrow and winding, leading downward.

Apollo strode forward without hesitation. The Pythia followed, her presence eerily weightless.

The kids hesitated.

For the first time, none of them had a quip. Even Panos, usually ready with some joke to lighten the mood, glanced at Alexandra before exhaling sharply. "So… we're just following the glowing god into the depths of a sacred chamber? Cool. A normal day."

Alexandra rolled her shoulders back, setting her jaw. "We've done crazier things."

Dimitris, ever the skeptic, exhaled sharply. "Yeah? Name one."

She didn't answer. She just stepped forward.

One by one, they followed.

The descent was slow, the air growing thicker, more oppressive with each step. The stone beneath their feet was worn smooth from centuries of use, yet somehow it still felt unstable—like the mountain itself was shifting, alive beneath them.

Ismini ran her fingers along the wall as they walked, feeling the grooves where hands had traced the same path for generations. There was something deeply unsettling about it—this connection to the past, as if ghosts of seekers long gone were walking beside them.

Then, the ground beneath them vibrated.

It wasn't an earthquake. It wasn't loud. But it was there—a low, rhythmic hum, almost like breathing.

Nikolas' heart pounded. "Do you hear that?"

They all did.

A final turn, and then—

The passage opened into a circular chamber.

At the center, a great mosaic spread across the floor, its colors vivid even in the dim light. It depicted three spiraling paths, all pointing toward a single point. But the longer they stared, the more the patterns seemed to shift, twisting in ways that didn't make sense.

Apollo turned to them, his expression unreadable.

"The Oracle does not give answers freely," he said. His voice was calm, but the weight behind it was absolute. " To seek wisdom, one must first show they are prepared to bear its weight."

The words sent a cold rush through Nikolas' veins.

A test.

A trial.

Apollo raises his hand.

"Each of you carries a burden—one that clouds your path. If you wish to walk forward, you must first unshackle yourselves."

Then the mosaic flared with blinding light—

And then—

The ground vanished.

The world tilted, spun—

They were falling.

Their trials had begun.