Chapter 01 - Cyclical Nature
“Give me a place to stand, and I will move the earth.”
— Archimedes
Elena slowly raised both her arms forward from her waist, her elbows steady as her wrists rotated, palms facing down. She gently pushed the air downward, exhaling through her mouth like a fine thread of silk. With a graceful yet deliberate motion, she drew two circles with her arms and brought her palms together in front of her face as if reading an invisible book. Focused and serene, she turned her well toned waist slightly, lowering herself into a squat. Her left leg extended forward, skimming close to the ground. Her left palm straightened like a sword, gently thrusting forward with precise control. Then, in one fluid movement, Elena retracted her left arm in a smooth circular motion as she stood up, stomped her right foot, and firmly placed the back of her right fist into her left palm, centring the gesture just below her navel—into the quiet core of her body. A surge of energy resonated up through her body, lifted a soft wave through her long darker blonde hair, and culminated in a solid thump that reverberated through her apartment in Kypseli, Athens.
It was 5:47 AM on a mid-summer morning. The gentle rays of the rising sun carried the sweet scent of jasmine and the soft chatter of waking birds. In her second-floor studio apartment—just above the building lobby and overlooking the Statue of Athena in Pedion tou Areos—Elena began her day with a full round of Old Form Chen-style Tai Chi. She found its blend of balance and power both grounding and invigorating: a moving meditation that rooted her body and sharpened her intent.
Each movement sliced the silence with grace and substance, echoing faintly across the empty corridor below. The Athens skyline was still veiled in quiet, save for the occasional hiss of a distant bus brake or a pigeon’s coo. By the time she reached the closing posture, Elena’s breath had steadied, and her spine felt tall and certain.
The cold shower flushed her pores and sealed in her energy. Water slid over her shoulders in clean rivulets, rinsing away tension. She stood under the stream for a moment longer, letting the chill anchor her, then reached for the towel with quiet efficiency.
Back in the bedroom, fresh moisture still clinging faintly to her skin, Elena pulled on a dark forest green blouse—sleek, high-necked, with a soft drape that shifted with her breath. She paired it with tailored stone-grey trousers and compression-lined socks. The low-heeled leather ankle boots—polished, practical, made for both marble floors and sidewalk cracks—sat by the door, waiting.
Sharp. Grounded. Not trying to impress—just impossible to ignore.
Teeth brushed, she leaned toward the vanity mirror, fogged the bottom-right corner with a breath, and drew an infinity symbol with her finger—a sideways 8. Just something Elena did to centre herself.
As the shape faded, she studied her reflection: lean, sun-warmed skin still dewy from the shower, darker blonde hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders. Focus behind relaxed eyes. Control inside the calm.
She was ready for the day.
Breakfast was a Yirgacheffe pour-over and avocado egg toast. She layered slices of locally grown Hass avocado onto rye, topped them with a free-run organic egg, a pinch of salt and pepper, and slid it into her pastel blue SMEG toaster oven—one of her few indulgences. Six minutes at 180°C (350°F) was just enough to set the white while keeping the yolk soft and golden.
At the kitchen island, she weighed out 23 grams of medium-roast Ethiopian beans and began to grind by hand, slow turns settling into the silence.
When the water reached 94°C (201°F), she lifted the gooseneck kettle and poured in steady circles, the motion unhurried. Floral notes rose with the steam, laced with a hint of earth and chocolate—filling the air.
Ares, Elena’s dark grey Maine Coon—just shy of a mid-sized dog in size, majestic and soft-footed, with a lush, silken coat—greeted her with a slow brush against her calves.
“Good morning, Ares,” she murmured, reaching for his dish. She set down his morning portion of a thawed serving from his flash-frozen raw poultry blend, which he accepted with silent dignity.
Calming lo-fi chillwave played in the background, filling the room with soft beats and soothing synths. Elena liked to keep things simple—her apartment reflected that. A beige leather sofa sat against the eggshell-painted wall, facing a 55-inch OLED 4K flatscreen, framed like a piece of art. At the center of the wooden floor lay a minimalist world map rug, its subtle outlines of continents blending seamlessly into the space. Decorations were few: just a handful of air plants suspended near the window by thin wires.
The most prominent feature of her apartment was the “library” tucked into the northwest corner by the window. Three floor-to-ceiling wooden bookshelves stood tightly aligned, leaving just enough space for Elena to walk between them without knocking anything loose. The shelves were meticulously organized—by category, then alphabetically—holding research papers, books on ancient archaeology, philosophy, and mythology. At the end was a modest “Miscellaneous” section, filled with general interest reads and the occasional dog-eared novel.
Sitting on the stool by the kitchen island, coffee in her right hand, Elena casually scrolled through her phone. A headline caught her eye:
“Crypto Billionaire Wants to Find Atlantis—And He’s Serious”
“Okay…?” she thought, her thumb hesitating before scrolling further. The embedded video auto-played, revealing a ginger-haired woman in her early thirties—glasses, bright lipstick, high-energy delivery, and attire designed more for eyeballs than academia. The kind of internet figure who bounced—attention-grabbing in every sense—between pop science and viral pseudohistory with unnerving ease.
“Hold onto your tridents, folks. Australian FinTech CEO Max Gray has just announced a global archaeological research fund that does not appear to have a cap, and no cap, to organize an Atlantis expedition.”
“That’s right, the underwater city of legend that has eluded everyone from Plato to Google Earth.”
“In a move that screams ‘I have too much money and not enough hobbies,’ Gray, who made his billions in the wild west of cryptocurrency, has decided to throw some serious cash at one of history’s greatest myths.”
Elena took a bite of her toast. Ares, having finished his meal, sat regally by the kitchen counter, eyes half-lidded, softly purring.
She patted the empty corner of the counter. Ares leapt up with practiced ease and settled quietly onto the surface, his posture loose with contentment. Elena stroked his fur absently as the narration continued: “Apparently, the criteria to be part of the search party are about as rigorous as you’d expect: present some ‘credible evidence’ and show the potential for ‘significant historical impact,’ and you might just be part of history. Oh, and there’s already a panel of renowned archaeologists and historians on board—because if there’s one thing those folks love, it’s a good wild goose chase.”
“Critics, naturally, were unimpressed.”
“Professor Sophia Mendes, Head of the School of Archaeology at the University of Oxford, had this to say: ‘We need to ensure this doesn’t become a treasure hunt. The search for Atlantis should be conducted with the utmost respect for historical integrity and scientific rigour—assuming it actually existed, which I won’t divulge here.’”
The anchor smirked. “Translation: ‘Please don’t let this turn into another Ancient Aliens episode.’”
“Still, skepticism aside, there’s no denying that an absurd amount of money is being thrown at this.”
“And who knows? Maybe you’ll get to play with some cool underwater gadgets and make new discoveries—not necessarily Atlantis, but hey, we’ll take what we can get.”
The video ended with the influencer grinning:
“This is Ima Diggins—signing off. Like, subscribe, and follow me everywhere. Yes, there too. You DIG, get it?”
World’s gone insane
Elena sighed, setting her phone down.
“Yet another rich guy chasing shadows.”
She took a slow sip of coffee — floral, earthy, lifted by bright acidity — her gaze lingering on the now-muted screen, slightly shook her head.
So many theories, so many expeditions, and still—nothing. Why now?
Her fingers absentmindedly traced a sideways eight again and again on the island countertop as she finished her breakfast. The soft vibration of her phone broke her train of thought.
A message from Ava Iris flashed across the screen. “I’m downstairs. Let’s go!”
Elena stood and walked briskly to the window, glancing down toward the street.
Ava was waiting on the sidewalk below, leaning casually against the railing with a smirk and a paper coffee cup in hand.
Her maroon hair—shoulder-length—shimmered in the early morning light, catching hints of red.
She stood around 170 centimetres, with light beige skin and refined East Asian features. Elegant, frameless glasses caught the soft glow of a streetlamp that hadn’t yet surrendered to daylight.
A black flats, dark grey trousers, and white silk blouse that hugged her fuller figure with the kind of crisp ease that turned heads without effort.
She pointed at her watch, gave a lazy wave, and took another sip.
Elena groaned. 6:35 AM. How is she always up before me?
She slung her satchel over her shoulder, gave Ares a quick pat on the head, quickly put on her boots, and hurried out the door, half-skipping down the narrow stairwell while tightening her ponytail.
“What do you think about the Max Gray news?” Ava asked as soon as Elena stepped outside.
“You saw it too?” Elena paused to adjust her satchel strap. “Please. Nobody’s found anything in centuries. He’s just another billionaire with too much money to burn. It’s a waste of effort…”
She trailed off, her gaze drifting as thoughts deepened.
Ava nudged her gently. “Alright, walk and talk, walk and talk.”
Elena blinked back to the present. Ava knew exactly how her academia-wired brain worked.
The city was just waking up, the streets humming with the occasional buzz of scooters weaving past parked cars. The two cut through a narrow alleyway, subconsciously avoiding puddles from last night’s rain.
“Uh-huh. Waste of effort,” Ava said, stepping over a loose cobblestone. “But why now?”
Elena shrugged. “Who knows. I’ve read Timaeus and Critias enough times to recite them in my sleep. Atlantis was just Plato’s political allegory. And yet, here I am, giving the same lecture every month.”
Ava chuckled. “Come on—you know people eat this stuff up.”
Elena rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Just for all the wrong reasons.” She exhaled. “I love what I do, but sometimes I wish I could get a break from pop culture version of Atlantis.”
Ava smirked. “Maybe you’ll get your wish.”
Elena snorted. “Doubt it.”
They emerged from the alley onto a broader street where golden morning light spilled across beige façades and wrought-iron balconies, graffiti blending seamlessly into the aged walls. Ahead, the National Archaeological Museum loomed, its neoclassical frame rising above the rooftops.
As usual, they crossed the small bridge to the staff entrance. Ava pulled out her museum-issued security pass and swiped it across the scanner. A soft beep, a click, and the door unlocked.
Elena glanced up at the security camera. “Morning, Yorgos.”
The intercom crackled. “Ava, my baby! You free for dinner tonight? Let’s grab some drinks, what do you say?”
Before he could finish his pitch, Elena pushed the door open, and Ava slammed it shut behind her.
Elena smirked. “Still at it, huh?”
Ava rolled her eyes, but grinned. “He’s harmless. Just… no time for that.”
They moved through a narrow hallway where portraits of Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Pythagoras, Archimedes, Alexander the Great, and other icons of the ancient world lined the marble walls—framed wood panels, their solemn gazes frozen in time.
Elena slowed as they passed Plato’s portrait, her eyes lingering on his thoughtful expression.
“Plato,” she murmured, tilting her head. “If he knew what his dialogues have inspired, I wonder if he’d have chosen his words more carefully.”
Ava smirked. “Or maybe he was precise—and we’re the ones misinterpreting.”
Elena exhaled through her nose. “The man was writing a philosophical discourse on governance and morality—not an atlas of lost civilizations. And yet, here we are, watching another billionaire fund a quest to ‘prove’ Atlantis was real.”
Ava leaned lightly against the opposite wall, arms crossed, standing between Pythagoras and Archimedes.
“You sound almost annoyed.”
Elena turned toward her, one brow arching. “Because I am. These sensationalist searches strip Plato’s work of its meaning. They reduce a carefully structured allegory on power and decline into a glorified treasure hunt.”
Ava tilted her head. “You say ‘sensationalist,’ but what if there was a historical precedent? Plato might’ve dressed it up, but myths borrow from somewhere.”
Elena shook her head—not with exasperation, but thought. A sharper flicker stirred behind her eyes.
“A lost thalassocracy wiped out by catastrophe? Sure. The Minoans, the Mycenaeans, the Sea Peoples. But that’s collapse, not some utopian civilization swallowed whole overnight.”
She added, with a dry smile, “It’s like… someone finds a ‘lost text’ of Harry Potter thousands of years from now, and suddenly they’re mounting expeditions to locate Hogwarts.”
“That would be fun, actually. Can you imagine?” Ava laughed, “Only if you could just ‘Atlantis Revelio!’ and shut those conspiracy theory fanboys up. So you don’t have to piss them off on monthly basis.”
Elena scoffed softly but didn’t argue. She gave Plato’s portrait one last glance before moving on.
“Just think about it when you get into your 9 AM,” Ava added.
At the end of the hallway, a right turn led to a set of double doors. Ava stopped just outside security camera’s line of sight, arms folded, a knowing smirk on her face.
“Your turn,” she said, clearly anticipating what was coming next.
Elena sighed. “Right.” Echoing Ava’s thoughts, she scanned her pass at the reader but there was no beep like it normally would.
The intercom crackled to life.
“Ava, baby! What took you so long?” Yorgos’ voice came through, almost too eager. “I finally got reservations at Xenia! You know how hard—” He paused. “Elena, where’s Ava?”
Elena smirked and jerked her thumb behind her, not even turning around.
Yorgos barely missed a beat. “You know how hard it is to get that reservation? Come with me this one time, please?”
Ava didn’t flinch. “Just open the door, Yorgos. Or I’ll report you for messing with security for personal reasons.” Completely ignored the proposal.
A small pause. Then, a soft beep, and the lock released.
As the door swung open, Elena grinned. “You heard that, Ava? Xenia!”
Ava let out a short chuckle—somewhere between amusement and irritation—before stepping inside.
The workroom was a controlled chaos of history and modern technology—a stark contrast to the polished grandeur of the museum halls. Large wooden research tables stood beneath bright track lighting, their surfaces scattered with open reference books, printouts, and digitized excavation reports. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with cataloged artifacts—some locked behind glass cases, others carefully wrapped, awaiting documentation.
At the far end, a long workstation housed an array of specialized tools and equipment—microscopes, brushes, UV scanners, and a high-resolution imaging setup for detailed artifact analysis. A whiteboard stood against the back wall, covered in handwritten notes, dates, and interconnecting lines of speculation—evidence of late-night brainstorming sessions.
Like always, they were the first to arrive.
Elena dropped her satchel onto one of the tables, exhaling as she unzipped it and pulled out her tablet. She had barely settled when a notification flashed on the screen—a reminder about her morning lecture schedule.
“Two hours to go,” she muttered, already dreading it.
At the equipment station, Ava had already made herself comfortable. She tied her hair back, powered on the artifact scanner, and picked up an aged scroll, her gloved fingers tracing its fragile edges.
“Plenty of time,” she said without looking up.
Elena shot her a look. “For you, maybe. I actually have to deal with people.”
Ava smirked. “And you’re so good at it.”
The two resumed their tasks, the sizeable workroom alive with an unintentional symphony—the scribbling of pens, the shifting of pages, the soft murmur of the scanner, and the occasional footsteps and rustling from the morning cleaning crew. It didn’t feel empty at all.
“So,” Ava finally broke the silence casually, “what’s your plan for the kumbaya today?”
Elena stopped flipping through her notes and looked up. “Kumbaya? Ha!” She let out a dry chuckle. “Same as always—stick to the facts, shut down the fantasy, and try not to start another argument with someone convinced they have the missing piece of the puzzle.”
Ava smirked but didn’t look up. “You make it sound like a battlefield.”
Elena rolled her eyes and continued scrolling through her notes. Her fingers stopped at a highlighted passage from Timaeus. She stared at it for a moment, reading the words that had been debated, dissected, and reinterpreted for centuries.
“I’m already starting to sound like a broken record,” she muttered, tapping the screen. “Plato doesn’t even claim firsthand knowledge. In Timaeus, it’s Critias telling the story—something passed down from his grandfather, who got it from Solon, who heard it from priests in Sais. And even they were quoting temple records, not memory.”
Ava finally glanced up. “Uh-huh. Let it out.”
Elena exhaled. “So it’s a story passed down orally—third-hand at best—before it ever reached Plato’s dialogues. And there’s not a single corroborating source. No inscriptions. No records from any other culture describing a naval empire that collapsed overnight. Just one priest in one temple, in Egypt.”
Ava leaned back, spinning a stylus between her fingers. “History gets lost all the time. Maybe it just didn’t survive.”
Elena shook her head. “That’s the problem. If a civilization as vast as Plato describes really existed, its impact wouldn’t just vanish. Trade routes, military conflicts, even passing mentions in other cultures—there’d be something. Instead, the entire claim rests on one unverifiable link in a centuries-long game of telephone.”
Ava smirked. “That’s assuming the records we have are all that ever existed.”
Elena scoffed. “Right. Now you sound like them.”
Ava shrugged, unfazed. “Keeping you sharp.”
Then, she tilted her head. “What if Plato knew more than he let on, and hid it behind the guise of hearsay?”
She set down the old scroll, turned her chair, and re-crossed her legs—her gaze lingering on Elena.
“Remember? You used to go on tangents with this stuff. Hate to bring it up again, but… you know.”
Elena exhaled. Her right index finger traced a slow, sideways eight on the surface of her desk.
“I had to grow up sometime.”
“Alright,” Elena shifted in her seat. “Even if that’s a possibility, it doesn’t change the fact that Timaeus and Critias are the only known records, does it? The truth is, Plato had an agenda—he used Atlantis to criticize the Athenians, crafting a moral lesson about the cyclical nature of hubris and decline.”
Ava smirked. “So you’re here to break the cycle?”
Elena’s gaze flicked up. “Someone’s gotta do it, right?”
As the two engage in the discussion, echoes of hurried, heavy footsteps grew louder—footsteps that somehow carried the distinct weight of passive aggression.
Ava, grinning knowingly, motioned toward the door leading to the rest of the museum. “Sounds like the cycle is coming to break you.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time he tries.” Elena sighed, her tone carrying a familiar tone of resignation.
The door swung open with the kind of force that suggested reframed exasperation rather than outright frustration.
A tall, thin man stepped inside. Dr. Damian Stavros, the Director of the National Archaeological Museum of Athens.
His light grey three-piece suit, though slightly faded, was still well-pressed and distinguished. A sterling silver pocket watch rested in his front pocket, its chain fastened neatly to the lower button of his vest. His slightly hunched posture spoke of years spent leaning over manuscripts and battling bureaucracy in equal measure.
His wire-rimmed glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose, as if even they were weary from the weight of running a prestigious yet underfunded institution. Dark circles under his eyes hinted at sleepless nights filled with grant applications, board meetings, and putting out academic fires—not least of which were Elena’s.
Stavros surveyed the room, letting the silence stretch just long enough before sighing through his nose. “Athens has seen its share of battles, Dr. Athanasiou. Must we add yours to the list almost every week?”
Elena looked up, adjusted her posture slightly, and exhaled—not quite a sigh, but enough to make her skepticism known. “And I was hoping we wouldn’t have to do this again.”
Ava pressed her lips together, clearly enjoying the show.
Elena continued “Dr. Stavros, about last week’s Iliad lecture, can we just agree that it was more of a learning opportunity and clarification than an—”
“—Than an attempt to rewrite museum policy based on your personal tolerance for nonsense?” Stavros cut in. “Yes. About that. The board insists that I address the ‘ongoing concerns’ once again.”
Ava chuckled under her breath. “Cycle 1, Elena 0”
Elena shot Ava a side-eye before setting her tablet down with an audible click.
“What would you have me say? That Achilles was a real war hero and the Trojan Horse was part of the Iliad’s climax?”
She paused. “Speaking of which—terrible name for a condom, by the way. It was literally full of men waiting to inseminate—oops, infiltrate. Not much better.”
Ava let out a high-pitched squeal, trying to hold back her laughter.
Stavros, trying to maintain his composure, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Elena, I don’t need you to entertain them. I need you to stop actively baiting them.”
Ava, still amused, saluted with her stylus. “Baiting in the name of academia.”
Stavros ignored her, turning back to Elena. “You are a brilliant historian. A respected researcher. A valued part of this institution. Of course we have had our differences in the past, but that’s the nature of this field - we debate and we uncover.” He let a beat pass before adding dryly, “However, if I had a drachma for every time I had to smooth over one of your public ‘clarifications,’ we could fund an actual expedition to Atlantis—like Max Gray.” His tone carried a barely concealed distaste at the mention of the FinTech madman.
Elena leaned back in her chair, arms crossing without thinking, subconsciously mirroring his posture. “Then I’m doing my job. You said it yourself—respected researcher.”
Stavros exhaled sharply. “Yes. And I respect you. But the museum is a delicate balance, Dr. Athanasiou. Public engagement matters. Funding matters. Not everyone comes here expecting a doctoral dissertation.”
Elena folded her arms. “So I should just let them cite Ancient Aliens as gospel?”
Stavros rubbed his temples. “I want you to engage, not antagonize. If someone walks in talking about Lemuria or Atlantean crystal technology, redirect the conversation without making them feel like an idiot. We need them to want to keep learning, not storm out composing an angry TripAdvisor review.”
Elena opened her mouth to argue, but paused. That last part hit differently. As much as she hated misinformation, she hated barriers to knowledge even more.
Ava, noticing, leaned back with a smirk. “Wow. That almost sounded like a compromise.”
Stavros glanced at the time. “Just… try. The Atlantis lecture starts in an hour. Don’t make me regret still letting you do it.”
He turned and exited the room before Elena could protest.
Elena stared after him for a moment, then muttered, “I do engage and I hope to inspire…”
Ava, deadpan. “You verbally curb-stomp people.”
Elena sighed, rubbing her temple. “Fine. I’ll be nicer.”
Returned back to her notes, mouthing pre-planned segments, right index finger drawing side-way eight in the air beside the tablet — this time more like a conductor leading an orchestra.
Ava’s gaze lingered on Elena, her expression an unreadable mix of amusement, concern, and quiet protectiveness. She remained seated, still cross-legged in front of the artifact scanner, which hummed softly as it processed a small, weathered clay tablet, its surface etched with nearly illegible inscriptions.
DING
Elena’s tablet pops up with a notification:
Atlantis - Lecture Room - 9am
Elena lets out a sigh “Alright, time to inspire and intervene.”
Ava clapped her hands together. “Oh, this should be fun. Can I come with?”
Elena shot her a look. "You just want front-row seats in case I slip up.”
Ava grinned. “Gotta document history as it happens.”
Elena exhaled, shaking her head, though a smirk tugged at her mouth. She grabbed her satchel, slung it over her shoulder, and gestured toward the door. “Fine. Let’s go.”
“Don’t be so excited,” Ava giggled. She rose in one graceful motion, scooped up her paper coffee cup, and fell into step beside Elena.
The two stepped out into the corridor, the quiet hum of the workroom fading behind them. Outside, the museum was already awake—the sound of distant footsteps, hushed conversations, and the occasional beep of a scanner filling the air.
Ava fell into step beside Elena with that effortless grace she always carried—ignoring the turned heads just like any other day.
“So,” she said, lightly elbowing her, “do I get to rate your performance today? A kindness score, perhaps?”
Elena rolled her eyes, adjusting the strap of her satchel. "Sure. I’ll even let you pick the metric. Words I don’t say out loud? The number of times I don’t sigh dramatically?"
Ava tapped a thoughtful finger against her chin. "Ooh, let’s go with ‘visible restraint.’ Need a fidget toy or should I count your infinity strokes?”
“You know I only do that when I’m processing my thoughts, not when I’m agitated and annoyed.” Elena snapped back jokingly.
Ava chuckled, “Hard to tell sometimes, Professor Zen.”
They turned a corner into a wider hall, where visitors clustered around various exhibits. That was when Elena heard it—a familiar voice mid-explanation, coming from just ahead.
"…and here we have the Antikythera Mechanism, an ancient Greek device recovered from a shipwreck in 1901. Many scholars consider it the world’s first analog computer, designed to predict astronomical events with remarkable accuracy."
Elena’s pace slowed slightly, just enough for Ava to notice.
The Mechanism was displayed in the Collection of Metalwork, housed in a sleek glass case. Precision lighting illuminated its largest corroded fragments, the interlocked gears frozen by time. The interactive display across from it looped a digital animation, demonstrating how the original gears might have turned, aligning celestial bodies in a mechanical dance.
A tour guide stood near the exhibit, gesturing toward the glass.
"…Its complexity challenges our understanding of ancient technology. Some researchers have proposed that the Mechanism may not have been an isolated invention. There are fringe theories suggesting it was part of a now-lost technological tradition—possibly linked to civilizations we only know through myth. Atlantis, for example, has been mentioned more than once in speculative circles.”
A few tourists murmured in response—half awe, half conspiratorial glee. A handful leaned in closer to the glass, as if hoping to be the first to spot some buried clue—credible evidence, if only in their minds.
Elena’s lips pressed together. “Oh come on…” she muttered under her breath, tone edged with dry skepticism.
Ava smirked, nudging her slightly. “Alright, one battle at a time.”
Elena exhaled, but kept walking, resisting the urge to challenge the guide in front of the tour group.
They continued through the museum, moving past exhibits as familiar to Elena as the back of her hand.
As they neared the Collection of Prehistoric Antiquities, Elena suddenly slowed—just a few steps—but enough for Ava to notice.
Ava glanced sideways. “What is it this time?”
Elena gave a noncommittal grin and stopped in front of a wide, low glass case near the rear of the gallery.
Inside, several clay tablets lay on pale fabric backing—sunbaked fragments, no larger than postcards. Each one etched with tight, precise rows of wedge-like script - more drawings than letters.
A discreet placard beneath the case read:
Linear B Tablets — Mycenaean Greek, c. 1300 BCE
Origin: Knossos, Crete
Content: Administrative records, including inventories and offerings to deities
A soft overhead light cast clean highlights across the clay without glare, giving the script a faint sense of presence.
Ava glanced at the tablets, then back at Elena. “You’ve seen these countless times.”
Elena didn’t respond right away. She tilted forward towards the display, her eyes traced the etched lines, as if something might shift if she looked at them long enough.
“Did you rearrange these?” Elena finally spoke, “You were maintaining these just the other day after that donor gala. It was organized by contents of the recordings and now…” Elena took a closer look and glared at Ava, “you had them organized by deities, why?”
“I had one too many Naoussas ok? You don’t say no to Kir-Yianni.” Ava said matter-of-factly. “So what if I wanted to see what the gods were ordering back then.”
Elena smirked. “So you turned Bronze Age administrative ledgers into ancient e-Fresh for the gods.”
She paused, then added, “Well, you’re not wrong.” Her eyes moved over the clay again. “Livestock, grain, offerings… Poseidon got so many pigs and wines, it reads more like extortion than devotion.”
“Did he now?” Ava giggled. “Well, he did terrify the Mycenaeans with earthquakes—he earned his bribes.”
She tilted her head, still grinning. “Look, I know we’re supposed to have reverence or whatever, but just imagine—your shopping list becoming a sacred relic three thousand years later.”
She glanced again at the tablets, her grin lingering just a moment too long before fading. Her expression unreadable.
Elena smiled lightly, though her gaze lingered as well. “Well, it did remind me… Poseidon did sort of monopolize the board when it came to offerings, not Zeus. Makes you wonder—especially after what happened in Knossos.”
Ava tilted her head slightly, her voice dipping.
“Right. The Minoans. They were a lively bunch.”
A flicker of intrigue passed through Elena’s eyes. “That’s where it gets interesting. We know the Mycenaeans took over Crete. We know they absorbed whatever was left of the Minoans. But…”
She gestured to the tablet. “This only tells us what came after—not what was lost.”
Ava’s gaze flicked back to the tablet, her expression unreadable. “Right. So back to Linear A.”
“Linear A.” Elena exhaled, the weight of it in her tone.
Ava ran a finger along the edge of the glass, seemingly thoughtful. “Maybe it’s not meant to be read.”
Elena frowned. “What?”
Ava smirked, the moment gone. “I just mean—maybe it was never a language in the way we think of it. Not everything’s meant to be translated.”
Elena scoffed. “That’s a convenient excuse for an unsolved mystery.”
Ava shrugged. “Maybe.” She stepped away from the exhibit, took a sip from her coffee, her tone casual again. “Or maybe we’ve been looking at it from the wrong angle.”
Elena arched a brow. “And what’s the right angle?”
Ava barely paused. “Who knows—aliens, perhaps.”
Elena shot her a look. “And there goes your credibility.”
Ava grinned. “Oh, come on. The tourists love it.”
Elena exhaled, adjusting her bag. “Just don’t fuel the fire during my lecture.”
Ava held up her hands in mock innocence. “Me? Never.”
Just ahead, the main entrance to the lecture hall stretched open—wide double doors propped back, releasing a low, anticipatory hum of conversation. Outside, a looping animation on a digital display illustrated a stylized, concentric city-state slowly sinking beneath animated waves. The title hovered in clean serif text: Atlantis: Between Myth and Memory.
Ava gave the scene a passing glance, but Elena barely registered it. She veered left toward a narrow hallway flanking the auditorium—the route for staff, lecturers, and museum personnel. The kind of entrance that bypassed the crowd and opened with a straight shot to the podium.
With the beep of the swipe of Elena’s security pass, the two entered and left a soft click of the mechanical latch as the door shut behind them.
The side access corridor was dimmer, its linoleum scuffed and walls lined with old placards and a defunct fire extinguisher. A familiar hush fell over them—the kind of silence that came just before stepping into the spotlight.
A moment later, the hallway fed directly into the side of the stage. From this vantage, they could see the audience clearly—faces turned forward, the room already almost full. Inside, rows of seats were occupied by a mix of students, scholars, and casual attendees. Some held notebooks, others tapped away on their phones, while a few murmured amongst themselves, occasionally glancing toward the large blank projection screen at the front of the room. A visiting professor in the second row was already scribbling something into a leather-bound notebook.
Elena exhaled once, steadied herself, and stepped toward the podium.
“I can get Papa Nick to call in a fake emergency,” Ava murmured, leaning in. “And I can take over.”
Elena shot her a flat look. “You’d turn it into a TED Talk on how modern academia suppresses ‘fun’ theories.”
Ava grinned. “Gotta have fun.” She casually drifted toward the side wall near the podium, sipping her coffee like she owned the place.
Elena shook her head and stepped into view.
The moment she did, a few people in the audience straightened. Recognition flickered across faces—students from past lectures, museum staff, the occasional visiting researcher.
But among them were a few unfamiliar ones—newcomers who didn’t quite fit the usual crowd.
Ava followed Elena’s gaze, eyes narrowing slightly.
Then, for just a fraction of a second, she stiffened.
Elena didn’t notice—too busy setting down her satchel near the podium, organizing her notes.
But Ava had seen something. Someone.
A figure near the back side door to the access corridor.
Dark tight top. Slender agile frame. Short-cropped hair.
Maroon.
Lil?
Ava’s breath caught—brief but sharp—before she forced it back down.
Focus.
Without a word, she pushed off the wall near the podium and stepped through the front-side access door—the same one she and Elena had come in from.
The corridor was quiet. Same beige walls, same low hum of the vents. A staffer passed with a clipboard. Somewhere down the hall, crates were being moved—soft clatter trailing in faint echoes.
Normal.
Ava circled back and slipped quietly into the lecture hall again through the side door, returning to her spot against the wall. Arms crossed. Coffee in hand. Eyes sweeping the crowd like nothing had happened.
Elena, unaware, turned to face the room. She cleared her throat, adjusted the mic. The rustling settled.
She checked the time on her phone.
8:57 AM.
She began. “Good morning, everyone. Let’s talk about Atlantis.”