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The harp's well-protected. I see the officers are already organizing people to fight the fire. It should be under control soon.

Besides, the stairs are too narrow. The harp would get in the way of other people evacuating. Besides... *cough*—

Are you alright, Pallas?

You're right. We need to leave. We can come back when the smoke's gone. Let's go.

A fire? Oh no, oh no! My luggage is still in my room!

Don't worry, the fire's in the first-floor kitchen. It's not going to spread to the guestrooms upstairs. Just wait for them to put out the fire and the smoke to disperse.

Stop crowding and clear the area around the door! There are still people coming down from upstairs—

Sir! Now's not the time to go inside!

Feeling better, Pallas?

I'm fine. I just inhaled some smoke.

We should be good to go back to the room in ten minutes. I'll help you take the harp to the First Temple, just in case anything else happens.

Thanks.

Oh, sorry. It's so crowded here.

Hey, Pallas, did that guy look familiar to you?

Who?

Did you hear? That kid at the crossing was the one who rammed the boat into the kitchen. He usually looks pretty smart, but I guess he's as dumb as it gets when it comes to piloting a boat.

Where was Xanthos? He's the one who usually delivers the goods.

Too busy, maybe? But it's not like him to let an inexperienced apprentice get into trouble on his own.

True.

...I remember now. It was Xanthos, the ferryman, who ran into me just now.

Xanthos? Are you sure?

If he had the time to come to the hotel, why would he let an inexperienced apprentice steer the boat and cause an accident? Wait a second...

I have a bad feeling about this.

As do I.

The room of the Sargonian ambassador... this is the relic that was stolen a century ago?

The tall Minoan peers at the massive wooden box as he starts the motor on his serrated oar, repurposing the tool that he uses to cross the river to pick the lock open.

He carefully lifts the cover of the box. The instrument of Kereseira, which should have come home long ago, is safely packaged in a dust cover.

Kereseira's harp must not be used as a bargaining chip by the Sargonian hypocrites, to be shut away in this pretentious, suffocating box...

Put the harp down, Xanthos.

The people praise you for proposing the rebuilding of the First Temple as soon as you returned to Athenius, Pallas. I voted in favor myself.

Thank you.

But you should not have cozied up to the Sargonians.

You instructed your apprentice to ram the hotel kitchen and cause a fire, letting you sneak in to steal an artifact of great diplomatic significance to our two countries... it's an ill-advised act.

The streets outside the hotel are packed with people. You can't possibly escape with the harp.

You're jumping out the window? This is the fourth floor!

We're directly above the kitchen. The boat that rammed the kitchen wasn't just a distraction, it's his escape... he had this planned.

The door will take too much time. How about—

You give me a ride?

Wisdom.

The fire is under control, Grammateús. As for the hotel's losses...

I'll report the incident to the Astynomos' Office per official procedures. As for the damage to the kitchen, I've already settled up with the innkeeper.

I see. We'll station someone here to make sure no one's trying to take advantage of the chaos, for instance...

What is it?

L-Look up!

Hekádemos looks up.

A pair of Forte horns, pitch-black under the sunlight like the twin moons, flies over the head of the crowd, their owner landing upon a haystack on the accident boat, before leaping off the boat and fleeing along the river.

A few seconds later, a white figure leaps from the window off the end of a silver chain. The black Feline's landing is softened by several cloth ribbons surrounding her.

Xanthos the ferryman? And the Sargonian ambassador?

What's that huge thing Xanthos is carrying on his back...? Don't tell me...

You were right, officer. Someone IS trying to take advantage of the chaos.

Understood. Cordon the scene and impound that boat! Send someone to follow Kyría Mashayer and bring Xanthos into custody!

The harvest is done. We'll need your help again packing the apples in crates.

No problem. You guys helped a lot with the stone for the temple, after all.

Excuse me.

Whoa, whoa—

Xanthos? What's the hurry?

Is that Titi chasing after him?

Hey, Thanos! M-Make way!

Is this a race? Where's the finish line?

Go, Titi, go! You can't lose to Xanthos when he has so much stuff on his back, right?

No I can't!

Careful with the apples!

The Sargonian is persistent...

But this is as far as you go.

Xanthos! The river is just ahead!

The harp is out of its waterproof packaging! The water will ruin it!

I don't need a Sargonian to remind me, not when your people have ruined countless Minoan treasures.

Xanthos!

Wait, what's that sound... there's a boat under the pier? He had this carefully planned. It wasn't an impulsive act.

No, don't go—

Arts-controlled ribbons fly toward the package on Xanthos's shoulder.

The Forte instinctively jumps back, placing the harp at the stern of the ship. The ribbons wind themselves around his arm, helping Titi jump onto the boat.

Xanthos! Ugh... it's swaying beneath my feet...

We need to clear the air between us. Let's talk about this on dry land, shall we?

I have nothing to say to a Sargonian.

Let me apologize, then...

The two keep their eyes fixed on each other, one at the bow, the other at the stern. Xanthos clutches his oar and starts its motor, while Titi begins to glow with the light of her Originium Arts.

Ribbons fly from her clothes, grabbing the harp and pulling it towards the bow.

Xanthos cuts the ribbons, only to find that Titi has closed the distance with the harp. He runs to the bow, causing the boat to tip violently, throwing Titi off-balance and interrupting her Arts.

Both of them reach out desperately—

The dust cover on the relic is removed, revealing the legendary lost harp, in all its glory.

Every Minoan has heard the story of Kereseira and her harp, but precious few have seen it with their own eyes.

It remains proud and glorious, despite the passage of a thousand years. Sunlight falls on the metallic leaves decorating its pedestal, surrounding it with a gentle glow.

The pair fighting over the harp has no time to admire, as they watch the harp's trajectory change, less than a second before it hits the ground.

Medjehtiqedti has never thought of herself as lucky.

The glory of her noble house had long faded away by her father's generation. Her father was obsessed with literature, while her mother, still clinging to old aristocratic habits, showed little interest in spending time with her daughter.

Titi spent most of her free time in her father's library, alone.

The knowledge she learned there was basic, shallow, but it nevertheless expanded her horizons, and instilled in her a strong sense of curiosity for everything. That was why she saved money to pay for her own studies in museology in Columbia.

She was excited, but nervous, when Padishah Khery appointed her to be the ambassador to Sargon.

On one hand, she was drawn to the wonders of Minoan culture and the stories of heroes; on the other hand, she was acutely aware of the challenges that the burden of history presented.

The joy that she gained from working with the temple craftsmen, the last visage of fantasy and daydream in her mind, would be shattered with the falling harp in less than a second.

Xanthos was not so arrogant as to think that his plan to take the harp back from the Sargonians was flawless.

He might go to jail, or have an Oripathy attack while carrying out the plan. He did not care that he was risking his life on something that would seem ridiculous to most.

To him, the only place where he would find peace was the battle on the border where Ithakos went, five years ago. There was no point in asking the meaning of anything that has happened since.

But the trickery of fate is even more cruel than in the heroic legends. Xanthos thought of many ends for himself, but never this one.

The precious harp is about to hit the ground, and there is nothing Xanthos can do about it. Should he be angry? Sad? Fearful? Or simply laugh at his own helplessness?

The emotions that fate has impounded have returned to his empty chest. The tall Minoan warrior sees everything flash before his eyes.

The breeze of the Delphi Canal brushes against Xanthos's back. It has never felt so cold. He cannot help but tremble.

He can see the Sargonian woman's face. It is deathly pale. He knows that his own face is the same.

We've arrested Xanthos the ferryman and his apprentice Lykeion on charges of robbery, Your Excellency.