The Forgotten Story.

Chapter 1

- You must not move! You need to stay lying down!

- Who do you take me for? A frail old man?

- Exactly. And you are weak; you must stay in bed.

- I may be old, but I can still move. Have you forgotten who I am?

- No, Homer.

The man standing by the old man's bedside let out a sigh. The old man was decidedly stubborn, and he was tired of repeating the same things to such a determined individual. Over the years they had known each other, he could affirm that it wasn't his forty years on this earth that had given him gray hair but rather the company of the old man. Defeated, he helped his friend sit up and put on his sandals. It had been a week since he had left the small house, with villagers taking turns at the dying man's bedside. Homer touched his face and combed his white beard with his fingers, muttering words that didn't reach the other man's ears. His companion fetched a light fabric, then returned and placed it over his friend's shoulders; the latter felt the fabric and thanked him. The younger man opened the door and let the older one pass through. Homer walked with hesitant steps at first, then stopped when he felt the warmth of the sun on his skin, unable to see it. The noisy and agitated villagers stopped, momentarily ceasing their lives to witness this spectacle: Homer, who would soon join the underworld, stood among the living.

- Menelaus, the sea is calling me.

Menelaus stood beside his friend. The villagers looked at the man with admiration and sadness, knowing that these steps would be the last. The children stopped playing, running toward the beach to arrive before their elder, followed by the rest of the village. Once on the beach, the most famous of bards breathed in the sea's scent, removed his sandals to feel the sand under his feet, listened attentively to the sound of the waves, and took the time to feel the coolness of the sea air on his skin, causing his hairs to stand on end. He savored the moment, fully aware that it would be the last time he would hear the gentle song of the sea.

After a long moment of fulfillment, relishing every second of this precious moment, he began to speak.

- As a child, I was stung by bees. I played, hitting trees with my stick; I liked the sound it made. Unfortunately, my piece of wood hit a beehive. I wasn't paying attention; after all, I have never seen the world. I cried in pain, but my mother was not worried. She told me that these bee stings were, in fact, the blessing of the Muses, and I was touched by their grace. But I am only a man, and the goddesses have given me only one gift: to tell and sing of past ages. The time is soon coming for me to board Charon's boat and cross the Styx. But I have not yet finished serving the gods. Menelaus, help me sit down.

Menelaus complied and understood his friend's intentions; he invited the villagers to sit as well. They listened, and the women ordered the young children to run to the village to fetch blankets, as the morning air was particularly cold.

- There is something left for me to tell, something only old men like me know exists. Once, a war erupted, and it was not just a simple war among mortals. It was as significant and violent as the war between gods and titans or the battle between gods and giants. It pitted men against deities and much more. It is a forgotten story that, nonetheless, shaped the gods and the future.