The Oracles' Games

Chapter 1

Corinth, Nov 480 BCE

Sokos entered the Prytanis's chamber within the Council Hall of Corinth, his sandals barely whispering against the marble floors. The crisp air of late autumn followed him in, pale sunlight filtering through high windows. Lengthening shadows heralded winter's approach, a stark reminder of the colder days ahead.

Though smaller than the main council chamber, the office of the Prytanis was no less impressive. Rich wooden paneling lined the walls, punctuated by tall windows offering a commanding view of the city below. A large desk of polished olive wood dominated the room, its surface inlaid with an intricate pattern of ivory and ebony. Bronze fittings adorned the corners, each cast as a snarling lion's head—symbols of power and craftsmanship that never failed to impress. Behind it stood a high-backed chair, cushioned in purple-dyed leather matching the curtains. Two simpler chairs awaited visitors before the desk. Moving with practiced efficiency, Sokos gathered several scrolls from the desk, placing them carefully on a wooden tray.

For two and half years, since his uncle's election as the Prytanis, Sokos had tended to this chamber daily. Born into one of the most illustrious families of Corinth, one of the wealthiest city in Hellas, he was accustomed to all manner of luxury; but even to him this chamber was very special. His favorite feature was the entrance mosaic—a pegasus against intricate vines, its varying pebble tones bringing a deep sense of peace. It was said to be the final work of Telines, a legendary artisan of Corinth whose workshop had birthed many of today's finest mosaic artists. Despite recent events weighing heavily upon him, the mosaic's presence still touched Sokos, a small island of beauty and permanence in an increasingly chaotic world.

He took the scrolls to the northern wing of the chamber, where a magnificent row of tall cabinets stretched nearly the full width of the windowless, secluded library. Crafted from finest Phoenician cedar, their dark, polished surfaces exuded a rich aroma that permeated the air, mingling with lingering scents of Sabaean incense. The atmosphere reminded Sokos of childhood-imagined magical realms.

He pulled open a hinged door. Inside, a grid of small, square compartments lined with soft, dyed leather awaited individual scrolls. As he stood poised to place the scrolls he'd just picked up from the Prytanis's desk, his mind conjured an image from earlier that morning—a basket of pomegranates in the market.

Because of the war, the sight of autumn fruit in the market this year had been rare, save for occasional figs. Even staples like olives and grains had grown scarce, with fewer vendors opening their stalls. But there it was, a pomegranate, split open like an oracle's offering, crowned the basket. Ruby seeds caught the morning light, each one a perfect jewel nestled in translucent pulp. The vibrant crimson hues contrasted sharply with the fruit's tough, leathery skin, embodying both life's sweetness and harshness.

Sokos lingered in the daydream for a moment, away from the harsh reality. He felt bone-deep weariness, as if slowly wasting away to an empty shell. Yet, with an effort of will, he eventually placed the scrolls in empty compartments and closed the cabinet door with a soft click.

The war of an unprecedented scale had now been going on for about six months, as Hellas faced invasion by the Persian Empire, the titan of the East, who commanded dominion over Egypt and Mesopotamia. Their army—a million strong by rumor—crossed the Hellespont in the spring and had been steadily subjugating city-states southward since. But it wasn't until they breached the Greek defenses at Thermopylae, killing King Leonidas of Sparta, the charismatic leader of the Coalition, that the reality, and the panic, truly struck the Corinthians.

Following the fall of Thermopylae, Sokos didn't return home to sleep in his own bed for almost half a month, as frantic messages crisscrossed the land and negotiations dragged on into the early hours. While the Greeks desperately attempted to establish a new line of defense, the Persians cut paths of destruction through the poleis of Phocis and Boeotia that refused to submit, razing and pillaging a new city almost daily.