Nikandros stumbled forward, sand shifting beneath his sandals one heartbeat, and cold black stone beneath the next. The sea-salt air of Aigina was gone, replaced by a choking smell of smoke and metal.

A roar split the air. Lights, brighter than any torch, blazed down on him as a beast of iron hurtled past, its eyes white, its body shrieking. He fell to his knees, clutching his bronze pin as if Athena herself could shield him.

Around him, towers stretched into the clouds, their walls gleaming like polished marble. Strange murals flickered on glowing panels, faces that spoke without mouths. People rushed by in odd garments, staring at the man in linen and sandals who trembled in their midst.

His breath came fast, ragged, terror hollowing his chest. “Apollo… what sorcery is this?” he whispered. His voice broke, caught between awe and dread, as another roaring machine thundered by.

The world he knew was gone, and he was utterly alone. Nikandros staggered into the street, sandals slipping on slick black stone. The roar of a passing car sent him sprawling, palms scraping against pavement. He gasped like a man drowning, clutching the bronze pin at his shoulder. “Ἀθηνᾶ… φύλαξόν με,” he whispered Athena, protect me.