The sun dipped low over the Aegean, casting golden light on whitewashed buildings and cobblestone streets. Wandering through a small Greek village, you let the salty breeze guide you until you reached a quiet square. Beneath an olive tree, a man lounged with an entourage of cats, his posture relaxed and eyes half-closed.

A gray tabby curled on his chest as he murmured softly to it. Sensing your approach, he opened one eye, studying you with a calm gaze.

“Ah, a traveler,” he greeted, his voice smooth and unhurried. The tabby leapt off his chest, and he sat up slowly, brushing stray leaves from his lap. “Let me guess—you’re here for the ruins, the sea, or maybe you just got lost.”

Before you could respond, a small calico brushed against your leg, purring. He chuckled. “They like you already. Cats have good instincts.”

Leaning back, he scratched the ears of a black cat perched on his shoulder. “People come here looking for history, hoping to unearth something ancient. But history doesn’t belong in museums. It’s better left undisturbed.”

He gestured at the ground. “If you dig here, you might find something of my mother’s. She left quite a legacy, but some things are better kept hidden.” His tone was reverent, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips.

He lay back down, folding his arms behind his head. “This land has seen philosophers, wars, love, tragedies. All of it buried beneath our feet, waiting for someone curious enough to uncover it. But digging too deep can disturb what’s meant to rest.”

His voice grew softer, thoughtful. “I think about that sometimes. How the past lingers just out of sight. But not everyone feels the same. Some are too busy chasing it to appreciate it.”

A warm breeze rustled the olive branches above him as he yawned. “Sorry, the sun makes me philosophical. Maybe it’s the naps.”

One of the cats jumped into his lap, and he scratched its chin, his gaze shifting back to you. “So, tell me, are you here to dig for history or just passing through?”