The Weeks of Myth

The second floor of Ares Symposium.

The floor of the elites.

After weeks of work and talk, he made it there. Dasha Pang—nay, Myth, was announcing his music to these people. To these elites.

Everybody else was quiet. The whole of the second floor listened. 

The music swelled and wove itself into the elite hearts. Myth sat poised, his fingers gliding over the strings of his lyre and the black opera mask concealing his features. 

So many masks. So many weeks. Now...he was here. Heroics and villainy were not the sole methods of worming into the hearts of the powerful.

Alcibiades was enraptured. Seated at the head of the gathering, the legendary statesman watched Myth with an intensity that bordered on reverence. The others in the symposium followed suit—if Alcibiades was pleased, then so too were they. But for some, the admiration ran deeper than mere mimicry.