“Of course, Father,” replied his son. “The Council and the King require new celestial observations. They seek signs that the future will be prosperous.”

“Of course, my son,” acknowledged Avraám.

“But Father! We were supposed to go down to the courthouse and serve on the jury! The Council insisted!” exclaimed his second son, Alexos, observing his father as he worked in his office. “We have a duty to fulfill our role in the jury!”

“The sky is clear tonight; the Council will understand why I won’t be there. You may go, Alexos, if you wish,” Avraám replied as he began preparing his telescope and equipment for a night of observation and recording. If the Gods were to convey a message, it would be on this night.

“Father! The Council specifically requested your presence because the trial…” Alexos hesitated.

“… is regarding the murder of a young girl, I understand. They believe I’m emotionally connected to this case due to your sister Angela’s death,” Avraám finished.

“Yes, Father. This young girl died in a similar manner, on the same night of the year, when the constellations aligned in a particular way,” Alexos explained.

All three men were clad in traditional post-Event robes, resembling attire suitable for jury duty.

“Father, if you fail to appear, you jeopardize your standing in the City. Positions as Star-Gazers are not guaranteed; don’t take unnecessary risks,” warned his youngest child.

“Attempting to persuade me will only prove futile,” Avraám retorted, turning his gaze toward his youngest child. “I am my own person; do not presume to dictate my actions.”

With a sack slung over his back, Avraám made his way to the office door and descended to the main level of their family home. His wife, a nurse, was often occupied with work; their relationship lacked romance, as he was consumed by his passion for astrology and the cosmos while she dedicated herself to medicine. Together, they had four children, but two were now deceased.

Today was no exception for Avraám’s wife, Sophia, who undoubtedly toiled diligently at the Athens Grand Hospital. The city was facing a shortage of nurses due to the recent outbreak of the Sickness, which had struck just a year prior.

The kitchen was in disarray, cluttered with dirty pots, pans, and plates left unattended in the washing area. Avraám surveyed the pile of dishes and chuckled to himself. “Seems us men aren’t adept at maintaining the cleanliness of a well-respected household.”

Moving on to the front room, the Star-Gazer recognized that he had a bustling night awaiting him. Clear nights were prized by the people of Athens, offering them a chance to observe the stars and constellations. They believed the Gods bestowed wisdom through the night sky, and the citizens held their deities in deep reverence.

His two sons trailed after him onto the front porch, where their flower pots flourished with blooms. Avraám settled onto the wooden bench, slipping on his slippers.

“Father, we strongly urge you to go to the courthouse. Do you truly wish to risk your position?” Alexos implored, scratching his beard. Avraám merely shook his head.

“Father, if we lose your wages, we may lose this home,” Iakovos interjected, joining his father on the bench. “Mother’s income alone is insufficient.”

“Even with both our incomes combined, it’s not enough to sustain us,” Alexos added, absently touching the flowers in the pots.

“There will be other clear nights, Father. But this court case holds great significance,” Iakovos persisted. “Missing it could jeopardize your position in the city.”

“Did the Council convey this to you?” Avraam inquired, fixing his gaze on his son.

“A Counsellor, yes. Indeed, Counsellor Iason Iordanou confided in me about it,” Iakovos confirmed.

“I see. Iason…” Avraam nodded thoughtfully. Rising from his seat, the elder man descended the steps of his porch, each slab adorned with an array of potted plants: herbs, peppers, and chamomile.

“Father, please, consider the consequences just this once! The stars can wait!” pleaded Iakovos.

“If the Gods impart a message tonight, and I’m absent, I’ll forfeit an opportunity to improve our city. If you wish to waste time on a court case, decided solely by a judge, then go ahead!” Avraám retorted firmly. With that, he strode down the path toward the Constellation Field.

As the Star-Gazer set up his telescope beneath the stars, a few passersby with their dogs strolled by. They waved to Avraám, and he returned the gesture. With determination, he began the meticulous process of documenting the stars, carrying the weight of responsibility on his shoulders.

Avraám relished his moments outdoors, savoring each breath of the crisp air and the caress of the cool breeze against his skin, if the winds were blowing. He found solace in the symphony of insect sounds surrounding him. A part of him longed to live in the wild, untouched by rules or civilization, where humanity held no greater dominion than the common squirrel or toad. In that untamed realm, death would be an equal adversary, without the intervention of medicine or the influence of Gods. It would be just a man pitted against the forces of nature.

As the Star-Gazer gazed up into the starry sky, he identified familiar constellations: Cygnus, Aquila, Lyra, and Hercules. Each held a rich history, woven into the tapestry of storytelling that had been passed down through generations, rooted in the mythology of the ancient world. Avraám understood this connection and was well-versed in the history of Europe. He knew that not too long ago, the Greeks worshipped what the Council now deemed a false God—a false prophet, as they called Christianity.

Avraám endeavored to comprehend the Christian God, seeking to grasp why those in the West—across the British Isles, France, Spain, and Germany—continued to adhere to what he considered a false prophet. He pondered the reasons behind the enduring faith of these distant lands, curious about the beliefs and convictions that sustained them.

Peering through the telescope, Avraám observed the twinkling stars above. Many stars twinkled brightly, their shimmering lights suggesting to him that the souls of the countless victims claimed by the Sickness now traversed the celestial realm, journeying among the celestial bodies.

“Good. Good,” Avraám muttered, jotting down notes in his journal. His observations indicated to the Council that the departed souls might gaze upon the Earth with either resentment or apprehension.

“Or perhaps,” Avraám mused aloud, pausing to consider his words as he transcribed them into his journal, “these are the souls of our warriors, journeying across the sky toward a serene tranquility.”

As Avraám heard the sound of twigs and gravel crunching behind him, he turned to see his son Iakovos approaching, clad in his outdoor attire: a chiton and sandals.

“So, you’ve come to offer your guidance again? Where’s your brother?” Avraám inquired.

“He went to the courthouse. He’s upset with you,” Iakovos replied.

“Why are you here then? Why didn’t you go with him?” Avraám questioned further.

“I considered it, but in the end, I chose the stars. Courts don’t hold much interest for me anyway, and they specifically requested your presence; we came to show our support,” Iakovos explained.

“I see, I see. Come take a look… the souls of the departed are particularly active tonight,” the Star-Gazer remarked as his son peered through the telescope at the stars.

“This could bode well for the Council,” Iakovos remarked.

“I thought the same, although initially, I interpreted it as a sign of unrest among the deceased,” Avraám admitted.

“Because of the sickness?” Iakovos inquired.

Avraám nodded as Iakovos continued to study the sky. “Yes, that and the conflict with the Turks. We lost many to them.”

“Of course, but perhaps it indicates that those lost souls are finding peace,” Iakovos suggested.

“I certainly hope so, my son,” Avraám replied with a note of optimism.

“But the constellations seem particularly lively tonight, as if the spirits are active,” Iakovos observed.

Avraám noted this with a thin smile playing on his lips.

“Furthermore, Hercules appears to be clearer than on the last clear night. That’s a promising sign for the Council,” Iakovos added, prompting his father to jot it down.

“You have a keen eye for Star-Gazing, better than your brother,” Avraám remarked.

“I’ve noticed that too. Alexos has little interest in the cosmos and constellations. He’s more inclined toward bureaucracy,” Iakovos agreed, shifting his focus to the stars within the Hercules constellation.

“It’s not surprising. He’s always nagging me about something; reminds me of the Council,” Avraám chuckled, acknowledging the similarity.

“Indeed. He seems to magnify every problem and offer impractical solutions, but alas, I’ve grown accustomed to it,” Iakovos remarked.

Suddenly, he gasped. “A shooting star! That’s auspicious news for the Council! A sign of their approval!”

“Or perhaps a sign of their disapproval. Regardless, I’ll make note of it; evidently, the Gods intended for us to be here tonight! They bestow their blessings upon us,” Avraám replied, jotting down the observation in his journal. “Good. Good.”

“I do hope Alexos can charm the Council and secure your position in the city tonight,” Iakovos remarked, stepping away from the telescope and stretching his back.

“I’m confident he’ll manage. I trust him in that,” Avraám replied, continuing to jot down notes.

“I knew the girl. She resided in the nobles’ quarters, near where I pursued my studies in my youth. She was only fourteen,” Iakovos shared, his gaze drifting to the stars. “Angela was barely sixteen, not much older than this unfortunate girl.”

“Indeed, mortality is an inescapable aspect of our existence,” Avraám remarked, peering into the telescope before adjusting its position to observe another constellation. “If life were devoid of challenges, nothing would hold significance. Our ancestors seemed to have overlooked that, and the Gods delivered their reckoning.”

“Perhaps it was their divine judgment?” Iakovos pondered.

“It very well could have been,” Avraám agreed somberly. “Let’s not dwell on the past for the future could be written above.”

United in purpose, father and son labored together, striving to reassure the Council of a promising future. The citizens of Athens sought solace in the stars, finding comfort and relief from anxieties and tensions. Yet, amidst the celestial beauty, the stars also whispered tales of caution and disapproval, serving as reminders of the consequences of human actions.

Inside the Athens Courthouse, a bastion of law and discourse in the city, a bustling scene unfolded. Citizens, jury members, peacekeepers, lawyers, and a handful of judges filled the space, their murmurs blending into a soft hum. The main judge, distinguished by his grey chiton and headgear, commanded attention as he silenced the room with a glance. Despite his advanced age, he exuded an aura of wisdom from a bygone era, speaking in a deep, resonant voice that carried authority.

“Today, we convene to hear testimony and examine evidence regarding the murder of Ivana Dimitriou, a young woman of merely fourteen years. The accused is seventeen-year-old Leon Andreas, a former student of the victim’s father,” the main judge announced, his voice resounding through the courthouse. “First, I shall summon the witnesses to the crime, followed by the presentation of evidence.”

His words echoed throughout the chamber, reaching every corner. Among the jurors sat Alexos, his countenance stoic and impassive as stone.

As the witnesses delivered their testimonies, a somber atmosphere enveloped the courtroom. The family of the slain girl sat in subdued sorrow, their expressions reflecting the weight of their loss. Even the father, typically composed, appeared numb as he listened to the harrowing details of his daughter’s murder. grief weighed heavily upon them, casting a shadow over the proceedings.

As the evidence was presented, Alexos observed the room with a keen eye. A bloody knife and a note left behind by the killer were displayed, revealing a tale of tragic love turned deadly. The perpetrator, a lovesick young man, sought revenge after the girl rejected his affections. Alexos couldn’t help but view the boy as a coward, his actions driven by hurt feelings. Inwardly, Alexos felt a pang of familiarity with the pain of rejection, his heart heavy with empathy for the victim and her grieving family.

As the proceedings continued, Alexos sensed the judge’s gaze lingering on the jury stand. He knew that the judge was searching for Avraám, undoubtedly aware that the Star-Gazer had failed to appear. The absence of such a prominent figure would surely spark rumors: Did the Star-Gazer disregard the law? Was he losing his faculties?

Shaking his head to dispel these thoughts, Alexos refocused his attention on the case at hand, determined to fulfill his duty as a juror despite the distractions.

As the father of the victim addressed the courtroom, his voice resonated with solemnity. “In this courtroom, a relic from a time of relative peace among mankind, we gather to confront the tragedy of my daughter’s murder,” he began, his gaze drifting towards the heavens. “I seek solace in the stars and our Gods, but they whisper of unrest among the spirits. Perhaps it is due to the loss of my child, or the relentless grip of the Sickness plaguing our lands. Perhaps, it is the ongoing conflict with the Turks. They are displeased, and perhaps… they claimed my sweet girl as a punishment to us all.”

His words hung heavy in the air, stirring murmurs and whispers throughout the room. Shock and sorrow etched upon the faces of those who listened, grappling with the weight of his words and the magnitude of their implications.

As the final judgment was pronounced upon the killer, a heavy silence settled over the courtroom. Death by hanging—a punishment rarely meted out—was decreed, marking the severity of the crime. The judges, in solemn agreement, affirmed the final ruling.

The condemned boy, now facing his impending end, appeared unmoved by the verdict. No tears streamed down his face and there was no sympathy to be found among those present. The gravity of his actions and the weight of the sentence rendered any pity futile.

As the condemned boy faced his fate, Alexos remained resolute, his heart hardened by the memory of his own sister’s murder long ago.

As Avraám and his second-youngest son made their way home, the darkness of night enveloped them, the flickering flames of the streetlamps casting long shadows. Despite the lateness of the hour, a sense of tranquility settled over the Star-Gazer, a calm assurance born from the knowledge that one of his sons would carry on his work after he retired. With each step, he found solace in the realization that his legacy would endure, and that the guidance of the Gods, though revered, would not be sorely missed in the hands of his successors.

“You know, Father, one day, you and Mother will need to take a rest,” Iakovos remarked, his voice carrying a hint of concern. “And as you’re aware, I’ve been courting a woman my age—a noblewoman, a socialite.”

“Good money then?” Avraám inquired, turning to his son as they walked along the stone path.

“She comes from wealth, yes,” Iakovos confirmed. “I’ve been thinking… I could succeed you as Star-Gazer. I’ve studied the cosmos extensively, and with the wage I’d earn and the connections from her family’s wealth, we could ensure that you and Mother have a comfortable retirement in this house. Besides, Alexos has his own ambitions, and he’ll likely forge his own path soon enough. The future could be bright.”

“If the Gods allow it,” Avraám replied, his tone tinged with a hint of uncertainty. “If the Gods allow it.”

As they approached their home, Avraám and Iakovos noticed Alexos sitting on the front porch, his eyes swollen and damp with tears. Concern etched upon their faces, they approached him.

“Why are you crying, Alexos?” Avraám inquired gently. “Has something happened?”

“I just… I miss Angela and Roberto,” Alexos confessed, his voice wavering.

“I miss them too, son,” Avraám replied, his own voice tinged with sadness as he placed a comforting hand on Alexos’ shoulder. “I miss them every day. But time moves forward, and so must we. The Gods, in their wisdom, will look down upon us and understand. Hopefully, they will grant us peace, knowing that their souls wander above, seeking their sanctuary.”

With heavy hearts, Avraám and his sons crossed the threshold into their home, leaving behind the weight of the night’s observations and the lingering echoes of a tragic murder. Though the events of the day would undoubtedly haunt them for some time to come, they understood that life must press forward, much like the steady march of the stars across the night sky. As they settled into their home, they found solace in the knowledge that time, relentless and unforgiving, would continue its inexorable journey onward.