A Swallow in the North (Greek Mythology) - Chapter 4

In this world, most things rarely go according to plan especially for the ordinary people who make up over ninety per cent of humanity.

At best, these common folk become minor, obscure characters in someone else’s legend, or perhaps just a passerby glimpsed for a fleeting second. If your luck is truly abysmal, you don’t even get an entrance; you simply become the “Cannon Fodder A, B, or C” used to pave the way for the chosen children of destiny.

In the long history of mankind, only a few things can kill vast numbers of people in a single stroke: war, plague, and natural disaster.

If a person is cursed with extreme misfortune, things tend to get progressively worse before they get better. It is only after enduring a long period of bad luck and heart-wrenching trials that life slowly begins to turn around otherwise, the old saying “prosperity follows extreme adversity” would never have existed.

This logic applied perfectly to Yan Beibei.

She must have reached the absolute peak of misfortune. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have opened her eyes only to find herself dropped directly onto a battlefield.

One second, she had been losing consciousness amidst the ceaseless, agonizing pain in her chest, wondering if she would finally return to her own reality. The next, she opened her eyes in a ruin choked with dust and the smell of gunpowder.

However, there was a silver lining this time: she was no longer Niobe’s youngest daughter a helpless infant who couldn’t even speak. She was now an individual who had graduated from the infant stage; she could see, she had hands and feet, and she could move.

Truly a cause for celebration.

Yan Beibei performed a quick self-check and discovered she was now a young girl in the midst of puberty, not yet fully developed. Her limbs were slender and delicate, clearly belonging to someone who had never performed hard labour. Coupled with her attire a soft, white linen Ionic chiton, now stained with dust—she could deduce a fair bit about her identity.

In Ancient Greece, due to the limitations of production and technology, clothing styles were limited for both men and women: the Ionic chiton, the Doric chiton, the himation, and Cretan styles. While the Ionic chiton was worn by both nobles and commoners, only the nobility could afford the luxury of linen—not to mention the faint traces of gold leaf that had once been embedded in her sleeves and belt.

To Yan Beibei, who was well-versed in both Greek mythology and actual history, the clues were written in bold: she was a noble girl, and likely a princess.

Unfortunately, her country was currently undergoing a war that it seemed poised to lose. If that weren’t the case, the royal palace—normally strictly off-limits to outsiderswouldn’t be filled with people scurrying in every direction, nor would it be so thick with smoke and dust.

Yan Beibei: Good grief. I knew I wasn’t meant for a life of easy luxury.

As she tried to stand, a sharp sting shot through her ankle. It was sprained. It hadn’t swollen into a balloon yet, so it wasn’t obvious at first glance, but it was there. Even so, in this chaotic environment, she didn’t have the luxury of rest. She had to act.

She used the wall for support and slowly pulled herself up. The simple motion made her break into a cold sweat; the intense pain left the toes of her sprained foot feeling icy.

She was still weighing her options find a secure hiding spot or follow the fleeing crowd—when a severed head flew through the air in a high arc. With a sickening thud and a splash, it landed directly in the courtyard pool not far from her.

Before arriving in these worlds, Yan Beibei had been an ordinary girl living in a peaceful world. Having never seen such a scene, she froze in shock. She watched, paralyzed, as the head struck the side of the pool, bounced back, and bobbed in the water before it finally stopped spinning.

The head was fresh; it had left a trail of blood as it flew. It had clearly been lopped off by something with such force that it had sailed through the air. The gushing blood from the neck instantly stained the clear pool a pale, watery red.

Just then, she heard a woman’s cry from the distance, drawing closer:

“Philomela! Philomela!”

Initially, Yan Beibei didn’t realize the woman was calling for her. But a sudden impulse surged within her, as if she had been called by this voice a thousand times before. Responding to the name had become a reflex. She opened her mouth and answered:

“Sister.”

A beautiful woman ran toward her with bare feet. Her delicate, refined feet were covered in dust and littered with small cuts, clearly caused by jagged stones during her frantic run. But she didn’t care. Upon seeing Yan Beibei, her face filled with relief.

“Philomela, my dear sister! Thank the gods! Father of Gods protect us; I’ve finally found you.”

She pulled Yan Beibei into a tight embrace. As they clung to each other, Yan Beibei felt her “sister” shivering uncontrollably. Yet her expression was resolute and fearless; she wasn’t trembling out of cowardice.

If a person trembles but isn’t afraid, what else could it be?

Yan Beibei’s question was answered in the next second. This elder, gentle woman began kissing her sister’s hair, her voice carrying an inexplicable, grounding strength that helped Yan Beibei calm down after the shock of the severed head.

“Our father has already sent for aid from the brave Thracian King, Tereus. Our soldiers and heroes are fighting with all their might to resist the invasion of Labdacus. Don’t be afraid. It will be alright. This will pass.”

Though her own hands were shaking, she did her best to maintain the poise of an elder sister to comfort her young sibling.

“The cruel and cunning Thebans shall not defeat us Athenians! The brave King Tereus of Thrace is the son of Ares, the invincible God of War. With his help, our father will surely win this war. May our ancestor Erichthonius and the Goddess Pasithea protect us!”

There are far too many names in Greek mythology, and the later plotlines are incredibly tangled. The genealogies alone could keep scholars busy for a lifetime.

Yan Beibei had chosen this field solely because of her love for Artemis, the Protector of Virgins and Goddess of the Hunt. Her research into all other deities was merely an extension of her study of Artemis. In other words, for the sake of a specific sauce, she had wrapped an entire pot of dumplings.

Clearly, the name “Philomela” was not part of the common legends associated with Artemis. Consequently, the name of this elder sister was also unfamiliar to her.

Before Yan Beibei could think of a way to fish for her sister’s name, a long, clear horn blast sounded from the horizon. Even from within the palace, they could hear the clashing of weapons and the neighing of warhorses.

“Brave Tereus has arrived!” Yan Beibei saw a look of joy and relief wash over her sister’s face. “Philomela, we shall soon drive those hateful Thebans back to their own lands!”

Yan Beibei nodded absent-mindedly, still trying to remember where she had seen these names. Her sister, however, misinterpreted her dazed state. The beautiful young woman stroked her hair with tenderness and sighed:

“Oh, my poor little Philomela, you must be terrified. Once the Thracians win this war, you can return to the palace.”

Yan Beibei nodded blankly, allowing her beautiful sister to brush aside her thick hair and plant a soft, warm kiss on her forehead.

“Philomela, you must listen to Father from now on. Look after Mother well. After I am gone, you will be their only daughter.”

Watching her sister turn and walk away without a single look back, Yan Beibei felt a sudden, heavy sense of foreboding. It felt as if this departure was final.

This was the first time since her rapid death as Niobe’s daughter that she had felt such genuine, unreserved care from another. The warmth following a disaster is always particularly moving. Driven by her ominous feeling, she called out to the retreating back:

“Sister, where are you going?”

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