Jake Young, Chapter 10 Jake's footsteps echoed with a rhythmic cadence as he traversed the room's perimeter. The soles of his boots made soft thuds against the cold stone floor, the only sound in the otherwise silent chamber. He counted his steps, measured them against the span of his arms, and then tallied the numbers in his head. His mind whirred with calculations, seeking patterns, ratios, any mathematical tether to latch onto that might lead him to a solution. But the room offered nothing. No furnishings to hide secrets, no etchings to decipher. Just unyielding stone walls that seemed to mock his efforts. Ares had promised a riddle, yet here was Jake, ensnared in an enigma of a different sort—a void where a puzzle should be. He stopped pacing and stood still in the geometric center of the room. It was a space devoid of any distinguishing marks except for the door—his solitary point of reference. Jake rubbed his chin, searching for manly wisps of hair that remained as elusive as the riddle. "How do you solve a riddle you can't find?" he mumbled, the words barely louder than a whisper, yet they filled the room, bouncing back at him like an accusation of failure. He let out a breath, trying to dispel the frustration knotting in his chest. "Or... maybe that's not the right question." Jake's gaze lingered on the door, its unremarkable surface taunting him with its simplicity. "How do you start a quest that requires a riddle to be answered, but there's no riddle?" His voice grew more insistent, the challenge of the situation lighting a spark inside him. "Or... maybe I'm not asking the right question." He squinted at the door he’d entered. Beyond was the corridor that would lead back to the Great Dining Hall. Ares's words reverberated in his memory: 'to start my quest'. "Okay, so maybe that's the riddle," he reasoned aloud. "What is a quest?" The silence that followed hung heavy, a palpable presence in the room. And in that silence, Jake found a semblance of clarity. Jake's fingers trailed along the cool, unblemished surface of the stone wall, his touch methodical and precise. A quest typically began with an obvious path or a hidden passage, yet here, the walls offered no secrets, no subtle seams or concealed switches to betray the presence of a door other than the one he had entered through. "Maybe there's a hidden door in here," he muttered under his breath, more to break the silence than out of belief in his own suggestion. Regardless, he persisted, palms pressing against the cold, hard reality of the room's boundaries. After completing two full circuits, his search yielded nothing; the walls remained impassive. Frustration simmered within him, threatening to boil over. He turned slowly, surveying the sterile expanse of the chamber once more. Nothing had changed; it was as empty as when he first stepped inside, and yet he felt a tinge of excitement that he could not place—a whisper of intuition from the back of his mind. "How am I supposed to start if I can't even find the door out of here?" The question hung in the air, unanswered. He faced the original door, its unremarkable wooden frame standing in mute testimony to his predicament. Could it be so straightforward? "No way… it can’t be that easy." He took a step towards the door, his skepticism warring with the burgeoning hope that perhaps, in this place where gods were said to tread, the answer to the riddle lay in its simplicity. With a reluctant shrug, Jake's hand found the cool metal of the doorknob. His fingers coiled around it, half-expecting resistance that never came. The door swung open with ease, revealing not the corridor he'd left behind but a flight of stairs descending into shadow. The walls were adorned with oil sconces, their flames dancing with a hypnotic sway, casting larger-than-life shadows that seemed to beckon him forward. The flickering light painted an eerie tableau across the stone steps, each one worn from the passage of unseen feet. He peered down, his eyes tracing the descent into the dim unknown. "Okay, very clever, you had me going." His voice carried a touch of begrudging respect as he addressed the silent watchers he imagined perched upon the heights of Mount Olympus. The irony of the situation was not lost on him. "The way in is the way out, that was the riddle. Did you get a good laugh, Olympus?" The corner of Jake's mouth twitched upward, a fleeting smirk acknowledging the cunning simplicity of the challenge. Stepping through the threshold, he allowed the door to swing shut behind him with a finality that resonated in the still air. The game was afoot, and Jake, whether by fate or design, was all too ready to play. With each step, Jake descended further into the dimly lit passage, the flickering sconces casting a warm glow that seemed to dance just out of reach. The air was cool and still, as if the very breath of the place lay dormant, watching him with silent expectation. The sound of his boots on stone provided a rhythmic accompaniment to his thoughts, a steady cadence in the otherwise hushed expanse. He paused for a moment, intent on ensuring his connection to the world above remained unbroken. Drawing his wrist com-device closer, he spoke into it, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Orion, can you still hear me?” He asked, the question laced with the subtle undercurrent of hope that technology had not failed him in this ancient space. After a brief silence that hung heavier than the shadows surrounding him, Orion's reply came, crisp and clear, a testament to human ingenuity amidst otherworldly enigma. “Your signal is strong, there’s no jamming devices or shielding,” the AI reported, its tone devoid of concern. A flicker of relief crossed Jake's features, quickly replaced by a determined set to his jaw. He had little time for distractions; the path ahead, shrouded in mystery as it was, demanded his full attention. With Orion's assurance bolstering his resolve, Jake resumed his descent, feeling the weight of anticipation settle upon his shoulders like a cloak. Descending the final step, Jake emerged into a space that felt as ancient as it was austere. The roughhewn walls stood like silent sentinels around him, their barren surfaces unadorned with any hint of grandeur or flourish. His gaze swept across the chamber, noting how the simplicity here mirrored the emptiness of the room above—a stark contrast to the opulence he'd expected in the heart of Mount Olympus. The room's only furnishing was an incongruous small table occupying its center, upon which sat a chess set, the pieces frozen mid-battle in an arrangement that suggested a narrative paused at its climax. Jake's strides brought him before this tableau of black and white conflict, where strategy and foresight lay crystallized. He leaned over the board, a frown etching his features as he assessed the positions of the pieces. "Black has White checkmated in two moves," he vocalized, his fingers hovering but not touching—as if to disturb them would be to interfere with an unseen player's gambit. His analytical mind ticked through the board state. "The white king can't escape the first row, a black rook is guarding, the white king can only move horizontally." He straightened up, eyes tracing the inevitable sequence that would unfold from this strategic snare. "The black queen takes the white knight in the next move, putting the white king in check." With the precision of a chess master, Jake played out the remaining move in his head. "The king’s only move is horizontally, then the black queen moves down and it’s checkmate." In the quiet solitude of the underground room, Jake's statement seemed to echo off the walls, a whispered acknowledgment of defeat and victory entwined within the confines of the game. It was clear what the honorable path forward should be for the cornered monarch on the board. "The proper and gentlemanly thing to do at this point is for white to concede and congratulate black on a game well played." The words left his lips not as a declaration to another, but as a solitary reflection—a respect for the discipline of the game, even when the opponent was absence itself. Jake's hands remained clasped behind his back, his mind working through this new enigma presented to him in the form of a chess match. The conclusion of this particular game was evident, but the true challenge, he knew, lay beyond the boundaries of the board. Jake's gaze shifted upward, eyes scanning the bare ceiling above as if he could decipher the intent behind this latest puzzle. A silent conversation with an unseen adversary played out in the tilt of his head, the furrowing of his brow. "The riddle isn’t to get out of checkmate; the game is over," he murmured, tapping a finger against his lips. The room itself seemed to hold its breath, awaiting his next move. With a sudden spark of understanding, Jake turned from the chessboard to survey the empty space around him. "And you’ll only trick me once at a hidden door riddle," he said, voice echoing slightly in the still air. He turned back to the table. "Chess did not exist in ancient Greece," he continued, addressing the room as though it were a living participant in this game of wits. A hint of amusement played across his features, acknowledging the anachronism placed so conspicuously at the center of the room. "And if it weren’t here," he asserted with a speculative lilt, gripping the edges of the table. With a fluid motion, Jake hoisted the table aside, revealing the true nature of the riddle—a carefully concealed trapdoor that now lay exposed, its presence mocking the apparent simplicity of the chess set above. A ring, almost indistinguishable from the surrounding stone, beckoned to him. He lowered himself to one knee like a knight prepared to unveil a mystery rather than receive accolades. Hooking his finger through the ring with the ease of a seasoned adventurer familiar with hidden mechanisms, he gave a firm, confident tug. The door yielded with a hushed scrape against the stone, revealing the entrance to another descent. "Curiouser and curiouser," Jake intoned softly, a nod to tales of old where down often led to realms of wonder—or madness. Before venturing into the unknown, Jake paused for a moment to assess the stairway. Each step was carved from the same unforgiving stone that composed the city's labyrinthine heart. Dimly lit by torches ensconced within the walls, the passage promised secrecy and perhaps, danger. With a steadying breath, he committed himself to the path set before him and began his careful descent. The air grew cooler as he moved downward, the flickering light casting elongated shadows that danced upon the walls. The roughhewn texture of the stone under his palms served as a tactile reminder that this place was more akin to a dungeon than the celestial heights of Olympus he had left behind. At the bottom of the stairs, Jake stepped off the final tread, boots echoing faintly in the chamber that awaited him. His journey deeper into the earth's embrace had brought him to yet another room—this one alive with the crackling of flames and the weight of history etched into its walls. Jake's boots tapped a steady rhythm on the cold stone floor, the sound echoing off the walls of what might have been a dungeon in another life. He moved cautiously, taking in his surroundings with an analytical eye that missed nothing—not the way the torchlight struggled to reach the corners of the room, nor the subtle shift in the air that suggested the space was larger than it first appeared. His gaze landed on an arched doorway, its darkness akin to a silent promise of mysteries yet to be unraveled. However, it wasn't the door that held Jake's attention, but the antique full-length mirror beside it. The frame was ornate, carved from dark wood that seemed to drink in the flickering light, and within its reflective surface stood a woman. Her image was as clear as if she were truly there, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that bridged the gap between reality and reflection. "Curious," he murmured, drawn to the mirror as if by an invisible thread. A bemused smile played across his lips as he stopped a mere breath away from the glass. It was almost amusing, this game of riddles and hidden doors. He raised an eyebrow at the woman's silent form. "What riddle do you have for me?" Jake asked, his voice imbued with the confidence of a man who had begun to enjoy the peculiarities laid out before him. The woman's lips didn't move, yet her voice rang out clear and resonant in the stillness of the chamber. "I have cities, but no houses. I have mountains, but no trees. I have water, but no fish. What am I?" she asked, her image unblinking as it awaited Jake's response. Jake rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a long, drawn-out sigh that echoed faintly against the stone walls. His mind, sharp and agile from years of solving complex problems, hardly needed a moment before the answer floated to the surface, simple and expected. He met the woman's gaze in the mirror, his own reflection looking almost bored beside hers. "I hope the riddles get harder, this is getting boring," he said, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his feigned annoyance. "You're a map." The woman's expression remained unchanged, but something in the air shifted, a silent acknowledgment of the correct answer passing between them. Jake's eyes held a spark of intelligence, a knowing that went beyond the solved puzzle—a readiness for whatever came next. With a subtle flicker, the air shimmered as the woman's hand extended through the mirror's surface, offering Jake a rolled parchment. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before his fingers closed around the scroll, pulling it into his reality with a soft rustle. Unfurling the scroll, a map, Jake scanned the inked pathways and symbols that danced across the paper. His eyes narrowed, not in confusion but calculation, as he memorized the route laid out before him. A nod was his silent goodbye to the woman in the mirror, and he turned on his heel, stepping briskly through the arched doorway. The map indicated a clear directive: turn left, then right. However, Jake's instincts, honed by a lifetime of subverting expectations, propelled him in the opposite direction. Right, then left. With each subsequent instruction, he defied the path prescribed by the map, his movements brimming with both skepticism and an impish sort of glee. The maze unfolded like a book he had read many times before, its secrets laid bare before his intuition. Stone walls whispered past as he strode confidently through the labyrinth, the silence punctuated only by the steady cadence of his boots against the cool floor. The air grew denser, laden with the musty scent of antiquity as he approached the half-hour mark. His internal clock, ever precise, told him the endgame was near. As anticipated, another archway loomed ahead, its presence an unspoken challenge. Framed within it, an old man with a beard as white as seafoam stood sentinel. His posture was neither aggressive nor welcoming but held the neutrality of one who has seen eons pass without surprise. Jake slowed, his approach measured, as he took in the sight of the ancient guardian blocking passage to whatever lay beyond. "Quite the welcoming committee," Jake quipped under his breath, his mind already analyzing this newest development with the same keen edge he had applied to every oddity so far. Jake paused before the old man, his breathing even despite the exertion of navigating the maze. He cocked his head, appraising the figure with a mix of amusement and curiosity. The silence stretched between them like a tightrope, fraught with the weight of unspoken expectation. “You are the first among mortals and gods to find the exit to this labyrinth,” the old man stated, his voice a timeworn whisper that seemed to echo off the ancient stones. A lopsided smile tugged at Jake's lips as he crossed his arms over his chest, regarding the guardian with an air of nonchalance that belied the sharpness of his mind. "I think it was fairly obvious," he replied, the corner of his mouth quirking higher in a crooked grin. "The map was handed to me from a mirror, so of course the map would be a mirrored image of the maze. I only had to follow the map as if I were seeing it in a mirror." His words hung in the air, a testament to the logic he wielded as deftly as a blade, cutting through the intricacies of the challenge with effortless clarity. Stepping back, the old man gestured towards the darkness beyond with a sagacious nod, as if relinquishing his guardianship. "The answers you seek are within," he said, his voice receding into the shadows like mist dissolving at dawn. Jake hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, his gaze slicing through the obscurity that veiled the room's secrets. The air seemed to thicken, charged with the anticipation of revelation. He squinted, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness, his every sense attuned to the environment as though it might speak to him in ways beyond the visual. Jake's first step into the void sent a cascade of stars swirling around him, like a cosmic dance choreographed to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He stood there, transfixed, as planets orbited lazily and nebulas glowed with an ethereal light, the boundaries between room and universe blurred into nonexistence. His breath hitched slightly at the display; it was awe-inspiring, disorienting, and yet somehow familiar—a connection to the vast unknown that tugged at his soul. "Fun, this is a planetarium," Jake chuckled, his voice a solitary note in the silent expanse of simulated space. The wonder of it all couldn't quite eclipse the itch for challenge that had brought him here. He rotated slowly on the spot, his eyes roving over the celestial bodies, searching for a clue, a spark of logic amid the splendor. "Where's the riddles?" he mused aloud. The question lingered, unanswered, in the air. Jake's mind, ever analytical, ran through the possibilities. A planetarium was about observation, about patterns and cycles. It was also about perspective—seeing things from a different angle, understanding your place in the grand scheme. Maybe that was the clue? Or perhaps the riddle was more literal, hidden among the stars themselves. With a tilt of his head and a narrowed gaze, Jake surveyed the heavens projected around him, prepared to unravel the next enigma of this otherworldly labyrinth. The cosmos shifted, a ripple of energy coursing through the fabric of space as golden numerals manifested before Jake. They hung suspended like celestial bodies, each one glowing with an inner light that turned the surrounding stars to mere spectators in their presence. Jake's head canted to the side, his eyes tracing the contours of the digits that spelled out geometric puzzles rather than cryptic wordplay. "These aren't riddles," he murmured, a frown creasing his brow as he stepped closer to scrutinize the questions. "They're simple geometry questions." He chuckled dryly, the sound echoing softly in the vastness of the room." His voice rose slightly, almost hopeful as he addressed the unseen curator of these trials. "Am I done if I solve these?" Silence was the only response, the weight of it pressing against his ears like the vacuum of space itself. With no audible cue to guide him, Jake let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and focused on the task at hand. The numbers held secrets, each one a key to the next phase of his journey, and they yielded to his gaze with the ease of familiar friends. He moved from one question to the next, his mind working with the precision of a well-oiled machine. Jake's hand swept through the air, an invisible conductor orchestrating the symphony of solutions that flowed from his lips. In less time than it would have taken to tie his boots, he had dispatched each query with a deftness that spoke of his innate talent for pattern recognition and spatial reasoning. "Done," he stated flatly, half-expecting some grand transformation or thunderous applause. But the universe before him remained unchanged, save for the anticipation that now thrummed in his veins. Whatever awaited beyond this star-studded challenge, Jake was ready to face it head-on. The last geometric question dissolved into the void, and space itself seemed to pause, holding its breath. Then, as if summoned by Jake's final word, the blackness shimmered and birthed an image of a planet. It was no generic celestial body; it was vibrant and alive with swirling blues and greens, but it was not Earth. It was this planet, and above it, like a phantom from the past, hovered Mount Olympus, resplendent in its mythical grandeur. A cascade of images unfolded before Jake, a pictorial history playing out across the cosmos. The Olympians, not yet beings of power and majesty, arrived not as conquerors but as refugees, their own world a dying ember in the vast cold of space. They were children when they arrived, innocence personified, their eyes wide with wonder and fear in equal measure. Gifts were bestowed upon them—every wish granted, every whim indulged. But indulgence breeds excess, and the images morphed, darkening with the passage of time. Those same children, now grown, twisted by their desires into creatures of selfishness and vanity. Their cruelty cast long shadows over the land, and their hearts, once open and bright, became closed and dark as obsidian. Until at last, they stood, united in their arrogance, banished from the city that had been their cradle, their sanctuary. Jake watched, his arms crossed over his chest, the muscles beneath his shirt tense with the weight of revelation. The tale before him was one he knew all too well: the corruption of the spirit by the hands of plenty. As the final scene faded, leaving only the stark reality of the room around him, his voice broke the silence, firm yet tinged with uncertainty. "What is it you want from us?" Jake asked, his gaze piercing the darkness as if to draw forth an answer from the very fabric of the universe. The cosmos shifted before Jake's eyes, the tapestry of constellations and nebulas giving way to a new narrative woven in light and shadow. Here were the Lancers, purposeful and cooperative, their figures etched with determination as they plowed fields, erected structures, and breathed life into machinery. Cities rose from the canvas of the planet, not by the whims of gods but through the sweat and toil of human hands. Jake watched the holographic chronicle unfold, his stance relaxed now but his mind alert, absorbing every detail. The Children of the Lancers were different. They shared burdens, celebrated triumphs together, and their achievements multiplied. No gift was unearned, no success unshared. This vision of camaraderie and collective endeavor painted an inspiring but daunting prospect. As the last image faded—a city vibrant with activity, its people moving about like blood through the veins of a living organism—Jake broke the silence that had settled over the room. "That's a worthy plan," he acknowledged, his voice steady but reflecting the weight of history and future both pressing upon him. "But I can't promise how our history will unfold." He paused, considering the entity hiding behind this display of hopes and dreams. "If you're asking me to give you a promise that we won't become like the Olympians, all I can say is, don't make the same mistakes with us you made with them." He stepped closer to where the images had been, addressing the unseen curator of this exhibition directly. "Don't give us everything we desire, let us work for what we have, and perhaps we'll become the civilization you desire." His words were an echo of a lesson learned not just from his own life, but from the rise and fall of countless others. Behind those words lay an understanding: the value of struggle, the necessity of earning one's place, and the danger of a path too easily trodden. Jake stood at the crossroads of potential timelines, aware that the entity sought assurance against repetition of past errors. But assurance was a currency he couldn't trade in—not honestly. The future was unwritten, and it would be crafted by the choices of those willing to roll up their sleeves and carve it out, day by uncertain day. The walls of the chamber morphed before Jake's eyes, transitioning from the austere stone to an opulent display that would have made Croesus blush. All around him, gold glinted and jewels sparkled in heaps and cascades, a phantasmagoria of wealth that seemed to stretch into infinity. The sudden transformation left no corner untouched, every surface now a testament to material excess. Jake let out a chuckle that bounced off the golden walls, his laughter rich with disbelief. He reached out, letting his fingers brush over a gem-encrusted goblet, feeling the cool hard reality of it beneath his touch. Despite the undeniable allure, he shook his head, amused by the grandeur but unmoved by its promised temptations. He addressed the unseen presence with a confident voice that cut through the heavy silence, "I already told your Zeus AI this isn't what we want." The treasure around him felt like a hollow gesture, a misguided attempt at bribery that missed the mark. He stood resolute amidst the shimmering riches, his conviction clear. "Just give us a safe place to live, and maybe some guidance, we'll do the rest." In saying so, Jake affirmed their desire for autonomy, for a destiny self-forged and not gilded in the empty promises of an overabundant paradise. His words were a plea for balance—a call for the means to survival, not the seeds of decadence. The air shifted, a subtle change in the atmosphere that heralded an arrival. From within the gleaming treasury, a figure materialized—a venerable old man with a white beard that cascaded over his chest like a waterfall of time itself. His steps were measured, each one echoing with the weight of history as he approached Jake. "We are an advanced civilization," he began, his voice carrying the timbre of wisdom long accumulated, "but not as advanced as you are. We fear there is little guidance we can give you." The statement was wrapped in humility, a stark contrast to the opulence that surrounded them. Jake turned from the splendor that failed to captivate him, facing the old man squarely. "Why did you leave this city?" he asked, his tone infused with genuine curiosity rather than accusation. He sought understanding, the motive behind the abandonment of such grandeur and the complex truth that might explain why a civilization would forsake its own creation. The old man's gaze drifted past Jake, settling on the far wall where shadows danced in the flickering torchlight. "We never lived here," he replied, his voice tinged with a melancholy that seemed to reach beyond the walls of the treasure room. "We saw the plight of the Olympians, their dying world, their ships searching for a new home. We built this city for them." His eyes returned to Jake, holding a depth of sorrow. "And they bitterly disappointed us." Jake felt a twinge of sympathy for the being before him. To create such splendor only to have it squandered—it was a tale as old as time itself. He took a step closer, the gold beneath his boots virtually unnoticed as he pondered the fate of those who had been gifted everything yet valued nothing. "How many of you are here?" he asked, the question laced with the unspoken: How many watched their generosity turn to betrayal? The old man's form seemed to waver, like a mirage blurring at the edges. His presence in the room was as enigmatic as the history he carried. Jake's eyes narrowed, an analytical glint reflecting off them as he digested the gravity of the old man's admission. The weight of millennia seemed to press upon the room, laden with the echoes of a past both grand and tragic. With a slow, deliberate movement, Jake inched forward, his gaze never straying from the enigmatic figure. "We are many, but only I remain here as guardian of this city, hoping to repair the mistakes of our past," the old man declared, his voice carrying the burden of long-standing solitude. The torchlight cast an otherworldly glow on his features, deepening the lines etched by time and loneliness. There was something unsettling about his appearance, a nagging sense that the frail human facade masked something far more complex. Jake studied him, the instincts honed by countless encounters with the inexplicable nudging him toward the truth. His mind, ever the fortress of logic and deduction, wrapped itself around the puzzle presented before him. "Is this truly how you look?" Jake asked, his words slicing through the silence with precision. He held the old man's gaze, searching for the slightest hint of deception or discomfort, ready to peel back the layers of mystery shrouding this guardian of lost legacies. The old man's eyes held a depth that seemed to span eons, a flicker of something otherworldly dancing just beneath the surface. His lips parted slightly as he responded with a timbre that resonated through the treasure-laden chamber. "I did not want to frighten you." In response, Jake's mouth curved into an easy grin, the gesture belying his keen intellect and the adrenaline that coursed through his veins from the labyrinth of challenges he had just navigated. He took a step closer, closing the distance between them with the confidence of a man who had stared down the abyss more than once. "You should know by now I’m not easily frightened," he said, his voice steady, betraying none of the curiosity that sparked within him. The faint echo of his boots against the stone floor punctuated his words, and in that moment, Jake stood as a testament to human resilience, unflinched by the unknown. "Very well," conceded the old man, his voice carrying a weight of centuries untold. Jake watched intently as the figure before him shimmered and seemed to unravel like a tapestry caught in a gentle breeze. The lines that defined the old man blurred, edges softening into a haze that swirled with an ethereal dance. The transformation was silent, seamless, as though reality itself acquiesced to the will of this ancient entity. Where the visage of the bearded guardian once stood, now pulsed an effulgence that bathed the room in a warm glow. It was as if the sun had been captured and condensed into a form no larger than a man, yet its presence filled the entire space. The light oscillated, a heart of energy throbbing with life and intelligence far beyond human ken. Jake squinted slightly against the brilliance but held his ground, his fascination trumping the instinct to shield his eyes. He could feel the warmth on his skin, a comforting embrace that spoke of power held in check, of grandeur willingly contained. The air around him vibrated with the force of the being's existence, a symphony of light that played upon every surface, casting long shadows behind the piles of gold and jewels. It was a spectacle that defied the laws of physics, a sight meant for the eyes of myth-makers and dreamers. Despite the intensity of the radiance, Jake sensed a profound serenity emanating from the being. There was no malice here, no threat—only the peaceful assurance of a civilization that had transcended the material plane, and with it, the need for pretense or disguise. As he stood there, Jake realized that he was not just witnessing an unveiling of true form; he was standing at the confluence of past and future, where the wisdom of ages met the potential of tomorrow. Jake tilted his head, a gesture that felt oddly grounding in the face of such an unearthly presence. "Okay, you're a non-corporeal species of energy," he acknowledged, his voice steady despite the surreal tableau before him. There was no point in pretending he understood it all, but he was quick to adapt, his mind already racing with questions rather than fear. "I'm not frightened, but tell me, what were these silly riddles all about?" The being's light pulsed gently, a visual sigh in the absence of breath. It spoke, its voice resonating through the space, carrying the weight of ancient stars and the softness of a cosmic breeze. "When we tested the Olympians in preparation for showing them our true form, they met the riddles with frustration and anger," the energy being explained, its luminosity flickering like candlelight reflecting emotions long past. "But you engaged with the test as if it were a playful game." Jake's lips quirked into a half-smile, his innate curiosity piqued by this revelation. It hadn’t been about challenge or wit; it was a psychological test, and he had navigated the labyrinth of riddles with a lightness of spirit that the Olympians had seemingly lacked. The realization brought a sense of clarity, a reminder that sometimes the journey was as important as the destination. Jake leaned forward, studying the radiant form before him. The contours of its energy seemed to ebb and flow like the tide, casting a celestial glow across the room. He crossed his arms, a gesture of ease rather than defense, as he processed the entity's words. "I'm not an Olympian, I’m not even their species," he asserted, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk that belied the sincere curiosity behind his eyes. It was true; he shared no lineage with those mythic beings, his roots firmly planted in the soil of Earth, not a distant, alien world. The being shimmered, its light undulating as if mirroring Jake's own sense of wonder. "Physically you are very similar, and it would be a worthy riddle to understand how two species on different worlds across the galaxy from each other developed so physically similar," it observed, the tone contemplative, inviting Jake into a dialogue that spanned the cosmos. Jake nodded thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving the incandescent figure. It was a question that teased the fringes of his understanding, echoing the age-old human pursuit of connection and identity in the vast universe. How could two paths, so divergent in space and time, converge on such a shared blueprint? Jake's shrug sent a ripple through the air, a human gesture of indifference that seemed to shimmer in the presence of the glowing entity. "Why do trees on this planet look the same as trees on Earth?" he asked, his voice laced with a blend of skepticism and genuine curiosity. The pulsating being before him dimmed slightly, as if contemplating the question, its radiance softening into a warm, golden hue. "It will be exciting to watch the Children of the Lancers develop," it replied, skirting the query yet revealing an anticipation that resonated in the space between them. “Do you have a name? Does your species have a name? Jaked asked. “I am the Fourth Light of the Ara.”