Harry Potter: BE a GOD

"Sing, goddess!"

"Sing of the wrath of Achilles, son of Peleus!"

"His rage brought disaster,"

"Inflicting endless suffering on the Achaeans,"

"Sending warriors' souls to the underworld..."

In the grand stone palace of Thebes in the southeastern part of the Peloponnese, in the region of Boeotia, a blind old man holding a worn lyre sang an ancient epic with his less than melodious voice.

In the hall, a banquet was taking place. The King of Thebes and his children were celebrating their recent victory over the city of Attica.

The long table was laden with delicacies from all around the Mediterranean. Servers with jars full of wine continuously refilled the ornate cups of the elegantly dressed nobles and divine priests.

The feast had been ongoing for most of the day, and everyone was thoroughly inebriated. Coarse laughter and boisterous behavior filled the air.

Suddenly, a young man dressed in black rose from the table, gently pushed aside two dizzy girls, and slowly approached the blind singer.

Seeing the singer's cracked lips, he handed him a cup of wine, "Old man, have a drink to soothe your throat."

The music stopped, and the old man, still facing forward with vacant eyes, said, "Thank you, kind sir."

He reached out, carefully took the cup, and sipped, "Ah, Dionysus, great god of wine, thank you for this nectar only the divine can truly appreciate."

"It's merely a cup of grape wine," Murphy chuckled. "I quite enjoy your epic; did you write these yourself?"

"Of course not, my lord," the old man humbly replied. "Most of my poems are learned from my teacher, and I merely added and modified some parts. These poems have been passed down from teacher to teacher and some chapters have been circulating for hundreds of years."

"I see. I've heard of you, Homer; they say you've traveled all over Greece, and some say you sang for the gods on Mount Olympus. They say you went blind from gazing directly at the divine. Is that true?"

Homer smiled gently, his cloudy, lifeless eyes open, "My lord, I was born blind. Those stories are just because I've sung songs about the feasts on Mount Olympus."

"...Hephaestus scooped the sweet nectar from the cauldron, filling the cups of the gods from left to right, and the blissful deities laughed at his bustling in the court. They joyously enjoyed the feast until the sunset, satisfied, listening to the beautiful music of Apollo's lyre and the enchanting songs of the muses..."

"The divine realm, a place where demigods, kings, and heroes are invited. How could such a place invite an old, blind singer like me?"

"They will," Murphy said, "Poetry and myth are the very foundation of their existence. I give you a new epic; if you can adapt it and spread it, there will surely be a place for you at the feast on Mount Olympus."

Saying this, Murphy touched the old man's forehead, transferring an opera into his mind.

In an instant, Homer saw a river stretching across the European continent, the magical gold shining from beneath its waters, the guardian nymphs of the gold, and the dwarfs of Nibelung who became kings of the world with a ring forged from that gold.

Then, the grand hall of Valhalla rose among the clouds, the Valkyrie Brünnhilde rode between heaven and earth, he saw the hero Siegfried slay the dragon, bathe in its blood, awaken the sleeping Valkyrie, and fall in love with her, offering her the Nibelung ring as a token of his love.

Then began the grand tragedy, as the invincible hero ultimately died in a plot, accompanied by a mournful funeral march. The grieving Valkyrie entered the flames of sorrow.

"The meaning of the ring, more than the end of Valhalla, more than the reputation of the gods. Let me, a blessed soul, tell you, the ring proved Siegfried's love! Go to the gods, tell them of my ring, I will never relinquish my love, they can never take my love away, even if the grandeur of Valhalla crumbles!"

After the Valkyrie's sorrowful declaration, flames swept across heaven and earth, reducing the abode of the gods, Valhalla, to ruins, and the twilight of the gods arrived.

Homer trembled, tears streaming down his face, overwhelmed by the unparalleled epic.

"Sir, who are you..." Homer asked in terror.

Whether it was the grand epic or the method of transferring it into his mind, everything was so incredible, and the story's conclusion, where the gods were consumed in flames, filled him with dread.

Yet, there was no answer.

The man seemed to have already left.

The noise of the banquet suddenly surged again, making Homer realize that although the man's voice was very soft, he could hear it clearly above the din, a testament to the man's extraordinary nature.

Perhaps it was a god.

Who could it be?

An incarnation of the Muse?

Or an emissary of Apollo?

The grand symphony echoing in his mind, even Apollo might struggle to create such a piece.

If it was a god, what was their purpose?

Giving him a story of gods destroyed by mortals, what were they trying to achieve?

But after a long silence, Homer stood up.

Regardless of who the other was, regardless of their purpose.

Such a majestic symphony, such a grand epic, if he could not let it spread, if he allowed it to fade with time, he would regret it for life.

...

Ten years later, when Murphy returned to Thebes, he did not hear an epic similar to "The Ring of the Nibelung" being sung.

He searched for several days and finally found a niche tomb next to a dilapidated temple.

It was said to be Homer's final resting place.

On the niche, a crude relief depicted an old man playing a lyre among the gods.

Murphy placed a jar of wine in front of the niche, "At least you got your wish, old man."

Just then, a bright light flickered behind Murphy, and a robust, handsome man appeared, holding a long bow, his head adorned with a crown of various branches, his upper body bare, carrying a quiver. A radiant glow emitted from behind his head, obscuring his face.

"For the singer of the gods, the great Homer lies here. The gods took his voice, but they could not hide the greatness he brought to the world. That unspeakable epic will make him immortal."

The man said.

As his radiance faded, revealing a remarkably handsome face, he spoke in a voice as melodious as song, "I am Apollo, friend from a foreign land, I have finally waited for you."

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