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“Kneeling down to pray.

To whom is this prayer directed?

To the sky?

To the transcendent being above the heavens?

Or is it a prayer directed to one’s own soul?

An old lark.

Trees and forest.

Moss and walls.

Clouds and raindrops.

To whom is he seeking answers?

To whom is he offering his queries?

[ Tamus. ]

Once upon a time.

In the era when Emperor Tiberius ruled the Roman Empire.

Epiterces was embarking on a journey by boat.

[ Tamus. ]

The bright red sunset stained the sea crimson, and as the fiery red eye of the sun was about to vanish beyond the horizon, the wind stilled and the ship drifted through the wild sea, arriving at the island of Paxos.

Sounds could be heard from that island.

[ Tamus. ]

That name belonged to an Egyptian sailor, and it is indeed a curious fact that scarcely anyone knows the name.

The call of Tamus repeated three times, and then, an answer was given.

[ O Tamus, O Tamus, when you arrive at the island of Palodes, let it be known that the great god Pan, lord of nature, the fields, shepherds, and flocks, has perished. He who is the child of Hermes and Penelope, who wears a crown made from the branches of Pitys, and who plays the flute fashioned from the body of Syrinx, let it be known that the great god has died. ]

So it was said.

The people, astonished, decided it would be wise to heed the words spoken, and they sailed towards the island of Palodes. And as they felt the eeriness of the completely silent sea, Tamus gazed at the island and cried out, ‘Pan is dead! The great god Pan is dead!’ and a great lamentation echoed across the waters.

Ah! Indeed, it is so.

The death of a great god brings with it immense sorrow.

Nature, the fields, the shepherds, and the flocks all cried out in grief.

“To those who weep for the death of the god, I say this: The death of the god is indeed a sorrowful matter, and I wish to partake in the mourning and offer sacrifices at his funeral. Please allow this to be conveyed through the voice of the old lark, island of islands, respond to me.”

How sorrowful is the death of a god!

How empty it is when a being that has existed through the ages disappears!

That void can never truly be filled again, and the absence will remain as a scar for a long time, so it is not strange to show one’s mourning.

However, the messenger has traveled far to deliver this message. How can one not express gratitude for such effort?

Even if their sorrow is immense, how can they neglect to honor the messenger who brought this precious news?

[ From Lapis Manalis to Aventinus. Jupiter Elicius grants you his protection; when the waters flow from Lapis Manalis, you shall receive raindrops to quench your thirst and a cool, refreshing drink to soothe your soul until the empty place is filled. ]

Thus, let there be rain first to cool down those who have traveled far and are panting.

Sweet and refreshing droplets like nectar.

[ From the Capitol, the beautiful maiden drenched in rain shall relieve your fatigue. ]

Therein, may the great god Jupiter bestow his blessings on this pious worshiper mourning for the death of the god, allowing him to embrace the beautiful maiden, thereby alleviating his fatigue in a manner that will make all brave warriors and power holders envious.

Ta-da!

Look!

There comes a woman, drenched in the raindrops of Jupiter, descending from the hill.

Long and slender legs, elongated arms, a slim waist, and a chest that stands proudly.

Her ample chest, made of soft grass, is so large that one hand cannot grasp it, while her limbs, woven from branches, are so thin they could be brittle. Her waist is plush yet slender, crafted from leaves, and her face, pale and devoid of sunburn, is truly beautiful.

The sound of her steps is so delicate that it hardly makes a noise.

Not a single sound of footfalls, and her branch-made limbs pass through even the narrowest of gaps with ease.

The droplets flowing down are almost aesthetic in their elegance.

Ah, this is true beauty.

Having received Jupiter’s blessing, I yearn to hold something so lovely close.

But how can the one seeking answers simply rest?

The overflowing intellect does not permit rest, and the emerging curiosity values spiritual fulfillment over physical pleasures. Is this not the essence of the profound philosophers whose legacies extend from Greece?

Thus, the man raises a branch of hawthorn, pierced with the entrails of a boar, and speaks.

“O Diéspiter! O Diéspiter! Father of the heavens, lord over the sky. Grant me inspiration like a flash of thunder and lightning. Bestow upon me wisdom that shines bright and intense like lightning. Reveal the answers I seek, and guide me along the path as you did for ancient heroes. Spare me from squandering time on this trial laid before me!”

The man’s demeanor is profoundly reverent.

He turns not his gaze towards earthly desires but seeks wisdom from the divine, showing unwavering faith.

Upon witnessing this devotion, the great god Jupiter took delight and spoke.

[ Truly admirable. ]

Admirable indeed.

Such extraordinary respect and aspiration towards the divine cannot merely mark him as an average man.

To you, I confer my blessing.

Ah!

A blessing like lightning!

εὕρηκα heúrēka!

εὕρηκα heúrēka!

εὕρηκα heúrēka!

“Eureka!”

Wisdom, akin to lightning, surged through the man’s mind.

Something closer to an image than a word, something nearer to thought than mere concept raced through his neurons.

With movements akin to the flicker of lightning, the neurons glittered and danced, eventually sketching out the answer.

“From afar, gray clouds gather; their forms resemble a Buddha and a dragon. But more dangerous than those clouds exists something underground—a weird form resembling a human yet missing something. It seems to have been birthed from a human hand or transformed through a hand’s touch. I can see that those faintly blinking, black shadows in the darkness are eyes, and each object they hold is not a weapon but a tool.”

Words burst forth from the man’s mouth.

Unordered thoughts tumbled out as if they were the ramblings of a schizophrenic.

However, this chaotic verbal eruption painted a picture, embedding itself in his mind as a vivid revelation.

“…Someone from the East is coming for me. Not through a massive assault, but in a guise that seeks to find gaps and infiltrate my defenses.”

The man has found his answer.

Through what was akin to a prayer, he received a revelation, utilizing the divine as a means to gain insights.

Now his task is done.

The ruined site made from the blood of a ram.

The ominous tree, each root entwining the corpses of animals.

The incessantly pouring rain.

And the strange doll approaching him are now things of the past.

“I, Argivi, refuse the fate of being a sacrifice to Saturnus.”

The man lifted the hawthorn branch in hand and flung it away, as if throwing a sword.

Swoosh.

The hawthorn branch flew swiftly, directly striking the doll that staggered toward him.

So effortlessly.

Thud.

The branch pierced right where the heart should be.

The very spot formed by clumping together grass to shape the breast of a woman.

The strength of the hawthorn is to chase away the foul.

And the entrails of the boar that the man had placed on the branch, a splendid offering—

“O Robigus! Consume the entrails dedicated to the forest.”

Conversely, it could also be a severe calamity, ominous in nature.

The man was seemingly reenacting a ritual performed long ago in the Robigus forest near the fifth milestone of the Via Claudia Augusta, gazing upon the crimson entrails while calling out the name of the mold spirit Robigus.

In response to the calling ritual, Robigus answered and consumed the entrails.

The red entrails quickly became synonymous with red mold, and the mold began to settle and rot away.

Droplets of entrails fell with a disgusting stench!

Anyone could perceive this as the touch of God Robigus.

And such abscesses of decay are among those most detested by the divine.

To come into contact with such things cannot enter the sight of the deity, and offering such to the divine would be a grave sin worthy of divine punishment.

Ah.

How twisted things are.

The dripping, rotten entrails began to taint the doll.

The hawthorn, striving to repudiate and drive away the foulness, responded as it extended its branches, tearing apart the grass and beginning to dismantle the doll.

It thrashed around and scattered the grass onto the ground, discovering a vulnerability in the doll to grip tight, drawing a line right where the ribcage would be.

The rib that once contributed to the making of a woman had returned, and the inflated breast had vanished.

You have become a man.

“O God, here is one Argei.”

The man approached the doll that had been transformed into a man.

Then he gathered the clumps of grass that had fallen to the ground, casually shaping them into the figure of a person—a doll made of grass.

This is indeed the Argei.

“And here are two Argei.”

Thus, two Argei were created.

Dolls made of grass, once offered as sacrifices to the Tiber.

It is an offering to the divine, the price to reduce the cost!

“I shall present them.”

The man presents the two Argei.

He offers his sacrifice to the gods in place of a person.

And then they began to move.

According to the revelation granted by Jupiter.

He must prepare to confront those who are seeking him….

 

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