Asclepius's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Asclepius pressed his calloused palms against the cool marble desk. The lobby smelled of incense and old stone. He'd healed thousands in this temple, but none of it mattered. What he wanted—what he needed—was to bring back the dead. Zeus had struck him down for it once before. The memory of lightning still burned in his chest. But death had taught him something the living could never understand. Now, back among mortals, he would master resurrection again. This time, he would succeed. He walked past the rows of empty benches. His sandals slapped against the floor. The temple needed more than prayer bowls and offerings. He stopped at the eastern wall and traced his fingers along the stone. A golden dissection table materialized under his touch. The metal gleamed in the torchlight. He would study bodies here, learn what kept mortals tethered to life. Every muscle, every bone held secrets. Asclepius turned toward the northern alcove. He raised his staff and struck the ground once. A pantry erupted from the marble, its shelves already lined with clay pots. Herbs filled the air with their sharp scent. He plucked a sprig of yarrow and crushed it between his fingers. These plants would restore what death had taken. He would grow them, test them, perfect them. The center of the lobby waited empty. He planted his staff in the floor and closed his eyes. When he opened them, an infirmary stood before him. Gold columns rose toward the ceiling. A fountain flowed in the corner, its water clear and cold. Divine light poured through windows that hadn't existed moments before. This would be his workshop. Here, away from the gods who had condemned him, he would break death's grip. The dead would walk again.