Chapter 388: Don’t Get Burned
Some days passed. Every night was a night of fun, of talk, of drinking wine and talking.
The lyre’s gentle notes echoed softly throughout the symposium, a melody so delicate that it seemed to hang in the air like the scent of incense. Myth, as he called himself in these circles, played a serene façade. His movements were effortless, his dignity moreso.
The last notes of the song faded and a soft applause rippled through the gathering. So many had gathered since the beginning. So many had begun to whisper the Myth. Myth remained still, his fingers gently resting on the strings of the lyre, his gaze flickering toward the entrance of the room where a robed male walked.
Pottery was a long process and important and important to any society without the people realizing. Much of Ancient Greek pottery in the Underground and in the Nebulous Bazaar was managed and sponsored by Xander. Xander who first noticed Myth’s talents and wanted more of it.
Myth began playing again.
Xander sat down, cross-legged, and listened. For the past five nights, it was all he had done. Silently listen. Silently imitate his play style. Silently understand and comprehend Dasha’s genius.
Oh, sure, there was Fuzan of the Imperial Sect and Archelaus the demigod. However, while in the same spacing, they had not noticed him. They had not appreciated him. Xander had. He complimented him, he praised him.
"How would you like to come with me to my home?"
Myth did not stop playing. "I play for everyone."
"Ay, Xander," Alastair called out. "You tryin’ to steal our guy?"
"How selfish," Archelaus chimed.