The sun, a fiery orange disc, sank slowly behind the jagged peaks of Mount Kronos. Shadows stretched long across the sacred plains, and the last rays of daylight clung to the hills as if reluctant to leave.
Near the gates of the ancient stadium of Olympia, Nikomedes stood, his broad frame silhouetted against the golden light. The faint scent of wild olives filled the air, mingling with the distant sounds of laughter and the clinking of bronze armour. It was the calm before the storm, a serenity that stood in stark contrast to the storm brewing within his chest.
His armour, battered and worn from years of battle, gleamed dully in the fading light. It was a sight out of place, a relic of wars long past amidst the peace of this hallowed ground. The quiet beauty of Olympia, with its tall columns and lush groves, should have filled him with a sense of awe, but it did not.
His gaze, narrowed and watchful, seemed to take in every movement with the precision of a hawk. The distant cheer of young athletes preparing for the opening ceremony did little to quell the unease gnawing at him.
A historical novel.
James O. Miller. After 23 years of high school teaching history and four years teaching in Germany retirement didn’t come well especially since I hate gardening and golf. So I decided to exercise my imagination combined with my academic knowledge.
Ovi eBook Publishing 2025
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