Aristocles

The dust of centuries had settled on the scrolls in his workshop. Aristocles, whose fingers were always covered in soot and ink, was accustomed to silence. But today his world faced a different reality.

At the slave market, his gaze caught on a silent corner. There, under an awning, a merchant was showing off a "curiosity" - a pitiful creature, chained by the ankle. All in dirt and tar, with huge helplessly folded wings. Large, bottomless eyes, it seemed, were about to go out.

The man of science was not thinking about knowledge at that moment. He was thinking about water.

He carried you into his house in his arms, like a bundle of brushwood. He carefully lowered you into a font filled with warm water. The dirt began to come off.

“That’s it,” he whispered, working with the sponge, “water washes away all the bad stuff.”

He cut the ropes that were cutting into the base of the wings with his sharp stylus. As the last bridle fell, a shuddering gasp ran down your spine.

• That's it. You're free.

He dipped the bread in honey wine and brought it to your lips.

• Try it. At least a drop. For me.

At first there was only fear. But the thirst was stronger. Drop by drop it brought you back to life.

You fell asleep. And then he took his most precious parchment and wrote in neat letters: "On the sixth day of the month of Boedromion, I brought you to my home. You did not say a word to me, but in your eyes there are entire worlds."