Teresa was meeting her closest friend on the island, Sara. There were questions she needed to ask, because in recent days a whisper had been circulating—first among her students, then among the locals. According to the rumor, the sea god had descended from the sky to earth, specifically to Cyprus, and vanished there. Even stranger, thousands of years later, he had resurfaced in the very place where he had disappeared.

Islanders were whispering that the wealthy businessman who owned the fleet anchored a few miles off the coast was none other than Poseidon. Teresa hadn’t seen the man herself, but she had seen a photograph—and she had to admit, he did bear a striking resemblance to that long-bearded figure depicted centuries ago: standing atop the sea, surrounded by half-naked figures, holding a three-pronged spear.

The man claimed he had not known he was Poseidon at first, but had later come to believe it, following certain signs. According to accounts, he was remarkably fast—almost machine-like—able to propel himself through the water at the speed of a small vessel, hurling consecutive strokes with his hands. Some said he could describe what was happening on the other side of the island as though watching it on television, and that he had made predictions about the future—predictions his students swore had come true.

Yes, all of this had piqued Teresa’s curiosity. But what surprised her most was not the spectacle of powers; it was his rhetoric. The man known as Poseidon spoke often of wars on earth, of humanity’s descent into selfishness and arrogance, and of systems that stood with power rather than justice—systems doomed to collapse. True, most charlatans she had encountered before liked to preach justice, peace, and brotherhood. But none of them were wealthy. And this man was so rich that he could not possibly have been motivated by profit.

Nor, apparently, did he have any real political involvement. He had enough wealth to be indifferent to such things. And the fact that he maintained warm relations with both the Turkish and Greek populations on the island, encouraging peace between them, earned him extra points in Teresa’s mind. Still, none of this proved that the man was genuinely Poseidon, or that he wasn’t simply another fraud. For the moment, she could not read his intentions.

After recounting to Sara the rumors she herself had heard about Poseidon, she finally asked:

“What do you think of this wealthy man?”

Sara said the last thing she should have said—first.
“He’s a fraud, and I think you should stay away from him.”

Teresa blinked in surprise.
“Why do you think that? What about the beautiful teachings he’s been sharing?”

“I think it’s all part of a larger play,” Sara replied, and began her explanation.

“I hinted at this before. According to myth, when Zeus—known as the god of gods—divided the earth among the deities, he gave the most important land to Poseidon. A land considered, perhaps, the capital of the world—a strategic center—Atlantis. There, Poseidon married the daughter of another deity.”

“And who is this deity?” Teresa interrupted.

“In the myth, she too is a god, though unnamed. But some writers claim she wasn’t a god at all—rather, a humanoid monster.”

“What do you mean, a god and a monster?” Teresa frowned. “Setting aside the theological debate for a moment—how can one story have such contradictory claims?”

Sara knitted her brows, as she often did.
“First, let’s accept that the woman Poseidon married was a god. Because according to the rest of the myth, from this union emerged the Atlantean race—a people who educated humanity. They brought love, peace, tolerance, justice, and cooperation to the world. After their population grew, they formed relations with the native peoples of nearby lands and continents. Through marriages between Atlanteans and locals, a half-god, half-human race emerged. And that is where corruption began. The noble lineage was diluted. As a result, the virtues brought by the Atlanteans started to erode. Love was replaced by hostility, cooperation by selfishness, peace by war, justice by favoritism—first in Atlantis and then beyond.”

Teresa couldn’t hold back any longer and cut in:

“In the language of modern medicine, you’re basically saying that the Atalant race intermarried with other races, and that the hybrid offspring carried DNA sequences that brought forth corrupt traits. Darwinists say the same thing. For them, DNA is everything; people inherit virtue or vice from it, and education is pointless.

For instance, if someone carries the genetic code for murder or brutality, given the opportunity, they’ll act on it. Yet research tells us the opposite. Every human being carries genetic codes for goodness. No study has ever demonstrated that two people with different moral inclinations—say, a just person versus a partisan one—possess distinct DNA sequences that predetermine such traits.

Because of this scientific reality, theologians of monotheism argue that every individual carries the divine attributes—love, compassion, justice—encoded within their being, but that the manifestation of those attributes depends on inclination, effort, and the struggle against one’s lower self.

In other words, no one can claim, ‘What can I do? My DNA made me wicked.’ A prophet once said, ‘Every human is born with the nature of monotheism, but their environment and choices corrupt them.’”

Sara smiled.
“So Darwinism existed thousands of years ago, then.”

“History repeats itself for a reason,” Teresa replied. “The purpose and meaning stay the same; only the words and the manner of expression change. That’s why we say divine revelation speaks to every era.” She motioned lightly with her hand. “Don’t mind me—go on.”

From the look on Sara’s face, it was obvious: she talked and talked, only to finish with “don’t mind me.”

“Anyway, as you might guess, it wasn’t only the noble traits that vanished. The Atalant race also lost its divine nature—its immortality. In other words, the sacred, deathless blood the Greeks called ichor was corrupted.

And of course, according to Hitler, priests who escaped from the collapsed city of Akropolis in Atlantis migrated into Europe and preserved the Aryan race—that is, the German race. That’s why, in pursuit of a ‘pure’ Aryan bloodline, they bred tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed men and women. Hitler’s soldiers allegedly forced women with those traits to become pregnant.”

Teresa shook her head. “Unbelievable. Somehow mass despotism and cruelty always seem tied to the idea of a superior, chosen race.”

“That’s exactly what I was going to say. Because you’re a foreigner, there’s something the islanders keep from you, though they whisper it among themselves. And they don’t fully accept people like me either.”

Teresa raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “What is it?”

“I don’t know the location. But during excavations they found a mummy. Carbon testing revealed the body was thousands of years old. And the facial structure of the mummy was identical to the face in the painting—the face of Poseidon. So the locals say it’s Poseidon’s twin.”

“Poseidon had a twin?”

Sara smirked.
“If he didn’t, who would believe the man running around claiming to be Poseidon? And it was that wealthy man who first mentioned the existence of a twin. Somehow, the DNA from the mummy and the DNA of the man claiming to be Poseidon matched perfectly. That’s what proves the ‘twin’ story. And it’s helping him convince Cypriots they’re descendants of the Atalant line. By flattering them, he draws them to his side.”

“Is the DNA result fake? Where was the analysis done? Was the carbon test valid? We should look into that.”

“A biologist friend of mine said he actually saw a report issued by a reputable research laboratory. According to it, the DNA taken from the mummy and the DNA sample from the man claiming to be Poseidon matched to such a degree that it indicated twin-level genetic identity.”

While Teresa was trying to figure out what kind of deception the man could have pulled off, Sara whispered,

“I’m going to tell you something far more important.”

Teresa lowered her head and leaned her ear toward Sara.

“I have a friend in the police; I learned it from him. While tracking a smuggling network, they secretly attached a camera and listening device to a suspect. That suspect attended one of Poseidon’s private gatherings. Because of a strong interference inside, the video and audio were disrupted from time to time, but they still managed to see and hear a few significant things.”

“All right, what did they see and hear?” Teresa asked, her eyes demanding answers.

“According to the recordings, Poseidon doesn’t say anything. He just opens his eyes wide and stares. And no one asks, ‘Why aren’t you saying anything?’ After a long silence, Poseidon finally tells them: ‘Go and tell everyone that I am Poseidon, and bring them here…’”

Sara had just finished her sentence when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen. On the other end, her son urgently asked her to come immediately, then hung up. Sara’s story was left incomplete, and she had been talking about something crucial—the command Poseidon gave to his followers. Seeing her panic, Teresa couldn’t possibly say, “Finish your story first, then go.”

Teresa called her friend to find out whether something had happened to Sara’s son and to arrange another meeting, but no matter how long she let the phone ring, no one answered.

The next morning, as usual, Teresa set her bergamot tea, her fresh daily egg, and her cheese on the table. Then she remembered what was missing. She stood up at once and picked up the newspaper lying at the door.

She took her cup in her right hand and had just taken a few sips when she suddenly spit it back out as if she had swallowed poison. She lowered her head and reread the headline beneath the front-page title.

Under the headline “The Mysterious Death of a Lecturer and an Intelligence Officer,” the article reported that, last evening, Sara Anastasis and intelligence officer Sinosis Altore had been found dead, hands tied, each shot once in the head.

Teresa’s blood pressure suddenly plummeted; she was on the verge of fainting when the sound of her doorbell brought her back, if only slightly. As she tried to gather herself to answer, the door burst open with a thunderous crash. Teresa managed to recognize the uniforms—blue, unmistakably police.

The last sentence she clearly heard before consciousness slipped away was:

“Ms. Teresa, we are obliged to place you under arrest on suspicion of murdering Sara Anostosis and Sinosis Altore.”