“The woes of Earth,” I said gently, “lie in Earth’s past. We need no myths.”
Cassandra smiled and stepped into the machine. And was gone.
And then the age of fire and turmoil opened, for when the myths went home the invaders came, bursting from the sky. And our towers toppled and our moons fell. And the cold-eyed strangers went among us, doing as they wished with us.
And those of us who survived cried out to the old gods, the vanished heroes.
“Loki, come!”
“Achilles, defend us!”
“Shiva, release us!”
“Herakles! Thor! Gawain!”
But the gods are silent, and the heroes do not come. The machine that glittered in the Hall of Man is broken. Leor, its maker, is gone from this world. Jackals run through our gardens, and our masters stride in our streets, and we are made slaves. And we are alone beneath the frightful sky. And we are alone.