Mythology - Alastor and Hope

On the surface of the beautiful, virgin Gaia, there once lived a people of peace and innocence. This age was none other than the Golden Age of Man. According to both Homer and Hesiod, this was an age of vast prosperity and harmony; Gaia flourished with food and life and the people frolicked and thrived within these gracious, fulfilling gifts. Pain, anger, and despair were emotions unknown to these pure people – that is, until the theft of Prometheus. He stole the fire from Mt. Olympus – from the very same gods which allowed them such harmony and prosperity – and immediately incurred the wrath of Zeus. Nevertheless, his initial punishment alone would not suffice. In order to further cause this man misery, Zeus and his fellow gods concocted the most voluptuous human being – the first woman – that their powers would allow. They presented this gift to Prometheus; however, he was no fool. Turning the gift down, the gods then turned to his brother – the unknowing Epimetheus. In his brother's stead, he graciously accepted the grand gift. This marks the beginning of that fateful moment which would impact that mythical world for ages to come: the opening of Pandora's Box.

Pandora was innocent, yet she had one attribute which the men of the world did not possess – intense curiousity. She opened the box, delivered by Hermes, and thus administered upon the unsuspecting world a plague of despair, disease, crime, and all the bad things which haunt the world of today. She dropped the lid in shock, pain, and misery. For the first time, Epimetheus berated and reprimanded his partner. They argued intensely until a voice from the box caught their attentions. Begging to be freed, the miserable but ever curious Pandora lifted the lid – and from the terrible box rose a grand creature. This creature flew swiftly with the grace of an angel, glowing divinely like the purest dove. Taking the form of a butterfly, Hope escaped the clutches of the box and daintily graced Pandora and Epimetheus' weary cheeks. This butterfly filled them with relief and cheer, and as soon as she had come, Hope fluttered out of their home and into the world – prepared to slowly heal the world of its ills.

Shortly after the opening of the box, the world began its slow crumble into despair. The Ages of Man passed swiftly – from the Golden to the Silver, past the Bronze – and finally resting at the dark and rough Iron Age. From one of prosperity, the world collapsed into one in which war, crime, and evil thrived. Despite this rapid decline, however, Hope continued her journey. She touched the lives of those she came across, softly grazing their tired eyelids and propelling the currents of confidence and renewed wellness throughout their bodies. Her journey took her through the vast reaches of Gaia and she saw, although cloaked in a gray veil of misery, all of the wonders of the world. It was not long before Hope reached the dark kingdom of Panos. Despite her long quest, she had never come across a city such as Panos. Its royal body was corrupt to the core, and under the rule of the unforgiving King Mikas, the people suffered immensely. Each of its citizens lived on a dwindling thread – which lurked dangerously near the razor sharp scissors of the Fates – and knew nothing of hope or happiness. They were a miserable people, ruled under a doubly miserable and vicious king.

As she fluttered above their weary heads, Hope was aghast with the amount of suffering she beheld; never before had she ever witnessed such a depressing spectacle. She was also quite tired; flight across the world was not an easy task and she did not know how she would be able to inspire hope into such neglected beings. Suddenly, however, she was taken aback in surprise. Among these sad people stood tall one man – the fiery haired and green eyed boulder of a human being which was Alastor, tending to his withering crops. Despite the despair around him, a part of this man remained strong; she knew immediately it was him that she should inspire. Weakly, she landed upon the tip of his nose. At first bewildered, Alastor jumped in surprise; however, he observed the small butterfly and soon found himself with a swelling, growing sense of hope flourishing in his chest.

“Little creature,” he whispered in shock. “What are you? And what is this emotion you stir deep within me that inspires such strength?”

“I am Hope,” the creature responded with great clarity, glowing faintly as she perched atop his nose. “And it is hope that your drained, mortal body feels at this very moment. You are strong – youthful and determined. However, as I sit perched upon your countenance, I see that there is more to this youthful face than I first realized. You are the one, Alastor, which shall save your people from the ravages of your tyrannical king. With hope blowing into the sails at your back, I shall thrust you forward and towards victory.”

With those words, Alastor felt the power with which this little creature spoke and was assured immediately of his fate. Thrusting down the plow with which he nurtured his dying field, he withdrew immediately into the center of the vast city of Panos. With the swiftness of his renewed inner strength, he promptly rose among his exhausted people and arose within them a new sense of confidence. This resistance grew in number; however, not all were so swayed by the words which flowed from the young man's silver tongue. In fact, many remained corrupted by greed and evil and it was not long that word of the resistance found its way to the all-knowing ears of their malignant king, Mikas. Upon hearing of the people's quest to overthrow him, he seethed with anger and fury.

“A resistance, you say? So they plan to break every law upon which I placed on the land, and usurp their one sole true leader?” Mikas uttered angrily, and with a growl, he thrust his fist into the arm of his throne so harshly that the resulting boom echoed through his royal hall. “I will not turn my cheek to such impudence! Who dares defy their King Mikas?”

“The lowly plowman, Alastor, is the culprit, your greatness,” one of his attendants mumbled nervously. “However, we believe he may not be acting on his own; some of our contacts have witnessed a strange being accompanying him – a single glowing butterfly.”

“A tool of the gods, I imagine,” the king grumbled. “Nevertheless, I will take impudence from no being, mortal and immortal alike! I want them captured, immediately, and locked within the confines of my dungeon. We shall see how far their brazen actions shall get them when they are the prisoners to my undying wrath. Then this land shall see that true power lies with Mikas, their one and only ruler.”

With those words, the foundations to his revenge were laid. In the darkest hours of the night, their captors came as swiftly as the silent and gentle winds of Zephyrus. Even Alastor, the most hopeful of men, required his slumber and this is when Mikas' servants struck. In his one moment of weakness, they captured the poor man and swept him away; the unknowing entity of Hope, too, was victim to their crime as they swept her up in a sack and tied it shut tightly. They dragged their victims away, taking them to the darkest recesses of the king's dungeons. It was there that they were shut in tightly, with no hope of escape. Alastor, in anger, thrust his fist into the hard stone walls which now imprisoned him.

“Damnation! Surely, there is no chance for this god-forsaken kingdom. What power do we have, locked in this most hellish of prisons?” He cried in despair as even the strength which had powered him now began to dwindle under the reality of King Mikas' malice.

“Please,” the exhausted Hope wept from her cell, where she remained trapped within the sack. “You have not come this far to merely give in to the powers of evil. There must be more that can be done – to save this desperate city.”

“But..” He stammered.

Suddenly, something occurred to Alastor's weary mind – perhaps the gods, the ones who began this drought of joy, would find it in their immortal hearts to help their desperate creations. He pleaded to Mt. Olympus, home of the gods, for assistance. His plea was most passionate. First heard by Zeus, the mighty leader of the gods turned his immortal cheek; he refused to be swayed. After all, this was his punishment upon the mortals for the thievery of Prometheus. However, messenger Hermes also heard the pleas of Alastor. From the moment Pandora had opened the box, which he delivered upon them himself, Hermes had felt a soft, nagging regret at his actions as he watched the world suffer. Therefore, he knew helping Alastor would help him find relief from this regret.

On the swift flight of his winged sandals, Hermes appeared before Alastor, posthaste. Awed by his godly resonance, which only a mortal as strong as he could bear, the man fell immediately to his knees. Hermes did not mince words – after all, he was going against the wishes of Zeus himself. He looked upon the human with utmost seriousness and before him, presented an Easter Lily.

“The butterfly, Hope, is but one of the tools which may fill mankind with renewed strength. This lily, as well, holds within it the pure power of hope itself. Upon it, I have bestowed the powers of flight and invincibility. Though temporary as they are, these gifts shall aid you. It is your fate, Alastor; do not fail now,” Hermes spoke with a swift tongue.

Alastor graciously accepted this lily, and immediately, the deity, Hermes, vanished. Mere moments afterward, the cell door swung open. He took this cue and on the swift feet allowed to him by the Easter Lily, he took flight towards the king's throne room. Despite the resistance put up by those who guarded King Mikas, his gift of invincibility protected him well. Their swords and daggers bounced from his flesh like metal upon hard, indestructible steel; he snatched one of those very swords from an unsuspecting hand and sailed gracefully into the king's chamber. With a start, the king rose from bed, the look of shock and anger drawn upon his face. Mercilessly, the young man zoomed before him, and without hesitation, took his mortal body down with one fell swoop of his sword.

The tyrant was dead. With his strength, Alastor destroyed all of the corrupt men who remained faithful to their felled king. By morning, the castle was free of these evil forces. His work was done and immediately, he withdrew into the depths of the dungeon. Just as the powerful gift of the lily ran dry, he arrived in front of the cell of Hope. Breaking the door open, he snatched up the sack in order to release the butterfly. Yet, nothing flowed from the limp, brown bag. He gently laid the parcel down, and looked within. The fragile remains of the butterfly remained, and for a short moment, its body glittered.

“Thank you, Alastor – you have done for me the work my weary and tired body would not allow me to. With your actions, over the course of one mere night, you will inspire not only the people of this land – but of every land after it – to hold hope dear in their hearts, against the malignant forces of evil and disease which plague them so. I am no longer a needed entity – for from this day forth, I will be planted deep within each newborn human soul.”

With these quick words, the butterfly disappeared in a glittering mist of light. Yet, Hope's departure did not inspire fear or sadness in his mortal heart. He knew her words were true, and with determined steps, he ventured out from the dungeon. His appearance before the people inspired cries of joy and he ventured forth and into the purified city of Panos: the realm which he himself had freed.