The remaining members of the Colonial fleet come to Earth. There are sad farewells, renewed life, and the foundation of Classical Age legends are born.

Adama seems overcome by the fumes which emanate from the ground as the acolytes lead him through the darkened lamp-lit corridors to the central chamber. The leave him at the arch to the room's entrance. He peers around and sees the red-robed figure of Pythia sitting on her tripod chair.

"Enter and hear your fate he who is delivered by the gods to this world from another," Pythia intones with her words reverberating off the chamber's walls and trailing off.

Adama seems startled, even afraid, but he enters and stands before Pythia who's eyes now roll back as she begins to enter a frenzied state.
The woman, the woman who looks like Roslin, the Greek beauty of the same age and bearing, she has brought him here.

"You will understand my words in your own tongue."

She motions to the two remaining acolytes and they extinguish all torches except for one - a small bowl of burning embers resting on the floor. The acolytes leave and Adama is alone with Pythia. She begins a slow humming, a hypnotic resonance builds and she slowly whorls her head as she takes in the fumes. A slight tremor shakes the room and Adama is startled.

"This world is a place of convergence for the gods. Time and space fold together and the cycle starts again."

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