The city proper spread out organically with ways and means coming out of and connecting marketplaces and quarters of living. If one stood atop certain roofs they could see the layout, unplanned but not without pattern – much like the lives it mimicked. But within the approximate center of the living city lay the ornamental and sacred city. This city, the City of Asterion, was planned with the exactitude of a cartographer’s wet dream.
The city, as viewed from above, was composed of three spirals with the most hallowed temple of the people in its center. There was a single path, thus one would not become lost, but, for the unfamiliar, the tracing back and forth was devastatingly confusing. The curvature was so slight that it would sneak up on a person and he questioned his navigation for having become turned around, though his memory swore never was there a turn and only one course. If viewed drawn on a map the beauty of design could be appreciated, holistically; if walked by the initiated it was meditative; if infiltrated by the unwelcomed it was claustrophobic and hopeless. It made no attempt at hiding or subtlety; so differentiated it was from its surroundings. The widths of its walls accommodated barely more than one man’s shoulders (perhaps those of a child, as well) in file; it was built with obsidian-lined walls, casting mirror images; and it had no signs of dwelling, of habitat – it was a path, meant to pass through and it was uniform in objective.
In the center, at the co-mingling of the spirals, there was a temple dedicated to mortal life. Or, more accurately, a temple dedicated to the Titan Iapetus – father of Prometheus, creator of mankind, vessel of mortal life. While the punishment of Prometheus is so often told, the fate of Iapetus is mostly passed over. Already out of favor following the Titanomachy and the Olympian victory, Iapetus was in a precarious position and viewed with suspicion. After Prometheus molded man – adulterated substance in the pure form of the gods – Iapetus too was held accountable for the action of his son. For, why else would Prometheus produce that bastard creature if not to give account to and make actual his father’s vision of beginnings and ends?
The Olympians summoned Iapetus, already hurt by the sight of Prometheus bound, and charged him less with conspiring but rather with inspiring. Hephaestus came to Iapetus, wielding his tools, and separated his testicles from underneath his phallus. They were launched to the ground below, landing at the sight of the temple and from which grew a massive oak, taller and wider than seemed natural of its kind. The temple, a great room, was built around this tree, its roots infiltrating the floor and its branches accommodated by an opening in the roof.
To this place Myrmidon would lead his assailants. First Myrmidon was to stifle the enemy with the tight and winding and then draw them out into the openness of the temple and its grounds, where he would be vulnerable to their masses but their masses vulnerable to his sting – the reminder of the will to live and the regeneration of mortal life.