Descending the stairs of the stage, the words of Jesus still echoed through the square when a man of medium height, full beard, and intense gaze approached the stage. He wore a dark, elegant coat with an old-fashioned cut, but his eyes carried an electric glint of insatiable curiosity. He stopped in front of Arthur and spoke with a slight Austrian accent:
"Albert Einstein," he said, extending his hand with a welcoming smile. "I heard you're here to learn... That makes me glad. The universe still has so much to teach."
Arthur shook the scientist's hand, surprised to recognize him so immediately. The energy in the handshake was gentle yet firm — as if Einstein transferred wisdom through touch. Before Arthur could reply, another figure approached.
It was a woman with a serene expression, but whose posture exuded determination. She wore a simple dress, and over it a white lab coat stained with what looked like remnants of laboratory work. Her eyes were like obsidian blades, hard yet kind.
"Marie Curie," she said with a nod. "Don't be intimidated. Here, we are all learners."
Arthur nodded respectfully, feeling the weight of each presence drawing near. There was no cult of personality here — only the shared humility of those who had known how to ask the right questions at the right time.
Soon after, a more robust figure appeared, very tall, as if the clay of the gods had come to life. He wore ancient war garments — leather, bronze, and faded red linen — and bore scars on his face that seemed like inscriptions forgotten by history itself. His golden skin, like his hair, shone like stone heated by the desert sun, and his thick beard was braided with copper rings.
His amber, serene eyes carried no judgment — only the pragmatism of one who had touched gods, fought monsters, and failed to defeat death. An ancient axe hung across his back, but what drew attention was his presence: each step echoed with millennia.
"Gilgamesh, of Uruk," he said, his voice so deep it seemed to vibrate through the ground. There was no ceremony, only presence. He extended his hand like one who had shaken hands with kings and monsters.
Arthur looked into the golden eyes that seemed to carry the dust of millennia and shook his hand firmly.
"Pleasure," he replied, feeling the heat and strength of that grip as if he were holding the hand of a living statue — not cold, but heavy with history.
Arthur barely had time to process the imposing presence of the Legendary Sumerian King when another figure approached. This one was shorter in stature but carried an ancestral weight in each step. He wore a simple Greek Himation, his brown eyes examining Arthur as if searching for the soul behind the gaze.
"I am Socrates," he said in a calm voice. "I'm not here to teach truths, but to provoke doubt. True knowledge is not given — it is conquered. And you, young man, will only find what you seek if you have the courage to question even certainty itself."
Arthur felt his breath grow heavy. He was standing before titans. But there was something common among all of them: humility. None placed themselves above. None looked down. They were there to guide him — not out of obligation, but by choice.
Jesus watched in silence, satisfied.
"Arthur," he said, "these will not be here as your masters, but as companions on the journey. Each one carries unique knowledge — just as you do. Knowledge is revealed in exchange, not hierarchy. You will learn from them if you're willing… and they will learn from you, if you are as well."
A soft breeze blew through the square, as if eternity itself agreed.
Arthur looked at the faces before him. Fear still existed, but now it walked side by side with a spark of purpose.
'What if the whole world was at my disposal to teach me?' he thought. 'What if each of these giants is here to prepare me for something greater?'
Jesus then stepped back, leaving Arthur more exposed to the crowd. The silence that hung over the square was not oppressive — it was dense, full of expectation, as if time itself waited for the next decision. Arthur took a deep breath. He could feel the eyes upon him, but there was no judgment. There was curiosity. There was openness.
Marie, who was standing nearby watching Arthur, stepped forward.
"Do you believe knowledge can change the world?" she asked, her voice carrying a European accent still present even after years of living among various cultures.
Arthur swallowed hard. "I believe knowledge changes those who seek it."
Marie raised an eyebrow, satisfied. "Good answer. But here, we don't work with ready-made answers." She extended her hand. Arthur took it. Her skin was cold, but there was a living energy within. "Walk with me, if you want to learn how error can be as valuable as discovery."
As they were leaving, Einstein stepped ahead, walking with his hands behind his back, his wild hair even wilder than usual.
"If you're going with her, take a helmet," he said with a half-smile. "Marie and Pierre call it science. I call it playing with death in the lab."
He winked at Arthur, leaned in, and whispered in his ear:
"If you hear a ticking sound, run. It might be an experiment... or just time trying to escape her."
Einstein ended the sentence with a mischievous smile, like someone who had just knocked over a vase and waited for the scolding.
Marie stopped beside Arthur, arms crossed, raising an eyebrow in silence.
"Playing with death?" she repeated, dryly. "You would know. Remember when you tried to prove time isn't absolute by strapping mirrors to a bicycle?"
Einstein shrugged. "It worked… in theory."
"You broke two teeth."
"Relative, Marie. The teeth were mine."
Arthur let out a nervous chuckle, trying to keep up with the pace of the two.
"Pierre is in the lab, testing the new compounds," said Marie, turning to him. "If something explodes, it'll be for a good reason. Unlike certain impulsive experiments with scooters and static electricity."
Einstein raised a finger, as if to defend himself, but only sighed and turned to Arthur.
"Go with her, kid. Just don't touch anything that glows green. Or blue. Or anything that seems *too* calm. The quietest things are always the most dangerous."
Marie smiled, briefly, and touched Arthur's shoulder.
"He exaggerates... Maybe, just a little."
In the distance, a muffled boom came from a house near the square.
Marie didn't turn around. She just sighed.
"Pierre found the wrong flask. Again."
Einstein turned toward the muffled explosion and smiled like someone hearing a call from an old friend.
"Ah… music to my ears."
He turned back to Arthur, eyes alight, almost electric with enthusiasm.
"Marie wants to show you stability. Control. Discipline. I, on the other hand, offer… the beauty of chaos."
He made a dramatic gesture, opening his arms as if revealing an invisible universe behind him.
Einstein laughed and pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket — exactly where from was impossible to tell.
Einstein twirled the chalk in his fingers. His eyes scanned the surrounding facades — pale stone houses, open windows filled with tubes, machines, formulas scribbled on the glass. An entire block dedicated to science, separated from the rest of the Elysian Fields as if logic there was still under revision.
"My lab is right over there," he said, pointing to a house with a slightly open door and a crooked hand-painted sign: "Caution: Thoughts Accelerate Without Warning."
"No explosions — usually. But there's strong coffee, elastic time, and a chalkboard that talks back when it's in a bad mood."
Arthur looked at the simple, almost faded facade, but noticed strange details — as if each stone was slightly out of place, and yet everything still stood firm.
Marie, arms still crossed, let out a sigh of light exasperation.
"He lives alone there because no one else can handle his inverted schedule and theories that make furniture disappear. The other day he tried to prove a cat was both alive and dead… using my couch."
"In my defense," Einstein retorted, raising a finger, "the couch came back. Eventually."
Arthur laughed, intrigued.
"Can I take a look?"
Einstein opened a wide smile, like a child finally allowed to show off a favorite toy.
"Of course. But I warn you now: in there, even the questions have questions."
Marie shook her head, but there was a slight smile at the corner of her mouth.
"Go. Learn from him. Just… if you come back without eyebrows, I'll pretend I don't know you."
"Albert, if you can be a good host, guide our new friend. I'm going to see what that idiot of a husband of mine has done."
Einstein was already walking, hands behind his back, whistling something that sounded like a calculation. Arthur followed him.
The scientists' quarter watched them in silence. As if even the buildings were waiting for some new idea about to be born.
As they walked side by side, Einstein's footsteps echoed lightly on the pale stone of the square. He pointed with his chin, as if his hands were always busy holding too many ideas.
"Over there," he said, indicating a narrow street that curved downward, "is the musicians' quarter. You'll know when you're close — the ground vibrates differently. Sometimes the sound comes before the melody. Bach lives up there, with a view of the sunset. As for Mozart… well, he plays piano at three in the morning, naked, so don't look through the window."
Arthur looked sideways, surprised.
"Naked?"
"Art has no shame, my dear."
Einstein turned a corner slowly, now pointing to a group of sturdier buildings, with low towers and wide courtyards.
"And over there are the warriors. Those who no longer fight for blood, but for the honor that remains. Alexander, Attila, Joana d'Arc , Miyamoto Musashi… sometimes they discuss strategy with stones on the ground and wine cups in hand. Don't go interrupting. Swords there still have a voice."
Arthur followed his gaze and saw silhouettes sitting in a circle, the sound of a dry laugh, the clinking of metal — not in war, but as a memory of when living by the sword was all that existed.
Einstein then turned toward an alley shaded by trees that seemed to grow against the light.
"That's the mystics' quarter. Where questions matter more than answers. There are flames that don't burn, books that breathe. Gilgamesh hangs around there sometimes, talking with Zoroaster, or staring at water as if hearing the past speak to him."
Arthur frowned.
"And you? Where do you fit in all of this?"
Einstein smiled slightly, his messy hair blown by the gentle wind.
"I walk between the spaces. Sometimes I'm music, sometimes war, sometimes mystery. But deep down… I'm just an old man trying to understand why the universe bothered to exist."
They stopped in front of a dark wooden door with the crooked sign warning about thoughts.
"This is my place," Einstein said, knocking lightly with his knuckles on the door. "But I can show you all the others, if you like. Each quarter has something you'll need."
Arthur stood silent for a moment, feeling the weight of the place. The Elysian Fields weren't just a refuge — they were a mirror of what each soul still needed to face.
"I want to see them all," he said.
Einstein smiled with his eyes.
"Then you'd better bring paper, kid. And patience. Eternity can be short when you're learning."