Dance of Nymphs Around the Eternal Flames of the Nymphaeum of Apollonia

Near Apollonia there once flourished a sacred grove where the earth exhaled gases and fire sprang forth from its depths. There stood the Nymphaeum of Apollonia. The eternal flames emerging from underground springs cast an enchanting golden glow that never faded — half light, half dream. It was the place where the water nymphs danced, draped in veils of white and in rays of light.
Batea, a young priestess, had just been appointed guardian of the harmony of this place and servant of Apollo, god of light and music. The elders whispered that Batea had been born on a moonless night, when the flames of the Nymphaeum had risen so high they seemed to touch the sky. They said it was a sign — that Batea had been blessed by the nymphs themselves.
Each year, on the threshold of spring, Apollonia came alive with a sacred festival — the Nymphaia. Young men competed in contests honoring the deities of the forest and the waters, while maidens and women, their hair adorned with gold and flowers of spring, circling around the flames in the dance of the nymphs. A chorus of marriageable girls bewitched the crowd with hymns of the nymphs. In the depths of the forest, hidden among the tall trees and amidst the voices of animals, resounded the gentle breath of Pan’s flute. Half-man half-goat, the divine musician emerged from the shadows only during the festival, playing melodies that reached the city’s very heart.
At the height of the celebrations, musical contests echoed through the grove: instrumentalists and singers competing for the glory of Apollo.
Batea, though gifted with a rare voice, never took part in these competitions. When the flames began to rise, she sang the secret hymn known only to her — a song that made the earth tremble. She guarded it in her heart, as her mother, also a priestess, had entrusted it to her before disappearing into the endless night. It was the song of nature itself, the one that kept the flames alive and preserved the balance between the world of the living and the realm of the divine.
For years, travelers came from distant lands seeking to uncover the source of the eternal fire. Among them, one stranger arrived — a man who carried along a cold silence, a void that shook Batea to her core. He seemed unmoved by festivities, untouched by beauty and the harmony of body and spirit. He did not feel the music as others did. He did not hear Pan’s song. He was not enchanted by the nymphs. Wherever he walked, he left a dark trace. Everything he touched withered.
As he approached the sacred place, nature began to change. The flames weakened. Darkness overtook the light. The voice of Pan was no longer heard. On the darkest night of her life, Batea understood that the sanctity of that place had to be protected. She led the stranger into the heart of the forest, to the spot where the ancient flame burned without end. There she removed her white veil, laid it upon the ground, and began to sing — for the last time — the ancient hymn.
An unseen wave of celestial breath rekindled the fire and awakened the gods. Her voice rose above the flames, piercing the darkness with power. From the shadows emerged the white maidens — the nymphs — joining Batea in a circle, dancing around the fire that reached the sky.
At dawn, the people of Apollonia found the stranger alone, kneeling by the flames, his eyes filled with a light of yonder. He did not speak. He only gazed, entranced, at the eternal fire. Batea was gone. Upon the sacred waters floated a single white flower — a sign that she had become one with the nymphs, with the flame, with the eternal song of the land. From that day, the hearth burned anew, and from the eternal flames rose the hymn of life.