Olympos: Antenna for the Dead and the Living

Ravings on the Edge of Time

Versions of the Nonexistent

At first, it looked like a joke.

The old Mount Tahtalı was to be “digitized” and turned into an interworld conference hall. On the summit, where only yesterday tourists sipped tea from plastic cups, they installed mirrored masts and black domes — something between a radio telescope, a temple, and an art installation for gods with a sense of humor.

They said the signal was tuned for two types of recipients: those living beyond the Solar System and those already dead but still capable of answering.

Tahtalı became an antenna not for communication, but for summoning. No one specified who would pick up first.

Worlds That Never Were

The official version sounded dull: “an international scientific and cultural project to integrate mythology into space communications.”

The unofficial one — far more intriguing. It was launched under the secret “Prometheus-X” program, whose goal was not only to attract the attention of extraterrestrial civilizations but also to give the gods of the ancient pantheon an address for delivering complaints about humanity.

Participants in the project included:

— Architects who designed observatories for emptiness.

— Theologians ready to rewrite prayers in binary code.

— Engineers capable of building an antenna that talks to lightning.

In the alternate history, it all began back in the 1960s, when NATO intelligence was searching Lycia for the “perfect observation point” over the Black Sea region and the Middle East. It was then that the first prototype of the antenna was allegedly installed on Olympos — to listen in on broadcasts not only from Earth.

They say the signal received in 1971 sounded like the voice of a woman speaking Akkadian.

Phantom Architectures

AI generators, trained on archival photographs, painted forms onto Tahtalı the mountain had never known:

— Domes of translucent basalt, glowing from within like jellyfish.

— Graphene bridges suspended in the air over cliffs.

— Wind-catchers shaped like angel wings, translating gusts into radio signals.

— Panoramic altars combined with cosmic beacons.

In these images, the mountain ceased to be a mountain.

It became a geometric mantra, sung in metal and silicon.

The visualizations were attached to reports, but no one knew — were these actual blueprints or just an artificial dream?

Reality Blurred

Today, tourists ride the cable car straight into the center of a myth. Some take selfies against the strange gleaming structures; others claim to hear the “whispers of the dead” in their headphones when they approach the railing.

Scientists argue about what the station is actually receiving: pulsars, radio noise from smartphones on yachts, or encrypted prayers from the past.

And old Lycian legends are now quoted in press releases as if they had been the original technical specifications for the engineers.

Tahtalı has become the point where geography no longer distinguishes between past and future, and physics — between believers and skeptics.

Echo in the Void

I stand by the transparent dome, watching the sun sink into the sea. Behind the glass, the antenna panels hum softly, catching what we call the “noise of the Universe.”

It seems to me that this noise is forming words. No matter the language — they sound like a request. Or a warning.

I’m not sure which of us the signal is meant for — me, or the mountain itself.

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