The rhythm of the mules' hooves eventually gave way to the familiar crunch of gravel beneath our sandals. As we approached the village, my father turned to me, his expression serious. "Himerios," he said, his voice low, "what happened at the Oracle is for us alone. Not a word to anyone, do you understand? Your mother and sister… they worry easily. There's no need to burden them with what they cannot comprehend."
I nodded, the weight of the secret settling heavily in my chest once more. "I understand, father." It was a familiar burden, this silence, but now it felt amplified, almost sacred in its secrecy.
As we stepped into the familiar courtyard of our home, the warm scent of baking bread and roasting meat enveloped me. Immediately, my mother rushed forward, her face a mixture of relief and bubbling joy. "My son! You're home!" she cried, pulling me into a fierce embrace. Her hands immediately went to my head, ruffling my hair, her fingers tracing the contours of my scalp as if searching for reassurance. "I missed you so, my little Himerios," she murmured, her voice thick with affection. She pulled back slightly, her eyes scanning my face with a mother's keen gaze. "What happened at the Oracle? Did you learn anything? Is everything well?"
Beside her, my sister, Euboea, stood quietly, her eyes observing me, searching for any sign of distress. I met her gaze, offering her a tired but genuine smile. Her lips curved into a small, relieved smile in return.
My father, stepping forward, placed a reassuring arm around my mother's shoulders. "There is nothing to be worried about, dear wife," he announced, his voice firm and steady, designed to quell any rising anxieties. "Apollo's light shines on our Himerios. There is a good life ahead for him, a future clear of the shadows that troubled us." My mother's face softened, a sigh of profound relief escaping her lips.
My own heart, though, was already elsewhere. The moment my father spoke of my "good life," my thoughts leaped to Theano. She must have been so worried. I had to see her. "Father," I began, the urgency in my voice undeniable, "may I go to Theano? She must be... concerned."
My father nodded, a knowing smile touching his lips. "She surely must be. It's best for you to go to her at once, Himerios. She'll be restless until she sees you with her own eyes."
I didn't waste another moment. Though I wasn't entirely sure where to find her, my feet instinctively carried me towards our regular meeting place—the secluded olive grove near the old well, bathed in the late afternoon sun. Hope surged within me, a silent prayer that she would be there.
And then, as I rounded the familiar bend in the path, I saw her. She was sitting beneath the oldest olive tree, her head bowed, her shoulders slumped in a posture of profound worry. The sight of her, waiting there, perhaps having waited every day since I left, was a sudden, sharp ache in my heart. It was a pain mixed with overwhelming tenderness, so potent that I involuntarily grabbed my chest hard, as if to physically contain the emotion.
"Theano!" I called out, my voice raspy with emotion. The name tore from my throat, and I broke into a run, stumbling slightly over the uneven ground, desperate to reach her.
At the sound of my voice, Theano's head snapped up. She stood abruptly, a surprised look on her face, as if she had been waiting for that call, yearning for it. "Himerios!" she cried, her voice a joyous, choked sob. She launched herself towards me, her arms outstretched.
I caught her, hugging her so hard I felt the air leave her lungs. She returned the embrace with equal ferocity, her small body trembling against mine. I could feel her shaking, a profound tremor that spoke of days, perhaps weeks, of anxiety. "Oh, Himerios," she whispered, her voice thick with tears, "I missed you so much. I was so worried about you."
I held her tighter, burying my face in her hair. "I know you would miss me, Theano," I murmured, my own voice hoarse. "I missed you just as much, more than words can say. But don't worry, my love, I'm alright. Truly."
Goddess sighed within me, a sound of deep satisfaction. "Ah, Himerios. The purity of youthful love. See how her worry melts away with your presence. This, too, is a form of healing." God was silent, perhaps unable to process the illogical, overwhelming force of human affection.
We sank down beneath the olive tree, and I began to tell her the story of our journey. I spoke of the long ride on the mules, the vastness of the countryside, the distant mountains fading into violet. I described our arrival at Delphi, the immense temple, the solemn atmosphere, the hushed anticipation. I told her about the elaborate process at the Oracle, the formal pronouncements of Sophos Ochros, and the eerie presence of the Pythia. I recounted everything, everything but what my father had strictly forbidden me to mention—the Oracle's specific words, and the unsettling, secret knowledge of the voices. "The Prophetai told my father that there was nothing to worry about," I concluded, trying to sound as reassuring as my father had.
Then, I told her about the journey itself, about how the scenery had reminded me of her. I spoke of the gentle doves on the ancient olive tree, how they had seemed like a symbol of our own quiet affection. And I shared my father's stories, his youthful adventures with my mother, painting vivid pictures of their budding love, imagining us in their places.
Theano rested her head on my shoulder, her soft hair brushing my cheek, just as she always did. She listened to me for a long, long time, her silence comforting, her presence a balm to my troubled spirit. The look in her eyes, serene and trusting, pleased me more than any grand pronouncement. She was my constant, my anchor.
And then, the thought, sharp and sudden, returned. The voices. I had wanted to tell Theano. I had planned to tell her. I had almost told my father in that confusing daydream. Now was the time. I took a deep breath, trying to muster all my courage, the weight of the secret pressing on me.
"Theano," I began, my voice thick with unspoken meaning, "what I am about to tell you might be hard to absorb. It's… a heavy truth. But please, be ready to take it. Be ready to truly listen."
Theano lifted her head from my shoulder quickly, her eyes wide, her brow furrowed with immediate worry. But then, she squared her shoulders, her expression firming with a quiet determination. "I am ready, Himerios," she said, her voice clear. "Whatever it is, I am ready to accept it. Tell me."
"I have always wanted to tell you something, Theano," I continued, my heart pounding. "And I'm so sorry for hiding it from you for so long." I paused, gathering my thoughts, then plunged in. "I hear voices, Theano. In my head. Always. They speak to me, they tell me things…"
I saw her expression shift, the initial worry deepening into distress, then disbelief, her eyes clouding with confusion and perhaps a hint of fear. And just as I saw her face truly register the impossible truth, just as her lips parted as if to speak, I snapped out of something.
My eyes blinked. "What just happened?" I muttered, a profound sense of déjà vu washing over me. This felt familiar. Terribly, unsettlingly familiar. I looked at Theano. She was still resting her head on my shoulder, just as she had been before I started my confession.
This is just like when I told Father about the voices, I thought, a chilling wave washing over me.
"Theano," I said again, my voice sharper, tinged with a strange urgency. "Did… did I tell you anything just now? Anything specific?"
She lifted her head, her brow furrowed in mild confusion. "About what, Himerios? You told me a lot today. About the journey, the Oracle, your father's stories… Are you feeling well? You've been through much."
My heart sank. My words had not reached her. It had been another daydream. Another attempt at confession, another failure. I tried once more, the same determined confession, the same words, the same growing look of distress on her face. And once again, I felt that strange snap, that sudden disconnection, just when Theano seemed on the verge of understanding.
God's voice, sharp and analytical, broke through the ringing silence in my head, its tone almost triumphant, as if it had finally cracked a complex code. "Data analysis complete. Hypothesis formed. Probable cause: Whenever subject attempts to verbalize internal auditory phenomena to another human, a localized temporal reset occurs, reverting to the moment preceding the attempt. This prevents disclosure. Further testing required, but initial probability is high."
The words sent a deep, primal chill through me. A temporal reset? I felt a tremor begin in my hands, spreading rapidly through my entire body until I was shaking uncontrollably. My teeth began to chatter. If this was true, if the voices, or whatever entity controlled them, could manipulate time itself to keep their existence a secret…
"Are you causing this?!" I snarled aloud, my voice raw with anger and terror, directed at the silence in my head. They didn't answer. But the lack of a denial, coupled with God's chilling analysis, confirmed it. It had something to do with the voices. They were protecting their secret, even from me.
Theano felt my shaking, her eyes widening with genuine alarm. "Himerios! What is it? Are you alright? You're trembling!"
I pulled away from her, the warmth of her presence suddenly overwhelming, even frightening. "My head hurts, Theano," I lied, my voice weak, my throat tight with suppressed terror. "I… I want to go home and rest."
Theano's face was a mixture of worry and understanding. "Of course, Himerios," she said, her voice soft. "Go. You've had a long journey and a great ordeal. Take care of yourself. We'll meet again when you're well." She squeezed my hand, a gesture of deep concern.
I nodded, unable to speak further. I turned and began to walk, my steps heavy, leaving Theano behind beneath the olive tree. Another mystery had just spun itself around me, more terrifying than any prophecy. A secret that would not be told, a burden I was forced to carry alone.