The world dissolved into the rough texture of the ground and the dampness of my tears. I stayed curled in that lonely hollow among the olive trees, the sobs wracking my body, each one a desperate plea against the chaos in my head, a desperate attempt to push the voices away, to make them disappear. I was beginning to hate them, truly hate the unseen presences that had just shattered my life, that had made me a spectacle. I didn't know how much time had passed since I ran away from the ceremony; an hour, an afternoon, time blurring into the agony of my mind. The sun might have shifted, or the air grown cooler, but I was oblivious, lost in the raw pain of betrayal and powerlessness, all of it caused by them.
Then, a rustle of leaves, a distinct snap of a twig. My head shot up, my tear-filled eyes blinking against the blurry light. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, approaching my hidden spot. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through my despair. I scrambled back, pressing myself against the rough bark of the olive tree.
A man emerged from the dappled shadows, his silhouette framed by the setting sun. He was older, perhaps around Father's age, with a scholarly air about him, not a warrior or a villager I recognized. His face, though, held a kindness, his eyes seeming to hold a quiet understanding. He spotted me, huddled amongst the trees.
"Boy," he said, his voice calm, gentle, a contrast to the storm I carried. "I've been searching for you."
A fresh wave of panic seized me. He found me! He knows! The rational part of me was buried under layers of terror and the overwhelming hatred I felt for the voices. My body, driven by an instinct to flee from exposure, from judgment, but mostly from the voices that had just made me a spectacle, sprang into action. Without thought, without a single decision, I scrambled to my feet and ran. I hated them, hated that they had made me this way, hated that they were the reason I was fleeing from a kind stranger.
"Stop! Himerios! Please!" the man called after me, his voice now urgent, filled with an immediate reaction to my flight, but he didn't follow. He just stood there, shouting.
God's voice, sharp and commanding, echoed my physical reaction, reinforcing the panic. "Threat detected. Evasion protocol active. Maximize distance from unknown variable. Optimize escape route." Goddess, however, seemed to lament. "No! He means no harm! Do not run! Connection is lost! This is... a kindness!" But her words were faint against God's dominant command to flee, and my own overwhelming desire to just escape all of it, especially the voices. I didn't know why I was running from him, only that I was running from the chaos they represented, from the public shame, from their control. I didn't know what I was doing, what they were making me do. I just ran, propelled by an uncontrollable surge of fear and the absolute imperative from within to simply not be there.
My legs burned as I pounded through the fields, the familiar path home a distant blur, a desperate refuge. I hated them for making me run, hated them for the fear, for the shame. I reached the house, a sudden, desperate urge to hide, to find solace from the world, and from them. I burst through the outer courtyard, stumbling towards the door. My mother, Philia, and Euboa were just inside, their faces turning towards me, etched with worry.
"Himerios!" Mother cried, her voice a mix of relief and alarm.
I didn't enter fully. Instead, I pulled the heavy wooden door shut behind me with a loud thud, shutting out the world, shutting out the stranger who had been shouting, shutting out the very air that carried the echoes of my shame, and shutting out the constant, mocking presence of the voices that had driven me to this. I leaned against the closed door, gasping for breath, my chest heaving. I could feel their presence, muted by my exhaustion, but still there, a constant, unwanted hum.
Mother was instantly by the door, her voice muffled but clear through the thick wood. "What happened, child? Why are you out here? Come inside!"
"I… I don't want to go inside the house!" I mumbled, my voice raw, broken, my face still streaked with tears and dirt, my eyes squeezed shut against the oppressive feeling of them. I wanted to hide, to disappear, to vanish from the eyes of my family, even if they were filled with worry. I hated them for putting me in this position.
I heard Euboa's voice from behind Mother, a faint, small sound, almost a chirp, through the solid wood. I couldn't make out her words, but I imagined her soft hand reaching out, her worried gaze. My mind raced, tumbling with a desperate, self-pitying clarity. If only this incident didn't happen, I thought, a wave of despair washing over me, directed at the voices. I wanted to tell you all about the voices in my head again this time. This time you would have believed me. You would have to! After what you saw! Why is this happening to me? Why can't I be normal? Why must they torment me? A profound ache settled in my chest. I want to cry in my mother's lap. I want to tell my mother everything. I want to pour out the madness inside me, the truth of the voices, the agony of not being in control. But I don't want to. I can't. They won't believe me. They can't. They'll just look at me with pity or fear. And the voices… they'll just listen, silent and judgmental, or tell me it's irrelevant. I hate them. I can't bear their presence, even when I think of revealing them. The shame was too great. The words were too impossible.
God's voice, calm and logical, cut through my internal turmoil. "Emotional response: High distress. Logic: Disclosure of internal phenomena to external sources will result in negative social consequence. Avoid. Continued internal hostility towards source phenomena detected. Behavior: Self-preservation prioritized. Optimize for continued non-disclosure." Goddess, however, was a faint, sorrowful whisper. "Tell them! They will understand! Connection! Truth leads to healing! Do not hate us. We are part of you." But her words were weak, unheard against the crushing weight of my own fear and God's cold logic, and my growing hatred for their constant, unasked-for presence.
"Himerios, it's alright," Mother's voice came again, softer, more coaxing, filled with boundless maternal patience. "Just come inside. It's cold out there. We'll talk."
Slowly, hesitantly, I unlatched the door and pushed it open, my body stiff with a mixture of fear and exhaustion. Mother reached for me immediately, pulling me into the warmth of the small home. Her face was etched with sadness, her eyes red-rimmed, but there was no judgment, only deep, maternal concern. Euboa stood behind her, her small face a picture of confusion, her brow furrowed as she tried to understand what was happening, her innocent eyes not quite knowing how to react, but radiating only worry.
Mother pulled me closer, holding me to her chest, her hands stroking my hair. Her scent, a comforting mix of dried herbs and hearth smoke, filled my senses, grounding me. "It's alright, my son, it's alright," she murmured, her voice filled with a soothing, comforting cadence. "It is normal for boys your age to have… spirited moments. Especially with others who provoke them, who speak ill of sacred things. It is the fault of those other people, Himerios. There's no fault of yours. They provoked you." Her words, though not entirely accurate, were a balm, her conviction that I was not to blame a desperately needed comfort. She saw my pain, not my fault, and despite my continued hatred for the forces within, her love was a quiet shield.
Euboa, sensing my release of tension in Mother's embrace, reached out, her small arms wrapping around me from the back. She didn't speak, but her hug was tight, a silent testament to her unwavering love and her simple, unquestioning support. That's all she could think of to do. In their combined embrace, surrounded by their unconditional care, a measure of my fear, my shame, my wild anguish began to calm. The torrent of internal questions slowed, replaced by a quiet, aching relief, a temporary respite from the incessant hum of the voices I had come to despise. God registered the shift. "Emotional state: Stabilizing. External factors (Maternal and Sibling support) effectively reducing distress response. Data point: Familial bonds contribute to rapid recovery from social anomaly." Goddess, however, was a warm, gentle presence, a quiet hum of profound comfort, mirroring my own fleeting relief. "Connection. Healing. They love you. Do not push us away entirely."
The quiet comfort was abruptly broken by the sound of the outer door opening. Father Karteros entered, his usual steady presence filling the small space. He closed the door behind him slowly, his gaze falling upon me. Behind him, framed momentarily in the doorway before he shut it, was Theano. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with worry and a lingering hint of sadness. My heart lurched. She didn't enter, the door closing between us, shutting her out with the outside world.
I looked at Father, my voice barely a whisper, filled with the remnants of my recent despair, of my hatred for the forces that controlled me. "Father," I said, the word heavy with apology, shame, and fear.
His expression was empty, unreadable. His eyes met mine, but there was no warmth, no anger, just a placid, almost distant gaze. He didn't react, didn't respond to my quiet address.
I knew I had to speak, to offer some explanation, some appeasement. My voice still low, I began to apologize, the words coming out in a rush, a mix of truth and self-preservation. "I… I should have controlled my anger, Father. I know that anger was not truly mine, but it was my voice speaking it. I hate that it happened. I was raised better than that. I am so sorry. I promise… I promise I will try not to let this happen again." The lie felt bitter on my tongue—the anger wasn't mine, but I knew I couldn't explain that. I hated that I had to lie, hated that they forced me to. I had to take responsibility for the outward actions, even if the internal reality was a chaos I couldn't confess.
Father took a slow breath, his eyes still fixed on me with that unsettling, empty gaze. "Stand up, Himerios," he commanded, his voice calm, flat, without inflection.
Confused, I slowly pushed myself to my feet, my muscles stiff from the earlier flight. He approached me, then placed his strong, calloused hands on my shoulders, his grip firm. His eyes finally held something, a deep-seated frustration, but not direct rage towards me.
"What happened today," he began, his voice low, measured, "is a really bad thing for our family, Himerios. A very bad thing. It will reflect poorly on all of us. And for that, I was mad. Deeply mad. But…" he paused, his gaze boring into mine. "But you recognized your mistake. You came home. You apologized. You apologized for your loss of control, for your actions, as a responsible person should. And for that… for that I am happy. Happy that your anger, whatever its source, eventually calmed down. Happy that you know what is expected of you." He squeezed my shoulders. "Whatever has happened, happened. It is done. Forget about that. It is okay to be sad about it, to feel the weight of it, but do not let those thoughts linger in your mind, Himerios. Do not let them fester. We move forward."
His words struck me with a strange blend of fear and a fragile relief. Fear because the cold, hard reality of the shame, the "bad thing" he spoke of, felt real, heavy. But relief because he didn't blame me, Himerios, the person, for the outburst. He blamed the incident, and praised my (compelled) apology. He saw the outcome, not the internal battle. God's voice offered a crisp analysis. "Outcome analysis: Successful de-escalation of parental reprimand. Parental validation of apology mechanism. Data point: Strategic concession (apology) effective in reducing punitive measures. Social integration maintained." Goddess remained quiet, a soft, warm presence of quiet relief, echoing my own.
As Father turned and walked deeper into the house, presumably to tell Mother and Euboa his own version of the advice, he paused by the inner door and looked back at me. "Himerios," he said, his voice softer now. "Theano is outside. She's worried about your state. Go talk to her."
My heart skipped. Theano. My shame, my fear of facing her, rose again, compounded by the constant, resentful awareness of the voices, knowing they were still there, listening, judging, even in this moment. But the command, the expectation, was clear. I walked to the front door, my hand trembling slightly as I pushed it open. She stood there in the fading light, her arms wrapped around herself, her face etched with a worry that twisted my gut.
"Theano," I said, my voice quiet.
She looked at me, her eyes large and vulnerable, still holding that sadness. "Himerios," she whispered, stepping closer, her voice trembling. "What happened to you? Are you alright? You… you looked so different."
My mind scrambled for an explanation, a way to shield her from the impossible truth, from the madness inside me, from the hatred I felt for the voices. I hesitated, feeling the pull to tell her everything, to confess the voices, the lack of control. But the fear of her fear, of her disgust, of breaking this fragile bond we had just cemented, crushed the words in my throat. I knew this was a necessary lie, a shield against the utter ruin they had caused. I swallowed hard. "I… I wasn't feeling well this morning," I said, the words stumbling out, forced and unnatural, the lie a bitter taste in my mouth. "It… it just showed as anger."
Theano's eyes, perceptive as always, observed my hesitation. Her brow furrowed slightly. "Himerios," she said softly, searching my face. "Is there… is there something you're hiding from me?"
The question was direct, piercing through my fragile defenses, reaching for the very core of my secret, the voices I hated so much. My mouth opened, forming the words, the names – God, Goddess, the voices. The truth sat on the tip of my tongue, heavy and aching. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to share the burden, to be free of them. But then I stopped. The fear of her fear, of her disgust, of her believing I was mad, of breaking this fragile bond we had just cemented, crushed the words in my throat. I hated the voices for forcing this lie upon me. I hated them for existing. I swallowed hard. "No," I said, the lie a tight, thin knot in my chest. "There's nothing. I swear."
She studied me for a long moment, her eyes searching, understanding, but not pushing. Then, slowly, she reached out, placing her head on my shoulder, her hand settling gently on my chest, right over my heart. I could feel the faint tremor in her body. "It's okay, Himerios," she murmured, her voice soft, accepting. "It's okay if you don't feel like telling me right away. Just… find the right time to tell me. When you are ready."
I nodded slowly, my head resting against hers. Her touch, her gentle acceptance, her unspoken understanding, was a profound comfort. It wasn't the full relief of truth, but it was enough for now. The tensions that had gripped my body and mind since the outburst began to slowly, finally, unwind. The sharp edges of fear, the cold grip of shame, the despair – they all seemed to loosen, replaced by a quiet, fragile sense of peace. Even with the hated voices still present, I found a sliver of calm. The outside world had seen chaos, but in the quiet of my home, with my family's strange, gentle support, and Theano's unwavering love and patience, I felt a flicker of hope.
Sometimes, these bad moments were not that bad after all, not when you had people who stood by you, even when they didn't understand the chaos within.