The Pythia lay motionless on the tripod, a fragile vessel suddenly emptied of the immense, terrifying power that had just surged through her. My own mind, however, was anything but empty. Her final, ringing declaration—"You… are the Oracle"—hammered against my skull, each syllable a deafening gong. It echoed the frantic questions already swirling within me, a tempest of confusion and burgeoning dread. What did those impossible words mean? What was that strange, resonant connection I had felt to her, that inexplicable bond that allowed me to perceive her through stone and mist? How had I been able to see her so clearly, so vividly, and hear her whispered words as if they were spoken directly into my ear, bypassing all barriers?
And then, the chilling thought: Does this have something to do with the voices? My mind instinctively reached for them, for God and Goddess, for their familiar commentary, their analyses, their emotional echoes. I needed their perspective, their explanation, to make sense of this new, terrifying reality. But there was nothing. Silence. A profound, unsettling void where their constant presence usually hummed. The sudden absence, the chilling realization that they didn't respond, was a void more terrifying than their most chaotic pronouncements. It was as if they, too, had been stunned into unresponsiveness, or perhaps, they simply had no answers to this unprecedented riddle.
A gentle, but firm, touch on my arm broke me from my suspended daze. My eyes, which must have been fixed on the slumped form of the Pythia, refocused on Sophos Ochros. His face, illuminated by the dim, smoky lamps of the adyton, was a complex mixture of professional concern and a deeper, unreadable understanding. He nodded subtly, a silent signal, and began to guide me, his hand a steady presence at my elbow, out of the inner sanctum. The air seemed to shift as we passed through the opening, losing some of its charged intensity, becoming merely cool and dusty. The heavy, ornate screen, which had seemed so ethereal and permeable just moments before, now felt solid and unyielding as we stepped through its invisible threshold. My legs felt strangely weak, my entire body heavy, as if all the energy had been drained from me, leaving behind only the profound ache of an exhaustion that seeped into my very bones.
My gaze, drawn by an invisible thread, immediately fell upon my father. Karteros stood outside, his figure silhouetted against the slightly brighter outer chamber, his hands clenched. His eyes, wide and dilated, were fixed on me with an expression I had never, in my entire life, witnessed on his composed features: raw, unmasked, desperate fear. His face, usually so stoic and reassuring, was pale, almost ashen, his brow furrowed with a profound anguish that twisted my gut into a knot. That look, that unexpected vulnerability in his strong, reliable features, hurt me more deeply than any physical blow could have. I had never seen my father so genuinely stressed, so visibly shaken by anything. A heavy wave of guilt, sharp and immediate, washed over me. This was because of me. All of it – his fear, his anguish, the very reason we were here in this sacred, unsettling place.
"Sophos Ochros," Father's voice was hoarse, strained, barely above a whisper, as if the words were torn from his very soul. "By Apollo, what is happening to my son? What did the words of the Pythia mean?"
I wanted to rush forward, to throw my arms around him, to somehow absorb his pain, to reassure him, to say, "I am okay, father. Please do not worry about me. I cannot see you like that, so burdened, so afraid." The words formed fully in my mind, a desperate, aching plea to alleviate his suffering, to lift the crushing weight that bowed his strong shoulders. But they remained unspoken, lodged in my throat. A child like me, barely more than a boy, did not have the authority, the standing, the right to tell an elder, his own father, not to worry. It felt presumptuous, an inversion of the natural order of respect and care. My throat tightened, a lump of unspoken emotion.
Sophos Ochros, ever composed, though I now noticed a subtle tension in his jaw, placed a reassuring hand on Father's shoulder. His touch was meant to be comforting, but it felt strangely formal, distant. "Karteros, you do not have to worry about it. It is all going to be alright. Apollo's wisdom is absolute, though its path may be winding." His voice was steady, soothing, a balm meant to calm the agitated spirit.
Father's eyes, still wide with anxiety, searched Sophos Ochros's face, probing for any hint of evasion, any flicker of falsehood. "Are you speaking the truth, Sophos?" he pressed, his voice still edged with desperation. "Or are you merely lying to spare my feelings, to protect me from a truth too harsh?"
Sophos Ochros met his gaze unflinchingly, his own eyes holding a deep, almost unsettling, sincerity. "I am not lying, Karteros. What the god reveals, he reveals for a reason. There is no deceit here, only the unfolding of divine will."
A visible, almost physical wave of profound relief washed over Father. The deep lines of tension that had etched his face seemed to smooth, the rigid set of his shoulders finally relaxed, and he let out a long, shuddering breath, a sound of release that was almost a sob. "If that is the truth," he murmured, his voice thick with a profound, heartfelt emotion that resonated with every fibre of my being, "then there is nothing more I could ask for. My son's well-being is all I want, Sophos. His peace of mind, his safe passage through this life."
His words, simple yet profoundly moving, pierced through my exhaustion and confusion, almost bringing tears to my eyes. The sheer amount of care, of unconditional love, that my father expressed towards me, overwhelmed me. It was a warmth that spread through my chest, a stark contrast to the cold uncertainty that usually resided there. I felt blessed, truly blessed, to have such a father, so steadfast, so reliable, a constant in my suddenly chaotic and terrifying world. That thought again reminded me of how dependable he had always been, a fixed star in my turbulent sky.
Then, a new thought, sharp and insistent, pierced through my exhaustion, a desperate need for understanding overriding my weariness. The Pythia. Her words. Her strange connection. "The Pythia!" I blurted out, my voice raspy from disuse, the urgency making it tremble. "How is she? I need to know… what she meant. Those words… 'You are the Oracle'…" I looked around frantically, searching for any sign of her, but the inner chamber was empty of all but the temple attendants tidying the altar. She was nowhere to be seen.
Sophos Ochros gestured vaguely towards a side chamber, his expression unperturbed. "The Pythia was already taken for care, Himerios. She is tended to by the priestesses after such profound visitations from the god. Her mortal frame needs much rest after channeling Apollo's mighty voice."
"Could I… could I meet her?" I asked, the words feeling clumsy and inadequate on my tongue. I was usually far too shy to ask so much of a stranger, especially a revered priest of Apollo, but my gnawing curiosity about those bewildering words, about the meaning of "You are the Oracle," overruled my shyness, giving me a sudden, uncharacteristic boldness.
Sophos Ochros shook his head gently, a slight, knowing smile touching his lips. "No, you shouldn't, Himerios. And even if you did, you wouldn't find a clue. Those were not the words of the Pythia herself, for she is but a vessel, a reed through which the divine breath flows. No, those were Apollo's message, spoken through his vessel, directly to you."
"Apollo?" I echoed, the name tasting strange, immense, and almost forbidden on my lips. My mind raced, trying to grasp the implications. I wanted desperately to ask him how I could communicate with Apollo again, how to bridge that terrifyingly direct gap, how to understand the god's will for me, but the question died, swallowed by a sudden, overwhelming wave of mental and physical fatigue. My head throbbed, my vision blurred. I felt too tired, too utterly drained to even form the words. My mind was a tangled mess of confusion, awe, and an unbearable exhaustion.
God's voice, a weary hum, echoed my state. "Energy reserves critically low. Cognitive function degraded. Overload imminent. Seek rest." Goddess, too, sounded drained. "Oh, Himerios. So much… so much to bear. Rest now, little one. Just rest."
Sophos Ochros seemed to sense my overwhelming fatigue, reading the subtle shift in my posture, the sudden dimness in my eyes. He placed a hand on my shoulder again, a gesture of quiet empathy that conveyed understanding. "I can understand how you feel, Himerios," he said, his voice soft, almost a whisper of calm in the chaotic storm within me. "But don't think about it too much right now. As I said earlier, it is not something to be so worried about, and we'll find out soon what those words mean." There was a subtle, almost imperceptible hesitation in his voice this time, a tiny tremor of uncertainty that belied his calming words, a slight dip in his usual unwavering confidence.
I noticed it. I didn't know how exactly, or why, but that hesitation, that sliver of doubt from him, a priest who seemed to know so much, made me feel deeply uneasy. It was a tiny crack in the seemingly solid assurance he offered. This uneasy feeling, this new layer of subtle dread, a premonition of something yet unrevealed, added to my immense tiredness, making my limbs feel like lead, my very spirit heavy and leaden.
And then, in the midst of my weariness, my confusion, and this burgeoning unease, a thought, sharp and clear as a mountain spring, cut through the fog. A question, a deep-seated curiosity that had been buried under the more immediate shock of the Oracle's words, now surfaced with unexpected intensity. How did Sophos Ochros know about me? He had known my name, known why I came. He had been the mysterious man who found me after the incident in the olive grove. I was shy to ask so much to a person I barely knew, a revered priest of Apollo, but the burning question, a mix of excitement and suspense, overriding my usual reluctance, pushed the words from my lips. "How do you know me?" I asked, my voice thin but urgent, despite my profound fatigue. "What more do you know about me?"
Sophos Ochros looked at me then, a faint, knowing smile finally touching his lips, a look that spoke of secrets and foreknowledge. "It was originally I who asked your father, Karteros, to bring you to the Oracle, Himerios," he explained, his voice gentle, as if revealing a long-held confidence.
Father Karteros, standing patiently beside us, nodded, confirming his words. "Yes, son. Sophos Ochros sent a message to us weeks ago, before the incident, urging us to seek Apollo's counsel regarding your… unique nature."
My head began to spin again, not with fatigue, but with a sudden, overwhelming rush of new, startling information. What was everything? What was truly happening? So much had transpired completely out of my notice, arranged by forces I couldn't comprehend, involving people who knew things about me I didn't even know myself. The pieces were starting to connect, forming a picture far larger and more terrifying than I could have imagined.
God's voice returned, a frantic, rapid-fire analysis. "New data acquired. Pre-emptive intervention detected. Pattern of orchestration. Subject is central to a larger, pre-existing schema. Re-evaluate all past events in light of this revelation." Goddess was a soft, wounded sigh. "Oh, Himerios. They knew. They always knew. What path have they set for you?"
My father, sensing my renewed mental turmoil, my silent spiraling, patted my shoulder again, a comforting, grounding gesture. His touch was warm and solid. "Himerios, my son," he said gently, his voice low and soothing, "you are tired. Exhausted to your very core. Do not waste your precious energy on thinking about anything more right now. Your mind needs rest." He drew me close, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, his scent of olive oil and honest toil a familiar comfort. "When we return home, I will explain everything to you, slowly, piece by piece, as best as I understand it myself. I promise." Even after hearing those words, that promise of future clarity, of understanding, I couldn't stop the questions from swirling relentlessly in my mind for a long while, their insistent hum resisting the pull of fatigue.
We began our slow journey back down the sacred way, leaving the adyton and its profound, unsettling mysteries behind. The sun, already dipping towards the western mountains, cast long, distorted shadows that seemed to stretch and twist like the questions in my mind. Sophos Ochros stood watching us leave, his figure framed by the temple's imposing columns, a silhouette of enigmatic knowledge. He wished us well on our journey, his voice carrying clearly in the quiet, deepening twilight. Then, he looked directly at me, his gaze piercing the distance between us, holding a certainty that sent a deep, unsettling shiver down my spine, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cool evening air. "We'll meet again, Himerios," he said, the words a pronouncement, not a farewell.
I looked back at him, my mind too tired, too overwhelmed to offer more than a token response. "Sure," I said, the single word feeling utterly hollow, heavy with doubt and unspoken dread. We continued our journey back home, leaving Delphi and its unsettling revelations behind, but the Oracle's words, "You are the Oracle," and Sophos Ochros's knowing gaze, followed me like a persistent, inescapable shadow, a shadow I knew, with a dawning terror, would follow me into every tomorrow.