The familiar path home seemed endless, each step a dull thud against the ground that echoed the leaden weight in my chest. My mind, however, was in a frantic race, replaying God's chilling analysis from the olive grove: "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."
A temporal reset. The words themselves felt like a cold, alien touch against my soul. I tried to grasp the concept, to truly understand what it meant. Did time rewind? Did I just… forget telling them? Did they forget? The implications were terrifying. It explained everything: why my confession to my father felt like a dream, why Theano had no memory of my words. It explained why the secret of the voices remained stubbornly, impossibly, locked within my own head.
God's voice, now returned to its usual analytical hum, seemed almost clinical in its assessment. "The mechanism of action is still being fully identified. However, the consistent pattern indicates a protective measure. The integrity of the internal auditory phenomenon—the 'voices'—is being prioritized above all else. This 'reset' prevents data corruption or external interference that could arise from their disclosure. Further testing is required to confirm the hypothesis. Subject should attempt disclosure again under controlled conditions."
Goddess's whisper was laced with a mournful empathy, but also a flicker of desperate hope. "It means, Himerios, that you are truly alone in this. Your burden is yours alone to carry. The threads of connection, meant to draw you closer to those you love, are being severed, rewoven by an unseen hand. It is cruel, Himerios. So terribly cruel. But perhaps… perhaps God is right. Perhaps we should try again. Speak the truth, Himerios. Do not let them silence you!"
A wave of profound hatred, raw and potent, surged through me. It wasn't just fear or confusion anymore; it was pure, bitter resentment. I hated the voices. I hated them for disrupting my life, for causing my father such anguish, for making me lie to Theano, and now, for this—for building an invisible, unbreakable wall between me and everyone I cared for. They were somehow responsible for this impossible magic, for trapping me in this endless, silent cycle of unshared truth. I wanted to scream at them, to banish them, to rip them from my mind. But they offered no response, just their relentless, disembodied presence.
And I knew, deep down, that it was no use. I knew that if I tried to tell anyone again, the same thing would happen. The temporal reset. The rewind. The erasure. I would just get hurt again, reliving the same crushing disappointment, the same soul-deep loneliness. And I didn't want to listen to the voices anymore, not to God's cold logic, not to Goddess's desperate hope. I wanted them gone. I wanted silence.
When we finally reached home, the familiar comfort of the courtyard, the scent of the hearth, usually so welcoming, felt strangely distant. I wanted nothing more than to forget everything, to slip into a blissful, ignorant peace. I needed an escape, a place where the voices and their impossible tricks could not reach me. My thoughts immediately turned to the backyard, to the world where I was Hektor Anepsios, and chaos bowed before my imagined blade.
I slipped around to the backyard, my movements quiet, checking furtively for any sign of my mother or sister. The coast was clear. I grabbed a stout branch that usually served as my sword, its familiar weight a small comfort in my hand. Taking a deep breath, I tried to immerse myself in the game, to conjure the usual vivid imagery.
"Stand back, foul beast! Your reign of terror ends here!" I roared, my voice feeling strangely thin, lacking its usual heroic conviction.
From the shadowy corners of my mind, I tried to conjure the monster, the terrifying chimera with the lion's head and the serpent's tail, its scales shimmering with malevolent intent. But the image was hazy, indistinct, lacking its usual vibrant menace. It was just a blur, a form without true terror.
"Foolish mortal! You face oblivion!" The monster's voice, usually a booming growl that echoed through my imagination, was flat, lifeless, a mere whisper of sound.
My heart sank. Even here, in my sanctuary, the magic was gone. I swung my stick-sword, the movement mechanical, uninspired. "Then oblivion shall face my blade! By the gods, and the strength in my arm, I am Hektor Anepsios! I will not yield!" I called out, but the words felt hollow, a childish chant without the usual accompanying surge of imagined power.
God offered a detached observation. "Subject's performance degraded. Creative visualization function severely impaired. Emotional state interfering with imaginative play. Further testing is still recommended."
Goddess's sigh was heavy. "Oh, Himerios. Even your escape is tainted. This burden weighs too much upon your spirit. It steals your joy, piece by piece. But we must try again, Himerios. We must!"
I tried again, willing the monster into being, willing the exhilaration of the fight. But it was no use. The imaginary beast remained stubbornly formless, its roars muted, its attacks lacking any real threat. I felt like a puppet, going through the motions, completely detached from the joy I usually found in this world.
Unbeknownst to me, my younger sister, Euboa Leukē, with her vivid green eyes and surprising white hair, had quietly appeared at the edge of the backyard. She watched me, her young face etched with a wisdom beyond her years, her bright eyes keenly sensing the shift in my demeanor. She saw the jerky, listless movements of my "sword," the absence of the usual vibrant energy that radiated from me when I played. She sensed the deep sadness that clung to me like a shroud.
"Himerios?" she asked, her voice soft, tentative, a small hand reaching out. "Are you alright? Should I… should I call Mother? To help you with something?"
Her innocent question, her genuine concern, unleashed a torrent of thoughts in my mind. My heart ached to tell her, to finally unburden myself, to let her, my little sister, see the terrifying truth. I saw her face in my mind's eye, the concern, the green eyes widening in shock, then perhaps understanding… But then, the cold, hard logic of God's analysis slammed into me again: the temporal reset. Even if I mustered the courage, even if the words formed, something would happen again to prevent it. I would speak, she would listen, and then… it would all rewind, leaving me just as alone, just as burdened. The words rose in my throat, hot and desperate, but they got stuck, trapped behind a wall of insurmountable magic.
God reiterated its cold, logical findings. "Probability of successful disclosure remains zero. Temporal reset protocol initiated upon verbalization of protected data. Disclosure will result in non-occurrence. Further testing is still required for conclusive results."
Goddess offered a desperate plea. "No, Himerios! Try, Himerios! Don't let them silence you! Perhaps if you speak with all your heart…! It is not fair! We must try again!" But even her voice sounded weak, her usual hopefulness dimmed by the impossible reality.
I struggled inside, a silent battle raging between my desperate need to connect and the horrifying truth of my new imprisonment. The silence stretched, long and agonizing, filled only with the faint chirping of cicadas and the distant sounds of the village. Euboa waited patiently, her gaze unwavering, her little hand still outstretched.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I forced a response, a hollow echo of my usual self. "No, Euboa," I said, my voice rough, "there's nothing. I'm… I'm not feeling very well, that's all. But I'm bored, so I'm just playing the game."
Euboa's green eyes searched my face for a moment longer, her brow furrowed with a wisdom that seemed too profound for her years. She didn't quite believe me, I could tell, but she also understood that there were things I wasn't saying. She hesitantly nodded. "Understood, Himerios," she said softly, her small hand dropping. Then, with a sad, almost regretful look, she turned and quietly left the backyard.
I continued to play the game, swinging the stick-sword listlessly, trying to force the joy, to make myself forget. But it did not help. The imaginary monster remained a shadowy form, and Hektor Anepsios felt like a stranger in my own skin. The emptiness in my chest grew, a hollow ache that mirrored the silence of the voices.
Frustration, raw and desperate, boiled over. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't keep this secret locked inside, not when it was tearing me apart, isolating me from everyone I loved. With a guttural cry of anger and despair, I threw the stick-sword, my pretend blade, across the backyard. It clattered against the stone wall, a pathetic sound in the vast quiet.
I needed to tell someone. Anyone. Even if the words wouldn't reach them, I needed to speak them aloud, to give form to the invisible terror that consumed me. My feet moved on their own, carrying me swiftly towards the old well at the edge of the olive grove, a place of reflection and quiet solitude.
I leaned over the stone lip of the well, looking down into its dark, still waters. My reflection, pale and distorted, stared back at me. I took a deep breath, then another, and then, looking directly into the watery image of my own desperate eyes, I began to speak.
"I hear voices," I whispered, my voice cracking, "God and Goddess. They are always there. They made me shout at the ceremony. They made me lie to Theano. And now… now I can't even tell anyone about them. Something happens. Something prevents it. It's like… like time itself rewinds just for me. They knew about me, father knew about me, and the Oracle knew, but I couldn't tell them. The Oracle said I am the Oracle, but I don't know what that means. I don't want to be alone. I don't want this secret. It hurts, it hurts so much."
The words poured out of me, a torrent of pain and confusion, released into the silent well. There was no one to hear but myself, no one to understand but my own reflection. And then, finally, the tears came. Hot, silent tears that blurred my reflection, mingling with the dark water below. I cried, not with sobs, but with a deep, silent ache, the kind that rips at your soul when you realize you are truly, irrevocably alone with an unbearable burden. The darkness of the well mirrored the darkness in my heart.