The ceremony music, the prayers, the very air of reverence – it all shattered the moment I blurted out those words. The group of young men turned on me instantly, their shock curdling into aggressive anger, their faces contorting with indignation. "What?!" one of them spat, stepping closer, his voice loud and sharp, cutting through the stunned silence that had fallen over the immediate area. "Were you… were you saying that to us? To us?!"
The quarrel continued, erupting into the hushed shock of the crowd, spreading outwards like a ripple in still water. I was aware of it happening, a terrifying clarity returning to my senses, flooding in after the momentary blankness of the outburst. I saw their angry faces looming over me, felt the heat of their hostility, heard the rising murmurs of the disturbed onlookers. But even with this external awareness, I couldn't take control back. My body felt alien, a puppet driven by forces within. The anger, fueled by the voices' battle, surged through me, overwhelming my own quiet nature, seizing control of my limbs, my voice, my expression. My face, I knew, must have been a mask of confusion and rage, the emotions chasing each other across my features, flipping rapidly as God and Goddess fought for dominance over my external reaction. One moment, my eyes wide with internal panic, a plea trapped behind them; the next, my jaw set hard, my gaze fixed with a fury that didn't feel entirely my own, but was forced upon me. The speed of the shift was dizzying, a physical manifestation of the unseen war.
"Who do you think you are?!" another demanded, stepping towards me aggressively, his hand clenching into a fist, his body language threatening. "Interrupting the ceremony! And for what? For art? For nonsense?!"
And my voice, propelled by the remaining force of Goddess's initial fury, amplified by the internal struggle, responded, sharp and uncontrolled, lashing out with words I didn't consciously choose but felt compelled to utter. "You," I said, my voice raw, carrying unnatural weight, a chilling resonance that silenced even the angry men for a startled second, "you are the lowest of the lows! To speak that way! Here! At a ceremony for Apollo! God of music, poetry, truth! You committed blasphemy against a god! Against all that is beautiful! Against all that has meaning beyond counting coin!"
They recoiled for a moment, startled by the intensity and the accusation of blasphemy, but their anger flared hotter. "Blasphemy?! You dare accuse us of blasphemy?!" a third man in their group, older and more imposing than the others, stepped forward, his eyes narrowed with dangerous anger. " Insolence! Speaking to us like that! At a sacred ceremony! You are the one causing disruption! You are the one showing disrespect!"
They shouted back, their voices a torrent of insults, threats, and indignant denials, drawing closer, their bodies tense. "He's mad!" someone in the crowd muttered, loud enough to be heard. "Touched by the gods, or cursed!"
The quarrel escalated rapidly, a loud, ugly stain on the solemnity of the occasion. It was no longer just a few raised voices; it was a full-blown public disturbance, attracting the attention of everyone in the square. The ceremonial music faltered, then stopped. The murmurs of the crowd turned into open discussion, pointing, questioning, judging.
The crowd around us parted further, creating a wide, empty space, leaving me exposed with the angry men. Their faces were masks of surprise, fear, disgust, and a strange, unsettling awe. They looked at me, this quiet boy known for shyness, now shouting blasphemer at respected men, his face contorted with an anger that seemed too intense, too alien for him. Their gazes then flickered to my family, to those associated with me, sharing in the public shame.
Mother and Euboa stood near the edge of the commotion, trapped by their connection to me, their faces etched with deep shame and distress. Mother's hand was pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide and full of worry, tears glistening. Her body was tense with mortification. Euboa clung to her side, her small form trembling visibly, her quiet eyes fixed on me with a look of pure, bewildered fear, a question mark of pain. Their visible shame, the distress I was causing them, the public humiliation reflected on their faces, was a fresh wave of agony that tore at me internally, a pain the voices seemed utterly oblivious to in their continued struggle. Goddess, witnessing their pain, resonated with a deep, sorrowful ache. "Pain! Caused by the chaos! See their suffering! The consequence of the conflict!"
Father, however, stood slightly apart, a figure of strange, unnerving calm amidst the chaos. Observing everything with a steady, assessing gaze. His expression was unreadable, almost detached, as if this public unraveling didn't bother him, didn't touch him personally. There was no visible shame on his face, just a steady, assessing gaze that seemed to take in every detail of the unfolding disaster, analyzing it like a problem to be solved rather than a personal tragedy. God's voice, momentarily less focused on debating Goddess, commented.
"Observation: Father Karteros exhibiting low emotional reactivity. High conformity to stoic social expectation. Strategy: Observe, do not engage. Efficient response to uncontrolled variable. Data point collected. Analysis: Contrast with others' High Emotional Reactivity. Hypothesis: Emotional control correlates with perceived status maintenance."
Kyrios Xanthos, who had turned his sharp gaze towards the commotion earlier, now watched me with a look of distinct doubt, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. His eyes narrowed, assessing, seeing something in my uncontrolled outburst, in the chaotic flipping of my expression, in the intensity of my uncharacteristic anger, that clearly puzzled him, that didn't fit any predictable pattern he knew. It planted a seed of suspicion or uncertainty in his mind.
And then there was Theano. I saw her face in the crowd, her eyes, usually so full of light, fixed on me. Her usual bright, cheerful radiance was extinguished, replaced by an expression of profound fear and sadness. The fear in her eyes, the sadness for what was happening to me, for what I was doing, for the life we were meant to build that was now being stained by this public display of madness – it was the most painful sight of all. It was a clear reflection of the damage this was causing, the beautiful connection I was endangering. Goddess let out a silent wail of anguish. "The fear! The sadness! See her pain! You are hurting her! Stop the chaos!"
Watching Theano's fear and pain, the visible distress of my mother and sister, the detachment of my father, the doubt in Kyrios Xanthos's gaze, something shifted within me, within the internal storm. The furious energy that had driven Goddess and the external anger began to subside, replaced by a heavy, sorrowful understanding of the damage done. Goddess's presence, which had been a roaring storm, calmed, settling into a state of quiet, exhausted despair, her energy depleted by the outburst and the sight of the suffering.
In that moment of relative internal quiet, as the external shouting continued around me, God's voice took clear dominance, his tone absolute, practical, overriding any lingering emotional echo from Goddess, analyzing the external fallout with cold logic. "Outcome: Negative. Social standing: Severely compromised. Public perception: Negative. Continued engagement: Counterproductive. Damage limitation protocol initiated. Action required: Apologize. Retreat from location. Immediately. Minimize further negative data input." His command was singular, undeniable, based purely on assessing the external situation and determining the most logical step to mitigate further disaster.
I felt Goddess's presence assent silently. There was no debate this time, no push and pull, just a heavy, sorrowful agreement. Her energy was spent, her will aligned with the pragmatic need to escape the painful consequences. When both voices converged on the same action, it became more than a suggestion, more than a command – it became an irresistible compulsion that seized control of my muscles, my will. My body began to move before my mind fully registered the decision.
"I… I apologize," I mumbled, my voice shaky, barely audible over the continuing shouts of the young men and the murmurs of the crowd. It was a hollow apology, compelled, not sincere in my heart, but my body performed the action, my head bowing slightly. Then, turning abruptly, spurred by an overwhelming need to escape, I ran.
I ran blindly, away from the square, away from the eyes, the shock, the shame, the fear in Theano's eyes. I ran past the stalls, past the edges of the crowd, my legs pumping, my lungs burning, the sounds of the ceremony, of the gasps and murmurs, of the continuing quarrel, fading behind me. My lungs burned, my legs ached, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the turmoil in my head, the crushing weight of what had just happened, of what I had just done, or been made to do.
Why? I screamed internally as I ran, the silent question directed at the voices, at the space where they resided, at the chaos they had unleashed. Why did you do that?! Why did you make me do that?! Why did you take control?! The questions poured out, raw and desperate, fueled by despair and confusion. Why did you have to appear in my head?! Why should it have to be me?! What have I done to deserve this?! This is my life! Why are you ruining it?! I blamed those young men for their hateful words, blamed the ceremony for bringing out the conflict, blamed everything that had led to that moment, but most of all, most fiercely, I blamed the unseen forces within me, the voices that had just used me to create this disaster. Get out! I screamed at them, the silent shout echoing in the confines of my skull, a desperate, futile plea. Get out of my head! Leave me alone! I don't want you here!
The voices didn't react to my questions, to my desperate pleas to leave. They never did. They remained, distant now, observers of my breakdown, not participants in my suffering. God's voice offered a dry, detached observation. "Physiological response: Elevated respiration. Location: Moving rapidly away from source of social conflict. Emotional state: Severe distress. Psychological state: Exhibiting blame transfer mechanism." Goddess was a quiet, sorrowful presence, perhaps observing my pain but unable or unwilling to respond directly to my pleas, her energy seemingly spent in the outburst.
I ran until my legs gave out, until the buildings of the village were far behind me, until I found a secluded place outside the village, a hidden spot among the olive trees, the ground rough and dry. I sank to the ground, exhausted, my body trembling uncontrollably, sweat stinging my eyes. The despair was a crushing weight, heavy and suffocating. I can't take it anymore, I sobbed internally, the words choked with tears, with the sheer, raw agony of my powerlessness. Stop! Just stop doing this to me! I can't take it! I can't live like this!
I curled in on myself, the ground rough beneath my hands, the bark of a tree scratching my cheek as I leaned against it. The voices remained, distant now, observers of my breakdown, their commentary detached, clinical. Their presence was a constant, low hum, a reminder that I was not alone in my own head, even in this moment of utter despair. I cried, hard and uncontrollably, the sobs wracking my body, a release of the terrifying energy and despair, the humiliation and fear. Alone, hidden, my face buried in my hands, hot tears streaming down my face, I wept, a prisoner in my own mind, tormented by the very entities who had just forced me to expose that torment to the world, wishing for an end to the chaos, wishing to be just... Himerios, alone in his own head, once more.