The sky did not split open. No loud thunder shook the ground I knew. The end of simple times came on a Tuesday, quiet like dust settling after a cart passes, under a sky the colour of old bruises. It felt heavy and low, pressing the air down, thick and still. It smelled of the rain that wouldn't fall, a heavy feeling you could almost touch. That feeling seemed to sink into the broken stones of the market square, into the bent backs of the workers, into the smell of the dying plants on the market stands, and, that day, into the space behind my eyes.
The world used to feel simple, back then. It was just… outside. A place of hard ground under my feet, of sun that felt warm or cold depending on the time of year. It painted sharp, dark shapes across walls I knew well. Things looked and sounded just like they were. And I was in it. Himerios. A body moving through space, doing simple things: lifting a box, walking a path, watching the sea get flat under the wind, the waves turning grey under the bruised sky. Doing things. Thinking thoughts that felt like they were only mine, one single stream, born right behind my eyes, nowhere else. I didn't question it. Why would I? It was like questioning the air I breathed or the ground I walked on. Everything made sense, or at least, it felt like it made sense, based on what I could see, touch, and predict. Until the day I turned fourteen.
It wasn't a sudden hard hit in my head, nothing that big. It was softer, sneaky, almost quiet at first. It felt like two separate talks happening just at the edge of my hearing, buried under my own thoughts. This started as I walked back from the potter's shop for my father, a small, wrapped pot held carefully under my arm. The main road was busier than the small streets, lined with stands and workshops. My Mother was near, her shape I knew well felt like a comfort. Being near Mother felt like warm air on a cold day to my spirit; it was a simple, good feeling that settled in my chest.
Annoying, very annoying, at first. I'd stop walking suddenly, tilt my head, trying hard to hear. "Was someone whispering right behind those big pots near the wall?" I asked aloud, turning my head without thinking, my voice thin.
My mother looked at me, the skin above her eyes wrinkled just a little. "No, child. Just the market sounds. Are you feeling well? Your face looks… tight," she asked, her voice a little higher than usual.
A low rumble came into my head, new and sudden. It felt deep, like stone, firm. "Look at the plants. Check how they feel and look. Figure out if they are good based on what you know."
A lighter voice answered back, a soft bell sound coming with the first. This one felt like a breeze, quick but there. "But the stand nearby has bright flowers! Smell them! They might make your spirit feel better! They are beautiful!"
Caught between them, my head shook fast, a movement I didn't control. A cold tight feeling grabbed my stomach. Panic, sharp and quick, rushed through me, a body feeling because of the sounds that shouldn't be there. "Was I getting sick?" I mumbled, rubbing my temples, breathing faster. My heart started to beat against my side like a caught bird, a fast beat I didn't understand. "Who are you?!" I screamed inside my head, raw and needing an answer, the sound stuck inside my skull.
But they didn't go away. They stayed. They got sharper. Two voices. Separate. One deep and stern, like a strict rule, thinking only about order and rules. The other lighter and soft, like a spirit feeling colour, thinking about feelings and beauty. They weren't talking to me right away, but about me, for me, arguing, using my mind like a room they shared.
I remember one time, later that day. My Father was waiting near the door as I came back from a quick trip. Talking with Father felt like solid ground under my feet; it was a feeling I could count on, one that made my thoughts clear and my arms and legs feel steady. I gave him the things, the wrapped pot cool under my arm.
"Did you finish the task well?" he asked, his voice steady and flat.
"Yes. Task is done," the deep voice said inside my head.
"He also saw a bright bird! Tell Father about the bird! It was lovely to the eyes! It was yellow like ripe grain!" the lighter voice added, wanting to share a simple sight that felt good, telling about the bird's colour.
I opened my mouth, caught between the two answers inside, one about facts, the other about what felt good to see. "The task is... done," I said, the words feeling stiff, stuck in my throat. I did not mention a bird. His face showed nothing special in return, just the lines around his mouth when he was not speaking.
Later, the bruised sky had become a dark purple. I was walking back from the well with my sister, Euboa Leukē. Euboa's quiet way was a pleasant shape next to me; being near her felt comfortable to my spirit, a simple, good feeling, like cool water on a hot day. Her eyes, big and bright shapes in her pale face, often looked straight ahead at the path, but sometimes she would look at me with a steady look that made the confusion inside my head feel calmer. I liked being with Euboa; it made the noise quieter just by her being there. The water moving in our big pots was a sound I knew well, but now it felt like it was getting in the way of the strong noise inside.
"He should turn left here to keep away from the crowd in the open space," the stern voice rumbled inside my head. "It is the quickest path. Checking the way tells me this. Stay away from problems."
Euboa walked next to me, her small hand holding her pot handle. "Himerios? Why are you stopping?" she asked quietly, her voice a soft sound next to me.
"But the right feels warmer," the softer voice answered back. "More... full of hope to the spirit. It smells of the stream there. It feels... better to go that way. More nice."
My feet stopped on the path, a strange tight feeling pulling. My head turned without me telling it to, looking at the two paths. "Which way?" I mumbled, lost in the argument inside, looking at Euboa's face, the shape of her expression that didn't change.
"Tell her you are checking the paths. Using sense needs you to check choices before picking one," the stern voice said, giving a clear reason for why I stopped.
"Tell her the air feels different! The feeling leads you! Follow the heart! The air smells sweeter!" the softer voice suggested, giving a reason based on what I felt and smelled, talking more about the nice smell.
My mouth opened, but no clear words came out. Just a sound stuck in my throat. Euboa watched. After a moment, the lighter voice got stronger, its feeling-based point winning over the stern sense. Their argument became one clear order. My body listened, turning onto the path the softer voice wanted, feeling a strange push I didn't control. "This way," I said, the word short. Euboa nodded and followed. The simple act of walking had become hard, now told what to do by things I could not see.
Later, walking through the market again, I saw Lalos Pyrros, known for talking a lot and his reddish hair, arguing with a customer, his face tight with strain. "He is making loud sounds," I said to Euboa, pointing a little at the two people making noise.
"Checking confirms sound is coming from outside. Note how loud it is. Ignore extra details. Focus on where you are going," the stern voice said, looking at the sound like a fact.
"But his voice sounds... like strings pulled too tight! It feels like that sounds! It is a sound of struggle to the spirit! The customer looks pulled tight too!" the softer voice called out inside, feeling the sound and linking the feeling to how the customer looked.
We kept walking, the market sounds getting softer behind us. A sudden panic came back again, a physical tight feeling in my stomach, breathing faster for a reason I didn't understand, a cold fear that grabbed my chest. What was this? Was this happening only to me? Were these maybe gods talking to me? Had the divine powers decided to make me their voice, like the old oracles who spoke in riddles? Was I a prophet, carrying heavenly noise others couldn't hear? "Are you hearing voices?" I whispered inside, raw and needing an answer, talking to the presences.
"Checking the source needed: Divine power doing this, a problem with the body's balance, someone else making you think/do things." the stern voice listed, using sense to put the problem into groups, ignoring my panic.
"But it feels... like wanting something badly! Like sadness and hope mixed! Like a memory of sunshine on skin! Gods feel big, like the sky! Not... mixed like this inside the chest! This feels too human! It feels like it belongs to someone hurting!" the softer voice spoke against the list, answering the checking with intuition and feeling, linking the feeling to human pain.
I tried hard to ignore them, pushing them away with all my spirit's strength, focusing all I had on the task. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, focusing on the feeling behind my eyelids, the small ache starting there. I covered my ears with my hands, putting my head down against my chest, trying to feel only my body, the real thing.
"Bad action. Things outside must be used to make the best choices for staying alive. Stopping input stops you from making the best choices based on sense." the stern voice said, using what makes sense in the world, checking how my body was reacting.
"But shutting out feels... safe? Like hiding from a loud noise? It makes the spirit feel better! It makes the chest feel lighter! Don't check safety, feel it!" the softer voice argued, focusing on how I felt and the well-being of the spirit, saying how good the body felt when I did it.
I focused on the sounds outside – the far-off sound of a sheep, the wheels of a cart turning slowly, the water hitting the wall far away near the sea, the noise of the market that stayed in the air – on how the handles of the pots felt in my hands, the rough cloth of my tunic against my skin, anything outside, anything simple, anything not these voices. "Go away! Leave me alone! Let me think my own thoughts! Let me walk my own path! Get out of my head!" I screamed inside, using all my mind's power at the presences, seeing myself pushing them out like people I didn't want in my house.
But my screams inside, my fast, strong mind-power, got nothing back from them. They didn't show they heard me try to talk to them, to understand them, to make them go away. They didn't see my fight against them, like stone statues not hearing people asking for help at their feet. They just kept looking, arguing, giving their quiet orders. They were strong, like a song stuck in my mind that no amount of shaking my head can make go away, playing even if I didn't want it to. They got louder, stronger, wanting more the more I tried to ignore them, like they wanted me to know they were there, wanted me to listen, wanted to be in charge of how my body worked.
Only, this song had thoughts that made my body, my actions, my words, my choices change right away. And they weren't just thoughts that went away fast. They started to feel less like ideas to think about and more like… orders. Quiet, not loud orders, but ones that came with a silent, clear feeling that I had to listen.