They say Delphi was the navel of the world. A place where sky and stone met in a breathtaking embrace, where whispers echoed through the rustling leaves of ancient laurel trees, and mortals, driven by hope and desperation, dared to seek truth in the enigmatic breath of prophecy. I remember it all—every marble step worn smooth by countless pilgrims, every flicker of laurel-scented smoke curling towards the heavens, carrying with it the weight of untold destinies. I was there when the Oracle spoke, her voice a chilling echo in the heart of the temple, but before that, I was simply Callista. And she was Thalia.
We were girls once, running wild and free through the sprawling olive groves that blanketed the slopes beneath Mount Parnassus. Just human girls, shaped by the same myths and memories that breathed life into the very stones of our world. While I was always the more impulsive, the one prone to laughter and quick decisions, there was always something in Thalia's eyes—a profound stillness, a quiet depth that hinted at hidden knowledge, as if she possessed an innate understanding of things the world hadn't yet spoken aloud. But I was the one they said was destined for greatness. The one chosen by fate, perhaps by forces beyond our understanding, to one day inhale the sacred vapors and speak with the voice of prophecy, guiding the fates of men and nations. I was the one meant to become the Oracle.
But love, in its infinite wisdom and unpredictable nature, has a way of redrawing the lines of fate, of rewriting the very fabric of destiny.
I remember that day, not so long ago, I had been chosen to become the Oracle. I had been summoned to Apollo's chamber in the temple, and he told me that Zeus himself had decreed the Oracle's role, and I was chosen to fulfill it. The moment I heard those words, my mind was consumed by thoughts of my lover. I was speechless, breathless. I stumbled out of Apollo's chamber, fled the temple, and collapsed onto a bench outside. Time seemed to lose all meaning until Thalia's voice snapped me back to reality. She asked what Apollo wanted. I choked out the words: "They want me to be the Oracle." Tears streamed down my face, uncontrollable. She gently wiped them away, her expression a mixture of concern and understanding. "Why are you so sad, my dear?" she asked softly. I threw myself into her arms, sobbing, "I can't do this... I can't do that to him." I cried and cried, and she held me, her soft hands framing my face as she looked into my eyes. "Don't worry," she said, her voice firm yet soothing. "I will take care of it." And with that, she turned and walked towards Apollo's chamber. The next day, I was told that I was no longer destined to be the Oracle. Relief washed over me, so profound it was almost dizzying. I was free to be with my lover. But then the question struck me: who would take on this immense responsibility? "Thalia," they said. I ran to find her, eager to share the news. When I told her, she couldn't quite meet my gaze, but she always seemed to have a deep connection, a hidden relationship with someone special, someone I didn't know.
Today is day of oracle, the sun spilled its golden light through the chamber carved deep into the mountain's heart, illuminating the chamber with an ethereal glow. We sat in silence, surrounded by towering white columns that seemed to stretch towards the heavens, and frescoes, their vibrant colors faded by the relentless passage of centuries, whispering tales of forgotten heroes and long-lost ages. Pomegranates, symbols of abundance and mystery, overflowed from a bronze bowl on the cedar table, their crimson seeds gleaming like precious jewels, and the wind from the distant Gulf of Corinth, carrying the scent of salt and the promise of faraway lands, whispered secrets through the delicate, gossamer curtains. I pinned the laurel into her hair with trembling fingers, the leaves cool and fragrant against her skin.
"You have such beautiful hair," I told her, my voice barely a whisper, filled with a mixture of admiration and a profound sadness. "Like the threads of sunlight, woven together by time itself."
She offered a faint smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes, those eyes that held so much more than girlish dreams. The room itself seemed to hold its breath, as if the very stones were aware of the momentous decision that hung in the balance. So did I.
Thalia, always the quiet one, the introspective one, the girl the Pythia watched with an unreadable expression, a gaze that seemed to penetrate the very depths of her soul. And me—Callista—chosen, trained, prepared for a role that would elevate me beyond the realm of mortals. I had walked the Sacred Way in dreams, my bare feet tracing the path of countless pilgrims who had sought wisdom and guidance before me. But when the time came, when destiny beckoned with an outstretched hand, I found myself unable to take that final step. Because I loved someone. Not just anyone, but someone whose presence filled my world with a light brighter than any other, a warmth more comforting than any sacred fire. My lover.
They were no mythical being, no celestial entity descended from the heavens, no ethereal spirit of the air. Just human, like us, bound to the earth by the same joys and sorrows, the same hopes and fears. A soul shaped by the gentle light of the river that flowed through our valley, and a quiet devotion that spoke of a love that transcended even the will of fate. I loved my lover with every fiber of my being. And I couldn't bear the thought of giving them up. To become the Oracle meant surrendering everything that made me who I was—every cherished memory, every shared laughter, every whispered secret, every dream of a future together. It meant sacrificing every tomorrow, every name, every identity, even the faintest echo of the memory of love. I chose them.
And Thalia, in an act of selfless love that echoed through the ages, chose me.
She stepped into the void I had left behind, accepting a fate that was never meant to be hers. She took my place without a single word of complaint, without a moment of hesitation. She never said a word about it. Not once did she betray the weight of her sacrifice, the enormity of what she had given up. I don't think she ever would have, if I hadn't, in a moment of desperate need, asked her about the first memory she could recall, seeking a glimpse into the heart of the girl who had become something more. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was like mist, thin and ethereal, as if she were recalling a dream half-remembered.
"We were in a field of wildflowers," she whispered, her gaze drifting far beyond the confines of the chamber, "under an endless sky, a canvas of blue stretching to horizons unknown. Some of us were born of humble villages, our lives intertwined with the rhythm of the earth, while others… Others were born of myth, their veins carrying the blood of ancient tales. We laughed, our voices like the tinkling of wind chimes, carefree and in Her lips curved into a soft, wistful smile, her eyes still distant, lost somewhere between memory and dream.
"But it wasn't always storms and stars," she said, her voice gentler now, touched by something warmer, more human. "The first time I saw him… I thought the sun had forgotten where it belonged and decided to walk the earth instead."
She laughed, just barely, a fragile sound that shimmered in the still air. "His hair—golden, unruly—caught the morning light like it had been spun by the gods themselves. But he wasn't a god. Just a man. A man with rough hands and grease beneath his nails, who spoke to his ship like it was a living thing, and smiled like he carried sunlight in his chest."
I watched her, mesmerized by the way her entire being softened, transformed by the memory.
"He didn't descend from the sky. He climbed out of the engine hold with sweat on his brow and a song under his breath. And yet, I knew." Her gaze met mine again, and in her eyes I saw that same unshakable certainty she'd spoken of before. "I knew the way you know the tide will turn, or the stars will rise. That my life would be tangled with his. That loving him would be no act of worship, but an act of defiance. Of choosing this world, not the one of legends."
She blinked, and a single tear slipped free, not of sorrow, but of something quieter. Reverence. Devotion.
"He smelled like salt and steel, like home. And when he looked at me—really looked—it was like every myth I'd ever believed unraveled and resolve itself into something real. Something possible. He made the impossible feel ordinary."
The wind stirred again, brushing past us like a curious spirit.
I leaned in, our foreheads almost touching. "And he loved you?"
She nodded, slowly. "He loved me like I was the only thing real in his world. And I loved him like he was the last star left in mine."
nocent. Then he came."
With a trembling hand, I brought her the ceremonial robe, woven from threads as white as moonlight and stitched with patterns of fire and stars, symbols of the power and mystery that now enveloped her. She wore it like it had always been hers, like a second skin, a tangible manifestation of her new reality. I watched her reflection take shape in the polished bronze mirror, and I could see the transformation taking place before my very eyes. The girl I knew, the girl who had shared my laughter and my tears, was slowly fading away, replaced by something more… something ancient, something powerful, something that both terrified and fascinated me. She was no longer Thalia, the girl I had grown up with. She was the Oracle the world had waited for, the vessel of divine will.
Then, a knock echoed through the chamber. "Girls," Apollo's voice called out, "it is time. Everyone is waiting for you."
And we walked together, hand in hand, towards the precipice of destiny, towards a future that was both glorious and terrifying. As we moved, I watched with the side of my eyes and saw Ares stood in silence, arms crossed, clothed in dark red armor without helmet. His eyes were shadowed, ever watching. Beside him stood Poseidon. The weight of the sea was in his bearing. His hair was thick and wind-tossed, threaded with streaks of grey like foam on storm-tides. He wore a sleeveless himation of deep green and indigo, belted in knotted rope, the hem damp as though it had touched the waves themselves. At his side rested a tall, weathered staff of driftwood crowned with bronze—its form reminiscent of a trident, yet shaped for signaling and command. His gaze swept the chamber like one who had charted coastlines and commanded fleets, steady and calculating. He stood slightly apart but always within reach of the others, his presence like thunder over a distant sea.
Athena stood with quiet vigilance. She wore a simple yet elegant white peplos belted in bronze, her grey eyes sharp beneath a helm adorned with owl feathers. A spear rested upright beside her.
in very front I saw Zeus stood at the head of the semicircle—tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair streaked with silver, wearing a deep blue himation over a tunic embroidered with lightning motifs. Beside him stood Hera, composed and statuesque, her garment a deep crimson, fastened with bronze brooches shaped like peacocks. Her hair was intricately braided, and she held a polished staff topped with a lotus flower.
Hermes stood just to the right of Zeus, as though by instinct. Her youthful face bore a look of alert ease, and her light champs was pinned at the shoulder with a brooch shaped like a hawk in flight. The fabric rippled as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. Her winged cap rested low over unruly curls, and her fingers spun the caduceus—two ribbons entwined around a slender rod—as if it steadied her thoughts while keeping her poised for the next word or signal from Zeus., and a slender staff with entwined ribbons tapped gently in her hand.
We gave our respect to them, then I saw Apollo standing near the Omphalos Stone, his posture composed and steady. His golden-blonde curls framed a face marked by solemn focus, and he wore a pale chiton embroidered with laurel leaves and flame motifs, signifying his sacred office. A bronze belt circled his waist, and around his shoulders was draped a ceremonial himation of deep gold. Though a lyre hung at his back, his hands rested on a carved staff of olive wood—the symbol of his role as high priest and guardian of the rites. His eyes, thoughtful and unwavering, watched every motion within the chamber with purpose.
I could not watch directly. I shielded my face, only peering through a narrow opening between my fingers.
She swayed, her body trembling under the weight of the power that coursed through her veins. Her eyes fluttered, then opened, glowing with an otherworldly light, a radiance that seemed to emanate from the depths of her soul.
Then, she spoke. Her voice was no longer the voice of Thalia, the girl I knew. It was the voice of the ages, the voice of the earth, the voice of forces beyond our understanding.
"Born of stone and shadow's plight,
A flame arose and drowned in light.
Its crown beneath the ocean lies,
Yet still it speaks though none replies,"
her voice echoing through the vast chamber, each word a brand upon the listener's soul. Then, her body convulsed, and she collapsed to the ground.
I didn't wait for further instruction. I ran to her, my heart pounding in my chest, my fear for her momentarily eclipsing the awe and wonder of the spectacle I had just witnessed. Her limbs trembled beneath my touch, her body radiating an almost unbearable heat. Her eyes, still glowing with that otherworldly light, seemed to see something far beyond the confines of this world, visions of futures yet to be, of destinies intertwined and unraveling. I gently placed a piece of my cloak over her still form, then held her close, cradling her in my arms, offering her what little comfort I could provide. Her body was shaking, and I called for the other Pythia to help me carry her out.
We passed through the chamber in silence, the weight of the Oracle's pronouncements hanging heavy in the air. No one dared speak, no one dared break the spell that had been cast. The figures themselves seemed subdued, humbled by the power that had been unleashed.
Behind us, the others prepared to unravel the threads of fate, to interpret the cryptic pronouncements of the Oracle,
But I had already seen the most sacred truth of all, a truth more profound than any prophecy, more powerful than any decree.
She was not alone. And neither was I. She had taken my fate, not out of duty or obligation. And I had never known that devotion could be so powerful, so selfless, so willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of another.
The great bronze doors creaked open. I rushed forward, my only thought to get Thalia out of there, away from whatever this oracle was. I didn't care about its meaning, its purpose, or its pronunciation. All that mattered to me was her well-being.