Heart of a Spartan

Destiny wants me to tell you Hello

"Alright class, today we have a new student starting today," Mr. Louis announced to the class. "His name is Leon Lucan, but don't let me do all the talking! Tell us about yourself Leon," Mr. Louis said. Mr.Louis loved to put his students on the spot, liked the flustered looks, and the awkward silence when you didn't know the answer. Leon didn't seem to mind by the question at all, he gave an easy smile before talking, "I just moved here from Olympia, but I was actually born here in Canada, Alberta to be exact." He went on about what he did there and how old he was (seventeen, he was born in January) and how he has his licence, all the boring details that had all the girls swooning. Finally he says, "It's nice to meet you all." Leon smiled from face to face, but really seemed to be looking for something or someone.

As Pythia observed him from her spot near the back, she couldn't help but think that he was familiar. Those blue eyes are so unique that it would be a sin to make a copy, so Pythia ignored the feeling of deja-vu. Pythia was so busy with looking at his eyes, that she hadn't realized that those blue eyes were looking right at her. Instead of moving on to the next person like he had been doing, he opted for staring right back at Pythia. Blushing like a tomato, Pythia decided that the floor looked rather interesting.

Mr. Louis assigned Leon a seat, a seat that just so happened to be near Pythia. Leon could have used the aisle that was opposite the side that she sat, but went for the aisle that she sat along. Pythia felt her pulse rise anticipation, and she had no idea why.

His foot steps seemed loud, but her pulse was even louder. She was still watching the floor when she saw his shoes, they were fancy looking shoes, the kind that the cool kids all obsesses over. "See that Pythia? That's right, that is a red flag. Marcus told you that guys like him are cheating douche bags. Best not to even look," she thought to herself. Yet, as she was saying that she looked at him last minute before he passed her. He was staring at her, like full-on eye contact, it seemed like he didn't even blink. She looked to her desk when he passed by her, then just before he was out of her peripheral he grazed her bare arm.

It was just a simple touch, by the Gods, it should have been nothing, it was probably an accident. But to Pythia it was a searing pain, like someone took hot metal and branded her arm. She made a pained gasp and the touch became a vice grip, and it burned and burned.

She heard people calling her, bury faces in her blotchy vision. But she couldn't answer, just felt herself fall into the black. She cursed at herself, just when she thought she was getting better, just when she had finally convinced her mom to let her go back to school, of course she screwed it up only three days into the new school year.

By the Gods, did she ever feel lost.

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Pythia has always had blackouts, ever since she was six .

One minute she'll be laughing having fun and the next she's falling, falling into the black. She would wake to her friends huddling around her, worry creasing their faces. She would make light of it, say it was like she was on a roller coaster. For the first while they would laugh and move on, but then it kept happening, and they stopped laughing.

When Pythia's mother had her brought to a doctor about it, he told her that what she had is what they call "Dissociative attacks". Dissociative attacks are disabling and frightening attacks that look very similar to epilepsy. People can experience shaking attacks or attacks when they simply 'blackout' often for quite a long time. They told her mother it was treatable, but when she continued to have them even after the treatment, they were clueless.

So, Pythia continued on with life, she lost her friends because she had become "freakish" and "weird", her brother had been a new form of comfort on those days when they would make fun of her, and her mother continued to try to find a cure. The blackouts, or what Pythia called going into the black, were frequent, far to frequent for her to go to school so she was forced to do homeschooling. There was always someone watching over Pythia, it made Pythia feel like a baby, but she knew that they were only there to help her should she endanger herself, but she still hated it.

So going to the black became like a blessing and a curse. Blessing because she could get away from reality, and a curse because it was the reason why she was in the situation in the first place.

Sometimes things would happen in the black, voices speaking in hushed whispers, and sometimes a man resting on a golden chaise would talk to her. He was very handsome, and very gold. A beacon in the black. Pythia once told him so, he laughed, and told her the form was adequate. Pythia wanted to say that his golden eyes were not adequate, that they were bewildering and ancient. His skin the perfect sun kissed tone, and his voice was musical. Pythia could both listen and watch him for years and never tire of him.

He called himself Apollo, and Pythia thought it fitting, Apollo's very being stated Sun God. He told her he was, back then Pythia still believed in Santa, so of course, she believed him too.

Apollo would tell her things in the black, sometimes about people's good fortune and other times about people's misfortune. She always listened, even if she didn't understand who or what he was talking about. But there was always one particular person that Apollo would round back to, he called that person the Heir. Pythia didn't like when Apollo would talk about the Heir, it made her chest ache when Apollo prophesied his fortune, because it was always about great pain and death. Apollo never stopped talking about it, and Pythia never asked him to stop. Because as much as she didn't like hearing about what would happen to the Heir, she wanted to know more about him, the Heir intrigued her more than anyone else.

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Pythia stands before Apollo's golden chaise and waits. The scene is very familiar to her. There she is, her appearance is similar to a will-o-the-wisp, the white gown she is wearing moves without any wind, her blonde hair looks more white in the black, and her skin a deathly white. In here without Apollo, her world is a monochrome world. She climbs onto the giant chaise and curls in on herself, uses her blonde hair as a curtain to hide her tears.

"Hello my little Oracle," Apollo's voice is soft and wraps around her. "Tell me what troubles your little soul," Apollo doesn't sound worried, he sounds curious. Pythia can feel his presence against her back, but despite all his warm coloured traits, he feels cold. It reflects on his personality ironically, for all the warm pretenses and warm words, Apollo is cold and unfeeling. Pythia cries more, she wants her brother's arms, she wants her blankets, she wants warmth not this false security that Apollo was trying to provide.

"Why can't I just be normal?" she croaks. "All I want to do is finish high school, but I'm so pathetic that I can barely get through a week."

"All oracles must go through this, as it was their destiny, so is it yours," Apollo explains. He brushes her hair in an attempt to sooth her, but does nothing. "You should be proud, it was once a great honour to be my Oracle. People would come from all over the world to hear the Oracle's prophecies. Soon, it shall be as it once was. In fact, my little one, your first prophecy will be told soon, so listen close..."

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"Pythia?" a voice called timidly. Pythia tried to pry her eyes open, but they were still heavy so she opted for groaning.

"She's awake!" the voice said. This time Pythia made a bigger effort to open her eyes. Her brother was above her bed, and was looking quite frantic.

"Marcus," Pythia says with a cotton dry mouth.

"Hey Pyth, how you feelin?" Marcus asks, but his voice is shaken and the hand that he has on her wrist is shaking a bit.

"I don't feel like I have a concussion, so that's a plus.Marc, my mouth is really dry can you get me some water?" she asks when Marcus doesn't laugh at her little joke. Must have been worse than she originally thought, Marcus wasn't even going to his rant about "Ten Reasons Why Pythia Should Not Be Going To School" or better yet his sequel rant, "11 Reasons Why Marcus Should Be In Every Single One Of Pythia's Classes". Pythia feels guilty, Marc is troubled because of her greed, her want for school. Pythia fights the tears that are prickling her eyes.

Pythia tries to get up, but is quickly pushed down by a hand. A huge hand that takes up her whole shoulder. Startled she looks to the hand and then matches it to the body, and is suprised to see that it's Leon.

"Leon," Pythia said with some bewilderment. He didn't seem the type to stick around, "little wonders" Pythia thought.

"Pythia," Leon mimicked. He remembered her name, well of course he did. He's been searching for her for years, and really her name wasn't a common one either. "Oh!" Pythia thought, "right, he's waiting for his prophecy."

He is the Heir after all.