The memory of that day is sharp, like the shine of a fake 'bronze' piece on a stage in the sun, but it feels kept away, like a picture in a box I don't often open now. Thinking back now, from this mixed-up place where sense argues with feeling for control of my spirit, the air then felt different, maybe lighter, than the air I breathe now, thick with things not said and the heavy noise inside my head. It was the day I first saw Sophon Argyros. I was ten years old.
The town square was full of quiet sound, a place of excitement I hadn't felt before, a different kind of noise than the usual market sounds. Philistos Chlōros and I pushed our way through the crowd, small bodies easily moving past the legs of grown-ups already sitting down in the dusty open space. Being near Philistos felt like something I knew I could hold onto in the moving crowd, a simple, good feeling. We weren't just friends; we were like two shadows made from the same light, always found together. Behind us, somewhere, I knew Euboa would be watching too. My younger sister, always shy, preferred to see the world from a safe distance, her quiet eyes taking everything in.
"Can you see, Himerios?" Philistos asked, stretching his neck up high, his pale green eyes looking over the heads in front of us.
"Almost! It's a stage, look! They're putting it up!" I said, my voice loud with a feeling of waiting for something good. My heart was beating faster.
"Who are they?" Philistos asked, jumping a little on the front part of his feet below me.
"Actors, they said! From far away!" I smiled wide, the feeling of excitement bubbling in my chest like warm water. This felt different from a normal market day. It felt like… like the air before a storm, but good. It felt like magic was about to happen on that simple platform.
We found a spot near the front, squeezing in. We sat with legs crossed in the dust, shaking with waiting. The air became thick with the quiet talks of the crowd and the dry smell of dirt that had been stepped on. Then, the music started, strange and wonderful sounds from pipes and drums, making everyone look at the simple platform.
People came out, wearing bits of colour and simple covers for faces. And then, one man stepped forward. He was taller somehow than the others. His hair was the colour of old silver under the sun, looking bright like metal. The air around him on that simple platform felt different, thicker with something I couldn't name. The crowd became quiet.
"He is playing Hektor Anepsios," a quiet sound went through the crowd near us. "The hero who fought the story-book beasts!" The sound of the name felt like something I knew.
The man on stage, Sophon Argyros, moved with a power that seemed too big for the small stage. The others bent their backs, making low, animal-like sounds – they were the monsters. One let out a low, scary growl, a rough sound like an animal, followed by words that chilled me. "Foolish mortal! You face oblivion!" And then, Hektor (the actor playing him) spoke.
Sophon Argyros stood tall, brandishing an imaginary weapon. "Stand back, foul beast! Your reign of terror ends here!" he boomed, his voice filling the square, a sound that felt like striking metal.
Philistos pushed me gently, his eyes wide. "Did you hear that, Himerios? His voice was loud!"
I couldn't answer Philistos. My throat felt tight, closed by how strong the sounds and movements on stage were. The actor as Hektor didn't move away fast. He seemed to get bigger, showing courage. Sophon Argyros stood tall. "Then oblivion shall face my blade! By the gods, and the strength in my arm, I am Hektor Anepsios! I will not yield!" His voice made a loud sound again, sharp and clear, full of a will that felt stronger than stone.
A shiver went down my back, not from cold, but from something else, something sharp and clean. He wasn't just saying the words; he was the words, he was the hero shown on the empty stage. He fought the monsters with quick, planned movements, the simple stick becoming a deadly weapon in his hands because of the power of his own movement and will. He made a sound like a hard push, a sharp sound, and hit fast. "Ah! Take that, creature! Let courage be your undoing!" A final hit, a pretend roar from the monster, and Sophon Argyros stood tall. "So falls another shadow. The light of defiance shines on!"
The crowd made a loud sound of happiness, but inside my head, there was just the sound of those lines, the picture of that man living out the hero. Something changed inside me. It wasn't just about playing games anymore, about making worlds in the dust. It was about feeling those words, being that courage, stepping into that skin. I felt a strange feeling of knowing something I knew but had never seen before. A spark. It was a spark of pure light in my spirit, in my chest. It felt very, very good, sharp and clear like a bell ringing inside my bones, like the sound of Sophon's voice. This felt like... the start of something. This felt like the true self being called.
When the performance ended, Philistos stood next to me, looking at my face. "That was... strange," he said. "Why did he make those sounds and move like that?" I looked at him, wanting to tell about the spark, but the words felt impossible. "He... he was being others," I said, the words simple and facts only, not enough.
The memory of Sophon Argyros on his empty stage stayed with me. It went together with the feeling of becoming others in the dust. The spark was lit, a fire hidden in my spirit, a pull towards filling an empty space with worlds. From that moment, my games, my becoming, would never be quite the same.
After seeing the play, our games shifted. It wasn't just general heroics anymore. It was this hero, this specific battle. We found our patch of ground, grabbed our trusty sticks – my spear and sword, Philistos's… well, whatever a monster needed to be. He'd hunch his shoulders, contort his face, and let out the fiercest roars a ten-year-old could manage. And I would become Hektor. Stepping onto our makeshift stage, the dust motes dancing in the sun became the cheering crowds, the rustling leaves the whispers of fate.
Throughout these years, Euboa was often near our chosen stages. While other children might wander by or pause briefly, Euboa was a constant, quiet presence. She didn't join in, not like Philistos did. She would sit or stand some distance away – perched on a low wall, half-hidden by a bush – her small shape still, her quiet eyes watching us.
Philistos, in his bright, open way, sometimes tried to talk to her. "Euboa! Look at Himerios fight the terrible beast!" he'd call out, showing off his best monster movements. But Euboa, shy even back then, would pull back, her face hidden for a moment, and then she would come closer to me, her small arms wrapping around my legs or waist. She wouldn't say anything back to Philistos, a little scared of talking to him directly. I would pat her head gently, my hand comforting her small form pressed against me, before turning back to the game. Even though she was quiet and scared of talking to Philistos, I knew she liked him. It was a quiet liking, not the loud kind of feeling I had for Philistos, but a gentle warmth in her eyes when she looked at him or when I talked about our games.
And there was Tolmaios too, though four years older, he was already starting to walk the path of a warrior that Father approved of so strongly. I'd sometimes see him practicing with a real sword in the yard, the clang of metal so different from our sticks, or hear Father talking proudly of his training.
He was strong, confident, everything I wasn't yet. Even in those early years, his presence in the house, the quiet weight of his chosen path, was part of the world around me, a world where my own games felt like a separate secret. Our parents watched us play too, Father with a patient, flat expression, Mother with a soft smile that felt like a warm blanket. They didn't understand the depth of the world we built, but their simple, loving presence was a quiet foundation under the bright, wild energy of our games.
It was perfect, this game of Hektor. This wasn't just pretend; it felt like stepping into something real, something powerful. The physical exertion of running, leaping, and 'fighting' blended with the thrill of delivering the lines. "Then oblivion shall face my blade!" I'd shout, charging forward. "By the gods, and the strength in my arm, I am Hektor Anepsios! I will not yield!"
We'd grapple, tumble in the dirt, acting out the epic struggle. Philistos was a great monster – agile and loud, making me work for the victory. He'd snarl back, "Foolish mortal! You face oblivion!" Ah!" I'd grunt after a particularly vigorous clash. "Take that, creature! Let courage be your undoing!" And finally, standing over my (pretend) vanquished foe, chest heaving, I'd deliver the triumphant line that always made me feel a surge of pride: "So falls another shadow. The light of defiance shines on!"
We played this game almost every day. Rain or shine, if there was a moment free, we were Hektor and the Monster. It was simple, pure joy. I didn't analyze why I loved it so much. I just knew that when I was Hektor, brandishing my stick-sword, the world made perfect sense, and I felt… exactly where I was supposed to be. It was my secret, unconscious realization of a passion, bubbling to the surface through the simple, repeated lines of a hero's fight. It was a world uncrowded, built on dust and wanting, shared with my one true friend and watched over by my quiet sister, a world where the impossible felt real.