Vox Humana

Hi Verbians, This work was created for an NJCL writing contest, and focuses on the concept of modern technology being placed in the ancient world. It explores themes of prophecy and devotion in the Temple of Apollo. Without further ado: Deep within the dust-filled adytum of the Temple of Apollo, Lucius Cornelius Severus sat alone in silence. He didn’t mind it, but the smell of mildew irked him to his core. He glanced ahead into the pronaos of the temple, watching as the sun’s rays danced along the floor. While he had heard of a time long ago when kings would wait days on end for the oracle’s counsel, now, it seemed as though the sanctuary never got any visitors.

Within the inner chamber, the priestess murmured prayers under her breath, preparing for the Pythia’s arrival. SCRAPE. She adjusted the bronze tripod on which the Pythia sat whilst prophesying. Even as the Temple’s following seemingly dwindled and devotion lessened, they continued to uphold the practices of generations prior.

Lucius shifted the wax tablets resting on his lap, carefully digging his stylus into a tablet and engraving part of a verse he had heard earlier that day. “Aaah!” As he reached the end of the phrase, a loud ring filled his ears and he jolted up. He felt a slight vibration beneath him, dropping the tablet on the floor as a result. The temple was no stranger to earthquakes, but this sensation felt oddly unique. The tremors were almost deliberate, with a rhythm to them. Ba-dum… ba-dum… ba-dum. The ground thumped as if it were alive.

He lifted his head slowly and stared into the dark corner of the adytum. In his peripheral vision, he saw something moving. “Who’s there? Aemilia, is that you?” No response.

Lucius held his breath, unsure whether he was simply imagining things. He stepped forward into the darkness cautiously, his sandals scraping against the ground along the way.

A sparkle captured his attention.

At first, he thought that it might be the light entering from the pronaos. However, the glow continued, bouncing between the walls and shining directly into his eyes. As he approached the source of the light, the rhythm grew stronger, vibrating through the stone and sending a shock through his body.

“Di immortales…” he said, dumbfounded.

Behind a displaced slab of stone lay a bronze rectangular apparatus unlike anything he had ever seen. Silver gears on the back, etched with what appeared to be the Linear B script of the Mycenaeans, were interlocked with thin rods, each connected with a level of precision thought to be impossible with human artistry. The movement of each gear created a chime; this was the same ringing sound that had startled him earlier.

At the bottom of the instrument’s face was an indentation the shape of a fingertip. Intuitively, Lucius placed his thumb in the groove; it fit perfectly. A line of text, not in Linear B but in Latin, flashed across the device’s face. As he read the text it was spewing, he realized that the words held great meaning. They were precise and calculated prophecies, concrete unlike the oracle’s ambiguous verbiage.

“This can’t be! If this is what I think it is… what need does Delphi have for an oracle?”

Behind him, Aemilia abruptly stopped her prayers. The air grew heavy with silence. Lucius didn’t turn around; he was used to it. He was fixated on the text flashing before his eyes, mesmerized by the wonder he had been blessed with.

“Step away from that thing,” Aemilia calmly advised. He glanced back at her, noting the wrinkles that appeared as she scrunched her forehead in worry.

“I did nothing,” he defended himself. His thumb still rested in the slot. “It revealed itself to me. It chose me!”

“No!” Aemilia retorted. “Apollo has never prophesied in this manner. For centuries we have relied on the word of the oracle, and that will not change today.”

Lucius shuffled toward her, the apparatus still in hand. “And what if he has chosen a new manifestation?”

Suddenly, the gears shifted. A new line slid across the screen: Bellum venit. Ante novam lunam, consilium belli para.

Lucius felt his throat tighten. “War is on the horizon. We have not been fed riddles. We have been told plainly.”

Aemilia scowled. “Prophecy is not meant to be plain.”

“And why not?” Lucius let out a groan. “If Apollo knows the future, why shroud it in mystery?”

Aemilia locked eyes with Lucius. “As mortals, we cannot bear the certainty that this device of yours provides. If Croesus had been given a concrete prophecy like you propose, our world as we know it would not be the same. We might not even exist.” Her eyes shifted down to the text. “When the oracle gave Croesus a prophecy, it was up to him to decide what it meant. That burden fell upon him, not Apollo. A prophecy that leaves no room for interpretation is simply a command.”

Lucius swallowed the lump of saliva in his throat. The gears continued to hum softly. “And what is so wrong with clarity? Clarity is the foundation of imperium. When the Senate gives a decree to the soldiers, they do not debate over semantics. They act at the behest of the Senate. If war is truly approaching, then should we not just prepare?”

Before Aemilia could respond, footsteps echoed from the passage just beyond them. Lucius quickly placed the device back where he had found it. Attendants were guiding the Pythia to the chamber. She lowered herself onto the tripod.

Aemilia instinctively stepped back. She whispered under her breath. “Listen.”

The Pythia’s slow and uneven breaths steadied. “Bronze and silver will highlight the truth. The hand that claims certainty will bring about the fall of its own foundation.”

Lucius could feel the oracle’s riddle clashing with his instinct to heed the device’s warning. He caught a glimpse of the hidden apparatus, its gears still softly humming beneath the slab. He muttered to himself for a moment, then knelt down on the ground to retrieve his wax tablet. Slowly, he made an engraving with his stylus.

Aemilia observed him carefully. A slight smirk flashed across her face. “So,” she said. “You choose the old voice.”

Lucius paused. “It is not a matter of old or new. I choose the human one.” He stood up and walked across the chamber. The bronze glow remained pulsing underneath the slab, as if waiting for him to change his mind. He hesitated, considering what it would be like if the senate were to receive such certainty. A future without doubt.

But he resolved to press the stone back into place. The humming slowly dissipated, engulfed by the silence that Lucius was so accustomed to.

Works Cited

Britannica Editors. "Delphic oracle". Encyclopedia Britannica, 2 Aug. 2025,

https://www.britannica.com/topic/Delphic-oracle. Accessed 2 February 2026.

Britannica Editors. "Linear A and Linear B". Encyclopedia Britannica, 24 Jan. 2025,

https://www.britannica.com/topic/Linear-A. Accessed 3 February 2026.

Parke, H. W. "Croesus and Delphi." Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies, vol. 25, no. 3, 1984, pp. 209-232.