Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Ugh, we’re never gonna find this place!” I exclaimed, letting out a dramatic sigh.

Meg and I had taken Piper’s plane north to seek out Camp Jupiter, the training grounds of roman demigods. The flight had gone smoothly enough, save my brief panic attack when we flew through a storm. (Can you really blame me? I had done a lot of things over the past few months that could potentially make my father mad. Excuse my wise willingness to not get burnt to a crisp.) Unfortunately, farewells to our greek demigod companions had been brief, since everyone was still caught up in the grief of Jason Grace’s untimely death. This lead to Meg and I being quite clueless as to the exact whereabouts of the roman camp. I had expected my godly instincts to kick in and tell us where to go, but as always, they only came when others were in danger. I found that most annoying. We couldn’t simply ask some random person on the street for directions as the camp was shielded from mortal eyes, keeping itself completely unknown to humans who had had no run-ins with gods. Which, I might add, is a frustrating majority.

We now found ourselves tramping through a dense forest on a steep upward slope, the heat of the sun beating down on our backs as we trotted onwards. I had been so sure that this was the right way to go, that I had bet my last packet of skittles on it. (They were a gift from Piper’s father, Tristan McLean, who had snuck Meg and me a few packets out of pity. I had gladly taken them, but I now had a feeling that our slight detour was going to cost me. Meg McCaffrey does not share.)

I angrily slapped another tree branch out of my way, only for it to snap back and smack me in the face, earning a few snickers from my demigod master, who came up from behind me and elbowed me in the ribs.
“We’re lost.” Meg stated plainly. While her short summary had been more than obvious, I refused to admit it.
“Of course not,” I scoffed. “We’re close! We’ll be able to see the camp from higher ground. We’ll get our bearings and work from there.” Meg seemed to see straight through my lie. She uttered an unconvinced “Uh-huh”. I took a deep breath to regain my composure, and marched on.

When we finally reached the peak, we were completely exhausted. I promptly plopped down a large outcrop of rock, gasping to catch my breath. Meg followed my example (as everyone should do) and went the extra mile of lying flat on the grass, staring up at the clear sky. The top of the hill was quite a wide and level space, and the trees made a ring around the hillside about 10 meters down from the summit, meaning there was no shelter from the sweltering sun.

After several minutes of huffing and puffing, I started to notice mine and Meg’s breath even out. Then, Meg sighed deeply. “We’re lost, aren’t we?”
“No.”
“You’re the god of truth. That means you’re an awful lair.” I groaned. Sadly, there was a lot of truth in that statement. “So. Are we lost?” Meg repeated.
“Hopelessly.” I answered.
“Thought so.” She raised her arm from where she was lying on the ground and made a ‘gimme’ gesture with her hand. “Skittles.” She explained bluntly. I tossed the packet over to her, aiming to land them on her stomach, but I overshot and they landed on her face, which I was more than satisfied with. Within seconds she had emptied the bag into her mouth and was chewing furiously.

I held my face in my hands, leaning down on my knees and staring at the patterns of pebbles and soil on the earthen ground, trying to tune out the aggressive chomping and focus my thoughts on our next move. My attempts were unsuccessful. Instead, I imagined the steady beat of the crunch as a drum, and began to compose a piece of music in my head. It felt good to do something so simple, so familiar, that if I closed my eyes, I could still imagine I was sitting on the high balcony of my room on Olympus, singing my never-ending hours away.

Unslinging my ukulele, I began to noodle the beginnings of a fast-paced ditty. I had just gotten the swing of my new little jingle, my head bopping, my feet tapping, when the crunching stopped abruptly. I glanced up at where Meg was lying, and saw that she had sat up straight and tensed considerably, her hands pressed firmly against the soil as if she was ready to get up and bolt. Her eyes stared directly upwards. I was about to ask what was wrong when she called urgently, “Apollo.” I only had enough time to shoot her a quizzical look when she continued, “Look.” Typical Meg McCaffrey bluntness. I tried to follow her gaze, but all I saw in the sky was the sun. Then it occurred to me that there was something different about they sky. While still squinting up, I called over to Meg, “Is it just me, or is the sun getting bigger?”

I became uncomfortably aware of the rapidly increasing heat and brightness. I chanced another peek at the falling star, shielding my eyes with my arms. It looked lot closer that it had mere seconds ago.

Meg, who had long since gotten up, tugged desperately on my arm. “C’mon!” she yelled. “We need to go!” I had no clue where on earth we could run to, after all, if the sun hit the ground at a high enough temperature, it could easily level San Fransisco. But our options were extremely limited. So we ran.

We sped right back the way we came, both tripping and panicking. (Meg will tell you that I was the only one tripping. She is lying.) I kept taking risky glances back up at the blistering hot sun, which was now blocking a good deal more of the sky, until Meg screamed “STOP LOOKING! JUST RUN!”, which my body took as a direct command. Try as I might, I could no longer look anywhere but straight ahead.

We reached the forest. I had hoped that the trees could provide some sort of shelter, but alas, I could only feel the sunburns manifesting on my neck and back more acutely. We forged on, panting and frantically wiping sweat from our brows. My keen hearing picked up the hissing of starting fires. Leaves on the trees all around us smoked and curled inward. I examined Meg, who had skidded to a stop in a clearing a few feet ahead of me. She was perspiring as heavily as I was, her breath ragged, her eyes darting from place to place to find anywhere that might be a safe spot. I doubted such a place existed. But, there was not much else we could do. I too, scanned the area. But to no avail.

I once again looked down at my small friend and took in the hysteric panic flashing in her eyes. It was then that something within me clicked. A familiar strength swelled up inside me. As the sun connected with the ground, I flung myself at Meg, wrapping her in my arms and trying to cover as much of her body with my own as I could. I somehow knew that I would not be harmed. I reminded myself that I had jumped directly into the fires of the previous sun god Helios, and lived to tell the tale. And this time, I had a young life to protect. Meg clung tightly to my filthy Led-Zeppelin tee as a wave of blistering dry heat surged over us, the force almost knocking me out of my current crouched position. I clamped my eyes shut, but it did almost nothing to prevent the searing sensation that burned behind my eyelids. It felt as if all the oxygen in the world had been disintegrated by the roaring flames. The dust and ash swept forcefully around us, making me cough and splutter and try to gasp in oxygen that wasn’t there.

Finally, it ended. For a long time we remained as we were, holding on to each other as if our lives depended on it. Everything was completely still. Slowly lifting my head, I blinked the dust out my eyes and squinted at my surroundings, waiting for the spots to fade from my vision. My clothes and hair were caked with ash and soot, colouring them with a thick layer of grey. My usually black Led-Zeppelin tee had been bleached a few shades by the light. A few new holes had been burned into the back of my jeans, which, much like the slashes they had gained from enemy weaponry, did not look intentional or stylish. But I otherwise seemed unharmed, as I assumed I would be. I quickly checked Meg over. I had been mostly successful in my attempt to shield her from the fire as she also looked to be in good health, but her clothes had suffered a similar fate to mine. Her green dress was burnt at the hem, her bright leggings slathered a dull grey with ash and dust. A pungent smell of burning rubber emanated from her red high-tops.

She had discarded her panicked expression and replaced it with one of her commanding glares. Knowing Meg McCaffrey, she could have been saying Who said you could hug me? or, more likely, This is probably your fault.

After making sure that we were both unharmed, I looked back towards the summit, where the sun had smashed into the earth. The damage was not nearly as extensive as it could have been, which surprised me, to say the least. However, destruction had still been dealt. The top of the hill had been batted down significantly, the peak now sitting a good ten metres below where it had previously rested. The forest around us had been burnt to cinders, a few fires still crackling on dismembered branches. Dark smoke curled in tendrils from a fifty foot crater left in the hill.

Without warning, Meg grabbed my wrist and started dragging me back towards the crater. Before I could splutter a protest, she declared “The sun fell. That means it was probably something to do with you.” The march back up the hill was a lot shorter that the sprint down it, as the peak had been blown to smithereens and the hill had lost a few metres of rock. Too soon, we reached the edge of the hole and Meg gestured assertively down at it. “Fix it.”

I gulped. Edging closer to the rim of the crater, I wondered which angry sun deity I would have to avoid being obliterated by. None of us sun gods or goddesses would be particularly perky seconds after crashing our pride and joy - whether it takes the form of a super cool sports car or a kingly barque- into the filthy earth. Dents and scratches do not pick up ladies, folks. I prayed it would not be Ra, who was the ‘Zeus’ of the Egyptian pantheon. Not that he was as cruel or hard-headed as my father, in fact quite the opposite as I remember. But he did hold as much or maybe more power than Zeus, and I did not want to be on the bad side of two divine kings.

Leaning cautiously over the side of the deep pit, I tried to deduce which pantheon this sun was from without putting too much of myself in the downed god’s sight line (aka blast zone). But my eyes did not land on an Egyptian barque or a Norse chariot. Instead, I found myself glaring at a yellow school minibus with the numberplate ‘AP0110’ fixed on the back.

I felt every thought of caution and anxiousness vanish from my conscience as rage hotter than the sun’s fires filled every crevasse of my pathetic mortal being. Someone was driving my car. Some little perp had just crashed my car. I was appalled. I must have looked it too, because Meg tugged on my t-shirt from where she was hiding behind me (ugh, I was supposed to be the one hiding behind her. How selfish.) and asked “Are they bad?” I wasn’t sure whether that meant ‘are they badly hurt’ which meant she was sweetly concerned with their wellbeing, or ‘are they a bad guy I can stab’ which would be less sweet and more typical of my young master.

“That’s…” I trailed off, struggling to spit the words out through my mortification. I pointed my finger down at the minibus, urging Meg to look down at it while I tried to force out words. Finally, I managed to stutter “That-that’s mine! That’s my car!” Meg didn’t seem to share my shock. To my surprise, she snorted a laugh.
“You drive a minibus?” She said between giggles. “Are you telling me that the greek sun is a minibus?” I waved my hand at her dismissively.
“No, no. The minibus for transporting multiple passengers. I prefer Maserati Spyder mode, like any self-respecting sun deity should do.” I hastily explained, still glaring daggers down at the vehicle.

Starting towards the smoking minibus, I decided I would give this twerp driver the benefit of the doubt, as they were likely immortal and a lot more powerful than me in my current state. I really was not in the mood for making more enemies than necessary. Unlike my old godly self, I could not go around carelessly insulting minor deities who could never dream of overpowering a major Olympian. I did, however, plan to give them a piece of my mind and a lesson in basic driving. Step 1: Don’t crash the car!

I fearlessly marched down the steep drop, careful not to trip and lose any and all dignity I had in my Lester-y prison in front of this new wanna-be sun god. I told myself that I wasn’t particularly worried. I had dealt with immortal wanna-be’s before, two in my mortal state, and while I had hated both of them with a burning passion, they had been experienced evil emperors. I reminded myself that the person trying to drive my car was most likely a rookie that had been hurriedly pushed into the driver’s seat in a sad attempt to replace moi. They’d probably love to hear some hard advice from the actual sun god.

At least, that would have been ideal. As soon as the driver managed to stumble his way out of the minibus, my confidence sank (a feeling I had grown far too used to). I stopped in my tracks as I felt my face darken and my guard shoot up. Something about the young man…was strikingly familiar. His lightning blue eyes glinted with mischief. The dark hair that framed his pinkish face grew curly and wild. He looked to be about my mortal age of sixteen, perhaps slightly younger, but his good looks were undeniable. His baby blue jacket hung loose over his wiry arms. His casual white t-shirt was half-tucked into his baggy jeans. He looked a bit like me - mortal me - but better. More attractive. No acne. Lester 2.0, if you will. I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. Had this man taken this form simply to spite me? If I had any idea who it was - and I had - it would be a very plausible motive.

He spread his arms welcomingly as if he were extremely pleased to meet me, which was exactly what I hoped for, except that his eyes hid a much more mischievous intent behind his actions. His smile looked like he was stifling laughter, making his mocking actions all the more obvious. “Brother!” He said joyfully. “I was hoping I would run into you!” I looked him up and down, my mind whizzing to pinpoint exactly who this stranger was, and if I was right about my hunch. He didn’t give me time to finish my thought process (rude) before he exclaimed, “As you can see, the Olympians have entrusted me with the hottest ride in the heavens. I’d say I’m doing quite a bit better than you already!” He donned a thoughtful expression for a moment. “Maybe I should’ve gotten in on Caligula’s sun-god soup thing, huh?” He muttered.

I swallowed the all-too-many awful memories surfacing at the sound of Caligula’s name, and tried my best to look stony-faced. “Evidently,” I gestured at the wreckage, “they trusted the wrong person.” He waved his hand at me, dismissing my statement. I found that I didn’t like being at the receiving end of a god’s go-to ‘dismissive hand wave’. I much preferred giving them out. It made me feel much less small, and a little more important.

“Oh please. I’m a great driver!” He leaned in close to me, like we were about to trade juicy secrets. “For the record, I’ve only crashed this baby once. I couldn’t count the amount of times you’ve been downed on one hand.” He straightened up. “Besides, you’re good fun! I wanted to hang out for a few.” A few months ago, I would have seen no fault in these actions. I mean really, why wouldn’t you want to hang out with me? I was an amazing major Olympian god. I was a master musician, an emotion-jerking poet and a smooth ladies man who drove a hot-red convertible Maserati Spyder. I was well worth the attention! But now, I knew this to be too good to be true. Ever since the incident at Macro’s Military Madness in South California, I’d forced myself to come to terms with the fact that if people wanted to meet me, they usually wanted me dead. Besides, I could hardly remember my own twin’s face. There was always the chance that he wasn’t who I thought I was, and I didn’t want to risk greeting a dangerous enemy as an old friend.

Sharply reminding myself of this, I fixed a tight smile on my face. If the Olympians trusted this man with a source of light and warmth that every one of their worshippers depended on to survive, then any screw-up of his was on their watch. It was none of my business. I started to cautiously edge back from the boy.
“Well, I’d love to stay and chat with a fan-” the boy was obviously trying not to crack up, not helping my unease, “-but I’m afraid we must be getting on. I’m sure you’ve heard about my, ah, current predicament. I’d like my sun chariot back as soon as possible. And in one piece if you don’t mind.” I turned my back to him, trying to convince myself that I’d gotten out of immediate trouble.

Meg ruined it. You can blame her. As soon as I turned away from the man, I came face-to-face with Meg, who had snuck up behind me while I wasn’t paying attention. She looked past me and asked the man “Are you two related?” Typical. She avoids any and all conversation, except for when she knows it’s going to annoy me. I mean, come on. She knew darn well that I was related to almost everyone. On my dad’s side, anyway.

The boy stayed silent and looked at me expectantly, a stupid grin plastered on his stupid perfect face. I took a risk and went with my gut.

“Yes, Meg. This is my half-brother,” - I paused and glanced at him, his eye’s mischievous glint convincing me that I must be correct - “Hermes, the god of travel.”

“Bravo, big bro! Took ya a minute there, didn’t it?” I went for a smile, but I was hard. I didn’t know quite what to think. On one hand, I was overjoyed. My friend was here. My family was here. You may think I still despised Hermes from that time he stole fifty of my sacred cattle. Honestly. That was thousands of years ago! Besides, I’d gotten my precious lyre out of it, hadn’t I? I’d also given Hermes some of his signature items (flying sandals, his adamantine and gold sword, his freakin’ caduceus) so I considered myself a contribution to his success. Of course, some of his favourite hobbies weren’t exactly commendable, but his presence was always excitingly unpredictable. When you hung out with Hermes, you could find yourself attempting to add tabasco sauce into Ares’ protein shakes or see who could stack more objects on a sleeping Hypnos without waking him up. A night out with Hermes usually ended with a action movie worthy chase scene.

On the other hand, it was Hermes. A friend, yes, but not who I was looking for. I must have shown my disappointment.

“Ah, don’t sweat it, dude. Artemis is looking out for you. Father saw the risky stunt her hunters pulled in Indianapolis. She charmed herself out of any real punishment, but father has a real close eye on her.”

“So did you come here to laugh or what?” I asked.
“What?” He feigned shock, before his lips gave way to another impish grin. “Well, yeah. But not primarily. That’s just a bonus,” he winked.

“Thanks,” I grumbled. “But we really must be going. I don’t want to get blamed for anything else.” I began to usher Meg back up the slope. “You see, we got lost on the way to Camp Jupiter, and-”
“Oh! I know where Camp Jupiter is! Why don’t you hop on and I’ll drive you!” Stuck for options and really not wanting to be in my father’s domain with a god that I definitely shouldn’t be talking to, I decided to play the dirtiest card I had.
“Well obviously we would, but, ah, father may consider that against the rules. Other gods aren’t allowed to help. They’d most likely get the same sentence as me! Mortal and stuffed in a meat-sack body with no powers.”
“With acne,” Meg added.
I nodded. “With acne.”

His smile faltered. Some might say Hermes has no sense of consequence or self-preservation, but I knew that was not true. Hermes was smart. No god with half a braincell wanted to cross Zeus. He was known across the pantheons for being ruthless. You didn’t get a special pass if you were his kid. He wasn’t afraid to dish out punishments by the dozen, or chew someone out just for the sake of placing the blame (me). But despite common sense, Hermes regained his wide smile and shrugged, completely eliminating my dirty card. “Nah. He’s too busy dealing with all the prayers being sent to you right now. Something about a dumb copyright law in Europe. The teens are raging.” He winked at me. “Besides, I got my own ways of getting out of punishment. I’m quite a good talker.”

He placed one hand under the sun bus and flipped it right side up with absolutely zero effort. Meg looked unimpressed. I like her sometimes. Hermes whisked a whistle out of thin air and blew a long, shrill note.
“All aboard the Hermes Express!” He called.
“We are not calling it that.” I mumbled as I waited for Meg to skip up onto the minibus. As I approached the doors, Hermes held out his arm and blocked me.
“That’ll be ten drachma, sir.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Sorry sir, them’s the rules.”
“You didn’t stop her!” I complained, gesturing to Meg who stood giggling at the top of the steps.
“She’s a minor. Under fifteens go free.” Breathing some ancient greek curses, I reached into my back pocket and handed my brother ten gold coins. Then I bolted up the steps before he could lay down any extra charges.

But upon rounding the corner and facing the rows of two-seaters, I was confronted with the most horrific sight I’d ever seen. My car was akin to a pigsty. Piles of pizza boxes and duffle bags crammed with various boxes littered the back. Every seat was plastered with something as revolting as glue and monster goop mixed with Hephaestus’ sweat. Silly string of every colour dripped from the roof and decorated the backs of the seats like a band of tweens had started a riot. Even from the front of the minibus, I could see the wads of gum stuck on the seatbelts and underneath benches. Pizza dripped from the windows. Half eaten grilled cheeses stuck out from beneath the leather bench pads. I walked stiffly down the aisle. My hand gripped a seat, only for it to stick like a wasp in jam. I peeled it off, gazing in utter disgust at the odd pink substance that connected my fingers to the leather.

“What did you do to my car?” I asked, my attempts to contain my pure rage hidden poorly by my slow, deliberate words.
“I fixed it obviously,” Hermes had the nerve to answer cheerfully. “I made it more homey.”
“Is that why it’s a minibus?” Meg asked, looking approvingly around at the mess.
“Yup! It’s too much hassle to cram all this awesome stuff into a Spyder. Kept falling out. I hit an old lady with a whole pepperoni pizza though!” he laughed as if this was the funniest thing he’d ever heard himself say. He wiped a tear from his eye. “Ah, good times.” As much as the thought amused me, I would not give Hermes the satisfaction of my wonderful smile. I managed to hide my amusement with an eye roll.
“Wouldn’t a school bus fit more stuff?”
“Don’t encourage him, Meg.”
“You,” Hermes pointed at Meg, his rascal grin stretched across his face. “I like how you think.” Meg giggled at the compliment. I figured Hermes was going to be an even worse influence than Leo Valdez had been. I didn’t relish the idea of them spending too much time together.

“Can we get going? I don’t want to see my car in this state for any longer than I have to.” I paused, wringing my hands. “And… we have a duty. To inform the romans of what happened to their friend.” Hermes’ face fell.
“Oh, yeah. The Grace boy. Dad’s not too happy about that one.” The very thought of my father’s wrath shook me to the core. But there was no denying that I had had a hand in the death of his favourite demigod son. I just hoped he wouldn’t take his anger out on a son of my own. I would have no way of stopping him. I would have much preferred to steer clear of him altogether, but here we were, about to fly directly into his domain. Yay! Meg must have sensed the thick air of discomfort, and quickly put us back on track.
“Can we go now?”
Hermes perked up again. “Sure, kiddo! Oh, and don’t bother to buckle up. Riding the sun is much more fun when you’re floating around in zero gravity!” Meg gave me an eager smile, and her rhinestones glowed excitedly. I decided I didn’t like that. She didn’t know my brother like I did. He would have gotten a good kick out of a twelve year old breaking her neck. When we sat down, I made sure to double check that her seatbelt was fastened. With an agitated demigod glaring holes into my back, I turned to my own seatbelt. Hermes decided that was the perfect time to take off.

We rattled off the ground at full speed, Meg and I pressed flat against our seats. The wind was knocked out of me. My ribs felt like a herd of elephants had just tromped on them. Though I could not turn my head, I saw from the corner of my eye that Meg was not doing much better than me. All enthusiasm that had danced in her eyes mere seconds ago had been replaced with terror. Her face had turned the same shade of green as her famous dress. She sat awkwardly stiff, as if she had been flattened against a car windshield. I imagined I looked the same. From the front of the bus I heard a muttered “Whoops”. There was some button clicking, and the lights along the roof flickered on. This did not help our predicament.

My head was spitting with pain. I felt the air thin. The world outside got darker as we approached the exosphere. I tried to yell ‘SLAM THE BREAKS, YOU IMBECILE!’, but all I could force out was “sla-*gaSP*-m the *gaSP* br-*gaSP*”, which wasn’t much of a motivator.
“Don’t panic guys!” Hermes called. “I’ve got it all under control!” I wasn’t even sure if that was a blatant lie or not. It was more than possible that he was driving terribly just to mess with us. I heard a few more button clicks, and the lights flickered off again. So did the engine. For a few fleeting moments, we paused. The entire world slowed to a crawl. My curly hair defied gravity and floated upwards. Hanging midair, I could almost feel what it was to fly again. Then we resumed.

The minibus tilted sickeningly. Then we dropped. My stomach however, stayed stubbornly where it was, 300, 400, 500 feet above us. My body must have been desperate to rejoin it. You see, Meg had gotten her seatbelt on in time. I had not. I zoomed up, smacked my head on the roof, then lay there, being slowly crushed by the force. I looked directly down at Meg who seemed like she wanted to scream and puke at the same time. I couldn’t relate more. I then looked up at the front, where an all-too-calm god exclaimed “Ohhh. I get it. It’s this one.” He jabbed a button with his index finger, and the engine spluttered on, sounding much too exhausted for my liking. We stopped, and I hit the floor with an audible thump.

I tried to catch my breath while lying face down on the sticky ground. I began to pull myself up. The engine revved, and I realised my mistake. I should’ve gone for a seatbelt immediately. Cursing at myself, I scrambled for a seat, knowing it was in vain. Of course, I was right. My pathetic body was flung to the back as the bus took of at speeds to rival my father’s lightning. I was in too much shock to even feel the pain, though I was certain it would not be gone for long. For now, I would just have to cling onto the seats at the back for dear life, while trying not to scream, vomit or smash the speakers beside my head that were blasting ‘Sweet Caroline’ (another “My bad!” had sounded from the driver’s seat). I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to summon another burst of godly power. I knew that it only came out when I felt the strong need to protect. Even then, it was temperamental. I focused on Meg and how scared she was, how scared I was. But nothing happened. The only thing welling up in me was my half-digested skittles.

“Camp Jupiter ho!” Yelled Hermes. I forced myself to look up through the windshield window. Indeed, below us lay the roman demigod camp, in all its intricate splendour. Which wouldn’t be much if it was reduced to ashes. “Now, which one is the brake?”
“YOU’RE THE GOD OF TRAVEL!” I roared. “YOU KNOW WHERE THE BRAKE IS!” Hermes pretended not to hear me and continued to feign confusion, stroking his non-existent beard for added effect. Thankfully, a traffic-light coloured preteen (who had been seated a lot further from the back) had swallowed her nausea and was using all her strength to claw her way to the front. Her curved sword impaled the floor, making me flinch considerably (but I was not about to stop her) and she used the sticky wads of gum as footholds, as if she were scaling a horizontal climbing wall. Upon reaching her goal, Meg clung to Hermes’ baby blue jacket and hollered back to me.
“WHICH ONE’S THE BRAKE?”
“PEDAL ON THE LEFT!” I yelled back. “UNDER THE WHEEL!” I was more than happy to see her kick my tricky brother in the kneecap, then shove him out of the way so she could get to the pedal. Hermes made no attempt to stop her, or to help. After all, he was immortal. What did he care if the bus crashed? He wouldn’t get hurt. I found that reasoning disgusting, and awfully close to what I would have thought once, in a seemingly different life. The god of travel just stood there, holding onto a handle on the back of one of the seats, and keeping himself upright as casually as one might do on a train. Finally, Meg slammed her foot down on the pedal. I could feel the strain on the brakes, the engine trying desperately to slow down. It was a hard transition between halting and zooming forward at a million miles per hour. Despite her deity-kicking abilities, I could see that Meg was not strong enough. The force of the speed was pulling her back.
“HERMES! HELP HER!”
Hermes turned to me. “Sorry,” he said in mock regret. “You were right about what you said earlier. I’m not allowed to assist.”
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”
“Nope!” He said. “But here’s an idea - how about you help her?”

Before I could shoot another retort (preferably with some ancient greek curses), I was standing up behind Meg. Biting back confusion and nausea, I clung to the rear-view mirror and pressed down Meg’s foot which was on the brake with all my gangly sixteen-year-old might. With Lester’s track record in brute strength, I figured she wouldn’t get hurt. I looked up and saw the camp approaching alarmingly quickly. The bus was slowing, but not nearly fast enough. I estimated about thirty seconds before they all got fatally serious sunburns. I tried, once again, to summon my godly strength. I thought about the dozens of teenagers and civilians in the camp. I thought about their futures, and what they would one day accomplish. The visions flowed easily. I saw a young girl, a daughter of Mars, defeating armies of monsters in her father’s name. I saw a teenage daughter of Venus become the minor deity of self-acceptance. I saw a son of Vulcan in his thirties, happily hammering at a tractor and stopping occasionally to gaze at his beautiful wife, a dark-haired daughter of Ceres.

Then I thought about my own demigod companion. She was so unpredictable, and so young, that she had no determined future. A beautiful stage of life. Though some could argue that you never truly leave that stage. I saw her grow up, and become one of the fiercest demigod warriors, surpassing even Percy Jackson. In a different timeline, I saw her accept eternal maidenhood in my sister’s hunt. Yet another possibility arose. This time, she sat on a golden throne with a back shaped like a harp, emitting an aura of endless youth. Next to her, sat an eighteen-year-old boy with golden hair tied back in a man-bun. He had a bow slung on his back, and a celestial bronze ukulele in his hand. They talked and laughed as if they had known each other for centuries.

I have to admit, that last one brought tears to my eyes. With renewed strength, I floored the brake. The bus screeched to a halt, and we were thrown forward. We were on the ground, right outside the entrance tunnel, where two shocked guards stood. I laughed with sheer relief. Then I looked down at Meg, who didn’t share my enthusiasm for safety. She sat on the floor, cradling her foot.
“You stood on me,” she complained. “You used your godly power on my foot.” I was too relieved to argue. I grinned as I helped her up and supported her as she limped towards the doors. But before we could leave, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Turning my head, I saw my little brother smiling at me.
“Good job, bro.” He said. “I see you’re not completely out of juice. We wanted to make sure you still had it in you. The next part of your quest will be harder than before.” I shot him an uneasy glance.
“‘We?’” Hermes shook his head.
“Some concerned well-wishers. Can’t specify. Too dangerous.”
“Right.”
“Keep going, dude.”
“See you later, then.” I nodded. Hermes nodded back. We stepped outside, and the bus flashed, then was gone.
“You have a weird family,” Meg grunted.
“Don’t forget,” I answered, “they’re your family too.”
We turned to the two demigod guards, who were still standing with their mouth agape. It was such a wonderful feeling to be gazed at in awe, that I let myself forget why we were here.
“Hello!” I said cheerfully. “I’m Apollo.”

Chapter Text

It was my turn to keep watch. It was dark, though there was no way to accurately determine what time it was. Meg snored deeply from the rush-job tent just a few feet behind me. We’d had quite the close call a few nights ago, when a Pandos tracker from Caligula’s army had caught us off guard. From then on, we decided that at least one of us should be awake at all times. But now, sitting and shivering on an uncomfortable rock in the eerie darkness of the forest in the early morning, I decided I regretted every part of my and Meg’s little agreement. Not only was I cold and tired, I was also hyperaware of the fact that I was extremely vulnerable. I had been mortal for so long that I could hardly shoot a barn from point-blank range. I had trouble with the intricate fingering on my combat ukulele. My voice wavered at cracked when I sang even the simplest tune. I feared that if something were to happen, I wouldn’t be able to do anything except scream for help from a little girl in traffic-light coloured attire. Have I mentioned that being mortal sucks?

But… there was something else. When I was a god, I had the ability to keep an eye on mortal exploits from my throne on Olympus. I had observed with interest the quests of many heroes; Hercules, Theseus and Percy Jackson, to name a few. So I knew with certainty that the gods would be watching me. This was not new information. I had always known. What was bothering me was that the uncomfortable feeling of eyes on my back felt intensified. I was the entertainment of a large audience tonight.

I could almost feel my image in the central hearth of Hestia in the Olympian throne room, where you could watch anyone in the world flicker through its flames like a blazing hologram. I’ve watched a few soppy family movies with Hestia and the others huddled around the warmth of the most gentle source of power in all of Olympus. When you were sat viewing ‘Beauty and the Beast’ in high definition, you simply forgot all sense of tension between you and your brethren. Even to lawless scamps like Hermes, it was simply improper to argue in front of Hestia's hearth. Demeter and I came to our uneasy truce over ‘The Secret Garden’. Artemis and I had forgotten countless arguments over ‘Robin Hood’ since 1973. (What? We’re archers. And we love the justice dealt to the greedy prince. Artie will tell you that Maid Marian shouldn't have gotten married. This isn’t true.) You catch my drift. It hurt that I was the one being peered at, ridiculed, from such a pure, sacred place.

And so, I knew something was going to happen. I stole a glance back at Meg, wondering if I should wake her. Then again, there was no telling what a cranky, sleep-deprived tween would order me to do if I were to wake her just because I was feeling a little skittish. I decided against disturbing her.

But what I did next, I could not explain at the time. I thought perhaps the nerves got the better of me. Perhaps my fidgeting became too much. I stood. My keen ears picked up the faint squealing of an infant. Meg’s snores began to ebb away to the back of my mind, like the whole world was being submerged in Poseidon’s fury. The screams became more acute. I was drawn to go to it, to silence the scream. My peripheral vision darkened. I could only see straight ahead, to the source of the voice. The urge became as powerful as my master’s orders. I started to walk.

I had only gone a few steps forward in my trance when I gained back control of my lower body, and, with great force, willed myself to stop. I stood there, stuck in limbo, my mind violently hurling commands back and forth like the ball in an olympian volleyball game (Zeus and Poseidon are terrifyingly competitive).

‘Go!’ The first voice hissed. ‘You are needed! Save them!’
‘Not a chance!' The second sniped back. ‘You’d leave Meg vulnerable like that? You are no better than the gods and emperors you say you despise!’
‘Meg can defend herself. You need to be the useful one for a change. How many people have you disappointed? Do not let this be another.’

My legs felt detached from my body. I stepped another few paces. “No!” I muttered to myself. “I want to stay!” The pull did not lessen.

‘Trust me,’ said the first voice, morphing into that of a fierce woman’s. Her tone was a calm leader’s, pointing her soldiers into the battlefield. ‘No harm shall come to your companion. Now, go!’ Her last word spurred my legs against my will. I began to run towards the source of the screaming, my heart pumping faster and more desperately every second, without actually knowing why. My entire form went on autopilot. I saw myself jumping over fallen tree trunks, clawing up steep, muddy hills and wading through a shallow creeks. I felt every stone scraped my hands on, every branch that stung my face. But I could not control it. Down in the very depths of my mind I felt my fear of being trapped and guilt of leaving Meg, but it was quickly quenched by this new feeling of an unwelcome person sharing my Lester prison.

My subconscious thrashed to regain control. But I couldn’t. No matter how hard I fought, I could not make myself portray anything but this monotoned calm. I was forced to take a backseat and watch quietly as I let myself run and run until my lungs felt like Hephaestus had made them into his new forge. I wanted to wheeze, cough and splutter. I couldn’t. I tried to yell for help. I couldn’t.

Finally, after an eternity of sprinting through the damp, cold maze of trees, the presence left my mortal body. My knees buckled and my feet gave way. I lay face down in the dirt panting like Cerberus on a particularly dry day in the Underworld. My clothes were in tatters. My hands and knees were bleeding. Everything up to my mid-thighs was soaked, and the rest was caked with mud. I managed to push myself up, though I shook badly. I stayed like that for a while - on all fours, concentrating on breathing more than anything else. Breathing is good. I always recommend breathing.

Then I heard the cries. They only sounded to be a few feet ahead of me. With all my mortal strength (which isn’t a lot, but I was tired) I used a nearby trunk to haul myself to my feet, still gasping at the air hungrily. When I looked up, my eyes connected with a strange sight. A wispy grey apparition floated silently next to a dark tree stump. On the stump lay a little bundle of writhing white sheets, wrapped tightly around a minuscule form. I stood there for a second - maybe out of shock - before I rushed over to the child, tripping and landing on my bleeding knees out of desperation to reach him. I took him up as gently as my shaking hands could, and clutched him tightly to my chest. You may be wondering why I did this. Firstly, please. I know I’m not a model father, but I’m no monster. Even in my godly state, I would have reacted as such. Just as my sister is the protector of young maidens, I am the protector of young men. I don’t quite understand how I knew, but this little child was a boy. Perhaps it’s my mother’s genes that spurs on this side of me. She is, after all, the titaness of motherhood (also, I know for certain that I don’t get any of my fatherly traits from my own father).

Secondly, this baby, barely a newborn, had obviously been abandoned by his parents. Left for dead with no skills or means to survive. He was utterly defenceless. I sympathised.

I felt the baby’s heartbeat and checked his temperature, all while hugging him as close as possible, trying to provide him with heat from my own body. I could tell he needed far more warmth than my shivering frame could give him. My teeth chattered. My numb fingers could just about keep an even grip on the baby.

“He won’t survive much longer.” The apparition’s voice made me jump. I had completely forgotten her presence. I scolded myself. You do not disregard a potential deity unless you want something sharp or white-hot to mutilate you on the spot. Stupid Apollo! This was basic hero knowledge! I looked up at her, already recognising her voice. The woman wore a full-length chiton, held a spear in one hand, and a shield in the other. Her head was adorned with a battle helm that sprouted smoky grey plumage as if someone had set her tightly woven hair bun on fire, though I guess that wasn’t the look she was going for. Over one shoulder, a small satchel was slung. Battle ready and stoic as ever, stood Athena, the goddess of wisdom.

“S-sister,” I greeted coldly (literally. I was shivering enough to cause concern.) “How nice of you to show. I would have thought you above interacting with human children.”
“You are four thousand years old. You are not a child, though your behaviour could fool most.”
“I didn’t mean me, I meant-”
“We have urgent matters to discuss.”
“But why did you-”
“There is limited time.” Ugh. Athena was and is the spitting image of Zeus. One track mind. It doesn’t matter if everyone was crying and screaming, they would still finish what they were saying or doing before giving a thought to anyone else’s feelings.

“I have information for you,” ghost-Athena continued. “You must-”
“Woah, woah, woah,” I interrupted (wow, Athena was right! Cutting people off was fun). Athena looked irritated, but allowed me to speak. “Why did you drag me to this kid? What’s he got to do with this?” Sighing deeply, she began to explain.

“It’s an excuse.” She looked down at me as if this should have been the most obvious thing in the world. “My plan was to alert you to this child’s predicament, then appear and take him to safety. As the protector of young boys, his well-being is your responsibility. I told father how embarrassing it would be for him to look like he couldn’t handle your ‘simplistic’ jobs, and he allowed me take the child if you just so happened to find him,”- she waved her hands slightly for emphasis -“on the condition that I don’t talk to you.”

“So…why are you talking to me?”

“I am disregarding his condition as I trust his reliance on my wise judgement. He cannot hurt me.”

I grunted. “Right.” It must have felt good to be one of my father’s favourite children. I would not know. I was cursed to be in the same group as deities such as Ares and Dionysus. Sometimes even they got more attention than me! I was not some dumb war brute or a drunken demigod! I was Apollo! I (sometimes) knew the future! I sang songs of our (my) glory! Not to mention my (and my sister’s) skill with a bow! I was an intelligent medic! Have you ever been to medical school? Only the brightest survive (excuse my pun about being the frickin’ sun god).

Then again, my mortal mind had been kicking me recently. Ever since meeting Hermes on the way to Camp Jupiter, I had come to an awful realisation. Among the Olympians, I was always second best. An atrocity, I know! I do not suit silver. That’s my sister’s colour! I’m supposed to be gold! But I assure you kind readers, it is true, for I have thought this over. Anything I could do, someone else could also do. Healing? They had my son, Asclepius. Archery? My sister, Artemis. Music and poetry? The nine muses. The sun? They already had Hermes on that job. Sure, I could spread plague, but so could the Nosoi. I could be a deep thinker if I wanted to be, but so could Athena, and her ‘deep thoughts’ were usually to my father’s favour, unlike mine.

If I showed any disgust (and I’m sure I did,) Athena did not acknowledge it. Instead she ploughed on with her all-important speech.
“As I was saying, I have something important to share with you.” She started digging through her small satchel while she talked. “Both Artemis and Hermes have helped you, and both are now being watched by father. I will be more careful. I have only come to give you this.” From the petite bag, she drew a water bottle and a clear zip-lock bag with what looked like little squares of brownies inside. She placed the bottle on the tree stump next to her, and held up the bag. “These have been chemically synthesised by your son Asclepius and myself. They have the healing properties of ambrosia, but can be safely consumed by mortals, as long as you do not eat too much. The bag is not self-replenishing, so use them carefully. This is something Artemis whipped up. It’s-”
“-Moonwater,” I finished. The glinting silveriness of the liquid was too obvious to be anything else. I remembered Thalia Grace giving me some back in Indianapolis, before - well, before Caligula happened. I hated myself for reminding me.

Athena seemed unbothered. “Yes. Now if you could hand over the child-” she started reaching her arms out the shivering baby in my arms. As soon as Athena’s hands were within an inch of him, he started screeching with renewed energy. The shrill sound echoed through the quiet woods, a few birds in nearby trees flapping off to escape the racket. I flinched and Athena covered her ears. I rocked the baby and hummed a quiet lullaby until he calmed down. Athena sighed and put her hands on her hips. “Right. Let us try that again.” She picked up the baby and rocked him like I had, but the noise was no different. For a newborn, he definitely had a good pair of lungs.

Seeing Athena struggle with something so simple was quite amusing, but I decided to be a good person (see? I am good. I am.) and help her out. With great difficulty, I stood and shuffled over to Athena’s smoke-self. She glared, but allowed me to adjust her hand positioning.
“Babies don’t have much in the neck. You have to hold them like this.” Athena huffed.
“I know that.” She snapped.
“Good. Now you’ll have to sing to him.”
Athena blanched (as much as a grey apparition can, anyway). “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You don’t have to sing the entire Les Misérables soundtrack. Just a little tune.” You’ll have to forgive me here. I knew there were other alternatives. But I also I knew Athena was self-conscious. I just wanted to get one of the Olympians to be as embarrassed as I constantly was for the last three months.

After some convincing, Athena agreed to hum, but nothing more. She chose ‘Für Elise’ by Beethoven. A good choice I suppose. I admit, it did please me that even in her semi-solid colourless state, I could almost feel her cheeks reddening. Too soon, the baby quietened down.

“Not bad. Though your pace needs to slow down a bit to -”
“Hush up.” I held up my hands in surrender and flashed my old, cocky smile. It didn’t seem to fit naturally anymore. I ignored that.

“You’ve done better than I expected.”
“Gee, thanks.” Suddenly thunder rumbled in the distance. We both looked to the skies.
“I’ve exceeded my time limit. I must be off.” And with that, the embodiment of wisdom poofed and disappeared, leaving me coughing in her smoke. I arrived back at the campsite just as the sun’s first rays began to peek through the trees.

Chapter Text

It had been a hectic few weeks, so naturally, I figured I’d earned some alone time. I lay facing the twinkling stars on the roof of our borrowed (see: stolen) Ford Transit van, in the middle of nowhere, plucking at the strings of my combat ukulele. I closed my eyes and played a tune I had written for my mother many millennia ago…

572 BC

“Phoebus Apollon!” My mother laughed as she slapped my arm playfully. “You cannot insult the Queen of the gods like that!”
“Ah, but you know she deserves it.” I said, bumping my shoulder into hers. We sat on the highest cliff on Delos, watching the sunset. The golden light made mother’s bronze skin glow, and her silky, caramel hair whipped around her face, sometimes obscuring her kind eyes. I gazed at her in awe, having no doubt why my father had fallen in love with her. Or why queen cow-face was so jealous. I myself appeared as a twenty-one year old, with my usual shoulder length blonde hair and golden toga. My head sat just a few inches above my mother’s.

“How is your new job?” Leto stirred my out of my reverie.
“Hmm?”
She smiled again, showing her dazzling white teeth. “The sun chariot, yiós.”
“Oh. It’s good. The sun horses moulded their personalities to suit mine after the first day. Most of the palace did actually. I named the horses too. And I don’t use the whip like Helios did. I think they’re grateful for that. The whip, I mean, or lack thereof. Though I do hope they like the names I gave them. They’re all sun related; Blaze, Flame, Dawn and Fire, though I may change that last one as it seems quite unoriginal-” I glanced over at my mother, only to see her smile had melted. She looked out at the sea, her head slightly bowed. Tears threatened to fall from her soft blue eyes.

Realising my mistake, I quickly took her hands in my own. “I’m sorry. I should have been more sensitive. I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut sometimes, huh?” I tried for a smile, and manage to coax a sad one from my mother.

Leto could have rivalled even Hestia’s serenity and kindness. Of course she had taken the disappearance of her two cousins, Helios and Selene, to heart. They had both been such good souls, neither deserving of extinction. But such is the life of an immortal. Someday we would all fade from human memory. I fear that day.

Leto wiped a tear from her cheek. “I am glad you are not using the whip, child. I expect nothing less from such a kind-hearted young man.” She knew of my hatred of slavery. She knew everything about me, more than any mortal lover could ever comprehend. I did not have to pretend to be unrelentingly optimistic when I was around her.

“And what of the names?” I asked. Leto giggled, her dimples deepening.

“Very catchy.” she said, resting her head on my shoulder. “What about your other domains? Have you written any new songs lately?” In response, I willed my lyre to materialise in my hands. Leto cuddled closer to me as I strummed my latest tune, and closed her eyes when I sang softly along to the calming melody.

Leaning my head down on my mother’s, we watched the last traces of the sun melt beyond the horizon. It was a glorious sunset, if I do say so myself. Of course, it was all for the best mother in the world.

Present

As the final note dissipated, a jarring clang rang out from my right. Startled, I sat bolt upright and huffed at the source of the noise.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep, Meg?”

“You’re not sleeping either, dummy.” My demigod master clumsily climbed the rest of the way onto the roof of the van, and plonked herself down beside me. We sat in silence for a while. That was alright with me. I figured this was as close to ‘alone time’ as I would ever get as a mortal. “The song you played,” Meg said suddenly, “who was it for?” I said nothing. I looked up at the stars again. They hadn’t changed. Maybe a few new ones, but mostly, they were the same. I tried to say something, just to make meg’s painful question go away. I opened my mouth and felt a sob swell up in my throat. I closed it again. After a while, Meg’s stare became too much.

“My mother,” I conceded. Meg nodded, as if this answer was worth an hour’s explanation. A few more minutes silence followed.

“Were you close?” I thought it strange that my master of few words and more kicks would be asking two questions in a row. Was she trying to comfort me in her own Meggy way, perhaps? I studied her expression. As always, she was hard to read. The tilt in her eyebrows gave a concerned look, though the rest of her face was unchanged from her usual closed-off/blank character. Part of me wanted her to back off. My past was my business. But I reminded myself that she had only had a proper parental figure for a few years. Then he was gone. I was lucky. One of my parents had always loved me and stuck by me, and I took her for granted. I feared I may never see her again. It was my duty to spread the warmth she had given me to a young girl who had never had the comfort of a parent for long.

“Yes. Though I doubt I was as attentive a son as she was a mother. I was always ‘too busy’. But when I did see her, she was always forgiving of my stupid excuses.” I gestured vaguely at the dark sky in front of us. “We did things like this. Sit up in the highest, quietest place we could find, and watch the sun set. Sometimes, she would ask me to sing for her. I’d teach her my best songs, and we’d sing them together. I wrote a lot of songs that were only for my mother and I on those peaceful evenings. We’d dance too. Her waltz is only rivalled by my friend Terpsichore, the muse of dance. Even she has complemented my mother’s gracefulness.” I sighed. Meg stared at a star, squinting her eyes in and out of focus.

“We did that too,” she said.
“What,” I said. “Dance?”
“No, dummy.” Meg punched me in the arm. I bit back a retort, knowing she may be about to share something sensitive. Unless she decided I was too stupid to understand and said nothing more. I waited for her to elaborate, but I admit I wasn’t expecting anything. To my surprise, she continued.
“We watched the sun set. Then we stayed for the stars. My dad used to name all the constellations.” She picked at a callus on her hand, a seemingly frequent habit of hers. “He was smart like that.”
I nodded. “Where you had a father, I had a mother. At least that’s one thing we have in common. Though I feel you and Demeter would get along like a… well, you’d agree on most things.” I looked away and blew out my cheeks. I had almost said they’d ‘get along like a house on fire’. I am doubtless our little session would be abruptly cut off if I reminded my young master of the house-fire that drove her and Phillip McCaffrey out of Aeithales.
“Would we agree on how dumb you are?”
I shot her a glare, but for some reason the sheer bluntness of her question amused me more than usual. “I suppose you would,” I snickered.

Meg leaned back on her palms. Her rhinestones glittered in the starlight, illuminating her moss green eyes. “She missed out.”
“What do you mean?”
Meg shrugged. “Aeithales. Dad. She missed out.”
I wanted to explain that even if Demeter wanted to visit, she couldn’t have. Zeus’s laws forbade it, as we would get distracted from our godly duties. But as I looked up at my sister’s peaceful chariot, I thought about the sun, and how it would continue to soar across the sky even if there were no one driving it. It would take the form of a barque or a star. It made me wonder if Zeus’s excuse was even close to an acceptable one. Definitely not something I would be able to stomach telling my children to excuse my absence anymore, anyways.

“You tried to kill your dad once,” Meg noted.
“Not exactly, but I know when you’re referring to,” I said, confused. I failed to connect what an unsuccessful revolution thousands of years ago had to do with our present talk about good and bad parents.
“It didn’t work.”
I sighed. “I am aware.”
Meg looked me right in the eyes, giving me the unsettling feeling that overtook me when she issued me an order, but somehow without uttering a word. She appeared to study me like a patient on an operating table - proof that she was a far more complex being than she seemed. I fidgeted a bit. Her gaze became heavy, and I found my eyes were flicking around for a safe place to land. I forced myself to stop and look her in the eyes, though it took some convincing. I wasn’t sure if I’d overstepped my mark and made her angry, and believe me, an angry Meg is not someone you want to sit next to in the middle of the night with no witnesses around to call her out. Not that Meg cared that much about witnesses, mind you. Thankfully, instead of kicking me, Meg began to speak.

“If it had worked,” she said quietly, “Would it have been worth it?”
I admit, I was more taken aback by that question than I should have been. Of course she would compare my daddy issues with her own. Although I would never admit it out loud, I had privately compared Zeus to Nero on multiple occasions. Sometimes I would try to put myself in her shoes to predict what her reaction might be before I said anything. The other times I would forget, and end up with an elbow in my ribs.

I sighed. “I will never know, Meg. But I do know that Nero needs to be stopped, and we’re the only ones who can do it. We don’t exactly have the choice to flee.” Meg’s shoulders slumped. That was not the answer she’d been looking for.
“I wasn’t taking about Nero,” she muttered.
“Of course not. But if it makes you feel any better-”
“It won’t.”
“-I don’t along with my father either.”
Meg rolled her eyes. “Duh,” she mocked, lifting my shirt and gesturing at my pathetic mortal flab. I promptly snatched my shirt back from her grip and glared daggers at her. She only snickered, which I found quite annoying.
“I meant that I never got along with him. One time he forgot my name and called me Aspirin.”
Meg smirked. “I bet you’re still bitter.”
“I am!” I cried, throwing my hands up for dramatic effect. “It's not even close!”
“Kinda is.”
“And to make matters even worse, we were at lunch! All the Olympians were there,” I huffed. “Hermes wouldn’t shut up about it for years.”
Meg snorted. “There’s gotta be one time you agreed on something.”

1335 CE

“Apollo!” A low voice thundered around the white walls of my palace in Delphi. I jumped, dropping the tub of oil paint I was using to decorate the whitewash. It showed my newest prophetic vision: an era of renaissance was ahead. I shook my hands (which then became clean), tucked the loose strands of my long, blond hair back into it’s man bun, and turned to see my father, Zeus, standing menacingly behind me. His were fists locked at his sides, and his electric blue eyes sparked. I tried my best not to shake. My father did not mess around when he was angry. I gave him a nervous smile.
“Father,” I greeted. “Is something amiss?” His scowl only deepened.
“One of my sons just visited your oracle,” he growled. “She told him his death would be by your hand.”

I gulped. “W-well, I believe her exact words were ‘you shall be slain by the arrow of ill health’. That could mean many things, I am sure. Perhaps it is a metaphor, and he simply dies from sickness. Perhaps he gets bitten by a venomous serpent. I also have reason to believe he will enlist in a war in around fifteen years, perhaps he will be struck by a poisonous-” my anxious ramblings were cut short when a lightning bolt flashed into existence in Zeus’s right hand. I looked up at Zeus’s face, hoping, believing I would see some kind of reassurance. There was none there.

“Father, you cannot truly think I can change the prophecy, do you?” Zeus starting striding towards me. Like the brave god I was, I backed up. Cowardly, I know. But I had no intentions to fight my father. I did not want to be vaporised.

“Do not tell me what I can and cannot think, boy.” He scowled. His bolt began to spark more furiously, as if reflecting its master’s rage. I held my hands up in an ‘I surrender’ gesture, locked eyes with him and hummed a slow tune, hoping it would calm either my father or myself down. Zeus simply tensed his shoulders and muscled his way through the magic.

With blinding speed, the lord of the sky reached out and roughly grabbed my upper arm, yanking me into his bolt. It erupted from my side and the pain overtook me. It seared every part of my body with a fire that could not even compare to Hephaestus’s hottest forges. I screamed a very ungodly scream.

After an eternity, it ended. I hung limply in my father’s grip. My feet tried to support me, but my knees buckled like I was holding a herd of elephants on my back. My head hung as if my neck had been severed from my shoulders. My hair, now free of it’s man bun, dangled by my face, sticking to the sweat on my forehead and cheeks.

A crackle sounded from beneath my chin. The bolt, as full of energy as ever, flickered madly, ready to give another shock at any moment. It was raised, forcing my head up to look at my father. His face showed no sign of regret.

“Let us try that again,” Zeus snarled. “You will erase my son’s memories, take him to your oracle, and she will give him a different prophecy. Understand?”
I swallowed the taste of ichor in my mouth. “I can give him a different prophecy,” I wheezed. “But I cannot erase what my Pythia has already spoken.”

That gained another bolt to my godly chest. Its razors tore though my lungs, my stomach, my heart, until I retched ichor and yesterday’s ambrosia. My eyes were overtaken by blinding light. I felt like I was floating, everything hurt so much that I couldn’t differentiate between the pain and the pressure of my feet on the floor or Zeus’s fist around my arm.

When the light died down, I was lying on the floor, Zeus’s sandals an inch from my face. The pungent smell of smoke filled my nostrils. My skin was sizzling softly. I knew my form would begin to fix itself shortly, and I technically could take another hit, as I could not die, but to put it simply: I did not want to see or feel that bolt for at least another million years. A rough hand dragged me up by the back of my robes, and held me nose to nose with Zeus.

“Would you like to test my offer again?”
I shook my head, already thinking about how great it would feel when I finally did slay that demigod. I would enchant that arrow with such awful diseases, such terrible sicknesses that would overcome his corpse and spread to anyone with mile of the body. I wanted that boy to suffer the way I suffered. Father was wrong. I could not change the prophecy. But I would let the oracle tell him of his greatest days - his victories, his legacies. I would paint him a picture so great that he would never see his death coming. I would wait. I would wait until his best day - that would be the day I would cut him down. I hated that boy. I hated that accursed lighting bolt.

I did just that. In the end, it was me that killed the boy. Zeus knew who did it - deep down, he knew prophecies could not be changed. I would still be the one to kill his son. I was not sorry. I almost welcomed the excruciating torment of the bolt.

Present

“No. I don’t think we ever agreed on much.”
Meg blew a raspberry. “You're so petty.”
I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes. I remembered killing many innocent people for the singular reason that I was too scared to be angry at my father. I had never before looked back. But now, it was no wonder that demigods had short lifespans. I was not alone in being too afraid to challenge the lord of the sky. My sister, Artemis, was guilty. So was Ares, Hephaestus, Hera and everyone else. Poseidon would always be the only one to challenge him. But he was not innocent either.

“We should get some sleep. If I remember correctly, we found some blankets in he trunk.”
Meg jumped off the roof of the van, and called back, “Dibs on the big green one!”
Ugh. Typical.

Chapter Text

“We may have to hold onto each other to avoid being separated.”
“WHAT?”
I took a deep breath, trying my best to maintain my sanity until we got out of this busy street. “I SAID WE MAY HAVE TO-”
“WHAT?”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed Meg’s shoulder, shifting her to walk in front while I stayed close behind. We picked our way through the narrow lane, avoiding the salesmen and women who sat behind makeshift shop fronts, selling knock-off Gucci handbags and fake name-brand sunglasses. The yelling of children, customers and vendors never ceased. Kids around my age (my mortal age) hung around the street corners, smoking cigarettes and eyeing up a particular stand selling dodgy leather jackets. The age-old sandstone buildings, repurposed as apartments, all seemed to be slightly on tilt, and many had blue ‘TO LET’ signs protruding from the dusty walls. They were all packed close together, not unlike the people in the street below, leaving almost no room for the orange-tiled lane.

As we passed a stall selling obviously fake gold jewellery (insert scoff), an obese man wearing a dirty white vest pushed past us in a hurry to get to the ice-cream stand. His bulky arms forcefully shoved us out of the way, causing Meg to stumble, then slam into me and knock me even more off balance than I already was. Thankfully the street was far too packed for me to fall very far and have a hard landing (I was very tired of hurting myself). I ungracefully bumped into a someone’s back.

Steadying myself, I scowled at the man who was now greedily eyeing the ice-cream cone being made up for him by a teen behind the stand. I turned to apologise to the person I bumped into. Except, she was already staring at me. Not with annoyance or disgust, as one would expect from someone after being unceremoniously whacked with a grimy teen. This woman’s face showed shock, yes, but also pain. A deep, heart-wrenching pain that reached her glassy blue eyes. I was hit with how similar she looked to Sally Jackson. Her long curly hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, strands rebelliously sticking out every which way, a few falling over her eyes. Her weathered face couldn’t have been older than forty. Her pale pink cardigan hung loose over her middle-aged body. I was quite sure I did not know this woman, yet she seemed to stare longingly into my eyes, as if she’d known me for years.

“Lester?” She croaked. “Is - is that you?” I froze, the disgusting truth smacking me in the face with the force of a mallet.

This woman - was my mother. Not Leto. Not Apollo’s mother. Lester’s. Mother.

Zeus, the lord of justice, had not made me a body to contain a fraction of my godly essence. He had stolen a mortal boy from his family. He had taken this child, who had nothing to do with us or our problems, and forced him to endure trials that could potentially destroy him.

Tears pooled in the woman’s eyes and she sucked in a breath, her hands clasped to her mouth in a gesture of prayer. We both stood, unmoving. I did not know what to do. Did I explain to her that I was not her son? Should I fake a case of amnesia? Would it be safer to run for it? I did not get a chance to decide. The woman dropped her bags of shopping and rushed to me, her arms outstretched, and clutched me close to her chest. her chest. She wept as she combed her fingers through my curly hair and pressed her face, wet with tears, against my own.
All the while, I panted like I’d just finished a marathon, my chest tight with anxiety. I tried to blink back my tears. I wanted to bury my head in this woman’s neck and finally feel safe, but I knew she would want to take me home with her. I could not do that. I was not her son. I was Apollo. My real parents still needed me to complete my trials.

Finally, she let me go. She held her hands tight on my upper arms as if she was afraid I’d suddenly vanish from her view. Her face could have been read as hysterical; her eyes red and puffy, her smile wide and her laughter was uneven gasps. “Lester, my beautiful boy! Where have you been? Its been almost a year! Everyone thought you were dead!” Her face started to break down again, revealing the horror she’d lived and the sorrow she’d endured these past months. I reminded myself that she had been suffering longer than I, for my trials had begun when I crash-landed in Manhattan in January. This woman’s son must have been stolen to be my mortal body closer to August. It was now late April. That was almost ten months of wondering where her son had gone. I doubted Zeus had left a note. “I thought you were dead, Lester. I never said but I thought…” she trailed off. I stayed silent. I still was not quite sure how to react. Lester’s mother found this suspicious. She held my face in her hands, and rubbed her thumbs over my cheeks. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “You look tired, Les’.”
“I am tired,” I responded quietly.
“You’re filthy.”
“That too.”
She twirled my hair in her fingers. “You need a haircut.”

I smiled and gently pushed her hand away, silently willing her to stop being so affectionate. Not that I had any quarrel with physical affection - quite the opposite actually. But that was the problem. I looked at this woman who was so obviously a Mother, and I could only think of warmth, safety and protection. She liked me. She loved me. Why couldn’t I simply swallow my guilt and fake it, all so I could have those three simple things that I had once took so much for granted? Because that’s not who I was. I had a job to do, and too many people had gotten hurt for me to give up now. I couldn’t afford to get comfortable.
“Listen, um... Mum,” I started. The word ‘mum’ felt so wrong in my mouth. It fuelled my belief that I was making the right decision. “I need to... go. For a bit.” Her smile slid off her face. Her eyes seemed to shatter. I quickened my speech. “Just for a while. I’ll be back, ok? I promise.” No. Not more promises. Please. No more. 
She let go of me. My skin felt cold where she had been holding it. As cold as her heartbroken stare. I shivered. This look had become more and more frequently sent my direction ever since Jason died. I seemed to crush everyone I met. I had become accustomed to it. If nothing else, it made it easier to distance myself from Lester’s mother, who scrambled to find the right words.
“But… Am I not… Was I too…” she whispered, barely audible over the chatter of the crowd.

The crowd… An idea clicked in my head. I glanced to my left, and luckily enough, a huge crowd of tourists were surging through the narrow street, lead by a man clad in a blue t-shirt that read ‘Trusty Tour-guides: The Tour-guides You Can Trust!’ in white block lettering. All the tourists wore matching blue lanyards bearing the same cringey slogan. I looked around and caught sight of Meg, who was standing a few feet behind me, trying to listen in and not get knocked over. She was giving out her signature glares like free candy to the passers-by. I discreetly motioned her to come closer, and turned back to the woman in front of me. She seemed too distressed to realise my plan. I hated to leave her like this, but I had no choice. I listened to her disgraced rambling, but it was as if I was listening to Hermes’ old lover, who had tried and failed to become the oracle. The experience left her mind completely broken. I hoped I would not make this woman suffer the same fate.

I once again glanced to my left. The group would hit within seconds, and I had to be ready. I pulled Meg close behind me, and prepared for impact like a prisoner would brace themselves for execution. I counted down in my head.

3
“I just- I don’t understand!”
2
“Is someone following you? Please, Lester, I-”
1
“I need you! We need you Lest-”
Then the crowd swept between us like a tsunami of Hawaiian shirts and socks-with-sandals. I rushed with them. I could no longer see Lester’s mother, but I heard a choked screech of anguish.

We rounded a corner. After I made sure Meg was still holding onto me, I pushed out of the tourists and pulled my master out by the arm. We looked at each other. I knew she felt as emotionally run-down as I. No words were needed. No words were exchanged.

My brain was not silent. My mind cursed Zeus and everyone involved. It raged in ancient greek, my thoughts splitting my head like a mini-Athena was kicking and punching, throwing a fit to convince me to let her out. I bit my tongue until it bled. I glared holes into the shoppers in front of us, who shuffled aside if they caught my eye.

We made it to the main road and called a taxi. I may have imagined it, but I thought I saw the image of a woman in a pink cardigan in the drivers rear-view mirror stand, defeated, behind us as the taxi drove off.

Meg cuddled a little closer into herself. I watched the price of our ride tick slowly upwards. I didn’t even realise I was crying.

Chapter Text

This is a post-ToA chapter! Takes place after Apollo regains his immortality.

I sighed. Strolling aimlessly through the halls of my palace on Olympus, I wondered if it had always been this unappealing. The gold trimmings seemed fake. The extravagant furniture felt uncomfortable. Even my bed was too big. Every shiny object played murder on my eyes, and every smooth surface was too warm to be refreshing. It just wasn’t homey. Not like the Waystation or Aeithales or either demigod camps. It felt more like a sized-up garage to keep a fancy car in. 

I found myself yearning to be outdoors - no uncommon craving. Like my twin, most of my domains are set in the great outside world. I threw open the golden double doors of the balcony, closed my eyes and breathed in the fresh Olympian air. There was still something missing. Furrowing my eyebrows in frustration, I opened my eyes and glanced around for anything that might sate my dissatisfaction, when my sight landed on a certain figure making her way through the buzzing streets of Olympus and towards the entrance of my palace. I felt a natural smile creep onto my face. I would have to look for the missing thing later. Right now, I needed to be with my mother.

…

We had been in this comforting embrace for almost ten minutes now. I combed my fingers through Leto’s caramel hair while she sobbed into my shoulder, her frame shaking considerably. I felt the wet tears soaking through my jacket and dampening the shirt beneath. I pressed my lips against her forehead, hoping to make her content enough to talk to me. Eventually, she pulled away and reached up, running her fingers through my hair, almost to reassure herself that I was actually there. She looked deep into my eyes, while tears danced in her own. I took her hands in my own, and gently led her to a white sofa, which was far to big for the space of the room. It looked like whoever had put it there was just trying to cram as much unneeded furniture into one place as they could. Oh wait…that may have been me.

Leto sat down beside me. She sniffled a little, avoiding my eyes. She fiddled with the brooch on my toga. I held her hand. She squeezed it. 
“Apollo…” she trailed off, seeming lost in her mind.
“I’m alright now Mother,” I said in an effort to soothe her. “I’m immortal again. I cannot die. I learnt a lot too. And I want to apologise for not being the most attentive of sons. I should visit you more, and I will! Really, father was right to-”
“-NO!”

I fell silent, shocked that my mother would ever scream in such a tone. She looked at me, and I noticed how tired she was. No doubt staying up to watch every second of my quests, worried sick that something might happen if she took her eyes off me. It would not be out of character for her to do such things.
“Your father was not right to punish you in such a cruel manner. To have you forced into servitude, with next to no natural means to protect yourself or others!”
“Honestly, Mother I-”

She held up a hand for quiet. I obeyed.

“I know you should not have done the things you did. I know you’ve learned. That does not warrant your father’s merciless behaviour. You kept getting hurt and I could do nothing, he said if he caught me in the act of helping, he would make it worse for you. He said there would be more deaths, more guilt. So I obliged. I made sure he didn’t catch me. I convinced Artemis to send her hunters. I persuaded Hermes to crash the sun, and Athena to lure you to the child-” she paused. “-Whom I have been caring for. He is named Cindeo - the one who escapes danger.”

I nodded. “I see you have been taking care of everyone.”
“That is indeed my sole purpose, yes. It distracted me, which Artemis says is a good thing. But still…I was watching. That day on the boat.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat. I knew exactly what she would be referring to before she even said it. “You stabbed yourself.”

I drew in a sharp intake of breath, remembering the pain.

“I knew Medea would heal me.”
“You did it willingly.”
“It was only a distraction.”
“What was? Your life?”
“Caligula needed me alive more than my friends did.”
“They all needed you in the end, Apollo! I needed…I needed you.”

We sat, not talking. Just staring at each other, mentally comparing our broken pieces. I was willing to gather my pieces - make something new. I knew my mother wanted that as much as I did. We hugged again, this one lasting even longer. Neither party minded. Her caramel hair still smelt of honeysuckle, a trait inherited by my sister. She was still soft and warm and safe. After all these centuries, she had not changed. I was glad.

After an eternity, we separated. I examined my mother, my medical urges setting in.
“You look like you haven’t slept since I woke up in that dumpster. You need rest.”
She shook her head. “Apollo, you just got back. If you think I’m going to-”
“And I’ll be here when you wake up. Why don’t you use my bedroom? That way you won’t really be leaving. I’ll still be around, I promise. Even if you sleep as long as Gaea did.” She tried to protest, but I easily guided her to my sleeping quarters. By the time we arrived, Leto was practically using me as her only way of staying upright. I gently laid her down on my king-sized mattress, and she immediately melted into the warmth of the duvet.

I made my way to the kitchen, intent to taste ambrosia for the first time in months. A shape shimmered into existence on the blinding white counter. A freshly baked pie. Curious, I picked up the little note beside it, which read in perfect ancient greek calligraphy;
You deserve it! I love you!
-Leto
I chuckled and called down the hall, “Go to sleep!”
To which I received a muffled “I am, I am!”
I grabbed the pie and sniffed, enjoying my newly heightened senses. I could tell exactly what was in it. Ambrosia, sugar and chunky slices of…baked apple. The smell smacked me as violently as my realisation. My palace was golden, hard and shiny. It was devoid of life. Life like that of a particularly bossy half-blood. I decided to call in a discreet demigod quest.

…

“Soooo…about this quest.”
“Yes?”
“It was to help you plant stuff?”
I patted down the soil around a sweet-smelling Hyacinth. We sat in a huge garden positioned behind my palace. I had never fully understood why it was here. What was its purpose? Why would you look at some boring old trees when my palace was right at the end of the long, wide strip of grass, glowing golden and easily mistaken for a beautiful sunset in the evening? Once, I had even petitioned for the land to be flattened and used for a theatre (Dionysus and the muses backed me up, but Demeter, Poseidon and Artemis were strongly against it). But now, I smiled to myself as I began to see its importance.

“I don’t know what you find so complicated about this, Meg. I thought you liked gardening.”

My former master scrunched up her nose, pushing her cat-eye glasses further up her face. Her hands were caked with mud and the knees of her new leggings were already ruined. She had not wanted to change her dress, but when Percy mentioned to Mrs Jackson that she was still wearing the same borrowed garment from several months before, Sally had sent a package and insisted she change clothes every once in a while. Meg had donned the teal tunic and green leggings ever since. Such was the fashion sense of The Meg.

“Well, yeah. But I don’t think you’re allowed to call it a quest.”
“You were summoned to assist a god, were you not?”
“Duh.”
“So you are on a quest.”
“To plant flowers.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Meg shrugged. “Okay. But how do you plan to explain it to Zeu-” I cleared my throat loudly, glaring obviously at my reckless young friend. How many times did I have to tell her that names hold power? I definitely did not have a bullet-proof backup plan incase my father did find out, so I did not want to draw his attention and let him in on my little secret. That would not go well for anyone, trust me.

“How do you plan to explain it to your father?” Meg corrected. Satisfied with that adjustment, I turned my attention back to my Hyacinth. 
“I’m not going to.”
“That’s a stupid plan.”
“I would have thought you’d know me better than to assume I have a real one.”
“That’s fair, you’re pretty dumb.”
“Hey!” I threw a clod of dirt at her, which hit her right in the centre of her forehead. We shared a look of mild amazement. I actually hit my target. It had been a while. I grinned with triumph, but it was soon smacked off my face as I got hit full whack with a dirt ball to the cheek. Then our eyes met in silent challenge. We both accepted.
It only took fifteen minutes for the massive garden to become an all-out war zone. There was no safe place. Dirt flew every direction, and we both took advantage of our own abilities - Meg using plants to trip me up or willing the dirt to fly with excruciating accuracy, and me, using beams of sunlight to reflect off Meg’s glasses and blind her, and when I found her charging at me, I flew over her head, just to be annoying. 
When Meg shoved half a dozen handfuls of mud down my shirt, I decided to play dirty (well...dirtier). I conjured a hose, and watched with enormous enjoyment as Meg’s cocky grin melted into morphed into one of realisation and fear. I blasted her. 

We chased each other around the grass, continuously soaking each other (Meg had used a plant pot as a bucket and filled it in a nearby pond) until the sky started to dim. It was early January, so it wasn’t too late, maybe six o’clock. Cold and exhausted, we made our way back towards my palace. My mother was waiting in the kitchen when we arrived, a new apple pie steaming on the dining table. She tutted at our wet cloths and sopping hair. With a wave of her dainty hand, Meg and I immediately dried.
“You let the other one go cold, dear,” Leto smiled, gesturing at the pie. Two golden-rimmed plates, complete with solid gold knives and forks which shimmered into existence beside it.

“Thank you Mother!” I said excitedly, kissing her on the cheek and sitting down at the table. Meg looked more wary. She eyed my mother suspiciously, while Leto smiled softly at her. Stepping closer to the table, perhaps under pressure, Meg inquired, “Is there ambrosia in it? I can’t eat much of that stuff.”
Leto laughed. “Yes, dear. But only traces. Only eat a slice or two, and you’ll be absolutely okay.”
I turned around in my chair and grinned over the backrest at them. 
“Meg, it’s fine. She wouldn’t hurt a fly, would you, Mother?”
Leto looked horrified. “Of course not! Why would I damage such a harmless creature that’s so vital to the nutrition of other creatures?” 
I gave Meg a look. “See?” 

Meg seemed satisfied with that answer, but was still cautious in her approach to the table. But after no more than fifteen seconds, she was shovelling in mouthful after mouthful with incredible velocity, rapidly cleansing her plate of any crumbs. My Mother watched her with intrigue, and I could almost see the cogs turning in her head. While Meg helped herself to seconds, Leto quietly pulled me aside.

“When was the last time the child ate?” She whispered urgently, casting solicitous glances over at my young companion.
“It can’t have been long ago. Meg eats a lot,” I reassured. Her shoulders relaxed, her gaze softened. Leto looked thoughtfully back over at Meg.
“Does she have somewhere to stay?”
“I believe she intends to become a year-rounder at Camp Half-Blood. She’ll be with her siblings and cousins there. Her family.”
“Mmm…”
“Mother?” Leto peered deep into my metallic gold irises. Then back looked at Meg. Then back at me. “What are you thinking?”
“If she is to remain at Camp Half-Blood, you will not be able to meet with her. I implore you, son. Look into the future. What possibilities do you see for her there?”

I concentrated, absorbing in every part of Meg’s being and taking into account every decision I’d ever seen her make. (Being a god, this was easy. Oh, how I enjoyed the wonders of a working memory!) I started off simple to ease myself back into prophecy, by predicting where her fork would land next. [She will miss the pie and stab the plate] Clank! My power proved to be working. I stretched myself a bit further, into next week. I saw her hold up a red flag in triumph. [She will win Capture The Flag for the Demeter, Hades, Dionysus and Apollo cabins] Yes, that seemed plausible.

Then I looked years ahead, in fast-forward. I laid every likely option and decision for Meg out on a metaphorical table in front of me and examined them all. Useless nonsense rushed past me as I sifted through the possibilities. [On May 23rd, she will eat meatloaf for dinner] [Exactly two weeks from now, she will push a son of Dionysus into the lake] [In three years, she will set Peaches loose on a rabid Manticore] None of these helped me. I searched for the correct timeline, the one where she stayed at Camp. I found it.

[She will miss Apollo] Fair, I would miss her too. [She will feel lonely] I will too, friend. [She will distance herself from anything to do with Apollo, including his children] Wait, no- [She no longer considers Apollo to be a friend] STOP!

My eyes flew open. My mother held onto my arm, steadying me. Meg had turned around in her chair, seeming concerned.
“You okay?”
I stumbled for an answer. Would she really dismiss me? Would I dismiss her? “Uh, yes. Yes, everything is fine.” Meg’s eyebrows scrunched behind her cat-eye glasses. The rhinestones caught the light, and shone brightly.
“You look sick,” she announced, with her usual Meggy bluntness.
“Thanks,” I grumbled. “Meg, it’s getting late. Perhaps I should send you back to Camp.”
Meg pouted. “Why can’t I stay?”
“You know why. Father can’t find out you’re here.”
Meg groaned. “Ugh. Okay. Just don’t forget about me or I’ll march right back to kick you in the kneecaps.”
I smiled. “I would not dream of it. See you soon.” I waved my hand and Meg evaporated in a shower of gold, and I felt her reappear safely at Half-Blood Hill.

My mother turned to me.
“Well?”

…

We sat on the cold stone steps of the amphitheatre, where I’d dazzled the demigods into minor depression with my Lydian and one-four-five Progressions so many moons ago.

It was late afternoon and the sun shone softly through the trees, scattering beams of light around the secluded area. I appeared similar to what I had a few days ago, only this time I had donned a more ‘modern’ look from my usual toga. I wore an ACDC t-shirt under an unzipped orange and white jacket. My jeans were worn pale at the knees and hems, which contrasted the bright red of my nike trainers. Only my hair was much the same - long, blond and flowing down to my shoulders.

Little sparks of light bounced cheerfully off of Meg’s rhinestones. She kicked a pebble down the steps, and watched in fascination as it skipped, making tic tic tic sounds all the way to the bottom. She was still wearing the same teal tunic and green leggings, her gardener’s belt hanging loosely around her waist. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she spoke.
“You said you wanted to ask me something?”
I nodded. “Yes, but I want to inform you that how you answer will not affect my view of you in the slightest. I will always admire you, whether you turn down my offer or not.”
“Offer?”
I laced my fingers, trying to think of the best way to word it.
“Following your recent quest,” (Meg snorted. I continued.) “I realised that I will not be able to see you as often as I would like. I will not be able to intervene on future quests, or protect you much beyond what my father allows. It will most likely be a long time before all the gods begin to treat the mortals as beings. I will also have to endure the endless mocking from my fellow gods, simply for changing my morals, and someone with mortal experience would be good to keep me straight. So, my offer to you, should you choose to accept it, is the offer of immortality. I would like you to live on Olympus, with me.” Meg’s eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. Seeing this, I rushed to hastily add to my unexpected statement. “Now, please know that this is not a one-time offer. You can say ‘No’ now, and come back later! Or not. Whatever you choose, I’ll always be looking out for you, okay?” Meg furrowed her eyebrows and blew out her cheeks in concentration. I watched her, not quite knowing if I should say more.
“Will I have to leave Camp forever? Will I be able to visit?”
“That’s the thing. You would only be allowed to visit if you have a specific purpose for coming, and you would have to make sure it’s iron-clad just in case Zeus confronts you about it. But I am working on finally getting those laws abolished. Hopefully, one day, you will be able to come simply because you want to. The catch is; I am not sure how long it will be until that happens.”
“So all my siblings might be dead.” I smiled sympathetically, feeling the chance of her accepting my offer sinking dramatically.
“Most likely.”

Meg gained her closed-off expression, her guards shooting up to prevent any and all emotional damage. I held my breath, waiting patiently for her to respond. It took a few minutes. Finally, Meg uttered at an almost indecipherable volume, “Can I think about it?”

I breathed a sigh of relief. That was not a no. There was still time to convince her.
“Of course, dear Meg.”

Abruptly, Meg stood and sprinted back towards Cabin Four without another word. I had expected this, but it still threw me through a loop. I ran my fingers through my luscious blond hair, and inhaled deeply through my nose. While I was lost in my thoughts, a voice suddenly piped up and made me jump a foot in the air in surprise.

“Hey Dad!”

Gasping sharply and clutching my hand to my thumping heart, I turned to meet the speaker. My son, Austin Lake, stood before me holding a battered, grey-silver saxophone and smiling nervously. I gestured for him to come and sit with me. He complied.
“You here to see Meg?”
I wrapped my strong arm around him, and pulled him close to my side. “I was going to visit you kids too, but you ruined the surprise.” I punctuated my statement with noogie on Austin’s cornrows. He giggled and shuffled closer to me, absolutely failing at being inconspicuous. I didn’t mind. My kids and I are born to be obvious. Why hide something good?

I gestured to his beaten saxophone. “What happened there? The Ares kids?”
“Nah. I never found the one I lost in the labyrinth, so I had to take this old one from the back of Cabin Seven. I don’t think it’s been used since before that orientation film was made.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “It sounds fine, but I wish it had I bit more…I don’t know…pizzazz? Flash?”
“A bit of shine is never amiss,” I agreed.
“It doesn’t matter anyways. I tested it out on Miranda Gardener and Sherman Yang, and they did kiss when I played ‘Careless Whisper’, but it just doesn’t help the whole YouTube thing, y’know?”
“Of course. Sometimes people simply refuse to take you seriously unless you look the part. A frustrating yet universal part of showmanship - one that none of my children should have to deal with.” I waved my hand, and the old saxophone glowed, and began to fix it’s dents. The tired looking grey colour ebbed away and darkened, a black sheen taking it’s place. The keys and rods however, brightened until they shone gold. Soon Austin was holding a very classy jazz saxophone that matched his black woollen peacoat. I am extremely conscious of the instrument matching the style of the musician, hence why all my instruments include some form of precious metal or stone.

Austin’s brown eyes glittered with pure excitement.
“Thanks Dad! You’re the best!” He launched himself into me hugged me like he would never let go. I drew him closer to me, savouring every moment. I heard him mumble something unintelligible into my chest.
“What was that you said?” I asked. My boy tilted his head up slightly, so I could only see his eyes and above past the folds of my ACDC tee. He repeated himself a bit louder.
“Do you read all our messages? Like, the ones Chiron gets us to write to our godly parents?”
I chuckled, raised one hand for dramatic effect and recited:
“Hey dad! I’m Austin
Chiron said you like haikus
Poetry is cool”
“Nooooo….” Austin groaned. “I can’t write poetry for my life…”
“I think it’s great! You were only, what,” I counted on my fingers. “Seven at the time?”
“And already better than your dad!” An unknown voice rang out loudly from behind us, making us snap back from each other and whip around to face the impish figure. Hermes held up his hands in mock surrender, his signature stupid grin plastered on his face as he sauntered towards us. His dirty blond hair bobbed in its curls with every step he took. He nodded to Austin.
“‘Sup kid? Did anyone ever tell you about the time Apollo was obsessed with Limericks? Maybe you could compose one of those about your old man’s ‘awesomeness’,” (emphasising the ‘awesomeness’ with air quotes. Humph!) “and send it to me later, yeah? For mocking purposes only, of course.” Austin shifted uncomfortably, clearly not thrilled to have been interrupted from rare cool father/cool son bonding time. I knew how tricky Hermes could be, and I definitely did not want to put my son through the embarrassment of somehow signing off his mother’s inheritance to cattle farmers in Indonesia, so I took initiative.
“Austin, why don’t you go show off your new saxophone to your siblings? I promise I will come back to visit again soon.”
Hermes snorted. “Yeah, maybe don’t swear on the Styx though, bro. Dad wants to see you about some flower planting quest.” His grin spread like he had just cracked an atrocious pun, and was awaiting the groans of his audience. “He’s soooo mad.” I gave a reassuring smile down to my apprehensive son.
“Do not worry about me, child. Hermes is a known fibber. I’m sure he’s not that furious. It will be fine.”

...

It was not fine.
As soon as I entered my father’s personal throne room, I could tell. The enchanted ceiling was dark with storm clouds. The atmosphere was thick and heavy with static and tension. I felt a trickle of sweat run down my back.

My father sat on a proud marble throne, its veins of grey curling like smoke throughout the white stone. The king himself wore a smart navy suit, complete with a matching tie and a mid-length salt and pepper beard that overshadowed his mouth. His long hair was styled not unlike my own, except a lot darker and less flamboyant. He took the form of a man in his late 40’s, but could only be shown by the unfashionable wrinkles around his eyes. He was well built, and, despite my love for my eight-pack, far more muscular than I thought was attractive or necessary. He glared down his nose at me as I walked down the aisle of blue carpet towards his feet.

He must have been forty foot tall, which was big even for a god. I stood at a more natural twenty. I did not dare make myself bigger. I did not want my father to be under the impression that I wanted to intimidate him. I did not.

I bowed at my father’s feet and lowered my head, waiting for the word to stand up. It did not come. Instead my father spoke in his low growl:
“Apollo.”
I swallowed my anxieties and forced myself to look up into his eyes. They were not their usual electric blue, as so many of his offspring had inherited, but they had been clouded over with a thick, angry grey mist. His dark brows were furrowed in concentration. A permanent scowl was fixed on his features. I willed my voice not to squeak or crack.
“Yes, father?” Zeus’s scowl deepened.
“Do you think I am witless, boy?” He rumbled.
“I - no, father,” I stammered. Zeus leaned forward in his throne, glaring holes through my head.
“Do you think I am beneath you?”
“Wha - no!” My hands subconsciously gripped my jacket and fiddled furiously with the zip. I could feel my godly sweat making the cool metal slippery. The air around Zeus condensed into a dark haze. Lighting cackled like an entourage of jeering bullies, laughing at my panicked face and hopeless predicament.
“YET YOU STILL DISOBEY ME?” I took several deep breaths. I was a god. I had faced python, while mortal, and defeated him. I was still undoubtedly terrified, but I thought of Meg, of my children, of Perseus Jackson. They needed me to take this first step into defending the demigods. My face hardened. My voice was calm, quiet and deliberate, but hid a tsunami of fear.
“Name the law.” My father’s raised bolt faltered, reflecting his confusion.
“What?”
“Name the law,” I repeated. “Name the law I have broken by ordering a demigod, whom I know well and am sure is capable of being assigned a task, to go on a quest.”
Zeus gritted his teeth, and growled in his gritty voice; “I watched you play, boy. Do you think you are humorous? Do you think you can scorn my gift in such ways? I gave you immortality. I made you a god! Yet you run around like a hooligan, associating with these lesser beings, for what? Your twisted idea of justice? I am the god of justice, you insolent child. I have decided our laws, and I can make more laws if I so wish. Do not test me.”

“As I remember brother,” a feminine voice cut the thick tension of the room, “You need council approval to decree a new law. Am I correct?” Zeus scowled, but his anger visibly dissipated. He sat back in his chair as the dark clouds surrounding the throne lightened into grey wisps, like one might see on a dull autumn’s day. I did not dare turn my back to my father to see the speaker, though I knew the voice well - a voice older than Zeus’. I kept my kneeling position, hearing the footsteps of the graceful Olympian stride down the single strip of carpet, stopping just behind me. I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. It pulled me up until I stood beside the tall, warm figure of Demeter, the goddess of agriculture.

She wore a simple, emerald-coloured dress that flowed down to her ankles, revealing a pair of bronze-coloured sandals. A thin, gossamer shawl of sage-like hue was wrapped around her shoulders and hung around her tanned arms. Her wavy blonde hair shared an alikeness to that of Sleeping Beauty’s. A ring of glittering corn stalks circled her brow. Her form was a few inches taller than my own. She kept her hand firm on my shoulder and glared defiantly up at Zeus with those striking green eyes.

“Margaret is my daughter. I invited her to Olympus to congratulate her on finishing her quest, as is customary. She and Apollo simply conversed over some flowers.” She looked down at me. “And I for one, am pleased that Apollo is finally making good use of that great space.” I smiled up at her, then glanced nervously at Zeus. His mighty hand stroked his beard in thought. At last, grumbled and said;
“Very well,” his deep voice echoed throughout the hall. “But be warned. Next time that mortal comes to this land with no believable reasoning, I will not be so merciful.”
“Of course, my lord.” Demeter and I both bowed in respect (well, more so ‘custom’ or ‘fear’ than respect, but whatever) and made our way out into the cheery sunlight, leaving the clammy throne room behind us.

We wandered down the streets in silence, watching all the minor deities, cloud nymphs and satyrs frolic and chat excitedly. I got a few gazes from a group of dryads, but thought nothing of it. Perhaps they had heard of what I did for the Palm Springs residents. Did dryads have some sort of mental link or Whatsapp text group? I imagined it would go like: “Hey gurrrll!!! ;D You see all this heatwave shiz??? Gone!!!! Apollo is #greatest” or something similar. After a few minutes, Demeter pulled me to a park bench that overlooked a large, shimmering lake. Ripples glided across the water. Every now and then, a tentacle rose above the surface and plunged back under, sending a spray of droplets to dampen anything in a metre radius. Some hippocampi splashed playfully around the shallows, some allowing a pod of Naiads to stroke their noses and fuss over how cute they were. We watched.

“You did well by my daughter, Apollo,” Demeter mused. She kept her eyes on the lake. No doubt, she was not comfortable congratulating her least favourite nephew, but I admired her determination to go through with it anyways. I may not have done the same. “I am surprised.”
I gave a short laugh. I was used to being mildly insulted. It did not phase nor offend me.
“Meg is truly an extraordinary demigod. You must be very proud.”
“I am.” A small smirk appeared on her otherwise neutral expression. “She is one of my best.”
“She could live here. You’d get to see her. I would too. I think a wild demigod energy such as hers is well needed around here.” The goddess of grain raised an eyebrow, and peered down at me from the corner of her eye. “I have offered her immortality,” I clarified. “She has not yet answered. I think if she accepts, you should be the one to grant her the immortality. Of course, I can do it myself, but I thought it may be more impactful for a mother.” She furrowed her brows, and her corn crown seemed to catch the light of the late afternoon sun, making her eyes hard to focus on.
“Zeus would not approve.”
“Zeus wouldn’t have a say,” I countered. Demeter only nodded her head ever so slightly, her face scrunched in concentration.
“Very well. I will accept if she accepts.”

…

Apollo was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Meg simply could not understand him. She lay belly down on one of the thick branches of the tree that supported the newly built Cabin Four like a panther reclining in the jungle, contemplating her idiot friend and his dumb offer. She sniffed, shifting her head on the uncomfortable bark. She liked Camp Half-Blood. The food was good, there was some people her age that she could beat in a fight - and older campers she could beat too - sword practice was fun. So was capture the flag. But Meg was alone, and maybe that was good. People crowded her on the first few days after the end of the quest, wanting details about the most dangerous parts. She had even been given a necklace with a single green bead on it that held a picture of a writhing serpent - Python, the monster she and Apollo had slain. Every now and again, an Apollo camper would ask questions about their dad, and she always made sure to give them less than flattering (but truthful) answers.

But that had worn off after a while. People left her alone, apart from Billie Ng and Miranda Gardener, who she was trying to teach how to summon a karpos (they were pretty bad at it). She hated that she missed her partner in crime. But if she left, she would miss her home, where she belonged.

‘Ughghhh” Meg groaned, sliding ungracefully off her branch and landing on the floor with a whump. She rolled onto her back and scowled at the unfairness of having to deal with feelings. Time passed. Eventually, she decided to make a call.

…

I didn’t scream. Nope, definitely not me, the cool and chill god of a-heck-load-of-things. No, I’m quite sure I stayed calm and collected at the sight of Meg McCaffrey appearing in a shimmering vapour form - in my shower.

Fine. I may have screamed. But you cannot blame me! It is one thing to take a shower with a ‘date’, and quite another to be peeked on by a twelve-year-old. I frantically made my best efforts to cover my perfect physique for the sake of the child, who immediately threw her hands over her eyes and made a ‘gross’ face. She wore a baggy Camp Half-Blood T-shirt over her usual dress, and a single bead hung by a thread on her neck.
“Meg, what the actual-” I hissed, cutting myself off. I took a deep breath and held my tongue to refrain myself from swearing in front of a kid (my mother would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t). “Why are you Iris Messaging me? Now, of all times?”
“I didn’t know you were in the shower, dummy.” Meg blew a raspberry, her vapour form producing a few bubbles in the process. “I didn’t think you had to wash since y’know,” she gestured at my tanned body. I covered myself a little more, even if she did still have her eyes shielded.
“I don’t. It’s just relaxing,” I grumbled, grabbing a towel, wrapping it around my waist and stepping out into the steamy bathroom. I kept the shower running so the Iris Message could continue, which involved getting the towel wet. I prayed the extra weight would not lead to any unexpected revealings.

“I’m not supposed to be taking to you, Meg.”
Meg uncovered her eyes and snorted. “Says who?”
“Says my father.” I felt my face darken. “He heard about your little quest. He told me you could not come here again with out ‘believable reason’.” I punctuated the last part with air quotes.
“I told you that you should’ve had a plan.”
I rolled my eyes and scoffed. “I did have a plan! My plan was for him not to find out.”
“How’d that work out for you?”
“Shut up.” I could not resist the smirk that played on my lips. I wanted to be around my friend more often. She was one of the few who still talked to me as an equal (kind of). The other Olympians…let’s just say they didn’t exactly show me the same level of respect has they had once done, with the limited exceptions of Poseidon (who had been mortal once before) and Artemis (who had never respected me - its a sibling thing). “Listen, I cannot guarantee that my father isn’t keeping a close eye, so let’s make this quick. What did you want to tell me?”

Meg’s face lost its humour. I was afraid she’d back out and end the message. Instead, she spoke. “I thought about your offer.”
I felt my chest swell with hope. Maybe she’d say yes. Maybe she’d come up and be my friend for eternity. Maybe I would have one more person to talk to. “And?”
“No.”
My smile faltered. I felt all sense of excitement in me shatter in that moment as I struggled to put together a sentence. “Wh…what?”
She looked down at her rough, calloused hands. “I don’t want to be a god. I don’t want to live directly under Zeus’s thumb. I killed Nero. I killed him because he was awful and forced me to do stuff I didn’t want to do. He made me feel stupid and useless. I got rid of that.” She stared me directly in the eye. “I never want to feel like that again.”
The argument I’d prepared died in my throat. Could I really blame her? After all, she was right. My father didn’t even allow me to talk to my friend. Meg didn’t want to be oppressed like I was. She was free. That was a feeling I could never truly have. I’d given up on it long ago.
“Yeah,” I croaked. “Okay.”
“Okay,” she mumbled back. “Bye.” Her figure disappeared, and I was left alone, standing in the all-too-quiet bathroom.
“Farewell.”

***

It had been several months since Meg had declined my offer. I still thought about her and my children every day. I searched for and aided a few of my less remembered offspring, guiding them to their respective camps. Thirteen-year-old Seamus, ten-year-old Anthony and two-year-old James made their way to Camp Jupiter. Nine-year-old Aiden, twelve-year-old Dwayne and six-year-old Marigold travelled to Camp Half-Blood. I had just ensured the safe arrival of Marigold, the curly blonde-haired excitable young demigod who seemed to have inherited my ability of Photokinesis, a rare and promising talent for my children to have. In other words, I was exhausted. So I teleported to the most calming place I could think of.

I collapsed down underneath the aged mountain laurel tree. It was located high up in a rocky, unforgiving mountain range, but overlooked the beautiful view of the other mountains, the lower halves shrouded in white mist. We often met here.

Beside me sat a young girl in a grey puffer coat and black leggings, her long dark hair tied back in a high ponytail. She was busy whittling on a long piece of wood, and so, did not look up at my arrival.
“Brother,” she greeted plainly.
“‘Sup?” I replied weakly, exhaustion filling my voice. I watched Artemis whittle for a while, my eyes half closed, the bow slowly taking its shape and the sound of the knife scraping evenly across the smooth surface calming me. “You making this for one of your hunters?”
“Yes. Being their leader has responsibilities, you know.”
I blew out my cheeks in exasperation. “At least you never have to go chasing down kids all over the world to drag to two camps in North America.” Artemis paused her whittling, and looked at me quizzically. “My son, Diego,” I clarified. “His mother is Spanish. He did not want to leave Madrid. But I finally convinced him after, what,” I tried to recall. “Three days? Ugh. Sometimes I just wish there were a few more camps around, ya know?”
The huntress had gone back to her work, her face contorted in concentration. “Mmm.”
“Are you even listening?”
“Uh huh.” I elbowed my beloved sister in the ribs, an effective attention-attracting tip I had learned over the course of my punishment; courtesy of Meg McCaffrey. Artemis glared daggers at me. “What?”
I beamed my most innocent smile. “You weren’t giving me enough attention, Artie.”
“Sod off.” She grunted. She will always deny it, but I saw a slight hint of a smirk seep through her annoyed facade. I grinned to myself as I decided to be as provocative as possible. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and snickered at her crabby expression and ancient greek curses as she tried to push me off.

There are many perks to being a sibling, dear reader, and annoying the younger sibling (or the one that appeared to be younger anyways) is most definitely in the top three. Along with the whole ‘If You Anger One Of Us You Deal With Both Of Us’ Ride-Or-Die attitude we can have (of course, this does not apply to every situation. See: the time Hermes pushed me into a very deep swamp, and all my dear sister did was laugh until she could no longer breathe).

Eventually, Artemis melted into the hug, leaning her young head against my chest. She took a deep breath and quietly said; “I am going to tell you something.”
I drew her a little closer, my embrace no longer meaning to provoke, but to comfort. I leant my cheek on her head.
“What’s up?”
“I am only telling if you do not get big-headed about it.”
“When have I ever done that?” I teased. “Honestly, I’m rather offended that you would even insinuate-” A small hand flew up past my face and grasped a lock of my beautiful, long hair - and yanked it downwards. “OW!” I rubbed my scalp and huffed down at my smug sister.
“You deserved that.”
“Uh huh,” I grumbled, unimpressed.
“What I was going to say was that I really did miss you, Ollie.”
“I missed you too. And I never got to say thanks. Y’know… for that time in Indianapolis. I couldn’t because the others were always around so… thanks.”
Artemis fiddled with a loose string on my sleeve. “Yeah, well. I had to pay you back for that time with Atlas and Luke…” she waved her hand, gesturing vaguely to the air. “So yeah. I guess I owed you one.”

Several years ago, my dear sister had taken the weight of the sky off a young maiden in an attempt to save her from being crushed. She succeeded, but at the cost of holding up the burdensome pillar of clouds for days without rest. By the time she made it back to Olympus, she was faint and required several days of rest (as ordered by her doctor; me). The topic was not often talked about. I wished everyone would have the same attitude over my embarrassing adventures. Still, I remembered mother and I being worried sick, and Zeus coming thundering through the door when he heard about her. We thought he was there to console or mourn, or maybe hatch plans on how to save her from the titan’s clutches. If you thought ‘What? That doesn’t sound like Zeus!’ then congratulations! You are learning. He told us that a demigod quest had been despatched, and if he were to find either of us interfering, he would rip out the ‘Number Ten’ lighting bolt. But not to worry, oh readers! He didn’t catch me.

Artemis shifted under my hold. We fell into a comfortable silence, and I found myself thinking about Meg again. Her tyrannical attitude, her odd fashion sense, her scent of baked apple. I could see every rhinestone in her cat-eye glasses. Every stitch in her well-worn dress. I got to thinking about how we would meet up again. A brilliant thought crossed my mind.

…

“Are we sure this is a good idea?”
“Relax, you big baby. It’ll be fine.”
*CRASH*
Meg blew a raspberry at the window she’d just obliterated.
“Well done,” I congratulated dryly. Meg kicked me in the shin, then readied another nerf bullet.
“I’m gonna miss if you keep distracting me!”
“Oh, was my mere presence distracting? I didn’t say anything!”
“Shut up,” she grumbled, sticking her tongue out in concentration as she aimed for the makeshift target we’d made and blu-tacked on the wooden wall. “I’ve got the gun and you’re being annoying.” I kept my mouth shut. The bullet was let loose with a twang. It went right through the hole where the window had once been. There were shouts from outside varying from “Get down, get down!” “Do not worry! I predict it to be no- six letters. Starts with ’T’” “Trench?” “Top-hat?” “That’s two words, Aloe.” “My bad.”
Of course, we were back at Aeithales. Palm Springs had welcomed us back with open arms. And I had my cover story set. I was here to personally check up on my Sibyl, as to not neglect my duties over prophecy, which was one of the reasons I’d been sent to Earth in the first place. I’d even gone to the extra trouble of making sure my dad was okay with it the day before. (“Because, you know, there may be some of my friends down there, cacti spirits and such, and I know you told me not to communicate with-” “APOLLO! IT’S TWO IN THE MORNING! GET OUT OF MY BEDROOM!”) So I figured I would be fine.

It was currently quite late, maybe eleven o’clock, and I had hung around all day. Just as Meg finally hit the target, I said;
“Perhaps I should get going. Do you want to spend the night here or go back to camp?” Meg sniffed.
“You don’t seem too bothered.”
“By what?” I asked. “Did I do something? Forgotten something? Today isn’t your birthday, is it?”
“No,” she stated bluntly, going back to aiming at the target.
“Care to elaborate?” I enquired cautiously. I did not want that nerf gun aimed the wrong way.
“You offered me immortality. I turned it down. You don’t seem upset.”
“My dear Meg. I simply respect your wishes, like I said I would.” I laced my hands together, trying to convey my feelings in an accurate way without bursting into a song that has all the feeling pre-written. “Your reasoning was sound, and while I do not fully understand your final decision, I trust your judgement. Besides, Percy Jackson turned it down too. So maybe it is not as valuable as I first thought.”

To my delight, Meg smiled. Albeit a small one. “Thanks. Do you think we’ll ever get to meet up? Without all the secrets and planning and stuff?”
I sighed. I really hoped so. “I do not know. One day, perhaps, my father will change his mind. I do not know when, or how. But I have hope that he will. As long as we keep working on him, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Right!” I clapped my hands together like I had seen dads do in movies to symbolise the end of a touchy conversation. “Now off to bed or I’ll turn you into a traffic light.”

I closed the door as quietly as I could, careful not to waken the sleeping demigod. Her snores were muffled as I strolled through night, evaporating and reappearing in my palace. I wandered the golden hallways for a while, taking in every piece of decoration and furniture in a different light. The palace wasn’t cold and useless as I had first thought. It was dazzling and elegant and me. I had been under the impression that because I wanted to heighten my morals and personally intervene more often, it would require changing everything. But it didn’t. So what if I liked shiny stuff? I can have good taste and still be an awesome god! It simply wasn’t the problem. It was only what I had lacked that had bothered me. And, looking down to Palm Springs one last time, I knew I had found it.

This was kind of a one off! The next chapter will be back with mortal Apollo during the trials. i just wanted to try something different. Don't forget to review!

Chapter Text

Meg propped her red high-tops up on the wooden table, engorging herself in a greasy chicken wing. I myself reclined on the sofa next to her, chewing on the best tasting fish I’d come across in a long time. The aurae brought whatever food the demigod, legacy or ex-god would like best. In my case, it was a typical ancient greek dinner - grilled fish with a small side dish of olives and olive oil. It reminded me of the old days, the heavenly smell wafting from my mother’s kitchen (minus the olives of course, as they had not yet been invented) while young Artemis and I played with nymphs, climbed trees and held archery competitions. Granted, my mother usually added a garnish of ground ambrosia, but that was slightly too impossible for me in my current state. Still, the thought brought tears to my eyes. I missed my sister and mother, more than words could describe. I managed to blink back the moisture welling up, but I was still glad we dined alone.

Our table looked pathetically desolate compared to the tables around us, which held fifteen demigods each. No one really wanted to talk to those who had pulled their respected leader into a quest which had gotten him killed. So, with our backs to the crowd, we ate in thoughtful silence (at least on my part) until Meg stirred me from my nostalgic reverie.

“You think Ella will finish the book thing in time?” Meg asked, pulling a chicken bone from her mouth and flicking it across the table.
“The Sibylline Books.” I corrected.
“Same difference.”
“That’s my line.”
“Will they be ready or not?”
I sighed with exasperation at the impatience of my master.
“I do not know.”
Meg rolled her eyes.
“You never know anything.”
“Hey! I know as much as my father has left intact in my memories, and that is not my fault.”
Meg ignored my defence, and leaned over to my plate to prod my fish in the eye.
“That’s gross,” she said, screwing up her face.
“Yes,” I agreed. “It is in fact disgusting to poke someone else’s food when they know you haven’t washed your hands.”
“Not that, dummy.” She pointed at my forkful of fish, which was halfway to my mouth. “That.”
I rolled my eyes and took another bite. “What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s hardly cooked.”
“It’s grilled.”
Meg stuffed her face with another few bites. Her mouth was so full I was surprised she could still breathe. “Aren’t you supposed to put batter on it or something?” She asked, spraying my face with spit and bits of chicken. I grudgingly wiped it off.
“Is there anything you Americans don’t deep fry?”
In response, Meg lifted her feet off the low table, swivelled around and dropped them heavily onto my legs. She was now lying the length of the sofa while half-draped over me, pinning me to the soft cushioning. “Ow.”
She snorted at my discomfort, then continued to inhale her meat.

My mind wandered around the possibilities of ever seeing my family again. My uncle Poseidon, who had always been my favourite uncle (although my only other uncles are either titans or Hades, so I guess that doesn’t come across as much of a compliment, but it is). My good friends, Hermes and Dionysus, who were always up for a good prank on Ares or ready with a bottle of wine after an awful day (but remember, alcohol is bad, kids. We only drink it because we are each over 3000 years old. Do not attempt until you are the same age, no matter what Dionysus tells you). My sister, the sharp huntress whom I would defend to the death. My mother. Sacred Sibyl, I missed my mother. I missed her warm hugs, her sweet honeysuckle scent, her soft, caring voice. I couldn’t stand the thought of never feeling her comforting presence again. I had to get home.

…

I woke, drenched in cold sweat and gasping for breath. ‘Blasted nightmares,’ I thought, desperately trying to rip the sheets off myself with shaking hands. My legs were still partially entangled when I attempted to stand, resulting in me thumping loudly to the floor. I grasped around in the dark for the small bedside table to help me stand. When I found the edge, I began to pull myself up, but the table tipped, sending me back to the hard floor and spilling its contents onto my head. The digital clock that clattered beside me read 01:38. I growled at it and stood, despite my quaking limbs. My nightmares had wildly unsettled me in ways I wouldn’t tolerate. ‘You’ll never hang onto those memories’, they taunted. ‘Give it a week and you won’t even remember their names’.
“Shut up, shut up!” I hissed to myself. I began wondering, stumbling towards to bookshelf at the end of the long room. ‘What kind of brother forgets a sibling?’ “Stop.” ‘What kind of son?’ “Stop it!”
I began to yank old, dusty, leather bound books from the shelf, looking for anything with my name on the front. I needed to remember me. Anything. Anything at all. Finally, a large black book with the emboldened golden letters ‘APOLLŌ’ printed on the spine caught my attention. It was a few inches thick and the cover was almost as wide as my chest. Eyes widening, I harshly ripped the book out from its place, the sudden weight bearing down on my weak arms almost causing me to drop it. I did not wish to make any more noise than I already had. I wrapped it in my gangly human arms and lugged it out the door.

I cannot say I knew where I was headed. I simply needed to get somewhere, to feel the crisp night wind sting my skin into feeling anything but numbness. I found myself marching up a hill. The extra muscle exertion distracted me from my troubles, so I kept climbing. A good way up the hill, I started to feel the pull of the familiar. Temple Hill. I scanned the assorted statues and . There was no particular order, other than ‘most important at the top’. Further on, a massive red crypt loomed, decorated with flames and human skulls. The name Mars Ultor came to me, but I overlooked it. My mind was so busy with rushing thoughts and doubts that I feared any more information might make my brain explode.

My fingers fidgeted with the tears and rough leather texture of the book in my grasp. I felt as if a band composed of nothing but timpani were performing a drumroll in my mind, getting more and more intense with each passing second. Unable to stand still for much longer, I bolted to my right, keeping my head down and following whatever path was under my feet.

Maybe the last scraps of my godly essence guided me to the place it felt most at home. My mind was caught in such a flurry of panic that I barely noticed I was climbing marble steps until the steely cold shocked my unprotected soles. I was in an circular, open room held up by bronze pillars that were rimmed with gold. A golden dome sat over my head, and an array of my favourite items littered the right side of the room - a golden bow, a quiver stocked with arrows, an elegant grand piano. In the middle of the temple, an altar sat, waiting for sacrifices. I padded to the back of the room, my bare feet echoing on the smooth marble. Sliding my back down a pillar, I sat and heaved the book open. I was too flustered to have possibly read a word, but the pictures soothed me. There were a few century-old ink sketches of the 'Apollo Belvedere’ in Rome, next to a modern Polaroid marked ‘Latona and Her Children, Apollo and Diana, carved 1874’ I smiled at the tranquil scene. Mother rarely appeared as such now, certainly not after the invention of many modern braid styles (she got me to teach her how to use Instagram so she can ‘see the videos all those pretty young ladies post’ and learn new hairstyles. She’s admittedly very talented. We tied on our self-held Let’s See Who Can Braid Their Hair The Fastest completion). A tear dripped onto the picture. I turned the page.

This one showed the ‘Diana as Huntress’ statue in Berlin. Artie always huffed about her statues, said they were ‘Too dramatic’. She questioned why she, a seasoned hunter, would ever stand around and wait around for the wind to blow the right direction just so she could look cool to the monsters charging at her and her girls. She can say what she likes, but I know that she prefers it when sculptors include her dogs. Just a thought for any artists out there, looking to gain Diana’s favour *wink*. I grinned at the thought of her thirteen year old form pouting up at me. The memory was fuzzy, but still clearer than usual. I turned the page again.

Again and again I flicked through photos of my relatives, skimming over the paragraphs just enough that it reminded me of their names and their relationships with me. Hermes/Mercury was my impish best friend, who I’d vowed to love for eternity. Hera/Juno was my stepmother who caused my mother and siblings nothing but pain, but somehow we respected each other enough to eat cabbage together and compliment each other’s hair. Dionysus/Bacchus was the ultimate party-man, often inviting me to play for his revelries.

I turned the page once more. This time, I was met with an image that spanned the length of the two pages. At the top of the page, black threatening letters spelled out ‘JUPITER, FATHER OF APOLLO’ and in smaller writing ‘St Petersburg, Hermitage Museum’. Even from glancing into those blank, marble eyes, my anger spiked. ‘There he is’, I thought, ‘sitting all smug on his little stupid throne-’ I admit, my thoughts turned to bitter toddler-like insults. But looking at the god responsible for my misery made me want to throw the book across the temple and storm away. So I did just that. The book smacked into the alter (which tipped) and thumped open onto the floor cover side up, the crusty pages wrinkling under the force. I left the hook where the golden bow had hung empty as I went.

…

Twang!
The arrow just inside the red circle of the target, and I mentally awarded myself seven points. Not that it mattered. Judging by the moon’s position in the inky sky, it was now 3am - I had been at Camp Jupiter’s open-air archery range for almost two hours. No one else had been here when I arrived, and I was glad it had stayed that way. I needed time alone. To stew. I had first come out with the intention to ‘practice’ (still an alien concept to ex-flawless archers such as myself), but now, this long into the session, I was only blowing off steam. Channeling my frustration into every loose of an arrow, imagining the target as everyone who had wronged me over the course of this forsaken punishment. My knuckles tightened. My eyes narrowed. My shoulders tensed.
Twang! An arrow buried itself deep in the flesh of Commodus’ shoulder.
Twang! A wooden shaft protruded from Caligula’s throat.
Twang! Blood seeped through the mauve suit surrounding Nero’s manipulating, insensitive heart.
Twang! Zeus howled in pain at the arrow embedded in his sternum.
Twang! Python writhed in agony, agony he deserved-
“Apollo!”

I yelped and my shot went wildly off course, flying high with no power or distance, and landing in the grass in front of the target with a thud. Whipping around, I was about to tell whoever it was to GO AWAY when I was met with an equally startled young man, dressed in pyjama bottoms and the signature purple Camp Jupiter t-shirt, with the gold letters SPQR emblazoned boldly on the front. He quickly raised his hands in a placid manner, showing that he meant no harm. Nevertheless, I remained on guard. There had been a few who had not exactly welcomed the bearers of Jason’s coffin warmly, and this had been a close friend of the son of Jupiter. I feared I could not take this particular demigod in a fight. Even though he looked to be not much older than myself, he towered above me - perhaps a few inches beyond six foot tall, which made my lanky 5”6 feel minuscule. He had handsome asian features and soft brown eyes that I wagered could shift from kindness to anger in moments. He wore jet black hair in a military cut, making him seem like the world’s youngest army general.

“Frank Zhang.” I nodded to him once before turning back to my anger outlet. I was in no mood to talk. Not after loosing any way to contact my family. Not after loosing my memories to oblivion. Not after loosing Jason. Not when I knew he could react violently, as some already had. And if his heritage and blessing from Mars went against my mortal pathetic self, I doubted I would last more than ten seconds. Thankfully, he did not look like he came to pick a fight. He came forward and stood beside me silently, watching as I drew back the bowstring. I felt his eyes bore into me, assessing my posture, my strength, my balance. It was off-putting. That, dear readers, is why my arrow went rogue. It wasn’t my fault. It thunked into the wooden leg that held up the target. I felt my cheeks redden. I glared at the stupid arrow, willing it to pick itself up and hover over to the bullseye. Unsurprisingly, this did not happen. It stubbornly stayed where it was, planted in the wood.

I really hated having an audience for my failures, especially if the audience was a child who had once hoped and prayed for me, the Great Golden Archer, to be his father. I doubted Frank felt such a longing anymore. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He was smiling sympathetically at me, having witnessed my disgraceful excuse for a shot for the first time. I decided that Gaia coming back and swallowing me whole at that exact moment would not have been protested against.

“Here,” Frank said calmly, reaching towards me and adjusting my grip on the bowstring. “You’re gripping the string too far up your fingers. You don’t want to make a fist around it.” He peered down at my feet. “And you’re too tense. Relax your stance a little.” I obliged, already seeing my stupid mistakes. My cheeks seemed to heat up even more, and I found myself resisting the urge to bury my acne-ridden face in my hoodie. Frank seemed to notice, and backed off, instead ambling over to a small supply shed where he scooped up a bow and a fistful of arrows. I kept myself occupied from the daunting future that would have Frank humiliating me by nocking another arrow. This time, I tried to take on board what advice I’d been given.

I angled my left foot closer to the direction of the target, so I took on a more open stance, then checked my fingering was correct. Taking a deep breath, I used my back muscles to push my shoulder blades together as to take the strain off my arm and shoulder muscles - an unforgotten golden rule of archery. I drew back the bowstring until I reached my anchor point (the index finger touching the corner of my mouth), and fired. Twang! Not a bullseye, but well within the first yellow circle. I grinned in delight. Success was a rare feeling nowadays.

“Good job.” He congratulated quietly, grinning and turning to his own target. We both drew our bows.

After about ten more shots, and four bullseyes on my part (how many frank got is not relevant, moving on), Frank suggested we go back inside.
“It’s early,” he said, rubbing his eyes and letting out a yawn. He started walking down towards the fifth cohort’s barracks, so I followed. “We should get back. Jason’s funeral is later, and you’ve barely been to sleep.”
“How did you know?”
Frank scratched the back of his neck and smiled awkwardly.
“Well, you made a bit of a racket when you were leaving the barracks. What with the whole…falling and throwing books and stuff…”
Yup. The ground was more than welcome to swallow me now. I stuffed my hands in my pockets as I felt my acne-riddled face turn tomato coloured for the umpteenth time that morning, and glared at the grass.
“Apologies.” I muttered. “I panicked.”
“Yeah, you seemed upset so I told the others to leave you alone. I thought maybe you wanted some peace and quiet. But you were gone for ages, so I came to find you.”
I shot him a questioning look. ‘Why?’ He read my mind.
“It’s my job as Praetor to make sure everyone’s safe,” he explained, his chest puffing out slightly at the little self-reminder of his recently increased status. “And, it sucks. To loose people, I mean.”
I looked up at the Roman. His eyes were shimmering with tears, but he looked me in the eye anyway. He wasn’t afraid to show emotion, which was a rare trait, especially in the legion, but one I had always admired.
“I only knew him for a few hours. Why do I feel so awful?”
“Because Jason was a great demigod. The greatest. He made an impact on everyone he talked to.” -Frank gestured around the camp- “He really made an impact here. Especially with the loser fifth cohort.”
“He-he told me to fulfil his promise. To build temples for every god in the pantheon.”
“Yeah. He could be like that. Noble, even at the worst of times. But that’s not the reason you’ve been drilling holes into the archery equipment for an a few hours straight.”
I answered with all the intelligence of someone who hadn’t slept since 1am.
“Huh?”
“I didn’t think to check here first,” he said. “I went up to your temple.”
I got flashbacks to my toddler-esque temper tantrum.
“Ooh. Yeah…”
“Yeah.” He responded in a tone that said ‘been there, done that, got the t-shirt’. “Families are messy.”
“I miss them.”
“That’s normal. Bitterness is normal. You aren’t being overdramatic.”
I smiled at the confirmation.
“Thanks. It means a lot.”
We were back at the barracks. Frank smiled at me one last time and patted me on the back, before lumbering in. I followed.

I slept soundly the rest of the night.

…

I walked, lead-legged, up Temple Hill. The whole camp was eerily quiet. Jason’s body had been given proper honours, and the legion had been given the day off from duties. I couldn’t stand the prying eyes of 200 kids for much longer, so, even while I had only gotten four hours of sleep and was weighed down with grief, I travelled to the only place in the camp that was truly ‘mine’.

Tired and weary, I plopped down on the seat of the sleek, white grand piano. I ran my fingers across the smooth fallboard for a solid minute of distracted silence, before lifting it to reveal the ivory keys. They were chipped and yellowed and seemingly out of place compared to the stark white of the piano itself, were inevitably out of tune. I played a short scale, opened up the lid and tightened the loose turning pins I had hit, then continued with my scales. I repeated until I was positive that every key was in perfect harmony, which took all of ten minutes.

Satisfied with the tuning, I took a deep breath and splayed my fingers out on the keyboard, and played a tune that inspired grace and felt to me like a ballerina daintily dancing on water. After a second, the fingering flowed into my memory, allowing my hands to glide elegantly across the piano while I stared over the rim and through the gaps between the temple’s pillars, and into the distance. The sky was clear and perfect blue, and the warm breeze swept gently through my hair. I remembered sitting with my mother on Delos, our shoulders touching as together, we played two parts of the same harmony. Like two streams running down a mountain, weaving around each other and sometimes intersecting to make one stronger melody. My heartbeat calmed from the stress of what was now everyday life to me. Peril, danger and death.

A jarring dissonance of notes jolted me back to unwelcome reality. I rolled my eyes glared at the pudgy young demigod beside me.

“You know, there are ways to make your presence known without scaring flocks of birds away.”
“Yeah I know,” Meg replied shrugging. “But it’s not as fun as watching you jump ten feet in the air.”
“I wasn’t scared! I knew you were beside me!”
“Uh huh,” she grunted, turning her attention to the keys and banging a few more notes without mercy.
“I just tuned those, you monster.”
Meg smirked. Then she ordered me to shift over on the bench, and practically bounced down in the middle, leaving me with one leg hanging off the side.
“Teach me that one. The one you were playing.”
I was too taken aback to argue it’s difficulty, especially for a beginner. I thought we had long since given up on the piano lessons (Meg was not very good), and even if we hadn’t, this tune was graceful and elegant - not words commonly used to describe Meg McCaffrey. But I admit, I missed playing with someone. And so we began.

“Why don’t you watch me first, try to absorb as much of the tune as possible before I teach you the left hand.”
Meg tried to hide her smile.
“Yeah. Whatever.”

Chapter Text

~4612 years ago~

I followed the gentle-giant titaness through the steep, mountainous forests of Delphi, clambering over boulders and collapsed tree trunks as the woman in front of me glided gracefully, walking barefoot through the rocky terrain as though it was sand. She was a mysterious being, certainly not like any other immortal I'd been in contact with. She had a rougher, more 'titan-ish' vibe than my father, and didn't look anything like her daughter, Leto - my mother. While Leto was bronze-skinned and had a slim figure, Phoebe was quite the opposite. Her body round and soft, her skin the warm, dark colour of a sculpture beautifully carved from deep mahogany. She exuded a sort of gentle calmness, like the warmth of a loving mother's embrace after a long day. Her caramel fringe swept low over her serene face, concealing her eyes. Her hair was thick and wavy, spilling over her shoulders and sweeping across her back. She wore a dress of long, broad leaves, each the height of my young form, that swept to her ankles. Occasionally she would stop and patiently wait as I determinedly struggled over a particularly steep hill, or turn to hold my hand to help me across a rushing river. My hands were tiny compared to Phoebe's - though I supposed it was partly to do with me taking the form of an eight year old boy - she stood at ten feet all, bigger than any human I'd seen. Mother said titans can get much bigger, even bigger than father.

Phoebe smiled as she held out her hand, pulling me up the last few steps to the summit of the mountain. The view was astonishing. Miles and miles of rocky hills rolled, divided by the most lush of valleys. Streams wound through the terrain, building lakes and careening down waterfalls, spraying silver mist into the crisp air. Nymphs and dryads frolicked and danced in clearings, their togas swishing with their bouncy movements. The island thrived with life.

But the mountain one over from ours seemed…darker than the rest. A cave big enough to comfortably house a titan dragged itself from the earth at the summit, some vines still dangling across it's entrance like they were the only things keeping the cavern from rising even higher. The grass and flora around it smoked. Deep in the throat of the earthen chamber, there lay the corpse of a rotting dragon, eternally emanating foul odours. Even from so far away, my nostrils still burned with the scent of acidic sulphur. I grimaced at the memory. Of course, it had only happened hours ago. My immortal status meant that I would long outlive the ghastly thought. Or so I hoped.

Phoebe knelt down, put a soft hand on my shoulder and pointed towards the tunnel from Tartarus.

"Do you see that big cave way over there?" She whispered. I didn't have the guts to speak without making some horrific noise, so I simply nodded. She playfully poked me in the sides. "That's all yours. Now, I know you already have many domains and much responsibility. I would like to help you manage it, like my sister taught me. It can be hard, and the visions can be overwhelming sometimes, but I wouldn't freely give you the position if I had not foreseen your success and capability. Happy belated birthday, grandson."

I sniffed. Tears distorted my vision and intrusive thoughts muscled into my head, turning the shadow of a nearby fir tree into a hideous, wrinkly abomination, growing larger by the millisecond, unhinging its mighty maw to swallow me whole-

"-Apollo!" I winced out of my nightmarish fantasy. Phoebe was still kneeling beside me, her mouth tight in concern. "I thought this may happen." She lowered herself a bit more, engulfed me in a warm hug, and rubbed soothing circles on my back.

"He w-was awful," I blubbered through the tears streaking down my cheeks. "I healed myself b-but…it still hurts."

"I know it does," my grandmother sighed. "I know it will." She didn't seem to mind me sputtering into her bare shoulder, a fact I was quite grateful for.

I do not recall how long we sat there, the cold Gamelion wind blowing through us hard enough to knock a mortal clean off the summit of the mountain. I felt only a slight cold. Phoebe sheltered me with her body, her leaf dress fluttering around my legs from the force of the wind. But to us, it was nothing more than a harsh breeze. We did not have to shout to hear each other. We were immortals, refined to perfection to withstand threats by the thousand. I shuddered, wistfully hoping that, in my first days of life, the worst was over.

After an eternity of seconds, Phoebe stood, a kind smile on her lips. I smiled back, wiping my face and eyes with the back of my hand. She patted my hair fondly.

"Let us begin. Firstly, visions flow naturally when you think about something. This can be quite a bother in most situations. Unless you actively repress or ignore them, they will come. It can be quite overwhelming and rather distracting at times. So, what you can do is cover your eyes or find some way to dim your sight, so that your sense of future does not bounce off every little thing you see." She pushed my hair over my face as a demonstration. I coughed it out of my mouth and pushed it out of my eyes.

"Eugh," I stuck my tongue out, eloquently portraying my feelings on following that particular fashion statement.

Phoebe laughed. "But you looked so cute!"

~9 years later~

The warm summer breeze whipped through my thin toga and long, golden hair, while the sun beat down on my immortal back. Wiping the silvery sweat from my forehead, I leaned on a grazing cow and tapped my fingers on my shepherd's stick, taking in the mountainous view that I had grown rather sick of. I was almost nine years old (but took the form of a human teen, about fifteen years of age), and this, consequently, was my ninth year of 'purification' for the oh-so-dreadful act of slaying a evil mother-chasing, cave-stealing dragon, and I was so close to being done with it. I thought it extremely unfair that I was even doing this to begin with - after all, Python was foul. Gaea was furious that I had slain her 'son' (but somehow not upset that he was dwelling in her own daughter's cave, go figure - wait, was that a modern or future term? Wow, prophetic visions can really mess with your head) and had demanded that I be tossed into the depths of tartarus. I had thought that a touch melodramatic. Of course, my father, the great Zeus, would not have his new favourite son banished to the darkness, but unfortunately for me, Gaea did not intend to back down. Finally a compromise arose - nine years of purification and I would be off scot free.

It had seemed so easy at the start, especially with my father's assurance that nine years really was not that long in the eyes of an immortal. He promised that it would be done before I knew it. Then he ruffled my blond locks, pushing the strands of hair over my eyes and making me giggle with delight.

I closed my eyes and imagined once again seeing the gleaming halls of Olympus, with floors so sleek and shiny you could blind yourself. I remembered the sheer vastness of the corridors and the overwhelming power that radiated from the throne room. I had only seen the glorious place once, and that was under grim circumstances - the sentencing for my 'crime', in fact. My dear suck-up sister, Artemis, had already joined the Olympian ranks, and while I had a claim to a throne, I had to finish my nine years of service first. Boring.

The cow I was reclining against selfishly decided that eating the patch of perfectly good grass at his lips was unsatisfying, and moved on, forcing me to support my own weight. I liked cows, but they did not make very good furniture.

A loud rumble of thunder rolled in the distance. I looked up to the sky, beaming with elation (literally - I felt a faint halo glow around my head). My time was up. Nine years had passed. I was finally going to ascend to govern with my fellow major gods. I threw down my shepherd's staff - someone else could look after this herd from now on - and dashed off to meet my father, and complete my service.

~8 months later~

"You wished to see me, father?"

I stood in Zeus' personal throne room, slightly short of breath and still bloodied to my elbows from my last patient's treatment. I had just preformed a surgery nothing short of gory. The poor man was going to be in agony for a while, but my power of prophecy allowed me to assure the family that he would pull through. The adrenaline of the dangerous was blasting through my brain, the satisfaction of fulfilling my purpose making my whole being buzz. I was vaguely aware of the halo of light that surrounded my young teenage form, betraying my mood to the single onlooker.

The king glared down at me from where he sat on his cold, marble throne. His toga was a dark shade of navy, complete with intricate golden designs on the hem. Zeus looked to be a human man, perhaps in his late 30's or early 40's, with short, curly dark hair and a greying beard. He was 7 feet, maybe slightly taller - which, from my many experiences with humans, is fairly tall. His build was wide and solid, his shoulders broad, his bare arms muscular. He did not look pleased to see me.

Yet I was not scared. My mood neither faltered nor swayed. My father was the king of the universe! He had a lot on his plate, so who could blame him if he got a bit grumpy sometimes? It was natural to be stressed with so much responsibility on your back. What he needed was some good entertainment - a laugh, a song, a cure. All things within my very own sphere of control! (Plus, I had heard some very reliable rumours that Zeus used to sing marvellously at the request of Kronos. I wanted to hear where I had received the ability from for myself, and so far, I had not gotten him to sing along, if I am not counting the time I overheard him singing with my mother on Delos the day we were born. But I had endless days! Who was I to rush it?) While I was curious about the reasoning behind my urgent summoning, I was not concerned that it was too serious. I had been doing my job to the best of my ability, after all. And I can assure you, my godly best is extremely good.

"Since you have joined our ranks," Zeus began, tilting his chin up in authority, his voice gruff and low like thunder. "Mortals have been living longer. They don't die as often. When they are at the brink of hades' gates, they miraculously get better." I beamed. My relentless work had finally payed off! He was proud of me! My father, the king of the gods, was proud of me! I rushed to thank him for the recognition when- "It's bad for business."

My bright smile faded.

"Bad for..." I murmured, confusion pounding down on my skull as my I tried my hardest to wrap my head around the meaning of the harsh words. I detected no teasing humour in his voice.

"Not good," Zeus unhelpfully clarified. "Hades is losing citizens. There are less human sacrifices for Ares, as life is considered more 'valuable' if it had the chance to last longer. Demeter is run off her feet trying to bring harvest to obscure 'healing' crops that the humans have demanded on your request. My own wife has been losing her mind trying to organise weddings for the increasing population. You are healing too much."

"Healing," I repeated, too utterly bewildered to put much emotion into my voice. "Too… much." Zeus, ever a king of little explanation and many glares, simply glowered down his nose at me, as if waiting for my small, pathetic mind to piece two and two together. "Wha.. But… I…" I stuttered, trailing off after each feeble attempt at defence. Finally, I managed to complete a coherent sentence. "Could you… rule too well, father? Are you capable of designing a storm too impressive? Can you decree a law too fair?"

"Apollo-" He growled, leaning forward in his throne. His upper lip curled in disgust. I could feel the air around me begin to get denser and threatening to suffocate me if I dared say a word against him.

"My lord, I am only doing what I was made to do! As a prophetic god, is it not my purpose to tell you all I can about the future? Is it not my duty to make sure we are prepared for what is to come?" Zeus raised an eyebrow at me, but stayed silent for a while, deep in thought (a rare occasion, I felt, though I dared not voice such things).

"Are you saying there has been a shift in the balance?"

"Not 'has been' my lord. 'Will be'. I have had some… troubling visions. A new god will soon take form, one much more fierce than I. He will be your most powerful offspring; only you, Poseidon and Hades will be stronger than him. I have foreseen him to be a constant threat to your position. I do not yet know whether he should be warred against or locked away, but he should never be underestimated. We may need every mortal we have to keep our sacrifices burning and our power as widespread as we can."

Zeus stroked his beard, his brow furrowed, considering my words.

"Hmm. And you know when this 'new god' will be born, I presume?"

"I- yes, my king. I'm afraid… he already has been." At that, the room darkened dramatically, as if even light was afraid to look my father in the eye. I concentrated on steadying my breathing. I had never been in such a situation before, but I quickly decided that I did not like it. I swiftly added; "Though he is simply dormant right now! We still have time to rally together when the time comes."

"And he will overthrow me?"

"I think he will try. I do not yet know if he will succeed."

"So you have seen a deity arise, a god powerful enough to decimate everything we have ever built and has the demented irrationality to do so, yet instead of reporting this to me, you spend eight months healing puny mortals?"

I gulped. Hearing him lay out my actions so plainly made me question if I really had been wasting valuable war-prepping time, even though I had went over this decision in my head for weeks.

"I feel - I feel I need to."

Zeus tipped his chin up slightly higher, as to more effectively snarl down his nose at me.

"What?" He muttered, his voice so low, so dangerous that I could practically feel my form instinctively fighting to teleport as far away from this throne room as possible.

"I- um… I, well-" I stuttered uselessly. My voice was a good deal quieter than it had been upon entering the room. My head lowered and I hid my bloodstained hands behind my back, like they somehow incriminated me. "I just… know it will help. I don't know why or how, but I can feel the future Apollo smiling back on this time. I think helping the mortals is the right thing to do."

Zeus straightened his back and rolled back his shoulders, symbolising that his patience had run out. There was to be no more defence. He would not tolerate another word.

"No." Curse him, even the shortest sentence from the king was commanding enough to make me want to shrink back and melt into some conveniently placed shadows. I did not even know what was coming. Back then, I was young and naïve, full of love for every living being, unless they proved themselves unworthy. I was scared to look into the future, but snippets flowed anyways. I felt deep pain and suffering in the moments ahead. I tried to block them off, thinking I could somehow avoid this fate. Oh, how foolish a young mind can be.

I heard his footsteps getting closer and closer, louder and louder until my skull was pounding with panic. I chanced a look up. There he stood, the king of the gods, towering above me at his full godly height. Electricity cracked around him like the violent sound whips made when humans flailed them around to spur on their horses. His cruel eyes sparked with undiluted malice. The master bolt, a bronze rod that crackled and spluttered threateningly, flickered into existence in Zeus's right fist.

That was the last image I saw as that god. Apollo the innocent. Apollo the guiltless. Apollo the child. That boy screamed and pleaded until his voice was raw - a sensation he had never experienced before, nor ever wanted to experience again. He cradled his aching stomach with one bloodied arm, holding the other in front of his face, praying to anyone who would listen that it would shield him from the blow. It did not. Giving one final howl of agony, he went limp as his little body gave out. He dissipated in a burst of golden dust. That boy did not resurface.

No, when the time came for the god to collect the pieces of his consciousness, something very different reformed. A beautiful, muscled young man of twenty looked at himself in the reflection of a river. He had long, wavy blond hair, a defined jawline and cold, metallic, golden eyes that looked as hollow as the eyes of a man who had been imprisoned for fifty lifetimes. He understood. It was as if he had lived his life with a fringe over his eyes, and now the hair had been forcefully burned away, leaving him permanently smelling the putrid smoke - but it had cleared his vision to reveal the ugly truths of the world. His immortal bones throbbed with hatred and bitter resentment. The being who emerged that day was the god with the will to burn the throne of the king. The god destined to be a persistent threat to Zeus's reign. The god who would one day attempt an uprising.

His name was Phoebus Apollo.

~4,603 years later~

I sighed as the unfamiliar blue eyes stared back at the pimpled face and messy dark hair of a teenage dork. I half hoped that the warped mirror - the golden statue of Jupiter - was making me look more hideous than I was, but I had been human long enough to know this was not true. At least my cheeks were no longer seared with purple tendrils, marking my mortal body for death by cliche-Hollywood-apocalypse-movie.

I was alone. There were only a few minutes left of our time at camp Jupiter, and I did not quite understand why I had unconsciously wandered here, the temple of my father, the great and terrible Jupiter Optimus Maximus. I craned my neck so I could take in the full statue. He was in the exact pose that he had been all those years ago, the first time the bolt he held pierced my youthful skin. The last sight of a god who had faded along with the light of that strike, when a child died and an adult supplanted him.

All I had wanted to do was my best. To help, to heal, to make the lives of those around me brighter by sharing my light. Over the centuries, I had gotten selfish with that light. I had forgotten who I used to be. I was glad to be right about one thing though: I looked back on those months of mass healing with great fondness. They were the symbol of the child who had wanted to fix everything, no matter how impossible. They may just have been the best things I have ever done.

I had recently realised that my trials were not only shaping me into a new, better person, but also recalling some of the will I had possessed all those thousands of years ago, before my psyche was distorted by selfishness, anger and abuse. Right now I seemed to be an odd mixture of my new and old selves; protective but anxious, accepted but rejected, healed and hurt. I constantly wanted to take a Gaia-length nap with some hot chocolate while watching Les Misérables on repeat and crying my eyes out at every sad song. But, I also had a sense of satisfaction that I had not felt in centuries. Like I was doing something worthwhile, finally fulfilling my purpose. It was almost as if the painstaking effort of the quest made everything sweeter when it was finished. It was nice to have a little voice in my head that said "I survived that!" when I noticed a new scar in the shower, or a new burn when I was getting dressed. Who knew… I may even keep a few of them when I regained my godly status. But I was getting back my eight-pack. No compromise on that one.

"Hey, loser! We're leaving."

I rolled my eyes and turned to meet my beloved master, who was strutting a new fashion statement: an oversized blue unicorn tee that almost reached her knees over her signature green dress (which you could only see because the t-shirt was so big that the neckline drooped over her shoulder), and some denim jeans with her red high tops. She pushed her glasses up her nose and screwed up her face at the sight of Jupiter (I think that is what my kids call: a 'big mood-y'. I will have to check though). "That your dad?"

I heaved a tired sigh.

"Yes."

"Is he that big in real life?"

I chuckled under my breath.

"Thank goodness, no. Gods tend to be around twenty feet. That statue is about fifty. I think I would have died from stress already if he was fifteen meters tall all the time. Besides, I was a god too."

Meg looked at me, disbelief painting her features.

"So, you're like," she leaned down and picked up a piece of cracked tile at her feet. Furrowing her eyebrows in concentration, she chucked the marble at the sculpture, which hit it on the knee with a clang. "That high?"

"Nah," I said a grin spreading on my face as I too, scooped up a piece of tile from the ground. I tossed it in my hand once, calculating my arm. Then, with a grunt of effort, I let the rock loose, which sailed through the air and hit Jupiter's precious parts with a echoing clank. "I am that high." We burst into a fit of giggles like a couple of schoolchildren mocking the universally hated principal at the back of the class. When we were done snickering, Meg punched me in the arm. "Ow!"

"C'mon. We need to go."

I rubbed my tricep, pouting. "We got a ride?"

She gave me a impish grin that Hermes/Mercury would've been proud of.

"Oh yeah. We got a ride."