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Chapter Text

The throne room of the Olympian gods was cold and soulless, much like its king. 

It was the first formal council meeting after Apollo had emerged from chaos; wide-eyed, shaking and bleeding gold. 

Inevitably, nothing had changed. Why would it? His six months as a mortal had felt like a lifetime, but for the rest of them it was a mere blink of an eye. Six months felt like a millisecond to a god who had lives aeons. 

He was like a completely different person, but nothing about his family had changed - and nothing ever would. Dionysus still purposefully forgot the names of demigods because it was easier than getting attached. Ares still didn't give a shit about his kids - even the ones who were war heroes before reaching adulthood. Hera stayed ruthless and heartless, despite the death of her "champion".

And as always, Zeus and Poseidon were arguing, just for the sake of arguing. 

Apollo stared at the white marble floor, inspecting it closely, looking for any cracks or imperfections in it. 

None. Obviously. The only imperfection in this room was him. 

He was the worst of the gods. But somehow, still the most human of them. 

His fault was that he cared too much; so much that it had torn him apart. 

What kind of a god was he, to want nothing more than to be back with his human friends; hanging out in camp with his kids, eating Sally Jackson's blue cookies or planting flowers with Meg? 

In a place as soulless as Olympus, with a family as heartless as his, how could he ever keep his promise to Jason? Over the centuries to come he would forget. There was nothing that scared him more than forgetting what it meant to be human. 

"Hey idiot, were you listening to what I was saying?" came the high-pitched voice of Meg through a prayer in his ears. 

Apollo's lips quirked up into a smile, he leaned back onto his throne and covered his mouth with a hand. He didn't want to draw attention to himself, after all. 

"Don't call me that," he replied. Any other Olympian god would smite a mortal who dared to address them in such an impertinent way. But it just made him feel warm with fondness. This feral twelve-year-old had stubbornly poked and prodded and crotch-kicked her way into his heart. 

She didn't even pray in the right way - no respect, no Lord Apollo, no sacrificed food - because why should I burn my food? You're a god. I need my muffin more than you do.

"Whatever, so I was saying I'm trying to learn how to play this super old song called Yesterday. But I don't get what an F7 chord is. Can you show me?"

Apollo glanced up at where Zeus and Poseidon were glaring at each other, the latter of whom had gritted teeth and a tight fist clenched around his trident. Ares was leaning forward in his throne with a smirk. Hermes shuffled through some papers disinterestedly while George and Martha chattered on his caduceus. Artemis seemed to be muttering to herself - probably communicating with one of her hunters. 

"Uh, I can't come and show you, I'm in a super boring meeting right now. But you know F major right? So it's F major but just add an E flat on top. That's the black note to the left of E."

There was a pause as Meg took some time to figure it out. If he listened close enough he could just about feel the sound vibrations of the piano keys echoed through her thoughts, but he decided to give up on that when she hammered violently on the wrong note and it clashed with the chord. 

"Sounding great," he replied encouragingly. 

Poseidon was ranting about something to do with thunderstorms capsizing boats in the Atlantic and causing overtime for the cyclopes. "-and the shipwrecks aren't exactly easy to clear up, they damage the merpeoples' houses in Atlantis... so next time you try to interfere in my realm-"

"This is D minor right?" Meg asked and Apollo didn't even try to tune in to what she was actually playing. He was starting to get a headache, which was quite an accomplishment for a god. 

"-your realm," Zeus scoffed. "Storms are my realm." 

"Yep, sounds good," Apollo replied. He crossed one leg over the other and leaned on the arm of his golden throne.

On the other side of the U shape of thrones around the hearth, Artemis gave him a small hint of a smile which he returned with no less enthusiasm. She was looking equally fed up, but at least she had a comfy seat of wolf and bear skins. Why had he ever thought a solid gold throne was a good idea? It was so uncomfortable. Not to mention it didn't feel like him anymore; it was too garish, too gaudy. A symbol of his past life - of hiding behind false confidence, cocky grins and flashy sports cars.

He wished he had insisted on having his throne closer to Artemis too.  

"Thunder and lightning," Poseidon corrected with an exasperated tone, giving a loud huff of a sigh and raising his eyebrows at Hades as if to say 'younger brothers when they try to claim they own your godly realm, am I right?' "Storms are my business too, especially if they're in my ocean and causing damage!"

"Why is this song so boring?" Meg complained. Apollo could practically sense her pouting and stomping her foot heavily on the sustain pedal. He felt sorry for the poor piano that had to put up with her. "It's too hard. Boring."

"Play it again for me," Apollo attempted to pep-talk her. "It's not the song that's the issue, I'm sure it's just your playing." 

"Geez, thanks," Meg replied dryly. "You're a really great teacher."

If he tuned in enough, he could just about hear her give up with Yesterday and start on Chopsticks again. The piano keys were all out-of-tune and janky. Eventually she gave up and just smashed every note that she could reach, ending in a clashing painful wall of sound. 

Apollo couldn't stop the small hint of a smile as he absent-mindedly continued watching Zeus and Poseidon bicker. He was just starting to zone out when-

"And just what do you find so funny?" Zeus's gaze narrowed in on Apollo, who re-adjusted his posture and straightened in his throne. 

"Nothing," Apollo's smile dropped in an instant and he averted his gaze. Then he changed his tone of voice, trying to be as non-confrontational as possible. "Sir," he added, hoping his politeness wouldn't be misconstrued as insolence. He wanted nothing more than to shrink back into his seat and become invisible. 

Every interaction with Zeus still felt like he was walking on a tightrope. Constantly staying on a thin line, trying to keep perfect balance, always one step away from falling (again). 

He had been unfairly blamed for the Giant War, sure, but everything since then had been his fault. If Zeus were to put the blame on him for Jason's death... well, he couldn't disagree with that. 

He'd been trying to avoid his father as much as possible, honestly. But he was unavoidable at formal council meetings. 

Over at the hearth, Hestia exchanged a calculating look with Poseidon that Apollo couldn't read. The flames of her fire swelled, spitting red sparks, but she reigned them in. The sea god took a step towards Zeus, reaching out as if to touch his shoulder, then thought better of it and tensely clutched at his trident instead. 

"Brother," Poseidon said, his voice lower and more serious than before. He had a stormy expression in his sea green eyes, not unlike those of Percy Jackson when a teenage Apollo had showed up on his doorstep asking for help. "I would like your apology - and your word that you won't cause trouble for the Atlantians again."

If Apollo didn't know better, he would have thought that Poseidon was trying to redirect Zeus's anger back towards him and their argument... to protect his nephew. 

But, no, surely not. If he had learnt anything from his time on Earth, it was that the gods were selfish and didn't care about their family. 

"Look at me," Zeus commanded. 

Apollo's heart leaped into his throat. 

He bit his lip, took in a sharp breath, then obediently made eye contact with his father. Just do what he says and everything will be fine, he told himself.

"Do what who says? I'm not doing what you say," Meg's voice piped up from their previous prayer connection, almost making him jump. "Your advice is trash."

Apollo's eyes widened. He closed off his mind to all distractions, focusing in on the throne room. He forcefully stilled his hand which had started shaking. 

"Your apology," Poseidon repeated with gritted teeth. "Now, Zeus." 

Zeus's frown tightened. 

There was a tense pause as if all the gods were holding their breath. Ares sat up straighter, a sinister grin on his face as if he was excited to actually witness a proper fight between the two brothers. After all, he hadn't been able to enjoy it properly last time, since he had been under the control of Kronos. 

"I think it's time we discuss Apollo's failures," Zeus changed the subject, a quiet fury simmering behind his electric blue eyes. 

With a grunt of frustration, Poseidon sunk his trident into the floor where it dented the perfect marble. He returned to his throne, put his fisherman's hat back on and glowered at his younger brother. 

Figures. The only person who could piss off Zeus more than Poseidon was Apollo. 

And Poseidon actually had to put effort into making him angry; Apollo could do it just by smiling at the wrong time. 

Hades caught Apollo's eye. If the god of the dead was commanding your attention, it was pretty hard not to look at him. He was lounging on his throne of bone and metal with an air of aloofness about him. His robe was different from the last time they had met; it was so dark it seemed to be made of shadows, but thankfully it lacked the tortured souls of the dead. 

If you were so daring as to rank the gods by order of how powerful and mighty they were (and lived to tell the tale); Zeus would surely come on top. But Hades would be a close second - Apollo would even bet on him having a fair chance at beating Zeus in battle. The underworld was not a small realm to rule over, and they all knew that Hades was never to be underestimated. 

But Hades's eyes in that brief second told a different story. Was that a look of warmth, compassion, pity?  

The god of the underworld gave him a curt nod. 

I grudgingly respect you, his eyes seemed to say. But don't do anything stupid. 

Apollo had always liked Hades.

Well, maybe like was too strong of a word. He at least hated him less than some of the other gods. That was about the most affection anyone from their family ever felt. 

"You haven't been here for the last six months," Zeus started, pacing in front of the hearth. He didn't spare a single glance to Hestia, who was trying to calm her flames. "You have a lot to catch up on. Yet you've been slacking on your duties."

"I've... only been back for two weeks," Apollo muttered hesitantly in his own defense. 

"Give him some time to readjust," Artemis insisted. It was the only time she'd spoken up all meeting. 

Apollo met his twin's eyes. She gave him a grimace of a smile. 

Zeus whirled around, seething. "It's not enough!" his voice was raised and Apollo flinched when his father took a step towards him.

Next to Hades, Dionysus raised an eyebrow, looking intrigued at something interesting finally happening. He sipped at his grape juice and his eyes tracked Zeus and Apollo like he was watching a tennis match. 

"The sun is five minutes late everyday," Zeus continued his rant, "You're not even bringing it down to set in parts of Canada. You cannot neglect your duties."

Apollo didn't bother pointing out that the most northernmost part of Canada was meant to have permanent daylight at this time of year. He didn't think his father paid much attention to science and common sense. 

"You did without me just fine for six months," Apollo said calmly, trying to restrain himself from channelling some Meg energy and shouting back at his father. 

If Meg was here she would probably kick the king of the gods in the shins and give him all her attitude. But thank the Fates that she wasn't here - he didn't want to see her get incinerated. 

"And in that six months, the Nosoi went unchallenged and infected millions of people. You almost lost all five oracles. And stabbed yourself in the chest."

Apollo took a deep breath and tried to fade into the background, which was pretty hard to do considering his gleaming golden throne. 

He could still feel the ghost of the pain from the arrow, so close to his heart, and the overwhelming helplessness as he wished to die, to just get it over with already. But that was nothing compared to the pain when Jason- 

Was Ares manipulating their anger? Apollo was starting to feel this cloudy haze of red in his vision, a kind of fury that he'd rarely felt before-

He tried to calm himself, thinking of his kids at camp. Thinking of Artemis and Leto. Meg.

"I worked on it a bit," Meg's voice came from a prayer in his head again. He tried to tune her out but she sounded so proud and pleased with herself. "Will you listen this time?"

"Okay," he whispered, only realising after he spoke that it was out loud. "Give it your best shot," he sent her all the warmth, light and good vibes he could. Not enough to burn her up, just enough for it to feel like he was sitting next to her on the piano stool and hugging her. 

Everyone was staring at him. 

Well, except for Hephaestus who was fiddling with silver gears on his throne, letting out an occasional spark of electricity. 

The hesitant melody and chords of Yesterday filtered through his ears, and it sounded kind of static like it was coming through a radio or phone. It was better though. Less mistakes, more confident. 

"And who was it that sent me away for six months-" his voice was shaking. 

"Oh, don't you try to put the blame on me - that was a consequence of your own actions!" 

"Your son DIED-" Apollo shouted, trying to at least appeal to Zeus's affection for Jason. If he even had any at all. He attempted to raise himself up from his throne, to stand equal with his father, but his legs were trembling far too much. "Have you no - have you no heart at all, did you care for him even the tiniest bit-"

"HE DIED BECAUSE OF YOU!" Zeus bellowed. "You are WEAK! You bring shame to Olympus and my name-!"

Lightning flashed in the clouds outside. Thunder boomed. 

Apollo recoiled back.

Surely his father wouldn't - he would never punish him in front of the other gods, would he?

The master bolt flickered and sparked in his father's hand. 

He had never hit him with the master bolt in front of anyone else. His punishment was their secret only.

It was the secret he had kept for millennia. 

No one else could ever know. 

"You should have tried harder," Zeus spat. "When you tried to kill yourself." 

The throne room was silent. It felt like every god was holding their breath. 

"Was that any good?" came Meg's voice, smaller than usual and sounding insecure. He tried to send her reassurance, advice, compliments on her improved piano playing- 

"Please don't hurt me," he begged selfishly. 

His eyes widened. 

He hadn't said that out loud. 

There was a sudden tightness in his chest. 

She was going to find out. Everyone was going to find out. 

Apollo tried to breathe, in, out, in, out, but it felt like something was blocking his airway. 

Was he panicking? Oh no, he hadn't felt like this since he'd been mortal. 

"What?" Meg asked after a short pause of pure disbelief. "What - Lester - Apollo are you okay?"

On the other side of the throne room, Artemis had started to rise from her silver throne, with all her attention focused on her brother. She had a look of concern Apollo had never seen on his twin's face before. It was almost like she was... scared. 

The world tilted on its axis. Maybe it was Chaos, coming to reclaim the sun god. 

No, nevermind - it was just him, slipping down from his throne and to the cold marble floor. His vision was fading. 

Apollo gasped for breath, shaking so much it felt like he was having a fit. His eyes glazed over and everything blurred. 

Could gods pass out? He had never thought about it. He felt his consciousness slipping away... 

The other gods started quietly muttering among themselves. Look how weak he is, pathetic excuse for a god, they seemed to say.

Artemis caught him before his head could slam violently against the throne. 

Of course - she always would. 

She held him and he leaned his weight to her, feeling as heavy and burdensome as the sky Atlas had trapped her under. 

His sister was cradling his head as if he were a delicate mortal, as if he would bleed red if she let him go. 

Apollo's eyes rolled back. 

The tightness in his chest released its grip and he tried to breathe, but instead starting coughing and choking. 

He coughed up green mist, feeling like he was hacking up a lung. 

Oh great, is this how Rachel always felt? He'd never witnessed a prophecy delivery this painful, but maybe it was caused by his panic beforehand. 

Why was the Oracle of Delphi speaking through him? That had happened so few times in his long lifetime that he could barely count it on one hand. And never when it had an actual host body. It hadn't spoken through him in centuries. 

And why now- 

The coughing was becoming more painful, like the Spirit of Delphi was trying to force itself through while he tried to shove it back. 

No, no, no, he couldn't bring any more attention to himself-

Apollo gasped in and out in short puffs, then trembled as he felt his eyes going misty and grasped at Artemis's hand-

"Olympus's final stand

Will be brought upon you by your own hand."

He brought a shaking hand up to his mouth, trying to cover it and not let the traitorous words escape. 

Stop, stop, stop, he pleaded silently. But the prophecy continued.

A prophecy was what got him in trouble last time. He was beginning to think the Oracle just had a personal vendetta against him. 

"The last verses the muses sing

Shall be a choir to the fallen king

For with the rise of the morning sun

Comes the ascension of the golden son"

He was brought out of his semi-conscious state with a squeeze of the hand from Artemis. 

It took a while for the meaning of the words to sink in, but when they did Apollo's eyes widened. 

The dark blue ceiling above him was glittering with reflections of the constellations above. They observed him, silently. It felt like they were judging him; his ancestors, his enemies, his sister's friends. Perhaps they had always been watching him, waiting with bated breath for this very moment. 

Mortals believed they knew the universe, that they observed it. But gods knew that the universe was always watching them. 

And he knew more than anyone that prophecies were unavoidable. This prophecy sounded pretty clear-cut. It left little room for interpretation. 

Apollo's ears rang at a screeching high-pitched A♭. 

No one moved a muscle. 

"Wh-what did I say?" he sat up, supported by his sister, and broke the tense silence, trying to bluff that he didn't know anything. Perhaps then Zeus's fury would not be aimed at him - he could only hope. 

"Oh, 'pollo," Artemis said grimly, and it was the first time in two thousand years that she'd used that nickname for him. She gripped his hand fiercely. She didn't say anything else, perhaps like the other Olympians, too stunned for words. 

"Zeus," Poseidon warned his brother, watching the proceedings warily, lifting his trident as if prepared to actually use it. "I would advise you to act with caution." 

Hades summoned his helm of darkness but didn't say a word, perhaps waiting for Zeus to cause his own prophesized downfall. 

Athena was resting her chin on her hands and had her eyes narrowed as if calculating the pros and cons of joining either side. There was a cruel kind of detachment in her expression, like the Olympian gods were nothing more than her chess pieces and she was determined to win. 

Hermes had finally stopped shuffling through his extensive paperwork, frozen in place. He stared blankly at one of the papers with furrowed eyebrows. 

Hermes was one of the only gods Apollo could never read. He was the god of trickery after all, while Apollo was the god of truth (and an awful liar). Let's just say their poker games never ended well. 

Storm clouds gathered directly over the throne room, projecting onto the ceiling and suffocating the constellations in a gloomy grey.

Thunder boomed straight into Apollo's ears and he winced. 

"Apollo, I'm scared... I'm scared for you," Meg was talking in his head again. "What's happening?"

He cut off the link with her instantly - it was like hanging up on her phone line, letting it go to answerphone. No way in Hades would he let her hear this. He could never let her find out about his own Beast. 

I'm scared too, he replied, knowing she was gone now and couldn't hear him. 

"You would seek to take my throne from me,'" Zeus hissed, and it was a hidden, calm and restrained kind of anger; the kind of anger he could almost try and convince himself wouldn't hurt him.  

But this was always the anger that hurt the most.

Usually, Zeus didn't hide his rage, he would simply smite a mortal or argue with his brothers. But when it was this cool, simmering fury, only Apollo was ever witness to it - the other gods never saw it. And in the end Apollo would always be the one to succumb to the soul-destroying pain of the master bolt after a meeting when everyone else had left. 

Zeus right now was the calm before the storm. The eye of the hurricane. Just waiting, waiting patiently until it had its moment to destroy everything in its wake.

"I'm not - I'm not planning on anything of the sort, father," Apollo swallowed nervously and unintentionally shrank back towards Artemis, reaching for her hand - but she pulled away and instead he grasped at the warmth and support of his throne behind him. "What was the prophecy," he asked, trying to keep his voice steady, "I didn't hear it. I don't know anything about it." 

It was a blatant lie, but after his brief stint as a mortal he reckoned he'd got better at lying. The only one who didn't look convinced was Hermes, who frowned. 

Damn it. He could never get one past Hermes. 

"You would bring about my downfall-!" Zeus was raising his voice again. 

"No-"

"You dare to challenge my authority and attempt overthrow me-"

"No, I swear I don't want to be king - I didn't hear the prophecy - please-" Apollo shook his head, for the first time looking over at the other gods to search for support. 

He received little to no acknowledgement. Just a wince of pity from Demeter; an 'oh yikes this is awkward, sorry man,' kind of look from Ares; and an almost sympathetic 'what-can-I-do' smile from Aphrodite. 

Even Artemis had backed away. She probably had an idea of what was coming next and didn't want to get herself hurt. He didn't blame her. 

As always, he was completely alone. 

He could do nothing to stop the tears that were caught in the back of his throat. 

Apollo flushed bright red, feeling so small again... feeling mortal. He was completely alone in this - not even with the support of Artemis.

How had he ever considered himself to be one of them? 

He knew it. He knew they would never stand with him when he needed his family the most. 

"You're lying... he's lying... isn't he?" Zeus directed his furious gaze on Hermes, who reeled back as if he himself had been struck. A couple of his papers drifted to the floor but no one moved to pick them up. 

Hermes shrugged tensely but stayed silent, refusing to answer. 

Apollo knew Hermes was trying to protect him, but somehow it still felt like a betrayal. Like an arrow in his chest, right next to his heart - not enough to kill but enough to permanently scar. 

"I see. The god of truth is a liar." Zeus's words cut deep to the bone. "You know all about prophecies. I bet you've been planning this for centuries, waiting for the right moment to strike-"

The words of protest caught in Apollo's throat.

He felt himself reaching a hand towards Artemis for comfort again, but she had retreated back towards her own throne, her back turned on him. 

He stared at the ground in shame, heart pounding a mile a minute. 

Tears pooled in his eyes but he stubbornly held them back. He would not give his father the satisfaction of seeing him hurt. 

"I should have seen this coming. I always thought that we gave you too many realms to rule over; too much power for such a young god. And I suppose, like father, like son. Perhaps it was always destined that you would defeat me, as I defeated Kronos."

Apollo shifted his position, his whole body trembling as he moved to kneel. 

To kneel before his father, the king of the gods. 

He bowed his head, golden curls falling in front of his eyes. 

Gods rarely - if ever - kneeled before each other. It was a sign of the utmost respect, normally used by mortals while praying. And gods had no one to pray to. 

He was ready to die of shame, to plead for his life and apologise for his wrongdoings...

But maybe a moment of bravery or stupidity came over him because he was so fucking fed up of all of this- 

"What are you going to do about it?" he asked darkly, with gritted teeth and the strength of the sun blazing behind his eyes. "Turn me into a mortal again? I'd rather be mortal than be your son. I'd rather be dead than be your son." 

The lightning came before he could react to it. 

And with it, the searing pain. It was enough to kill a human or demigod instantly. To a god, it was pure torture. 

The blinding white light flashed across his vision. Electricity coursed through his veins. 

Apollo stumbled back and fell, his head hitting the sharp edge of his throne. He tried to hold it back - don't cry don't scream - and he bit his lip so hard he tasted coppery blood.

One glance to over at Artemis whose eyes were wide - and then he suddenly couldn't hold it back anymore. 

He was sure she would understand. She had felt pain like this holding up the sky - but then, she always had been stronger than him. 

At least he had lasted longer without screaming this time. The last few times, he'd given up instantly. 

He yelled in pain and as the torture continued it turned into a scream, the pitch of it so deafening that it shattered the windows from the sheer power of his voice. Shards of glass exploded out into the heavenly gardens surrounding the throne room. 

Zeus had never used the master bolt on him with anyone else around. The rest of the gods - they had no idea that it had been going on since Asclepius - but surely they couldn't ignore it now - they would help him, they would stop father-

"Apollo," someone was pestering him. "Apollo!"

Not Meg. Please not Meg. 

Apollo felt his limbs spasm; he was shaking so hard that he bit his tongue. There was blood dripping down the back of his neck from where his head had hit the throne. If he looked at it, would it be gold or red or a mix of both? He didn't know anymore. He certainly didn't feel like a god right now. 

The king of the gods increased the pressure, putting more power into his strike. Why was his punishment not over by now? Normally this would have been enough to teach him a lesson and get him to grovel at his father's feet. Apollo couldn't even remember why he was being punished. 

It felt like every atom in his body was being fried, then put back together, then fried again. His heart was beating out of his chest, stuttering an irregular rhythm. If gods could have heart attacks he would be dead about ten times over by now. 

Apollo sobbed hysterically as his vision whited out. He slid down and curled up on the floor, one hand fisted in his golden hair and pulling at it roughly. 

The insistent voice continued, pulling him out of his misery momentarily. It didn't sound like Meg - who was Meg again? 

"I just recited a new prophecy," it was his Oracle Rachel, who was praying loudly, her voice echoing around his mind while he trembled. "It said-"

Artemis's voice was quivering. "Father, stop! Please. That's enough."

"-so please don't do anything Percy would do! Just stay safe, okay-" Rachel's voice had an urgent, pressing tone to it. 

Zeus's eyes had changed to a cold stormy grey. He ignored Artemis completely, not even acknowledging her. "Your punishment. Your fault," he spat at his son. 

"-and your kids could be in danger-" Rachel's voice was cut off abruptly. He blocked her out and his mind was silent again. 

"My fault," Apollo repeated, trembling as tears tracked down his face. He coughed wetly and shivered. "I'm sorry - my fault - I'm sorry - please it won't happen again-"

He couldn't remember what was even his fault. But he knew he must have brought this upon himself. He always did. 

There was a brief respite for a moment as a small, lonely figure at the hearth in the centre of the room made eye contact with him. The little eight-year-old girl with brown hair looked so sad, but there was a fire burning in her red eyes. She was mouthing something to him, but he couldn't decipher it. Then a tear tracked down her face.

It was only fitting that the goddess of family and the home was crying too. 

Zeus turned his gaze on Hestia, and Apollo could have sworn he saw a flicker of something like fear cross Zeus's face. But that couldn't be possible - the king of the gods feared nothing and no one. 

But even his sister wouldn't stop him now. 

The master bolt struck again. 

His head felt like it was splitting open. 

Apollo flinched and cried out in pure agony. This time, the cries faded into silence. He just had no energy anymore to scream. He laid there, shaking and spasming on the floor. Sparks of electricity buzzed through every inch of his body, feeling like it was setting him on fire.

Was this what happened before he was made mortal and thrown off Olympus six months ago? He couldn't remember. 

His nose started bleeding, wet trickles of golden ichor dripping down to his mouth. 

The sun god tried to ground himself in reality - reaching a hand out to touch the reflections of light on his shining throne, touching the warmth of it. He went through the names of his kids in his head on repeat. Will, Kayla, Austin, Jerry, Yan, Gracie, he repeated, Will, Kayla, Austin, Jerry, Yan, Gracie, like a prayer or chant. Fleeting memories of the happier times with his family flashed through his mind. Helping Kayla with her archery, singing with Will and Nico at the campfire, teaching Meg piano. And he tried to linger on them... but they drifted away, just like all his regrets and broken promises floating downstream in the River Styx. 

From outside the grand entrance to the Olympian throne room, through the shattered windows came a fresh, lifting breeze that ruffled Apollo's golden hair. Along with the breeze came the sound of harmonious voices singing a song of lamentation. 

The muses. 

The silent throne room was deafening as Apollo convulsed on the floor. 

He couldn't bring his gaze away from Artemis, soundlessly begging her to look at him, to help him, please sister-

She didn't meet his eyes. Artemis had clenched fists and steely silver eyes resolutely staring at the ground - but then she lifted her head up and faced towards the faint sound of the muses' choir. 

"Lacrimosa dies illa 

Qua resurget ex favilla 

Judicandus homo reus."

Their voices were heavenly. It was like a warm embrace from his mother Leto, or the pure joy of bringing the sun up to meet the moon and creating a solar eclipse with Artemis. 

Calliope, Clio, Erato, Euterpe, Melpomene, Polymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia and Urania. All singing Mozart's Lacrimosa in perfect harmony, their voices soaring above Olympus. They were his hope. Zeus could never take away his hope. 

The master bolt struck harder, with more intensity, directly on his chest this time. Apollo clutched at where it hit, feeling the sharp stabbing pain of an arrow, a million times worse, over and over and over-

"Ahhhh, ah," he grunted and moaned, unable to silence himself. His head slammed into the cold marble floor and he clawed at the ground then collapsed, limbs going numb. He wished he was made of the perfect white marble below him - he wished he was the Apollo Belvedere statue in the Vatican. The very embodiment of physical perfection, the image of the perfect god. Unbreakable, unmovable, undefeatable. 

Then, inexplicably, there was the smell of delicious blue cookies being burnt, the taste of home - surely he must be losing his mind- "'Sup Apollo," Percy Jackson's voice rang in his ears. "Rachel seems pretty worried and told you not to do anything I'd do but-"

Apollo groaned, unsure if it was from the pain or from having the son of Poseidon talking in his head. At least he'd offered food this time - Percy had rarely been that respectful in previous prayers. Not that he cared anymore about being respected but - it was nice to have the smell of home with him, like a small comfort while he was dying. 

"Qua resurget ex favilla," Apollo repeated the Muses' song in a hoarse, gasping whisper. "Qua resurget ex favilla."

When from the ashes shall arise. His salty tears fell on the floor.

"I don't know what that means, I'm no good at Latin," Percy said bluntly. "Look, I don't know what's going on but you've gotta do what you think is best. And just know that we've all got your back, no matter what happens."

Apollo kept the link to Percy open. He didn't know why - perhaps because Percy felt like more of an equal, someone he didn't need to protect - or maybe because he wanted to linger for longer on the taste of Sally Jackson's blue cookies.

This time, when the electricity struck, his back arched. And he let out a desperate and pained sob. More of a whimper really. 

"Helpmehelpmehelpme," he could feel himself screaming at Percy. 

"I can't, I can't, I'm sorry," he could sense that Percy was near crying too. 

Artemis stood up from her chair again. She was grasping her bow and quiver tensely, looking prepared to shoot. "I said ENOUGH!"

Her voice echoed around the throne room. Apollo had never heard his twin shout in their whole four thousand years of life. "You'll kill him! Stop!" 

The lightning stopped. Apollo shuddered.

Zeus turned towards Artemis, raising his master bolt. 

"No - please-" Apollo pleaded. "Don't hurt her-"

Instead, Zeus grinned, and it was the most scared Apollo had ever been of his father, that terrifying grin contorting his face. He aimed the master bolt out of the throne room, towards Olympus- 

The muses were vaporized instantly. All nine of them.

Nothing was left but a scorch mark in marble and the smell of burnt ozone. 

Apollo could feel it - the exact moment he lost himself. 

"No - no, no, no, no," he choked on his tears, the shock and pure horror preventing him from saying anything else. "No, no, no-"

Their last heavenly notes rang in his ears. 

"Dona eis requiem," he prayed to the Fates. Grant them eternal rest. 

"Apollo," came Percy's voice cutting through his excruciating pain, like a final beacon of hope. "Remember your promise to Jason."

Zeus was facing towards Artemis again, his arm raised as she took a step back, her face paling. She fumbled for her bow and quiver, readying them to shoot but she was too slow- 

The bolt crackled with the pure thrum of undiluted power as their father prepared to strike. 

Apollo went supernova. 

Chapter Text

He was the god of sun and light, reborn from the ashes like a burning red phoenix.

He screamed. Uncontrolled rage and agony, all his pain channeled into beams of golden light that lit up Olympus like a torch, blinding all the gods momentarily. Fire raged across the temples and gardens, lighting millennia-old trees ablaze in an instant. It scorched and blackened the grass with the force of a nuclear bomb. 

The throne room was bathed in a dazzling orange glow. Hestia's normally calm fire at the hearth was out of her control, flames jumping higher and higher until they reached the constellations. Her eyes reflected the hearth, flickering between red and amber. She waved a hand dismissively in front of her fire, expecting it to extinguish itself, but it only continued to grow. 

Beams of fiery light shone brightly out of Apollo's hands. He stopped holding them back and they exploded from him like solar flares, twisting and growing and dancing around the throne room of the gods. 

He was made of solar flares. He was the sun.

It was nighttime over the Empire State Building. Artemis must have been halfway into her flight with the moon - or Diana, if Artemis had her whole essence here. It was the middle of the night. Dark storm clouds gathered above, each clap of thunder sounding like a sonic boom straight in his ears. 

But with a single thought, a single command of "You will obey me!" he pulled the sun and it rose over the city that never sleeps, with a scorching sizzling heat in the middle of winter. He felt it cooking the hot metal of the cars on the streets below, melting the tarmac and causing sunburns for the mortals - so he dragged it back a little, restraining it from pure destruction. He refused to be like his father. He would not kill innocents in his anger. 

The golden midnight sun shone down on Olympus in a fiery haze. There's no going back from this now, he thought. No god had ever blatantly and purposefully defied the balance of nature in this way; he could have revealed their existence to the mortals... he had gone too far. Zeus would punish him again... 

Olympus was above the clouds, closer to the sky than the streets of New York below, so it received the full fury of the sun. The city of the gods was blistering with heat, cooking like an oven. Heatwaves shimmered above paving stones and fires spread across ancient temples. Apollo could feel the steam rising from Poseidon's fountains outside the throne room, joined in the air by the thick black smoke from burning trees. Nymphs and nature spirits were screaming in the background. He hoped they were evacuating. The city was quieter at this time thankfully; only a few nymphs and minor gods lived in permanent residence near the top of the mountain. And he would not hurt them. 

He pushed out a shaky hand and tugged at the sun, beckoning it towards him and trying to focus its blazing fury on the throne room alone. He would not allow it to be Olympus's final stand, as the prophecy said. Only Zeus would fall tonight. 

Out of the corner of his eye,  Apollo glimpsed his own sun temple further down the hill, absorbing and reflecting the energy of the sun like it had been created for this. It was glowing stronger and brighter than all the others, outshining them. It was magnificent. 

The other gods looked fine. Stunned, speechless, but unharmed.

He spared a quick worried glance at Artemis, who hadn't moved and kept her arrow aimed steadily at their father. Her brow was set in determination, while her auburn hair floated around her in the stormy winds, flickering red in the light like flames. Despite the blinding sunlight, her bow didn't waver at all. He had never seen her so furious since Orion. But her eyes were teary - Apollo hoped it was from the light and not because of him. 

Even Hephaestus was blinking into the white-hot sunlight, summoning sunglasses. Apollo could have sworn the blacksmith god was focusing his powers to stoke the flames in the centre of the throne room, intentionally growing them bigger, turning them into a hot red inferno. 

Hestia caught Hephaestus's eye, gave him a trusting smile, and stopped trying to restrain her fire. 

Zeus had frozen with the lightning bolt still raised high above his head, like a mighty statue of the king of the gods about to rain his fury upon Ancient Greece. "You never learn, Phoebus Apollo," he whispered, and through the raging fires his words cut through like a dagger. "I once loved you. My son."

His eyes flashed like a thunderstorm. Small sparks and crackles of electricity escaped from the master bolt, as if they were impatient to just fry the sun god already. 

Apollo hesitated, a lump caught in his throat. His father had never in four thousand years said - that he - that he loved him-

A small part of him still craved his father's attention, his loving touch and his praise. Still wished he was the same father who had sung to the twins on Delos after their birth, who looked so proud when they became Olympians, who promised to always keep them safe-

"There is still time to come back to me." Zeus was holding his other hand out like a peace offering, waiting for his son to take it. "All will be forgiven," he said. His expression was coolly calm and confident, because he knew Apollo would always come crawling back on his knees to his father... only for the cycle to continue, for centuries, millennia, forever. 

And as sure as the sun rose in the morning and the moon in the evening, his father's love would always be conditional. 

Apollo's heart clenched painfully, tears choking up his throat and stopping him from speaking. He felt like if he spoke, his lip would start wobbling and he would just sob like a little kid who had fallen off his bike and needed his dad to patch up his scraped knees.

How pathetic was he? He knew Zeus wouldn't forgive him, he just knew only more pain awaited him but...

He had to get close...

He wiped his sleeve under his nose; it came away golden. He lowered his gaze to the floor, cheeks burning red with shame of what he was about to do. Blinking back tears, he stumbled forward.

He took his father's hand. 

Artemis let out a sound that was somewhere between a disbelieving gasp and a furious snarl. She clenched her hand around her bow even tighter, not lowering it, but not shooting in fear of hitting her twin. Her aim was always impeccable - though clearly she didn't want to risk it. 

Zeus wasn't gentle. He gripped onto his son's wrist and roughly yanked him towards his body, bringing him into a crushing one-armed hug and turning him to face the other Olympians. The king's hand sparked and crackled, tiny bolts of lightning jumping from his skin. Apollo flinched and nearly yelped in pain but bit his tongue to hold it back. It wasn't as bad as before. This was nothing. He could handle this. 

Then Zeus lowered the master bolt until it was held threateningly in front of his neck, trapping him in a choke hold. He tried to lean back from the lightning but there was nowhere to go. 

Apollo couldn't breathe. His father's grasp on him was strong and suffocating; it felt like less of an embrace and more of a hostage situation. 

Maybe he couldn't handle this. 

Zeus loosened his hold a little, and Apollo's eyes burned with humiliating tears as he stared at the cracks in the marble floor. Then his father raised his other hand towards his cheek, and Apollo breathed in sharply and scrunched his eyes closed - his father had never actually physically hit him before - but no blow landed and he caressed his cheek softly instead. Apollo felt the searing heat from a spark of electricity leaping up, only just missing his eye. Zeus gently touched the wetness of tears on his son's face, and the latter leaned into the touch despite himself. His whole body was trembling. 

He should stop crying. He should really stop crying. Water didn't mix well with electricity. But he couldn't stop himself. 

Then Zeus let out a short huff of a derisive laugh, as if Apollo was nothing more than a tiny fly he was trying to swat away. He jerked back the sun god's head with a pull of his long hair. "Pitiful," he spat. "You are no son of mine." 

Apollo let out a single quiet, broken sob. It pierced the stunned silence and echoed in the throne room. 

"Let him go," Artemis begged, her voice shaky and teary. "This is your last chance to let him go." 

No one else spoke. 

The master bolt was raised menacingly above his head. He stared at it with wide eyes and then forced himself to look at the other gods through his blurring vision.  

Hestia looked horrified - she had her hands over her mouth and was pale like she was going to be sick. 

Ares' lip was curled up, but whether it was in amusement or anger, Apollo couldn't tell. He really hoped that was the god of war's angry face. 

Hades looked like he wanted to rise from his seat and throttle his brother to death. Very few shadows remained in the burning light, but they all surrounded his throne, building up and rising towards him like they were alive. The darkness clung to him like a cloak. Apollo stared directly and intensely at the god of the underworld, with eyes wide, trying to communicate everything in that one look. Please figure out my plan, he wanted to scream. Please trust me. 

His plan was feeling more like a suicide plan right now. 

Zeus's tight fist around his hair was loosening while he readied the master bolt in his other hand. "I warned you not to tempt the bolts," he snarled. "You forced my hand."

Apollo gritted his teeth, determination flowing through his veins. His whole body tensed, preparing to be electrocuted-

But the lightning wasn't aimed at Apollo this time. Not even Artemis. He almost let out a relieved sigh but-

This time it was aimed out of the throne room. Down the mountain and towards the Earth below. It sparked and hummed loudly with energy, preparing to strike- 

His heart sank in horror. He knew - he just knew, with a sinking feeling in his heart, who it was aimed for. Zeus had just murdered the Muses - his own descendants - without sparing a second thought. And he had never had an issue with killing children. 

Apollo had been too kind, too forgiving. He had taken his father's hand and given him one last chance. He had been played for a fool. 

But that was all part of his plan to get closer to the master bolt. 

Blood pounded in his ears. He tore out of his father's grip and yelled in fury, throwing his hands out above him, straight towards the weapon that had caused him so much pain. He felt a pull in his gut as he twisted his hands, harnessing all the energy and light from the master bolt and bringing it to him. 

He was shoved back from the pure force of it. He stumbled and fell, landing with a crack of his skull on the floor. But he pushed through it, willing the lightning towards him. 

Lightning was made of plasma. And he was the god of light and the sun. 

The yellow light danced and sparked around the throne room with the intensity of fireworks. It wrapped itself around his hands like exposed electrical wires, burning and scorching his fingertips red. He cried out in agony. But he didn't flinch back - he could not give up. He would not let his father slaughter his innocent children. Not again. 

Zeus fought it. He screamed in rage, trying to summon more lightning, but every bolt and spark twisted away from him, drawn to the sun god like he was a magnet. 

Too much was at stake for Apollo to give up. He tugged at the lightning and it resisted, cracking like a whip around his arms, re-opening his old scars. But he only pulled it closer, embracing the pain. He would stop his father, or he would die trying. There was no other choice. 

Beneath the chaos, Hades was the first one to understand what Apollo's last desperate plan was. He raised himself up and put on his helm of darkness, sending a shock-wave of fear through the throne room. The shadows spread out around him like a shield of pure blackness. With an intense deep breath and a tightening of his right hand, he crumpled Zeus's platinum throne into itself - so easily it was like he was crumpling paper. 

Only after the first move had already been made, did the other gods join. 

Hephaestus caught on - he turned a few mechanical gears on his own throne until it was sending out its own bolts of electricity. They were all drawn to Apollo, adding to his power and strength. Then the god of the forges rubbed his hands together like he was warming them up, and shot out a sphere of blue flames straight at the king's throne. Hades's hellfire and Hestia's more golden orange flames from the hearth joined, incinerating it into rubble and dust. 

If he ever survived this, Apollo vowed never to get on the wrong side of Hestia. She was terrifying when she wanted to be. 

Even Dionysus seemed to be helping, in his own convoluted way. He had his eyes squinted in concentration as he leaned forwards in his seat. The carton of grape juice was completely crushed in his hand, staining his Hawaiian shirt purple. A tendril of his wild, uninhibited power reached out to Apollo's mind, feeling like it was tearing his brain into tiny pieces. He laughed hysterically, wondering if he was in shock. His arms were dripping gold onto the floor and that was kind of funny to see, he was so used to it being red. He made another horrific sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a scream. But it was working - Dionysus's unhinged madness was seeping into him, amplifying his anger and pain, drawing more lightning towards him. 

This would have sent a mortal over the edge into insanity.

But he had fallen over the edge long ago. 

If he could see himself right now, he wondered if he would be terrified of what he saw. 

Poseidon was the only one Apollo hadn't been sure about until this moment. Taking his perfectly timed chance, the sea god grinned darkly, stood up and lurched forwards, throwing his trident like it was a javelin and he was a gold-medal Olympic athlete. It landed in the remains of Zeus's throne and vibrated, causing a tremor, then splitting what was left of it with a giant CRACK. The crack spread, fracturing the marble floor. New York was probably experiencing a magnitude 6 earthquake down below. 

Apollo grunted, half-relieved, half-pained. 

He stood up shakily, raising an arm towards the heavens and breathing heavily. He pulled more of the brilliant light of the sun towards him as it reflected off his golden throne and gleamed on the broken glass. 

He was exhausted, he had just been tortured nearly to death - but the light energized and revitalized him. It flowed through his veins, lighting his skin up ("I'm like a glowstick!" as Will had put it). 

Zeus staggered back. 

Gods couldn't be killed permanently, not really. They could only fade out of existence. But destroying a god's throne, the symbol of their power, the seat of their influence - that was one way to overthrow them. 

The sound of tons of heavy stone and marble crumbling echoed over Olympus. And with a great boom and a rumble of the ground from the combined efforts of Hades and Poseidon, the temple closest to the throne room - the temple to the king of the gods - fell. 

"TRAITORS-!" Zeus roared. 

There was a sharp whistle of air as Artemis let her arrow fly. It pierced their father in the chest, right in the heart.

His eyes widened and he stumbled back and fell onto the rubble; the pitiful remains of his throne. Golden ichor spread quickly on his always-pristine businessman suit. 

He looked down at the wound in pure shock, like he couldn't quite believe that his favourite daughter, his pride and joy, had done it. 

Artemis was breathing heavily, with her eyes squeezed tightly closed as if she couldn't quite believe it either. 

The master bolt had made its way to the hands of its new owner. Apollo yelped but caught it. He expected it to vaporize him. But it didn't resist him now; it obeyed. 

Thousands of years ago, he had murdered cyclopes for creating this weapon, after his son had been killed by it.

All this time he had been blaming the weapon instead of the abuser... but it had never been the lightning's fault... it had been his father all along. 

"Your lightning - is mine," Apollo choked out.

With a heart-wrenching shriek of pure agony and fury, he slammed the lightning into his father, over and over and over and over-

"I - hate - you," he cried. His voice cracked and he started sobbing. "I never - wanted this-"

Zeus's eyes rolled back and he seized, choking on golden ichor. He grasped weakly at his chest, but Artemis's silver arrow lodged inside him was a metal conductor, and it drew all the lightning strikes straight to his heart. His form was flickering out of focus like he was trying to heal or change form. 

Apollo wondered if this was how he looked when he was on the other end of the master bolt. 

"Son," Zeus begged and choked, spitting out ichor. "Please."

Apollo let out an earsplitting screech of a deranged laugh. Tears blurred his vision. It was so funny. That his father pleaded for mercy when he had never given it to his son. 

Dionysus's twisting tendrils of madness had long since left his mind. This was all him. 

The remaining rubble was vaporized by lightning and the dust of it swirled up in sunbeams. The midnight sun burned up above, casting rays of blazing orange light onto the fallen king. 

"You - made me - into this-" Apollo shouted, his voice breaking. "I hate you, I hate you, I love-"

Apollo screamed, high-pitched and hysterical. All the other gods winced and covered their ears. 

The air crackled with the static of pure electricity. 

The master bolt pummeled into his father repeatedly. Zeus's unconscious body shook like he was a rag-doll. 

It wasn't enough. He had to make him pay, he had to make him feel all the pain of the last three millennia - all the pain he had suffered through completely alone-

"Apollo," Artemis grasped for his shoulder and he shrugged her hand off. "Stop, 'Pollo, stop - I'm here, it's okay, it's over-"

Her voice was muffled, like he was hearing everything from the bottom of the ocean. And he was a drowning man, gasping for oxygen but only taking in water which filled his lungs, the currents dragging him down and down to its depths-

The sight of golden blood dripping out of Artemis's ears was what brought Apollo back to reality. She looked frightened - not of Zeus anymore - of him. 

The master bolt - his father's almighty weapon, the symbol of power and control and torture that he had been so afraid of - slipped out of his fingers. It dropped to the ground with a clatter as it turned back into a simple bolt of bronze. Reflections of flames flickered on its metal casing. 

Artemis only came closer; he wanted to shout at her to stay away, please stay away I'm scared I'll hurt you too-

He flinched back as she touched his face, holding his cheeks in steady hands. His eyes darted around like a spooked animal in fight or flight mode, unable to focus on her. He tried to squirm away from her touch, but the world was spinning too much and he was hyperventilating and everything was blurring... 

His mind felt like it was in a fog, separated from the rest of his body and floating away from him... 

She gently pulled him to face her, and her silver eyes glittered with unshed tears. "Hey there," she whispered. "Hey sunshine... are you with us-?" 

Apollo let out a kind of keening wail as his trembling legs collapsed. Artemis fell to the ground with him; as she always would. 

He buried his face in his knees, pulling his burned arms around himself, sobbing. He couldn't breathe. "I - I was so scared," he gasped. "He was going to-"

Artemis kissed the top of his head and embraced him, rubbing his back. "He's gone, it's over, it's over, we're safe," she repeated in a soft murmur. 

The twins rocked back and forth, crying together. The way she cradled him reminded him of the day he was born: blinking into the soft light of Helios's sun, his sister's face the first thing he saw, her hands reaching out to shelter and protect him. 

"What have I done," Apollo mumbled, his voice scratchy and rough from all the screaming. A phantom memory of the lightning strikes coursed through his body and his limbs jerked. His eyelids flickered and his eyes rolled back. Artemis still held him tightly through all the tremors. "What have I done? No, no, no, I'm sorry, all my fault..."

He wondered if Jason would have forgiven him for what he'd done. 

"You're so brave," Artemis raised a hand and softly stroked his cheek in a loving gesture that he didn't deserve, but he didn't shrink away from her touch. Her hand came away stained with dry golden ichor. "You are so, so brave, Apollo. I promise he can't hurt you anymore." 

"Are you-?" Apollo swallowed painfully and clutched at her wrist. "Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?"

His sister shook her head, unable to speak. Tears glistened on her cheeks like silver moonlight. Despite her mumbled protests, he held onto her wrist and sent a wave of golden healing energy into her body. Her ears stopped dripping with ichor. 

"I'm sorry," he sobbed dryly. "He always says - that I deserve it - and I do, he's right- all I do is - is hurt everyone I love-"

"How long-?" Artemis cleared her throat and tried to continue, her voice cracking. "How long was he-?"

"Three thousand years," Apollo whispered numbly. 

Artemis moaned softly, her voice low and pained. The devastated sound she made broke his heart. "I have failed you-" she kissed his temple and her tears dropped into his curls. "I'm sorry, my brother, I am so, so sorry, I swore to always protect you..."

There was so much guilt in her voice that he thought she might carry it with her for the rest of eternity. 

"I - no, please don't blame yourself," Apollo stuttered, his voice hoarse. "Not your fault - he always said if I told anyone he would - he would punish you too-"

Artemis cried out softly like his words pained her. She pulled him even closer, resting her chin on his shoulder and running her fingers through his hair comfortingly. In their embrace, they fit together perfectly like two puzzle pieces. 

Her chest was rising and falling quickly like she was trying to stop herself from falling apart in front of him. 

"It's okay," he lied, reluctantly trying to separate himself from his twin. "I'm okay." 

The rest of gods surrounded them. 

Apollo's whole body was still shaking uncontrollably in his sister's hold. He forced himself to relax and still his limbs, trying to face the other gods with what remaining shreds of dignity he had left. He looked up at his family and held back the tears in his eyes. 

The Olympians weren't really that big into physical contact. They rarely showed emotions - after millennia of ruling over the world as immortal powerful beings, they had to become cold and heartless in order to survive, in order to not lose their minds. Apollo was possibly one of the only exceptions to that rule. He loved and felt so much that it tore him apart. He had always been one for breaking the rules, after all. 

He tried to pull himself together. They had just seen him tortured by Zeus, then lose his mind and kill him with his own lightning. The least he could do was stop crying. How humiliating. 

Hestia sat down on the cold floor next to the twins and Apollo's eyebrows raised, taken aback but somehow also not surprised at the same time. A goddess would never lower herself to sit on the floor - but Hestia was always different from the rest of them. Kinder, sweeter, more human. Not to say that she wasn't a worthy goddess; but she was highly respected by all the gods, not feared like her brother. She wasn't technically an Olympian but somehow she was still the best of them, the glue that held them together. 

The goddess of the hearth was still in her chosen form of a young girl. Her eyes had stopped blazing with flames and were now a warm, chocolate brown. She radiated warmth and heat - not like the cruel searing heat of the master bolt, more like the feeling of sitting next to a cozy fireplace in winter after a day out in the snow. Not that Apollo had ever felt the coldness of snow. It always melted before he could touch it. 

"Can I hug you?" Hestia asked tenderly. 

Apollo nodded, infinitely thankful that she had asked. He wondered if he had a frightened deer-in-headlights look about him that made her hesitant to make physical contact. 

Artemis was good at looking after frightened deer. She untangled her limbs from her brother, but stayed close to him. 

Hestia pulled him into a motherly embrace with gentle hands. He buried his face in her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her. He clung to her like a child, which probably looked a little ironic considering she was the one in the form of a child. 

He didn't remember if he had ever been this close to Hestia before. Her touch was loving and comforting. It felt nice. 

A small part of him wished it was Leto hugging him. Even four thousand year old immortal gods miss their mothers from time to time. 

"Will you heal yourself?" his aunt whispered, tucking a curl of his hair behind his ear.

Apollo winced but didn't answer. He breathed in deeply then let out a shuddering breath. He doubted he had enough power left to heal himself. And even if he did, it's not like he deserved it. 

"Or do you want me to summon Asclepius?" 

Apollo shook his head stubbornly. "No - don't want him to see me like this," he murmured quietly into her shoulder, hoping the other gods couldn't hear. 

Hestia sighed, her breath tickling his hair. But she placed a hand on his shoulder and a warm wave of healing energy washed over him. His arms stopped weeping gold and the pounding headache lessened to a soft thumping. It was basic healing that any god could do; nothing like the near-miracles his son Asclepius could perform, but it was enough. It soothed his pain and took away some of the burning agony in his arms. 

After her healing, the adrenaline started to wear off. A kind of purple and blue haze was starting to overcome Apollo's vision so he lifted his head off Hestia's shoulder and blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision. 

"Oh," he said lightly, upon seeing the body of his father laid motionless across the ruins of his throne. His heart clenched painfully. "I did that, I-"

There was a high-pitched buzzing sound in his ears and he breathed in sharply. It felt like his limbs were going numb. 

"Don't look," she insisted, her hand guiding his head back down to her shoulder again. "Just breathe." 

But it was getting harder and harder to remember exactly how to breathe. 

Everything that happened was only just starting to set in, as if even his godly brain couldn't process what he had done. The world was spinning. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the dizziness to leave. 

"Hestia, I killed him, I killed him," he moaned into her shoulder. 

"No, all of us did," she said firmly. "We all killed him. You are not alone in this Apollo." 

Reluctantly, he pulled away from her warm embrace. He stared at his hands, which were still trembling. 

Then there was the smell of something burning, something close to them -

The hairs on the back of his neck raised, sending a chill down his spine. He startled, unconsciously flinching back a little. His head whipped up to stare at the source of the smoke. 

"Sorry," Hephaestus grumbled sheepishly, patting out the flames in his hair with his bare hands. "Sorry - it's not you I'm angry at. I'll just, uh, calm down." But, having seen Apollo's reaction, he looked even more pissed off. He grimaced, took a step back to give them some space, and then started anxiously pacing around the throne room. His metal leg brace clunked with each step. Any small remaining fires he passed were extinguished with a wave of his hand. 

Hera watched her son with an unreadable expression in her eyes. It could have been anything from disapproval to empathy - honestly, it was impossible to tell what Hera was thinking at any given moment. Apollo wondered if she was reflecting on her relationship with her son. After all, she had thrown a newborn Hephaestus off Mount Olympus just for the crime of being an ugly baby. He wondered if she was capable of love or if she too had become heartless over time like her husband. 

"We must divide Zeus's realms and titles," Hera said coolly. She looked around at the others, as if daring them to challenge her. Her brown eyes glinted with a hint of regal aloofness.

Hephaestus gave a frustrated huff of something between a sigh and a snort. "Well you have your priorities straight, as always." 

"And I presume you expect them all to pass to you?" Artemis asked bitterly. She glared icy daggers at Hera and leaned back towards her twin. 

"It's not like you did anything to help, Hera," Poseidon added. 

"I think we've had enough of kings and queens for an eternity," Hades agreed. 

"We need a different system - a more equal system," Athena said. "An actual working democracy." 

Apollo blinked curiously, shocked at how quickly the gods had started to argue again. But at least the attention was not on him anymore. 

"Listen to what she has to say," Hestia ordered them. All the gods obediently snapped their mouths shut. 

Hera sighed and folded her arms. "He could reascend if we don't pass on his powers and realms to another god. I'm sure none of you want to deal with the violent and devastating consequences if that happens. I loved him, but it would be better for all of us if he stayed gone." 

Some of the gods were exchanging confused looks like they were still unsure of exactly whose side she was on.

"Perhaps you forget that I'm the goddess of motherhood and familial love-" she continued. 

"Oh, like you've ever showed any of that-" Hephaestus snorted and muttered under his breath. 

"- I apologise," Hera said stiffly and unconvincingly. She took off her golden crown, the thin band of metal that rested permanently on her dark hair. "But I assure you, I would like to keep my family safe. I have no intention of becoming a tyrant like my husband." 

Family? Some family you are! Apollo wanted to scream. Where were you when I needed help?

She was a hypocrite. It was too little too late. But he had no strength to argue. 

Hera had been married to Zeus for millennia, far longer than Apollo had been alive. It couldn't have all been sunshine and daisies; despite their perfect regal facade it was glaringly obvious there were cracks in their relationship. Maybe she did know all along what Zeus had been doing and she didn't care. Or... a small part of him wondered if he was controlling her too, and if it was freeing for her, like she could finally breathe now that he was gone. 

"An equal system," Hera echoed Athena's words. "We divide Zeus's realms equally - and no more kings and queens. If that is what Apollo wishes." 

The aforementioned sun god blinked when everyone turned to look at him. "Why are you asking me-"

Then it slowly dawned on him. His eyes widened. 

Hestia nodded in the direction of the abandoned master bolt on the floor. Surprisingly, no one had come to claim it as their own. It laid there still in its metal casing, human-sized and deceptively harmless. "That's yours," she said seriously and directly, not trying to protect him from the terrifying truth. "You dealt the final fatal blow, you overthrew him. All his domains are now yours to do with as you please." 

It hit him like a high-speed train. He was essentially the king of the gods now; that's why Hera was reluctantly deferring to him. That's why he was regaining energy and feeling stronger every minute; he was the most powerful god. He had inherited Zeus's realms. 

Like Zeus chopping Kronos into a million pieces with his scythe, like Kronos overthrowing Ouranos before him; Apollo had become a part of that legacy.

The legacy of kings and rulers, tyrants and abusers. 

He refused to be a part of it anymore. He would break the cycle, right here, right now. 

Apollo stared emptily at the bronze master bolt, blood pounding in his ears. "I don't want them," he blurted out, heart beating a mile a minute. "Please take them from me." 

"As you wish," Hera said solemnly, and he could have sworn her eyes softened a little as she bowed her head slightly at him. And surprisingly she didn't move any closer, allowing him to sort out his affairs in his own time. 

Hera stepped closer to Hephaestus, who furrowed his eyebrows in confusion like he couldn't predict what she would do next. 

And even Apollo, god of prophecy, could never have predicted it. 

She handed her son the golden crown. 

The blacksmith god seemed to understand her intentions. He gave a barely noticeable faint smile that softened his features. And then his fingers lit up with scorching blue flames that set fire to the former queen's crown. It melted instantly, dripping shiny gold to the floor, where it filled the cracks in the marble. Something about the liquid gold flowing like a river through the cracks was beautifully fascinating. 

Hera was true to her word. No more kings and queens. 

Some of the other gods looked understanding of Apollo's and Hera's refusal of power; Hades and Hestia who had never craved power and influence; while others looked disbelieving; Ares and Athena who looked like they couldn't understand why a god would refuse their victory, their spoils of war. 

Apollo's gaze settled on Hermes. A cold fist clenched around his heart seeing his half-brother's face. 

Hermes was never one to try and hide behind other people - always the centre of attention alongside Apollo, always good fun at a party, always outgoing and confident. But the messenger god was standing in the background, blending into Hades's shadows like he wanted nothing more than to become one of the souls of the damned, fading into nothingness. He seemed to be trying to bore a hole into the floor with how intensely he was avoiding eye contact. 

Apollo had built up fortified walls of fake bravado and cocky smiles for thousands of years, only for it to all come crumbling down in a strike of lightning. He wondered how much of Hermes's persona was meticulously sculpted to perfection like his own. 

"Hermes," Apollo said softly. 

Startled blue eyes came up to meet his own. The hissing and restless snakes on his caduceus were silenced and morphed into a modern cell phone, which Hermes gripped at tensely. The feathered wings of his shoes fluttered agitatedly then stilled. 

"Hey," Apollo said with a slight smile. "I want you to be the god of honour..."

It was a small gesture, but he knew it would mean a lot to Hermes. Honour was one of the roles Zeus cared least about - not his most impressive domain. It seemed over the centuries that everyone had forgotten it even belonged to Zeus. After all, it's not like he had a perfect record as the most honourable god. 

Maybe the others would find it funny that Apollo wanted the god of thieves to also be the god of honour. But it was no more ironic than the title belonging to Zeus, and it was perfect for his brother.

Hermes breathed in sharply and covered his mouth, tears coming to his eyes. He shook his head, dark curly hair covering his eyes. He looked ashamed of himself for not helping, for acting in the least honourable way... and Apollo knew that feeling, he had cowered under his father's hand in the same way. 

"No, listen to me," Apollo continued, feeling like he might start crying again too. "I understand. I understand why you-"

His brother leaned down, enveloping the sun god in a hug. He clutched the golden curls at the base of Apollo's neck and pressed his forehead against his. 

Hermes didn't need to explain his reasons for not interfering. For once, it wasn't impossible to read him - the fear of their father and the guilt over his inaction was written all over his face. 

In their hug, Apollo passed on Zeus's role as the god of honour. With the transfer of power he relinquished a fraction of his own essence - a tiny sliver of sunlight, the warmth of which would always stay with his brother. 

"Why...? I'm the least honourable, I was scared-"

"I was too," Apollo said tearfully. "I forgive you. I trust you to always be honourable from now on."

Hermes wiped his eyes and stood up, clearing his throat. "You are far too forgiving," he murmured. "But thank you. I will treasure this. I promise to do better." 

He didn't swear it on the Styx; he didn't need to. They were millennia-old gods, every oath would be forgotten and broken eventually - a truth that Apollo knew all too well. But he would do his best, and that was enough. Apollo had faith in him. 

Apollo faltered, unsure of how to proceed. 

Then the shadow of the god of the underworld loomed over them. He had taken his helm of darkness off and his dark eyes pierced into his nephew's soul. 

"Justice," Hades said simply, making his bid for one of Zeus's smaller realms. "I don't want to own the skies or possess more power. But leave with me the responsibility of keeping the balance between the world of the living and the dead - of bringing souls to justice - and I will be content. I will accept no other thanks than that."

The fact that Hades asked for so little despite helping so much was proof enough that he was best for the job. The ones most reluctant to take power always made the best rulers and leaders. 

Apollo gave him a thankful nod of the head. "Consider it done," he said, and when Hades put a steady comforting hand on his shoulder, he transferred over Zeus's role as god of justice straight over to his uncle. They would no longer be ruled over by fear. The age of the gods would be just and fair, as it was always intended to be.

Poseidon was looking at him with intense swirling green eyes like hurricanes. When he beckoned him forwards, he stepped up next to Hades.  

"I... never wanted it to happen like this," Apollo admitted quietly. 

"Me neither." The sea god sighed, knelt down on one knee in front of the sun god and took his hand. "But I lost my brother long ago. You lost your father long ago." 

A soft sea breeze parted Apollo's hair. He blinked back tears. It reminded him of campfires on the beach at Camp Half-Blood. It reminded him of standing on a clifftop in front of a mansion, with foamy waves beating against rock. 

Then, with a sharp and lurching twist of his gut, his brief stint as the thunder god was over. 

He only realised after the powers were gone that it had been the cause of that heavy, pounding headache - it was almost like Thor's hammer was bashing the inside of his skull. His father's last vengeance to cause him pain, perhaps. 

The remaining dark grey clouds above Olympus boomed and Apollo's breath hitched. He had never correlated the sound to anything other than the wrath of his father.

He tried to draw back but Poseidon squeezed his hand. "Sorry," he apologised. "I'll have to get used to controlling that." 

Poseidon stood up. His face hardened like marble as he went to retrieve his trident from the mess of rubble, but he didn't spare a single glance to the fallen god. The trident glowed faintly and the sea god leaned on it lazily as if to feign indifference, but the stormy tenseness of his expression betrayed him. Poseidon had always been intimidating - but the realisation that his simmering, restrained anger was aimed not towards him but his father smoothed Apollo's nerves. And he knew Poseidon could be trusted as the new god of thunder. 

Next, he met Athena's stony grey eyes, but instantly passed over her. Her inaction - it pulled at his heartstrings, pulling him further away from her. It wasn't the same as with Hermes; he knew her inaction was more rooted in apathy than fear.

The goddess of wisdom always seemed to pick a side based on who she thought most likely to succeed. She would sacrifice pawns and protect the king if she thought it would keep her alive. Her neutrality this time around... it hurt. 

Was he a bad person, for wishing that his half-sister had fought with him? 

She raised a judging eyebrow and he turned away, feeling suddenly nauseous. 

Hestia frowned and crossed her arms when he turned to her. "Well, what are you looking at me for?" she asked sassily. 

Apollo's lips quirked up. 

"There should be twelve Olympians," he pointed out, with a glance over at Hades. "There's a seat for you on the council, if you want it." 

"Count me out," Hades shrugged. 

Hestia was the glue that held them together. The mediator, the home and the hearth. It was only right that she took a position on the council with a throne of her own. 

"Let's put it to a vote," Athena suggested with a smile, looking delighted at the new development of an actual democracy. (The democracy she hadn't fought for, Apollo thought bitterly). "Those in favour-?"

All gods raised a hand, except Hestia.

"Then it's decided," Apollo said. 

"Fine," Hestia huffed, but she had a small smile and a soft look in her eyes, like she could never refuse them anything. 

"Will you take-" Apollo started. 

Hestia sighed deeply. "I can't..." 

Apollo glanced over at the others. 

Hephaestus shook his head gruffly. Dionysus backed up and put his hands up in a please-not-me gesture. He probably didn't want the extra paperwork that came with ruling over one of the largest godly realms. 

Artemis, likewise, shook her head. Apollo knew his twin too well - she would get overwhelmed from another responsibility. Especially this one - it would crush her like it almost had before. 

"You're the one I trust the most with it, Hestia," Apollo admitted, not used to baring his soul so much in one day. 

And it was true - he wouldn't trust anyone else except Artemis or himself with it, but neither of those were an option. It was a huge realm of influence - any other god might go mad with the power. 

"I will take it," Hestia said firmly, making her decision quickly. "If only to spare you from the extra burden. I would not ask you to hold the sky." 

She ruffled his hair and he leaned into the affectionate touch. Zeus's dominion over the skies was given to her with a breeze of fresh air and she smiled. She seemed more relaxed than before, almost as if the skies had always yearned to belong to her. 

Apollo felt lighter somehow, like he'd been in a high pressure airplane cabin that had just descended below the clouds. His mouth wasn't as dry and an aching pressure behind his eyes disappeared. 

He blinked a few times and rubbed his forehead, lessening the tension. 

Artemis squeezed his hand. "What about... lightning?" she asked with a cautious glance at him to see his reaction. 

Apollo's heart skipped a beat.

He shivered and stared blankly at the master bolt. 

"It hurts too much," he mumbled, shaking his head. "I - can't let anyone else own it-" 

Ares' eyes lit up, blazing red with fire. He looked like he was itching to make a move towards the master bolt. Apollo watched him cautiously.

"A vote," the god of war insisted. "All those in favor of letting Apollo be the god of lightning?" 

All the gods raised a hand, except Hera, Demeter and Ares. 

Ares scowled. "All those in favor of letting Apollo keep the master bolt, which may I remind you is the most powerful weapon that he just killed father with-"

Apollo shrank back. Ares's words stung - he might as well have slapped him outright. He bumped into Artemis, who put an arm around his shoulder and whispered, "Trust us," into his ear. 

This time, Hera, Demeter, Ares, Athena and Aphrodite didn't raise their hands. They were still outnumbered, even if they weren't counting Hades as a formal council member. 

Ares gave an unimpressed frown. "The people have spoken," he said with a shrug, but the way he glanced longingly at the lightning bolt didn't escape the sun god's notice. "Don't know why they'd want to leave it with a pansy like you though." He didn't make a move towards it though; he seemed to have learned from last time to not try and interfere with another god's symbol of power. 

His harsh words didn't bother Apollo; Ares's intentions were hard to read but he didn't have his confrontational aura of anger heating up, and his insults didn't seem as genuine or as cruel as usual. He was all bark and no bite. It seemed more like he had a grudging respect for the new lightning god. 

Apollo let out a breath he didn't realise he had been holding. He summoned the master bolt, and gripped the warm metal tightly with shaking fists when it appeared back in his clutches. He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself down. It thrummed with static energy in its casing, raising goosebumps on his arms. 

He didn't want to end up as the god of lightning, taking the title from his father. It left a bad taste of ozone in his mouth and his head felt heavy with the pressure of what it really meant, the bad memories and aeons of trauma building up-

But being this close to it, holding it and controlling it, helped in a way. It helped him to subconsciously separate the weapon from the perpetrator. He would never be hurt by it again. No one would ever be hurt by it again. 

Nonetheless, he was immensely grateful that at least Ares wouldn't end up with it. That could only end in disaster. 

He didn't make eye contact with Ares. 

"All hail Apollo, god of lightning," Dionysus said dryly. "I can appreciate the irony." 

The other gods exchanged a wary look. 

Apollo just gave a shaky, wet laugh and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. 

"What do we, uh..." Artemis trailed off, her voice trembling. She had a dark, haunted look in her eyes as she stared past him at the broken throne. It was not often that Artemis found herself lost for words. "What shall we do with his remains?"

With a big deep breath, Apollo pushed himself up from the ground, leaning on his twin's side for support. His legs were still shaky - why wouldn't they stop shaking?

His heart pounded in his ears as he forced himself to confront reality, and leaned over what was left of his father. The former king looked human-sized; small and insignificant in death. His limbs were all askew and one hand still rested around the silver arrow in his chest. Any part of his skin that wasn't grey and ashen, was an angry red from electrical burns. His black hair and beard were coated grey with dust, messy and imperfect in a way Apollo had never seen before. 

Zeus had never been so motionless; he was constantly busy overseeing his realms, meeting with the wind gods, starting thunderstorms over the Midwest, bossing around the Olympians... berating Apollo. It was wrong for him to be so still, with not even the rise and fall of his breathing. 

There was dried golden ichor on his chest, and a stream of it coming from his nose and mouth. But the fresher, most recent blood in his arrow wound... it was mixed gold with a hint of red. 

Apollo turned to the resident god of the dead, trying to will away the tight feeling in his chest and the roaring in his ears. He tried to ignore the way his heart leapt with something like hope; he tried to convince himself that he didn't care for his father in the slightest. 

"He's not technically dead - you know that gods can't be killed," Hades confirmed, looking extremely disappointed at that fact. 

Apollo nodded and swallowed nervously. 

"Think of it like Pan," Hades continued. "When he faded, he willingly passed on his life energy to a satyr and some demigods. The satyr inherited some of his abilities and became the new Lord of the Wild. Once Pan's essence was gone and all powers passed down, the body was able to die. I... think that's not unlike this case. The only difference is that Zeus didn't fade out of existence or willingly surrender his life energy. So it seems a small part of him remains. But his throne, his temple, his source of power, his authority and his main weapon have all been taken from him. He is, essentially, one hundred percent mortal." 

A small part of him remains. Apollo didn't know how to feel about that; his father was as mortal and as helpless as he himself had been six months ago. Even more so, since all his godly essence had been stripped from him. 

Apollo released his sister's hand, and she respectfully gave him some space. 

He crouched down next to the body of his father. 

He held the bronze master bolt behind his back - despite all the logic and evidence showing otherwise, it was a natural reflex he couldn't help, an instinct telling him don't hold it anywhere near him, he could take it and hurt you again. 

Zeus's hand was limp but Apollo, still shaking, curled his fingers around it. He didn't hold it affectionately. He just stayed there for a prolonged moment, staring at the body with so many contradicting feelings of grief, regret, guilt, peacefulness and pure relief rushing through him. 

He had not expected it to be so cathartic to get close to his father, to touch his cold hand and not be met with suspicion, hostility or hatred. To say a last goodbye to the man he had once been. 

He was not mourning the death of Zeus. He was mourning the father he used to be. The father he could have been. 

(Jason had looked like this in death too; cold and still and bleeding red from his chest, with empty and wide electric blue eyes. Brave, brave Jason who stood up to Jupiter on Apollo's behalf and died protecting his friends. Jason who was stronger and kinder and braver than the king of the gods.) 

"The Lethe," Hades suggested in response to Artemis's earlier question about Zeus's remains. "We could wipe his memory completely, send him down to Earth to live a mortal life and die of old age. If not... send him to Tartarus or Chaos for eternity..." 

Apollo sat down on the rubble next to the body and looked up at his uncle. He didn't understand how Hades could offer such contrasting solutions. In a way, it would be merciful and kind to give Zeus a peaceful end - to show that they were better than him. It still would have horrified the former king to know that he would meet his end as a weak, powerless mortal; to become the thing he both hated and feared. It would be an ironic end for him. 

But sending him to Tartarus or Chaos... surely that would just be continuing the cycle, an eternity of violence, over and over and over again. Nevertheless, Hades was now the god of justice so the sentencing should be his responsibility, it should be his decision...

A part of him also wanted to let the master bolt out of its casing and incinerate Zeus without a second thought.

But he was just so, so tired. 

Apollo found that he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I don't care either way," Apollo said grimly. "Do what you think is best. I just want him out of my sight." 

Hades and Poseidon exchanged a serious glance and then each placed a hand on one of Zeus's shoulders. The Big Three disappeared almost instantly, melting into the darkness, leaving a few twisting, jumping shadows behind. 

He was just glad they had taken him away. Zeus hadn't been his father for millennia; his body was nothing more than an empty shell. 

He didn't know what to think about the other gods. A small part of him wished his family had been there for him before; why couldn't they have helped every time Zeus had punished him with the master bolt, and six months ago when he had been turned mortal...? 

They're here now, he reminded himself. They didn't know about the abuse. If they had known...

And it was abuse. He had been abused by his father and nearly died from it; and then he killed him and toppled his throne. 

He had stood up to his own Beast, just like Meg. 

The numb shock of everything was starting to set in. 

Apollo ran his fingers through his hair, touching the last remnants of ichor as if to remind himself that what happened was real. He drew his hand away and stared at the blood. Still as golden as ever. "I need - Artemis," he stammered, voice cracking. His vision was starting to spin dizzily again. 

The rest of the gods took the cue and respectfully dispersed. 

All the blazing fires had died down or been extinguished after Zeus's downfall. Except one; Hestia lingered for a moment to extinguish the calm fire at her hearth. She was the last to leave, her godly form shimmering with flames as she ascended to the skies. 

No - she wasn't the last. Only Artemis and, surprisingly, Dionysus remained. 

Apollo clutched at the rubble of Zeus's throne, squeezing a handful of dust to try and ground himself. His throat was tightening and he wheezed, putting his head in his hands. All of a sudden he felt breathless and winded, like he'd just had the shit kicked out of him - which, well, he had.  

The brightness of his own golden throne was blinding out of the corner of his eye, taunting him. 

Dionysus sat down next to him, on the ruins of their father's legacy. Apollo wondered what would become of it - he hoped a new throne for Hestia would be built in its place. A throne of equal size to the rest of the Olympians', with a comfy seat with blankets and a fire for her to tend to. 

Vines were starting to grow in a small circle around where Dionysus sat. It was almost like he was allowing the ruins to be overtaken by nature, to start anew. 

"If you need to talk," Dionysus started. "You know where to find me." 

"Yeah," Apollo whispered, not trusting his voice to speak any louder without crying again. "Thank you. Really." He wasn't only thanking his brother for the offer of help, but also for his support in the fight. He didn't know if he would have survived had it not been for Dionysus. 

Neither of them mentioned the obvious; that the wine god's punishment would have ended with Zeus, that he was under absolutely no obligation to return to Camp Half-Blood again. But Apollo knew beneath his brother's facade of indifference was a deep love for his son and all the other demigods, even though he tried to distance himself from them. And after so long, Camp without Mr D would just feel wrong. 

"I'm serious, please do come and see me," Dionysus said softly. "I've been in here," he gestured with a tap of his fingers on his own forehead. "And your-" he cleared his throat like he was trying not to get too emotional, "-your pain overwhelmed me. It scared me."

Apollo just nodded tearfully and allowed his half-brother to pull him into a brief, strong hug. 

"Please don't feel like you have to be alone anymore," Dionysus whispered in his ear.

Then he descended back to the mortal world below in a burst of purple light. Apollo hoped his brother was going to go and drink the best glass of wine he'd ever had. 

When at last only the two of them were alone, Apollo paused for a moment, took in a deep breath and then suddenly burst into uncontrollable sobs. 

"Hey," Artemis murmured softly, kneeling in front of him and pulling his hands away from his face. "I love you."

A flood of tears escaped before Apollo could stop them. He didn't remember the last time Artemis had said it to him. "Love you too," he said, squeezing her hands. "So, so much." 

There were tears streaming down his face again and his breathing was heavy and panicked - but Artemis stayed with him. 

The sun was rising higher, almost like it was midday instead of midnight. In unison, the twins looked up to admire it. "Do you think anyone noticed?" he asked with a wet laugh. He wiped his eyes with his sleeves. "I wonder how the mortals will explain it." 

From New York below came the sounds of sirens wailing, people shouting, birds singing, dogs barking. The city was as lively and loud as ever. But they would move on; that's what he admired about humans the most. They would blame it on a rare solar event, or forget about it and pretend it was a dream. They would recover, and it would be life as usual the next day. 

The demigods and gods would know, though. 

Meg would know. He wanted to see Meg. He wanted to cry with her and hug her and teach her more piano. 

Artemis smiled, and while she watched the sun she had a soft silver glow about her. "Let's fix it," she said. 

She settled down next to him on the ashes and rubble. Then she took a hold of his hand. And she leaned on his shoulder, her hair tickling his neck. 

They stayed like that for one peaceful, quiet moment. 

And when he had blinked away all the tears, he brought his sun down to set again.

And Artemis, bless her heart, adjusted the path of the moon so it met him, in a perfectly aligned solar eclipse. 

Chapter Text

If in the following days Apollo fell into a catatonic state, he didn't think anyone would blame him for it. 

Gods could sleep and dream like any other person. They could also just choose not to, or to avoid it for decades if they were super busy. 

Hypnos was probably the only exception - he had the comfiest bed in Olympus and spent most of his time there. Possibly the only time he had been seen outside of bed in the last decade was when he was sleepwalking. His son Morpheus likewise spent an unusual amount of time asleep for a god - but probably the normal amount for a mortal. He was apparently a loud sleeptalker with very vivid dreams. There was a rumour going around that he would sing Toxic by Britney Spears in his sleep. Apollo thought he had good taste. 

Even the notorious night owl Athena took a nap every so often when her brain got tired from too much thinking, or manipulating, or whatever it was she did in her free time.  

On the other hand, Apollo didn't think Hermes had slept a single wink since the internet had been invented; and it certainly showed by how many cups of coffee his brother consumed everyday. 

Gods didn't technically need sleep to survive. 

Apollo had always tried to get at least an hour or two of sleep every night. He was the god of healing; and although he may not need a normal human's eight hours, he knew all about the benefits of getting a good night's sleep. And he always felt better for it in the morning. He had been sleeping more ever since his time as a mortal, when he was constantly sleep-deprived and exhausted. 

It was also nice to wake up to his own sunrise and watch the sun chariot paint the sky in oranges and pinks. And it was equally as nice to be the part of himself pulling the sun, to look down on the Earth below and marvel at its beauty as it was bathed in light. 

But the most beautiful part of dawn on Olympus was waking up to the heavenly songs of the muses. 

He would not hear them this morning. 

This was the longest night he would experience. 

At first, he genuinely tried to sleep. But the sun palace was too bright so he dimmed its shining brilliance; and then the bed felt so comfy that it was like an itch on his skin, it was just wrong, wrong, wrong; and then someone's buzzing prayer was nagging at his ears but he couldn't make out the words of it; and then the horses were restless and whinnying in the stables so he went to fill their nectar trough; and then he went back to bed but he was breathing too fast so he just stared at a white marble pillar and tried to remember exactly how to be a god. 

He didn't know how long he spent staring at the same spot. He just pulled the thin linen sheets around himself, curled up into a ball, and stared, emptily, wide-eyed. 

Maybe he zoned out a little. Maybe he zoned out for a few days. 

He didn't bother sending out a part of himself to bring up the sun. It would do it by itself; by the other gods out there or astrophysics, it didn't matter. 

The sun rose, the muses didn't sing, the sun set, the sun rose again, the muses didn't sing again, someone knocked on the door but left when they got no response, the sun set again. 

Every day lasted for an eternity. 

His horses were stomping in the stables and whinnying loudly. It seemed like they were anxious about something. He couldn't bring himself to care. 

At some point Hermes appeared, but nothing he said made sense. It just went in one ear and out the other, as if he was speaking an entirely different language. The messenger god left a couple of papers on his bedside table. Summary notes from a meeting, maybe. His brother asked something, but didn't get a reply, and kissed his forehead instead. 

Apollo blinked. 

Hermes was gone. The sun rose. The muses didn't sing. 

The world turned slowly and sluggishly, like it had just decided to move on one day and leave him behind, and he couldn't catch up. It felt like he was swimming through a pool of honey or syrup, fighting to stay above the surface while every force of nature tried to drag him down and choke him. Just give in, give up, every part of his body screamed at him. It would be so much easier to give in to oblivion. 

It was hard to breathe now. His chest was tight. His fingers were flickering with tiny sparks of lightning. He just balled his hands up into tight fists and let the sparks fly, holding them against his chest. It was supposed to hurt. It didn't feel like anything. 

Artemis was brushing his hair with a plastic hairbrush, tenderly and softly. She lifted his head a little from the pillow and he blinked lethargically. His hair was curly and much longer than it had been before; a Lester brown at the roots fading with a gradient into a golden blond at the tips. She was plaiting it into tiny braids the same size as Medusa's snakes. 

Another snake had crushed him and suffocated him and broken his ribs. It had fallen into Chaos. 

He wished he had fallen with it. 

Don't think of snakes, he reminded himself. 

He shivered. 

She might have been singing to him; he wished he could bring himself to hear her. Artemis never sang in front of him. But her voice was all muffled and the words blended into each other in one jumbled mess of nothingness. 

At one point, she gently shifted him to face the other way, so she could braid on the other side of his head. 

This new spot on the wall was boring, white and plain. He stared at it and unclenched his fists. But he stayed curled up in bed. 

Apollo tried to cry. He hated crying; he'd done enough of it already. But he wanted to feel something. 

No tears would come. 

Artemis had finished braiding his hair and started on her own, giving herself a matching hairstyle. She was sitting in front of the wall he was staring at, maybe trying to get him to focus on her instead. The golden light shone through her hair like she was an angel. His twin was in her normal form of a twelve or thirteen-year-old, but her youthful face was made old by the haunted look in her eyes. 

He felt small, too, or maybe that was just because he was still curled up in a ball. He wondered if he looked the same age as her. 

"Love you," she whispered.

He wondered why those were the only words he could make out. 

The sun set without him again. 

It was hard to tell how many days it had been now but he still hadn't slept. The exhaustion seeped through his bones and his limbs were numb from staying in the same position. His mind felt like it was not in his body anymore, and his vision was fuzzy. 

He blinked and it was light again, and the muses weren't singing again, and Artemis was at his bedside. He didn't notice she had even left. 

"Hey again sunshine," she was stroking his hair and twisting one of his braids around her finger. "I fed your horses, I don't think they like me as much as you but they didn't kick me. And I went to see the hunters. Reyna said she likes my hairstyle. Thalia said to tell you hi and to get your ass out of bed." 

Apollo's eyelashes fluttered and he breathed out raggedly. 

She kissed his forehead and he tried to move up to hug her but his limbs were just so heavy. He could barely spare enough energy to think, let alone move. But at least he could understand what she was saying now. 

"We had one Olympian meeting and no one argued, it was weird. Dionysus wasn't grumpy for once, and Hera was actually being polite. Hermes looked tired." She fluffed up his pillow a little and opened a window, letting in a fresh breeze of jasmine and honeysuckle. "But it was boring without you and we didn't get much done. Just talked about getting a new throne and a cabin at Camp Half-Blood for Hestia. She's going to open her cabin to unclaimed demigods so they're not all in cabin eleven. And Hera is going to claim any children of Zeus - if he even has any show up in the next twelve years or so." 

Apollo liked the idea of a Hestia cabin, especially if it replaced cabin one. He could picture it being warm and cozy, a welcoming place for new demigods. A proper home with a comfy bed instead of a sleeping bag on the floor. 

"Then we, uh, talked about what he did to - to the muses," Artemis stammered, looking like she was about to cry. "I just can't believe - well - we think that they're gone forever. I don't know if they could reform from that. Athena thinks their godly domains would have passed to you, since Zeus killed them and then you - you know. But I don't know. I haven't seen any dire consequences on poetry, music or dance yet, but then I'm not much of a creative type am I? So I don't know what's normal or not." 

Apollo tried to imagine his sister sitting through a slam poetry event or a comedy improv session for his sake and it warmed his heart.

He wondered if all across the world, writers and singers and performers were simultaneously losing their inspiration, unaware of the reason why. A world without the muses seemed so cold and lonely. 

"And I had some demigods trying to reach me - I told Meg, Percy, Will and Rachel that you're fine but I don't think they believed me. And they pray to me about you all the time. We're worried sick for you. Please come back to me." 

Apollo didn't notice the tears streaming silently down his cheeks until his sister wiped them away with her thumb. 

"Love you," her own eyes were misty like she was trying to stay strong for his sake. "It's okay, I'm here for you. For as long as you need me to be." 

The tears kept coming. They dripped down past his ear and made the pillow damp. He squeezed his eyes shut and his shoulders trembled. He was so tired. 

Artemis tucked the sheets around him. "I'm going to get Dionysus if you stay like this. I can't - I can't help you all by myself." 

She sniffed and there was a muffled sound like she was trying not to cry. 

Apollo didn't understand why the empty feeling in his chest hurt so much. Why was this dark nothingness so painful? It was like a cold fist squeezing around his heart; it was like an aching pang of hunger in his stomach. It was a destructive black hole trying to consume all the light of the sun. 

What good was he as a depressed sun god? 

"Will you get some sleep?" she asked softly. "I'll stay with you. No one will hurt you."

He could only manage a slight shift of his head that he hoped she would understand as a nod. 

Artemis started singing quietly. She had a wonderful lilting alto tone that he was sure he had never heard before; she was always either too shy or embarrassed to sing in front of him. He wondered why she had been holding back on this beautiful voice the whole time. It was a wistful, nostalgic tune in Ancient Greek. A lullaby or hymn that sounded familiar; possibly something their mother had sung to them. It reminded him of simpler times. 

And before she could finish the song, he drifted off to sleep. 

But his dreams were not peaceful. 

Apollo dreamed of lightning.

He was in his pure energy form, a beam of golden light floating disembodied above a forest. The trees were swaying in the wind while cold torrential rain battered the ground in icy sheets. He soared like an eagle over the trees, across a valley and above a clearing, until he recognised where he was.

There was the campfire, extinguished by the sideways rain, now only coals. There was the climbing wall, spitting lava and swaying dangerously in the wind. And there was the Big House, where Dionysus was standing with a dark look in his purple eyes. 

Camp Half-Blood.

Dark thunder clouds smothered all light until it looked like night time in the camp. Kids as young as eight were screaming down below, some of them running for shelter in the cabins, some of them grabbing weapons even though they had no enemy to fight. They looked so small from up here in the sky, like the tiny ants they were. 

Apollo flew over the cabins, and if he had a heart right now it would have stopped. 

Cabin seven was being targeted. 

It wasn't even a cabin anymore - he could only tell it was his because the pile of rubble was located opposite Artemis's cabin, which was glowing silver like a beacon. The lightning was still hammering down, just pounding down over and over. It fried the bodies of his children until they were nothing more than bones and ash. 

Nico was standing a few steps away, screaming and shouting in Italian. The ground rumbled beneath him and skeletal hands dug themselves out from the dirt, but he couldn't fight the sky itself. The lightning ignored him - it only continued to beat down on the remains of the golden cabin. The son of Hades shouted Will's name over and over, but it wouldn't bring him back. 

It felt like Apollo was inside the lightning. His vision flashed with white every time it hit. 

"Stop, father stop, please!" he tried to scream. 

He descended, turning into his human form when he met the ground and staring in horror at the massacre. 

"Please stop, they're already dead," he shouted. "Please stop!"

Zeus didn't reply. The skies continued to wage a one-sided war on cabin seven. Lightning strikes battered the ground but none of them got close to Apollo, almost like there was an invisible circle of protection around him that they could never cross. 

Nico's eyes widened in terror. He took a step back when the sun god turned to face him and stumbled, collapsing onto the dirt. He had the exact same look of fear that was on Commodus's face when Apollo's hands had tightened around his neck under the bath water. 

Apollo blinked. He knelt in the burnt brown grass and clutched tightly at the master bolt in his right hand. 

The lightning hummed and vibrated. 

"Oh," Apollo said numbly, his mouth suddenly dry. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. "It was me."

There was a sinking feeling deep in his chest and he lurched awake to the sound of booming thunder. For one heart-stopping moment, he was sure that it was real, that his children were dead because of him- 

Something was wrapped tightly around him, suffocating him, and he yelped, trying to free himself from the snake's clutches. He pushed and kicked at the bed sheets and they fell to the floor as he sat up, gasping for breath. 

Someone's voice was drowned out by the buzzing in his ears and the thunder that continued to rumble overhead. 

They were touching his shoulder and he flinched away, shoving their hand off. "Don't touch - don't - don't-" he moaned. The hand drew away instantly like it had been burned. 

The paralysis was gone - instead, his whole body was now shaking. 

Apollo rolled off the bed with a great heave of his limbs, trying to get them to coordinate. He landed roughly on the floor on his hip and winced. But the sharp pain brought him back to reality. 

A couple of braids got in front of his eyes and he tucked them behind his ears. He blinked up at his sister. 

"Ohhh, hi," he said sheepishly, his words slurred. 

Artemis looked like she wanted to either slap him or hug him, or possibly do both at the same time. Instead she just ran her hands over her face and sunk down to collapse next to him on the floor. She took a moment to catch her breath. She didn't touch him though, and he was grateful for that. 

"Took you a while," she sighed. "To come back to us." 

Apollo's heart missed a beat. He felt like he might be sick. It reminded him of when he had returned to Olympus, terrified that he had slept for too long and missed decades or centuries. No, no, no... surely he couldn't have been completely zoned out for years? But he was lucky last time, what if this time he wasn't-

"How long was I...?" he trailed off, feeling like his mouth was full of cotton wool. 

"Sorry!" Artemis apologised instantly. "Sorry, bad wording again - it's only been five days."

Apollo let out a shaky breath while his spiralling thoughts calmed down. His left arm twitched unconsciously a few times and he tried to relax it. 

"Bad dreams?" she asked. 

"Lightning," he explained shortly, knowing with that one word, his sister would understand everything. 

She nodded sympathetically. 

The hot red scars and scorch marks on his wrists and fingers burned painfully. He tried not to wince, and pushed his sleeves down to cover them. 

Thunder echoed in the skies above. They both flinched subconsciously and shared a wary look. 

"It's uh, Poseidon," Artemis clarified, but she didn't look convinced, as if she feared it could have been the ghost of their father still haunting them. "He's been trying to practice his control over thunder. He and Hades were pretty angry when they were - well, you know. It's been storming over the bay ever since. I don't know what they did with his..." her voice wavered and she bit her lip. 

Leaning his weight on the side of the bed, Apollo stumbled and pushed himself up. His legs were wobbling like jelly from the lack of use, and he felt rather like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time. Artemis offered him a hand but he shook his head. 

He may have been shaky but at least he had control of his body again. He was a god. He had to push through these silly human weaknesses. 

The thunder continued to boom menacingly, but it wasn't as close as it had felt before. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, hoping those two words would explain everything he was feeling. His hopelessness and uselessness in the last few days, and the burden he had been to his twin sister. "I wasn't feeling good," he said as explanation, but that was a little bit of an understatement. "I just couldn't-"

"It's okay," Artemis looked like she wanted to pull him into a hug and wrap him in blankets and never let go, but she held herself back. "I understand. I wanted to curl up in a ball and stare at the wall forever too. Everyone needs to have a few days off for a mental breakdown every so often." 

Apollo winced at her bluntness. He didn't bother pointing out that gods didn't have mental breakdowns. Gods were meant to be better than that. 

"Right," he muttered, his face falling a little. He didn't understand why Artemis's words didn't comfort him that much. It didn't feel like she understood at all. She hadn't been through even half of what he did. She didn't understand what it was like to be human. What it was like to find out most of your immortal life had been a lie. What it was like to be abused and manipulated for millennia-

"Let's get some fresh air?" she suggested. She leaned past him and pulled up the bed sheets, straightening them and making his bed, turning over the pillow. She could have clicked her fingers and fixed the bed instantaneously, but he suspected she wanted something to do to calm herself. 

Apollo hobbled unevenly over to the balcony, opening the double veranda doors to the stunning view. He shook his right foot a few times, wondering why it felt like pins and needles were stabbing it, a sensation he hadn't felt since he'd been human. Sure, he hadn't moved in the last however many days, but gods didn't get such tiny mortal ailments as pins and needles. It was purely psychological, most likely. 

A fresh breeze drifted into his room, lifting the white net curtains high and pushing papers off the side table. The air was warm but humid, carrying the scent of wet grass after a thunderstorm. 

The sun palace had the best view over both Olympus and New York. It was away from the base of the mountain, right at the edge of the city where the clouds formed into a cliff edge dropping off towards the Earth below. He could simultaneously admire the home of the gods at the top of the mountain from a distance, and feel close to the hustle and bustle of the city below. It was almost like a home.

He didn't quite know how it was possible that they were floating on clouds but had long ago decided not to question it. 

The balcony was facing directly south so it was always precisely lined up to give the sun palace as much light as possible. A stunning view over Manhattan showed the skyscrapers in the distance obscured by fog that was starting to part. The midday sun shone brightly, emerging from behind thunderclouds. It was currently 12:03:47pm in New York, going by the exact position of the sun - and his internal clock was flawless. 

Apollo leaned on the balcony railing, frowning when his elbow crunched on something dry. It almost fell off, to be lost forever in the streets below, but he outstretched an arm and caught it just in time. 

He had forgotten it was left on the balcony. It was the laurel crown Artemis gave him a few weeks ago upon his return to Olympus; dry and dead, with its leaves turning brown. It nearly crumbled to his touch, and one leaf drifted off into the clouds below. 

Artemis smiled when he placed it on her head, scrunching her nose up and giving him an exasperated but fond look. 

Apollo's lips quirked up. He folded his arms on the metal balcony railing, then leaned his head on them, gazing out over the clouds. To the east, over the city of the gods, the burnt trees were mostly regenerated thanks to Demeter. He could see her figure in the distance, with her green and gold dress swishing around in the long grass of the gardens, while she chatted to nymphs and dryads as she worked her magic. She walked barefoot and with every step, the ground seemed to come alive, sprouting with green stems and flowers. 

Further up the mountain, Zeus's temple was fully demolished. A team of skeletons wearing yellow hard hats were sweeping up the rubble, making clouds of dust rise into the air. Apollo figured at least they were efficient workers because they couldn't inhale the construction dust. Their teeth chattered and some of them gestured wildly as if they were having a passionate conversation complaining about Hades's working conditions. He wondered what the point of the builder's hats was though, if they were already dead. 

The crack that had been formed from Poseidon's trident had grown. It twisted out through the throne room and along the stone path down the mountain; it was a huge fault line in Olympus like a tectonic plate had shifted. The fissure in the ground only grew wider until it reached the bottom of the mountain, where it ended. The pathway at the base of the mountain was barely there anymore, and some satyr kids were playing a game jumping over the small canyon. It seemed no one had begun fixing the crack yet, perhaps waiting for Hades or Poseidon to mend it with their powers over earth. 

Although, a small part of Apollo hoped some remainder of the crack would stay in the throne room. At least the small part next to where Zeus's throne used to be, that had been filled with the liquid gold of Hera's crown. The gold rivers splitting the marble was a physical reminder of what had happened. A reminder that the gods were not perfect, and they should never forget that, for as long as Olympus was still standing. He hoped it would stand as a reminder of their promise that there would be no more kings and queens. 

(He wondered if any of his golden blood had seeped into the cracks too.)

The sun temple was unaffected and still gleamed brightly out of the corner of his eye. He winced and dimmed its shine a little with a wave of his hand. It was too much. 

The city of the gods didn't look too damaged, but he supposed most of the visible damage was in how the inhabitants of Olympus moved around differently. They were quieter than usual; more withdrawn and seeming shell-shocked. The normally vibrant, crowded marketplace in the square was closed, which was a rare sight to see. A group of centaurs were muttering among themselves, more reserved than they had ever been, nervously trotting around on their hooves. A few elder satyrs with large twirling horns and wispy grey hair were looking up at the balcony. Their eyes widened and they scarpered away in fear when Apollo made eye contact. 

"It's the dawn of a new era for Olympus," Artemis murmured contemplatively, leaning on the balcony next to him. "And it started because of you."

Her words made him feel sick. He looked away in shame, watching a naiad down below who was tossing drachmas out of her fountain with an annoyed expression on her face. "I didn't intend to start anything," he admitted truthfully. "I didn't want - I don't - I don't know how to fix this."

The naiad noticed him zoned out and staring at her. She smiled shyly and waved. Apollo hesitantly waved back and she blushed. 

"There's nothing for you to fix," Artemis said firmly. "It may have started because of you, but remember we all are equally responsible; you, me and everyone who helped us. And the world will keep on turning no matter what. Olympus will be repaired, the gods will find a way to continue on. We adapt easily to change-"

Apollo shot her a disbelieving look, raising an eyebrow. 

She snorted. "Okay, maybe we're not good with change. But it's about time we learned how to change with the times, right?"

Apollo sighed. "I should be... doing something," he said, with a faraway distant look in his eyes. "I need to bring the horses out. And help rebuild Olympus. And I need to talk to Hades about the m-muses, and - and I owe my friends an explanation - I have work to do-" 

"No sunshine, you don't have to do anything-" 

"Can you not call me sunshine when I'm so... so messed up in the head - when I'm nothing like that-!" Apollo thundered, his voice raising. He gritted his teeth, but his anger immediately deflated upon one look at his twin. 

Artemis blinked a few times, squinting into the sun. She looked hurt. 

"Sorry," he murmured, softening his tone. "I like you calling me that really. It's nice." I don't deserve it, is what he didn't say. 

His sister sighed and mirrored his position, leaning her head on her arms and shuffling up next to him so their elbows met on the railing. "It's okay," she nudged him gently. "You can be angry at me if it makes you feel better. If I were you, I would be angry at me." 

She watched him patiently, willing him to let his bottled-up feelings out. 

"Did he ever - did he ever hit you with-" Apollo trailed off and swallowed nervously. 

She shook her head. 

He didn't know how to feel - thankful, jealous, angry? Why was it only him that Zeus had hurt? Why was Artemis the effortlessly perfect daughter but no matter how hard he tried, he would never be enough for their father? 

"I'm not angry at you, I'm angry at myself," he huffed. "I'm a god. I'm supposed to have the answers for everything. I'm not supposed to be so... weak. I've spent long enough pitying myself and I need to just pull myself together already." 

"You're not weak-!" Artemis objected, trying to take his hand, but he pulled away, turning his head away from her and blinking back tears. "You just need time... some time for yourself." 

"Right, time," Apollo snorted wetly. He ran a hand through his hair, which after so many days was starting to become greasy and tangled in its braids. He could have instantly fixed it, but to be honest he quite liked the braids. "I have more time than I deserve; more time than I know what to do with. But all that time could never atone for what I've done. And I just... I'm just so tired. Do you ever think we live too long?" 

Artemis didn't answer. 

"The worst things about what father said..." he sniffed and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "Is that it's all true. I really am the worst of the gods. A disappointment of a son," he said bitterly. "Look at me. Pathetic."

You should have tried harder, when you tried to kill yourself, his father had said. Apollo sometimes wondered if he should have tried harder, too. 

"Don't you dare!" Artemis chided him. "Don't say that. You can't let him get into your head-" 

"You're two thousand years too late for that," he whispered. 

His stomach twisted in guilt. He had spent five days in a completely unresponsive state, forcing his sister to look after him, and now she was starting to see the extent of how damaged he was. She wanted to fix him, she wanted him back to his old sunny self - but how could he ever go back to that when the whole thing was a facade in the first place? And now here he was wallowing in his own self-hatred and self-pity. He really did bring shame to Olympus and to his family. 

Apollo turned back to look at his twin. She faced him too; his mirror image, his other half. His heart felt like it might burst with love for her. 

"If you really believe that," she said solemnly. "Then I might not be able to change your mind any time soon. But I can make you believe that you are the best brother, truly the best brother I could ever ask for. And I'm sorry if I ever made you think that wasn't true. I promise I will love you twice as much for both of us when you don't love yourself." 

Her face was red, like she was embarrassed for saying something so mushy to her sibling. Artemis had never been an affectionate person - she had shown him more love in her words and gestures of the past few days than the rest of their lives. 

And it hit him that she was trying her best. She would never understand him fully, just like he would never understand her fully, but that was okay. She was one of the only constants in his long life, and they would always have each other. They were sun and moon, gold and silver, brother and sister. 

Apollo blinked back tears. 

Artemis sighed softly and cupped his cheek in her hand. Her eyes shone with love for him, but there was a deep sadness hidden behind. He leaned forward towards her and one of her braids lightly tickled his arm. His lower lip trembled as he tried not to sob where people could see. 

"What do you want?" she asked. "Just... if you could spend your infinite time exactly how you wanted... where would you be right now?" 

Apollo blinked, glancing to the east where Demeter was taking a slow meander around the gardens. Every plant or tree she passed seemed to have new life breathed into it, growing taller and blooming more colourful than before. "I want to be with Meg." His answer came naturally. Of course that's the one place he wanted to be. 

Thankfully, Artemis didn't look jealous at his answer. Meg was a twelve-year-old mortal and could never share four thousand years of history with him; in that way, Artemis could never understand how and why they could have such a deep bond. But she at least seemed to understand that he needed Meg, and she needed him, and she could never get in between that. 

"Then go see her," Artemis ran her thumb under his eye, stroking his cheek. "Easy as that. You don't owe her any explanation, you don't have to be Apollo the god around her. No one's going to stop you anymore, from spending time with her." 

He paused for a moment, his chest feeling tight. He wished it could always be as simple as that - he wished he could flee every responsibility and spend all his time with Meg, pretending he wasn't Apollo the god. 

His sister was right. He needed time away from Olympus; to be himself, to remind himself of what he had fought for. To remind himself of who he had fought for. 

"Do you want me to come too?" she asked. 

Apollo contemplated it for a moment. Meg and Artemis both meant the whole universe to him. The two of them couldn't have been more unalike. Twelve-year-old chaotic Meg who had gone through such terrible things but still saw the world with innocent child-like wonder. And his immortal twin Artemis, who was serious and withdrawn, and saw the world through a goddess's timeworn, battle-weary eyes. But both of them were soft and kind and strong. Both of them had one thing in common: Apollo. He wondered what they would think of each other if they properly met. He wondered if Meg would crotch-kick and cartwheel her way into Artemis's heart like she had to him. 

"No thanks," he mumbled, a little ashamed. 

Artemis hadn't been there while he was mortal. She watched from a distance and helped out when she was called, but she had left when duty called. Even after what they had gone through in the last few days, Artemis still saw him as Apollo the god and would never be able to see him as something else. 

The beauty of his friendship with Meg was that she would treat him no differently knowing he had overthrown the king of the gods. At least, that was what he hoped. 

"What's holding you back?" Artemis asked.

"I didn't... want her to see me in this state," he admitted with a sigh. "I haven't been thinking straight, all... wallowing in self-pity with my brain all fuzzy. And... and the tremors I get... and all these burns on my arms from the lightning-"

"That's not the only reason, is it?" Artemis's fingers stilled where they had been fiddling with one of her braids. Her eyes widened as she came to understand his hesitancy. "You're scared of yourself." 

"What if I lose control again?" he whispered fearfully. "What if... what if something sets me off and I hurt-"

He stared up at the sun, looking straight into its blazing glory. "What if I become like him?" 

Artemis stayed in stunned silence for a moment. 

"I dreamed that my cabin at camp was being destroyed by lightning - while my kids were inside," he said, closing his eyes, unable to see her reaction to his worst nightmare. "And I was begging father to stop, but it was me all along - because I'm the lightning god." 

"I think your fear... isn't unfounded," Artemis said, furrowing her eyebrows, a serious look on her face. "The gods are cruel and hateful and violent - and I'm including both of us in that. We're certainly no angels." 

Apollo blinked a few times. Well, this wasn't really helping. 

"But you can't forget that over the millennia our... whole sense of self has been completely entwined with the realms we rule over," she continued. "That who we are is a reflection of humanity's beliefs, that we think we must be merciless because that is how life must be, and that is how the world has treated us. So maybe we have to learn to live with the worst parts of ourselves, or we will never be able to grow and change." 

Apollo gaped at her for a second, then closed his mouth. He could see where she was coming from. Her wilderness was unforgiving and the hunt was brutal. His plagues killed ruthlessly and his sun caused cancer. But equally, the moon pulled the tides and the sun brought life. Perhaps it was time to understand and accept that dichotomy. 

"Hey, you're actually surprisingly smart," he said dryly, lips quirking up into a small smirk. 

Artemis elbowed his side and rolled her eyes at the backhanded compliment. "And you're not cruel and hateful," she said fiercely. "Not anymore. And you're more in control of yourself than you think you are. You won't hurt someone." 

"You're... right," he admitted, and it was possibly one of the only times in his long life that he had told his sister that. "I do have reason to be... guilty and scared, no, terrified of myself and what I've done. But I made a promise to - I made a promise that I would remember what it was like to be human. So I have to be a better god. A better person. Not only for myself, and for you, but for them." 

Artemis nodded thoughtfully and took the dead laurel crown off her hair. She turned it over in her hands and the leaves unfurled, turning fresh and green again. Then she focused hard and flowers started to bloom on it, peeking through the leaves and blossoming brilliantly. 

She placed it on his head and Apollo straightened up, trying not to break down again. He touched the soft petals of one of the purple hyacinths on the laurel crown. And for Hyacinthus and Daphne, he promised himself. 

"I think Meg can understand you in ways I will never be able to," Artemis conceded. "You don't have to talk about things if you're not ready. But I think just spending time with her will help you." 

Apollo nodded, then squeezed her hand. 

"And please go see Dionysus after, if you are ready to talk," she begged him. "He can help you." 

"I will," he promised, and he knew it would be one of the rare promises he wouldn't break. "I know he can help, I - he's been inside my head. He saw everything. So, yeah. I think I'll need him to help me get through this." 

"Love you," she murmured, kissing his cheek. 

And if there was anything good that had come out of the last five days, Apollo was at least glad that his sister had started to tear down her own fortress of walls that imprisoned her emotions. That she was being outwardly affectionate with him. 

"Love you too." He kissed her back on the cheek then turned into a beam of sunlight, making his way down the cloudy cliff edge and to the Earth below. 

He stopped off at Long Island first. 

It seemed the storm hadn't passed through here. It was a bright cheerful day; the sun was coming out from behind the clouds, bathing the twenty cabins in sunbeams of gold. 

Camp Half-Blood was as busy as it ever was this early into the summer, bustling with the energy of dozens of kids and teenagers all eager to see their friends again. The demigods came from all across the country so for some of them it was their first weekend of summer vacation, while others had been at camp for a few weeks already. 

Those who had taken part in the battle at the Tower of Nero were sharing the details of their chaotic field trip with those who had just arrived.

Loud rock music was blaring from Ares's cabin, where Sherman Yang stood on the porch telling his exaggerated story of throwing Germani off the terrace at the tower, which Ellis and Mark listened to in awe. In front of cabin six, new campers Rosamie and Evette seemed to be seasoned pros already and were giving an informative guided tour to a pair of blond twins while Malcolm took a breather and sat with his shoes up on a table. Outside cabin nine, a grinning Ben was showing off the blades and spikes fitted to his wheelchair to an energetic Harley, who was bouncing up and down enthusiastically and shouting about adding flamethrowers to it, with Nyssa watching on warily. The only cabin that was silent despite being inhabited by campers seemed to be the Hypnos cabin - it was far too early in the afternoon for them to be awake yet. 

Some returning campers were muttering anxiously and crowding around cabin one... or what was left of it. Where there used to be an imposing mausoleum-like marble building with heavy columns, there was now just... nothing but ash. Travis, the son of Hermes who was back from college for the summer, was curiously poking at the layer of thick black dust with a stick while Katie tried to pull him away, looking nervous. 

Apollo didn't want to think about exactly how or why the cabin had been destroyed along with Zeus. It was a symbol of his power and rule, he supposed, and it was built out of demigods' worship and belief in the king of the gods. It made sense why the building could crumble so easily when not even Zeus's own children trusted or respected him. At least there were no kids living there anymore, so no one was hurt in the process. 

(Apollo wondered - if Jason survived - whether he would have come back to Camp Half-Blood that summer, and how he would have felt with his cabin being gone. Would he have taken it as a chance to build a better, more livable cabin? Would he have been relieved that the ghastly ten-feet tall statue was gone? Or would he have been stuck inside when it collapsed, always fated to die because of Apollo?) 

Cabin seven was shining the brightest of all - and the sun god, in his pure form, was drawn to it like a moth to a light. He descended down behind the cabin to the cover of the trees, and accidentally scorched a patch of grass, turning it black. 

He stayed there for a second, overcome by the feeling of relief that flowed through him. 

His dream wasn't real - and he knew that logically - but a tiny part of him had still feared the worst. Seeing his children alive and well in the flesh certainly lightened some of his worrying. Zeus had threatened to incinerate them all and it had been so close. 

He thought if they had died, he might have stayed in that catatonic state forever. 

There were a few heads of blond hair behind the curtains and Austin's saxophone was glinting in the sunlight coming through the window. Gracie was laughing while Will sang an ABBA song out of tune. Apollo loved his son but had to admit he hadn't inherited Naomi Solace's singing skills. Then there was a flash of ginger-green hair as Kayla shouted something intelligible and danced along, pulling a reluctant Jerry and Yan up to join her. 

Apollo could have cried in relief. The overwhelming fondness for his children made his beam of light shine brighter, almost blindingly bright, and he reigned it in quickly. He didn't want to give everyone in camp a nasty sunburn. 

He didn't linger, though. Just seeing them was enough for now. 

He didn't think he would be any good as a parent right now. 

It was hard to leave them. But he promised himself he would be back later, and tore himself away to continue on towards Meg. 

Shooting across the country in a single instant as a beam of pure energy was a feeling he didn't think he would ever get used to again. He didn't think he could ever readjust to that. There was something nauseating and thrilling and utterly terrifying about it. Six months as a mortal had made him almost comfortable with the restraints of a human body. And hurtling through the sky like a meteor was not something Lester Papadopoulos should be able to do, unless he was hurtling towards a dumpster. 

Going on a months-long quest across the country had made him appreciate just how weird it felt to instantly teleport. In the blink of an eye, he had travelled the same distance as he had for six weeks on a bronze dragon. So much time could have been saved with godly powers like his. (So many lives could have been saved with godly powers like his). 

The sun seemed to move position in the sky along with him. It was just past 9am in Palm Springs, and whatever birds were brave enough to live in this hot climate were chirping and singing incessantly. 

Despite the scorching heat, Aeithales was blooming beautifully. The seven Meliai's ash trees were winding around the cistern, and nature had fully reclaimed the house. The greenhouses seemed to be full of wildlife - butterflies and bees flying around freshly-planted pots of flowers. It was a beautiful sight to see Phillip McCaffrey's work regrown from the embers of its former glory. 

Apollo materialised as a teenage Lester outside the front door, with acne and all. The only difference in his appearance was the long brownish-golden hair, still in Artemis's braids. It seemed a shame to get rid of her lovely handiwork on his hair. He bet she could easily win in a braiding contest against Athena or Aphrodite. 

He hesitated for a second then knocked on the door. He may be a god again, with the power to travel anywhere, but it was at least polite to knock. 

Being in his human form now, he was suddenly hit by how sweltering the heat was at this time of year in southern California. After six months of being a sweaty teenager with bad body odour, he sympathised with anyone who had to put up with that. So if the sun dimmed a little and would stay behind the clouds for the rest of the day, he figured nobody would be any the wiser for the reason why.  

When the door slammed open, he was met by the force of a hug so strong it could make even Atlas stumble. 

"Oomph," Apollo exclaimed, feeling like all the air was being pushed out of his lungs. If he were still mortal the intensity of that hug could have broken his ribs - thankfully he wasn't, and it only winded him. He spat out some of Meg's hairs which had made their way into his mouth. "Whoa... hey," he murmured into her hair. 

Meg made a frustrated, choked, grunt kind of sound. "You - idiot - you - I hate you - I was so scared-" she sobbed dryly into his chest. "And Artemis was - was telling me you were okay but I knew you weren't and I couldn't come see you - and I thought you were nearly dying again - and the sun felt different and I just knew something was wrong-" 

Apollo rubbed one hand on her back and rested the other in her hair. He breathed in deeply, trying to restrain himself from sobbing with her. She smelled sweet but earthy, like honey and soil. He hadn't seen her for maybe two weeks, but it had felt like an eternity. It finally felt like he was home again. 

Meg hiccuped loudly. She pushed away from his hold and he wasn't sure if she was going to hug him again or punch him. The rhinestones on her black cat-eye glasses glinted in the sunlight. She was wearing her green VNICORNES IMPERANT t-shirt with a yellow skirt and red sneakers, in usual traffic-light fashion. "Hi," she said, voice wobbly. "Your hair is pretty. And that flower thing too." 

She blinked furiously to push back the tears, and lifted her gaze to the top of his head. Apollo reached up, confused, and felt the leaves of his laurel and hyacinth crown, which he hadn't realised was still there. 

It had gone all wonky when she hugged him; he straightened it and cleared his throat. 

Her expression seem to darken a little when she saw his red palms and wrists. 

"Hi," he replied, feeling choked up. He put his hands in his pockets and hunched over a little, feeling self-conscious. "Artemis made it. And she did my hair too." 

"Do you want to continue my piano lesson?" Meg asked abruptly, fiddling with the hem of her shirt and looking unsure at how to proceed. 

Apollo appreciated how she phrased it like a question and not an order. 

"Uh - yeah," he said, voice cracking. 

He shut the door behind them and followed her towards the centre of the house.

The smell of peanut butter and toast wafted through from the kitchen when they passed by. Little Cassius was chatting very enthusiastically about dolphins to Lu, who was very carefully sipping from her coffee with her mechanical hands. She nodded at Apollo instead of deciding to wave. He nodded back. 

The piano was in the open-plan living area, thankfully in the cooler part of the house next to the cistern. He thought he might have lost it if the piano was kept in the boiling hot greenhouse or something - it seemed like something Meg would do. 

It was a 1910s black C. Bechstein upright piano, slightly worn but well loved. Apollo sat on the left half of the piano stool with Meg on the right. He touched the keys, instantly able to sense its history. A teenage boy had played this piano everyday when he was growing up in the 1930s; he had most enjoyed playing Chopin and Schumann. Good taste - Apollo had taught Chopin piano. He wondered if the teenage boy was Meg's grandfather or if they had no relation. 

The god of music played a few starting chords; they lingered strangely and every note was sustained, bleeding into each other. Looks like the pedal was stuck, most likely from Meg stomping on it the other day. He gave a small smile, reminded of the awful sounds she had made on the piano and how it had helped serve as a distraction when his father was berating him. With a sneaky snap of his fingers concealed under the stool, the pedal was instantly un-jammed and the piano was tuned to perfection. 

They continued where Meg had left off. The wistful melody of Yesterday floated through the house and out through the leafy vine windows. 

Giving piano lessons while not actually being present clearly hadn't been Apollo's best idea. Her posture was not great and her fingering was awful - she played every note with a pointy index finger. But at least she was starting to get the hang of the melody and the notes. 

Apollo corrected his own posture instead of slouching, trying to lead by example. Meg copied him, sitting up straight and rolling her shoulders back to stretch. 

"Try more like this," he instructed, showing her the correct fingering, his hand more spread out over the octave. "Use your whole hand not just one finger, it'll feel more natural and easier." 

"My hands are smaller, I can't reach as far as you," Meg pouted. But she narrowed her eyes and focused, copying him perfectly. Then she scrunched her eyebrows up in confusion and repeated what he had just played. "Why did you play a black note here?"

"That's a B flat, it's in the key of F major" he explained, trying to simplify it so she could understand better. "A key is like a collection of notes that sound good together. If you did the B natural it would sound weird." 

"I am being natural," she protested. "And I think you sound weird." 

"Ha-ha," Apollo deadpanned, but he smiled and rolled his eyes. He had missed her twelve-year-old humour. 

He winced when she stomped on the pedal and it creaked. "Uh, please let me do the pedalling for now," he said. "You focus on just the melody, it might be hard to multitask when you're a beginner."

"Okay," she sighed. "Wait - that's the long pedal right?" 

Apollo's eyes softened. "It's called the sustain pedal," he nodded. "It does keep notes going for longer so yeah you're right. Call it the long pedal if you want." 

"I'll try to be more gentle with it," Meg promised with a guilty grin. "Let's go from the start again?" 

She jumped straight into the melody and Apollo quickly raced to catch up, backing her up with chords on the lower end of the piano. His old self might have taken it as a chance to show off and do fancy arpeggios and jazzy harmonies, but he figured that might not be the best way to teach her. 

He hummed along subconsciously and Meg suddenly had a strange expression on her face like she was about to burst into tears. Oops. He hummed quieter, trying to tone down the unearthly siren-like quality in his voice for her sake. It hadn't been quite so powerful when he was Lester. 

Halfway through the song during the bridge, Apollo shuffled on the seat and absent-mindedly rolled up his sleeves. Then he realised what he had done and a look of horror dawned on his face. The bass line faltered with a clashing sharp note and he hurried to correct it, trying not to put Meg off. 

His face flushed. The burns and marks on his arms were showing; patches of red and raised white electrical lines. And it took a lot of self-restraint and willpower, but he didn't push his sleeves down. 

She had trusted him with her secret, he could trust her with his. He didn't want to hide anything from her. 

Meg was looking out of the corner of her eye and her face had fallen a bit. She took in a short sharp breath but continued playing, her expression set in determination.

He kept the chords steady and slow for her, always making sure she was able to keep up before moving on to the next phrase. 

"Now I need a place to hide away," Apollo sang quietly when they reached the end of the short but sweet song. "Oh, I believe in yesterday..." 

Apollo felt like he might need a place to hide away right now. 

Meg paused after they had finished the song, blinking a few times and staring at the keys. She had a kind of blank, thoughtful expression on her face. 

He had never seen her so quiet. 

"That was good," she said hesitantly, lowering her hands to her lap. She gave a shy but pleased smile. 

Apollo took off his laurel and hyacinth crown. He placed it on Meg's head and her eyes filled with tears. 

His hand was a little shaky again but he put his arm around her shoulder and she leaned into his side. "That was great," he murmured. "You're improving every week. Even Chopin wasn't this good when he was learning." 

The last part wasn't exactly true, but she didn't need to know that. She probably didn't even know who that composer was. And anyway, she may not be as skilled but she was certainly much more fun to teach than Chopin. 

Meg gave him a serious look that he couldn't decipher. Then she clung like a koala onto his arm where it was around her shoulder, and held his hand. She turned his hand over and stared contemplatively at his palm like it held all the secrets of the universe. 

Her hands were warm and very human. Her nails were bitten down and had soil underneath them from gardening. 

She ran a finger lightly over a bumpy lightning scar and he shivered but didn't pull away. 

"Your dad did this?" she asked softly, looking at him with sad eyes older than her years. 

And there was something about the way she said "your dad" that made it feel like his heart was being stomped on. Maybe it was the fact that he had never called Zeus dad, or that there was something so human about the name dad and it was something he and Meg both longed for...

"Yeah," he swallowed anxiously. 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Apollo shook his head. 

"Okay," she whispered. 

He couldn't bear to burden her with his problems. She was only twelve. Just having her know his millennia-old secret was enough. Just having her understand was enough. There were some things he had to protect her from. 

He didn't know how much she knew of what happened to him, what Artemis told her, or what she might have figured out from the sky literally fighting the sun. It couldn't be hard to figure out the truth; that he was jumpy and shaky, that he had lightning burns, that he never talked about his father. And that it had been storming and the sun had risen in the middle of the night and there was a new Olympian god. 

But she didn't push him. They didn't talk about it. 

They soon moved onto other classics on the piano like When The Greeks Go Marching In and Grandma Got Run Over by a Pegasus. 

And if he secretly waved his hand to put a protection on Meg's flower crown so it would never die for as long as she lived, well that was no one else's business but his.