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Chapter Text

I can barely recall what it is like to not know the omnipresence of a god. His eyes, following my every move. His voice, echoing in my mind. His breath, caressing the back of my neck as I bow my head to pray. His warmth, brushing my skin. He has shadowed me all my life. The only thing he has denied me is his touch, his fingertips ghosting my cheek or his forehead pressed to mine. I have longed for it- for him- more than I could ever possibly describe.

I have known Apollo's never-ending presence for as long as I can remember. I knew him before I knew myself. I have always been meant for him, to dedicate my very being to serving the god who has placed visions in my eyes and prophecies in my ears. My loyalty is to my god alone. It is a notion few understand, a devotion few truly respect. Especially here.

Here.

I look around the quiet temple, built to mimic the ones of ancient times while still giving me a rather luxurious chamber to live in off the back of the temple. My lord has insisted upon my comfort, and he has gifted me the finery himself. I'm quite a fortunate woman.

Apollo asks very little of me. He only expects me to be faithful to him, to worship him as he deserves, and to use the knowledge I am given wisely. For all I am given in return, it is not much to ask. Of that, I am certain.

It's far more than my own mother has ever given me.

Aphrodite, the sea-born goddess of love and beauty, never seemed to care about me much. She gave me my powers, then she threw me to the wolves. I was rescued only due to the grace of Apollo. He saved me and made me his priestess, his oracle. Whispers say there was another, but the spirit of the oracle rejected her all the sudden one day and cast itself from her. I arrived, and it entered me.

I angered quite a few people only by existing, because the previous oracle’s friends believe my coming was a heralding of her loss of status and subsequent exile from camp. I am saddened for her, truly, but I cannot pity my fortune. I cannot regret finding favor in the rays of the sun. I cannot reject a destiny I never asked for but am eternally grateful to have been given.

I brush my fingertips over the foot of the cult image, a polished marble statue of the god I have dedicated my life to. I drape myself in sun iconography, gold dripping from my neck and circling my wrists and fingers. I have to all but force myself to leave the sanctuary of the temple.

I know I belong here. I know I have a place in this strange world, made of rewritten myths and gods walking among men. I have no doubt of that. I am not just a demigod; I am the Pythia.

Chapter Text

I live a life of paradoxes.

I am eternally grateful to have been found by Apollo, but at the same time, I am tortured by ever knowing he exists. I love so deeply it hurts, but I am cursed to love someone who will never want me. To the world around me, my words are sacred and holy, but to him, they are nothing, because he places them on my tongue. Men would die if they dared to harm me, but I live in constant agony.

I should not complain, truly. I'm blessed beyond measure. But if you've ever loved with your entire heart and known it was all for naught, perhaps you know the root of the poetry. I know this will all be worth it someday, when I walk the shores of Elysium in return for my ceaseless and faithful devotion, but right now, I can't help but feel I'm being tested.

Is it Mother who has decided I am her target now? Surely, she is well aware of the fact that I have sworn myself to my lord. I am not to marry, not to break my vows. I am dedicated to my god. In body or in spirit, he is the only husband I will ever know. I'm a priestess. Even Mother cannot interfere with me.

I pause my writing. I consider my position. I'm fortunate, and I know it. Being a priestess comes with many sacrifices, but all are worth it for the rewards that come along with the position. The gods cannot harm me. Monsters are far more hesitant to attack me, for they know I am under the protection of a god. Demigods know better than to lay a finger on me. Men will often not even look my way, for fear of triggering my lord's wrath.

I will gladly sacrifice the possibility of having a husband and promise my unending devotion if it means protection.

Mother will simply have to accept that I am beyond her reach. I am more than a plaything. I have a purpose.

I put my pen aside as I finish writing, and I close my diary. I place it on my bedside table, and I put my sandals on. I drape my golden veil over my braided and pinned-up hair, and I set out for breakfast. I've already performed my morning duties, so I have a bit of time.

Not much, of course, but...

The temple is nice. It sits on a hill that overlooks the rest of camp, and it's always the first thing hit by the rays of the morning sun. It's close to the center of camp, but the air is still quiet due to an enchantment placed over it. I don't often get visitors, since most people don't care to revere the gods more than they are forced, but that's alright. It leaves me to work in peace.

As I walk through camp, I try to ignore the eyes that linger on my frame. There are many. I twist a topaz ring around my finger as I make my way to the dining pavilion. I watch with a tinge of sadness as groups of friends, laughing and talking and joking, go to eat together. I envy them. I don't have that. I can't have that.

As soon as I find myself feeling that bitterness, I force it down. It isn't appropriate. I am lucky. To serve Apollo is an honor, and sacrifice is natural in such a position.

I am a priestess, I remind myself sternly, digging the ring on my finger into my palm. I serve a greater purpose. My life is not about me.

The mantra I have had seared into my mind all my life calms me. It centers me. Enough so that when I reach the pavilion and spot the Apollo cabin's table, I am able to swallow my nausea and ignore it with relative ease.

I am going to the head table to wait to be served my food, when I am suddenly stopped by a camper I don't recognize. He's a bit taller than me, with curly blond hair and bright green eyes. I stare at him, unamused.

"Hey," he grins. I don't reply. "I'm Hanson."

"A pleasure," I say emotionlessly, not pleased by being cornered by this man. "If you will excuse me-"

"And you are?" he ignores me, and I narrow my eyes. "I'm new, and I saw you come in. You're gorgeous. Different than everyone else, obviously, and I'm curious."

"Your curiosity will have to remain unsatisfied, I'm afraid," I say. I am desperately trying not to be horribly rude, but I'm getting irritated. "I would advise you not to pursue me. Excuse me."

I start to brush past him, when he suddenly catches my wrist. My entire body warms with panic and shock, and he jolts back as he yells out.

"What the hell did you do to me?" he demands, cradling his now-burnt hand to his chest.

"Oh my gods," Della, from the Demeter cabin, gasps in horror, hurrying over and grabbing onto her brother. "Hanson, you can't flirt with her. Cassia's a priestess."

I stare at him. I can't help but feel a tiny bit of satisfaction that Apollo watches over me even in such tiny moments.

"I did warn you," I say quietly. "I did nothing to you, but I serve the sun god. He's the one who punished you." I glance at his hand. "Perhaps the scar will serve as a reminder not to touch what's not yours."

As I walk away, I can't help but bitterly think, I belong to Apollo, but he does not belong to me. Another paradox.

I'm careful not to show the discontent that lingers beneath the surface of my skin. It's unfair of me, really, to be so selfish. To love a god is to put oneself in the path of suffering. I knew from the beginning I was giving myself to him, but I could never have him in return. It was naïve of me to believe I could resist the call of my heart. I might be half a god, but I am still half a human.

Exhausting, I think as I sit down at the head table, next to Chiron and across from Dionysus. Or, rather, Mr. D, as he prefers.

"Good morning, Cassia," Chiron smiles kindly to me. I return the smile.

"Good morning," I reply. A nymph brings me a plate of breakfast, with a goblet. I thank her quietly. I nod to Dionysus. "Mr. D."

"Priestess," he replies, tipping his Diet Coke at me in acknowledgment. "Heard from Apollo lately?"

"Not in about a week," I admit. I pick at my omelet. "Have you?"

He laughs as he shakes his head. "If anyone would, it'd be you, sunshine."

I blink. He's right. It brings me a tinge of pleasure to hear him say it, though. I nod.

I can't help but wonder when the day will come for me to meet my lord properly, face to face. I know it'll happen eventually, and I want it to, but part of me is afraid.

I'm afraid for everything to suddenly become real. I have spent my life contenting myself with loving a man- a god- I can never have. I'm terrified that if I meet him beyond visions and dreams, I'll be unable to remain content forever.

I have no choice, I remind myself. I've sworn myself to him.

I take a long drink from my goblet as I look out over the pavilion. My fingers ghost against the bow charm hanging from the bracelet on my wrist. I want nothing more than to leave, to go to the archery range and practice with the weapon. Apollo gifted it to me many years ago. Archery is my solace.

I feel strange as I look at the other demigods. Many of us are the same age- seventeen, though a few of us are eighteen- but we've had such different lives. We will continue to have such different lives. I see so much, and that knowledge...it's a heavy weight to carry.

But what other choice do I have? My fate has already been written.

Chapter Text

The archery range is quiet this morning, and for that, I'm grateful. My bow fits in my hand like an extension of my arm. It's my prized possession, carved from laurel wood grown at Delphi. It's polished smooth and has a comfortable leather grip, enchanted by Apollo to magically nock an arrow whenever the string is drawn. The arrows are triple-headed, made of steel, celestial bronze, and silver, able to kill any threat.

As I fire arrow after arrow into the target, I'm able to clear my mind. I focus solely on the task at hand. It's second nature for me at this point, after coming to camp when I was seven and training here for the past ten years in Apollo's name.

The marble on the floor before me glistens in the sunlight. The trumpets blaring reverberate in my bones, and the strum of the lyre haunts my heartbeat.

With every soundless footstep I make, my opalescent skirt brushes my skin. The silk is smooth and soft as rose petals, and it shines like the northern lights when sunbeams strike it through the temple walls. I pass statue after statue, though they are blurry in my peripheral. I catch a glance of a shimmering gossamer veil that is sat atop my elaborately-braided hair. The golden fabric is held in place by tiny jeweled hairpins.

I look only straight ahead after the realization hits me.

Voices echo in my mind alone. Prophecies of what was, what is, and what will be. I can't make any of them out. But as I walk, my footsteps suddenly begin to make noise. They fill the hall around me, bouncing off of every surface a thousand times.

I stop in front of the main chamber, and I stare up at the doors. My mind falls silent. Then, one sharp declaration, a promise from a voice I can't quite make out:

"You'll sever your own head."

I flinch as my fingertips release the arrow just as the vision releases me. I blink. Once, twice, three times. Trying to make sense of what I saw.

A temple. I was in a temple.  

A bullseye. I focus my thoughts.

I was made to look like a goddess.

Another. Centering my memories just like my arrow on the target.

A warning.

The arrow splits.

I lower my bow. I inspect my work and nod shallowly. Good. Good enough. I look down at my hands as I drop my bow, and it turns back to a charm on my bracelet. I spin my bracelet around my wrist and sigh.

I look up at the sky, and the sun warms me. It's an embrace from a god I know in my dreams, in my visions, in my breath, in the depths of my soul.

Though I don't have him, I find comfort in knowing that I have the sun. I have the same sun that has caressed this earth for countless years. I have the same sun that shines upon Delphi. I have the same sun that lit the skin of conquerors and empires. I have the same sun to which sacrifices were made thousands of years ago as it warmed the halls of sacred temples.

It is mine. It is all that is mine.

Without thinking, I reach for it. The golden light illuminates me, brushing across me like a breeze. It's a comfort. I will not burn.

"It is mine," I repeat my thoughts aloud, my whisper barely audible.

There's a rustling behind me, and I know I have been interrupted. I drop my hand, the moment broken. All at once, I feel myself closing off. I adjust my veil from how it came slightly askew during my practice, and I do not face the intruder.

Intruder, I scoff at myself and my audacity. This is not my property. Don’t think so highly of yourself, Cassia.

"I apologize," I hear from behind me, and his voice is as smooth as honey. I clench my jaw. "I didn't realize the space was occupied."

"Not all of it," I say stiffly as I realize the visitor- a much more neutral word choice- is a male. "Just this target."

"You're skilled," he notes.

"My lord has seen to it I was trained thoroughly," I state, drawing my bow once more. I will distract myself with archery. I always do, don't I?

"Your lord?" He sounds amused. As if I am a joke. As if Apollo is a joke. As if my position is a joke. I clench my jaw.

"I am a priestess of the sun god," I say, pride dripping from my tongue as I speak. I still do not turn. I fire an arrow. "You would do well not to approach me. My lord burnt the last man who dared to touch me."

"I am no ordinary man."

I bark out a laugh. "No. You are clearly far more arrogant than the rest." Another arrow. "I have sworn myself to my lord. Now, if you please, I would prefer to be left to my archery in silence."

I'm surprised when he honors my request. The only noise that fills the range is the twang of bowstrings, the quiet hum of flying arrows, and the metallic scraping of arrowheads against wood as he draws his from his quiver.

I think back to my vision. Some deep, innate part of me feels called to the temple through which I walked. I long for it. I crave the tradition and legacy. The musk of frankincense almost lingers on my skin. It's thick in the air, on my skin, woven through my hair.

It is an eternity, I think wistfully.

Eternity. What even is eternity? Spectered memories of holy oil and sacred flames. Persisting wafts of burning incense clinging to silken robes and golden crowns. Echoing visions of footsteps on marble and whispered prayers in languages now meant for gods alone.

Eternity.

Multi-faceted, sharp-edged shattered glass that reflects hidden memories of the past and shadowed promises of the future.

Eternity.

It is dizzying to think of endlessness. It feels both right within my reach and just beyond my fingertips, settled in my soul and echoed with every heartbeat. Most people cannot fathom infinity, but I am not most people. I breathe in the aether of the gods but exhale the same as any other. I am trapped in the in-between. It's another consequence of my duality that is not quite mortal but not quite divine. Even so, I know divinity like it is my reflection.

All I am, all I ever will be...it is laid at the feet of the sun. I am nothing without my duty. And as I reap the benefits just as I sow the consequences, I cannot help but wonder what if? Eternity is within a breath of my flesh, and if I were another woman, I would give into temptation and claim it.

A lesser woman would seize the golden reigns of timelessness. A greater woman would never even consider it.

Yet another cage in which I have found myself trapped, I suppose.

Eternity.

I bite from the apple, giving into the slightest of temptations, and I turn just as I realize the field has fallen silent. No more arrows. No more bowstrings. Only quiet.

My heart stutters in my chest as my eyes lock with the man who has come and intercepted my peace. Time slows.

I would know such radiance anywhere. I would know it in my sleep, in life and in death, as intimately as I know the breath in my lungs. I fall to my knees as my world suddenly combusts in glorious light and collapses in the chaos of destiny arriving.

Chapter Text

Looking at him feels like resurrection. I'm certain this sensation is what courses through the veins of the resurrected, brought from the grave and hoisted back to life. To see him is to look into the sun, burning and life-giving and painfully beautiful. Too beautiful for mortal eyes to gaze upon for more than a heartbeat without risking blindness. It's a sacrifice I would gladly make if I could stay in this moment forever.

"My lord," I whisper like a prayer.

My bones have become an iron weight that has me unable to move from the grass. Why would I ever want to break this spell?

The way he looks at me breathes life into my soul. I cannot bring myself to tear my eyes away. I have waited so, so long for this. I'm selfish; I cannot allow myself to be deprived of even a moment of his beauty, his power- him.

"My priestess," Apollo murmurs fondly. He reaches out to me and smooths his hand over my veiled hair. I nearly feel my spirit leave my body as he touches me. "My prophet. I've been watching you."

"Truly?" I breathe. He nods. Just once, but it's enough.

I have never seen him, but he has been here, I realize, and I take comfort beyond words in the knowledge.

"The-" I choke on my racing heart and close my eyes as my words are cut short. "The offerings," I force out. "They're sufficient?"

I want nothing more than to take his hand that rests on my head, to feel his skin against mine so it might be irrefutable proof he's real. But I couldn't. I can't.

I won't.

"More than," Apollo replies in a quiet voice. "I intend on remaining here, Cassia. At least for a little while."

I can barely breathe as the weight of his words hits me. I blink up at him, stunned.

"You'll stay?" I whisper. He nods. "My lord, why now? Why have you come to me? Today?"

It isn't my place to question him, but I can't force myself into silence. I have to know.

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he carefully helps me to my feet. I self-consciously spin my ring around my finger as he watches me. A thousand unknown emotions dance in his eyes.

"Your fate is coming for you, little prophet," the god finally says, and a chill runs down my spine. "I want to be there when it arrives."

I open and close my mouth, but no sounds escape. My fate? Apollo is my fate. I don't understand.

"Now," he says and offers me his arm, "I do believe we have a great deal to discuss."

•••••

Sitting across from Apollo in his temple is a luxury I never even dared to pray for. My heart is racing in my chest, and the rush of my own blood in my ears is deafening.

He is real. 

I have taken comfort from his statue for as long as I can remember. I have made myself whole in the rituals I dedicate to him with the rise of every sun and every moon. I have bathed in the ecstasy that comes from knowing I have found freedom in duty and faith alone.

And now, he is here.

If the fates were kinder, I would fear this to be nothing more than a dream. If I were braver, I would reach out and grasp his wrist just to feel his pulse. If worlds didn't separate us, I would tell him how utterly devoted I am to him and him alone.

But I know my place.

I have done this long enough. I have echoed the prophecies he has whispered in my ears for far too long. I know better. I might be his, but he is not mine. He is a god, and I am nothing but his priestess. I hold a place in his eyes high enough to warrant his attention and protection, but never his affection. It is what it is.

It is what it is, I remind myself, too sternly for it to be masked as friendly or gentle.

"Are you afraid of your fate?" Apollo asks me.

I blink. I had not expected him to ask me a question. My eyes drift to the altar laid out with offerings, then to the perfectly-polished statue. I shake my head.

"No," I reply truthfully. "I have watched the winds of fate blow all my life. How can I fear something I know so well?"

Apollo says nothing. He only watches me with an unreadable expression.

"What if it told of your death?"

I swallow. I struggle with my lingering mortality. It is the harshest of lines drawn between me and Apollo. It is the boundary I can never reach across.

"Death will come to me eventually. I can't stop it," I murmur. Much as I'd like to, I add mentally, and the bitterness in my thoughts tastes sharp in the back of my throat.

A question crosses my mind. I clear my throat quietly.

"My mother," I murmur. Apollo raises his eyebrows. "Has she...Am I..." I sigh. "Have I disappointed her?"

Apollo flinches back at the question. He frowns deeply.

"Why would you think that?" he demands, appalled. I swallow. My throat is like sandpaper.

"I have never so much as received a dream from her, let alone met her or been given the smallest gift," I say, and I wince as my voice cracks. "Though I don't speak with them often, I know many of my half-siblings have gained her affections. I just, I only wanted to make sure she isn't- I don't know- displeased with me, I suppose."

I want to kick myself for rambling like a moron in front of Apollo, but I can't help it. His very presence is so utterly calming and inviting. It encourages humiliating honesty and humbling vulnerability.

"Aphrodite is..." he trails off. "She's fickle, Cassia. It is no reflection on you."

"I suppose," I murmur. I twist my ring around my finger. Quieter, "I...I would like to thank you, my lord."

Apollo furrows his eyebrows. "Thank me? For what?"

I lower my eyes. If I look at him while I pour out my heart, I would never be able to manage a word.

"For choosing me," I say softly. I let out a breath. "For naming me your prophet. I...I have found a home in my duty, my lord."

"You don't regret confining yourself at such a young age? At sealing your destiny so early in life?"

I shake my head, immediately replying, "No. Never."

Whatever I might regret, I wish I could say, I could never bring myself to regret choosing you.

Chapter Text

The life of a prophet is lonely. It has always demanded certain sacrifices, for as long as the gods have offered such a position. That hasn't changed just because I live amongst demigods. Maybe it has gotten even worse, truthfully. Their bitterness at the gods' abandonment clouds their judgment.

They either see me as a pawn of Olympus or as a weapon. I am no longer a person.

I cannot resent the concept too deeply, I suppose. I chose this life the moment I swore myself to Apollo. I have traded normality for a pipeline to the gods. I have handed away my humanity in exchange for visions and prophecies and dreams.

If my fate is coming, I will welcome it with open arms. I make the decision firmly, and as I burn the scented resin, I know my mind won't be changed. I sit back on my heels, knelt before the ornately-carved altar. This is where I belong. This is my prophecy.

There's a pit in my stomach as I watch the curls of smoke. For as long as I have lived, this was all I had. Smoke and oil and incense and wine- those were the ways in which I caught glimpses of Apollo. Now, even though my dedication has not faltered, there's an emptiness inside of me as I watch the offering burn. I can see him in the flesh now, and this substitute is no longer enough.

Was it ever?

The doubt creeping in reminds me that I am mortal. If I were enough, I would never even question it. I close my eyes, biting back a groan. No matter how hard I try...

"Little prophet," I hear Apollo call as he enters the temple.

I know his voice now, I think. The thought is almost inconceivable.

His footsteps fill the room. I scramble to my feet and face him, bowing my head. He huffs.

"None of that," Apollo scolds me lightly, gently. I nearly pass out when I suddenly feel his fingers under my chin, tilting my head up so our eyes may meet. He smiles. "Better." He hums as he reaches to play with the hem of my veil, rubbing the thin fabric between his fingers. "You don't need to wear this around me. You know that, right?"

A chill runs down my spine at the tenderness in his voice. I swallow the lump in my throat. I nod shallowly.

"I suppose I never thought of it," I admit. "I wear it for you. I know you prefer it."

He nods in agreement. "Around others, yes. You are mine. A woman of status. This is a mark of that," he says. "An ancient tradition, perhaps, but a tradition nonetheless. But when it's only us," he pauses, "I would like you to be comfortable."

Apollo then offers me his arm, shocking me. "Come. It's time to eat. I'll take you somewhere better tomorrow, but for tonight, I need to speak with Chiron."

I blink at him, stunned. He wants me to touch him? To hold onto him?

"I don't bite," he teases. I feel my entire chest and face burn in a blush, and I quickly grasp onto his arm.

He's strong, I can't help but note, feeling the muscles under his skin.

Suddenly, his words register: "Somewhere better?" I repeat, confused. Apollo grins and nods.

"You are my oracle. You deserve finery," he says, as if it should be obvious.

Oracle...I think, my mind wandering. Yes. That is all I am.

"Where will we go?" I ask, forcing my thoughts to go blank.

"That," Apollo beams, "is a surprise, little one! You'll be happy, though."

Happy. Happy, happy, happy.

I don't remember true, unadulterated happiness. I can only recall loneliness and longing. Contentment too, yes, but never happiness. The realization only just strikes me. And I know I have no one but myself to blame. I have condemned myself never to be loved. A daughter of Aphrodite left alone in the world is a terrible tragedy.

Doves mate for life, but I am left alone. I have chosen my soul's half, but it is left perpetually cracked.

Never knowing him at all would have been better than seeing what I can't ever have, I decide. I would have contented myself with attending his statues for the rest of my life, without hesitation. But now...

Nothing could ever compare. And it's heartbreaking.

"My lord, have you really been watching all this time? I know when someone makes me uncomfortable, or touches me, or...you're there to protect me, but..." I trail off as we walk to dinner, distracting myself from my thoughts. My cheeks flush after I finish the question.

It's stupid. I sound needy and pathetic. Why would he-

"Yes," he says. My mouth goes dry. "Every moment of every day, Cassia."

My eyes meet Apollo's, and my heart throbs in my chest.

"You mean that," I realize, stunned. He smiles softly.

"I do," he agrees. "You are never alone. Never."

You are never alone. Never alone. Never alone. Never.

His voice echoes in my mind. I have assumed one way or the other, I have figured he might 'tune in' a few times a day, but...this? I didn't expect it. I didn't expect such devotion from a god. From the god I serve.

Never alone.

I smile at Apollo, but inside, I wish his words would be more reassuring to me than they actually end up being.

•••••

I will be the first to say that I don't care for any opinion but Apollo's. I've never wondered about or mourned my reputation amongst the other demigods.

The oracle thief. The priestess blessed with the gifts of Apollo. The seer of the end times. The fanatic. The religious zealot. The delusional godswife. Orchestrator of the winds of fate.

I have been called everything and then some. And I have never cared. Their opinions are meaningless to me. But what puts me on edge is the way the air shifts as everyone sees me enter on a man's arm.

"What a fucking hypocrite," I hear someone scoff. I clench my jaw. I intend on ignoring it.

Apollo doesn't have those same intentions, evidently.

He freezes, and I nearly fall at the sudden halt of movement. Apollo steadies me, before he turns to face the girl who insulted me. I shuffle backward and out of the way.

"Say it again."

My blood runs cold at how sharp, how furious his voice sounds. I can't look away from him. I see in this moment the god of the Trojan War, whose command brought death to countless Greeks. I see the god who rewove fate and aided Hector in striking down Patroclus. I see the god whose pride and rage were responsible for the fall of Troy. I see the god who directed Paris' arrow and pierced the flesh of Achilles.

I am realizing for the first time just how truly lucky I am to have his favor and not his fury.

"And who the hell are you?" the girl laughs. She sounds nervous. I vaguely recognize her. One of my half-siblings, I think. C- something. Cecilia? Sure.

"I am Apollo," he snarls, stalking forward, and the camp falls silent, "and you will show my prophet the respect she is due."

Cecilia's face goes deathly pale at the revelation.

"Now apologize," he commands, his eyes flashing.

She quickly looks to me, her eyes wide. She's shaking. I force back a rueful smile.

"I'm sorry, okay?" she spits out. "I- I didn't know! You're just- so strict about men, and then to see you with- I'm sorry."

I look her up and down, unimpressed. Is she really trying to make excuses?

"Be grateful my lord is generous and merciful," I say quietly, deciding to speak neutrally and evenly. "If he were not, I'd be afraid for you."

With that, I turn and stalk to the high table. I won't be playing along. I don't want to serve as a marvel for the siblings who have named me an other.

I am not one of them. I will never be. I am a daughter of the goddess of love who will never be loved.

None of my half siblings know what to make of me or what to do with me. I'm set apart. I did it to myself, so I can't complain, but I made my choice when I was so young. I don't regret it; I could never regret Apollo. Not for as long as I live. But that doesn't mean I cannot ever get lonely or wonder what could have been.

I take my usual seat, and I find Dionysus- Mr. D., I remind myself again- staring at me. He is stunned.

"He's here," he says lowly. I swallow roughly and nod.

"He is," I reply, my voice soft. My eyes find Apollo's form without meaning to.

"This is the first time you've properly seen him," Chiron remembers. I nod again, shallowly.

"Yes," I whisper. I can't bring myself to look away from him, not from this angle. Not when I feel free to watch him.

He is...gods, he's ethereal. If angels existed, he would be one. He radiates a soft sunlight, and his smile is brighter than a thousand suns as he talks to his children. I realize, vaguely, that they are all older. My age or older. There are no younger children seated at Cabin 7's table.

Huh.

I don't realize I've zoned out until Apollo is sitting down next to me. He pulls his chair closer to mine, almost as if it's instinctual.

"Hello, little one," Apollo says happily, smiling warmly down at me. To the others, "Chiron, Dion."

My lips flicker at Dion. It's almost silly, to give a god a nickname. It makes me happy in a strange way, because the notion makes Apollo feel more human. More real.

More mine.

"Apollo," Chiron smiles.

"Brother," Mr. D. nods. "I have to ask, what brought you here all of the sudden? Couldn't be the weather."

Apollo very obviously looks over at me. He then- very obviously- wraps his arm around my shoulders, and I quite noticeably stop breathing for a moment.

"I wanted to see my priestess," he says, as if it should be obvious.

"Right," Mr. D. drags it out. "Of course."

Chiron gives him a sidelong look, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. I swear, I will be dead on my feet soon enough.

Chapter Text

If I thought dinner with Apollo was strange, the campfire at his side is downright bizarre.

I am stuck in some midpoint between bliss and bewilderment, and I don't quite know what I should feel. The oracle within me knows I am blessed beyond measure for being bestowed even a moment of my god's time, let alone his full attention and presence for this long. The demigod within me, however, is suspicious, though. And afraid.

The gods coming out to play is never a harbinger of anything but chaos and pain.

Then again, when has Apollo ever caused me anything but pain? I reason with myself as I stare into the flames. He has never meant to, I'm certain, but he has all the same. I'm more than pleased with the lot I have been given in life by the Fates, but at the same time, I curse them for the love I have been made to hold for a man who will never return it.

It is nothing short of torture.

"Little one, you're being awfully quiet tonight," Apollo observes from my side. His body radiates heat. I jolt a little at the sound of his voice addressing me, and I look up at him, my eyes as reverent as ever. He tucks my hair behind my ear under my veil. "What is it?"

I avert my eyes. "Nothing, my lord."

"Cassia, have you forgotten I'm the god of truth?" he asks with a raise of his eyebrows. "I can tell when you're lying."

I swallow the lump in my throat. I twist my ring around my finger, a nervous habit, and try to avoid concentrating on the lingering sparks left upon my skin from his touch. I pull my robes closer to me.

"Nothing I'm ready to discuss," I correct myself. It's not a lie, technically speaking. Apollo observes me a moment longer before humming quietly. He nods.

"Very well," he gives in. I nearly sigh in relief when he doesn't push any further, though I doubt this conversation is over for good.

I nearly jump out of my skin when Apollo suddenly wraps his arm around me, pulling me into his side. I could not pull away even if I wanted to, not really, but I don't want to. I feel protected from everything and anything this world could ever throw at me as I sit under his arm, and I feel more than a few eyes burning into me as he sits as if he has not just made the statement of the century. A claim. He is not mine, no, but I am most certainly, undeniably, irrevocably his.

When I am absolutely certain my eyes are no longer the size of dinner plates, I slowly lift them from the ground and look around the crowd surrounding us. There are so many demigods of many different ages. It only serves to further remind me of my mortality. Time is passing me by, further separating me from Apollo. Soon, it will take me from him entirely, and what then? He will forget about me, and I will be nothing. Ashes in the wind and a wandering soul in the Underworld, perhaps lingering in Elysium, if I am fortunate.

But, what is truly worse? Forgetting all that was or being left to remember all that could have been?

"Dad, Dad!"

I freeze at the teenager that runs up, a girl a few months older than me. I vaguely recognize her. She's one of the younger campers in Apollo's cabin. He's one of the only gods without any young children in his cabin, now that I think of it. Still, as I see her, my heart constricts painfully, and I force myself to tune out of whatever she might be saying to Apollo.

I try to avoid his cabin. It's immature of me, certainly, and it reflects my human nature, definitely, but I despise thinking of Apollo's children. I hate being reminded of them. It hurts so deeply that I cannot bear to even recall the fact that they exist, if I can help it. It's selfish to make it about myself, but their existence only reminds me that I will never be enough for him.

I cannot give him a child, for more reasons than I can count. He will never see me as a woman he could love, only as a pet to be protected.

I am not what he deserves, I think bitterly as his arm begins to feel like a lead weight on my shoulders. Yet, even still, I could not force myself to shake it off even if I wanted to.

•••••

We return back to the temple, and I am suddenly struck with a bout of confusion. Where might he go?

"My lord," I begin hesitantly. Apollo immediately faces me, giving me his full attention. "I- The temple, there is only one room. I was wondering where you might stay. Here, or perhaps in the Big House, or if you were planning on going back-"

Apollo gives me a bright smile as he snaps his fingers. Suddenly, a door appears next to mine as the building adjusts magically for the extra space. I blink, surprised at the easy, effortless display of power.

"Oh," I say dumbly. I want to smack myself.

"I told you. I'm staying," he reminds me, offering a smile. If I were delusional, I'd dare to suggest it held some level of fondness.

"Of course," I say quickly. I remember that I'm still wearing my veil, and I carefully remove it, following his earlier instructions. I swallow the nerves rising in my chest as I try to smooth my hair down. "Right. Um, well, it is quite late. I- I should sleep, my lord. Yes?"

He smiles gently and inclines his head. "Of course. Good night, little prophet."

I feel my cheeks heat up at the gentleness of his tone. I bow my head, avoiding eye contact.

"Good night, my lord," I mumble, and I dart for my room.

I have never been more grateful to shut the door behind me in my life. I press my back to it, my heart racing. I cannot think straight. Apollo- what happened today? He is here. He- He has touched me. He is sleeping in the room next to me.

There can be no other explanation: I'm about to die.

Nothing like this ever happens in the myths unless the hero is about to die or nearly die. So that must be the logical conclusion here. Some horrible prophecy is about to come, and I am going to be caught up in it, and I will more than likely end up dead.

Oh my gods, I think frantically. I'm not ready to die yet! I'm not even eighteen! Just another month- please, can't I just live another month? Oh, no, who will tend to Apollo's statues when I'm dead? And leave his offerings? And burn the incense? No one here knows how to do it right, so the temple will fall into disrepair, and- ah, I'm so utterly fucked.

I smack my forehead as I groan loudly, my head falling into my hands. There's no way this is fair. But when is anything? Was it fair of the Fates to damn me to a life of risk and danger by making me be born a demigod? Was it fair of Apollo to make me choose my destiny as a child? Was it fair of my Mother to decide my heart is her favorite plaything?

No. None of it is fair. Nothing in this life is fair. So why do I still think I have the right to complain?

Clarity of mind is both a blessing and a curse, I suppose.

I strip off my garments, wanting nothing more at the moment than to be free of my finery and to be equal with everyone else. I never crave this for long. I'm typically quite happy to be set apart in my niceties. But in moments like this, when the weight is a bit too much of a burden to bear, it's nice to forget for a bit. So I take it all off, I undo my hair, and I sink into the bathtub filled with scented oils and steaming water. It burns my skin cherry-red, but I can't bring myself to care.

I never would have imagined Apollo coming into my life in the flesh would have brought upon such an internal crisis. I suppose, before, he was nothing but a figure, a dream, a wish. Now, he is real. I am reminded of everything I absolutely cannot have. Dreams and prayers and offerings will no longer be enough to satisfy my longing, I fear. And I am terrified of what that might mean for me.

As the night drags on, I finally drag myself out of the bath and into bed, but I cannot sleep. Not yet. Instead, I lay awake. There is a sharp pain inside my chest, and I feel a piercing, innate hatred for what I am.

Aphrodite, I want to scoff, bitterness rising in my throat. How can she be my mother, when love has only brought me pain?

It is pathetic, truly. A daughter of the goddess of love who will never be loved. A daughter of the goddess of pleasure who will always be left unfulfilled. A daughter of the goddess of passion who will never know true intensity.

Pathetic.

I wonder if life would be easier if I lived in ignorant bliss, never knowing any of this world existed. No, I know for certain life would be easier if that were the case. But, then again, I would never have known the glory that is Apollo. I would have gone all my life without knowing the beauty of worshiping him, of hearing his voice as he whispers prophecies to me, of feeling the heat of the sun and knowing it is him in truth.

At the end of the day, I would take this pain ten thousand times over just to know him once.

Chapter Text

Songs turned prayers turned war cries. A distorted voice pleas for sanctuary, for the gods not to turn away as they are so wont to do. Service is sacrifice, and loyalty is an offering that is expected but not appreciated. The statue is shaking as arms cling to it. Cries echo, begging not to be abandoned as Cassandra once was. Stones fall. A scream pierces the air.

I wake in a daze. I feel as though I am breathing through smoke, the air thick and uncomfortable. I gasp for oxygen. My lungs constrict painfully, and I squeeze my eyes shut as I dig my nails into my palms.

"Γαμώτο," I curse, irritated. I run my hand down my face.

I hate waking up to visions. They cause horrid headaches.

I stare blankly at the mural-painted ceiling.

Nothing good comes from loving a god, I think idly. Nothing good comes from the gods showing their faces.

I would stay in bed if I could, but I can't. I have things to do, rituals to conduct, incense to burn. So I get dressed as methodically as always, this time in a burnt orange dress and matching set of robes. I braid my hair and pin it up with a golden comb before draping my veil over my head. The cloth-of-gold glitters in the sunlight that streams into the room.

I put on my jewels, my body dripping in finery and luxury. Perhaps priestesses are meant to live humbly, but not me. Apollo has seen to it I have only the best. I don't know if gems and gold and silk replace love, but it will have to be enough.

I leave my room and find the temple silent. Good. He is still sleeping then. I should be left to tend the statue in peace.

It feels odd, worshiping Apollo as he sleeps in the next room. But I do my duty. I light the incense, filling the chamber with the scent of frankincense and myrrh. I pour the aged, honeyed wine into the gilded goblet embossed with sun motifs. I place the wine upon the altar, next to fresh olive oil.

I kneel upon the marble, and I sit back on my heels. I bow my head and begin to pray, the ancient Greek flowing off my tongue effortlessly. I sing Apollo's praises, I call to him as he who sees all, the radiant one, the wanderer, the healer. He is endless. He is eternity.

The smoke is holy, purifying my lungs as I breathe it in. It cleanses the cult image that already radiates with power. The altar the objects rest upon nearly glows in the sunlight, and my skin is warmed as it brushes against the stone.

For a few fleeting moments, everything is as it should be.

His voice pierces the silence like a gunshot, very nearly knocking me over. I flinch, closing my eyes even tighter.

"Almost done, are you?"

I swallow roughly and carefully force myself to my feet. I face Apollo, bowing my head.

"I just finished, my lord," I murmur. "Are you pleased?"

He smiles. "I am. You are the most wonderful priestess a god could ask for, Cassia. I mean that."

I blink. I can scarcely breathe as I stare at him. A compliment such as that from a god?

"Now," he says, clapping his hands. I flinch a little at the sudden noise. "I have some gifts for you!"

"Gifts," I repeat dumbly. He grins as bright as the sun itself and nods.

"Of course. I would be a horrid patron indeed if I didn't give my very deserving priestess gifts," he says, as if it should be obvious.

"I do not require gifts," I say hesitantly. He laughs.

"Which is exactly why you're all the more fun to shower luxuries upon," he retorts with a grin. "First," he begins, and a new veil appears in his hands. It is dark purple, shimmering with snake and sun embroidery upon its hem. He smiles widely as he offers it to me. "The Pythia wore a purple veil in the old days. I thought you might like one of your own."

It flows through my fingers like water, soft and fine and priceless.

"Thank you," I say sincerely. It was a thoughtful gesture.

"And," a wave of his hand, and a polished wooden chest appears before the statue, "I think you shall like these, as well."

I give him a curious look before I kneel to open the chest. My eyes widen when I see what is before me. A golden collar embedded with massive emeralds sits first, as well as several thick golden rings, some with emeralds or sunlit topazes and some engraved with scenes and symbols from mythology. Next is a long necklace of stunning natural pearls, black as night, with a medal of a golden snake, a few pearls hanging from it, and a final charm of an ornate sun.

"To focus your prayers and rituals and whatnot," Apollo helpfully supplies. "It works for some, I've heard. Either way, it will make for a beautiful necklace. And I've enchanted it for protection."

"It's lovely," I murmur, dazed. "More than, really."

I'm mesmerized by it. I'm used to being showered in gems and silks by Apollo, but for him to do it to my face? It feels almost intimate. It is nearly too much.

And then, then- the crowns. I have been granted headpieces by him before. It is not new to me. But these...

Gods.

I reach for the first with shaky hands. It looks like it is meant for a queen or a goddess, not me, not a half-mortal priestess who has little claim to anything but the visions sent her way by the god to whom she has declared herself. The arced lunate crown of polished gold is embossed with garnets and appears to belong on the head of a sacred statue, a cult image worthy of sacrifice. It does not belong on my head.

Yet, Apollo clearly disagrees because he gently takes it from me.

"Allow me," he says quietly.

He moves my veil out of the way before carefully placing the stephane on my head, tucked amongst my piled-on, elaborate braids. He places my veil back behind the crown, kept in place by the piece.

"Perfect," the god murmurs, his touch lingering. His eyes burn into mine. He is far too close. I can feel his breath on my skin.

"There-" I stammer, fearing his closeness and what might come of it and its inability to be undone, "there is another, I believe."

He traces my cheekbone. "There is," he says softly, distractedly. I am trying not to shake.

I want it, but not like this.

"Would you like to see it?" he inquires. I nod quickly, thanking every god that might inhabit Olympus and the Underworld and everywhere in-between.

He smiles as if something is funny before he fetches the circlet from the chest, the final jeweled good. It is made of thin braided gold ropes and studded with polished opals and ivory pearls. My heart stutters in my chest when I realize what it echoes: a wedding headdress, though perhaps more extravagant than is typically worn.

He offers it to my quivering hands, smaller than his own and less sure but capable all the same. I grasp onto it, and it is stunning. It reminds me of the sunlight on the waves. As the thought strikes me, a brief flash of heartache hits at the reminder of my mother's oceanic origins and how I am nothing but a disappointment to her. A daughter of the goddess of love, destined to love but never to be loved in return, meant to give herself to someone who will never fully accept her- it's a pathetic destiny.

But it's mine. For better or worse, it's mine. And I regret many things in my life, but I will never regret choosing Apollo as my fate.

"Are you happy then?" Apollo asks, and the hope seeps out of him like blood from a dying soldier.

I smile up at him and dare to reach for his fingers. It's bold, to touch a god, but I cannot keep myself away in this moment. His skin nearly electrifies mine as we touch, searing my flesh and burning me from the inside out in the best way. He holds onto me tightly, like a lifeline.

"I am," I say truthfully, aware he would know if I lied. I avoid speaking my hesitations and reservations, but I am, overall, happy. And serving him does make me happy, even if it is also the cause of my hauntings and grief. My lips twitch up. "Being chosen by you is the greatest honor I could have been given, my lord."

His expression falters a bit at that. Apollo, he has not yet looked like this in my presence. It's worrying to see him so...cracked.

"No," Apollo says, and his voice is barely audible. He reaches for my hand and idly fixes one of my rings, perhaps a nervous tick of his. "To be chosen by you is my honor, Cassia."

His crystal blue eyes look up at me suddenly, and I flinch. His eyes have changed, have become tinged with gold. He tightens his hold on me. It becomes desperate.

How I wish he was holding me, touching me in this way in a different scenario.

"I have seen so many endings, Cassia," he whispers. He's shaking now. His eyes water. He shudders. I'm growing frightened. To see a god break is unnerving. It's haunting. I grab onto his wrist with my other hand.

"Apollo," I say gently. "Breathe. It's alright," I say, thinking quick on my feet. I drag my fingers up his arm to his neck. His pulse- I didn't know gods had a pulse- is racing.

"C-Cassia," Apollo stammers, looking at me with wide eyes. He takes the hand he holds and moves it to his cheek. I swallow. Okay. This is- This is very close. "It is so much."

If someone saw us, with my hands on his neck and face, and his desperate hold on me, it would appear, well, intimate. Far too intimate to be appropriate.

"I know it is," I murmur, my heart breaking for the weight he bears. "If anyone knows, it's me. But I need you to be present, Apollo. You need to be here. With me."

"But your ending..." he continues as if I had not spoken, as if prophecy has grasped ahold of him. My blood runs cold. My hand freezes on his face. His eyes stare into mine, crystal blue fires burning holes into the depths of my very soul.

"I have not seen it. And I fear more than anything the day I do. I have endured more than you could imagine, little prophet. But that? Losing you? I could not survive it."

Chapter Text

I could not survive it.

I could not survive it.

I could not survive it.

What does it take to kill a god? Evidently, the fall of his prophet.

It is startling, unnerving, unmasking. I have never believed I meant a great deal to Apollo. I figured I was important enough in a certain sense, in the way a personal secretary might be to the head of a corporation: necessary, but ultimately expendable. I believed his gifts and accommodations were to ensure his own status was reflected well, not to necessarily shower me in gifts or to serve as signs of any affection.

I am starting to think I was wrong.

I walk to the pier in silence, deep in thought. I never would have guessed I could mean anything of such value to a god, much less to my god. My Apollo. The god I love with all my heart, all my soul, all my blood and bones and everything else within me. I always assumed that because my mother seemed not to want me, I was lucky Apollo did. But all this time, he has felt lucky that I chose to pledge myself to him.

Why?

I cannot make sense of it. I'm nothing special. I'm just another daughter of Aphrodite. I have no fantastic lineage. I can't piece it together.

"Hey!" I hear a friendly voice say, coming up from the side.

I look over warily. It's a boy my age. I subconsciously pull my veil closer and stand taller.

"I- I don't mean to bother you," he stammers nervously. He's not quite able to keep eye contact, too unsure of himself. He takes a quick look at me. "Uh, I'm Nathan. And you're the priestess, right? You serve Apollo?"

I nod curiously. He doesn't seem rude or arrogant. I'll indulge him. For now.

"Yes," I reply cautiously. "What can I do for you?"

He swallows roughly and glances quickly at his arm, then again at me.

"I got injured," he says. "In training earlier. The nectar wouldn't work." He rolls up his sleeve and reveals a thick, blood-stained bandage wrapped around his forearm. "C-Could you- or, would you be willing to heal me?" His throat bobs. He looks at me with hopeful gray eyes. "My sister said Apollo gave you the ability to heal."

Something about him makes me pity him. Maybe it's the fear that seems to have taken root so deeply, maybe it's the injury itself. I don't know. But he is showing proper respect, and it is the duty of a priestess to serve her god. This is a way for me to do that. So I nod shallowly.

"Of course," I reply quietly, and I take a hesitant step closer to him. I unwind his bandage with gentle, nimble fingers. I can't hold back my wince as I see the gash. It should have been stitched.

"I know. It's bad," Nathan mutters. "I should have let them stitch it, but I'm terrified of needles."

I crack a smile as I glance up at him. "I am too," I admit. He smiles at that.

"Alright," I murmur. "This might tingle a bit, probably feel a little hot, but it shouldn't hurt."

I place my hand over his injury, close my eyes, and whisper, in ancient Greek, "In the name of my lord Apollo, be healed."

I feel a warmth in my skin as the magic flows from my body and wraps around his flesh to sew him back together. I keep my eyes closed, focusing, until the heat fades, and I know it has worked. I lift my hand, revealing nothing but a thin, white scar. Nathan goes pale with shock.

"It worked," he states numbly.

"It did," I agree, pleased with myself.

"Oh my gods," he laughs out of sheer relief. "Thank you!"

I smile, soft and mildly amused. "You're welcome. I'm glad I could help."

I expect him to leave now, but he doesn't. Instead, he lingers. I don't quite understand why. I glance over at him warily.

"What's it like?" he asks suddenly, rocking from his heels to his toes and back again. I blink. "Being a priestess, I mean. Or a prophet or an oracle or whatever else you are," he grins

Oh.

This is...odd.

I'm not accustomed to talking with others like this. Especially not men. But...there isn't any harm, I suppose. He isn't being inappropriate. He's keeping his distance. He isn't disrespecting my lord.

"All apply," I say slowly, unable help my slight, amused smile. "It is an honor. I have a deep love for what I do. There are some downsides, of course, as with anything, but I am still very, very fortunate."

"Are visions strange? Or do you get used to them?"

"You're very inquisitive."

"My mom's Athena," he shrugs. That explains it, I think. "I can't help myself."

His questions are less strange now. He can't necessarily help his curiosity. So I ponder what he has asked.

"Well," I start, thinking, "I suppose it depends." I look out over the water. "If it is more cryptic, yes, it can be quite unsettling. And most visions are at least in part in need of deciphering.

"But some are more straightforward and less...uncomfortable, I guess." I shrug. "Either way, I've gotten used to it. My mind hasn't belonged to me alone in years. My eyes, my voice- they now exist to tell the future. I made that choice when I chose Apollo."

I remember that day so clearly, despite only being a child. I remember being so desperate for love. I remember longing to belong somewhere, anywhere, to anyone. I prayed to any god that would listen. And Apollo responded.

"I will open your eyes to the future. I will make your touch golden. I will protect you and cherish you and teach you. I will make you my priestess and oracle for all your days, if only you choose it and choose me alone."

His voice was like honey, the sweetest sound I'd ever heard. He promised me salvation. My father didn't want me. He called me an abomination, a curse, a demon, the bastard daughter who kept him from Heaven. But Apollo offered me value and a future. I chose my fate that day and never looked back.

"So few of us ever get to have any say in our fate," I murmur distantly, my eyes fixated on the water. "Apollo offered me the chance to choose. And I did."

"Do you ever regret it?" Nathan asks curiously. I twist one of my rings slowly around my finger. I shake my head ever so slightly.

"You can never regret what saved you."

•••••

I try to drown out the screams and curses. Father yells that my mother was a witch and temptress, a pagan goddess sent by Satan to deceive him and seduce him. He blames me. He says I cursed him. I am a demon created to ruin him, to keep him from ever entering paradise. When he is damned to Hell, it will be I who greets him at the burning shores of the lake. Or so he says.

I don't know what he's talking about. Only that his abuse hurts, both when he strikes my body and when he lashes out with his words. My stepmother tells me I ruined my father's life. She tells me I'm meant to be nothing better than a whore like my mother. I don't know what that means.

When I'm offered a chance to leave, when the voice who offers to save me speaks, when I am presented with deliverance on a silver platter, I run. I leave in the night, and I don't look back. I'm small enough that I stay out of sight from anyone who might question a child traveling on her own. I'm never reported missing.

"Cassia?"

I blink. I look up at Chiron, who is staring at me from across the breakfast table with a strange look.

"You have new jewels," he comments. Apollo, at my side, beams.

"She does!" he exclaims. "She is a goddess, is she not?"

My eyes go wide at the insinuation. Dionysus chokes on his wine.

"Cassia looks lovely, yes," Chiron says carefully, attempting to balance Apollo's sensibilities with hubris.

"This stephane," Apollo says, eyeing it, "is from one of my temples. It was offered to me back when the world was still young. Alexander put it at the feet of my statue, and I claimed it. I wanted to keep a conqueror's gift."

I nearly choke. "Alexander? As in, Alexander of Macedon? The Great?"

He smiles fondly and nods. "Of course."

"And you have given it to me?" I ask, shocked. He tilts his head.

"Well, who else would I give it to?"

I glance around. I clear my throat.

"I- I don't know. Your sister, maybe?" I offer uncertainly. He laughs fondly.

"No, no," he says. "Only my little prophet is worthy of such a crown."

I look at Chiron with wide eyes. He is just as stunned as I am.

"Of course, my lord," I laugh nervously. I take a careful sip of my drink, but I barely taste it.

Suddenly, I feel a searing heat fill my body. I recognize it all too well. I close my eyes, gritting my teeth, and when I reopen them and speak, countless voices echo under mine as I look without seeing.

"The voice of the gods echoes as the moon drowns,
the house of those beyond time once lost must be found.
Sun and sight will go east to the sphinx and the fallen walls,
and truths told three- one for love, one for life, one for the fall.
Return to the altar of the gods, blood made ichor, a dove in flight."

When I snap out of it, everyone is staring at me. I sigh. I reluctantly glance at Chiron, waiting for the centaur to speak. Apollo is fidgeting next to me.

"Well," Chiron says after a long moment, "I do believe we have heard a new prophecy."

Chapter Text

To see is to die a thousand times and live a thousand more. It is an age-old curse disguised as a blessing. If I knew the burden it would heave upon my shoulders, would I have still accepted the mantle all those years ago?

Of course I would have, I think tiredly, looking out at the way the sun reflects off the water. There was never any path for me but this.

Every road lined with my threads of fate leads to Apollo. He is my destiny, even if I am not his. He is the center of my existence, the epicenter of my earthquake. He is the omphalos.

My fingers trace the smooth midnight pearls, drift over the divots of the snake and sun. I feel close to my god as I hold the necklace, as I idly whisper prayers to self-soothe. My devotion is as pathetic as it is admirable. What else am I meant to do? I never had a chance to hide from him. I'd never want to run from his rays.

Even if he is the cause of both my triumph and my suffering, I muse, sighing to myself.

It is difficult to exist as I do, to love a being so ethereal you know he could never love you back. Apollo is perfect and timeless; I am flawed and weighed down by mortality. I want, more than anything, for Apollo to want me- not his prophet or oracle, but me. It is a fruitless wish.

I don't know why it hurts so intensely. I have always known I was destined to love and be left. I accepted a life of devotion without any such fondness in return. Except, now, Apollo is showing some degree of care, but not enough to soothe the ache inside me. I'd almost rather his indifference.

"I imagine you've pieced together that we are to go on the quest together," Apollo says suddenly. I swallow. He comes up from behind me.

I nod shallowly. "Yes, my lord."

"You-" he stops suddenly. He clears his throat. Quieter, "You might call me by my name."

I stiffen. "I don't know if that would be appropriate."

He shrugs. "I would prefer it. You are..." he trails off. He smiles slightly. "You are different. You understand me."

I blink. I understand him? I mean, I understand the burden of seeing, but I don't know how a gift he has given me makes me particularly worthy of his familiarity.

"Yes. Call me by my name from now on," the god says decidedly. He nods to punctuate his decision.

I stare openly now, dumbfounded. Reluctantly, I reply, "If it will please you, my-" I stop myself and swallow nervously. "Apollo."

Apollo's perfect lips curl up. "It will," he insists.

What in the world is happening?

•••••

I am silent as I practice my archery. The arrows striking the target are an echoing heartbeat. It is therapeutic to watch the arrows dig into the targets, piercing over and over, splitting and splintering.

And truths told three.

Apollo is the god of truth, and there is nothing I fear more. I live every moment terrified he can see right through me, read every reality lingering in my mind.

One for life.

A hollow thunk as an arrow hits the bullseye.

One for love.

The promise makes me nauseous. 

One for the fall.

The fall...whose fall? Mine? Apollo's? I cannot begin to fathom what truth could cause any fall. 

Though, I cannot help but wonder how far this all will go. Will I spend my life here at camp, worshiping Apollo and whispering his prophecies? Will I die on this quest, destined to dedicate my short life to my lord and fall at his side? What am I meant to be? How am I meant to end? 

It's an unsettling thought, contemplating your mortality, your own inevitable end.

Well, I consider, I suppose an ending is not always inevitable. The gods are unending. Undying.

The possibility of eternity is even more frightening than death. At least death allows one to forget, to simply be. The Fields of Asphodel are its own paradise of emotionlessness, lost memories, and eternal wandering. I imagine that is where I will find myself one day, as I have done nothing remarkable with my life and do not foresee achieving greatness, and I cannot say I dread the gift of forgetting.

But to never die...to be forced to never forget, to always remember, to linger alone forever...it is a horrifying prospect. I cannot imagine the fear that would strike me if confronted with immortality. I would never be able to allow myself to suffer for all eternity, forced to silently love a god from far too close to his side. I could not hide it forever.

I would rather die.

Yet, I suppose what I would rather does not matter. Only the Fates' decisions about destiny mean anything in the end. It is a nauseating feeling of helplessness, of a sheer lack of power over one's own life. 

I shudder. Dear gods.

I suddenly lower my bow and put it away. I need to leave. I would run away if I could. But I can't. So instead, I run to the one refuge I know.

•••••

The warmth within the temple wraps around me like a blanket, and I can finally breathe. There is a certain comfort in the rituals, in the thick fumes of incense, of the certainty that I am just a drop in the void.

I take solace in whispering the prayers, in blessing the smoke and wine, in offering away everything but my soul. And even that is not truly mine.

I know he is there before he speaks. I would know him anywhere.

"Your devotion speaks volumes, little prophet," Apollo says from behind me. I swallow. I'm about to rise to my feet to join him, when he lowers himself next to me.

"I don't know if it is appropriate for you to kneel, my lord," I murmur, too nervous to look at him when he is so close.

"Apollo," he corrects, gently. He hums, thinking. "Seeing is a gift. It is a burden. It is..." he trails off. He bows his head.

"A lot,” he settles on, finally. “It is often too much even for me, and I have seen humanity rise and burn and rise again. I don't know how mortals can remain sane when they can see." He looks over at me, and our eyes meet. "It takes a certain fortitude. You have it."

"I don't have the option not to," I say quietly.

"You did, once," he points out. "You would always see, but by choosing me, you chose..." he gestures vaguely, "this." I nod in agreement. "Why did you do it?"

I look up at the statue I have prayed to for nearly my entire life. The statue I have anointed, cleaned, touched as if it were a fading mirage. The statue I have clung to like Cassandra in my weakest moments.

"You are all I have ever had," I say finally. My voice is barely a whisper. "I knew, even then, there was nothing else for me. I am," I pause, sighing, "not like my half-siblings. This is what I was made for."

"You think you are the white crow of your mother's children," he says. "But you could not be truer to what it means to be of Aphrodite's ichor."

I look over at him with a frown. "I do not understand."

He sits back on his heels and smiles, softly. He looks frighteningly human like this.

"You love more fiercely than anyone I have ever known," he states. "You show your love and devotion ceaselessly. There is no greater way to show love than to serve."

I stare, stunned. He sees me. He has noticed. Everything, every bit of it, he has seen. It warms me inside to know my devotion has been appreciated. To know I have never been alone.

"To serve is to die," I say quietly. "Inside, if not in flesh."

His expression shifts like the sea, and he suddenly grasps my hand. I startle. "Not when it comes to you."

I study him a long moment before quietly asking, "Is that a prophecy?"

He sets his jaw and squeezes my hand. For a moment, I try to memorize the sensation.

"It is a promise. If your blood spills, the threads of fate will burn."

Chapter Text

I walk along the shores of the lake, listening to the lapping of the waves. I have always found comfort by water. Perhaps it is because Mother rose from the sea. Perhaps it is its ever-changing nature. Perhaps it is because it is as ancient as the voices that echo in my ears.

As I walk, I vaguely realize that the water is more familiar to me than my own blood. My father never loved me, never paid me mind, never wanted to know me. I was his burden. I was his shackles.

I suppose I still am, I think numbly, pausing to toe at the waves as they roll in.

I cannot recall a moment when he spoke to me with fondness, with anything but distain and disgust and hatred. You can hardly say he cared when I ran away.

I will never regret leaving, because it led me to Apollo, but I do mourn what could have been. I mourn a family that loves me. I mourn being seen as more.

I walk and walk, and I feel no surprise when I end up back at the temple. I enter, and the warmth wraps around me like an embrace. When the door closes behind me, I approach Apollo's statue. I smile softly. I reach out to touch it, the only contact I had with my lord for all my life. It was enough.

"I will lay my soul at your feet if that is what the Fates ask of me," I whisper, stopping myself from touching the marble at the last moment. "I do not fear death. You should not fear mine."

"It is all I fear."

I do not startle at the sound of his voice this time. I feel Apollo approach me from behind, and he places a gentle hand on each of my arms, circling my biceps. He presses his body against my back and reaches up to my veil. He lowers it, taking care not to disturb my hair or headpiece.

"Better," he murmurs, content. I can scarcely breathe.

"I-" I stammer, cutting myself off to breathe, "I cannot...I don't...I would give you what I could, but that...Apollo..." my voice cracks and I close my eyes tightly.

"I would not ask that of you," Apollo says softly, nuzzling against my hair. "Not until I prove my devotion to you."

"Your...to me?" I am dazed. I can feel nothing but his breath on my neck.

"To you," he confirms. He bows his head, pressing his forehead to my shoulder. "Tell me this is alright. Please."

I brave my own emotions, muddled and blazing all at once. I turn to face him. I look up at him with doe eyes and a racing heart.

"If I said it was not?" I test nervously, swallowing the lump in my throat. I cannot help but think of Cassandra, of Daphne.

"I would never harm you," he swears. Apollo's eyes search mine uncertainly. "I would sooner fall into the Void than betray the trust you have placed in me."

My hands shake as I reach for him. I test the waters, and he lets me hold his face. I let out a shuddered breath.

I am dreaming, I insist to myself. I must be, surely. There is no other explanation.

"My lord," I whisper, my heart in my throat. My hands fall to his shoulders. "Apollo. I am not enough for a god."

He frowns deeply. He smooths my hair back.

"You are more than enough. You have always been," he insists. "I would wage war in your name. I would call death and disease upon any who stood against you. I would rebuild Delphi to its former glory so you might rule over it." His eyes, bright and burning, plead for me to understand.

But how?

None of this makes sense. I cannot reason with reality. Is Apollo truly saying what I believe he is? Is he truly making such a declaration?

"How could it ever work?" I whisper, feeling myself give in. Apollo presses his forehead to mine.

"Trust me," he murmurs. "That is all I ask of you."

I hold tighter to his shoulders. I let out a heavy breath, and I bow my head.

"I trust you with my life."

It's the most I can allow myself to surrender, but I do, and the smile he gives in return is blinding.

Chapter Text

"Cassia-" Chiron starts when he sees us lingering in the doorway of the temple.

"Apologies, Chiron, but my priestess is busy," Apollo grins. "We are going somewhere."

Chiron frowns as he looks between us. I shuffle closer to the god at my side, not fond of the centaur's disapproving, wary gaze.

"Might I ask where, my lord?" he asks tightly. Apollo mindlessly adjusts my necklace, smiling when it lays properly.

"I promised the little dove a nice dinner tonight. Something fitting of her status," he says contentedly. He glances at his nonexistent watch. "Oh, it appears we are running late for our reservation. This has been riveting, but whatever need you have of Cassia, I assure you, it does not supersede mine."

I bite back a laugh at the irritated expression on Chiron's face. I look to Apollo for instruction, always ready to follow him. I would follow him anywhere.

"Come, little one," he tells me, offering his arm. Apollo grins triumphantly when I take it with less hesitation than I have previously displayed when touching him. "Close your eyes."

I do as I'm told. I feel safer than I could describe as he gently tugs me closer. All of the sudden, the air rushes from my lungs as the ground seems to fall out from under my feet. For a moment, I am nowhere and everywhere. The only reason I don't panic is because of the god by my side. He would never allow me to be harmed.

"Open," Apollo says after a moment, once I feel solid ground beneath my feet. "I think you'll like this."

I open my eyes, and I know instantly that we are not in New York. We are at a vineyard, and the air is salty and clean.

"Welcome to Spain," he grins. I stare up at him in shock.

"Spain?"

"Spain," he nods. "I was going to take you to Greece, but I worried that your scent may attract monsters. I didn't want to risk it, even though I would easily be able to protect you." He smiles as he looks out at the vineyard around us. "Spain seemed to be a nice consolation."

"Nice? My lord- Apollo- this is beautiful," I say, stunned, as I try to soak in the view. "It is perfect."

"Good," he says happily, proud of himself. "Because I have rented it out for us. We will not be disturbed." He gently tugs me along with him. "Come."

I follow him to a building, and he pauses to speak quietly to the hostess. The woman glances at me quickly, bows her head, then tells us to follow her. She leads us to a beautifully-set table on the building's back landing. It overlooks numerous grape vines, and the setting sun in the background almost looks fake.

I startle a little when Apollo pulls out my chair for me. It is an unexpected gesture; he is a god, he should not be doing things like this for me. But I know protesting would only offend him, so I thank him quietly and sit.

I promised to trust him, I remind myself. It is all he asks of me.

The waiter brings over a bottle of vintage wine, and I don't blink when he pours us both a glass. I have given wine in my offerings; it is nothing new to me.

"Do you like it?" Apollo asks hopefully once I've taken a sip. I nod.

"I do. It's lovely," I admit with a small smile. He beams.

"I just want you to be happy," he admits. "You do so much for me."

"Not truly," I blush. "I am only your priestess. I do my duty."

"You are not 'only' anything," he insists. I blink. He studies me for a moment. "You've answered this before, but Cassia, please, I need to know. Are you certain you are happy?"

I take another sip of my wine. My happiness seems to matter to him. The thought warms me.

"I am," I say truthfully. I hesitate before adding as I look away from him, "I...do get, hm, lonely, I suppose. But I am not unhappy. I enjoy my place in life. I cannot imagine being anything else."

He frowns. "Lonely? You...you have not felt me with you?"

I shrug limply. "I do, sometimes. But it is a more," I flush, "human loneliness, my lord." I quickly correct, "Apollo." I shyly fiddle with my ring.

"It is natural to want companionship, I think," I continue. My face burns at my honesty. "But it is also my duty not to have it. I knew that when I swore myself to you. Granted, I did not quite know how this would feel, but..." I shrug, "I knew it all the same. And I would choose this path again if I was given the option."

He drinks his wine, remaining silent as he thinks.

"I have never left you. Not even for a moment," he says finally, looking at his glass. "I suppose I never wanted you to feel pressured to accept my presence, so I have subconsciously hidden myself from your awareness." I stare at him, shocked. "You chose me, yes, but first, I chose you."

My heart is in my throat as I whisper, "Why?"

A small, fond smile crosses his face as he reminisces.

"Fate," he says simply. "I will tell you more eventually, but..." he trails off. His eyes meet mine, warm and full of an emotion I can't quite place. "It was always fate. I was just fortunate enough to see it sooner rather than later."

"My lord, if anyone is fortunate, it is me," I say with a gentle smile. "You took me away from my old life. You protected me from them."

"I told you they would never hurt you again," he nods. "They won't. I will strike them down where they stand if they try. If anyone tries."

I swallow roughly at the sharp emotion in his voice.

"Apollo," I say softly, and his eyes spark at the sound of me saying his name, "why did you decide to come now? After so many years?"

I have to know. Not knowing is strangling me from the inside out. I-

"Because you are mine, Cassia. You always have been. And I will keep you safe if it is the last thing I do."

Chapter Text

Well.

I had not been expecting that. Truthfully, I have no idea what I was expecting him to say, but...well, it certainly wasn't that.

Mine.

Because you are mine.

It is a stake, a claim, an oath to any who care to hear it. He names me as his own so effortlessly. His voice holds no hesitation or doubt. His words are earnest and unquestionable.

To love a god is to burn, I think idly. Icarus comes to mind. He will turn me to ash.

I cannot care. Not when he claims me so openly, so easily. Not when he proclaims his own devotion.

Watch me burn, I decide, my chest warming.

I have known nothing but loving Apollo. It has twisted me every which way, distorted my mind and reality in all the best ways. I never imagined to hear him repeatedly swear an oath of his own, or anything even remotely similar.

He will be my ruination and my rising, I know with every certainty in the world. And I cannot bring myself to resent it. Loving him has shattered me, but it is my purpose, and I cannot truly be anything but grateful for it in this moment.

Every moment of my life has led me here, to wearing a crown once owned by a conqueror while sitting across from a god who is- not for the first time- declaring his devotion to me.

If only my father could see me now, I muse, satisfied with myself in an odd way. If only Mother could see where her dove has flown.

When my eyes meet Apollo's once more, all I can do is smile.

•••••

"The quest," I say, taking care to keep my voice low as we walk through the vineyard. Apollo hums. "Have you seen anything about what might happen?"

About if I will die?

"I have been kept from much of it," he admits.

"Does that worry you?" I ask, taking the courage to speak freely. He nods after a moment.

"I have always seen the end," he speaks heavily. "But I cannot see it, not for this." He frowns. "It troubles me."

"The Fates are hiding it," I realize. He nods again. I twist my ring around my finger as I think of the prophecy for the thousandth time. "The prophecy confuses me. I know they are meant to be cryptic, but 'truths told three', that bit of it makes no sense to me. I cannot imagine how anything that could be said would influence the course of fate."

If your blood spills, the threads of fate will burn.

His words immediately echo in my ears. It is a promise that could shatter reality. Apollo could unmake and reweave the world as we know it if he sees his words to fruition.

I kick at the grass, a question coming to my mind that I cannot ignore. I cannot push it away.

"My lord..." I trail off after a long, albeit comfortable silence. Apollo gives me a look. "Right. Yes. Apollo."

His lips turn up. He nods briefly.

"My mother...Have you ever spoken of me with her?" I ask softly. My heart is racing.

"I have," Apollo replies carefully. He sighs. "I would not hurt you, little prophet."

"Please," I plead. "I just- I want to know."

He looks out into the distance. He presses his lips together.

"She dislikes that you have chosen a different path," he says finally.

I sigh, nodding. I had assumed as much.

She was never going to help me. It is unfair; she cannot be angry at me for accepting help where I could find it. I was a child. I knew nothing of love. Truthfully, I still know nothing of love, or at least of being loved. I have lived in the shadow of a god all my life, but where Mother's was a cold cage, Apollo's has freed me. Trailing in his wake offers warmth and status and safety. It is not such a bad thing to bask in the light of the sun.

Mother could never understand. She will never know what it is to be weak and helpless. Powerless. She will never know what it feels like to sob on your knees, begging any god who cares to listen for help. She will never know what it means to happily trade ever being loved in exchange for safety and belonging.

Everyone has a burden to bear, even Mother. Mine just so happens to displease her. I am the one who loves without being loved back. I am the one who will well and truly die alone, whether that is in my sleep at ninety or by choking on my own blood at nineteen. I know this. I choose my lord anyway. He was the only one who thought to protect me. How could I possibly want any other path than the one that leads to him?

I would die for him, if it came to that.

I do not need Aphrodite. I never have.

•••••

When we return to camp, we walk in a surprisingly comfortable silence until we reach the temple. I wait for Apollo to disappear into his room before I get to work.

The words drip from my lips, ancient and eternal. The prayers are burnt into my bones, and the anointing oil sinks into my skin. I clean the statue reverently, my touch a ghost as it trails over the polished stone. It occurs to me how lifelike the statue is, how true it is to Apollo's form, though its eyes are devoid of life.

I spent a year sleeping at the foot of this statue, too afraid to leave it. I fear Cassandra's fate, because I have always been her. I have clung to my god in my starkest times of fear and desperation. I see the way the world burns in the end. I see the truth.

And nobody understands. Chiron and Mr. D try to listen, to an extent, but they cannot understand. They assume my words and visions are distant. If they listen, they do not ever hear.

But Apollo does. Apparently, he has heard everything. I should not be surprised.

If I were a braver woman, I would devote myself so blatantly to the living, breathing god in the next room. I would fall to his feet, rather than his statue's. But he is almost too much to know. It is almost overwhelming to see Apollo in the flesh, to hear his voice so clearly, to smell his lingering aroma, to feel his flesh beneath my fingers. Like that, he is too human- too attainable.

If I were stupid and foolish and senseless, I'd hear his words and imagine I had a chance to be something more to him. He wants me in some way, and he has already claimed me in others, but I will not delude myself into believing he loves me. But with him here, seeming so normal if not for the sheer power he radiates, it is easy to lead myself away from reality.

Now, like this, with his statue looming above me and me on my knees, I am comfortable. I do not belong standing at his side. I belong at his feet. This is familiar and safe.

"Little prophet," I hear from behind me. I open my eyes.

Has he been watching?

"Come now, to your feet," he murmurs, coming to me and gently prompting me to stand. I obey out of habit. "You should not be kneeling to me."

My neck nearly snaps with how quickly I turn my head. I look up at him with wide and borderline appalled eyes.

"My lord!" I gasp, horrified.

"Everyone else, yes," he continues. He moves my veil down gently. He smiles as I am, in a certain way, bare to him. Unshielded. He reaches for a lock and mindlessly plays with it for a moment. "But I do not want you to."

"I cannot," I say immediately, unable to even consider it. I repeat my earlier thoughts, "I belong at your feet. I- I am not- I am your priestess, my lord. Apollo. I cannot abandon my duties."

He hums. "Take on new ones, then." I blink at him. "Your place is no longer by that piece of rock. Your place is by my side."

"Apollo-" I start, attempting to protest, but then he takes my hand. I freeze at the feeling of his skin against mine, and I both go numb and am lit on fire as he brings my hand to his mouth. He presses a kiss to my knuckles, and I nearly pass out.

Loving Apollo is all I know, but it is impossible. It is impractical. It will kill me in the end, my blood and bones and breath the offerings to be laid upon the altar that he is.

I am Icarus, I remember, white in my vision. Watch me burn.

Chapter Text

Chiron all but drags me to the Big House after breakfast. Metaphorically speaking, of course. He knows better to touch me, especially in Apollo's presence.

Apollo, who follows where I go. Apollo, who glowers at any demigod boy who might stare at me for even a fraction of a second too long. Apollo, who I'm starting to truly believe would burn the world for me.

"Tomorrow," Chiron says, sitting across from me, "you must depart."

"The day after tomorrow is Cassia's birthday," Apollo says irritatedly from his place against the wall. I am starting to realize how much he despises having our time together interrupted. He glares at Chiron. "She should not be celebrating on a quest."

I nearly drop my jaw. He knows my birthday? I mean, I suppose it makes sense that he would. But he intends to celebrate it?

Why does anything surprise me anymore?

"It's alright," I say quietly, diplomatically. "The quest is the priority."

Apollo only glares harder at Chiron. "You are the priority. The quest can wait."

"It really can't..." Chiron mutters uneasily.

"Apollo," I get his attention, "really, it is not any problem. I never celebrate."

"I know you don't," he grumbles. "We are celebrating this year. It is not up for debate." He glances at Chiron. "Fine. We will go. But I will not have my oracle doing anything but enjoying her birthday."

Chiron pinches the bridge of his nose. He waves his hand dismissively.

"Here," he says, reaching into a drawer and pulling out two plane tickets. I peer at the destination.

"Athens?"

"You have to figure it out from there, but yes," he confirms. Apollo comes over and glances at the tickets.

"Economy? Really?" he scoffs. He snaps his fingers. To me, "I will not have you in economy."

He says 'economy' like one might say 'the garbage heap.' So I look down at the tickets again and-

"First class?" I ask, surprised. Chiron sighs.

"Of course," he smiles. "You are to only have the best." His gaze withers as he looks at Chiron once more. "I told you that years ago."

I know this. Ever since the moment I arrived at camp, I have lived in luxury. My clothes are made from the finest, softest fabrics. I have been draped in utterly flawless jewels and the purest gold and silver. My rooms in the temple are filled with finery, from exotic soaps and oils in the bathroom to the most intricately-carved wooden furniture. Even the food I eat is different, better quality and richer in flavor.

"My apologies, my lord," the centaur gives in, knowing he cannot possibly win this battle of wills. Apollo frowns deeper, and Chiron sighs- again, which is becoming annoying- before looking to me. "I apologize, Cassia."

"My lady," Apollo corrects him, which startles both of us. We stare at him, shocked. To me, "You should be referred to with respect. I should have conferred this earlier. No matter, I am doing it now."

My mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out. I am stunned. Apollo's expression softens.

"You wear jewels fit for a god, little one. You are mine. It is only right you are referred to properly."

You are mine. He has said it before, but having him say it in front of Chiron makes me blush a thousand times worse than usual. I avoid eye contact with the centaur. He would only tell me to run. He does not understand that I could never, even if I wanted to.

The silence is broken with Chiron's quiet, "Very well." He corrects his earlier statement with, "I apologize, my lady."

I wave him off, not wanting to look at him. I am not worth him calling me 'my lady,' as if I were in a position above him. As if I were a-

Oh gods.

"Apollo," I say again, feeling mildly nauseous and horribly uncomfortable from the way Chiron's eyes pierce into my skull, "might we leave?"

I know that it is rude to ignore Chiron, to ask Apollo for dismissal instead of him. But I will likely die on the spot if I meet Chiron's knowing gaze. And, truthfully, I doubt it is any surprise to anyone that I would ask my lord over Chiron.

"Of course," he says pleasantly.

Apollo comes to my side and offers his hand. I take it, blushing worse when he closes his fingers around my hand and does not let me go. I do not want him to ever release me.

My lady. He is having me be referred to as one would a goddess. I would fear to be struck down for hubris, but I did not give myself the honorific. It was bestowed upon me. Surely, the Fates would not punish me for that?

Please do not punish me for it, I silently beg.

"Speak freely, little one," Apollo says after a moment. "You know you can."

"'My lady'?" I ask without stopping to think about it. Apollo smiles, clearly satisfied with himself. He nods.

"Yes. I decided that none of them should call you by your name," he explains, as if discussing the weather. "I can, of course. I quite like your name, in fact. But they need to be reminded that you are set apart. You are higher than they are."

"Some of them, yes. Being a priestess gives me that honor. But, I did not expect anything like this," I admit. "Certainly not something even Chiron must call me."

"Chiron is a good man," Apollo allows. "Well, centaur. But he does not serve the gods how you do. He trains heroes- noble work, of course, but not sacred. What you do is sacred." I cannot help but light up inside at his praise, at the esteem in which he holds me.

"I know I mentioned your duties shall be different now, as you deserve better than to kneel all your life, but that does not change anything about what you are or how important you are," Apollo continues, speaking such devoted words so casually. "You are my priestess. My prophet. My oracle. You are sacred."

Well, fuck.

"Now, shall we practice our archery?"

He still has not let go of my hand. I nod.

Chapter Text

Few things soothe my unease better than loosing arrows. The easy, hollow thunk of an arrow finding its target is pleasant, and the soft feathers gracing my fingertips before the arrow flies reminds me of the power I hold.

Archery is not just an exercise, and a bow is not just a weapon. When I hold the smooth laurel-carved bow in my hand, when I draw a gilded arrow, I hold the power of life and death in my hands. I feel it flooding through my veins and electrifying every nerve in my body.

I never miss my target, I think as another arrow finds its mark.

I remember the first time I held my bow as if it happened this morning. I remember awaking to find it next to me, a note written in elegant Greek script to explain the magic behind it. I remember touching it, and suddenly, I felt safer than I ever had. 

I spent countless hours, day after day, for years on end with Chiron in the archery range. He told me Apollo would not permit me to learn from anyone else, so he would teach me just as he had taught Heracles.

Three years ago, when I was fifteen, Chiron proclaimed I had mastered the bow. It was perhaps one of the proudest moments of my life. I felt the most indescribable warmth rush over my body, as if I was alight with the sun. I knew then that Apollo had witnessed my accomplishment and was pleased. I gave him an extra offering that day.

I feel eyes on me and instinctively turn, lowering my bow. My eyes lock with Apollo's, and the way he is looking at me takes me aback. His gaze is so soft, so- so adoring that it startles me. To have a god look at you that way...to have anyone look at you that way, as if you are the reason the sun continues to shine...

"Apollo?"

"You're extraordinary," he murmurs. I blush at his bluntness. "Absolutely extraordinary."

"Apollo..." I mumble, my face burning.

"I wish you could see yourself through my eyes," he admits. "Perhaps then you might finally recognize that you are deserving of every honor, every compliment, every, well, everything."

It is odd. He looks perhaps nineteen. He looks like a teenage boy professing his adoration and admiration. But he is a millennia-old deity, and hearing these words from his lips jolts me.

"No," I say quietly. "I serve you, Apollo. That is all. Anything special about me is because of you."

He steps closer. He reaches out and smooths down my veil.

"I did not give you Sight," he says. "I do not loose your arrows. I may whisper prophecies to you, but you are the one that hears them. You are everything, all on your own. I am merely fortunate enough to have been chosen by you."

My heart is in my throat. When a man says something like that to you, how can you not fall deeper in love with him?

"You chose me too," is all I can manage, my voice a broken whisper. He smiles softly and cups my cheek. His skin burns mine in the best way.

"I suppose we chose each other."

•••••

Before lunch, I find myself sitting at Apollo's statue. It is comforting. It is my safe haven. It is all I know.

I would cling to it in my darkest hour, like Cassandra clung to Athena as Troy fell, I think. But Apollo would not abandon me in my time of need. He would save me and burn alive any who tried to harm me.

I have doubted and lamented many things in life, but Apollo has never been one of them. I have never lost faith in his word, in the certainty that he will always protect me. If he burns anyone who merely touches me, I regret to think of what might happen to someone who attempted to legitimately hurt me.

I run my fingertips over the carved fold in Apollo's cape, mindlessly caressing the stone.

I would give him every piece of me, I admit to myself. I would not even hesitate. Not anymore.

"What are you thinking of, little prophet?"

I look up then. Apollo. I knew he was coming, I suppose. We are going to lunch together.

"Everything, I suppose," I say with a small smile. "Mostly you, though."

He grins and brings me to my feet. He runs his fingers through a lock of my hair.

"Oh? Good thoughts, I hope?"

I nod. I watch his fingertips trifle with my hair.

"I remembered how the gods have abandoned those who serve them, but I know with every bone in my body that you will never turn your gaze from me," I admit quietly. I want to touch him, to hold his hand or his wrist. But can I?

"I would burn the world for you," he says seriously. "Alexander razed Thebes to prove a point. I would raze it again to prove another."

"And that is?" I ask teasingly, though desperately curious.

He traces my jaw gently. He smiles.

"A warning," Apollo says easily. "So long as the Pythia lives, there is nothing my fury cannot touch."

Apollo tilts his head a little as he studies me. He wears a goofy grin, and his eyes drift to the veil I have loosely draped over my head. My hair is not fully covered yet, obviously. He moves it down so that it hangs around my neck instead.

"Beautiful," he murmurs to himself. 

"Apollo..."

"We are going to Athens tomorrow," he says suddenly. "I will take you to my temple. Or, rather, what is left of it."

"You will?"

He nods. "You should be shown where all of my temples are. Anywhere that is sacred to me will protect you. You cannot be harmed on holy ground."

He offers me his arm. "Come, little one. We have much to do and even more to speak about."

Chapter Text

The walk to the dining pavilion is short, and I have an odd sense of dread filling me. It is deep and unsettling. It screams at me to run, to hide, to  flee. My bones ache with the sense that something is very wrong. Or, at the least, it will be. That is enough to set me on edge.

"Something is going to happen," I murmur to Apollo. My eyes dart over my surroundings- searching, waiting, watching. The god at my side frowns.

"Have you seen anything?"

I shake my head. "I can feel it, though."

I hold tighter to his arm as we approach. I cannot begin to assume what may happen, but the churning in my stomach does not suggest anything positive. I feel safer hanging onto him. He will protect me. Just wearing his veil will protect me. It gives me a sense of security, being draped in his power.

When we reach the pavilion, my unease only grows. Apollo does not leave my side. He is the only thing keeping me here at all.

I follow him up to the head table, and he pulls out my chair for me. Chiron notices the look on my face.

"What is it?" he asks as I sit. "Have you had a vision?"

"Not this time," I say quietly. "I just have a horrible feeling that something is going to happen." 

"If she is sensing it, whatever it is, it will come to pass," Apollo says gravely.

A nymph brings over breakfast, but I can't bring myself to eat. I fidget with my rings, and I take a nervous sip from my goblet. I watch the rest of the demigods file in. I do not miss the curious glances Apollo continues to receive. He ignores everyone but me. His eyes never leave my face.

If Mr. D or Chiron speak to him, Apollo only answers in brief, short sentences. He does not seem to care what they have to say. If I did not feel the shadows that surround me, I would be cautiously flattered by his attentions.

Suddenly, there is a wave of disgust flooding my insides. My face grows even more grim.

"What is it?" Apollo asks worriedly. When he touches me, countless images flicker before my eyes. It is almost like a photo book whose pages are being rapidly flipped.

A crumbled pile of stone. A cascade of screams. A pained whimper. An unwavering, "Leave." A silence erupted with shrieks. A golden glow growing, building, protecting.

"It's the Erymanthian boar," I choke out in sheer horror just as the beast comes bounding into the center of camp.

It is most certainly a creature of legend, a vast-weighted boar with a foaming mouth, shaggy and wild and untamed. Numerous people run at it with weapons in hand as it bucks closer, but they are all trampled or knocked again.

"This was Heracles' Fourth Labor," I recall to myself, terrified. I hold my bow tightly, though I doubt there is little need with Apollo sheltering me against the back pillar of the pavilion. Screams fill the pavilion, and I'm trying to inch somewhere safer. "Capture it alive."

"Yes, well, we won't be doing that today," Apollo says, bouncing on his toes.

Suddenly, the boar lifts its head, looks dead at me, and charges. I run for my life, but in my sheer idiocy, I became separated from Apollo.

The bull rams into the pillar near Apollo, which starts to crumble. It keeps following me, and I realize I am cornered. 

This is a test of faith, I convince myself. Do I trust Apollo to remain?

I turn, draw my bow, wait for it to get close enough, and then-

It stops.

The bull stops.

It's as if there is some sort of glowing forcefield around me, a golden barrier in the very earth. Whatever it is, the bull is afraid of it. He is afraid of Apollo.

I don't know what compels me to do it, but I command, "Leave."

I lace my desire and every single one of my fears into my words, and I make it convincing. I'm more surprised than anyone when the bull freezes. His ears flatten. He looks at me for a long moment before blinking and retreating. 

Just...just like that.

It is painfully silent. My first thought is Apollo, but he is already standing and dusting the stone powder from his garment. He comes to me and cups my face in his hand.

"My little prophet," he beams. He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. "Just a single word. That is all it took."

"My lord..." Chiron begins carefully, "what do you mean?"

Apollo rolls his eyes. He replaces his hands on my shoulders and turns me to face everyone.

"I mean, Aphrodite actually made a good decision once in the last three hundred years," Apollo scoffs. Then, he smiles. "My dove has charmspeak! Quite strong charmspeak, at that!"

My jaw drops. Me? Charmspeak? Mom doesn't even know I exist. I am nothing to her. I cannot begin to understand why she would...

"Isn't she extraordinary?" Apollo continues, beaming as he looks around for his words to be confirmed true. Mr. D looks between us with a small smirk, and I blush as I can practically read his mind.

"She is," he agrees, pleasing Apollo. 

"This isn't fair!" I hear a voice shriek. My eyes go to the Aphrodite table. Cecilia- I think?- stands up, pouting as she balls her hands into fists. "This is ridiculous!"

She storms over to me, but a piercing glare from Apollo makes her stop. She grumbles.

"You get everything! The jewels and the pretty clothes and your own place to live! You have visions and- and your stupid perfect archery and healing and now you have charmspeak? It isn't fair for you to get everything!"

"I do not heal. Apollo heals through me," I correct her, huffing at her idiocy. "I receive my gifts from my lord in return for my sacrifice. I will be a priestess until the day I die. I will never know the freedom you do, though I do not wish to. I merely receive rewards for my devotion."

I wave my hand dismissively as I continue, "As for my prophecies and visions...it is not so much a blessing, sister. It is a curse to know the end. It is a duty."

"B-But the charmspeak!" she complains.

"I have never spoken with Mother, not even in a dream," I retort. "I cannot begin to fathom why she would give me the ability, given that she is not fond of me. I have no answers for you." 

"Fate is not fair," Apollo spits as he glares at my half-sister. "Some are born for greatness, and some are not. Learn to accept your destiny, and you will be far happier." 

Her face goes red with fury, but my half-sister is not a complete moron and does not protest against Apollo. So she has at least a shred of sense, I observe, mildly amused. My glee does not last. Rapidly, I recall why she is so furious.

My power is a harbinger of danger. I am all too aware of it. I let out a heavy breath. Power comes at a price. Achilles was born to be the greatest warrior of all time, and he was destined to die in a war worthy of legend. Bellerophon slew the Chimera and claimed Pegasus as his mount, only to fall to his death. Cadmus slew a dragon and founded some of the greatest cities the world has ever seen, and his fate was to transform into the very beast he killed. There is no greatness without consequence.

I am terrified to depart tomorrow. I could have gone my entire life without knowing of my charmspeak. I could have lived and died serving a god whose face I never knew in truth and whose voice was only a whisper in the back of my mind. 

I start to lament how the die has been cast, but I stop myself. I had to have known, deep down, that I was not destined for peace. I was born into chaos. Being chosen by a god can only save you for so long. I have to accept this prophecy, because fate is relentless. It will find a way to come to fruition regardless of my cooperation. I believe it will be kinder to me if I do not resist. 

"You must admit, my lord," Chiron reluctantly starts, "that this is highly unusual. It...does not bode well. Perhaps, well, perhaps Cassia is-"

"Finish that sentence, and I will slaughter you where you stand," Apollo snarls, his eyes flashing gold as his rage escapes him. Chiron flinches, snapping his mouth shut. "You have no right to speak a word about my priestess! I don't give a damn about how you think something bodes! I am the god of prophecy, and I will decide how my priestess proceeds."

He turns to glare at everyone. "You all seem to have forgotten that you are nothing compared to Cassia! You think you are equal, as if you have some hubristic right to question the gifts she has been given." He sends a withering look to Cecilia, who shrinks back. "Question my priestess again, doubt her again, you will see the devastation my wrath beholds." 

"Apollo," I say softly, chancing a gentle touch to his arm. He stills and looks down at me. "Perhaps we should return to your temple."

He's quiet for a moment, his eyes lifting to examine the thoroughly terrified campers. He gazes back at me and nods very subtly.

"If that's what you want, little one," he agrees, his voice not so rough. I nod.

I try not to make my relief obvious, nor my pride. It is not lost on me that I am the only one who could even have a chance at calming him. I do not understand why, but it is both pleasing and relieving nonetheless.

"Very well," he continues. He gently places his hand on the small of my back, and he escorts me from the pavilion. He gives one last sharp glare to those there, and I cannot help but allow myself a quick moment of admiration.

From this angle, the sun illuminates his profile. His jaw is sharp and set with determination. His honey-gold waves seem to glimmer in the sunlight. His crystal blue eyes are streaked with ichorous gold, the remnants of his fury plain for me to see. He is beautiful. He is ethereal.

And he has proven his devotion.

Chapter Text

Apollo watches me silently as I pack for the quest. He lingers in the doorway to my bedroom, but I don't mind. How could I possibly mind? 

I run my fingers over my amethyst veil. It is a status symbol. It is a physical artifact of the oracular legacy.

"Apollo," I call, and he hums. "When we're in Greece, do you suppose we will go to Delphi?"

He chuckles. "Of course we will, little one. I would have you see your land."

"My land? Apollo, it is yours."

He shakes his head. "No. Not truly. It might be sacred to me, but you are the Pythia." A small smile crosses his lips. "I want you to go to the cave. I want to know what you may hear there."

I smile slightly and nod. "As do I."

I finish off my packing with my journal. I will want it, I'm certain. My thoughts are racing. The events of the attack are running through my mind. I play with one of my rings and look back up at Apollo.

"I'm afraid," I admit very quietly from where I am sat on my bed.

Apollo frowns and comes over to me. He sits next to me and wraps his arm around me. He pulls me into his side, and I sink into the warmth of his embrace.

"I know," he murmurs. He reaches up with his free hand and strokes my hair.

"Why did I never know?" I whisper, burying myself against him.

"I don't know," he admits.

"Did you have any idea?"

He shakes his head. "I did not."

"It foretells danger," I say quietly. "It is too much for one person. The Fates only allow it when- when something terrible is coming."

"Typically," he agrees. "But they also allow it in other cases."

"What do you mean?" I ask curiously, looking up at him again.

"Look at Dionysus," he explains. "He was born mortal. A demigod, yes, but mortal all the same. His tragedy was not remarkably extraordinary. His greatness meant he was fated to be risen to divinity."

I'm quiet as I consider his words. He continues petting my hair.

"I still have not seen your death, Cassia," Apollo murmurs. "I do not believe I ever will."

"And if you do?"

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to my hair. My entire body is electrified at the show of affection. My face burns, and I feel my nerves light on fire.

"I won't," he says with such certainty that it sends a chill down my spine.

••••• 

I know he has told me my place is not at his feet, but Apollo's statue is my greatest refuge. I sit on my knees at the feet of his statue, basking in the security that radiates from the marble. I close my eyes.

Mother, I pray to her for the first time in a long time, I know I am not what you would desire in a daughter. I know I have chosen a path you do not like. But, Mother, I beg you for an answer, an explanation. Why? Why me? Why have you given this gift to me? Please.

"Please," I whisper, my voice cracking as my eyes open. I look down at the veil hanging from my neck. I clutch at the soft fabric.

I am the Pythia, I remind myself. Everything happens for a purpose.

I study the statue for what feels like the millionth time. It is nearly as beautiful as Apollo himself. It deserves to be a cult image.

"My lord," I breathe out, my chest tight with awe and affection.

It occurs to me in this moment that, soon enough, Apollo will return to Olympus or wherever else it is that he stays. Apollo will resume his endless life, and I will be left irreparably changed. I have had the unfortunate luxury of knowing Apollo, of gazing upon Apollo, of touching Apollo. I will have to live the rest of my life without ever having him again.

Gods, will I survive it? I wonder with a small sigh.

I cannot even stop myself from allowing familiarity between myself and the god. I have loved him for so long, and this time is all I will ever have. I might as well enjoy it while I can, so I might be comforted by these memories.

Comforted, my subconscious mocks me, or haunted?

How could one not be haunted by someone like Apollo? Haunted by the memory of him, haunted by the ferocity of his affection, haunted by the relentless destiny of his every whisper.

Perhaps I understand it now, why his is such a tragic existence. He has loved and lost so many times, fate tearing his happiness to shreds right before his very eyes. But what of those he loved? They never had the chance at eternity with him. If I could not have forever after having him once, I too would sooner die than continue on without him.

The knowledge that I would not survive his loss is the only thing stopping me from running into his arms and allowing him to do as I know he desires. I have never denied him anything, and I know I will eventually not deny him this, but the thought that I could be strong through it all and after is...

Well, it's ridiculous.

"Dove? I thought you were sleeping."

I look to the sound of his voice, and I find Apollo watching me. He comes closer.

"What's wrong, darling?" he frowns, his gaze scanning me to search for whatever might be the problem. "Are you unable to sleep for some reason?"

"My mind is too loud," I joke half-heartedly, offering a small smile. He hums.

"Do you do this often when you cannot sleep?" he asks after a moment. "Come to my statue?"

I nod sheepishly. "It is a comfort."

His lips tilt up, and he lowers himself to the ground beside me. It is almost startling how, like this, he looks like, well, like he is just a man. A young man, maybe nineteen. Human.

"Well, you have the real thing right here," he grins. He opens his arms to me, and I am pathetically weak as I go to him without hesitation. I let out an almost imperceptible breath as I let him hold me. His warmth is intoxicating. "What thoughts are keeping you awake, little prophet?"

"Nothing I'd like to discuss," I murmur, knowing I could not lie without him knowing. He nods shallowly.

His hand ever so gently moves along my back, soothing my racing thoughts and warming my skin through my clothes.

"You told me you would prove your devotion," I whisper to him in the moonlit hall. I feel him nod once more. "And you did."

He shakes his head. "Not enough."

"Standing for me in front of the entire camp is more than enough," I counter. He is quiet for a long moment.

"Not for me," he eventually says. "You deserve better. You deserve sacrifice."

My breath catches. He holds me closer.

"Sacrifice? Apollo, I don't understand," I whisper. 

All he says in return is, "You will eventually."

My heart nearly stops when I feel Apollo nuzzle against me. His affection is so easy and genuine. He seems content just to hold me in his arms. His arms are strong, corded with the muscle necessary to draw his bow. A deeper, more primal part of me desires nothing more than to taste his skin on my tongue and feel the entirety of his strength under my hands.

I feel protected. I feel untouchable. In his arms, I find myself caged in the most comforting way, locked away from every possible danger. I have spent my life clinging to his statue for a sense of security, but now, I have him. It is better than anything I could have hoped for.

"Go on, darling," he murmurs, his deep voice very nearly enchanting me. "Sleep. I have you."

His gentle encouragement is all I need.

Chapter Text

In the morning, I awaken easily. I am rested despite my few hours of sleep. 

A bit of divine magic, I suppose, I think as I get ready for the quest.

Apollo has brought me to my bed and tucked me in. I stare at the ceiling for a moment, simply letting my mind wander. What strikes me the most from being in Apollo's arms is how warm he is. It is a heat that I cannot quite describe, as if his ichor is actually sun rays that shine from within his body. Laying against him felt like laying under a pleasant spring day's sun.

I would stay here forever if I could, the memories of him drowning and consuming me. But, regrettably, I cannot.

I dress simply, choosing some comfortable pants and a soft top. I brush my hair, braid it and pin it up, then drape my deep violet veil over my head. I look at my reflection and swallow. My usually ivory skin seems even paler now.

It’s probably just the paralyzing fear of impending doom, I decide.

Yes, that's it.

"My beautiful dove," Apollo grins when I leave my room. He is standing before his own statue, a sight that almost takes me aback.

Before, I never could have imagined the possibility. I never imagined even seeing him in the flesh. Now, though, so much has changed. Everything has changed.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks me as I go to him. He cups my cheek as if the action is second nature to him. 

"I did," I confirm. "Did you?"

"Somewhat," he replies. His eyes search my face. "Little prophet, are you ready for this? If you are not, I will tell Chiron we are waiting. There is no rush."

"The Fates say otherwise," I say gently, smiling slightly.

"I don't care what the Fates say," he retorts. "Only what you say."

My heart warms at how easily the words leave his mouth. Though the sentiment should frighten me, it does not.

"I’m ready, I promise," I tell him. I reach up and lightly hold onto his wrist. He smiles. "You will be with me. I have nothing to be afraid of."

•••••

Ten minutes later as we make our way to Half-Blood Hill to meet with Chiron before we depart, Apollo is listing everything he intends on showing me in Greece. I don't have the heart to tell him we won't make it to most since we'll be a bit preoccupied, but I appreciate his enthusiasm.

"At the very least," he says confidently, gesturing with his free hand since I am holding onto the arm closest to me, "we will go to my two temples- did I mention there were two?- in Athens and, of course, Delphi."

"Perhaps we could go to Delos, once everything is over," I suggest, and he grins.

"We absolutely will," he agrees. "You will love it. It's beautiful. I have a palace there still, hidden from the mortals by the Mist."

"Do you spend much time there?" I ask curiously. He nods.

"Most of my time, really," he says. "I don't quite like Olympus. Not anymore. I prefer the solitude of Delos. I'm not disturbed there, since my sister rarely visits." He smiles down at me. "After the quest, if you would like, you could come live there with me."

I stare at him in shock. "Live there?"

Apollo nods. "Of course. I told you that your place is by my side. Should you insist on maintaining a temple, I will have one built if it will make you happy. But I would like for you to be with me on Delos, where you will not have to worry about anything. Where you will be safe."

I feel my face heat up. What he is suggesting, it is not something a mere priestess would be offered. It is almost as if he is treating me like his-

No. No, he couldn't be.

"Are you certain that would be appropriate, Apollo?" I ask softly. He laughs, as if my question is hilarious.

"Of course. Who else would I want with me?" he replies. I open my mouth to answer, then close it when I realize I have no answer. "Will you, though? Join me at Delos?"

I could refuse him. I know it. He would not punish me. He would not be angry. But why would I reject something I want? If it were up to me, I would never leave his side.

I cannot force myself to turn down his offer. So, instead, I nod.

"If you will have me, I will be happy to," I agree. The smile he gives in return is blinding.

"My lord, my lady," I hear Chiron greet us as we get closer.

"Chiron!" Apollo says happily, bouncing on his toes.

Chiron raises his eyebrows at his joyful attitude. His eyes drift to how I hold onto the god at my side, and he gives me a look. I set my jaw and only tighten my grip on Apollo.

I hate it. I hate how he judges me for my devotion, for the affection I freely choose to show to the god I serve.

"My lord," the centaur repeats. He sighs. "You are in quite a good mood today."

"I am indeed," he says. "Now, where is the car? Cassia and I must be on our way."

"Be careful," Chiron says. To me, "May the gods- including the one present- be with you, my lady."

I smile weakly. "Thank you."

•••••

"There has been nothing," I murmur to Apollo as we sit together after checking in and going through security. He stretches, then he lets his arm fall around my shoulders. My lips flicker into a small smile. 

"I did not expect much to happen until we get to Greece," he admits. "I cannot promise there will not be issues there, but here, I am enough to keep them away from you."

"They can sense that you are protecting me," I say. Apollo nods.

"They can," he says. "Hopefully, our time spent at temple ruins will throw off any monsters who may be lurking. When you enter hallowed ground, you essentially disappear to them. It is why I have insisted you live in my temple back at camp rather than anywhere else."

"Where else would I even go?" I joke with a laugh. "I like the temple."

"I know," he smiles warmly down at me. "I'm glad." With his free arm, he reaches over to take one of my hands in his. "You will like Delos even better, I hope."

"I'm sure I will," I agree.

He is about to speak when we get the call to board. Apollo leads the way to our gate, his sharp eyes keeping a watch for any possible problems that might arise in the few minutes we have before we are in flight. 

We board the plane without issue, settling into our comfortable seats. It is not long before we are in the air and the flight attendant has served us drinks. I am finally able to relax once we have safely taken off.

I look over at Apollo. He is laying with his eyes closed, giving me the opportunity to truly admire him. His sharp jawline, his flawless fair skin that is perfectly tanned, his golden hair. Anyone who sees him would know he must be a god. 

He is here. Right here, close enough that I could touch him. If I had been told even a month ago that he would be sitting next to me now, I would have thought the very concept to be absurd and impossible.

"You are staring," he teases, making me blush brightly at being caught. "I can feel your eyes on me."

He opens his eyes then, and the clear, crystal blue is striking. He smiles fondly at me. He takes my hand in his.

"What are you thinking about?" he murmurs. I sigh.

"Do not laugh at me if I tell you," I mumble.

Solemnly, he replies, "I would never."

I feel his thumb rub over my fingers. Gods, to think the god I have dedicated my life to is touching me so gently, so lovingly...

"I cannot believe you are really here," I whisper. I do not want us overheard. "I never could have imagined, Apollo, that you would ever be sitting next to me. That you would come to me as you have."

I hold tighter to his hand without meaning to, as if he will slip away if I do not keep him here. His expression is unreadable.

"Why not?" he asks quietly. The lump in my throat makes it impossible to speak for a moment.

"Because you are a god, and I...I am just a priestess," I finally admit. He frowns.

"You are not 'just' anything, Cassia," he insists. "You are a priestess, yes, and that is a position of honor. More than that, though, you are mine. Mine to protect, mine to care for, mine to cherish above all else. I will not allow you to see yourself as any less than a goddess in your own right."

My heart is racing as I listen to the words that so effortlessly spill out of his mouth. 

"But I'm not," I remind him. "I am not a goddess, not a consort, not- not anything but a demigod. Not even a particularly powerful demigod, at that."

He watches me in silence for a long moment. It feels like an eternity before he speaks again.

"That will be changed."

I don't know which of what I said he is referring to, but regardless, I know I have no say in it. I know he will give me whatever it is he desires to, and I cannot help but wonder if a new story is being written.

Chapter Text

The last sun rays illuminate the palatial room. Golden topazes and honey-tinted diamonds seem to hold flames within them. A lyre's song echoes. Massive, ancient lion statues line the sides of the room.

I look up, and the lions lead to a gilded throne. It is beautiful and painstakingly, elaborately detailed. I step closer. It gleams in the dying light.

My footsteps echo on the polished stone floors, mosaics disappearing under me with each step. I can nearly touch the seat of power. It is within my grasp. It is holy. It radiates energy. 

"What are we if not destined?" 

I wake with a start, my breath caught in my throat. 

"Hey, hey, breathe," I hear, and I freeze. I suddenly am well-aware of my position.

I am lying against Apollo, and I am practically clinging to him. I look up at him. He is so close.

"I had a dream," I tell him softly. "I was in-" I cut myself off and think. "Well, a throne room, I suppose. There were lion statues, and I saw mosaics on the floor. Gemstones covered the walls."

His eyes widen the slightest bit. His swallows.

"Did you see the throne?"

I nod shakily. "Yes. It was gold. It was rather elaborate." I frown.

"What is it?"

"I heard something," I admit. "A voice. It sounded distant but, somehow, it also seemed quite near. I cannot explain it." I look down at where I still hold onto him. "It was a vision. It had to be."

"Did it frighten you?" he asks after a moment. I shake my head.

"It felt sacred. It was," I pause before shyly adding, "safe." I huff under my breath at the way my face burns at the admission. I do not even know why it does. My eyes drift to look out the window. "Are we almost there?"

He nods. "Just another hour or so." Apollo smiles then. "It’s midnight. Happy birthday."

I look up at him. "Oh. Yes, it is my birthday, isn't it?"

"It is. Once we land, I have a hotel suite reserved for us. We can go to the temples once you have rested," he suggests. I nod.

"When will we go to wherever it is we are going for this quest?" I ask curiously.

"Tomorrow. After you have had a good day," he smiles. "As for where we are going..."

To the sphinx and the fallen walls.

"Thebes," I say instantly. I look up at him with eyes full of hope. "It must be. Yes?"

He chuckles and nods. "Yes. It is."

"Thebes..." I trail off, sitting back against my seat. I let out a breath. "Where Cadmus defeated the dragon. Where Alexander burnt then rebuilt the city. Where Dionysus was born." I swallow nervously. "It is a heavy legacy."

Apollo hums. 

"It is," he agrees. "It is a city of legends. Perhaps another will be written in our time there."

My eyes flick to his. "Perhaps so."

•••••

"Good morning, sunshine!" Apollo cheers as I come out onto the balcony for breakfast. I blush brightly. "Come, come! There is plenty to eat before we set out for the day."

I sit across from him at the table, and I take in the large spread. Even more, though, I take in the way the city looks around us. It is beautiful. It feels like I am meant to be here, where demigods have walked the earth for millennia. 

"Coming here feels like coming home," I murmur. Apollo smiles.

"The ancient lands do have a way about them," he agrees.

We eat our breakfast within a comfortable veil of silence, but all I can ponder is how everything around me feels like a dream. The air carries the daze of a vision. At the same time, I feel everything stronger. Every emotion, every ounce of joy, every drum of ache- I feel it all tenfold.

"Do you feel more powerful in Greece?" I ask Apollo curiously. I take a bite of food as I await his answer.

He thinks it over rather thoroughly, considering his words carefully before offering, "No," he finally says. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "I used to think I did."

"What happened?" I am thoroughly intrigued. 

"I believed Delphi to be my center of power, and I thought Delos my life-force," he murmurs. He pauses, his eyes taking on the faraway look he gets whenever he dips too deeply into his pool of memories. "But then, I realized power is not what I thought it was. It is now just a gentle hum lingering under my skin."

I wonder about the tingle I feel prickling at my skin whenever I heal, whenever Apollo's blessing scorches the hand of anyone who touches me. Could it be even a minute fraction of the constant reminder of glory Apollo carries hoisted upon his shoulders? Can the sheer energy bubbling right to the surface ever truly be dulled away? I cannot imagine it. It is a power for which men would kill and kings would sacrifice nations. I only ever taste fleeting drops of it, but that is more than most will ever know in their lifetime. 

I study Apollo, deeply curious. How has he not gone mad? He looks back at me after having been peacefully gazing out at the ancient city. I watch as his eyes soften as he takes in the sight of me. I remember the way the flames of his rage were stoked when I was given the slightest disrespect. 

Perhaps he has.

Chapter Text

We walk up the first temple, and as I take in the sight of the ancient columns, I can see the building that once stood there. I stop just before the threshold. Not a soul is anywhere nearby. I asked Apollo why as we approached, and he did not explain further than it being a trick of the Mist.

"It is important for you to know the safety my temples offer you against monsters," Apollo says. "Against gods."

"Gods?"

"No god can harm you so long as you are within the boundaries of one of my temples. It is my blessing. It protects you." He nudges me gently. "Go on. Tell me if it feels any different for you."

I step carefully, as if putting my weight on glass. As soon as my body crosses over, the world around me seems brighter. My senses awaken. Every sound is more crisp. The air is easier to breathe. The ground beneath my feet is more solid. The sun on my skin is warmer.

"It does," I murmur. I look over at one of the columns as I slowly climb the remaining stairs. "Apollo, what is this feeling?"

"Divinity," he says simply, sounding satisfied. "It is what it feels like to be holy."

"Can everyone feel this?" I ask as I kneel down to brush my fingertips along the stone trodden for centuries upon centuries.

"No," Apollo says quietly. "Just you."

"Why?"

He does not answer, and I do not press him. Instead, I approach the nearest column. I touch it lightly, and I feel as though the weight of it crashes down on top of me. It crushes my ribs open and mends my slashed soul. It is chaos, and it is bliss. 

It is the sour-sweet taste of immortality, and it is here.

"Apollo Delphinius," I murmur as the ancient echoes tell me how he was worshiped here. "The Delphic Apollo." I pause. "There was a court here. You were a king."

"Nearly," Apollo concurs. "Here, in Athens, I was afforded near the same honors as Zeus."

I wander further into the ruins. It feels as though I have been here before. Like calls to like.

I can only begin to imagine what Delphi will feel like.

•••••

The drive to Delphi is not nearly as long as I imagined. It is the hike up that exhausts me. Apollo offered to use his powers to take us to the sanctuary, but I refused.

I will make the pilgrimage.

I feel the breath in my lungs punch from me when I first gaze upon the Castalian Spring. The breeze blows lightly through the trees surrounding the spring. I can hear a faint, unintelligible, distant whisper.

I will do as the true Pythia would. 

There is a mere trickle in the spring. I imagine even that is impressive. But as I kneel at the side of the fountain, water suddenly rushes forth. Apollo does not speak. I do not speak. There is nothing to be said that could properly convey the weight of what is happening.

I wet my hands in the water, washing them of impurities. I sprinkle drops over my feet, over my head. I kneel closer and cup my hands, bringing the water to my mouth. As I swallow, a burst of fire rushes through me, and I have never felt so alive. 

After moving on, it is not long before we reach the sanctuary. I am stunned by the beauty of it, of the sheer spiritual weight held in the land. I smell something sweet and smoky in the air. I know deep within me what this is.

The omphalos is gone, tucked away in the archaeological museum. Where I would have once given my prophecies has been stolen from me. It was a birthright that was not meant for mortal hands to touch. Mortals have not cared for a long time.

Apollo squeezes my hand. I feel his eyes on me. I hear his voice in my mind, This is it. This is yours.

To think that if I stood here three millennia ago, I would have been sacred. I would have been holy. I would have been the voice of Apollo, sought out by conquerors and kings and emperors and generals. 

"Take me to the cave," is the first thing I have uttered since arriving.

The words leave me before I can stop them. My senses are heightened once again, and I can hear the whispering grow louder. I am so close to the beginning, to the roots of my soul. So, so close.

Apollo does not say a word about my demand. He does not tell me a thing. He simply takes ahold of me, and I know to close my eyes. I am falling. Wind is blowing. 

The whispers have turned to screams by the time I open my eyes.

I gaze upon the entrance to the cave, and I feel as though I am greeting an old friend. If Apollo speaks to me, I do not hear it. I walk as though my feet innately know what steps to make. I walk into the darkness of the cavern, but I still see. 

The voices of the old gods scream and scream. They are restless. Until they suddenly go silent, and I am at the opening of the earth. 

I lose my fragile grip on my body, and I fall to my knees. My fingers dig into the dirt. The fumes that float heavily in the air are sucked into my body. My vision goes white, and I have never heard the voice of fate so clearly.

"May Dysis deliver you."

"Wine hastens to honey, and the river halts its flow. A gilded chain will mark your making."

"The water flows once more. The House of Phoebus has risen. The rootless stem hosts the key upon which the threads are sealed."

The cave loosens its grip on me, and I am thrust back to consciousness. Startled, I back away from the crevice, and I stumble. I cannot think straight. The world around me centers on the shadowed crack in the earth, blackened from any daylight.

It spoke to me, I realize. It is perhaps my most validating moment. I can hear the Delphic oracle in its purest form. It knows I have been chosen, and it chooses me still.

"You have heard what the earth would offer," Apollo finally assumes. I am still stunned. I nod. He pauses. I know he invokes the oracle and forces me into my sacred duty when he asks, "How will we know we have found what we seek in Thebes?"

My vision clouds, and my hearing muffles until all that exists are the words, "The end will be found where the soil was sown."

I am not so startled this time as the spirit shakes free of me. At first, it felt as though a ghost was phasing through my body. Now, it is a gentle breath, inhaled and exhaled.

I echo the prophecies, the ancient Greek flowing effortlessly from my tongue. It suddenly strikes me that others dwell here or have once, but the voices are silent in their ears. It is a humbling thought. It is an exhilarating thought. 

I whisper the prophecies that were told to me. I hear the voice of the oracle in my head as I repeat its words, the thick, layered tones seeming to bounce off the chamber and off my skull. 

"It was unlike anything I ever could have imagined," I whisper.

I am too afraid to tear at the heavy shroud of sacrality that has wrapped around us. It can withstand the collapse of empires, but it can ignite at the smallest spark.

"Did it let you see?"

I do not need the mists to have seen. I gaze upon Apollo, and I see eternity.

Chapter Text

Delphi has changed everything. Even once we return to the car, even once I have left hallowed ground, I do not feel the same. Hearing the pure voice of fate has altered something deep inside me, and Apollo has also come out differently. He is fiercer. His touch burns hotter. His words flow sweeter.

Is this clarity or is it insanity? I cannot help but wonder. Is this reverence or is it obsession?

Seeing Delphi, experiencing the cave, it has all made me see Apollo differently. I see him now for more. He is not just the god who chose me, he is my destiny. I know the rattling weight of pure prophecy. I know the glorious burden of hearing the earth speak. I know the price of knowing is sanity.

I know him. More than I ever thought possible.

"And now to the sphinx and the fallen walls," I rasp finally. Apollo nods. "Will we rest first? Before we go to find whatever is waiting?"

"We have to," he replies. "It has been quite the day."

Yes. It has.

•••••

The suite Apollo has rented out for the night is lovely. Even lovelier is the comfortable couch in the living room, which I promptly throw myself on and do not intend on moving. My aching back is finally provided some comfort, and I wait for the pent-up emotions to melt away.

I stare up at the ceiling. Until I cannot help but watch Apollo move around the room. I have always seen him as a messianic figure. He has been nothing short of a savior to me. He has always been perfect- utterly flawless. As the memories of the past several days pile up inside my head, I cannot help but gain clarity.

Apollo is proud. Apollo is stubborn. Apollo is possessive. Apollo is vain. And I love him.

I love the way he looks at me as both an extension of himself and as a herald of fate. I love how he defends me ruthlessly and endlessly, no matter the cause of battle. I love how he openly declares me as his own, no matter the way in which it is meant. I love the way he holds himself to the highest standards and drapes me in jewels to reflect it. I love the way I am but an altar to his glory. 

Yet, somehow, he sees me as more.

I have served him all my life. I can scarcely remember a time before him. I would kneel for eternity if it would keep him with me, but he will not have me on my knees. I will be by his side.

A consort in all but name, my mind whispers.

No. No, I can't even consider the idea. It would bring me far too much hope to even ponder.

Loving Apollo is a beautiful curse. I wish so badly he would relieve me of my suffering and simply speak plainly of what is to become of us. Surely, he must feel it too?

I have loved him for so long, but this is different. It is different and terrifying and exhilarating. My heart aches for him. It hurts worse than ever before to not have him. 

"You said I deserve sacrifice," I murmur, breaking the silence. Apollo stops his movements around the room. "I do not."

The god looks over at me. His face is unreadable.

"Yes, you do," he insists.

"I am not a god, Apollo."

"You deserve the veneration of one," he retorts, as if suggesting otherwise is utterly ridiculous. He comes to where I lay, and he kneels next to me. "Delphi might have granted clarity to your sight, but it does not change reality. I do not care about propriety, about sacred law, about any of it."

He gently strokes my hair. My eyes are locked on his, chained to him in a way I would remain forever if I could. 

"You say I have proven my devotion, but I haven't," he continues, softer. "Before I ask of you...that is to say, you are not expected to-” he sighs, cutting himself off. "You know I would never ask you to give me anything you did not freely wish to give."

I blush at the insinuation but nod. "I know, my lord." It comes out without my meaning for it.

He closes his eyes briefly. "No. I...I am not your lord, Cassia. Not right now. Not- Not ever again. I do not want you seeing me as merely the god you serve. I want to be more than that." He looks at me, and his eyes are desperate. "Please. Just Apollo." 

"Just a man," I murmur, the meaning of his words finally clear. He nods. 

"I mean it, Cas. I know you fear Daphne and- and Cassandra and the rest. I cannot blame you. But I swear it, you do not owe me anything. In my youth, I was foolish. I was," he sighs, "relentless. Despicable. But you must know that you are free to do as you wish without fear of repercussion."

I act before thinking. I gently touch his cheek, and my fingertips burn as I feel his skin. He leans into my touch. He does not scold me for overstepping. He is weakened in the most beautiful way.

"I owe you everything," I whisper. He does not understand. I wonder if he ever will. "You are my reason for breathing, Apollo. You gave me a life, a purpose. I will be in your debt until the day I die."

He goes to protest, but I continue, "Please do not think for even a moment that I have felt compulsion in anything. Every offering I have ever made, everything that I will give...I serve you, forever, because I want nothing more."

I lower my hand, but he does not let me go. Instead, he holds my hand in both of his. 

"I know what you will ask of me. I used to be afraid of it," I admit shyly, fighting to get the words out. He frowns. "I'm not afraid anymore, Apollo.

"I know you would never punish me if I...if I refused. If I ever had something I did not wish to give." I swallow my nerves and continue, saying, "But I will never deny you anything. I would never want to deny you."

He bows his head, and he brings my hand to his lips. He loosens his grip on me just enough so he can press a kiss to my knuckles.

"Soon," he whispers. "Soon, I will be deserving of you."

Chapter Text

The night is long.

Apollo and I end up in front of the fire. We sit together, with my back against his chest and his arms around me. We talk quietly for hours. He tells me stories of the past, of the Trojan War, of his adventures from ancient times, of the fall of Rome. He tells me of his battles with monsters and his conversations with kings. 

"Do you ever miss it?" I ask him eventually. He shakes his head.

"I prefer the peace of Delos now," he says. "I enjoyed my days of wild, but I was often reckless. Time has given me perspective." He plays with one of my rings, making me smile. "Is it strange for you? Being set apart from the other demigods?"

"No," I answer immediately. "In the beginning, it made me feel safe. Safety was what I needed more than anything, and knowing I was different- I was special- made me feel safer than I ever had."

"And now?" he asks quietly.

I look down to where he is mindlessly playing with my ring. He enjoys touching me, even if it is in such a simple way.

"It has become all I know," I say simply. "Familiarity cannot be strange."

"You said before that you struggle with loneliness." I nod. "Do you still?"

"It is inevitable," I say gently. "It isn't your fault."

"I have not been attentive enough," he frowns. "I should have come to you sooner."

"You have done nothing wrong. I knew I was agreeing to solitude when I made my vows," I assure him. 

"You did not know what solitude would mean," he argues.

He's not wrong. I have contemplated that thought more than I'd care to admit. Loneliness follows me everywhere I go. It is all I know. But I regret nothing.

"I knew it would be worth it."

My words hang in the air. He falls silent. He rests his chin on my shoulder and hugs me closer. I fight the urge to faint from the familiarity and affection of his touch.  

"I will keep you by my side," he decides. "You will never be alone again unless you desire it."

"I doubt Zeus will be very fond of that idea," I dare to say. He scoffs.

"Zeus will have to pry you from my cold, dead hands," Apollo says firmly. It sends a chill down my spine. "I do not care if he dislikes it. He cannot go against fate."

His words carry a heavy finality. Fate, the ghost that it is, hangs between us. It haunts us. Fate is fearsome for even the strongest of gods and greatest of heroes. For us, it is terrifyingly inevitable.

It is said you cannot fear what you know, but I disagree. Fate and I have become intimately intertwined, and I have never feared it more than I do now. Its grim certainty is as dangerous a weapon as a sharpened blade.

"Cassia," Apollo speaks up after a long silence. I hum. "I have something for you. For your birthday." I know better than to protest his gifts, so I wait for him to tell me more. "I think you will like this. At least, I hope so."

He moves, clearly summoning something, before I feel him hang something around my neck. I glance down at the necklace, curious as to the gift. It is simpler than many of the other items he has bestowed upon me- a delicate gold chain with intermittent pearls. It is undeniably lovely.

"It is beautiful, Apollo," I say truthfully. "Thank you."

"It belonged to my mother," he says, and he almost sounds nervous. "She gave it to me a while back, and I did not think anyone to be deserving of it. Until now."

I am stunned. He has given me numerous priceless pieces, but this? This belonged to a goddess. To his mother. I look back at him, visibly shocked.

"There is no one better to wear the finest jewels than you, my sweet little dove. My darling prophet," he coos, relaxing as he takes in the fact that my reaction is positive. He teases, "Who else did you suppose I would grant something so precious?" 

I stammer out, "Well, I- uh- I don't know."

He chuckles and hugs me closer to him. I nearly pass out, but the lightheadedness strikes me for the best reasons.

"Only you," he assures me. "From the moment the threads of your fate were woven."

That causes a million questions to rise up in my head, but I ask none of them. I'm both terrified and desperately curious to know. But I know right now is not the time to ask. Instead, I just allow myself to enjoy Apollo's closeness. It is late, and it does not take long at all for the comfortable silence, his warmth, and his steady heartbeat to lull me to sleep. 

•••••

"It's odd," I say after we've been driving for a while. "I should feel more afraid."

"Why is that?" Apollo asks.

"Well, we are on a quest," I say, and he shrugs. "And I imagine there is still some likelihood of a monster attack."

"Perhaps," he agrees. "But most monsters are not so stupid as to challenge a god. To challenge you would be to challenge me."

I fiddle with the gold, roped chain on my wrist. I glance down at my hands. My fingers are calloused from years of archery, and they are circled by several golden rings studded with jewels. I have a heavy, sun-emblazoned cuff on one wrist and the chain on the other.

I turn my hands over, taking in the undersides. My fingers are covered in thin, silver scars from drawing the bowstring. They are calloused and worn. There are old burn scars on my hands from the times I brushed too close to the sacrificial flames.

The hands of a priestess, I think, brushing my fingertips along one of the oldest scars. I remember the day I received the wound.

I sit on folded knees in front of the statue of my lord. Mr. D watches from behind me, subtly guiding me as I learn to do my duties properly. The gilded, gemstone-studded dagger in my hands is razor sharp.

"Carefully," the god behind me mutters as I work.

I slowly trim the rough bark from the laurel branch I am meant to offer Apollo to create sacred flames. It is more difficult than I imagined it would be, and my hand slips. I suck in a sharp breath as the blade catches along my palm. Blood immediately pours from the wound.

Mr. D curses and comes to my side. He kneels beside me and takes the knife from me. He pulls out a flask and offers it to me.

"Drink," he commands.

I take it from him and do as told. I have come to learn to obey the gods' orders without protest. He takes a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wraps my hand.

The liquid in the flask is decadent. It takes like chocolate and sweet walnut cream.

"Ambrosia. It will help you heal," Mr. D tells me. I nod silently. "Listen, kid. Take this as a lesson." My eyes dart up to his.

"You chose this life. It is an admirable path, though a painful one. You will learn that to serve a god is to sacrifice. Your blood is only the first of many sacrifices you will make. You must prepare yourself for the road ahead."

I swallow the lump in my throat and nod.

"I will give anything if I don't have to go back home," I whisper, and my voice cracks.

"I only hope Apollo is worth it."

"He is."

I blink once, twice. The scar is old, but it has not faded. It is a reminder of the price of devotion. I would pay it again.

"Cassia?" I look over to Apollo, and his expression is unreadable. "We have arrived."

Chapter Text

There is a strange feeling in the air. Thebes is ancient. It is one of the oldest cities in the world. It is written in the stones, in the soil, in the dust. I feel stronger here. My mind is clearer, and the air is lighter. My feet fall softer on the ground.

Go where the warriors were born.

I jump at the unexpected voice that fills my mind. I do not recognize it, but I trust it. I take a shaky breath.

"We need to go to the ruins of the Cadmea," I tell Apollo as we walk through the city.

He raises his eyebrows. "That was sudden."

"I was told," I say. He hums.

"Alright. To the Cadmea, then."

I am not so surprised by his easy acceptance. I am surprised at how, well, accessible the ancient citadel's ruins seem. They are swallowed by modernity. There are shops across the street, and buildings everywhere. Suddenly, there are grass and stone ruins of an ancient stronghold.

"We may enter," Apollo says. He glances around at the clueless mortals. "They cannot see us. In their eyes, we are merely birds."

I step carefully as I wander into the ruins. The house of those beyond time once lost, I recall from the prophecy. I am trying to figure out why we have been told to be here.

"Alexander burned this place to the ground," I contemplate. I try to soak in the way this place feels- ancient, holy, and laced with history. "Cadmus raised it. He sowed dragon's teeth on this very soil."

I kneel to the ground, nearly overcome with emotion. I hang my head as I make sense of the present. We are surrounded by the past here. One of the greatest heroes before the time of Heracles walked this ground. He found his glory here. If I close my eyes, I can nearly see the corpse of a dragon.

Gods, I think with a shuddered breath.

"Cadmus," I whisper a prayer to the worshiped hero, "show me the way."

My chest is heavy, and I look up to breathe easier. My eyes immediately find an inscription. It is just a few meters away. It is faint, but it glints like molten copper when the sun hits the hollowed stone. I move closer, examining the find.

"Apollo," I call. He quickly comes to my side. I crouch low, studying the strange inscription on the rock. 𐀀𐀒.

"What is this?" I wonder, letting my fingertips hover over it.

"It is Linear B," Apollo answers with a curious tone, observing the carving. "A-ko."

"What does it mean?" I ask him. He is quiet a moment.

"'Holy place,' I suppose," he answers after a moment of consideration.

My fingers tingle the closer I get to touching the symbols. I furrow my eyebrows, frowning.

"I wonder..." I murmur, trailing off.

I finally let my skin brush the stone, and I feel the warmth seep from my body and into the ruins. All of the sudden, there is a grinding sound. I stumble back into Apollo's chest, startled. He places his hands on my arms, a subtle comfort.

I watch, in awe, as a pit opens in the earth. Dirt caves inside, and there is a perfectly-carved spiral staircase leading into the depths. My eyes widen.

"Is that...?" I trail off. Apollo blinks, stunned. He nods.

I know I have no choice but to enter. There are endless possibilities of what might be lingering underneath us. I hesitantly approach the top of the staircase, and I pause.

Holy place, I consider, attempting to make sense of the situation. House of those beyond time...A temple? It must be. We must be seeking one out.

"Something is down there," I surmise. Apollo nods. "We might as well get it over with, then."

I do not wait. If I linger, I will crumble. Fear will overtake me, and all will be lost. I move without thinking, descending into the earth without another thought.

I outstretch my hand, and I am able to create a small ball of light. It is just enough to illuminate the path in front of me.

Every footstep on the stone steps seems to echo. My stomach grows tighter the further we go. I become mildly concerned that Apollo is not speaking or making much noise at all, but I am reassured by the presence of his warmth behind me. Whatever may come, I am not alone.

I flinch as, out of nowhere, echoed, layered voices fill the earth. They are singing. They are praying. They are screaming. I freeze, backing up into Apollo's chest.

"Please!" the voice begs, wailing. "Please! Not again! Do not forsake me! I- I will be loyal, I swear it! Do not abandon me!"

"Apollo," I whisper shakily. "What is that? Who is that?"

He lowers his head so he may speak into my ear.

"Ghosts," he murmurs. "The old gods are attempting to scare you away."

"Sanctuary," it gasps. "Apollo! Do not turn away from me!"

My blood runs cold. I know it is an illusion. It is meant to test my resolve. But the sheer fear that radiates off the voice and onto the walls gives me pause.

I can do this, I reassure myself. Ghosts have no power over me. I will not be haunted.

I very carefully step forward. I force myself not to shake.

I am the Pythia, I remember. The ground I pass over is hallowed.

The wails continue. I swallow the bile that rises in my throat and continue on. My legs nearly collapse when I finally reach the end of the staircase, but I manage to stay on my feet. My hand wavers slightly as I hold it out. I summon my bow into my other hand, hoping it will give me strength.

I have a way out, I am assured. I can kill whatever tries to kill me first.

My hand steadies. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. 

"Little priestess," I hear. This voice is different. It is stronger. It is older. "You have come."

"Cassia," I hear Apollo say, and he sounds unsteady. Worried. I turn, and he is frozen a few paces behind me. "I cannot move forward."

"What? What do you mean?" I demand, frantic. He lifts his hand up, and it is like he is hitting an invisible forcefield.

"Something is keeping me from continuing," he says, his eyes reflecting his fear. He yells out to whatever god guards this place, demanding, "Let me forward! I must be with my prophet!"

"Little priestess," the voice repeats. It sounds like a cruel taunt this time. "Fate will find you alone."

I shiver as a coldness runs down my spine. It washes over me and freezes my fingers and toes.

For the first time in my life, I am alone.

"I will be alright," I murmur to Apollo. I look over my shoulder into the darkness. "I have no choice."

His eyes are wide, panicked. He reaches out to me, and I go to him. I let out a sigh of relief that I can go backward. Apollo holds my face in his hands.

"Be careful," he insists. "These gods- they are older than me. Older than my father. Older than- than the Titans, Cassia. These are forces you cannot barter with." I swallow the lump rising in my throat. I feel oddly numb. "Promise me, Cassia. Promise me you will be careful."

"I promise," I whisper.

He stares at me a moment, before he leans in and presses a long kiss to my forehead. He murmurs something in Ancient Greek against my skin, something I do not quite catch but am certain nonetheless that it is a blessing.

"We are meant to have eternity," he mumbles. "They cannot take it from us. I was promised."

"Apollo? What are you talking about?" I ask, startled. He swallows roughly.

"As soon as we see daylight once again, I will tell you. I swear it to you. I swear it upon the River Styx."

The grave tone of his voice scares me, but I cannot let myself waver. So, instead, I nod. Just once. But it is enough. It has to be.

"Be careful," he repeats.

"I will," I promise, and I hate the way my voice cracks. Even more, I hate that I have to turn my back to him and leave him behind.

"The Pythia," the voice muses. "You have come to face the gods who shaped the universe."

I work up every bit of nerve that remains inside me, and I bring back the light I was previously summoning as I demand, "Show me to your altar." There is no response. "I am a priestess, and all gods demand sacrifice. There is nothing I know better. Show me."

There is a moment of silence- of nothing- until, suddenly, sconces of Greek fire burst to life. The tunnel in front of me seems endless, fire dotting far into the distance.

"Will Apollo be freed?" I ask of the old gods.

"If your sacrifice is accepted, you will be reunited before journey's end."

I steel myself. Alright.

Sacrifice, I tell myself as I release the light from my palm and move forward. I can sacrifice. My entire existence is a sacrifice. I was made to do this.

So I continue. It is too much. It is not enough. The air is thick and heavy. It stinks of dust and age and decay. I vaguely wonder if the dirt I walk on is truly dirt, or if bones and ash are mixed in. Does it matter?

Everything has to die eventually, I attempt to comfort myself, holding tighter to my bow.

"Perhaps," the voice responds. I flinch.

It can read my thoughts. Of course it can. The old gods are not figures, they are forces. They are more than the human mind can comprehend.

"Who are you?" I ask, trying not to come off as hostile. I must at least try to understand.

"I am Khronos."

"Kronos? The Titan?"

"I am and I am not. The Titan has fallen. But I remain. Khronos. Time. Gods are not linear, nor are they stagnant."

"No, I suppose not," I murmur. "You emerged at the dawn of creation then, did you not? Unlike the Titan."

"Before Gaia found her place in the universe. Yes," he confirms. It is eerie. "You ask me a great deal of questions, yet you do not question the sun god."

I huff out a laugh. I am being judged by a god. Of course I am.

"Who else would be better to judge you?"

That's a fair point. I sigh.

"I have questioned him," I finally admit after a silence. I hear something and try to find the source, but there is nothing. I keep going. "It has not happened much, but...when I was younger, when this was still new...I did."

"Why?"

"I imagine you already know."

"Perhaps, but tell me."

I roll my eyes. Of course I have found the most talkative primordial.

"I did not understand why I was chosen," I mutter after a bit of consideration. He can read my thoughts; he would know regardless if I chose to voice it or not. I might as well have a choice over the words he hears. "I doubted that I was able to be the priestess a god like Apollo deserved."

I go quiet, pondering my past. I questioned Apollo a great deal in the very beginning. I only heard him in fleeting whispers. I never saw him. I never felt him. I had nothing but the memory of my rescue and the statue I was meant to tend. I wondered if he was there any longer. I knew he was- deep inside me, I knew it- but it was easy to doubt. I eventually learned better, but it took time.

"Continue."

I glare at the imagery emblazoned into the wall near a sconce. It is a three-headed beast. The body is that of a snake, with the heads of a man, a bull, and a lion. I imagine that is the closest I will get to seeing the god.

"I will speak at my own will," I snarl.

A cold laugh echoes throughout the tunnel. It is as if a hundred men are laughing over each other, each one grossly amused and ready to tear my heart from my chest. It is the way a predator laughs at its pathetic victim. A cold sweat erupts on the back of my neck.

"You are subservient only to your god, I see," he muses, as if the concept is hilarious. "Priestesses tend to fear the gods."

"I am not afraid," I snap. "I am irritated with your games."

"Is fate not a game?"

"Fate is inevitable."

"As is time."

"Perhaps," I concede. "But I will not be a pawn. I serve only who I choose. And I do not choose you."

Chapter Text

Everything around me seems to slow for a brief moment. It is a display of power. I have angered the god.

"What makes you assume you have the ability to choose?" it- he- mocks me. I grit my teeth.

"I might not have a choice in my fate, but I have a choice in my loyalty," I say.

If I am doomed, I might as well not waver. There is no point, not when I will have to face my thoughts, my feelings, and my emotions before the judges of the Underworld. If it angers this god beyond creation, then so be it.

"I have never met a demigod who spoke of fate so freely," he notes. It is an odd change of subject. "You do not fear it."

It is not a question. It is a statement.

"No," I agree. "I do not."

"Why?"

"I see fate endlessly. Every time I close my eyes, I see beginnings and endings. I hear the whispers of fate as clearly as I hear you," I say after a moment of consideration. "Fate will come. There is no reason to fear what has already been written."

"And death? Do you fear that?"

I stiffen slightly. It comes across as a threat, but I refuse to accept it as such. I know this is a test. I know he wants me to be afraid. I know the Fates want to see my strength, to see if I am capable of persevering.

So I will.

"I do not," I answer simply. "I will not be forsaken."

"Apollo forsake others. Why will he not do the same to you? Why are you so certain that you are safe?"

I clench my jaw. I do not want to be reminded of Daphne and Cassandra and the rest. I am not them. Their fate is not mine.

"Faith."

It is answer enough. It is the truth. I know those who came before me did not have kind endings. I know they were doomed. It does not mean anything for me. I have no choice but to trust that Apollo will not turn his back on me.

I enter a chamber, and it is brighter here. The floors are made of polished gold, and the walls are covered in mosaics of the cosmos made out of gemstones. At the very back of the room is a huge statue with a flat, marble altar before it. Curious, I move closer.

The statue is a wheel of the zodiac. A serpent is coiled around it, and I take a moment to admire the detail. I briefly wonder who carved the statue, who might have left it here. How long has it been here, hidden away in the embrace of Time himself?

The altar is smooth, and it is engraved with various symbols. I do not focus on them. Instead, my sights set on the knife that sits on top. The blade is sharp celestial bronze, and the hilt is gilded and embedded with a serpentine emerald.

"Time is not linear," the god whispers. "In the days of old, gods were not satisfied with wine and incense." I give away no reaction. "We required blood."

"What do you want me to do?" I scoff. "Kill myself?"

"You will choose. If your devotion to fate and to your god is true, you will make your sacrifice."

His words are a challenge. I try not to allow my fear to be evident. It is one thing to kneel at the feet of a statue and worship the god it represents. It is one thing to offer my life in servitude. It another thing entirely to offer blood.

I know little about magic, but I do know blood holds power. Blood is binding. Blood is the most valuable sacrifice one can make. In ancient times, it was animal blood. That was enough.

It appeased the gods, and it showed trust and honor. Before that, before tradition changed, before the gods interceded, it was human blood. The gods demanded complete and total sacrifice. Unquestionable submission.

Captive Trojans scream as they are slaughtered upon the grave of Patroclus. Iphigenia is thrust toward the flames, only for her body to vanish. Offerings of bodies fall from cliffs and burst against the rocks. Marred, chipped bones litter the ground of a Cretan cave.

"Devotion," the flames whisper, "has a price. Will you pay it?"

I snap out of the vision, and my chest is not as heavy. Breathing is not a challenge. My body is lighter, airier. I do not resent what must be done or the risks that will come with it.

"What comes next? How will I know you are not deceiving me?" I demand of the god.

"You will have to use your precious faith to answer that question."

I want to scream. This is too much, too heavy, too frightening. But I remember Apollo, trapped and unable to save me. I remember he is kept away.

"I want your word Apollo will be returned to me," I say, picking up the dagger. It is heavier than I expected it to be.

"You will have what you desire."

That settles it. I move before I lose my nerve. I bring the blade to my hand and close my eyes so I do not have to watch my skin slice open. I am grateful, I suppose, that the blade is razor sharp. It cuts easily, like an arrow through the wind. I let out a sharp hiss as the pain of the wound hits me, and nausea sets in almost immediately. I grit my teeth in an attempt to not vomit, and I slam my hand down onto the cold stone. 

"I give you the blood you require," I force myself to say. "I pay the price of devotion."

The statue before me shakes, and I briefly see ghosts- countless ghosts- clinging to it. The ground vibrates, and the air grows thick with the metallic scent of blood. The flames in the sconces erupt into bursts of heat, and I close my eyes. I crouch down, trying to shelter myself. The spirits may try to attack me and pass through my body. The colossal statue may crumble. The room may collapse, and all will be lost anyway.

As soon as it all began, however, it is over.

Everything is still. Everything is quiet. The god is silent. I do not feel invisible eyes watching me. I do not feel prodding at my thoughts. I feel only the throbbing of my hand where I split my skin open.

I am reluctant to open my eyes. I am reluctant to move. But I know I have no choice, so I suck in a breath and slowly, cautiously stand. I force my eyes open. All I see is my blood smeared on the stone in front of me.

"Cassia!" I hear a choked gasp, and it shakes me back to reality. Apollo runs at me, and I am suddenly in his arms. "What happened?"

I cannot make myself speak. So I just hold up my bleeding hand, and Apollo curses in Greek. He covers my hand with his, there is a warmth, and the pain is gone. When he moves, I see only a thin scar interlaced with all the others.

"What happened?" he repeats, frantic. "I was- I was there, and suddenly, I was not. I heard you talking. Who were you talking to?"

I look up at him then, the question reawakening me. I frown deeply.

"You did not hear him?" I ask, puzzled. He frowns in confusion.

"Hear who? I heard nothing aside from the ghosts," he says carefully.

"Khronos. The primordial god. He is here. Or, he was. He was speaking to me the entire time," I rush out. Apollo blinks.

"Was he the one who demanded the blood?" he asks. I nod.

"He said I had to choose. He- he said I would give blood if my devotion was true," I stammer.

"And you did it."

His voice has changed, as has the way he looks at me. He looks at me as if I am the brightest star in the sky. As if I have done something miraculous. I do not understand why, but understanding is not my priority at the moment.

Later, I promise myself. I will find out later.

In that moment, the walls shift and creak. They open up to reveal a doorway.

"Cassia," Apollo says, and my eyes move to his. "I know we must keep going. I know the timing is terrible. I know I should wait until we are free of these tunnels, free from the grasp of the old gods. But I cannot. I cannot wait or refrain. Not now, not after..." he trails off, his eyes finding my once-bloody hand.

"You're frightening me, Apollo," I worry, my heart nearly lurching out of my chest. "What is it?"

His throat bobs. He grasps onto my hand.

"Cassia," he repeats, as if he is trying to calm himself, "I have to tell you the truth about something. Something I have hidden from you."

I frown deeply. He has kept something from me. By his reaction, it is something of consequence.

Please, I beg any god who is willing to listen, please do not let him shatter me.

He could do it. With just a word, he could ruin me. All I hold dear, all I love, all I have worked for and dedicated myself to- it could all disappear in an instant. I cannot breathe as I wait in the silence for him to speak.

"If the old gods are truly present, if they are speaking to you...it has implications. You need to know why." He swallows again, and he looks well and truly afraid. Vulnerable. "You have felt connected to me all your life, have you not?"

I can only nod. He breathes out in relief. 

"Even before I brought you from your home, you felt as though you were watched, protected from harm. Yes?"

I blink. How does he know this? We have never spoken of it. I know he looked after me as a child, but I have never voiced how truly sheltered I felt. I grew up in chaos, but I never truly felt in danger. I felt eyes on me, always. I felt untouchable, even as my father screamed at me and berated me.

Reluctantly, I nod again. 

"Cas, there's a reason why," he says. His crystal eyes stare pleadingly into mine.

"Why?" I whisper.

"I have told you that you are mine," he murmurs, "but you do not know that I am yours. I always have been."

I could pass out. What is happening? The world around me seems to slow, and I feel increasingly lightheaded. What does he mean?

"Cassia," he says, and it is a desperate prayer, "you are my soulmate."

Chapter Text

In the dawn of days, when the world was young and ripe for the taking, humans were created whole. They were made from contrasting halves, four arms and four legs. Zeus feared their power and split them in two. This was his solution, for then the humans would spend their lives searching for their other half from whom they were separated, rather than attempt to overthrow the gods.

The plan did not come to fruition exactly as he intended. While most humans followed his design, some strayed. Some were fated to not be split from another mortal, but instead, their souls were intertwined with forces much greater. Some had a soul that became woven with that of a god. Once the design of two halves of a whole was introduced, fate could see it through in whatever way best suited their great plan for the universe.

These bonds crossed through time and mortality. Ariadne and Diomysus. Psyche and Eros. Peleus and Thetis. Zeus was powerless to stop it.

I stare at Apollo in stunned silence. Soulmate. The word echoes in my head. Soulmate. I remember Chiron's lesson on this clearly.

I am terrified to move or even breathe, lest I shatter the bubble that surrounds us. Apollo is so close I can feel his breath, feel the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of his immortal heart. His hand shakes ever so slightly as he reaches for me and cups my cheek.

I let him. How could I not?

I would like to say I can remain strong, that I do not crumble in his hands, that I am unaffected. But if I did, it would all be a lie.

"My prophet," he breathes out adoringly. "Cassia." He draws me closer with the arm he has managed to slip around my waist, and he presses his forehead to mine. "I cannot do this anymore. I cannot pretend you are not-" he huffs. Desperately, he says, "I swear it on the Styx, I am yours alone."

I gasp sharply, unable to stop myself.

"Apollo," I murmur, both shocked by his oath and horrified at what the cost may be if he breaks it.

"It's true. I have never strayed from you, from the moment I knew you existed. You are my fate, little one. It is you. It has always been you."

"Truly?" I whisper, my eyes closed as I don't dare move away from his warmth.

"Truly," he echos, calm and relaxed and utterly certain.

I know it is true. I have always known, deep down. There is a reason he has no children my age or younger. There is a reason for his affection. There is a reason for his attachment and devotion.

Sacrifice be damned. I do not want to wait for him to make whatever show he had thought to. Not now, not when we are subjected to the mercy and whims of the oldest gods.

"How- How long have you known?" I stammer, my throat tightening. How is any of this possible?

I can feel him smile as he presses himself closer. "From the moment of your birth." His smile grows. "I felt it in the depths of my soul." He strokes my hair fondly. "It has happened, a god being given to a mortal as a soulmate. Even still, I never expected to have one of my own."

I consider his words. Then, however, a dark thought strikes me. Fear nearly paralyzes me. The idea that everything has been a lie is terrifying.

"Is...is that the only reason you saved me?" I ask, my voice small as I take a small step away from him. I need to know. His face immediately drops.

"No! Of course not," he says earnestly, so earnestly his words cannot be denied. "I would have loved you regardless, but as it turns out, it was my good fortune that you had the gift of prophecy. I wanted you to be safe.

"I wanted you to have the chance to learn how to harness your abilities. It just so happened that I needed a priestess, and it was a mere coincidence that you perfectly suited the role. Well, perhaps it was not a coincidence in truth. Is anything, really? Still, it certainly seemed like one."

My world is spinning. The only thing I can focus on is, I would have loved you regardless.

I stare at him, barely able to breathe. I cannot process the thoughts in my head or the emotions in my chest.

"You would have loved me regardless?" I repeat in a small voice.

"Well, yes, of course," he confirms, not realizing that my heart is racing five hundred miles an hour. "How could I not love you? You are perfect."

My jaw drops. I try to speak, but nothing comes out. How could I not love you? It was asked as if the answer was obvious to him, as if it should have been obvious to me, as if he cannot fathom any other possibility.

"You love me?"

It is a whisper. But Apollo looks like I just asked the most shocking question he has ever heard in his unending life. It is frightening and exhilarating to have everything I have ever wanted happening all at once. I am terrified this is a dream or illusion.

"You did not know?" he asks, dumbfounded.

"I...I knew you had a fondness for me. You have made that quite clear," I say shakily. "But love is something else entirely. I- I did not think it was possible. Even after all you have said, all you have done."

He sighs dramatically and takes me into his arms once more, declaring, "Of course I love you, little prophet. I love you more than I have ever loved anything. I know it is a frightening concept, but it is true nonetheless."

I have trouble processing it. Love. Apollo loves me. Me.

I have spent so long accepting that I could never have my love returned. I have spent my life praying for something I believed to be impossible.  Hearing that what I want is here, it is real, is overwhelming. A god- my god- loves me. He thinks I am perfect. He is happy that we are soulmates.

Soulmates. Two halves of the same whole. Everyone has one. I have known the legend since I was ten years old. I knew my soulmate was somewhere. I had accepted that I could not have him. I chose Apollo over my soulmate. I never could have fathomed that my soulmate would be the god whose statue's feet I knelt at.

I cannot keep myself away. I reach up to touch him, to ensure this is real, and he lets me. My fingertips ghost against his cheek, his skin like fire beneath my touch. My other hand clasps onto his shoulder. If I fall from the shock of everything, he will catch me. Of that, I am certain.

"I never imagined..." I trail off, my voice just barely audible. "I always thought..."

"What is it?" he asks me, both curious and concerned.

"I have loved you for as long as I can remember," I murmur. There is freedom in finally speaking the words. I try to memorize how he feels under my touch, just in case this truly is a dream. "I always thought never knowing what it meant to love and be loved back was the price I paid for safety and security.

"It was worth it to me, despite the loneliness." I let out a quiet hum as I feel his hair. I smile to myself. "I never could have imagined that you would ever want me back."

"Cassia," he murmurs.

"You said that you wanted to prove your devotion to me," I continue. "This is what you meant."

The oath. The confession. The open and honest declaration. It has all led to this, to now.

He nods, saying, "It is. I did not want you assuming that I only wanted, well-" Apollo stops himself with a shake of his head. "I wanted you to know this is serious. This is forever." He suddenly looks stricken. "Unless...unless you do not want it to be forever?"

"'You mean," I pause, realizing what I am about to say, "us?"

Us. It is a foreign concept. It both delights and terrifies me.

Apollo nods. Worry still shines bright in his eyes.

I cannot help but smile slightly. "Has there ever been anything I have not laid at your feet?" He stares at me. "I promised my life to you. I will happily give you eternity."

"But you want to, yes? I would never forgive myself if you did this out of a sense of obligation," he frets. "This is not an offering, Cassia. This is more." He is dazed for a moment as he murmurs, "So much more."

I gently brush my thumb over his cheekbone. Gods, I think, he really is flawless. I have known he welcomes my touch, but for the first time, I feel truly free to give it. There is no hesitation in it, no worry of what might result from it. For once, I am not startled by how right it feels.

"I have only ever done what I wanted, Apollo," I murmur.

He blinks. I do not know if a god can be considered cute, but if it is possible, it would be Apollo in this moment. He resembles a surprised puppy.

"You do not do this out of duty," he says slowly. It is a question framed as a nervous declaration. "It is not merely because you are my priestess and you feel you must."

"No," I confirm. "I have only ever wanted you, Apollo. In whatever way I could have you."

He lets out a shuddered breath, and he clutches me close. It is odd to see him so vulnerable. It is odder still to know I am the reason for it.

Apollo nudges my cheek with his nose, murmuring, "Is it you and me now?"

My heart is thumping as I nod. "You and me."

Heavy bit of my body feels heavy as I turn my head closer to his. In this moment, it feels like everything is about to change. It feels like a new beginning.

When he kisses me, it is featherlight at first. It is careful and soft and a whisper. His lips against mine are soft, light. He is cautious at first, almost as if he is afraid to move, to do anything wrong. He kisses me so gently.

I have every opportunity to push him away. To hit and yell and take the knife that cut my palm and stab it into his belly. I do not do any of it. I think it finally settles into Apollo's mind that I want this, because he finally presses closer. He kisses me more confidently, his lips moving slow but steady against my own.

If he were not utterly surrounding me, I would have passed out. I would have been unable to stand on my own. But he is here, and he is my strength.

"My lord," I gasp against his lips, trying to breathe in the smallest bit of air. Apollo lets out a huffed laugh.

"No," he mumbles. "Not your lord. Just yours."

He kisses me harder after that, as if proving a point. My face burns as my delight is made audible, a choked moan ripping itself from my throat.

"Mine," I finally dare to whisper, staking my claim for the very first time.

I worry it will shatter the illusion. I worry it will wake me from this dreamland and shake me back into reality. But it does not. Instead, Apollo's smile merely grows, and he nods, pulling me in for one more kiss as he whispers, "Yours."

Chapter Text

"What do you think is beyond that?" I ask Apollo, looking over at the door. As much as I am nervous for what may come next, I am even more relieved that the god kept his promise and returned Apollo to me.

"Another barrier, no doubt," Apollo grumbles. He pauses. "In all likelihood, it is another chamber like this."

I nod, nervously twisting my ring.

"I don't like this, Cas. I cannot figure out what the purpose of any of this is."

I stare into the darkness, and I see the glow of a flame erupt.

Quietly, I admit, "I might know."

Apollo lets out a happy noise, saying, "Wonderful, little dove! What is it?"

If I am Apollo's soulmate, I contemplate, and I have been chosen to meet with the old gods, it is for a purpose. Ordinary demigods do not get such an audience. Ever.

My mind drifts to Apollo's previous words: I still have not seen your death, Cassia.

I wonder...

No. No, it is a foolish consideration to allow to take root. It is a thought of sheer hubris, to believe I could ever be deserving of-

But what if it is not? my subconscious whispers. I have heard the ways of fate all my life. Is it really so impossible that I might have learned to see through its veil?

"I'm not," I swallow roughly, "certain. I do not want to risk the wrath of the fates if I am wrong."

Much like last time, I punctuate my decision by continuing into the darkness. However, this time, I have Apollo's hand in mine.

We step through the doorway, but I spin on my feet to face the wall when it grinds and groans closed immediately behind us. A small brazier burns from the center of the room.

"Khronos?" I ask reluctantly. "Are you still here?"

"Not him, but I," a new voice responds. This one is thick and rich, light to the ear but heavy to the chest. It is how dust would sound if it may speak of all it has witnessed.

"A new god, then," I mutter, attempting to not sound worried or frustrated.

"On the contrary. I am the furthest thing from 'new,' little demigod," it replies, the words accompanied by a slight laugh. My skin prickles at the sound.

"Another Orphic god?" I demand, the idea coming to me out of nowhere. "Is that what this is? Some play on the Orphic Mysteries?"

He laughs again, and it sends a chill down my spine. The sound echoes off the walls and fills the chamber. This god could kill me and Apollo, and no one would ever know.

"Perhaps what you see is not the end, just as death is not the end of life," he suggests. I blink.

"Phanes," I say after a moment of thumbing through my mental list of Greek primordials. "Yes. I know who you are."

"Tell me who you think I am," he requests.

He sounds entirely unbothered. I cautiously step nearer to the brazier, releasing Apollo so I can do it alone. I do not want to, not in the slightest. But I must.

"The Great Creator," I begin, careful to keep words quiet. "The god of creation and life."

I get closer, and I find there is a stone egg inside the brazier. A golden-scaled serpent is twisted around it, and its beady eyes stare at me. I swallow roughly.

"What do you want of me?"

"I want the truth," Phanes says simply.

There is a gust of air, and when I look behind me, Apollo is frowning deeply. He is trapped. Again.

"I will tell it," I agree, knowing I must to free Apollo and carry on.

"Take the egg and serpent into your hands," it instructs. "If your heart is pure, the flames and their heat will not harm you."

I stare at the fire. How does one even begin to know whether or not their heart is pure? What does it even mean to have a pure heart? I know little of my heart; I only know it belongs to Apollo. I belong to him, and I give myself happily. I will not let my faith shake now.

I suck in a sharp breath as I reluctantly reach into the flames. I feel a heavy heat immediately, much like steam though not so scalding. My eyes widen to a certainly comically large size as I realize I am touching fire, and I am not burnt.

I carefully find the egg. I extract it, mindful of the very much alive snake that hisses shortly at me. I hold the egg before me, curious. The snake locks eyes with me.

"You will tell the truths of your life," the god commands through the beast. "If your answers are deemed true, you will be permitted to continue. If you are found to be deceptive, you will face my bite." The snake hisses, and I attempt not to flinch. "You will be dead and stripped of your honors."

I let out a shuddered, terrified breath and nod. I promise, "I will be truthful."

"Where do you come from?"

I quietly answer, "It does not matter. It has not mattered in many years."

He lets out a long hum.

"Who are you?"

I lose my voice, confused. What does it want from me? Well, the truth, but it is clearly well-aware of who I am.

"I," I start carefully, "am Cassia Costin. I am eighteen years old."

"Continue," the god hisses when I pause. I swallow and nod.

"I am a daughter of Aphrodite, though not one that makes her particularly proud. I am the Pythia."

"You have given your life to the sun god, have you not?"

I nod immediately.

"I have."

"Do you expect to receive anything in return for your service to him?"

I am only grateful Apollo cannot hear the god.

"I have only truly hoped for a pleasant afterlife," I say.

"You serve in preparation of your death?"

"No. I serve in search of peace."

The snake is quiet for a long moment. Apollo does not speak, though I do not worry because in the depths of the silence, I can hear him breathe. I do not dare to move.

"Do you seek immortality?"

"No," I answer immediately. The snake considers me.

"If infinite power and youth were thrust upon you regardless, what would you do with it?"

I am quiet for a long moment. I take in the question. As much as I have thought of eternity, I have never once believed I was deserving of it. I never stopped to ponder myself in such a position.

"I have never truly considered," I finally say. "I never thought I would be deserving of it."

"And if you do consider it?"

I chew on the inside of my cheek, thinking. I suppose it does not really take much thought, though, for I find the truth quickly.

"I would do as I do now. There is nothing else I can imagine wanting."

The snake does not react. I wonder if this is done, if I am free, if the god has been satisfied. The question had a sense of finality about it, as if it was deciding my fate. I imagine it does, given the situation.

I take a chance and place the egg back in the brazier, the snake staring me down all the while. I seek out Apollo. I relax only once I see he is unharmed.

"Are you free?" I ask softly. He nods.

"I am. Now," he says.

He comes over, and I take his hand. We watch as the snake uncoils from the egg, and it slithers out of the brazier. It crawls across the floor, and it disappears into a hole. The hole grows and grows, until it is big enough to walk through.

"One more," I whisper. Apollo turns into head toward mine, resting a moment.

"I hate this," he mumbles against me. "I feel powerless. I am powerless."

"It is my moment to prove myself, Apollo," I say gently. "I am not meant to have your strength behind me. Not yet. Not while we are hidden from the daylight."

He sighs, nodding. "I know. You're right, of course. But it is no easier for me to accept. I hate that I cannot protect you in this."

"I know," I murmur. I turn toward him and press a light kiss to his cheek. "It will be over soon."

"It will, and when this is over, we will go to Delos," he murmurs. "You will be happy there. You will be safe there."

I nod. My eyes cannot leave the doorway for long.

"We need to go forward," I say regretfully.

"I know," Apollo says, standing straight. "We do."

As we cross the threshold, I can only hope we come out of this soon.

Chapter Text

The chamber is opulent, more than I would have guessed it would be. There are diamond chandeliers and polished marble floors. There are two doorways. One is simple, plain and unadorned. The other is extravagant. Fine gilded rods are twisted and curled around the edges of the doorframe. 

"What is this?" I ask softly. "Can you move? Is there another barrier?"

"I'm alright," Apollo assures me. I nod. I grasp onto his hand, hoping for some sort of stability to come from it.

Out of nowhere, smoke rises between the doors, and I see a scene I was not expecting, nor is it one I welcome.

"You are useless!" my father screams at me. I am frozen in the doorway, clutching my lunch box. I stare at him with wide eyes.

"What- what did I do?" I whisper shakily.

He grabs the spelling test I gave him from first grade today. I missed two words. He shakes the paper at me before throwing it, and it falls hauntingly slowly to the ground. I swallow my tears, watching it before looking back up at him.

"You were born!" he screeches. "You ruined everything! Your mother loved me before she dumped you at my doorstep!" He grabs his Bible from the kitchen table and throws it at me.

I scream and jump out of the way. My lunch box falls with a clash, only making him angrier. "You never should have been born! You’re a mistake, do you hear me?”

"I- I'm sorry," I whimper. He storms over to me.

"You pathetic little curse," he snarls, storming over to me. I only cry harder. "Do you understand? You’re a bastard!" He grabs his Bible off the floor and lifts it.

I close my eyes tightly as I wait for the blow to come, and it is heavy and hard when it does. I fall to the floor. I try to shield my face against the force.

"You're a demon! Your mother is a temptress whore, and you're just like her! You're worthless! I’ll spend eternity rotting in Hell because of you!” 

With each accusation, he hits me again. My strength is about to fail, but the second he raises his hand and attempts to hit me, he screams. It is a pained sound. It is a sound of agony. I peek through my arms to see him staring at his hand in shock. The skin is bright red and welted, peeling off in some places and blistered in others.

"You burned me, you little shit!" he snarls, his rage only growing. But I take advantage of his blind fury to run away.

"I didn't do anything, I didn't do anything!” I keep crying out as I run to my bedroom. My hands are shaking as I shove my desk chair in front of the door, a pathetic attempt to keep my father away.

I hear him screaming and smashing things downstairs, swearing and cursing my mother. I don't even know my mother! What did I do wrong? I crouch on the ground by my bed, covering my ears to try to block out the noise.

"Please," I beg my father's god. Or any god. Any god that cares. I doubt very much that my father's god cares.

"If you're listening, please help me. Please save me. I- I need help. Please.

”I...I just want a family. Someone who loves me. I don't even care who. They don't even need to be nice or good, as long as they love me and keep me safe. I- I want a home. Please."

My voice is shaking so badly I can barely speak, but I just repeat over and over again, "Please."

I almost give up hope, my sobs choking me and stealing my energy. I have my favorite blanket from my bed wrapped around my shoulders and tugged tight. It is draped over my head and around my body. Under here, I feel the only safety I can grasp at. I want more. This isn't enough.

I am crying and gasping, but I suddenly hear a voice. It is unfamiliar, but it is not scary. I fall silent as the man's voice speaks.

"I will open your eyes to the future," the man offers. I blink. I wonder if everyone can hear this, if my dad can. Or is it just me? "I will make your touch golden. I will protect you and cherish you and teach you. I will make you my priestess and oracle for all your days, if only you choose it and choose me alone."

"Who- who are you?" I whisper with wide eyes as I look around.

"I am Apollo, and I will keep you safe."

I don't need to think. I prayed for help, and help has come. So I nod, pushing myself onto my wobbly feet. I wipe the tears from my face.

"Okay," I say softly. "I'll do it. I'll do whatever you want me to do. I- I choose you."

With that, the pain in my body disappears, and I feel a warmth wash over me.

"Do exactly as I say, and I will bring you to a place where you will be safe."

I can barely breathe as the memory ends. I am holding Apollo's hand with a vice grip as my trauma plays out in front of me. The memory ends, but the show does not.

The hill is huge as it looms in front of me. I'm dirty and tired, but I know I will be safe here. So I climb. When I cross over the top, I gasp as I see a man who is half horse, half human. He seems equally as surprised to see me.

"Who are you?" I ask, frowning. He tilts his head.

"I am Chiron. Who are you?" he replies. I hum.

"You're a horse," I state dumbly. He chuckles.

"Not a horse, a centaur," he corrects me. I blink.

"Oh," I mumble. "Well, where am I?" I look past him, and I can kind of see a large house with smaller buildings behind it in the distance. "Is this the place where Apollo said I'd be safe?"

"Apollo?" the centaur- Chiron- repeats, interested. "Is he your father?"

I recoil, disgusted. I shake my head vehemently.

"No!" I exclaim, insulted on the god's behalf. "Apollo is nice. He's kept me safe. My father is a bad man. He hurt me."

Chiron's face goes stony. "Then how do you know Lord Apollo?"

Proudly, I stand taller. I smile as I declare, "He said I'm his priestess. His oracle. He said I'm the, uh," I try to recall the word, "the python?"

"The Pythia," he says in a whisper, his eyes wide as he takes me in. I beam, nodding.

"Yes! That," I grin proudly. "He said I'm special."

"You certainly are," Chiron murmurs. He swallows. "Child, what is your name?"

I tuck a lock of my messy, dirty hair behind my ear as I say, "Cassia. I'm Cassia."

My hand has gone clammy in Apollo's as I watch back my arrival to camp. I had no idea what was coming. I had no clue of any of it.

I have been here for a year. Exactly one year today. I learned soon after that Chiron was so stunned by my arrival because of the temple that emerged out of nowhere a mere hour before I showed up at camp's doorstep. He thinks I am a demigod, but I'm unsure.

"My lord," I murmur to the god I know watches over me, " I brought you something nicer than usual for today. Since it's- it is a special day."

I have started working on how I speak. I want to sound more like Apollo, more like the whispers I hear from the Fates. I want to represent them well and make them proud. My voice echoes that of fate, and I want to sound like it.

"Fresh fruit," I say, nudging it closer to the statue. "I will burn it later." I look down to the incense. "And this. Dionysus- er, Mr. D, he said you will like this. It smells good, I think."

When I pray, I am very proud of myself for barely needing to consult the written copy of the words. I have almost all of them memorized, and they're almost all in Greek. When I finish, I smile up at the statue.

"Chiron says I have gotten very good at my Greek," I say happily. "I thought you might like that." I swallow my nerves. "Um. My lord, I try not to ask for anything. I do not want to seem greedy. But...But if I am a demigod, can you please ask my mom if she could, maybe, claim me? I just want to know."

I can barely finish the sentence before a pink haze starts to wrap around me. I start to panic. What's happening? I hold my breath, afraid of inhaling the smoke. I close my eyes tightly, clutching to part of the stone of Apollo's statue. After a moment, when I squint my eyes open, I notice the haze dissipating. And I notice my clothes have changed.

I'm wearing a Greek-style dress now. I recognize it from statues of goddesses. The dress is a pretty yellow color, like candlelight. A simple gold bracelet is around my wrist with a matching piece around my neck.

I catch my reflection in a polished piece of metal, and my jaw drops. My dark brown hair is curled and flows perfectly down my back. A gold headband sits among the curls. My eyes have always been the only pretty thing about me, dark enough that they are nearly black but are violet like amethysts in the sunlight. They seem even prettier now. I blink at my own appearance. I look like a princess. 

I look up, and I see a holographic fuchsia dove hovering right above me.

"A dove," I murmur, interested. I try to wrack my brain for what the dove means. I remember Chiron having me learn. "A dove, a dove...Aphrodite?"

It fades at the word, and I am stunned.

"Huh," I murmur. "Aphrodite. My mom is Aphrodite." It sounds odd to me. I have never known who my mother is. Now, I do. A small smile grows on my face, and I look up at Apollo's carved face. I can only whisper, "Thank you."

It was a pleasant memory at the time. I thought Apollo convinced my mother to want me. Now, I understand that Apollo convinced her to claim me as a kindness. He wanted me to feel loved and cared for. I sigh softly.

Life has become slow and routine and comfortable. I like it. It makes me happy to have a sense of peace. The only problem is the sheer loneliness that nearly suffocates me. I sit quietly at the head table with Chiron and Mr. D.

"Have you heard from Sunny Boy lately?" Mr. D asks. I glare at him.

"I have not heard from my lord in a few months," I say sharply. It is respectful, but it is a way to remind him to show Apollo that same respect.

"Right, right," he waves me off.

I dislike the question. It is not invalid. I have not heard from my god in months. I used to rely so heavily on the whispers of his voice I'd hear in my dreams and in passing moments. I have grown lonely. So, so lonely. I throw myself into my work and worship and duties. It is all I can manage to care about.

"Excuse me," I say quietly, leaving the pavilion swiftly.

I walk until I cannot walk any further. I end up in the archery range.

"I agreed to this," I remind myself under my breath as I fire arrow after arrow. "I chose this. I do not regret it. How could I? But this, it is not easy."

I let out a humph as my arrow lands in the bullseye but does not split another. I let out a heavy breath.

"It is quiet and peaceful and lonely.” I look up to the sky, closing my eyes as I feel the warmth of the sun on my face. "Apollo, please. I know I am not alone, but I certainly feel as though I am. Guide me through this."

I can barely choke down the lump in my throat. Why is this happening? Why is whatever god taunting me with my past? Some of it is good, some of it is not. What does it matter?

"Do you understand now?" I hear a smooth, silky voice ask. It is a woman. I close my eyes in exasperation.

"Can you hear her?" I ask Apollo, ignoring the goddess. He nods. I glance around the room. "Alright. Who are you?"

"What is everything you have seen?" the goddess asks.

"It is history," I say plainly. She snaps her fingers.

"It is necessity."

I look over at Apollo, tired and dreading the goddess. "This is Ananke. Necessity."

"Clever girl," she muses. I am getting tired of these games. I grit my teeth.

"So, what is this? You are showing me this because it was necessary? For what? For fate?" I demand.

"For you," she corrects. I raise my eyebrows.

"How so?" I challenge. I want no more of these guesses. I want to it to be done with.

I am the Pythia, I think with a clenched jaw. I am not a pawn.

"How else do you suppose you have reached the point at which you have come?" she taunts. "Everything intertwined with fate pushes forward because of necessity. You are the voice of fate, and I am fate's driving force."

I nod toward the doors. "Why are there doors?"

"Everything you have gone through has been for a necessary purpose," she continues. "But fate is not entirely linear. It can shift. It does shift. Certain individuals are given choices that change the fabric of reality. You are one of them."

"What are you talking about?" I frown deeply. I hold tighter to Apollo.

"You see two doors before you," she states. I nod. "On the left, there is one fate."

The door clears, and through it, I am startled to see my father. He does not look angry or bothered. He looks happy. I'm sitting across from him, dressed in normal clothing and not wearing a veil.

I look happy. We are laughing together. I even see my half-siblings. We are training together, whispering together, having fun. It is pleasant, and it warms me inside.

Then, there is my mother. I have never seen her before, but in this moment, I know it is her. She smiles warmly at me, fondly, as if she loves me. As if she is proud of me.

"On the right, there is another."

The left door is covered, and the right unveils itself. There is little to be seen at first. But there is sunshine and grass and an ocean in the background.

"Delos," Apollo murmurs from next to me, awed. He smiles softly.

The background becomes murky, and then, all I see is Apollo. He is as beautiful as ever. He looks happy, full of life. Then, I see myself. I am dressed in a beautiful white chiton streaked with golden threads. My amethyst veil is draped over my head and held in place by a beautiful headpiece. I look joyous, peaceful and content and happy.

"Choose."

I startle at that. What?

"Choose? Choose what?" I ask, taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"You have the chance to choose your fate," she says. "Now choose."

I can barely breathe. I am meant to choose between my family and Apollo. I know, in all reality, there is no choice to be made. My choice is obvious and no real choice at all. It’s the option I could live with. It’s the only option I couldn’t live without.

The vision of my family is a lie. If I am not Apollo's priestess, I will still never be the same as any of them. I will never fit in. I will never be one of them.

I chose Apollo at six years old. I chose to serve him for all my life. I chose to be his priestess until the end of my days. I chose him then, and I choose him now.

"Come on," I say, tugging Apollo forward, through the golden door, and into the daylight.

Chapter Text

We come out of the darkness, and I am on fire.

My body burns. My blood is boiling. My bones ache and vibrate, and every nerve in my body is alight. I can feel everything and nothing. My ears ring, filled with the humming of the universe around me. My eyes see without seeing. Flashes of visions appear in my sight, but the world is shrouded.

I can breathe, but the air comes in feeling lighter. When my eyes clear, I can see everything brighter, sharper. I can hear the smallest sounds. Everything is new.

As soon as the pain comes, it is gone.

I start to ask Apollo about it, but I am distracted by our surroundings. This is different. We are not at the citadel ruins. This is somewhere else. It is still ancient, still littered with what remains of the past. The air is electric here.

The sun is setting, and I do not like it.

"Cas," Apollo says quietly.

I look up at him, and I take in his expression. He appears dazed, as if he is in a dream, as if he cannot quite believe everything he is seeing. His gaze pierces mine.

"You chose me," he whispers, almost in disbelief. I tilt my head.

"Of course I did," I say. It was obvious to me. "There has never been another path for me. It has always been this. You."

"You chose us over a new beginning with your family," he says, still not believing what I have done.

"They have never been my family," I say with a small shake of my head, and the realization sets something free inside of me. "When I needed someone to save me and love me and give me a home, none of them came. You did."

"You had the chance to choose your fate, Cas," he murmurs. "You could have had everything you've ever wanted."

"I chose my fate a long time ago," I admit. I still hold his hand, and I smile to myself as I realize it. I still can't quite believe I can touch him so freely, that he wants me to. "The only thing I have ever truly wanted more than anything was to have you."

"And you do," Apollo whispers. I look up at him, and his eyes are shining with unshed tears.

"And I do," I echo. I smile, shy and adoring and utterly in love. It is liberating to not have to hide it.

"Gods," he breathes out a laugh, cupping my cheek, "I love you."

"I love you too," I grin. He kisses me then, and I can't help but feel exhilarated.

His body against mine is lean but strong, corded with muscle. He cradles me against him, and I'm convinced I'm untouchable by anyone but him.

My shield, I think, smiling to myself as I feel his hand find the back of my neck. My sun.

I pull him closer. His lips move slowly against mine, as if he is savoring every moment. I know I am. I still cannot begin to believe that I have him right here in my arms.

"My prophet," he breathes against me as he moves his kisses from my lips to my jaw.

He tugs me so I'm flush against him, and I feel my body go white-hot. His lips trail from my jaw to my neck. Suddenly, he kisses a particular spot that makes me let out a choked gasp. I feel Apollo smirk against me, and instead of kissing me again, he sucks. I curse under my breath and dig my fingers into his flesh.

"Apollo," I gasp.

"I'll take you to Delos," he murmurs into my skin, "and there, I will make you mine."

He grins, and I feel his teeth scrape against my neck. Before he can do whatever he plans, though, there is a cold laugh that chills me to the bone. Apollo immediately turns, shielding me with his body, and I chance a small peek.

There's a woman. I don't recognize her. Apollo's jaw clenches, though, so I imagine she is not a friend.

"Eris," he snarls.

Oh, I realize, my blood running cold. Eris.

The goddess who started the Trojan War is here, right in front of us. I do not know what to, or even what I should do. I'm frozen in place. I'm silently grateful for Apollo to hide behind, but I know I can't use him as a shield forever.

I start to move, but Apollo stops me. He outstretches an arm to serve as a barrier.

"Stay behind me," he says firmly. I swallow. I stay still. To Eris, "What are you doing here?"

I watch from my place behind Apollo as the goddess pouts.

"You aren't happy to see me?" she asks in a sickly-sweet voice. Apollo grits his teeth. She spies me from where I peek out behind Apollo. "So this is the priestess."

"Do not talk about her," the god in front of me hisses. "She is none of your concern."

"Oh, isn't she?" she taunts. I chew on the inside of my cheek. "I am discord, honey. I am made for chaos." Eris waves her pointer finger at me. "And what I have with you, Pythia, is nothing but discord." I frown deeply. What have I ever done to anger her?

"What strife do you have with me?" I ask, confused.

"Everything about you is infuriating, if I'm being entirely honest," she scoffs. "Your dedication to this oaf is, frankly, ridiculous." My jaw ticks at her blatant disrespect. "I wanted to have some fun. I wanted to see how far I could take your blind devotion."

I grit my teeth. "It is not blind devotion," I snap, summoning my bow. She smirks.

"We'll see," she says simply. "Perhaps you can manage to convince my companion."

Eris says something in a very old language, and Apollo curses under his breath. To me, he mutters, "Do you, by chance, happen to know where we stand?"

I blink. "Should I?"

"It is the Ismenian Spring," he mutters as the ground starts to rumble. "Well, what remains of it."

A pit in the ground opens up. Dirt, grass, and stones cave into the hole as a loud growl erupts from the earth. My eyes widen in horror. I tighten my grip on my bow as my heart starts to race.

Dread fills my body. This is where Cadmus killed the-

"Dragon," I gasp, finish my thought as the beast climbs into view.

It is massive. It takes me a moment to fully appreciate what I am seeing. It is the size of an elephant, but longer. It has scales like molten gold, and its eyes are an angry crimson. It stomps on four legs and has a massive, serpentine tail. My eyes zero in on the razor-sharp claws on each foot. The dragon drags along massive celestial bronze chains that bind it to the earth.

"This is what Cadmus killed," I whisper. Apollo nods. In an instant, his bow is out, and an arrow in flying.

The dragon is unaffected by the arrow hitting its arm. Its hide seems too thick for a simple arrow to have much of an effect. Its tail whips out the side, and Apollo and I just barely jump out of the way in time. My eyes dart to Eris, who is about to flee.

"Get Eris," I tell Apollo, drawing an arrow. "I will handle the dragon." He looks at me with wide eyes. His mouth opens, about to protest. "Go!" I interrupt, loosing my arrow. It buries itself into his shoulder. The dragon roars out in anger. "I cannot stop a goddess, but perhaps I can manage a dragon."

He hesitates only a moment longer, but he moves when realizes I'm not stopping. I draw another arrow. The beast and I lock eyes, which I initially think is bold. It is not. It is blatantly idiotic. It is like locking eyes with an apex predator. It is a taunt, and a stupid one.

I fire the arrow, but it does not matter. Instead, I focus on dodging. I try to think through this. Every enemy has a way to be defeated, no? This dragon must have a weakness. I loose another few arrows in an attempt to buy myself a bit of time.

Do not fear the end, a cool, smooth voice whispers to me, for it has not been written.

The dragon swipes its massive arm at me, and I just barely dodge its decidedly more massive claws. I let out a yelp as I throw myself to the ground in an attempt to get out of the way. I hiss as I feel my face get scraped up, but I cannot be distracted.

I squint my eyes as I look over the dragon. I test an arrow to its neck, which makes it even angrier. It lets out a ground-shaking scream. I vaguely hear Apollo and Eris battling, but their voices and sounds are muffled. I can hear nothing, see nothing but the beast of legend in front of me. I loose another arrow, right into the same spot as the first. It seems to lessen the monster's resolve.

First, it was Cadmus, I think as I let out a scream of pain as the claw catches along my stomach. I feel my blood start to pour out under my clothing, and I distantly hear Apollo yell my name. I can't stop. Now, it will be me.

I get an idea. It's a really stupid idea. But it worked once, who's to say it will not work again? It might not be entirely moronic, since it did work before. I have no practice. I have no real way of knowing my last resort will work.

I muster up all of my nerve, all of the command I can put into my voice. The beast stomps above me, covering me with its monstrous body. I lock eyes with it. All I can notice is how the dragon's eyes are the color of blood.

"Stop," I command, putting all of my faith into the one word. I do not look away from its eyes. My own are wide with terror, but I do not let it leak into my voice.

Gods above, it worked, I realize in sheer relief as the dragon freezes. It does not move. It does not even seem to breathe.

"Do not move," I continue, testing my luck. It remains still.

All I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears as I crawl backwards on my elbows and clamber to my feet. I do not waste even a second. I draw my bow, and I do not allow myself to hesitate as I release the arrow into its eye.

I very nearly laugh in a strange mixture of shock and relief as the dragon suddenly explodes in a golden mist. I can only be joyful for a moment, because I almost immediately feel an arm wrap around me and immobilize me from behind.

I go still. I look over just the smallest bit I allow myself to, and I force myself not to screech at having Eris so close to me. I go completely still as I see the knife in her hand.

My eyes flick up, and they meet Apollo's. She must have teleported. That is the only explanation. He looks horrified.

"Eris," he says slowly. "Leave her be."

"Leave her be," she mocks. I wince as I feel the chill of the knife against the side of my neck. "Why? Why this mortal?"

"She is sacred," he says instead of telling her what I am to him. "Killing the Pythia would be against the ancient laws. She is beyond your reach."

"She doesn't feel beyond my reach," she smirks. She drags the blade along my skin, and I try not to flinch. "You do not play along with any of my games, Apollo. Perhaps now you finally will."

"You have one more chance, Eris," Apollo warns, his voice going low as he sees the growing fear in my eyes.

I just killed a dragon, I lament. Now, I will die at the hands of a goddess. 

"Do what you will to me, but you will not harm my priestess," he continues. It is a threat, as clear a one as any.

My eyes widen. "You deserve sacrifice." His previous words ring in my ears.

"Watch me," she says, and I feel the knife cut into my skin. She looks at me for a second with a stunned expression, and it distracts her just long enough.

Just as I let out a cry of pain, the chilled metal is gone, and Apollo attacks. I am thrown to the ground, and he tackles her. He rains down blow upon blow, and I feel the sting of my broken skin. I lift my fingers to my neck, watching with a strange, distant feeling in my body as he heaves up the celestial bronze chains that previously confined the dragon. She is dazed from his fury, dazed enough that he can bind her.

She cannot get free, I remind myself before I can panic. It is celestial bronze. If it can hold a dragon, if it can hold Hera, it will hold Eris.

I take in the scene. I feel disconnected from my body as I realize the truth of what has happened. Apollo has betrayed another god. Apollo has harmed another god. For me. 

I slowly rise to my feet as he straightens. Apollo hurries over to me, and he quickly scans over my injuries. He notices I still hold the side of my neck.

"Is it bad?" he frets. "Stop, stop, show me. Let me see. I will heal it."

I slowly remove my hand. It is as if time has come to a stop when I look at my fingers where the blood should have stained, and I see only golden ichor.

Chapter Text

I did not know gods were capable of panicking, but it seems that they are, since Apollo is fully losing his sanity. All the color has drained from his face, and it seems like every muscle in his body is tense and jumping. He cannot speak a single word. It is just a bunch of stammering, half in English and half in Greek.

"Is this...?" I ask shakily, touching the cut again to gather more of the liquid.

Maybe it was just a trick of the light. Maybe this is not real. Maybe none of this is real. 

I look at the substance that stains my fingers, and again, it is gold. I look closer, squinting. There is a tinge of red. It is barely noticeable, but there nonetheless.

"Ichor," Apollo breathes out. He nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Yes."

I only just now notice how tired I am. My body aches. My bones throb. I can barely suck in a breath, even if the air feels cleaner as it comes in. I am dizzy. The world around me spins, and I grasp onto Apollo for leverage. He seals his hand over my neck, and I feel a delightful warmth wash over me. He releases his touch. He curses.

"It is not fully healed. It cannot be. Not yet." He sucks in a sharp, shaky breath. "Cassia, that should have killed you. She cut an artery."

I cannot really focus on his words. I am far too busy focusing on remaining upright.

"Whatever happened, however this happened, it was enough to save you from Eris' blade. But you are still mortal enough. Too mortal. I- I'll fix this. I will."

His eyes are frantic as he takes me into his arms, promising, "I will take you to Delos to complete the process. It will be better. The pain will stop. I am stronger there. I- I can fix this there."

He presses my head into his chest, and I feel the ground disappear beneath my feet. For a moment, I feel everything go away.

I am back in the final chamber. Only, this time, there is a golden throne, and on that throne, there is a woman. She looks timelessly youthful. Her skin is as pale as porcelain, and her hair is the color of burnished copper. Her eyes are pits of liquid gold. She is draped in an ivory silk, and her ears, neck, and arms drip with jewels of every color. Her gaze is razor sharp. I cannot seem to move. I know exactly who she is.

"Ananke," I state, giving the first word that comes to mind. Her lips curl up.

"Clever girl," she replies. I try to breathe, but I cannot move even enough for my chest to rise. I do not feel the weight that comes along with pain or breathlessness.

"What did you do to me?" I ask her. I am horrified. I am grateful. I am confused.

"I gave you the chance to choose your fate," she answers, patiently. I set my jaw. "I told you, little prophet. I am fate's driving force."

"And I am the voice of fate," I recall, unamused. She gives a single nod.

"Now and forevermore."

"But why do I still have red in my blood?" I ask. I pause, thinking. "Or, blood in my ichor, I suppose."

She laughs, and it makes me nauseous.

"I cannot do everything, Pythia," she chides me. I feel oddly stupid. She sounds like it should be obvious. Only, it is most certainly not obvious.

"So you expect Apollo to save me again."

"As he always does." I stare at her, waiting for some sort of explanation. She releases a huffed breath. "Your destinies are intertwined. You have done your part. You chose him. That began the transformation."

"That's what that was," I realize. Ananke nods.

"Precisely," she confirms. "Now, Apollo must complete it. He must make a sacrifice."

"I do not understand," I frown. "He has already sacrificed. He fought another god to save me."

Ananke laughs again. This time, the sound is not mocking or pitying. Whatever it is, she finds it genuinely comical.

"That was no sacrifice," she says with a smirk. "That was him protecting his priestess, his soulmate. Anyone would battle Eris under similar circumstance." My jaw ticks. "Anyone would do anything for love."

"Then what sacrifice must he make?" I snarl, offended on Apollo's behalf for her belittling his actions. She still smirks.

"When the world was still new," she coos, "the gods did not accept the offerings they do now. They required blood." Her words remind me of Mr. D's, and I do not like them one bit. "You are to be a god now, little priestess. If you are to walk among us, you will need flesh to be cut and ichor to wet your tongue. It will cleanse you.”

My eyes widen, and I feel everything go still. Stiller than before. Darkness floods the corners of my vision, and Ananke is the center, the focus.

"Gods do not shed their ichor for just anyone. To give ichor is to give part of our very essence. We will see if your god will make this sacrifice for you."

When I wake up, I am in a beautiful paradise. I am laid next to a spring, and Apollo is pacing frantically. He freezes when he notices I'm awake.

"This is Delos?" I ask, my voice hoarse. He lets out a sigh of relief.

"Yes, it is," he says, helping me sit up. "This spring, it is new. When you made the Castilian Spring flow once again, this must have opened up," he says. "Whatever the cause, it is sacred. I can feel it. It is connected to Delphi."

"Apollo," I say, feeling a sharp, cramping pain inside me from the growing fear, "what is happening to me?"

He shakes his head. "Later. We will talk about it. But first," he pauses and goes to the water.

He materializes a cup, and he dips it into the spring. Apollo does not hesitate. He pulls an arrow from his quiver, and he uses it to cut his palm. There is no delay, no pause, not even a moment of dithering. He acts without even thinking, as if it is the obvious course of action for him.

My eyes widen. I cannot breathe, and this time, it is because of how casually he chose to spill his ichor. He holds his hand over the cup, and the golden liquid drips into the water. He closes his fist, and the cut heals. He raises the cup to my lips.

"Drink," he says. "You will feel better once you do."

I just stare at him. He has sacrificed this part of himself so easily. "Have you done this before?"

"Never," he answers with a small smile. "I have seen it done, though. It will work, I assure you."

"Am I immortal?" I whisper. He smiles slightly.

"Almost," he answers. I expect there to be a pit in my stomach, but there is not.

"I will be once I drink this?" I ask quietly. He nods. "What happens then?"

Apollo uses his free hand to tuck my hair behind my ear. He watches me with adoring eyes, and I cannot help but be thrilled that I will have forever with him. I never expected this. When I chose him in that chamber, I thought I was choosing to continue as we were. I thought I was choosing to live out whatever remained of my life at Apollo's side. I never thought I could ever have eternity, even if we are soulmates.

"Whatever you want," Apollo says softly.

It is a thrilling prospect. Whatever I want, with Apollo, forever. For all I have given, for all I have willingly sacrificed, this is my reward. This is my fate.

I drink.

Chapter Text

I wake up to the distant sound of waves mixed with birdsong. I squint as the light streams into the room through the large, open windows.

Where am I?

I look around, trying to make sense of my surroundings. I am laid in a massive, four-poster bed with silken sheets and finely-woven blankets. The pillows are soft and luxurious. There is a table near the bed with a golden goblet.

I reach over for it, and I find it is full of nectar. I have only had it a few times, but it is as delicious as I remember. The liquid is thin and light like juice, but it tastes heavily of honey and fruit. I drink the entire glass.

I reach up to my head, and I notice my veil is gone. I soon spot it though, folded neatly and resting on a small table near the balcony. I run my fingers through my hair. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

I am immortal now, I realize. I hold up my hand and look at my skin. The scars are still there, but less pronounced than they were before. I swallow. Apollo's ichor runs through my veins.

The door opens, and my eyes immediately find Apollo. He immediately appears relieved that I'm awake. I notice he has changed too, now wearing a sunset-orange tunic and dark brown trousers with his sandals. He smiles brightly when he sees me.

"You're awake," he breathes out. He comes over to me. He perches on the edge of the bed and takes my hand. "I was worried for a moment there."

"You gave me your ichor," I say quietly, searching his face. He smiles.

"Of course I did. Who else would I ever want to give it to?" he reasons. He pets my hair. "I am so glad you are alright."

"We have forever now," I murmur. He nods.

"We do," he confirms. He pauses. "Are you alright with that?"

I nod, not even hesitating. "I never could have dreamt I would have an eternity with you," I admit. "I won't chance my good luck by feeling anything but grateful."

Apollo smiles. "You have given me everything. I happily gave this to you." He traces down the length of my arm. "We can be happy now."

"Are we still on Delos?" I ask curiously, tilting my head. He laughs and nods.

"We are," he confirms. "I brought you into my palace. This," he lets out another laugh, this one slightly awkward, "this is my bedchamber, actually. I thought you would be most comfortable here." He pauses then shyly offers, "Well, it could be our bedchamber, if you'd like it to be, but there is no need for you to make a decision in haste. For now, you can rest."

My face burns at being offered to share Apollo's bedchamber. I nearly burn up entirely when I realize I am currently laying in his bed, under his covers, and using his pillows. There is something so oddly intimate about the idea. 

"What am I now? A god? An immortal demigod?" I ask as the thought suddenly strikes me. Apollo hums, thinking.

"I don't know," he admits. "After you have had time to rest, perhaps a few days, I will take you to Olympus. We can find out there."

I nod. I look around the room again. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Nearly a day," Apollo answers, taking all of my questions in great stride. "Why? Are you hungry? I can have the nymphs bring some food."

I nod again, realizing for the first time just how hungry I actually am. I notice I wear a nightgown.

"Uh, Apollo?"

"Hm?"

"Who changed my clothes?"

His eyes widen. I notice, in awe, as he actually blushes.

"My mother did, I swear it," he replies, his cheeks stained pink. "I was going to, but then I realized that would entail-" he stops, cutting himself off with a cough. "I was unsure if you would approve of that, so I sent for Mother. She handled the rest. You can change, of course. The nymphs can come help with whatever you need."

"After we eat, could I?" I ask with a blush. "I would like to wear normal clothing when I leave this room."

"Of course. Of course, yes." He pauses a moment. "Alright. The food will be here shortly. In the meantime, would you like some air?"

"The balcony?" I wonder hopefully.

Apollo laughs and nods. He stands, then he offers me his hand. I use him as leverage to help me stand, but I find it is not as difficult as I assumed it would be. I suppose things are different now that I am immortal. I am not quite so fragile.

The floor is cool against my feet. I let out a happy hum, and I hug Apollo's arm as he leads me to the balcony. As soon as we step out, the cool breeze refreshes me. I immediately notice the lovely view of the gardens, with the sea in the distance.

"The gardens are beautiful," I compliment. They spread out over a massive area of land, lush and full of life. The flowers and greenery are no doubt influenced with magic, able to survive despite the rocky, sandy soil.

It is a perk of being a god's home, I think.

"We can walk through them later," Apollo offers. I look up at him with a smile.

"I would love that," I say happily. I lay my head against his shoulder. Softly, to myself, I murmur, "This is my new home."

I cannot quite believe it. I get to live in this paradise, with Apollo, forever. Forever. It is an absolutely insane thought. It is even more insane to know it is true.

"You will be happy here," Apollo murmurs. I look up at him then, only to find him already looking at me. "You will be happy with me."

"Of course I will be," I say softly.

"You gave up mortality for me," he continues, cupping my cheek. I turn to face him better and lean into his touch.

"And you gave me a part of your very being," I counter. He grins.

"We make quite the pair, do we not?"

I laugh, nodding. "We certainly do."

•••••

After we eat, the nymphs help me dress. Apollo sits on the bed, rambling about anything and everything, while I am changing behind an ornate screen. The nymphs help me into a chiton the same soft gold as candlelight, much like one of my very first pieces I wore as a priestess. Apollo waves in one nymph, who has come from elsewhere. In her hands, she carries the familiar diadem that Apollo gave me, the one that was offered to him by Alexander the Great.

"I have used my magic to bring your things here," Apollo explains when he sees my curious expression. I nod. The nymph hands it to Apollo, and the god comes to me. He gently places the crown on my head. He smiles and brushes his fingers against my hair. He murmurs, "Perfect."

He is so close. And he is mine.

I lean in then, surprisingly myself with my initiative. He grins as he lets me kiss him, and somehow, it feels different than before. I thought it was wonderful when I was mortal, but it is indescribable now that I am immortal. I feel every part of my body light on fire, nerves searing that I did not know existed, fires burning that could never ignite before.

I could kiss Apollo forever, and I will.

"Apollo," I whisper as his hand comes up to the back of my neck.

"My priestess," he whispers, kissing me harder. "My beautiful Cassia."

I breathe out between kisses, "I love you. I have always loved you."

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes shining and looking more youthful than I have ever seen him. "You are my past, my present, and my future, little one. I love you too, more than anything."

Chapter Text

It has been two days.

Two days of grappling with my new reality. Two days of exploring Delos. Two days of spending every moment I can at Apollo's side without the weight of fate looming over us. Two days of eternity.

It is the first time I have been left to wander on my own. I do not chance leaving the palace yet. For now, I will explore here. I do not think it is a surprise at all when, near sunset, my feet lead me to the spring that has erupted from Delphi.

It is in the heart of the garden, and I kneel by its marble edge. I dip my fingers into the water. It is odd, I think, how I immediately feel stronger at the sensation of connection to Delphi. I have noticed the voices of the Fates ring louder now that I am immortal, and they are even clearer when I touch the water.

Apollo says veiling is unnecessary at Delos, as my presence here is signal enough to others that I am his, but I feel strange not wearing the veil. I wear it anyway, for my own comfort and peace of mind.

"It is beautiful, is it not?" I hear from behind me.

I startle, looking over my shoulder with wide eyes. My eyes only widen further when I see a woman who I am fairly certain is not Artemis. This woman looks a bit older than I could expect Artemis to appear, seeming to be in her thirties but is most definitely infinitely older. She has long golden hair, covered by a plain veil that compliments her dark clothing. Her face is friendly, and her demeanor is warm.

I start to stand, but she shakes her head. She gestures for me to remain where I am.

"Stay sitting, please," she says. Instead of having me stand, she kneels beside me. "So you are the priestess. The woman so beloved to my son."

I nearly pass out, realizing in mild horror: This is Leto.

"I- I am, yes," I stammer. "I have served Apollo since I was a child."

Leto smiles, warm and welcoming. "And now you are here." She pats my knee. "You have been through quite the ordeal. How are you finding Delos, Cassia?"

I swallow my nerves, answering, "I love it here, truthfully. It is beautiful."

She laughs, nodding as she agrees, "It is. Apollo has always been very fond of his birthplace." She tilts her head, examining me. "Do you know what you are to him? Has he told you?"

I nod. "He is my soulmate."

"How do you feel about that?"

I let out a breathy laugh. How do I feel? I feel as though every dream I have ever dared to have has manifested itself into reality. I feel as though fate has given me the greatest mercy. I feel invincible.

But I cannot say that. Not to her.

"Happier than I ever thought possible," is what I say instead. I smile shyly as I play with one of the many rings Apollo has given me. "More than anything, though, I feel grateful. Very, very grateful."

Leto is quiet for a moment as she looks into the spring. A small smile creeps up her lips.

"You did this," she says softly. I nod.

"I did. I did not mean to, but...yes. I did," I ramble. I hope I did not offend her somehow.

She does not respond. She is deep in thought. It is an odd silence. It is not tense or strained, but it is not comfortable either. It simply is.

"Apollo has always been a man of great emotion," she says finally. I blink, not having expected that. "He loves fiercely, and he loves devotedly. His love is not fickle. Well, not now. Not that he has grown." She sighs.

"He has dreamt of the day he would have a consort. He craves companionship, you see, but he does not trust easily." Her eyes lift to meet mine. "He trusts you."

Trust. It is something deeper, more innate, more dangerous than love. To be loved is one thing, but to be trusted? It is another matter entirely.

"He will be good to you. I only ask that you are good to him too," she says softly. My mouth goes dry. "I know you will be devoted. After all, devotion is the way of a priestess.

"And I know you will love him. It is clear in your eyes that you already do, and if you did not, it would not be avoidable given your bond. But I ask that you trust him, truly trust him. He is a good man. Your trust will not be misplaced."

It is a plea, a mother's plea for the well-being of her son. It is so incredibly human. I smile gently.

"I already trust him," I reply, keeping my voice quiet. The moment is fragile; I do not wish to shatter it. "I trust him more than anyone. I always have."

Leto smiles then, small but so incredibly relieved. She reaches out and lightly takes my hand, giving it a soft squeeze. The simple action nearly breaks my heart, because I have lacked maternal love for so long.

"Good," she says softly. "Then I wish you both nothing but joy and peace."

"Mother," comes Apollo's groan from the entrance to the small clearing of the gardens, "I was supposed to bring Cassia to you later. I wanted you to meet formally."

I look toward Apollo, all remaining tension exiting my body the moment I lay eyes on him. I know I am safe here, but I am safest at his side. I am happiest at his side. Especially now.

"Well, we have already met," she replies with a light laugh. Apollo comes to me and bends down, pressing a kiss to my hair.

"How are you? I have not heard you today," he says, and my lips quirk.

Ah, yes, I recall the new skill I have learned, that.

Apparently, there is a certain privilege that comes along with divinity, allowing Apollo and I an almost telepathic communication. He can hear me, just as he has always been able to, but now, I can hear him.

"I keep forgetting I can do that now," I admit with a guilty grin. He laughs. "I have enjoyed wandering the grounds today."

Apollo grins. "I have one last place you have yet to see." He looks to his mother. "Mother, might I steal my prophet away?"

Leto smiles, nodding. "Of course, of course. Cassia, dear, it was lovely to meet you properly."

"It was," I agree, and I mean it.

I let Apollo lead me away. I hold onto his arm as we walk.

"How was Mother?" he asks. "Not too much, I hope?"

"She was wonderful," I say truthfully. "She loves you a great deal."

"Well, she absolutely adores you," he counters. I look up at him with wide eyes. "She does. She just told me."

"Really?" I try to keep myself from sounding too hopeful.

He nods. "She says you're good for me," he confirms. I all but physically illuminate.

"I was terrified that she would hate me," I admit with a small laugh. He joins me.

"She decidedly does not hate you," Apollo grins, and I do too.

"Now, what is it you have to show me?" I ask curiously as we walk through the palace. As we seem to get closer to the destination, he seems to get more eager.

"Somewhere important," he insists. A moment later, "Alright. From here, you will have to close your eyes."

"What?" I laugh incredulously. "Why?"

"It is a surprise," he emphasizes.

"Fine, fine," I say. I trust him to lead me to our destination.

As he does, I cannot help but think how funny this entire situation is. A week ago, I was terrified to love Apollo. I felt no shame in it, but it haunted me. I was so certain it was impossible. Now, I am immortal, and I feel entirely at ease in my love for him. I walk the halls of Delos as, effectively, his consort.

Who would have ever imagined?

I hear massive doors open, and Apollo stops us from walking further. He goes still behind me.

"Open your eyes," he whispers, and I do.

I am immediately faced with a massive hall filled with the faint music of a lyre. Something about the scene is strangely familiar. The floor is made of polished stone with intricate mosaics scattered over sections of the tiling. The walls are decorated with rich, gold topazes and diamonds the color of nectar. They glint and burn with the fading sunlight.

"Something about this place feels...different," I murmur as I wander further inside. Massive stone statues of lions line the alcoves along the sides of the room. "Are those the originals?"

I can practically hear Apollo's proud smirk.

"They are, straight from antiquity," he confirms.

My eyes trail up the aisle of lions, and I see a stunning, golden throne. It shines in the day's last sunlight. I get closer, and the details come into view. There are engraved swans and dolphins, wolves and ravens, a lyre and a stylized bow and arrow. At the top of the throne, a deeply ornate sun reigns above it all.

I am so close I could touch it if I really wanted to. The sheer energy radiating from it nearly makes me breathless. It is sacred. It is holy. It is power.

"This is my throne room," Apollo says from behind me. "This is my throne. It is where I rule. It is where you will rule at my side."

My breath catches at how casually he says it, how simple and how decided it sounds when it comes from his lips.

"You sound as if you have a plan," I manage to get out. My voice is only a little breathless, a little wobbly, a little stunned.

"I always have a plan," he murmurs with a sure certainty, and I feel him nearly against my back.

"Is it fate, then?" I breathe out.

It is both a joke and a genuine question. We both know the answer. He huffs out a laugh. His hands rest lightly on my arms. His touch burns me in the best way.

"What are we if not destined?"

Apollo's words are a question and an answer, and they ring with such familiarity that I am nearly knocked off my feet. I jerk, spinning to face him. That is why this is all so recognizable. I have been here before. In a way, I have, at least.

"What? What is it?" Apollo frowns, getting nervous.

"I have heard you say that before," I state, awed. "I have heard those words, and I have seen this room." His eyes widen. "All of this, I have seen it. It was on the plane. On my birthday."

It hits me then. I saw my own eternity. I felt Apollo against my skin even then.

"Even then, it was written," I realize. Apollo draws me near, and he leans down to kiss my shoulder.

"This has always been written."

•••••

The nights on Delos are both infinitely long and incredibly short. I am learning to enjoy this strange new way of experiencing time. I am also learning to enjoy Apollo's company at night.

I thought the others situations in which I have found myself in Apollo's arms have been pleasant, but they are not even remotely in the same league as the past few nights. Since waking, I have spent each night in Apollo's bed, pressed to his body, our legs tangled together. He offered me to share this space, and I have not for even a moment considered going elsewhere.

Even still, with the hours we have spent together in the dark with the room only illuminated by moonlight, kissing and whispering about our future together, Apollo has never once mentioned anything more. He has never pressured me or allowed his hands or lips to wander too far. Even with his shirtless torso and my silken nightgowns, he has never made me feel as though he had any expectations.

It is liberating.

"Apollo," I murmur as he kisses along my neck, "you said I deserve sacrifice. That you would prove your devotion to me." He hums in acknowledgment. "You have proven yourself, my love. You have sacrificed."

"Not enough," he mumbles against me. He bites down lightly on my skin, making me moan softly. "Not enough to ask anything of you. I will never be able to do enough to deserve it."

I shake my head. I cup Apollo's cheek, and he pulls away just enough to meet my eyes.

"You have," I insist, and I mean it. I feel no fear, no hesitation. "You gave me this life. You gave me your ichor."

"I did not do it with any expectations, Cassia," he whispers. I smile slightly.

"I know."

He raises himself above me a bit, resting on his elbow as he gazes down at me. His fingertips trail along my cheek.

"Is this what you want?" he asks. My smile turns shy as I nod.

"I will happily give you anything you ask for," I murmur. "You know this."

His lips twitch. "And if I asked for you?"

"Ask and find out," I dare to say, and he starts to smirk. He lowers himself closer to me. My heart is pounding so hard that I would be utterly shocked if he could not feel it.

"Little dove," Apollo murmurs, his lips brushing mine as he speaks, "I want you." He presses a kiss to my lips. "May I have you?"

"Always," I whisper as I pull him in for a long, hard kiss.

He grins against me, and he nips at my bottom lip to coax my mouth open. He deepens the kiss, and I surrender myself to whatever he would do to me. I want it all. I want everything with him.

"I will make you happy," Apollo promises as he trails his kisses to my jaw. "You are a goddess, and I will be the one to worship you as you deserve."

His lips move to my neck, and I gasp when he finds the sensitive spot near my ear. His free hand finds my breast, then he moves down to my stomach, then to my thigh. He holds onto me as he settles more comfortably between my legs, and he continues littering my neck with bruises that mark his claim.

"You have spent your life serving me, but I will spend the rest of eternity on my knees for you." His hand brushes just a little higher. "If you do not want this, please, Cas, tell me no."

I let out a sigh as he lowers his kisses to my chest. I shake my head.

"I cannot," I whisper. "I want this." He hums. "I want you."

He reaches for my nightgown’s hem. "As I want you, my love."

•••••

I wake up curled into Apollo's chest, our naked bodies snuggled together. He is so warm and so strong. His muscular arms are wrapped around me. He nuzzles into my hair.

"Cas," he mumbles, yawning quietly as he wakes up. His voice is even deeper in the mornings. He presses soft kisses to my shoulder. "Good morning."

I lightly trace his forearm. "Good morning," I say softly. He lets out a happy hum.

"How do you feel?" he asks. "Okay?"

"Better than okay," I laugh, turning in his arms to face him. He gently rubs my ribs. "I feel wonderful." I kiss his jaw, and a thrill runs through me at being free to openly love him. "What are we doing today?"

"Well," he sighs, "we have to go to Olympus."

I look up at him in surprise. "We do?"

He nods. "We must go to the altar of the gods to finish the prophecy. It is on Olympus." I nod. "There, the Fates will tell you what you are and what your role will be going forward."

"Outside of being your consort, yes?" I check. He smiles and nods again.

"Yes," he assures me. He kisses my forehead. "They would have to pry you from my cold, dead hands, and I am quite certain they know it."

•••••

I'm dressed in a light pink chiton, a shade that reminds me of dusk. My hair is elaborately braided and bound with gold, and it is topped with a shimmering gossamer veil of woven gold. It is held in place by tiny jeweled hairpins, and I'm wearing the necklace Apollo gave me for my birthday. I look down at my favorite ring, the one I never remove. It's a beautiful golden disk, decorated with a sunflower at the center with embossing around it. It was Apollo's first gift to me, and as I have grown, it has magically adjusted to fit me.

I also wear my bracelet with my bow charm. I have not taken it off since I was first gifted it, and I will not do so now. The nymphs adorn my face with powers and creams, subtly accenting my features. I watch them in the mirror, and I am surprised at how pretty I look.

There is a quiet knock on the doorframe, and I look over to see Apollo. He smiles at the sight of me.

"You look beautiful," he compliments. I blush brightly. "Are you ready?"

I nod, and the nymphs disperse when I dismiss them. Apollo offers me his hand, which I take, and he kisses my forehead.

"You will learn to teleport soon, but for now, I will take you," he says. I nod again.

"Is it difficult?" I ask curiously. He shakes his head.

"Not at all," he replies. "It only requires focus."

I close my eyes, and I feel the ground fall out from under me. I hold tighter to Apollo until I feel my feet rest on something solid. I peek my eyes open, and I gasp sharply at the scene I see. The skies are a stunning lavender and pink, streaked with gold and orange and blue. There is a massive building in front of us, appearing as if it was crafted by the ancient masters. On the smaller peaks I see in the distance, glittering, shining palaces dot the land.

"Do you have a palace here?"

Apollo smirks and nods. "I do. We do." I look up at him. "Anything that is mine is yours. You have free rein of any of my territories or domains." He gestures to a building on a peak, surrounded by beautiful groves. "That is where we will reside whenever we choose to be on Olympus. Or, if you ever wish to have time away from me, you are free to stay there."

I am nearly breathless by his effortless generosity. He is giving me everything. He is so easily sharing everything he has and everything he rules over with me. I never could have imagined this is how my life could be. Yet, here I am. It is incredible.

"As if I will ever want to be away from you," I say with a small, teasing smile. He laughs and pulls me into his side.

"My sweet girl," he says fondly. "Come. Let us meet the others. They will adore you."

I freeze. The others.

"Will-" my voice catches in my throat, and I swallow the knot, "will my mother be there?"

Apollo gives me a sympathetic look, and I know. He presses a kiss to the top of my head.

"She will be proud of you," he promises. "Do not be afraid."

I nod. "Right," I say quietly. I incline my head. "She should be proud. Everything I have done, I have done for love. It is what she would want, is it not?"

"Exactly," he says. He nods to the massive double doors in front of us. "Are you ready?"

I let out a shaky breath. "Yes. I am."

"Then, Cassia, I welcome you to the Hall of the Gods."

A few minutes later, I pause as we enter the throne room. My breath is stolen. Twelve thrones arc around the room. The sacred hearth burns at the opposite end of Zeus and Hera's thrones. My eyes zero in on a piece that seems very familiar. It is nearly identical to the one at Delos.

"Is that...?" I trail off. Apollo grins proudly and nods.

"It is. Would you like to sit on it?" he asks. I look up at him with wide eyes.

"Sit? On your throne?" I gasp. He smiles wider, excited.

"Well, of course!" he replies. He takes my hand and leads me over to it. He nods encouragingly. "Go on. See how it feels."

I creep closer to it, both intrigued and intimidated. I let my fingers brush the golden arm of the throne, and I hear a dim humming. I take a breath and lower myself onto it. The second I do, I suddenly hear three voices echoing together.

The Fates, I know innately. I have heard their whispers for years, but I have never heard their voices quite so clearly- except for in Delphi. Normally, I hear Apollo's voice telling me the prophecies. Now, I hear them directly from the source. It is awe-inspiring.

The ink-stained sky will fall.

I jump, staring at Apollo with wide eyes.

"Do you hear prophecies when you sit on your throne?" I ask shakily. My heart is pounding. He frowns.

"I do not," he admits. "Why? Did you?"

I nod. I open my mouth to say it, but I am afraid to voice it. Speaking prophecies makes them come sooner. Always.

"I think I did," I murmur, "but I hope I did not."

I stand up, not wanting to hear the whispers any more than I have to. I shuffle closer to Apollo. Being near him makes me feel at ease. It is as if the warmth he radiates wraps around me like a cloak, hiding me from the world and keeping me safe from danger.

"So this is the priestess," I hear. We both turn, and I see a woman with blonde hair tied up in a neat braid and piercing gray eyes. I recognize the eyes from her children at camp. This is Athena.

"Athena," Apollo says. "Great to see you again." He nudges me forward. "This is Cassia."

"Your-"

"Consort," Apollo interrupts her. "She is my priestess, yes, but she is my consort above all else."

Athena raises her eyebrow, looking thoroughly unamused. "You are not wed."

"Not yet," Apollo grins.

She gives me a disapproving look. "You have chosen this, I assume?"

I nod. "I have. I chose Apollo many years ago, my lady."

Apollo scoffs, coming over to me and wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

"Love," he says gently, "you do not have to call her that. You are immortal now. You are equals. We all are."

Equals, I think with an odd mix of mild horror and extreme astonishment. It has not yet hit me. I am an equal among the Olympians, and it is not an act of hubris to think so. Oh gods.

"Cassia!" is squealed as others come trickling in. I try to ignore Athena's sheer displeasure and move my eyes to the woman who is hurrying over. She looks entirely foreign, but at the same time, she is as familiar as my own reflection. I see my eyes in hers for just a moment as she stops in front of me. "Look at you!"

"Cas," Apollo murmurs to me, "meet Aphrodite."

His words strike me in the stomach like a punch. This is my mother. This is the woman who only claimed me because Apollo asked her to do so. This is the woman I have disappointed my entire life, because I devoted myself to a love that was not hers.

"Mother," I choke out. She beams.

"Look at you," she says happily. "You look absolutely beautiful. And now, you don't have to waste your life away without love!"

My jaw ticks. "I have never been without love," I say, trying hard to keep my tone neutral.

"But it is just such a waste for a daughter of mine to be a priestess," she says, saying the title as if it is a disease. Apollo stiffens.

"It has never been a waste," I correct her. My voice is tight now. "I am proud of my devotion. I was a priestess as a mortal, and I am a priestess now." She rolls her eyes. "Mother, why did you gift me with charmspeak?"

She laughs, as if my question is downright hilarious. I hate how her laughter is melodious.

"I had little say in the matter, dear girl," she replies. My jaw drops. "The Fates insisted upon it. They said you were meant to have power, so I made it so."

Everything inside of me goes cold. I had at least a shred of hope that my mother had done something to choose me, to show her love for me, to prove that I meant something to her for at least a brief moment in time.

"Has everything only been an act of fate?" I ask softly, blinking rapidly to force back the tears, too afraid to raise my voice in case it might crack.

Mother's sympathy is cold. She pouts, responding, "You're the oracle. Shouldn't you know?"

I look up into her eyes, and I see what her love really is. It is selfish and cold and farcical. I want no part in it. I want my love. It is warm and true and unconditional. It is as unceasing as the ichor in my veins.

"Apollo," I say quietly, looking away from my mother and feeling no guilt or longing for what could have been, "let us end this prophecy."

•••••

I thought I would be more afraid standing in front of Zeus. I am not afraid. After all, I have stared down far worse. I have slain a dragon, and Zeus is no dragon.

"Cassia Costin," Zeus muses, leaning on one arm as he watches me. "Priestess of Apollo. The Pythia."

I hold my eye higher. I keep my gaze steady. I will not waver.

"You have served the gods for many years," he continues. I hold my hands behind my back.

"I have served Apollo for many years," I subtly correct. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Apollo smirk.

"And now you are his consort," Zeus finishes. He sounds judgmental, and I hate it. He does not have any right to be this way.

"I am many things now, it seems," I say neutrally. His jaw ticks.

Immortality has brought me confidence- not arrogance, but confidence I have earned through my years of dedication. It merely took this cushion for it to come out.

Zeus pushes his lips together. His eyes are thunderous. He knows I am beyond his reach in this moment. He cannot deflect his bruised pride onto me. 

"Let us not wait any longer then," he says tightly. I smile cooly, inclining my head. Zeus gestures, and the doors behind me open once again. I turn, and I see them.

Three women- one old, one in the middle of her life, one young- enter, moving smoothly and in perfect unison. They are dressed in matching white chitons. They wear identical wreaths of golden laurels. The youngest is Clotho. She carries a spindle.

Lachesis comes next, and she holds a measuring rod in her hands. Atropos is the oldest, and if I were not certain of my immortality, I would flinch away from the very sight of the shears in her hands. These women, they have shaped all of human history. They are the ones who made conquerors, who destined the rise and fall of empires and kingdoms and nations. They are the ones who have decided the course of destiny.

It is awe-inspiring. It is terrifying.

"Pythia," Lachesis says, her voice as icy as a frozen pond, "you have met your fate."

"And I have heard your voices," I say quietly, stunned. "At Delphi. On...on Apollo's throne. I heard you."

Clotho's lips quirk up. "It is by design."

"You gave me this destiny for a reason," I say. I clasp my hands even tighter. My nerves are almost paralyzing, but I cannot show it. Not right now. Not when the gods are watching me. "What am I intended for?"

"Oh, little goddess," Atropos coos, and a shiver runs down my spine.

So it is certain, I think with a small smile to myself. I am a goddess.

"Only a goddess can be a consort to a god," Atropos adds. I stand even straighter, if possible. They can read my thoughts, just as those in the temple could.

I suppose it makes sense. How else can I hear their prophecies if they cannot place them in my mind?

"You have been chosen for a great destiny," Atropos continues. I feel my body go cold. From my fingers to my toes, it is as if I have fallen into ice water. I tilt my head ever so slightly, listening intently. "You, Pythia, are the oracle."

I frown. "I know this."

"No," Clotho says. "You are not merely the oracle of Delphi. You are the oracle. You are the one who has always been meant to hear our prophecies and discern them for the gods. You are the voice of fate."

I freeze. I go entirely stiff.

"Apollo...He is the god of fate," I say slowly.

"He held the mantle until the true champion rose," Lachesis says. My eyes widen. "You have risen."

I look to Apollo, stunned. I do not want to overstep. I do not want to take this from him. I do not have a choice, I imagine, but I still do not want it to seem as if this was some sort of machination. But I am overwhelmingly relieved to see him smiling. He nods encouragingly.

"Me?" I ask softly, looking back to the Fates. They nod at once. It is deeply unsettling, the way they move together. "The altar of the gods..." I trail off, realizing what the prophecy foretold all this time.

"You have spent your life giving offerings and making sacrifices. You will spend eternity giving to the Old Ones," Atropos says. I swallow the knot in my throat. I nod.

"Delos is my home now," I say quietly. Lachesis smiles slightly.

"It is," she agrees. "You will learn to fly, dove." It is as if another strike of lightning through my veins. A dove in flight. "Or, perhaps you should take on a new shield."

I frown. "Like what?"

"A dragon," Apollo says suddenly. I look to him. "You slew the Ismenian dragon. I conquered the Python- a dragon of its own- in order to claim your seat of Delphi." He smiles. "And Delphi is yours now. It is only right you take the dragon for your own."

"A dragon," I murmur, entranced by the idea. A smile crawls onto my face. I look to the Fates for approval. They nod again. "Very well. A dragon it is."

I feel it inside me at that moment. The prophecy is finished, but at the same time, everything has only just begun. I look to Apollo. He smiles warmly, and I feel everything inside of me ignite. I am Olympus' oracle. Fate has a new champion.

•••••

It is exceedingly strange to walk freely through Olympus. I walk the Hall of the Gods unaccompanied. Apollo had to speak with his sister about some matter, so I have taken the opportunity to clear my head. So much has happened. This prophecy changed everything for me. It gave me eternity.

I have gained a partner. I have gained ichor. I have gained a domain. Everything I could have ever dreamed of is mine. And yet, I feel odd. I feel a deep, foreboding sense of doom deep within me. It is nagging. It digs and digs at my ribs, claws at my stomach and chest and makes a home there.

Is this what it means to feel the weight of fate? I wonder. My footsteps are silent against the marble floors. Sunlight from somewhere I cannot place streams in, making the stone glisten. From somewhere in the distance, I hear blaring trumpets and haunting lyre song. I feel the sound in my bones, echoing off my skeleton and filling the cage of my flesh.

I look down, and my skirt brushes my legs with each step. It is as smooth as the rose petals I saw in Delos, and when the sun catches the fabric, I see the northern lights flicker in the saturated coral of the dusky pink. I pass by statues of gods and heroes. 

I look straight ahead. The uncomfortable gnawing only grows, and whispers echo in my mind. Indistinguishable prophecies tell of what was, what is, and what is to come. I continue moving, and my footsteps grow louder. The sound fills the long, temple-esque hall around me. It seems to bounce off of every statue, every column, every wall, every inch of marble a thousand times.

It all feels peculiarly familiar.

Have I seen this before? In a vision? I wonder. I continue walking. The Hall seems to be a large, circle, for I soon end up at another entrance to the main chamber that holds the thrones of the gods. Although, I notice this entrance opens up to the other side of the room.

All at once, my mind falls silent. It happens like a wave crashing over me. It is sudden and unexpected, and I am unsure if it is welcome or not.

From behind me, I hear a voice I have heard only once before in a brief flash of a vision. I recognize it enough to know that it is the same. The familiarity of the words nearly bring me to my knees. It is a sharp declaration, a promise, a warning.

"You'll sever your own head."

Chapter Text

The legends and myths promise nothing good comes from devoting oneself to a god. Perhaps that is true for some, but for me, it is a shattered oath. They swore me ruin, but I gained my rising. I devoted my life to Apollo, and in return, I have received unquestionable loyalty and endless love. I wear his crown and his jewels, I walk the halls of his home that is now mine, and I spend my nights at his side.

Apollo gave me eternity, and he made me a goddess. His prophecies have become my own. I see the threads of fate for myself, the very same threads I once reached in and rewove to choose endlessness with the other half of my heart and soul. Apollo adores me for it.

Others do not.

The demigods at camp are not pleased with my relocation to Delos, and some among the gods of Olympus are even less pleased with my presence as their oracle. None can complain for long, however, as they have far more troubling matters to attend to than focusing on me.

I thought being a goddess would mean peace. I thought- naïvely, perhaps- that it would mean tranquility. I thought I could spend the rest of time hidden away on Delos. I was terribly mistaken, on all three counts. War is brewing, and I am the only one with any hope of stopping it.

I changed the course of fate once. If I do not want the sky to fall, I will have to reweave fate- again.

Chapter Text

Three months, eight days, fourteen hours, and thirty-seven minutes. That's how long I have been immortal. It has been wonderful—blissful, even. Delos has become a safe haven for me, a place where I can block out the world and ignore the inevitable chaos brewing under the surface. In Delos, with Apollo, I am safe and happy and at peace.

Until today.

"Apollo," I try to reason with him, "they will not understand. They will be furious."

Apollo sighs deeply. He runs his free hand through his hair, while he keeps the other around my waist. He has found that he rather enjoys when I sit on his throne with him, and I have no complaints either.

"Perhaps," he agrees. "But, my love, they must be wondering where their oracle has gone."

"Wouldn't Chiron have been told? Dionysus, at the very least, would know," I reply. He hums.

"If they do, it is unlikely they told the rest of camp," he reasons. I huff. He is right, of course, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. He plays with my hair. "We must go, little dove." His lips twitch. "Or, should I be saying little dragon?"

"Stop," I whine, but I am betrayed by my own giggles. "I am not a dragon."

"You are much nearer to a dragon than you are a dove," Apollo grins. "I like 'little dragon.'"

"It is a cute oxymoron," I agree, still giggling to myself. I lean into Apollo's chest and peer up at him. I trace his collar, the neat embroidery making me proud. I have gotten into the habit of embroidering his clothing. It helps me practice what Leto is teaching me, and I love the praise he showers upon me every time I present him with a new piece. "When will we go?"

He kisses my forehead, even through the awkward angle. I can't help but smile.

"We should go now," he says. "It would be best not to delay it any further."

I sigh. I know we need to go. I know the demigods are owed an explanation. But I do not want to leave the peaceful cocoon of Delos.

"Will Dionysus be angry he wasn't invited to our wedding?" I ask curiously. Apollo laughs.

"Only angry over the fact that he missed a rare opportunity for him to drink," he says.

Our wedding was a small affair. We threw it together two weeks after my ascension. Hermes (who I have quickly learned is Apollo's dearest friend), Artemis, and Leto were the only guests. I did not bother to invite my mother. Why would I?

The ceremony was sweet, taking place in the gardens with Hermes as the officiant. It was short, and it was beautifully mixed with both ancient and modern traditions. It was enough. All I wanted was to be given to Apollo and to have him be given to me. I got exactly that.

"Sunshine," Apollo murmurs against my shoulder one morning, "I have an idea."

I hum sleepily. "Oh? Tell me."

He kisses my skin, and I feel him smile against me. He traces patterns on my ribs.

"What if we got married?" he asks. My eyes open wide at that. I turn to face him.

"Married?" I repeat. He smiles brightly.

"Yes," he replies. "I already consider you my consort. You are my soulmate. All of Olympus knows it is true. But I would like us to be married. I want to be your husband, and I want you to be my wife."

I cannot help but smile at his words. "I want that too." I reach up and tuck his hair behind his ear. "All you need to do is ask, love. You know this."

He beams, and he jumps out of bed. He grabs my hands and tugs me to sit up. I start laughing.

"Apollo," I say, "perhaps you should not propose when we are still naked?"

"Well, you do have the sheet," he grins. I laugh and tug the sheet closer. "Come, my love, I do not wish to wait."

"Fine, fine, very well," I say, giggling. "Continue."

He clears his throat dramatically. "Cassia, my love, my prophet, my oracle, my soulmate." He holds my hands. "I have always loved you, and I always will. I swear upon the Styx that there will never be anyone else for me. It is only you, forever." He looks up at me with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. "Darling, will you marry me?"

I said yes, of course, and we were married within a few days. Apollo presented me with a beautiful ring, and I have worn it ever since. I take a new pride in wearing my veil. On Delos, I rarely feel the need to don it, but on Olympus, it is more than a signifier of my status as an oracle. It shows them all that I am married, that I belong to Apollo now in every way.

"I liked our wedding," I say quietly, playing with his collar. The amethyst ring he gifted me that day glitters in the sunlight streaming in. "I liked that it was just those of us who mattered."

He tilts my chin up and presses a soft kiss to my lips. "We will not be away for long, sweet girl. I promise you that."

•••••

Arriving at camp feels different, strange. Being immortal has caused most things to be that way now. There were places I once fit perfectly, but now, it only feels wrong.

I hold onto Apollo's arm as we walk to the Big House. He knocks on the front door. I cannot help but look around the best I can, curious to see what might have changed in the past few months.

"It seems it has remained the same," Apollo notes, practically reading my thoughts.

"They have lost their oracle," I frown. He plays with a stray strand of my hair before smoothing down my veil.

"Yes," he allows. "Olympus has gained one, though." He tilts my chin up, and I see the pride shining in his eyes. "My wife. The goddess of prophecy and of Delphi, goddess of sacred paths, the Dragon Slayer, the Oracle of the Gods." 

I grin, turning my head to kiss his palm.

"That sounds rather impressive," I giggle, peering up at him. "Those are many titles. Are you certain I deserve them?"

Apollo leans in to kiss my forehead. "You are the only one who deserves any of it."

The timing is terrible, because we are suddenly interrupted by an uncomfortable cough. Apollo gives a withering glare, until he notices it is Dionysus standing there. My husband gives a bright smile.

"Dion!" Apollo cheers. "We have much to discuss!"

Dionysus looks between us. He reluctantly says, "Cassia."

"Ah, yes! My darling wife has missed you," he says happily. Dionysus' eyes widen.

"Your what?"

Chapter Text

I hug Apollo's arm as we sit in Chiron's office with the centaur and Dionysus. Chiron looks uneasily between us. He eyes where I hold onto my husband with blatant disapproval.

"You have heard of our marriage, yes?" Apollo asks in a chipper tone, ignoring the awkward energy filling the room.

"Yes," Chiron replies reluctantly, just as Dionysus gives an indignant, "No!"

Chiron looks at me. "You consented to this?"

His tone is disbelieving. It is appalled. It is infuriating.

"Of course I did," I answer as if it should be obvious. Apollo smiles and kisses my cheek.

"Cassia rules Delos by my side," he proudly informs them. Chiron grimaces.

"When were you married?" Dionysus asks with a huff. He crosses his arms.

"Nearly three months ago now," I reply. "It was two weeks after I was given Apollo's ichor."

Chiron shakes his head. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

"This all happened very quickly," he says, strained. I despise how critical he sounds. Clearly, so does Apollo.

"Time means nothing when it comes to soulmates," Apollo replies sharply. "Cassia is a goddess. She is my consort, my wife. She is the other half of my soul. You have no choice but to accept this."

Chiron recognizes that he needs to silence himself lest he face Apollo's wrath. Dionysus leans back in his chair, sipping his Diet Coke.

"Well," Dionysus drags out, "congratulations."

Apollo smirks at Chiron before saying, "Thank you, brother." He plays with the end of my veil. Smugly, he brags, "Cassia killed a dragon."

"What?" Chiron chokes. He looks at me with wide eyes.

"The Ismenian dragon," I say quietly. "In Thebes."

"And now, my beloved is the voice of the Fates," Apollo continues with a bright smile, as if he had not just subtly threatened Chiron a few moments ago. He pulls me close, making a wave of warmth wash over me. "I am very proud."

"You should be," Dionysus allows. He nods to me. "Well done." I manage a small smile. "Are you happy at least? I imagine this is everything you could have wanted."

"More than that, really," I admit with a small smile. "It is more than what I could have ever dreamed of." I subconsciously trace my fingers along Apollo's arm. "I am happier than I ever imagined I would be." 

He nods. "Good. I'm glad to hear it."

Silence falls over the room. Chiron is still looking at us as if we have committed some grave atrocity, and Dionysus is picking at his nails. I shift uncomfortably. The silence is stifling.

I look up at Apollo. "Can we take a walk?"

He sees on my face that I am looking for an escape. He nods.

"Of course," he agrees. He smiles to the others. "Excuse us."

I can only breathe normally again once we are out of the Big House. Chiron has always shown me respect, but he has never understood me. He has always held judgment in his eyes whenever he looks at me. I dedicated my life to Apollo, and I am fairly certain Chiron thinks I am a fool for it. My devotion to Apollo has always been evident, my love obvious, my obedience unquestionable. 

Chiron bows to the whims of the gods, but he does so begrudgingly. He is too passive, too sympathetic to the heroes he trains. Before Apollo revealed our true connection, I had accepted what I thought was my inconsequential position in his endless life. I knew I was just another priestess to serve him in his thousands of years of living. I expected nothing. I knew my place.

Chiron refuses to understand that, for some of us, the purpose that comes with serving is enough. It is everything. He does not understand that we are not owed loyalty or devotion or love from the gods. I merely happened to get lucky.

No, I correct myself, holding Apollo's arm, not lucky. I was destined for more. That is what happened.

"I know he judges me," I quietly tell Apollo as we walk. "Chiron."

"He has no place to," he replies. "You are my wife by your own free will."

"He always has, though," I continue. "He judged me for agreeing to be your priestess. He judged me for loving you when we both thought it was impossible for you to love me too." I huff. "He judges me still for it, for choosing to be your wife."

"He sees us as fickle and unsteady," he says after a long moment of silence. "He does not believe that my oath to you is true. I cannot blame him, in a way. Gods are not known for being loyal to their wives. See how Zeus behaves, or Poseidon, or any of them.

"Chiron does not understand, though, that I am yours as much as you are mine. Our souls are intertwined. How could he possibly fathom the extent of my devotion to you? I imagine few ever could."

His words are a comfort. They warm me inside. I know my husband loves me, that he adores me, that I am the stars in his sky. He tells me too often for me to not know. But it always elates me to hear him speak so effortlessly about it.

"Apollo?" I ask eventually. He hums.

"Yes, little dragon?"

We share a look, and we laugh together. 

"Alright, alright, I like it," I giggle. He grins widely.

"I knew you would!" he says triumphantly. "Now, come, what is it?"

"Do you think they will be angry when they find out I am no longer their oracle?"

My voice is quiet, nervous. The campers were furious when I became the new oracle. The last one was beloved here. I grew to earn the same respect, but I worry they will think her sacrifice was for nothing.

"You might not be camp's oracle, but you are still their oracle," he offers as comfort instead of a direct answer. "You are the oracle now. You serve the gods as well as the demigods. The mortals too, if they had sense enough to seek out your voice."

I sigh. "My half-siblings will think poorly of me when they hear what has transpired."

Apollo smirks down at me. It is a mischievous look laced with victory. It looks both dangerous and beautiful on him.

"Let them. Their judgement means nothing. You answer to the Fates alone, my love."

Chapter Text

My nerves spike as the dinner horn blows. This is it. This is when we will explain everything. Well, Apollo will. It is a fabulous benefit of marrying someone so charismatic; he is happy to be in the spotlight, and I am perfectly happy to remain quiet at his side.

"Everything will be just fine," Apollo assures me as we walk to the pavilion. We could teleport, but he knows I am still learning to tolerate frequent uses of it. "I will handle it."

I nod. I know he will. He hates nothing more than seeing me unhappy or uneasy. If I have a troubling vision, he will spend hours after it ensuring I am content and at peace.

I loathe to think of what he might do to a camper who displeases me. Demigods matter little to him. He values them, and I think he understands them to a degree, but he is not concerned with them. He is certainly not so invested that he would excuse any insult to me.

I have learned many things in the short time I have been immortal. As Apollo's priestess, I knew I was protected. I was safe. But as Apollo's wife? I am virtually invincible.

No monster dares to do so much as look at me, and no god risks my husband's infamous rage by disrespecting me–let alone harming me. My husband is powerful, more powerful than even Zeus likes to admit. Apollo has made it exceedingly clear that he would burn Olympus to the ground for me, and the looming threat protects me.

Apollo is right. I know he is. I should not think twice about Chiron's opinions. They mean nothing. I certainly should not care about any camper's opinion. Still, I have not been a goddess for long. My fading mortality lingers in my wake, and old habits die slowly.

We enter the pavilion, and I feel every eye on us. I keep my gaze straight ahead, and I tighten my hold on Apollo. He is solid. He is stable. He is secure. Everything will be alright so long as he is right here, and I am quite certain he would have to be dead before he would let himself be removed from my side.

We reach the dais where the head table is, and Apollo helps me sit. I glance at Dionysus. He offers a reassuring smile. I return it. He has been a good mentor to me. He will not be bad company for the rest of eternity.

"Let's see how he spins this one, huh?" he mutters to me, and I grin.

"Let's," I agree. Apollo clears his throat.

"Attention!" he calls out. The pavilion goes silent. Apollo smiles brightly. "Wonderful! Well, first, hello everyone!"

He points to his cabin's table, sparsely-occupied as it has become. "Hello, children! Glad to see none of you have died since I last saw you."

He glances around the room.

"Ah, yes. I am here to tell you some news, so I might as well just get on with it. Your oracle–my oracle–Cassia, she is no longer my priestess. Or, technically, my oracle, for that matter."

Mutterings and whispers start to fill the pavilion. I feel my siblings' eyes on me as if they were lead weights.

"Cassia is now my wife. She has quite the impressive title set too! She is the goddess of prophecy, Delphi, and sacred paths. She is the Dragon Slayer. She serves as the oracle of the gods, a direct bridge between us and the Fates. 

"She will no longer serve camp alone, and she will be living with me on Delos. Obviously." He thinks for a moment then snaps his fingers. "Ah! Yes! 

"The temple. It will remain, and it shall be untouched by any of you. I am having it remade to honor my beautiful wife."

Wife. The word must not have registered the first time, but it does the second. It is like a trigger.

"So all of the drama about the transfer of the oracle's spirit was for nothing? What are we supposed to do without an oracle?" someone demands. 

Apollo huffs. He rolls his eyes.

"You still have an oracle, just not at camp. You do what you would do for any god: you make a sacrifice and pray. I'm sure if you are nice enough, Cassia will grant you a prophecy if there is one to be given," Apollo answers, as if it is obvious. I sit frozen.

People can pray to me now, I realize. The thought never occurred to me. They can offer me sacrifices.

"When did you even get married?" one of my sisters scoffs.

"Screw that, when was she made into a goddess?" someone else says.

"Why does she get everything?" I hear someone from my mother's table mutter. "Of course she gets immortality. It's stupid."

It is odd. Ever since I gained immortality, I have certain abilities that seem nearly superhuman. I can hear things louder if I try. My vision is clearer, sharper.

"None of that is your business!" Apollo declares in a chipper tone. I bite back a laugh.

"This is ridiculous," Cecelia, if I recall correctly, declares as she stands up at the Aphrodite table. 

She slams her hands into the wood. I just look at her in vague amusement. She did not learn from the last time Apollo scolded her?

"How is this even allowed?" she continues. She glares at me. Envy does not suit her; it turns her pretty face ugly. "So, what, you just decided to hook up with a god, and you became immortal? What about your vows or whatever?

"You have it all anyway. Immortality was the last on the check list." She scoffs loudly. "I thought you had some oath to serve the gods, but now you're just getting to abandon it all? And for what? Because you put out?"

"I made you no vows," I say stoically. I narrow my eyes at her. "I swore myself to Apollo. I pledged my loyalty to him alone. My oath was to serve Apollo, not the gods. I owe them no loyalty or devotion." I play with my wedding ring under the table.

"Even still, as I enter this new phase of my life, I find that I have abandoned no vows. If anything, I have built upon them. My lord has become my husband, and I am his consort." I study her for a long moment. Her face is red with fury.

"I have been blessed by the Fates to have all that I do. I have been rewarded greatly for my years of service. Perhaps if you dedicate yourself to serving, you will be blessed as well." I smile coldly. "Though, I do not believe you have a temperament that is well-suited to it. Perhaps if you humble yourself before the gods, one might take pity and offer you a kindness."

Apollo smirks at her. "You would do well to listen to her. She rules over sacred paths. The path of service to the gods is under her control now, as well as all who follow it."

He stalks toward her, off the dais and across the room. She is frozen in place, terrified. He grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him.

He speaks lowly, but I hear him perfectly fine as he threatens, "Speak ill of my wife one more time, and I will curse you. You will beg for death, but I am not known for my mercy. Do you understand me?" She nods rapidly. She cannot move. She looks afraid to even breathe.

I just sit back and smirk at my husband's actions. He defends me effortlessly, endlessly.

"You know nothing about my love for her. Accuse Cassia again of dishonoring herself, and you will regret it for the rest of your days. Am I understood?" 

She nods again, and only then does he harshly release her. A cherry red, raw burn–almost like a terribly severe sunburn–is left on her skin where he grabbed her. I wince a little. It looks painful. However, I cannot bring myself to feel much pity.

Apollo stalks back to the dais. He looks out at the camp.

"Well? Are there any other comments? Questions?" He pauses, but we all know nobody will dare confront him now. He smiles brightly. "Great! That's settled."

He sits next to me, and he takes my hand. He offers a reassuring smile.

"See?" he says. "That was not so terrible, was it?"

"They were not very happy," I say quietly. I smile up at him. "Thank you. For doing that."

He leans down and kisses my forehead. He tells me, "You do not need to thank me for defending you. Her punishment was long past due."

I nod. I hold his hand with both of mine.

"You are rededicating the temple to me?" I ask. He grins and nods.

"Indeed. You deserve a temple. You deserve many temples, countless statues. But we will have to start with one," he says. I hum.

"Can we keep your statue in it? I am rather fond of it," I request. He nods.

"If that will make you happy," he agrees.

The nymphs come with our food, and I eat quietly. I look out over the crowd. Every now and then, I catch someone staring at me. They look away quickly once our eyes meet. 

This, I think, is not so bad at all.

Chapter Text

Delos has become my home, but it is another feeling entirely to return to the temple. It warms me inside, wraps about me and consumes me. It is my heart and my peace.

I like it even better now. When we left for the quest, I never could have dreamed that when I returned, I would be immortal and married to Apollo. I slept alone here. I will never sleep alone again.

"What are you thinking about?" Apollo asks me as we lay together on my bed.

He tucks the warm, soft blankets closer around me, careful to keep me comfortable. I smile to myself. I look up at my husband from where I lay with my head on his chest, and I am nearly overwhelmed with just how much I love this man. This kind, thoughtful, gentle, protective man.

"You," I murmur.

I reach to gently trace patterns on his skin. My fingers trail down his arm to intertwine with his own. He holds securely, bringing our joined hands to his lips to kiss me. He lets our hands rest over his heart. He knows it is a comfort for me to feel his heartbeat.

"How much I love you," I continue just above a whisper. It is nearly impossible not to drown in his eyes. "How happy I am to be with you, especially here."

"So many nights, I contemplated coming to you," he says softly.

"Why did you wait?" My voice holds no malice or judgement, only curiosity. Apollo's cheeks flush.

"I did not want to frighten you. I did not want you to think poorly of me," Apollo admits. He sighs. "I worried that if I came, you would think I did not love you. That I only wanted your body."

I cannot fault him. I never thought poorly of him, but my fears were strong. My faith was stronger, though. I imagine our bound souls played a hand in that.

"Well," I say, squeezing his hand affectionately, "fate found a way for us in the end."

Apollo smiles then, fond and sweet and adoring. It lights my heart on fire when he looks at me like this, like I hold the world in my hands, like I am all that matters in his eyes.

"It did," he whispers. His eyes search mine. "You know I love you, right? More than anything."

I cannot help my smile. My heart throbs in my chest with the love I feel for him, with the devotion I have to him. I would do anything for him, give anything he asked of me. I would topple Delphi and reduce it to ruin if he only commanded it. I would defy fate for him–for us.

"I know," I assure him, and I do. "You tell me at least ten times a day. You show it even more."

He laughs breathlessly. "Still not often enough, I'm certain."

I rest my head against him as I gaze up at the god. He is so beautiful, so painfully beautiful. I can read him so easily now, and it only enhances his glory in my eyes. His skin is perfect, flawless. Even the occasional scar is incredible. Each one is a testament to his strength, to the victories he has won.

His lips are lovely. They show his joy so easily. The most beautiful songs flow from them without even a moment's hesitation. His smiles illuminate the world around him. His snarls threaten to black out the son.

His eyes are stunning. They are breathtaking pools of the clearest, brightest, most crystalline blue. They shine like polished gems. His emotions reflect effortlessly across them. I have learned to understand him with just a glance. His eyes show me his soul.

His hands are paradoxes and prove the duality of his nature. They are strong and capable, his fingers lithe and careful. He can use them to lightly pluck the strings of a lyre. His hands so gently caress my skin and bring me to the height of pleasure. They hold me as if I were the most delicate flower in Delos' gardens. Yet, they can also loose a hundred arrows and kill the Python. They can entrap goddesses that dare to stand in his way. They can so effortlessly defend me.

Even still, my favorite feature of my husband's is not something I can see at all. It is what brought me to him. It is what wrapped around me and promised me salvation. His voice warms me better than a thousand suns could ever hope to.

It offers his endless love, his ceaseless adoration. It whispers promises of safety and eternity, eternal vows of fidelity and devotion, oaths that will never be forsaken. It is the one surety I have. When all else fails, when the gods abandon me, Apollo never will.

"I do not know how to express the extent of my love for you," I whisper into the fading light of the room. My eyes do not leave his. "You are so good with words. You know how to tell me everything. I am not as talented."

"You are perfect just as you are," he insists. He kisses my forehead. "You make your love very evident, sweet girl." Apollo grins mischievously. "I am not a man left deprived of affection, I assure you."

We laugh together, and I kiss his jaw. It is what I can easily reach, so it will have to do.

"Good," I say against his skin, the smile evident in my voice. "You are the most wonderful husband, Apollo."

He tilts my chin up so our eyes meet. "And you, my darling Cassia, are everything I could ever dream of desiring in a wife."

He kisses me then, and I sigh happily into it. He is slow, purposeful. Apollo is not one to rush, much less when he is touching me. He takes his time. Why would he not? We have forever.

"Apollo," I gasp out when he eventually moves, instead pressing me into the mattress as he moves his lips down my neck.

"Hm?" he replies distractedly.

One hand is on my ribs while his other arm props himself up above me. He finds a sensitive spot on my neck and pays extra attention it, sucking and biting marks into my skin. I feel him smirk against me when I gasp his name once again.

"We are–" I manage breathlessly, "we are in a temple."

Apollo laughs. "Yes, we are. Wonderful observation skills, darling."

I blush and roll my eyes. I cannot stay embarrassed for long, though. Not with the sounds he draws from me.

"I only mean," I huff, "is it alright?"

My husband peers up at me from my chest, where he is now pressing kiss after kiss. He gives me an amused look.

"Is it alright for me to worship my wife in her own temple?" he clarifies.

"Our temple," I correct. He chuckles and tugs lightly at my dress. When I make no protest, his magic makes the fabric disappear.

"Yes, sweet girl. Our temple," he agrees. He drags his nose against my breast. "Then, is it alright for me to worship my wife in our own temple?"

I let out a breathy laugh. My fingers lace into his hair.

"Well, it sounds like a bit of a silly question when you put it like that," I giggle.

"Are you free of your worries now?" he asks, peering up at me with a sweet, patient smile. I smile back at him and nod as I lightly run my fingers through his hair. "May I continue?"

My smile widens, and I lay my head back into the pillows. "I would never dream of denying you."

Chapter Text

I have to be careful maneuvering out of Apollo's arms. He is sound asleep and I hate to leave him, but I have something I must do. I grab my husband's tunic from where it was unceremoniously discarded, and I pull it over my head. I smile. The fabric smells like him.

I near-silently pad out of the bedroom, and I make my way to the main chamber of the temple. I find myself gazing up at the statue I held sacred for so many years. It is illuminated by the moonlight.

I am silent as I get to work tending to the cult image. It is sacred. Apollo and I might be married, but I was his priestess long before I was his wife. Old habits die hard.

A light, airy joy fills me as I clean the stone. It feels different now, though, just as most things seem to. Before, when I did this, it was an act of reverence. I was honoring my lord. I was showing submission to the god whose prophecies I heard.

Now, it is a way–an odd way, perhaps, but a way nonetheless–for me to show my love for my husband. It is a way for me to honor my soulmate. It is a way to promise that, as much as things have changed, I am forever happy to serve Apollo in every way I possibly can.

When I finally finish, I sit back on my heels as I kneel before the statue. I lightly caress the stone, as I have done countless times before. Before, this was my only way to show affection to the god I had sworn myself to. Now, it is a comfort. It is awing to look at this statue and be able to tell myself and know it is true, He is mine.

I hear quiet footsteps, and I sigh softly at having been caught. I do not move, though. Instead, I feel Apollo kneel down behind me. He wraps his arms around me and rests his chin on my shoulder. He buries his nose against my neck and takes a long, deep breath of my scent.

"What are you doing?" he murmurs, his voice free of judgement but thick with sleep.

"I cleaned your statue," I answer after a long pause. 

"You are my wife, little dragon," he says gently. "You do not need to do this."

"I know," I say. I lean into his embrace, closing my eyes. "I want to. It is a way for me to honor you."

"You honored me plenty a few hours ago," he jokes. I groan in embarrassment, blushing deeply. "Sorry, sorry." He hums and lightly kisses my neck. "If you feel the need to tend to my statue, very well. I will tend to yours as soon as it is crafted."

"Apollo!" I gasp indignantly. "No!"

"And why not?" he asks. I turn in his arms to face him.

"Because–well, because. I have been immortal only a few months. It would be inappropriate," I argue, scandalized. He rolls his eyes.

"If you insist on doing this for my image, that is your prerogative. But I will do the same for you in return. I insist," he says firmly. I huff.

"I was your priestess," I mumble.

"Yes. And now, you are my wife. You are a goddess. You are Queen of Delos," he says patiently. "If I deserve the worship of a goddess, then you deserve the worship of a god."

Of course his logic is perfectly sound, I pout. Of course he must be the perfect husband. Of course I was fortunate enough to be fated to a god who values me as an equal. 

My silent rant is pointless, I know, and painfully sarcastic. But I let myself think it anyway, at least briefly. I have nothing to truly complain about in my life, much less when it comes to Apollo. 

"Very well," I sigh dramatically, though it is not a sign of true frustration. My own smile betrays me. 

"Good," he replies happily. "Now, can we return to bed?"

I laugh. I nod.

"Only if you carry me," I joke, but he beams and immediately lifts me into his arms.

Apollo buries us back under the covers, and he coils himself around me as he holds me close. I let out a content, happy sigh as I let myself sink into his warm embrace. 

Life cannot get any better than this.

•••••

Chiron eyes Apollo and I with blatant distaste as we sit down at the breakfast table. I subconsciously tug my veil closer. Can he see the dark bruises Apollo left scattered across my neck? 

What does it matter if he can? I find myself thinking. There is absolutely nothing wrong with being with my husband. We are married! It is a given that married couples will enjoy each other's bodies.

I realize then, in mild horror, that Apollo is proudly–and rather obviously–bearing my mark on his skin. That is what Chiron is staring at. Of course he did not cover it with magic or make any attempt to heal it. He never does. Why would he do so now?

Why should he? 

I am not scandalized for much longer. If anything, I manage to feel a bit proud of myself for so visibly staking my claim. I feel even prouder that he wants everyone to see it. Apollo always wants everyone to see how I leave my mark on him.

"Chiron, Dion," Apollo greets the two. "Do you have any spectacular plans for the day? My wife and I do. We will be returning to Delos."

"I'm afraid you won't be. At least, not until later," Dionysus says. I frown at him.

"Why not?" I ask.

"Zeus wants a meeting," he replies. He shrugs. "Who knows what it's about?" He considers me a moment. "Well, you might, actually. Any visions lately?"

I shake my head. "Not about a meeting."

He hums. He takes a drink of his Diet Coke, and I lamely stab at my breakfast. I dislike Olympus. Ever since I first visited, I have felt uneasy even thinking about it.

"You'll sever your own head."

I am nearly brought to my knees by the thinly-veiled threat, or what appears to be one. I am terrified to turn around, to face another vision come to life. But I am a goddess now. I am Apollo's soulmate. I can be brave. I have to be brave.

So I turn. I do not quite know what I was expecting, but it certainly was not this. The woman is pale, nearly as pale as I am, and she is clad in leather. Her eyes are dark, and her curly hair is darker.

"Who are you?" I demand, forcing my voice to come out strong.

"You don't recognize me?" she pouts. I set my jaw. "I am what every being craves. I am inevitability."

"I have seen Ananke, and you are not her," I shoot back. I make myself stand taller. "Tell me who you are."

She hums and walks nearer to me. I do not flinch. I cannot.

"I am Retribution," she says. Then, a purr, "Vengeance. Is that something you want?"

Nemesis.

Of course. Of course it is her. What does she want with me? I have no need of her. 

"No. Vengeance is a poison if not kept in check," I say. "I am perfectly content without it."

"How sweet," she laughs. "You know, other cultures call me Karma. I am to get what is due."

I scoff. "I know this."

"I'm sure you do, priestess," she smirks. "The fact remains true: you will sever your own head. My mother permits night oracles. I have seen it; you will sacrifice everything at the altar of the Olympians' greed."

I steel myself. I do not let it show how her words have chilled my blood. To her beady eyes, I am unaffected. Apollo would be proud of me.

"It just so happens that I am the voice of fate now, and I am in the business of changing it."

I told Apollo about what happened. He was concerned but did not seem overly worried. Apparently, Nemesis enjoys stirring the pot. She is much like Eris in that regard. She enjoys taunting and tempting. She serves as Nyx's messenger and uses that status to her advantage whenever she wants to conjure up new chaos.

"Well," Apollo says with an irritated huff, "we simply cannot deny Daddy Dearest, now can we?"

Chapter Text

Apollo is not pleased that we are back on Olympus. He makes his distaste evident, grumbling under his breath at times and blatantly speaking his mind at others. Everyone and everything is at risk of his wrath, save for me. In one breath, he criticizes the perfumed Olympian air. In the next, he marvels at how the sunlight hits my hair. After, he glowers at the nymphs who stare too openly.

I do not care to be on Olympus either.

I do not like the way I feel here, the way gazes linger, the way the air changes. In Delos, it is easy to breathe. The sea carries in every breeze. The sun is delightfully warm, and everything is fresh and beautifully eternal. Here, eternity is stifling. The air is thick, a painful reminder of how numbing forever has the capacity to be. Here, it is as if breathing is unnecessary, and the atmosphere knows it.

It does not feel real. It is as though I am walking in a mirage, a gilded cage, a nightmare painted as a dream. It is funny, really, because people assume Olympus is exquisite and a pinnacle of luxury. Maybe it is, but it is a viper's pit cushioned in velvet and silk and studded with emeralds and rubies.

Oh, how illusions fade, I think as I cling to Apollo's arm while we walk.

"What do you think this might be about?" I murmur to my husband, careful to speak quietly enough that we will not be overheard. He shakes his head.

"I do not know," he huffs. "Nobody has the sense to tell me anything. It is ridiculous."

"It is," I frown. "Are you not the bridge between gods and men? You should be the first to hear of news or concerns."

"Thank you!" Apollo exclaims. "That is what I try ceaselessly to tell my father, but no. It is an insult."

"Perhaps Zeus might listen to me if I were to suggest it is the will of the Moirai," I suggest. Apollo hums in interest.

"Perhaps," he agrees. "But Zeus is not always the most, hm, amenable to fate, darling. He likes to believe he can make his own way, that he is not subject to the ancient laws or the will of the Moirai."

I smirk as I look up at him. "Then I will just have to show him otherwise."

•••••

Apollo is quiet as we sit together on a fountain's ledge in a garden before we must meet with the others. He is off in his own little world, lost in his thoughts.

"My love," I say, lightly stroking his arm to get his attention, "what are you thinking about?"

He blinks and with that, he has returned to me. His eyes search mine, fond and kind. He smiles.

"A memory," he murmurs. "Many memories, I suppose."

"Good memories?" I ask, holding onto his hand.

"For me," he says, his voice just above a whisper. "Would you like to see?"

I nod, curious. I have only done this a few times. It is a gift of being fate's vessel. I can see the thoughts and memories of others if I try. I can feel their feelings. I can experience their memories as if I were them.

I close my eyes, focusing, and I feel my mind slip away. I know when what I see is no longer my life, when the emotions I feel are no longer my own.

I have felt odd all day. I am warmer and lighter, yet somehow burdened with...something. I follow the Fates' instructions and go to one of the gardens on Olympus. The vision said I would find my purpose. It is laughable. A purpose? After so many millennia? It is impossible.

I find Aphrodite waiting for me by the fountain. I frown. What is this? She glances up from the bundle in her arms, and she scoffs when she sees me. I roll my eyes.

"What? You are not utterly thrilled to see me?" I ask mockingly.

"I had no choice in this," she says matter-of-factly. "I was told to be here."

"As was I," I say. I near her, and the warmth in my chest grows when my gaze falls upon what she holds. I feel my immortal heart beat rapidly in my chest, and I do not know why. "What is that?"

"Not what. Who," she corrects. I blink rapidly as I feel my body otherwise freeze.

I know this feeling, I suddenly realize. It is...It is the feeling of destiny arriving.

I crane my neck to look past the silk blankets and embroidery. My eyes widen when I see it is indeed a who–a baby. Her eyes open then, bright and curious and beautiful. My ichor is rushing in my ears.

"She can see," I whisper, somehow knowing it as clearly as I know my own abilities. Aphrodite frowns, confused. "She will hear prophecies. She will see all that was, all that is, all that will come to be."

"How do you know this?" Aphrodite asks hesitantly.

I shake my head, still stunned. There is no other explanation for what this is, what I feel deep inside me. It is odd and entirely unsettling, but it is the strongest devotion I have ever felt in all my endless years of life. I have wandered this pathetic planet for years on end, alone and unattached. I have done as I pleased, been with who I pleased. But in this moment, it is over. All of my years of pointlessness have ended.

I reach out to Aphrodite, and she does not argue. She places the baby in my arms, and I feel my very soul light on fire. It is consuming. It is terrifying. It is everything I have ever wanted.

"Because she is mine," I whisper, staring at the baby in sheer wonder. "I have waited an eternity for her."

Aphrodite gasps. "She...She is your...No. She cannot be. She is a baby, Apollo."

"She will not always be an infant," I retort, rolling my eyes at the goddess. I offer the baby my finger, and she takes it. This first touch seals me to her for the rest of time. I know it now for absolute certain, if I somehow did not before. "She is my soulmate. She is perfect."

I look up at Aphrodite. "What is her name?"

Aphrodite stares at me for a moment. She does not speak, until she blinks then tries to think.

"Uh," she begins, "well, I haven't given her one yet."

I consider the infant in my arms. She is mine, is she not? I should have the honor of naming her.

She can see. She will be my priestess. She will be my prophet. She will be my oracle. She will be Lady of Delos. She deserves an honorable name, a name that reflects her destiny.

"Cassia," I say after my consideration.

I know immediately that it is perfect. It reminds me of one of my favorite temples at Miletus, where I was once offered cassia by my devoted followers. It is a medicinal herb. It was prized by the Romans, just as my sweet priestess deserves to be prized by all who have the honor of knowing her. The phoenix builds its nest from cassia.

I nod and repeat myself. Her name tastes like nectar on my tongue. 

"Who has determined you have the right to name my child?" Aphrodite scoffs. I glare up at her witheringly, holding Cassia close.

"The Fates," I hiss. "She has been given to me. You did not care to name her by now, so I have done it myself. It is my gift to her, the first of many."

I look down at the baby. At Cassia. I cannot help but smile softly. The Fates were right, it seems. I have found my purpose here. Right here.

"I will never leave you, sweet prophet. I will watch after you. When fate allows, I will bring you to your destiny." I trail my fingertip along her little cheek.

"I love you already. I will treasure you and protect you from harm to the extent that the Fates allow. When the time is right, I will come to you, and I will never leave you again. I swear this to you on the River Styx."

It is akin to torture to have her taken from my arms, but I know it must happen. She has a father who must raise her. She must grow up if she is to be my consort, if she is to reign as my beloved priestess. I must have an oracle in the meantime, someone to speak the prophecies that are mandated by fate, but I know it will not last. When fate comes calling, Cassia will be all that remains.

I know now that there can never be anyone else, not even while I wait for her. I have waited a millennia, and not so patiently. But she is here. The other half of my soul is here. I can be patient now. I can hardly stand to look at anyone but her for any reason whatsoever.

A god does not need distractions, nor does he need demigods, I think idly. I have had enough. I will not betray my little dove. Soon enough, we will be together. Soon enough, the world will be ours.

"I swear it on the River Styx, little prophet," I whisper. "I am yours alone."

I can hardly breathe as the memory fades. I cannot even begin to process what I have seen when the next memory comes. My stomach drops when I realize what it is.

I watch, seething, as I am unable to do anything. I scream and curse the Moirai. I struggle against the imaginary chains. I will burn the world for this if I am not allowed to stop it.

"You pathetic little curse," Cassia's disgusting excuse of a father snarls, storming over to her cowering form. She sobs, and I feel my fury grow with each tear that falls. "Do you understand? You're a bastard!"

He grabs his supposed holy book off the floor and raises it. I shriek out a curse upon his name as he brings the book down upon her. Cassia curls her arm over her head in an attempt to shield herself. I snarl like a raging animal.

"You're a demon! Your mother is a temptress whore, and you're just like her! You're worthless! I'll spend eternity rotting in Hell because of you!"

With each vile accusation, he hits her again, and I cannot bear it. Damn the Fates. Damn them all to the Void if this is their sick idea of destiny. I will not watch this any longer. I do not care about the Moirai's ire, not anymore. Not once my prophet has been harmed.

I snap the invisible shackles that have kept me from Cassia, and I reach out to her. I let my power and protection envelop her fully. When her father makes his attempt to strike her skin, my blessing acts. He screams like dying prey at the pain that consumes him. My gift sears his skin, cooking it to a bright, burning red. His weak flesh is peeling and blistered.

It is not enough of a punishment.

"You burned me, you little shit!" the man snarls, but my little prophet is smart.

She takes advantage of the opportunity. She is quick and manages to scramble away. It would not matter if she could not evade him–he will never touch her again.

"I didn't do anything, I didn't do anything!" she cries out as she runs.

My heart cracks in my chest, and I fight to maintain my control. I cannot go to her now. It would terrify her.

Cassia attempts to barricade herself in her room, and she gasps between her panicked tears as she stumbles to her bed. She looks so small, so defenseless as she crouches on the ground. She covers her ears in desperation.

"Please," she begs, and it is the first time I have ever heard her pray. It is the sweetest song. "If you're listening, please help me. Please save me."

Her pleas shatter me. She prays to anyone who will listen, begging for a family, for love, for protection, for a home.

I have all of that and more for you, little dove, I think, pleased with myself.

She begs over and over again, whispering, "Please," until she is nearly choking from her strangling sobs.

She has taken a blanket and draped it over herself. In this moment, I can see the makings of a priestess. She will be beautiful in a veil. Her beauty is pure now, not to be touched. To even imagine otherwise is grotesque.

But she will be a woman someday, and I will be able to worship her beauty then. Cassia is my soulmate in either time, and I will love her all the same. I do not mind waiting, for her and for our destiny.

I have learned these past few years that love is not selfish. It is not something to indulge in for reward or gain. It is a gift one gives freely. It is a sacrifice.

It is the first sacrifice I have to offer the one who will spend eternity at my side.

I cannot keep silent any longer. I cannot abandon her in her time of need. I cannot ignore my prophet's pleas.

"I will open your eyes to the future," I say, and she flinches, startled. "I will make your touch golden. I will protect you and cherish you and teach you. I will make you my priestess and oracle for all your days, if only you choose it and choose me alone."

My heart is racing in my chest. Will she choose this for herself? Will she choose me? I would never force the mantle of priesthood upon her shoulders. I would never require her to carry the burden of being the Pythia. But it is what I want most for her, for her to use her gifts, for her to understand me better than anyone ever has.

"Who–who are you?" she whispers, looking around the room with wide, surprised eyes. I fight not to chuckle at her innocence.

"I am Apollo, and I will keep you safe."

It is only the beginning of what I will do for her. I will give her anything she could ever dream of if only she says yes, but I cannot tell her that. I will not manipulate her, even though my promises are not false.

She does not hesitate. It lights my soul on fire to hear her utter the words, "I choose you."

My blessing fully comes into effect in that moment, healing her and erasing her aches and pain. My powers soothe her, and it delights me.

"Do exactly as I say, and I will bring you to a place where you will be safe."

It is her base need. It is what she must focus on.

I cannot resist, though, whispering fondly, "My Pythia."

After instructing her on what she must do next, I feel my consciousness yanked. I am not shocked when I come face to face with Lachesis.

"You have deviated from the path," she frowns deeply. I laugh, not caring  about chancing her anger.

"You have given me a soulmate, and I have finally done what I should have done long ago," I hiss. "Fate might rule all, but I will not allow you to keep me from her any longer. We are bound."

She smirks. I want to yell, want to demand to know what she finds so amusing about my bond with my soulmate. But I remember myself. The Fates do not tolerate disrespect, and I have already indulged in plenty of it.

"Very well," she allows. My jaw nearly drops. She inclines her head. "May your soul's half prove to be as defiant of fate as you are, sun god."

Outside our melded minds, as the memory ends and starts to shift, I feel a hand squeeze mine. I stop. I blink, and I am back in my own body. I try to catch my breath. I cannot think about what I have seen. Not yet. Not while there is more to see, not while Apollo looks so afraid as he sits in front of me.

"What is it?" I ask, concerned. My voice comes out a little hoarse.

"It gets worse, my love," Apollo says seriously. He gently squeezes my hand. "What you will see next...it cannot be unseen. I worry what you will think of me if you see it, if you know what I felt, what I thought...what I did."

I shake my head. "You have no reason to worry. Apollo, you are my husband. I want to know every part of you."

"Even the part of me that brought ruin upon the Achaeans?"

"You are not a cruel man," I say without hesitation. "I will never think that of you."

He is quiet for a long moment, studying my face. Finally, he nods.

"Very well," he allows, and I am only a little more cautious as I return to his memories.

What comes is darker than the others. It is frightening. It is vulnerable, and I feel my heart race as I watch. Everything inside me feels heavy, weighed down, burning with rage that is not my own.

I look up at the house. It is normal enough. It flawlessly hides the horror within. No one would ever guess how my prophet has been tormented. I have been kept from acting until today, until I demanded the Fates allow me to free her from the prison.

I am a god. Cassia will offer me the sweetest of wines, the richest of incense. I will adore each gift. I will joyfully accept anything she wishes to give me. But gods demand blood for the gravest of crimes, and I have come to collect what I am due.

She is not here. She is under my protection now. She is safe, I remind myself as I stalk into the dark home. It is quiet. Good.

I could merely appear into the beast's presence. I could put the fear of his precious deity into him. I could torment him as he has tormented my soulmate. But I will not. I will be careful.

She is human enough still, I remind myself. As grotesque as he is, she would not want him dead. A smirk crawls its way up my face. He can bleed, though. He can suffer.

I will protect her. I will keep him away from her. He fears his god, but he should be fearing me.

I silently enter the bedroom, and I creep to his bedside. I look down at the man, entirely unamused with what I see. He is not impressive. He is small, weak. He is not worthy to be my priestess' father–to be the father of my soulmate.

I do not care to drag this out. His presence disgusts me. I want to be rid of him. So I snap my fingers, and the lights illuminate the room. The man groans, yawning and mumbling something in his bleary haze. I watch, bored.

I see it in his face when he finally realizes I am not some figment of his puny imagination. I almost laugh. As if he could ever conceive of me on his own. He screams, and I snap my fingers again. His voice is silenced.

"Do you know who I am?" I ask lowly, emotionlessly. He tries to speak, but nothing comes out. He reaches to strike me, perhaps, but I halt his movements with a simple wave of my hand. "No," I muse. "I suppose you would not."

"I am Apollo." His eyebrows furrow. "Your god is nothing but the metaphysical. The god whose name you invoked when abusing my prophet is not coming. He offers you no mercy. I, however, am here. I hold your life in my hands."

The man's eyes widen in fear. I smile coldly.

"You do not deserve to call Cassia your child," I say. "She is more than you could ever dream of being. She is my prophet, my voice on Earth." I stalk closer. "She is my priestess, held sacred and holy." I lean down to look into his watery eyes.

"She is mine. She will never be harmed again, much less by a pathetic mortal."

I close my fist around his throat and effortlessly pull him to stand. He wheezes and gasps for breath. It is a prayer I do not care to hear. I curse a plague upon him, and his tears thicken to blood. They trickle down his face, staining his skin red and leaving the thick, putrid scent of metal in the air. He opens his mouth to scream, but only a choked huff and blood leave his lips. The blood drips onto the once-pristine fabric of his nightshirt. 

I offer this sacrifice to my priestess, I pray to the old gods. This blood is hers. He has dishonored her, and this is his atonement.

"You will never see her again," I warn the man. "You will never speak her name. You will never raise a hand to her. You will never even attempt to find her. You will let her live in peace, out of your reach."

I squeeze tighter, and I smirk at the choked wheeze that escapes him. It would be so easy to kill him. To snuff the life out of him and lay his bones at my soulmate's feet. She deserves this offering. She deserves sacrifice. She deserves blood.

I would shed any god's ichor for her. There would be no hesitation. It would still not be enough. She deserves for gods to die in her name, to weave a shroud from their sinews, to bathe in their ichor and bind her hair in a crown of their bones. 

But I cannot give her that. Not yet. So, instead, I will drape her in satin and silk and lace. I will shower her in gold and diamonds and sapphires and rubies. I will cushion her in luxury. She will live as a queen, an empress, a goddess on Earth.

She will walk without fear. All will know she is under my protection. Her touch will forever sear the skin of her enemies and heal the ailments of her friends. Her eyes will see what was, what is, and what will come to pass. Her ears will hear my prophecies and my whispered guidance. Her hands will carry a blessed bow.

While she walks among them, she will be the closest any mortal will ever come to divinity. When the Fates call and she is delivered to eternity, the very concept of her will demand reverence and worship. I will lay Delos at her feet, and if she wishes it, I will crown our throne with her father's skull.

Some may call me crazed, but I have never seen anything so clearly as I do in this moment.

"You are nothing, mortal. You do not deserve for your name to even exist in her mind."

I sear my mark across his skin, and my smirk widens into a cruel grin as he attempts to scream in pain. It is not enough. It will never be enough. It cannot replace the years of agony he caused my little prophet, nor the pain he has inflicted on her heart. It cannot erase the stains he has left on her soul. But it feels euphoric to make him hurt even a fraction of how she has.

"I will rip your head from your body should you ever disturb my prophet again," I hiss, and I throw him to the ground.

A harsh cough punches from his chest as his lungs rattle. I do not waste another moment's breath on him. I must ensure my soulmate's safety on her journey. I let myself disappear to Delos and as I sit on my throne, only then can I focus. Only then can I plan for what is to come.

Chapter Text

"That's enough for now," Apollo had gently requested. I listened. Of course I did.

But if now is what he is concerned with, now, I am trapped ruminating over all I have seen. I have known there are parts of himself Apollo keeps hidden from me. I am not naïve.

Apollo acts according to his pride. He will destroy a nation if he feels he has been slighted. He will manipulate the affairs of mortals if he thinks it might suit his interests. I know this. I have accepted this.

I also know Apollo loves me. I know he has staked a claim on me in every realm and in every way. But I never could have imagined just how strong his claim has stood.

Until now. Until I learned he was the one who gave me my name. Until I learned he defied fate to save me from my father. Until I learned he shed my abuser's blood in my name and gave it as the first sacrifice to the goddess I would become.

I have known my husband's rage was dangerous. I did not realize until now just how dangerous it was–is. I did not realize what lengths he would go to for me. I was foolish to believe there was ever a limit. No such things exists. Nothing is safe from his reach if I am at risk.

I thought it was a massive sacrifice for him to give me his ichor. I thought it was a gift he had to consider, had to carefully weigh all factors when making his decision. It turns out, there was not even a choice to make. He has desired to offer me ichor for longer than I ever could have imagined. 

"Apollo," I say, and it is the first thing to leave my lips after watching him nearly murder my father. His eyes lift to mine. "What would you have done if I had not been given the chance to choose immortality?"

He does not hesitate when answering with, "I would have trapped Atropos over the pit of Chaos until she rewove your fate herself. So long as you desired it, you would have been immortal regardless of how it had to be achieved."

Oh. He says it so casually, as if he has carried this plan out in his head more than once. Perhaps he has.

"You have kept my father away," I whisper. He has kept me out of the bitter man's reach. He has kept me safe. Apollo nods again, not an ounce of shame to be found.

"I would have killed him, but I thought that should be your decision," he replies easily, effortlessly. I blink.

Then, I nod.

What can I say, really? What can I feel other than relief? All I have learned today is that my husband loves me. He has always been devoted to me and me alone, for as long as I have lived. He ignored the rules of fate and acted of his own volition to save me from my abuser. He took vengeance on the man who beat me in a poor attempt to masquerade his own sins. He would not be so merciful again.

"Alright," I say softly.

There is nothing else to do but accept it. If I am to have a husband who would destroy the world, at least there is no pettiness in the worst of his wrath. There is only love, protection, and possession. That is fine–maybe not to someone else, but it is to me. I surrendered myself to Apollo a long time ago, and I would do it again. It is when my life began.

"You are not angry?" he asks reluctantly. I shake my head.

"How could I be? You have only ever acted in my best interest," I reply. He stares at me, stunned.

"Even when you see how I can be, if you are at stake?" 

"Even then."

When I lean in and kiss him, the tension in his body evaporates. He whispers against my lips, "There is more, Cassia."

I withdraw just enough to gaze into his eyes. I cup his cheek.

"I know," I murmur. "I will see it in due time. There is no need to rush, my love. Not when we have forever."

•••••

Apollo is lighter–still irritated at being on Olympus, but not as burdened–as we enter the throne room. Most of the other gods have already arrived. He goes to speak with Hermes, and while I follow at his side, my mind is elsewhere.

“You will sacrifice everything at the altar of the Olympians' greed.”

Nemesis’ words make no sense. She thinks I serve the Olympians faithfully? I do not. I do not serve them at all. I serve the Moirai. I serve my husband. That is all.

I finally decide I do not care what any of her night oracles have told her. I speak for fate now. I am the one who decides my path. I am no longer bound by the confines of what has been woven into the threads of fate.

I was born Apollo's soulmate. I was not born to become immortal. That much was made clear when I chose my own ending. I chose my fate. I changed what was bound for tragedy into a triumph. I changed my fate that day. It was not difficult. I no longer have any reason to look at fate with trepidation; it is mine to reweave as I see fit.

"Cassia," Hermes smiles, greeting me and snapping me out of my thoughts, "it's great to see you. You look lovely. It seems marriage agrees with you."

I smile up at him. "Thank you, Hermes. I am certainly enjoying being a married woman."

"Hopefully this is over with soon. Then, you can return to your honeymoon," he says. Apollo huffs.

"Can you believe two causes have pulled us away from our peace?" he says to Hermes. "First, we had no choice really but to go explain everything to the demigods. It was becoming a pressing matter. And now, this." He scoffs. "I am ignoring the next call unless the sky is literally falling down."

I comfortingly rub Apollo's arm. "We will be back to Delos soon, love. Then, we will continue as we were."

Apollo nods. He goes to speak, but a sharp crack of thunder interrupts him. He grumbles and shares a knowing look with his brother before he leads us to his throne. He takes a seat, and I move to stand at his side. He frowns.

Zeus greets everyone, but Apollo ignores the pleasantries.

"My wife needs a throne," he declares. Apparently, it is the most urgent matter of business in his eyes. Everyone looks at us, and I shrink back toward Apollo.

"Excuse me?" Zeus asks with narrowed eyes.

"My wife, the Pythia, needs a throne," Apollo repeats, as if speaking to a toddler. "Cassia very well cannot simply stand for all eternity. That would be ridiculous. She is the declared Voice of Fate."

"Right," Poseidon rolls his eyes. I groan internally. All that will do is piss Apollo off more.

"My lord Zeus," I say, swallowing my nerves and cautiously eyeing Apollo before continuing. Gods, if looks could kill, Poseidon and Zeus would be dead and buried. "If I may."

"Go on," Zeus allows with a wave of his hand.

"I believe what my husband means is that he would be very grateful if you would consider briefing him on important matters before occasions such as this occur," I say diplomatically. Zeus scoffs. 

"How does that translate to the matter of a throne?" he demands.

"Apollo is discontent with your dismissal of him," I answer immediately. "As such, he takes offense at my lack of seating–offense he might have forgiven otherwise. Apollo is the bridge between men and gods. For this reason, he is a vital councilor in all matters that could potentially disrupt either."

"You might be the oracle, but what gives you any authority to counsel us?" Zeus demands. I narrow my eyes, and I hear Apollo start up at the blatant disrespect. I gently touch his hand in an attempt to calm him.

"I am the only one among you who has changed fate," I say firmly. Zeus goes still. I level my gaze with his, unafraid. "I know what will come to pass, my lord." I say the title as if it were an insult, and he flinches almost undetectably. "Olympus will burn if you disregard my husband again. The Fates have declared it so."

These gods do not need to know it will be Apollo's hand at which Olympus burns. They do not need to know Apollo is on the precipice of snapping and killing them all just so he might offer their corpses to me as a sacrifice. They do not need to know any of it.

The room is silent. Hera whispers something to Zeus, and Zeus sighs dramatically.

"Fine," he says through clenched teeth. "As you say, Pythia."

I smile innocently, and I see Athena smirk. I incline my head respectfully. 

"Thank you. I knew you would see reason, my lord," I reply, polite and sweet. Apollo, meanwhile, is completely beaming with pride. His satisfaction is evident. 

Zeus glances at us uncomfortably before he continues with the purpose for our convening.

"There have been whispers," he begins. "There is a conflict brewing. Nyx and Hemera are at odds, and it is becoming evident that matters will soon come to blows if there is no intervention."

"What is the point of conflict?" Athena asks, frowning deeply.

"Hemera has stolen Night's veil," he says. "Nyx is able to keep the night sky intact without it, but barely. Hemera, she is demanding recompense. She says matters are unfair, since Nyx rules more territory than she."

Unfair. I bite back a scoff. Since when is anything ever truly fair? It is a juvenile argument.

"Has Nyx responded?" Artemis asks. Zeus groans.

"Yes. She takes a minute of daylight for each day her veil remains hostage," he says, frustrated. My eyes widen. "She also holds the Aetherion."

Anxious chatter starts to fill the room at the revelation. 

"What is the Aetherion?" I whisper to Apollo.

"It is a circlet, wrought from threads of pure sunlight and starfire," he explains. "Hemera wears it each morning to call the daylight into existence. Without it, she could summon enough daylight to warm the world, but not eternally. It is her equivalent to Nyx's veil. If the diadem remains away from Hemera for long, the day will falter, and the world will be trapped in endless night. But with Hemera having the veil..." 

I do not need him to finish the sentence. The implications are clear. The universe cannot remain in a state of unbalance for long before it will start to crack. If this is not settled soon, the sky will shatter.

Apollo speaks up, asking Zeus, "How long has Hemera been without it already?"

"Two weeks," he says grimly. Apollo curses under his breath. He shakes his head.

"What do you intend on doing about this?" Ares demands of Zeus, who gives him a withering glare in return. Zeus looks to me.

"I was hoping our oracle could provide some insight. Perhaps you possess wisdom from the Fates or the old gods," he says. My eyes widen. I have seen nothing about this.

"I...will have to go to Delphi," I say, quickly deciding my course of action. "I will make an offering to the old gods and pray the earth offers me guidance." 

He waves his hand dismissively. "Go do that. Apollo will inform us of what you have seen."

I nod. Right. Yes, this would be a duty of mine. Alright. I take Apollo's hand.

"Come," I request. He nods.

"Yes, of course," he agrees. He guides me out of the throne room.

"We need to think this through," I whisper to Apollo once we are alone. He nods.

"I know. We will speak freely in Delphi," he promises. 

To Delphi, then.

Chapter Text

We appear before the cave in Delphi, and I am struck with the same sense of awe as I was last time. But I cannot let it distract me, no matter how sweet the smoke smells or how loud the whispers from the earth grow.

"A war is coming, Apollo," I say, looking up at my husband. "We have no choice but to stop it."

"I know," he sighs, curling his hand around my neck and pressing his forehead to mine. "I'm worried, Cas."

I close my eyes, relishing in his touch. I would stay like this forever if I could.

"About the fighting?" I whisper. He hums.

"About if there truly is a way to stop it," he murmurs. I look up at him in confusion. "Nyx and Hemera have been at odds for, gods, longer than I can recall. Millennia. Cassia, this will not be an easy problem to solve, not now that Hemera has the veil and Nyx has the Aetherion."

"There must be some way," I insist, but I am growing nervous. "There always is, is there not?"

"Perhaps," he allows, smoothing his hand over my veil. He kisses my forehead. "If there is, you will see it."

I nod, and it almost burns to force myself away from him. I am soothed nearly instantly, though, upon entering the cave. I hear Apollo's footsteps behind me as he follows, but it is muffled by the voices of the old gods. The sound grows louder the closer I get to the chasm, but it is far more manageable than when I came here the first time. It was nearly insanity-inducing then. Now, not so much.

I reach the fissure in the earth, and I lower myself to my knees before it.

I intend on begging, on summoning the powers that be and offering myself as a vessel through which the ancient ones might speak. I prepare myself to call upon those who are beyond time, the old gods whose hands forged the universe. I would beg for their wisdom. I would plead for their guidance. I would open my mind to the revelation of the will of fate.

It is unnecessary. The spirit of Delphi seizes me without pause. It consumes me and shows me what has been hidden. I feel my consciousness shift and expand. My gaze fogs and glazes over, and I surrender myself to it all.

It is different this time. I am sucked from my body. My mind is brought elsewhere. It is as if the cave goes dark, and when I can see, I am somewhere else. But it is all in my mind, or perhaps a different fractal of reality. Does it matter? All I know is that I gaze upon the Moirai.

"The sky will fall," the three say as one with a grave air of simple finality. "It has been written."

My jaw clenches. No. I will not allow it.

"Unwrite it," I demand. I hold my chin high in defiance.

I have grown brave, it seems, to challenge the Fates so recklessly.

"The gods on the mountain are petty. They cannot reweave what has been woven into the threads of fate."

"Perhaps they cannot, but I can." It is not a request. I have paved my own way once before. I will do it again if I must.

"You could," the second sister, Lachesis, agrees cooly with an even icier smile. "Weaver."

A shiver runs down my spine, but I do not falter. I cannot.

"Tell me what I must do," I say. I level my gaze. “You will not take me from my happiness, not when I have only just found it."

Atropos' gaze appears dead and all-knowing. She walks up to me, and when she touches my cheek, it chills me to the bone. But I cannot flinch. I force myself to stay steady and unaffected. She smirks ever so slightly, a ghost of approval.

"If you wish to reweave what has been woven into the fabric of reality," she murmurs, but it is as loud as a scream, "if you wish to rewrite what has been written into the Book of Fate, you will act."

She withdraws her hand, and she holds up three bony, palid fingers.

"For each of what has been stolen, you will pay over three times their weight in gold," she commands. I hear my own voice echo these words. "The Night demands the essence of the hidden, the ancient, and the feared. Day's price will be paid in the open, the radiant, and the life-giving. Your dreams will guide your path."

There is no warning before I am thrust awake. I gasp sharply as I blink several times, getting my bearings back. My heart is pounding. My blood–or, my ichor, I suppose–is rushing. I am shaking.

"Apollo," I whisper, and my voice is hoarse.

I feel my husband kneel next to me. He cups my face in both of his hands, guiding me to look up at him. His eyes are an anchor, and I manage not to slip free of him.

"Did you hear it?" I ask softly. He nods.

"It seems, little prophet, that we have another quest."

•••••

It is a relief to return to Delos, but just barely. I know I will be haunted with prophecies as soon as I lay my head down to sleep. I know I will hold the answers to prevent a war within a matter of mere hours. I know I will be burdened beyond measure before the next sunrise.

"This is not your weight alone, Cas," Apollo says quietly as he watches me restlessly pace the garden. "I will carry it with you."

"They said there was no changing what has been decided," I lament, sighing deeply. "If I do want to attempt to change it all–and I have no choice but to try–I have to carry out this task. It is intended to be impossible."

"Impossible is not a hinderance to you," he offers.

No, I suppose not.

I go to where he sits perched on a fountain's edge. I fall to my knees before him, exhausted and overwhelmed. I look up at him desperately.

"How will we do this, my love?" I whisper. Apollo gently strokes my hair.

"Just as we have done everything else," he murmurs with a small smile. He lightly holds my jaw. His thumb ghosts over my bottom lip. "Together."

"We must somehow placate both Nyx and Hemera, and I do not even know what it is we must retrieve," I say worriedly. Apollo leans down and kisses me.

"You will know," he assures me. "Your visions will guide you. They will not fail you."

I close my eyes. I lean my hand into his touch, which has shifted ever so slightly to instead rest upon my cheek. It is incredibly comforting. He holds me together with the mere sensation of his skin against mine.

"Little dragon," Apollo says, catching my attention. I gaze up at him. "You are a goddess now, my love. You have been written into legend once before. Let us write another. In a thousand years, the poets will sing the song of how you saved the sky from shattering."

My lips flicker upwards. I turn my head into Apollo's hand and press a kiss to his palm.

"Perhaps," I murmur. "It will be our song of victory. We must only write the words."

Chapter Text

The golden thread my needle pulls shimmers in the dying sunlight. Apollo is off finishing a few tasks, while I work on embroidering one of his tunics. Truthfully, it is very satisfying work. It relaxes me, and it is a way to mark my husband as my own. It makes him happy when I present him with a new garment that has been lovingly stitched with my creations, so I enjoy doing it.

"I heard you made a trip to Olympus today," I hear from behind me. I smile.

"Leto," I greet, glancing up to offer her a quick smile before looking back to my work. "Please, join me."

She does as requested. I like Leto very much. She is gentle and kind. She is caring and compassionate. Most importantly, she loves Apollo fiercely. We have that in common.

"Nyx and Hemera would have war," I tell her. She hums. "The Fates say it is unavoidable. They say the Olympians cannot rewrite what has been written."

"But you are not an Olympian." I look up from the fabric, and we share a knowing smile. Her warm eyes shine.

"No," I agree. "I am not." I offer her the embroidery, showing what I have done so far. Sunbursts decorate the collar of the garment, shades of gold, copper, and bronze thread glinting like the sun itself. "What do you think?"

"You are becoming quite skilled," she says, brushing her fingertip along one of the suns. I smile. "You have come a long way. It is very good."

I smile proudly. "Thank you."

I have a few small details to finish, so I continue once she has passed it back to me. We sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes.

"Apollo and I," I finally speak up, "we have a chance to stop what is coming." I glance at Leto. "It will be difficult."

She gives a small smile. "Difficult is not a problem. I imagine it was difficult to kill the Python. I imagine it was also difficult to kill the Ismenian dragon." I slowly match het expression. "You and my son are rather competent at doing what is difficult. There is a reason the Fates have entrusted this to you."

•••••

Apollo's body is delightfully warm against my own. I close my eyes and nearly purr with joy as he plays with my hair. I nuzzle against his very solid, very muscular chest.

Finding myself in this position is almost funny. It is amusing to think of how I am not only snuggled in bed with Apollo, but he is also my husband. I do not think I will ever fully get used to the joy the thought invokes.

For so long, I thought I would live out my life in solitude. I thought I would never know the tender touch of a lover. I thought I would never lay my eyes upon Apollo, let alone sleep in his arms every night. 

I stare up at the statue. I have learned to live with the loneliness. It is not usually so difficult to bear. There are days at a time when I do not even feel the ache. But today is no such day. Today is difficult.

"My lord," I murmur. I pull my shawl tighter around my slight frame. I sit on my heels at the cult image's base. "I am endlessly devoted to you, my lord, but I...I am weak.

"I would die without ever feeling the touch of another, but in the depths of my heart, I crave it all the same. I crave the intimacy of companionship." I sigh heavily and shake my hanging head. I repeat loathingly, "I am weak."

I close my eyes and straighten my spine. I look up to the sky, tilting my head back.

"It is selfish of me to ask, but I am desperate," I plead into the dawn. "I only need a sign that you are with me. That will sustain me. I just...I must know I do not walk alone. Please, my lord."

In that moment, a single ray of sunlight streams into the chamber. I watch it in awe, amazed as it illuminates the flawlessly carved face of my god. I let out a breath I had not realized I was holding.

"My lord Apollo," I whisper as my heart stutters in my chest. The light is a balm to my weathered, weary soul. In an instant, my pain is soothed. 

He is here.

Apollo was with me then, and he is with me now. I cannot imagine ever going without being by his side again, though. His touch is as sweet as honeyed wine. His lips drip with the purest nectar. He is holy. He is mine.

He is here.

"Apollo?" I whisper. I search out his aqua eyes in the darkness. He trails his fingers over my spine.

"Yes, darling?" he replies. 

"What is it like?" I ask softly. "Being so powerful?"

He is quiet for a moment. "Are you thinking about what you saw today?" I nod. He sighs. "Do you think of me differently now?"

I immediately shake my head. 

"No," I answer without hesitation. "I think I am beginning to understand you better now, though."

"I suppose so," he murmurs, cracking a smile. He splays his hand out across the small of my back. Every muscle in my body seems to melt with the sheer comfort I feel at the touch. "Truthfully, I am not so concerned with my power now. When I was younger, I thought the power I had been bestowed made me invincible.

"I thought it freed me from the burdens of immortality. But power is dangerous, little dragon, just as it is glorious." He pauses, deep in thought. "I am grateful for the power I wield, though. It has allowed me to protect you. It makes me a dangerous enemy, and that notion keeps you from harm. That is all I could ask for. That is all I could want."

I have a burning question. If I were still a priestess, I would be too afraid of shattering my near-perfect propriety to ask. I would not want to presume I am worthy of asking such a thing of a god, let alone the god I serve. But I am a priestess no longer. The boundaries I tried to force between us have long since crumbled.

"Does your devotion to me ever frighten you?"

I have wondered it since I saw the rage Apollo took out on my father. It is dangerous to allow someone to hold such sway over you, but he seems to have never had any qualms about it. His devotion has been steadfast from the moment he knew I existed. He has never wavered.

"No," he says. Apollo does not need to think about it for even a moment. I watch him curiously as I silently hope he elaborates. He does, continuing, "It is not an odd thing for a man to fell cities in his soulmate's name. Ceaseless–perhaps even reckless—devotion is expected when one is fortunate enough to find their soulmate in the first place. Eternity is far more pleasant when you have your heart's one desire."

My lips turn up. "Do many gods find their soulmate?"

He shakes his head. "Fate has its favorites."

"It does," I agree quietly. I trace gentle patterns on his arm. "Thank you."

Apollo gives me a confused look. "For what?"

The words nearly get trapped in my throat as emotion rises within me. I steady my breathing. I blink back tears.

"For keeping him away." My voice cracks as I say it. I know Apollo understands. If possible, his face softens even more. He presses a kiss to my head.

"I would kill him if you only ask it of me," he whispers into my hair.

Without much thinking, I breathe out, "I want to be there when you do it."

He is silent for a long moment, taking in what I have said, the permission I have given him. After what feels like an eternity, he nods just the smallest bit.

"He will see you as the goddess you are," he swears to me. "He will rue the day he did not fall to worship at your feet."

Chapter Text

The sky is a bloody crimson, sunless and reeking of death. I am sailing down a milky river. The waves are eerily silent as they lap at the sides of the boat and the edges of the shore. Something inside me is filled with trepidation at the mere sight of the water.

I look up from the river, and I see a looming cavern. It has a darker energy about it than the cave at Delphi. This cave is dangerous in a different way.

"Escape the realm of dreams, and you will find what you seek."

I wake with a gasp stuck in my chest. My eyes dart around, searching my surroundings. However, I almost instantly relax when I realize I am still safe in bed with Apollo. I sigh in relief.

"Hey," Apollo murmurs sleepily, pulling me closer to his body. He noses at my hair. "Dream?"

I nod ever so slightly. "Yes," I whisper.

He hugs me to him and kisses my neck, saying, "Have you seen where we will be going, then? And what we will be retrieving?"

"The first of it," I say. I close my eyes and sigh. "I do not feel good about this, Apollo."

My husband is quiet for a moment. "Where are we going?"

There is a pit in my stomach as I mentally recall my dream. I swallow the lump in my throat.

"The Underworld," comes out of my mouth before I can fully understand it. He hums.

"Alright," he says quietly. He presses another kiss to my skin. "We will sit together in a bit to discuss this. We might as well not worry too much yet. There is nothing we can do about it right now." He nuzzles against me. "All will be well, little prophet. I will be with you. I promise you that."

I nod and turn in his arms. I feel better when I can bury myself into him, when I can hide in his embrace and forget everything and everyone else.

"Apollo?" I whisper into his chest. He hums. "Is this how it will always be? Or will these stresses eventually come to an end?"

He sighs. "You have been burdened with great purpose, Cassia. You are the oracle of the gods. You are the intermediary between us and the Fates. You speak their will clearer than I ever did.

"Prophecy is a sword, and you are its master now. It...is not an easy weapon to wield, but it is a powerful one. It protects you. It makes you untouchable. You cannot be harmed, at risk of the Moirai's rage."

He drags his fingers through my hair, continuing, "But you must carry its weight. Nobody else has the ability to do what you do, including rewriting fate. Fate chooses its champions wisely. First, it was me. But now, it is you."

"A very kind and wise way to tell me that this is simply how life works for me now," I say dryly. He chuckles, and I breathe out a laugh through my nose.

"You are not as you were," he says as he kisses my hair. "You are stronger than a mortal can comprehend. You only need to realize that potential." He tilts my chin up so our eyes meet. "It takes time. But your time will come."

"It is not easy to be chosen, Apollo," I say softly. "It is even more difficult to be called."

"I know, little one," he says sympathetically. "I know."

•••••

I rarely venture far from Delos' palace when I am alone. I have no reason to stay close, really, as we exist in a dimension separate from the mortal presence on the island. Where we are, how we live on this island, it is pure. It is untouched. It is exactly as it was when Apollo first made this place his home. I love this land trapped in time.

Still, when I do choose to leave the palace on my own, it is always to go here. The beach is beautiful. Sea glass, stones, and shells dot the sand. It is lovely and peaceful and the perfect place to think. Of course it is where I insisted Apollo and I discuss my dream.

I recount the dream to him. I echo every single detail and attempt to describe it all as accurately as possible. When I finish, Apollo is quiet. He looks out over the water.

"Yes," he says eventually with a small, accepting nod. "We will be going to the Underworld."

"Do you think Hades will know more about this?" I ask him curiously. He chews the inside of his cheek.

"Probably," he replies. "However, I do not think we are going somewhere even Hades dares to venture. This cave...if it is the same place I think it might be, we will be treading dangerously close to Tartarus."

I feel myself go pale. "Tartarus?"

"'Escape the realm of dreams,'" he repeats what I heard. I nod reluctantly. "Morpheus is Hypnos' son, and Hypnos is Nyx's favorite child. I imagine by entering this cave, we will be at one of the entrances to his realm–to Nyx's realm."

"Tartarus," I say again, a whispered realization. It fills me with a deep sense of gravity. I fist the white sand in my hand. It is loose, and it just barely keeps me tethered. A sour taste gathers on the back of my tongue, and I have to force myself not to vomit.

Immortality has a price, I think bitterly. This is what I must pay.

There is no room for arguing, no use for protests. So, instead, I have no choice but to prepare for the price of the ichor in my veins.

•••••

I feel like I can finally breathe again when I hold my bow in my hands. It is so achingly familiar. The quick, sharp release of the bowstring is the sweetest song. It is the easiest form of prayer I know.

With each arrow loosed, I pray to a different god. The first is an ode to the Moirai. A plea of, Let me rewrite fate.

The second is to Ananke. Give me the strength to do what is necessary.

The third is to Moros. Keep me safe as I walk into near-certain doom.

I keep myself distracted with my prayers. It is horrible, no longer needing to pray to Apollo. Not praying to him is like my heart no longer beating in my chest or breath no longer filling my lungs.

Apollo, I call to him, and I know it is only a moment before he is here.

"Love?" I hear from behind me.

I turn to see him. It is a relief just to lay my eyes upon him. I do not care if I see him all day every single day; he is my comfort. He is my home.

I do not hesitate. I go to him, and I sink into his arms. He embraces me without hesitation. I sigh against him. This is what I needed. This is perfect.

"What is it, my love?" Apollo murmurs, stroking my hair. I huff.

"I hate not needing to pray to you any longer," I grumble. "It is not a prayer if we can just send each other our thoughts."

He is quiet for a moment. He mulls it over.

"At least now you can know I will come immediately if I hear even the faintest whisper of your voice," he offers. "It might not be a prayer, but it is still a good consolation."

I huff. "When you put it that way, it makes me look rather ridiculous."

I know he is right, of course. He always is. But still.

"No," Apollo insists. "You are not ridiculous. You are learning to exist in a way that is entirely different from everything you have ever known. You took comfort in praying to me for many years."

"At least now I get to take comfort in being with you," I give in. I peek up at him, and he is smiling. He leans down to kiss my forehead.

"Exactly," he grins. "It is not the same as it was, but it is still good."

"It is far better than just good," I say with a small laugh. I rest my head on his chest, relaxing finally. "It is just so much to get used to."

"It is. But you are not alone in it. I will be with you every step of the way. So much so that you will probably get tired of me," he says. I giggle.

"As if I could ever get tired of you," I say with a playful roll of my eyes. I take his hand. "I will make an offering to the old gods. I will ask them to bless us and protect us on our journey. Will you come?" I flush as I add, "I know you are busy, so it is alright if you cannot."

Apollo kisses me, long and sweet. "I will never be too busy for you." He cups my cheek. "I will be happy to come with you, sweetheart."

•••••

The altar Apollo built for me is beautiful. It is by the new spring of Delphic water, and it is the perfect environment to worship. Apollo hangs back while I approach the altar.

I drape my veil over my head and kneel. I reach out a hand, and I close my eyes. I focus on a chalice of wine, and it solidifies in my grasp. My lips twitch up. I am learning. I am adjusting.

I carefully pour the honeyed wine, murmuring a dedication as I do. I call out to the old gods, to Ananke, Moros, Khronos, Gaea, Phanes, and the rest. I implore them for guidance. I beg them for protection.

I pray to the Fates and plead for their wisdom. I may be altering their design, but I do it with their favor. I am their voice. I am their champion. I have been entrusted to bend fate to my will as I decide fit.

It is a blessing. It is a curse. It is a mercy. It is a burden.

It is time, I hear a familiar voice tell me. So I do what I must. I bow my head, I resign myself to what is to come, and I stand. I turn to face Apollo.

I barely recognize my own voice as I echo the words of Lachesis. "It is time."

Chapter Text

Apollo takes us to a river. I frown, confused. 

"What is this place?" I ask him.

I look around, searching for something that is not so ordinary, anything that might signify that this is certainly the correct starting place for our quest. I find nothing. 

Well, not quite. I certainly feel something is abnormal, strange, even eerie. 

"The Acheron," he says grimly.

The waters are a pale blue. Too blue to seem natural. It is as if it is just begging you to dive into the depths.

A chill runs down my spine. 

"This is how we will enter the Underworld," I realize, unsettled. Apollo nods. I close my eyes.

Give me strength, I pray silently.

"Alright," I sigh.

I consider trying to create a boat, but I do not think I am capable of it quite yet. Instead, I let Apollo do it. He materializes the vessel almost effortlessly. It is plain but made from a lovely golden-brown wood. Apollo boards first before helping me in.

"Sit," he tells me. I do. "This might be disconcerting."

"You have been to the Underworld before?" I ask him. He shrugs.

"No, but I have spoken with Hermes enough to know."

I nod. I twist a ring around my finger and chew on the inside of my cheek as the boat steadily floats down the river. I look down at the water. It really does seem to call to you, to beg you to succumb to the waves. 

"Is it true that Cassander used the waters of the River Styx to poison Alexander the Great?" I ask with a pit in my stomach. He hums.

"It is my personal favorite theory," he replies. "I never cared for Cassander. He was a jealous, underhanded bastard." Apollo rolls his eyes. "He was a pathetic heir for Macedon."

I am only somewhat listening. I am too focused on the growing darkness inside me. I grit my teeth.

This is an illusion, I remind myself. This is merely the haze of very old magic.

I look up, and I see we are approaching a cave. Apollo's face hardens. 

"When we pass into the cave, we will enter into the realm of the dead," he warns me. "The Acheron, this is the border between realms."

I nod shakily. I clutch onto the end of my veil as if it were some sort of safety blanket. Within minutes, the cave surrounds us. I resist the urge to clamp my eyes shut. Instead, I watch. I see the world around me go entirely black. I grasp onto Apollo's hand, and he holds mine so that I can feel safe, so that I can feel him.

My stomach twists and turns. I feel a dreadful sense of growing despair creeping up on me. I feel near-paralyzing terror.

What if this is hopeless? 

I suddenly hear my name echoed in my head. I suck in a breath.

Do not let the waters manipulate you, little dragon, Apollo commands in my mind. It is not real. It is trying to destroy you, to lure you. Ignore it.

We slowly emerge from the darkness, and as we do, I feel my stomach seem to flip. I watch in a strange combination of horror and sheer awe as we are surrounded by a crimson illumination. The sky is the shade of blood–it is the same sky from my dream.  

"The worst is over," Apollo whispers out loud. I am speechless as I take in the shades of the dead that linger on the shores of the river.

"That could have been me," I whisper. My heart races so quickly it hurts.

"No," Apollo says firmly. "No. Not you. Never you."

I shrink into my husband's side. I know he holds little sway here, but he will protect me nonetheless. I stay silent, even as we approach the crossing of two rivers. There is another boat waiting for us there. This time, a man fully cloaked in shadows is waiting for us.

"Charon," Apollo greets him as we get out of our boat and land on the dock. My blood runs cold.

Charon, I think, terrified. The Ferryman.

Apollo passes him two coins, and we are allowed onto his boat. I am silent the entire time. I focus my energy into maintaining my state of mind. I all but cling to Apollo. It makes me feel better, safer.

"Take us to see Hades," Apollo says to Charon. He considers for a moment and adds, "Please."

Charon considers us a moment. I try not to make eye contact. He nods and begins to row.

"What has brought the Voice of Fate to the Underworld?" Charon suddenly asks, and I feel my blood run cold. I freeze.

I slowly, slowly chance the briefest glance at him. He looks like a corpse, but more frightening.

"The Moirai have given me instructions that I must find something," I say quietly, carefully. "I am–that is, we are–hoping that Hades can help us locate it."

Charon lets out a quiet hm sound. "His Lordship is merciful. If he knows, he will help you."

"I have nothing to offer him in exchange," I mumble. Charon shakes his skeletal head.

"No matter," he dismisses my concern. "It is an honor to aid in the deliverance of prophecy. He will gain the blessings of the Old Ones for helping you. Fate is honored below as it is above. You are a valued guest here, my lady."

Oh. 

I manage to thank him quietly before returning my attention to Apollo. He is already watching me.

"Hades will like you," he decides.

His eyes find something over my shoulder. I look to see what it is. I feel vaguely nauseous when I realize it is the obsidian palace-fortress that is home to the King of the Dead.

•••••

I was expecting many things, but I certainly was not expecting Persephone herself to be waiting to greet us by the shore. She is beautiful. She is dressed in a garnet chiton that suits her fair skin and soil-brown hair. She smiles warmly when our eyes meet.

"You must be Cassia," she says as she immediately comes forward and takes my hands. "You are very welcome here. It's an honor, really, to host the oracle."

"Thank you," I say carefully. I offer a tentative smile.

"You're such a lovely girl," she compliments. "No wonder Apollo adores you." She grins brightly. "My mother has messaged me often enough to tell me of the occasion." Her eyes find Apollo. "You found your soulmate."

"I did indeed," Apollo beams. He wraps his arm around my waist. "Cassia is the Lady of Delos now. And my wife presides over Delphi."

"Impressive indeed," she says kindly. "Now, come. Hades will want to see you, both of you."

Chapter Text

The palace is magnificent, but it is freezing.

It is odd. One would assume the Underworld would be hot. But no, it is as cold as a corpse. The feeling is uncomfortable, to say the least.

My nerves are eased somewhat by Apollo. I hold onto his arm as we walk, and his calm washes over me. He is strong and steady and warm. He is a reassurance of safety, of life. We are surrounded by the dead, but he is so very alive. It helps me breathe easier.

Hades will not mind seeing us, Apollo promises me, his voice echoing in my head. He will certainly not mind seeing you.

Because I am the oracle? I ask. I notice a small smile cross his lips.

Yes. It is an honor to host the one who has been chosen by the Fates, he explains. I nod almost imperceptibly. That makes sense. 

The Moirai rule all. To host their chosen champion is akin to hosting them. To turn me–and by extension, my husband–away would be a grave dishonor.

"So, Cassia," Persephone starts. I jump, but I try to hide it. "How are you liking immortality?"

I blink. I swallow.

"Well," I start, "I rather enjoy my new life. Delos is lovely."

"I'm sure it is," she grins. "I have heard wonderful stories." She glances over her shoulder at me. "And marriage? Are you enjoying that as well?"

I flush. I nod. "Very much so."

"Any chance of little heirs for Delos running around anytime soon?"

I do not mean to, but I choke. My face burns, and I cough. Apollo looks at me in alarm. He places a steadying hand on my back. I am proud, though, because I compose myself quickly. Apollo is already handling it.

"We have not yet discussed it," he answers smoothly, but rather firmly. "If it is to happen, it will not be for a while yet."

Thank the gods for that.

I feel guilty, in a way. I do not desire motherhood. I do not want to be pregnant. I do not have any longing for a child, for a family other than what I have now with Apollo. 

I have no true sense of maternal nurturing, aside from maybe with animals. I did rather well nursing a few baby bunnies back to health a few years back. But a child? A living, breathing, human–or not so human, I suppose, which is even more frightening–baby? I could not do it. I do not want to do it.

Dread starts to fill me. Apollo has had countless children over the years, though their numbers have halted since he knew of me. What if he wants another? What if he decides he would rather have a child than me? This is not even a possibility I had considered.

Apollo must sense I am starting to internally panic, because he tells me, Do not listen to her. If this unsettles you, we need not even consider it.

I look up at him with wide eyes. How did he know? How could he possibly know? He cannot read my mind directly, not unless I mean for him to. He can only sense truths and lies. 

Your fear is easy for me to sense, little dragon, he says, an answer to my unasked question. But I will do what I can to ease it. I will never ask you for something you truly do not desire.

Relief floods me. It fills me to a point where I wonder if it may overflow.

How did I possibly get so fortunate? I wonder to myself. How was I chosen to be blessed in such a way? 

I have never heard of a god caring so deeply for another's wants. I have never imagined I could have a husband who was so merciful, so understanding. Somehow, Apollo knows, and he is not angry. He does not even seem truly bothered.

I silently thank every god I can think of. I even thank my mother. She is the goddess of love, after all. 

"Here we are," Persephone continues, unfazed by my silence. "Hades is waiting for you."

I stare at the colossal double doors. They are embedded with rubies, and I cannot help but think the glittering gems resemble drops of blood. Persephone waves her hand, which causes the doors to slowly open. I hold tighter to Apollo's arm.

Upon entering the throne room, I see Hades immediately. He is exactly as I imagined he would be.

Hades is a walking corpse. His skin is almost bone white. It pallid and ghastly, so sallow that it is a bit nauseating to witness. His dark eyes are sunken in, but his gaze is nearly paralyzing. I am almost certain I would be trembling with fear if I were still mortal.  

Hades is cloaked in a misty darkness. Shadows are draped over him in the same way silk is draped over me. He wears a crown of bones, and his thin fingers are wrapped around a pitch-black bident. I blink as I consider him. He may not be death incarnate, for that is Thanatos, but he certainly could convince anyone. He looks like a ghost. He looks dead.

Fitting, I think idly, for the king of the dead.

"Δρακοντοκτόνος," he muses. A chill runs down my spine at the sound of his light, eerie voice. I recognize what he has said: Drakontoktónos. Dragon Slayer.

"I welcome you to my humble kingdom." His piercing gaze shifts from me to Apollo. "Nephew. What has caused the sun to sink into the shadows?"

Apollo watches him carefully. "There is trouble on Olympus."

Hades laughs. It is cold. It sounds like a blade scraping against ice.

"When is there not?" he smirks. He looks between us. "You have come to escape the turmoil, is that it? You wish to seek refuge here?"

"No," Apollo says. "We have come to prevent war." He looks to me and nods almost imperceptibly. 

"I preside over Delphi," I say. I force myself to remain seemingly unfazed. "I am the chosen one of the Moirai. I am their oracle."

Hades narrows his eyes. "Yes. I know this."

"I had a vision. I can prevent what is to come."

"What is to come, exactly?" 

"Nyx and Hemera are on the verge of war. Hemera has stolen Nyx's veil, and Nyx is taking away daylight for each day it is missing." I pause. Hades appears unaffected. "Nyx has also stolen the Aetherion."

Hades' face goes emotionless. It is as if it is a sheet of rock, but his eyes darken.

"She has not," he says lowly. Apollo scoffs.

"My wife does not lie, Uncle," he retorts. Hades gives him a withering glare.

"If she has the Aetherion, the sky will fall," Hades says with a sickening air of finality. I clench my jaw.

"It will not," I say firmly, so firmly that it gives the King of the Underworld pause. He slowly shifts his unrelenting stare and fixes it on me. "I have changed fate once before. I will change it again."

"Fate does not bow," he scoffs. I do not hesitate.

"It does if I make it."

Hades goes silent. He simply watches me, as if he is observing some sort of strange curiosity. 

"You mean to say you will force fate's hand," he concludes rather cautiously.  I nod shallowly. "How?"

"Nyx and Hemera both demand artifacts in order to make a trade," I say. The words seem to flow into my ears and fall off my tongue. "Each requires three items."

He sighs. "And I assume some of these items are located in the Underworld?" I nod again. He presses his lips together.

"The first is a candle," I offer. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second.

"Very well," he says quickly. "I will see how I can help you." His eyes scrape over me once again. "Allow me a few hours. We will speak again at dinner." I narrow my eyes at him. "No tricks, Dragon Slayer. I will properly host the Moirai's oracle."

I know I cannot argue, not with Hades. I look to Apollo for his opinion. He nods, so I feel slightly less uncomfortable with the idea. I agree to Hades' offer, and he reaches out his arm. A shade materializes from the shadows in one of the room's corners.

"Take them to the guest chambers," he commands of the creature. To me, "I will have answers soon."