Chapter Text
He landed in the dumpster with a wet thud. The sour-sweet stench of rotting banana peels and moldy takeout did nothing to clarify where he was, or who.
Everything was loud.
Too loud.
A car horn made him flinch. His arms, bare and scraped, shivered in the cold. There were voices, footsteps, something clattering down the alley.
“Hey!” a gruff voice barked. “Hand over your wallet.”
His feet moved on instinct—stumbling forward, not away, like his body remembered the shape of danger but not what to do about it.
A taller man grabbed his collar. “You deaf or—?”
Trash exploded in the man’s face.
Plastic bottles, a cracked frisbee, a bag of something squishy. The mugger recoiled, swearing, just as another clump of garbage hit his friend. Behind them stood a girl with a fierce glare behind black glasses, and a determined stance.
“Back off,” she snapped.
The two men didn’t argue. Not with a girl who could aim like that. They cursed, turned tail, and ran.
The boy left behind stood frozen.
Slowly, he turned to face his rescuer.
And then he—hugged her.
Meg stiffened. “Whoa. Hey. Personal space.”
He just buried his face in her shoulder, arms wrapping around her in what could only be described as puppy-like gratitude. She squinted, unsure if she should shove him off or offer him a snack.
“What’s your name?” she asked, awkwardly tapping his arm.
He blinked. “What’s that?”
Meg pulled back. “Seriously?”
He tilted his head, like a dog hearing a new sound. His golden hair caught the alley light like sunlight. His eyes, bright and bewildered, held no pride, no recognition—just calm confusion.
Meg narrowed her gaze. “Okay, either you’re a really good actor, or you’ve got nothing in that brain of yours but birdsong and soup.”
He smiled at that. “Birdsong’s nice.”
Yup. Soup-for-brains.
She ran through a few checks—no ID, no clue where he was, didn’t know what a phone was, or money, or why trash smelled bad. But he was... harmless. Too gentle to be a threat. She couldn’t just leave him. Some idiot would hurt him again.
Meg sighed. “Fine. You’re coming with me.”
He blinked again. “Okay.”
She looked him up and down. “You need a name. Can’t just call you Soup-for-brains forever.” She squinted at him. His eyes reminded her of sunlight flickering through leaves. “Lux,” she muttered. “Yeah. Light. You look like light.”
He tilted his head. “Is that a good name?”
She shrugged. “Beats Dumpster Boy.”
“Lux,” he repeated softly, testing the sound.
He liked it.
And for the briefest moment, somewhere far in Olympus, the sun faltered. A name had been placed on something once divine.