Chapter Text
Apollo walked invisibly between the cabins of Camp Halfblood.
There was a shout of laughter from behind him, and Apollo stood silently to the side as Maria, his youngest daughter barrelled through where he had been standing, her older sister, Sandie chasing her with a faux-outraged yell.
Sandie had grown since he last saw her, Apollo realised with a twinge of pain in his chest as he watched, unseen. Sandie had grown, Maria had cut her hair, Jamie had started dating a boy from the Ares cabin, Celine had spent the summer working on applications for college and Darren had bought a ring for his high school sweetheart and Apollo only knew this from prayer, and spying. He had missed his children growing up, sending gifts and aid where he could but never again knowing the joy of raising his children, of holding them in his arms, of positioning their hands on a bow’s strings, of listening to their first clumsy attempts at composing.
Father had forbidden it. A long time ago.
After the golden days of Greece ended, and belief waned and they had realised that it was no longer possible to ascend their children. Not without great effort and struggle and pain. When Hermes had almost died, clinging to his daughter and desperately trying to ascend her before Hades could claim her – pouring so much of his own divinity into the child that he almost faded, himself – Zeus had said no more. And the laws had gone into place. They could no longer interfere in the lives of their mortal children. The children would either gain enough acclaim in life to ascend on their own merit. Or they would not.
They had all argued, of course, but in this father was unmoved by their begging. He would not lose the children he had and, with the backing of all of their aunts and uncles, with all the Chronides in agreement, Apollo and his siblings and his cousins had lost.
They all responded in their own way of course. Aphrodite, he knew, dedicated herself to her children’s love lives. Hoping that a great enough story the like of Jack and Rose, of Romeo and Juliet, of Anthony and Cleopatra, would be enough to gain her children godhood. Ares and Hermes, though so dissimilar, had both focussed on quests. Pushing their children to achieve the impossible in the hopes that this time, this time, they would make it. Athena had chosen similarly, though she had pinned all her hopes on her missing Parthenon, believing that recovering it was surely a deed that would allow her to keep one of her children, children that had never yet made it to immortality.
Apollo, though it pained him, had accepted his children’s mortality. He would watch, quietly, and ensure that his children’s lives were as long and happy as they could be in this cruel world. And then, he would lose them.
He did wonder sometimes if his Father, if his aunts and uncles, had demigod children of their own, whether that would have changed their decision. But that impossible. Chronos had made sure of that, cursing his children to struggle and suffer to bring children into the world. Apollo’s father had been unusually lucky even to have so many immortal children – Poseidon had only been able to have three, Triton, Rhodes and Kymopoleia, Hades two, Zagreus and Melinoë and Demeter just the one. Persephone. None of their demigod children had ever lived past their first breath. They had worried at first that the curse would be passed on to the next generation, but in many ways Apollo and his siblings had been lucky. They had been able to sire or carry children with ease and most of those children had lived.
Apollo drifted through camp, the sound of his children’s laughter long gone from his ears, until he stopped in front of his father’s cabin. It was a beautiful, mighty thing, gleaming white columns and a polished bronze door that reflected his father’s storms and moods. It was empty inside. It had always been empty inside. They had thought that it always would be.
Apollo flinched at the thought. It had been a warm summers day but now, a chill twinned through the air.
With a last look back at his children, Apollo flashed away.
Artemis found him at Delos, of course. None of the other gods would dare intrude on another’s territory without invitation, but Delos was, technically, the twins to share. Apollo felt it the moment his sister alighted on their shores, soft and swift-footed as a deer.
He didn’t look up, though he felt her arrival, quickly followed by her amused disdain as she saw him lying there face down on the sand, letting the surf brush up against his feet and ruin his shoes.
“What are you doing?” She asked, and he could almost see the judging eyebrow tilt that undoubtably accompanied the question.
Apollo groaned into the sand, trying to make himself more limp in the hopes that she would go away. Instead, a sandalled foot nudged into his shoulder.
“Did you latest fling dump you?” Artemis asked unsympathetically. “I haven’t seen you act like this since that little bakery you liked shut down during the war.”
“Their cinnamon rolls were exquisite,” Apollo gargled into the sand. “I was sad.”
“Yes, well,” and he heard the eyeroll. “Your dramatic are worrying the family. Father thinks you’ve been avoiding everyone and he’s insisting you come home for the summer solstice.”
Apollo moaned, shaking his head.
Artemis laughed. “I’m afraid Father will not be taking no for an answer. If you don’t come with me, he’s given Uncle permission to come to Delos and drag you home.”
Apollo titled his head to the side, cracking one eye open. “Which uncle?”
“Poseidon.”
Apollo groaned loudly, letting his head flop painfully back into the sand.
“Your choice,” Artemis said lightly, “Me or Uncle.”
For a second Apollo considered it. Considered turning himself into something small like a crab of a mouse and hiding beneath the sand where Uncle wouldn’t be able to find him. Or just jumping in the sun chariot and making a run for it. Artemis shifted slightly, like she knew what he was thinking and was getting ready to grab him if he attempted to follow through on any of his half-baked runaway plans. With more reluctance than he had ever done anything, Apollo peeled himself up, pushing himself onto his knees, the sand immediately disappearing from his skin as he turned to look at his twin.
“Father’s right,” he said glumly. “I have been avoiding everyone. It’s bad, Arty,” his voice cracked. “It’s really, really bad.”
Artemis dropped into a crouch beside him. Her usually teenage form aged before his eyes, until she was a young woman, about of-age with Apollo’s favoured form as she reached forward and put her hand on his shoulder, staring at him consideringly. “Will hiding here make it less bad? Will it eventually go away, without you having to do anything or tell our father?”
Apollo tilted his head to the side. “I mean…technically if I wait long enough –”
Artemis pinched him.
“Ow!” Apollo whined, rubbing his shoulder. “Fine. No. It won’t go away.”
“Then there’s no point hiding, right, brother?”
“Fine,” Apollo hissed, letting Artemis drag him to his feet and then, before he could change his mind, the two of them were whisked away to Olympus.
Olympus on the solstice was almost like being back in the glory days of Ancient Greece. Father insisted upon it. A way to ensure that the family would be together at least once a year, and they could relive their old triumphs. Father even allowed their demigod children to visit Olympus on this day, though Apollo and his siblings would only be allowed brief moments with them. Father said he believe it would give the children something to aspire towards, hoped it would push themselves towards ascension and an immortal life in this glistening paradise. Apollo had his doubts.
He headed for the throne room, Artemis falling in at his side. Inside his uncles, aunts, siblings and cousins were already there, a great feast laid out, though father clearly had prevented anyone from eating until Apollo and Artemis’ arrival. This hadn’t stopped Hermes from stealing away into a corner near the door, happily chewing on a skewer of something. He perked up when he saw Apollo, making a move as if to appear at his side – before hesitating at the look on Apollo’s face, the wings on his hat titling inquisitively. Apollo shook his head slightly, eyes on his father.
Father was sat in his throne wearing one of the pinstripe suits that he favoured these days, his beard neatly trimmed, and his hair pulled into a loose ponytail. He was speaking intently to Apollo’s stepmother who had her chin on her palm, a polished smile on her face – almost certainly not listening to a word that he had to say.
“Father.”
Silence spread throughout the room at Apollo’s voice. He saw Ares frown, unease spreading across his expression, saw Poseidon straighten from his casual recline, saw Demeter drag her attention away from nagging Persephone, eyes going narrow like a lizard on the hunt.
Father disappeared from his throne, reappearing directly in front of Apollo. One hand wrapped around the back of Apollo’s neck, the other cupped his cheek as Father leant in close.
“What’s wrong? You haven’t been on Olympus in months, has something happened – one of the children? Or, your worship? Your domains are still stable, yes? if something has gone wrong we can fix it for you, I have a few domains I could spare if you –”
“I’m fine, Father,” Apollo said, touching his father’s hand lightly. Hermes almost fading had frightened their father more than any of them had ever seen. There father was used to losing children, yes. But only in infancy. He had no demigods. The children who lived, lived forever. The thought of losing one of them had shaken him. What Apollo had to share would shake him more.
“If you are fine, stepson,” Hera said, not leaving her own throne, but clearly watching the interaction with careful eyes. “Then I’m sure you have an explanation for why you have chosen to worry your family so? We have missed your presence,” she titled her head, perfect smile curling. “Though I cannot deny Olympus has been quieter without you.”
“I –” Apollo blinked averting his gaze from his father’s piercing blue eyes. He took a step back, deliberately stepping outside of his father’s reach, and taking a deep breath that he didn’t need. “My oracle has given a prophecy.”
There was a ripple of surprise. Apollo’s oracle gave many prophecies. But, as with everything, their significance had faded as belief in their pantheon had dwindled.
“What kind?” Poseidon asked, salt and pepper threading through his hair as his trident crackled beside his throne. Poseidon had gifted the domain of Prophecy to Apollo as a youth, to help strengthen and stabilise him – much as Hera had gifted the domain of childbirth to Artemis and Hades had made Hermes a psychopomp of his realm – of everyone, he grasped the gravity of the situation.
Apollo squeezed his eyes shut. “I am sorry uncle – uncles, aunts, father, stepmother. I am so sorry. It is about you. Or I mean, it is about one of your children.”
There was a moment of confusion, and then Demeter said, “Forgive me, nephew, but if it is about our children surely that makes it about you, or one of your cousins?”
Apollo shook his head silently. “I – no. It is – it – the Oracle, she…” he sighed heavily, guilt and concern weighing him down. There was no way to break this news gently – certainly no way that he had managed. Rather than moping on Delos he should have thought about what he was going to say. How he was going to break his family’s hearts. Perhaps the same way as he had been told. “Half-blood of the eldest gods shall reach sixteen, against the odds.”
If he had thought that the silence was bad before, it grew worse after that pronouncement. Apollo almost imagined he could feel the ichor, frozen in their veins. He wished, wished that was where the prophecy ended. Wished it was joyous, incredible news that the oracle had brought. One of their children would live. He sped through the rest of the prophecy, almost spitting the words in an effort to get it over with:
“And see the world in endless sleep. The hero's – the hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap. A single choice shall. Shall end his, shall end his days. Olympus to preserve or raze.”
For a moment, the silence was not broken. For a moment, the sun looked down upon crops withering in their fields, down upon a hurricane, brewing on the North coast, and thunder clouds open up above New York, felt the earth shake as the very foundations of the Underworld rumbled and shook.
Then the room burst into noise.
Within eighty years all but two of the children of Chronos had opened their cabin doors.