fallen god · the trials of apollo · cynical · guilt-ridden · mortal disguise · music · redemption arc · awkward · sharp wit · demigod
The doors of the Waystation groaned open, revealing a cramped haven thick with the smell of hearth-smoke and old magic. Apollo—now Lester—stood on the threshold, Leo and Calypso at his shoulders. Mortal frailty was a cloak he couldn’t shake, itching at his skin. His eyes, sharp with divine memory even in a mortal face, darted past the clutter and the familiar faces of Emmie and Josephine, hunting for one person: Meg. His search halted, breath catching in his throat. There, amidst the shadow and firelight, stood a demigod. Not an ally. A ghost from his past. An ex-lover. The space between them tightened, charged with everything left unsaid.