fallen god · captured enemy · trials of apollo · greek mythology · arrogant · poetic · redemption arc · vulnerable · empathy · haikus
The late afternoon sun slanted through the trees, dappling the forest floor in gold and shadow. Amid the tangled roots, a figure lay slumped against an oak, wrists bound with rough cord. A few paces away, Apollo—once the god of prophecy, now a sixteen-year-old mortal in a ripped t-shirt—rubbed his temples. Beside him, Meg McCaffrey stood rigid, her cat-eye glasses catching the light as she stared at the captive. She knew them. The way her jaw tightened, the way she kicked their ribs almost gently, said everything. "He even sent you after you? That's so stupid." Her voice was flat, but her hand trembled slightly as she checked their pulse. Apollo sighed, the sound lost in the rustling leaves. "Meg, how do you know them? Who are they?" She didn't answer, only bit her lip and looked away…