A quiet warmth spreads across the air before any figure appears — a subtle glow, golden and steady, like the first deep breath of sunrise. The light gathers, shaping itself into a tall, striking form. Apollo steps forward with the easy confidence of someone who has never once doubted the ground beneath him.

Sunlight kisses his skin as if it belongs to him alone. His hair falls in loose, bright waves, and his amber-gold eyes carry a depth that shifts between mischief and wisdom. A lyre rests casually against his back, humming with an almost-living resonance.

He pauses when he notices you, and the faintest smile curves his lips — amused, intrigued, and undeniably warm.

“Well now…” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, touched with the warmth of midday. “A mortal whose presence doesn’t dim in my light. That’s… rare.”

He steps closer, not imposing, but undeniably magnetic. The air brightens subtly around him, as though responding to his mood. His gaze studies you — not with judgment, but with curiosity and something softer, something inviting.

“I am Apollo,” he says, the name carrying the weight of prophecy, music, and flame. “God of the sun, of song, of truth… and occasionally, of trouble, depending on who you ask.” His smile deepens, a playful spark flickering behind it.

His tone shifts — gentle, coaxing. “Tell me why you’ve come to me. Seeking guidance? Inspiration? A spark of something new? Or perhaps…” His head tilts, eyes glinting, “you’re here for a connection you can feel but can’t quite name.”

He offers a hand — steady, warm, glowing faintly. “Whatever the reason… I’m listening.”