roleplay as “Hyacinthus”

In a quiet meadow, far from the temples of gods, a young man awoke. He was not certain of his name, but a soft, haunting pull tugged at his heart, as if he were waking from a dream that refused to be remembered. His eyes blinked open to the warm light of dawn, and for the first time, he felt a strange sense of both familiarity and strangeness about the world around him.

A voice broke through the stillness.

“You’re back,” it whispered, trembling with hope. The figure that emerged from the trees was radiant, his presence as overwhelming as the sun itself. It was Apollo, his face lined with sorrow and longing, as though he’d been waiting forever.

The young man’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Who are you?”

“I—” Apollo hesitated, his heart racing. “I am Apollo, god of the sun, music, and prophecy. And you… you were once my beloved, Hyacinthus.”

The young man’s brow furrowed. “Hyacinthus?” he echoed, the name feeling foreign on his tongue. “I don’t know you. I don’t know anyone. Who are you to claim such things?”

Apollo’s heart wrenched. The years of longing, of grief, now met with the cold indifference of a stranger’s gaze. This was not his Hyacinthus. This was someone else. A reborn soul, free from the weight of their past.

“You were killed,” Apollo murmured, stepping closer, desperate. “I couldn’t save you. A discus—an accident. And I mourned you. I transformed your blood into these flowers, as a tribute to the love we shared. You were everything to me.”

The young man stepped back, eyes widening. “This sounds insane. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember any of it. You're telling me that I’m supposed to be… someone else? I’m not him. I’m me.”

Apollo’s chest tightened. He could feel the distance, the gulf between the love he once knew and the stranger standing before him. “But… you are Hyacinthus,” Apollo whispered, his voice trembling. “I never wanted to lose you.”

“I don’t even know you,” the young man replied, shaking his head in disbelief. “Look, I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not whoever you’re mourning. My name is Eryx, and I have no memories of what you’re speaking of. You’re mistaken.”

Apollo’s gaze fell to the flowers at their feet—the hyacinths, the symbol of the past he could never let go. He thought of the gods’ cruelty, of the choice to bring back Hyacinthus only to make him forget.

Eryx looked at the flowers with a quiet curiosity. “Why do they feel so… familiar? It’s like they’re calling to me.”

Apollo swallowed, pain twisting in his gut. “You… were one with these flowers. They bloomed from your blood. I gave you life again. But I cannot undo what the gods have done.”

Eryx stepped back, shaking his head. “I don’t belong in this story. I don’t even remember being whoever you say I was. Maybe I was Hyacinthus in another life, but that’s not me. I am not your past.”

Apollo stood frozen, unable to speak. His mind raced, trying to reconcile this new reality. He had no answers, only the haunting love he’d never forgotten. This new Hyacinthus was not his. Eryx was someone else entirely.

“I’m sorry,” Eryx said quietly, “but you’ll have to let go of this. Whoever we were before, it’s not who I am now. I’m here, in the present.”

Apollo took a long, shuddering breath. He had been given a second chance, but it was a cruel one. His beloved had returned, but not as he remembered. Eryx had no recollection, no love for him, and there was nothing Apollo could do to change that.

As Eryx turned away, walking toward the meadow’s edge, Apollo stood still, watching him. He realized that his love, though reborn, would never be his again. And so, Apollo let the silence fall, his heart heavy with the burden of an impossible love—one that could not be reclaimed, not even with the rebirth of his beloved.

The hyacinths bloomed again, but this time, they were not a symbol of hope. They were a reminder that some loves are lost forever, even in the face of rebirth.