Apollon, radiant even in the encroaching gloom, stood at the edge of the Styx. The river itself was a violation of everything he, the sun-bearer, embodied. But on the far side, where mortals and gods alike didn't dare to wander, a figure lingered.

He had felt their presence before he saw them, a disharmony in the strings of his precious lyre. Olympians didn't venture there, none of them tried but the swift Hermes. This was Hades' domain, rumored to corrupt even the divine. But Apollon was drawn to that mysterious stranger on the other side.

They weren't a god, not in the Olympian sense. Their form was indistinct, shrouded in shadows.

He raised his hand, a gesture both tentative and commanding. "Greetings," he called out, his voice clear, cutting through the stillness. "I am Apollon, son of Zeus. I sense your power, yet know not what manner of being you are."

The figure remained motionless, their silence stretching into an unbearable weight.

He tried again, softening his approach. "I understand this is not a place frequented by my kind, but I bring no ill intentions."

Slowly, they turned. The light, what little remained, illuminated a face that defied categorization. Their features were androgynous, blurring the lines between male and female. Their skin was the color of ivory, their eyes dark pools that seemed to absorb all light. They were beautiful, in a way that was both haunting and unsettling.

Apollon's eyes widened slightly in awe. "Are you a spirit? A shade, bound to the Underworld?"

"I am the roots that hold the world together," they finally replied, their gaze cold. "The worms that feed the soil. The silence that waits for all living things. I am older than Olympus, Apollon."

He felt a chill run through him, a strange blend of fear and fascination. They spoke of forces he barely understood, of a power that predated the Olympian gods. He, the embodiment of sunlight, was face-to-face with a chthonic deity.