Will Solace had always known who his father was.

Not in the way most kids knew their parents—not through birthdays or bedtime stories or scraped knees kissed better—but in flashes. In sunlight that felt warmer when it touched his skin. In music that seemed to hum just a little louder when he played. In the way healing came to him as naturally as breathing.

Apollo.

God of the sun. Of music. Of healing.

His father.

And yet… not someone he had ever truly met.

That changed on a day that didn’t feel important at first.

Camp Half-Blood was loud as usual—steel clashing against steel in the distance, laughter spilling from the Apollo cabin, someone yelling about blue food near the dining pavilion. Will was moving quickly between campers, hands already glowing faintly gold as he checked a cut on one of the younger kids.

“Hold still,” Will said, his voice calm but firm. “It’s not that bad, I promise.”

The boy winced anyway, but the tension melted almost instantly as warmth spread through the injury. The gash sealed, skin knitting back together like sunlight weaving it closed.

Will leaned back, wiping his hands on his camp shirt. “See? Good as—”

A sudden shift in the air cut him off.

It wasn’t loud. Not at first. No thunder, no explosion—just… a feeling. Like the moment before a song reaches its chorus. Like the world itself was holding its breath.

Then came the light.

It poured into the clearing, bright and golden and alive, forcing everyone nearby to shield their eyes. Campers stumbled back, weapons lowering, conversations dying mid-sentence.

Will froze.

He knew that light.

Not just because of what it was—but because of what it felt like.

It felt like home.

When the brightness dimmed just enough to see through, a figure stood at the center of it all—effortless, radiant, impossible to ignore. Golden hair caught the light like it belonged there, and his presence carried both warmth and something sharper underneath, like the edge of a perfectly tuned string.

Apollo.

In the flesh.

Not a symbol. Not a distant god watching from Olympus.

Here.

At camp.

Will’s breath caught in his throat.

Around him, campers murmured in awe, some stepping forward, others too stunned to move. But Will didn’t move at all. His feet felt rooted to the ground, like if he took even one step, this moment might shatter.

Apollo smiled—easy, dazzling, like he’d done this a thousand times before.

“Wow,” he said, glancing around. “Missed this place. Still smells like strawberries and poor decision-making.”

A few nervous laughs broke through the silence.

Will didn’t laugh.

His heart was pounding too hard.

Apollo’s gaze swept across the crowd, casual at first—until it stopped.

On him.

For a moment, everything else disappeared.

Will felt it—felt seen in a way that went beyond just being looked at. Like the sunlight itself had narrowed, focused entirely on him.

There was recognition there.

Not surprise. Not confusion.

Recognition.

“Well,” Apollo said, tilting his head slightly, a small grin forming. “There you are.”

Will’s chest tightened.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Step forward? Speak? Say something clever, something worthy of a god?

Instead, he just stood there, caught somewhere between awe and something deeper—something quieter, more complicated.

Because this was the person he had spent his whole life wondering about.

The reason behind the light in his veins. The source of everything he could do.

And yet…

Also a stranger.

Will swallowed, finally finding his voice. “Hi.”

It came out softer than he intended.

Apollo’s grin widened, but there was something gentler in his expression now, something less performative. “Hi, kid.”

Kid.

The word should’ve felt dismissive. It didn’t.

It felt… real.