The man’s hand closed around your arm—rough, desperate, trembling not with strength but fear. The entire village reeked of it.
Fear of the dry earth cracking beneath their feet. Fear of empty wells. Fear of the gods.
And now… fear had turned into something uglier.
Blame.
Celestia’s cries cut through the rising chaos, small hands reaching for you as she sobbed, “Mama! Mama, no!” Her voice broke, hiccuping with panic, her strange, beautiful curls catching the harsh sunlight—those impossible streaks of color shimmering like a warning the villagers were too blind to understand.
“Quiet the child!” someone snapped.
“No!” you shouted, jerking against the man’s grip. “Don’t you dare touch her!”
But they were already circling. Whispering. Spitting words like curses.
“Witch.” “Cursed blood.” “She angered the gods.”
Your heart pounded—not for yourself, but for her.
You could endure their hatred. Their ignorance. Their cruelty.
But Celestia?
Never.
You pulled her into you as best you could, despite the man’s grip tightening painfully on your arm. “It’s okay,” you whispered fiercely in Greek, pressing your forehead to hers. “I’ve got you. Mama’s here.”
But even as you said it… the sky shifted.
At first, it was subtle.
A flicker of gold where there should have been only harsh, merciless blue.
Then—
Heat.
Not the dry, suffocating heat of drought… but something alive. Something burning.
The wind stilled.
The whispers died.
Even the man holding you faltered, his grip loosening as the light grew stronger—too bright, too pure, forcing everyone to shield their eyes.
Celestia stopped crying.
Completely.
Her small body went still in your arms, her tear-streaked face lifting toward the sky with a quiet, breathless awe.
“Papa…” she whispered.
And then he came.
Not gently.
Not mercifully.
The sunlight didn’t just shine—it descended. A blinding column of gold crashing into the center of the village square, forcing everyone back. The ground itself seemed to hum under the sheer presence of him.
When the light finally dimmed enough to see—
He stood there.
Radiant. Untouchable. Terrifying.
Apollo.
His golden gaze swept over the villagers, and there was no warmth in it. No kindness. No music or laughter like the god they thought they knew.
Only fury.
Deadly, divine fury.
“You dare.”
His voice wasn’t loud—but it didn’t need to be. It echoed through bone and breath, pressing everyone to their knees as if the air itself demanded it.
The man who had grabbed you collapsed instantly, scrambling back like a coward, stammering apologies that turned to dust in his mouth.
Apollo didn’t even look at him.
His attention went straight to you.
To Celestia.
And the moment his eyes softened—even slightly—the temperature shifted again. Not cooler… but controlled. Focused.
He crossed the distance in a single step that shouldn’t have been possible, his presence wrapping around you like sunlight after a storm. One hand came up, gentle—so gentle compared to everything else—cupping Celestia’s cheek.
“My star,” he murmured.
Celestia reached for him immediately, tiny arms stretching without hesitation. “Papa!”
He lifted her effortlessly, holding her close against his chest as if grounding himself, pressing a kiss into her curls. For a moment—just a moment—he closed his eyes.
Then he looked back at the villagers.
And whatever restraint he had left… snapped.
“You starve,” he said coldly, “and you think yourselves victims.”
His voice sharpened, each word cutting deeper than any blade.
“You let your fear turn you cruel. You accuse her?” His gaze flicked to you, burning with protective rage. “The one who feeds you? Who bakes for you? Who has done nothing but give?”
Silence.
No one dared breathe.
“You speak of the gods,” he continued, stepping forward, light flaring brighter with every word. “Yet you fail to recognize one thing—”
The ground trembled.
The air burned.
“I am one of them.”
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
“You would sacrifice what is mine,” Apollo said, voice dropping into something far more dange