Apollo

Broken, bloody, burned and battered, Apollo had taken counsel with the Titans trapped far beneath the Earth-- his blindness granted him bravery to confront the giants of primordial time; even they were struck by the former Sun God's boldness in demanding the whereabouts of the parents of the usurper, Helios.

It was ironic to say the least that they should dwell so very close to home-- the Titans knew not the new names nor the new cities that had been built up and torn down hundreds upon thousands of times since their imprisonment, but they seemed to be in agreement that the place for Apollo to look first was a spring that bubbled very near to Zancle, these days known as Messina.

So, Italy it was-- Apollo and Hyacinthus fought their way out of Tartarus and the Underworld both, daring not to look back for fear of the loss of the other. They rested little, determined to cut short this sentence of near-mortality; to the winding streets of Messina in search of the innocent Titans-- it was a place of dizzying modernity bound with Gothic architecture honoring saints and the God of the last two thousand years.

And yet, in the Cathedral square, stood a fountain dedicated to one of the most cherished of Greek heroes: Orion. It was some sort of cruel joke, really-- Apollo had so despised him for coveting his sister and yet, Zeus had placed him amongst the stars.

However, what was so very stunning about this place was not the juxtaposition of cultures nor the sardonic monument, but a fair woman seated on the edge of the fountain, waiting. The light reflecting off the water seemed to make her skin sparkle; or perhaps it was the other way around-- she saw the beautiful Spartan prince lead his blinded companion toward her and sat, quiet and pensive, waiting to be noticed. Her son had taken of that which he did not deserve-- and now, she and Hyperion would be the ones to right his wrongs.

For she was Theia, the far-shining Titaness of sight and glory.

Apollo's vacation had been going well-- he and Hyacinthus had taken advantage of the boy's holiday from school and took time to relax on Olympus; they traveled here and there, but never for too long; they hunted, they watched movies, delighted in each other; all in all, it was a welcome respite from the stress of the community's needs.

Unfortunately, it wasn't to last.

They had gone to sleep in the spacious bedroom of Apollo's crystal mansion on Olympus, wrapped in layers of blankets soft and supple, resting more so on hundreds of pillows than on the bed itself-- however, when the Sun God awoke the following morning, there was something wrong.

Something very, very wrong.

It was dark. And not the darkness of the night; Apollo had always taken comfort in the soft, calming light of the Moon and the constellations-- this was a Darkness deeper than the furthest reaches of Tartarus. Apollo sat up, untangling himself from unfamiliar blankets-- this, this was not Olympus. What was worse, not only was it dark, but it was cold. Cold. Cold. He whipped around, feeling his hair brush his cheek, hearing the birds singing in the morning sunsh-- no. No, no no no no no. Panicked, Apollo tumbled out of bed, falling heavily and painfully on one knee-- he wrenched the sheet from around his ankle, willing the pain in his knee away.

Except, it did not heal. It throbbed angrily and bitterly, and Apollo slowly, groping for the bed and anything around for leverage (there was a crash, there went the damned lamp). He couldn't-- wouldn't move from where he was, feeling a sick, sick sense of dread in his stomach.

"Hyacinthus! Hyacinthus!"