The sun entered.

  The sun, wearing the minimum required to pass as human. Noon in the desert, diagnosis under surgical lamps, the moment before corneas start to cook.

  Apollo simply occupied space that had always been his.

  "Democritus." His voice was light. "Still slumming."

  Democritus hadn't moved from Cassandra's bedside. "Apollo. You're prompt."

  "I've been watching." He looked at Cassandra. Through her. "Your lung works now. Stand up."

  Nobody moved. The air had gone solid.

  "That wasn't a request."

  Cassandra tried to stand. Her legs remembered they were mortal, traumatized, exhausted. She made it halfway before Anaktoria caught her.

  Apollo's attention shifted to Anaktoria's hands on Cassandra's waist. The temperature rose.

  "You touched her."

  Anaktoria's throat worked but nothing came out. Damon stepped forward, putting himself between them.

  "And you." Apollo studied him like a mistake. "She let you inside. Both of you. After..."

  He stopped. The thought wouldn't complete. Somewhere outside, a tree burst into flame.

  "A week," he said to Cassandra. "I gave you a week to understand. To see what mortality really is. What mortals really are."

  "You're late," Damon said.

  Apollo's gaze snapped to him. The air left the room.

  "You weren't invited to speak."

  Damon's knees locked. His body was ordered to kneel, crawl, apologize for existing. He stayed standing through pure spite.

  "Interesting." Apollo stepped closer. The floorboards under his feet started to char. "You're still standing."

  "Always."

  "Because I allow it. Because I'm curious." He turned back to Cassandra. "You refused divine favor for this? For them?"

  Cassandra's mouth opened. The healing hadn't fixed everything. Pink foam at the corners.

  "She can't speak," Penthesilea said from her chair. She hadn't moved, hadn't looked up from her tea. "Vocal cords are fucked. Give her a moment."

  Apollo's attention shifted to her. The cup in her hands started steaming.

  "Penthesilea. You were magnificent once. Killed your sister for a belt." His tone was conversational. "Now you're just... sitting there."

  "Times change."

  "No. They don't." The light intensified. "That's the point of divinity. Everything else is just decline."

  He looked back at Cassandra. "Get dressed. We're leaving."

  She shook her head.

  The movement was small. Definite.

  The silence stretched. Outside, the garden was ablaze.

  "No?" He said it like she'd spoken in tongues. "You're saying no. Again. After I saved you. After I showed mercy."

  Cassandra pointed at Democritus.

  "He healed you because I permitted it. Because I wanted you whole for this conversation." Apollo stepped closer. "You exist because I allow it."

  Cassandra's hand found Anaktoria's. Then Damon's. She pulled them closer.

  Apollo watched this incomprehensible geometry. "You're choosing them."

  She nodded.

  The room got bright. Suddenly. Between blinks, everything was white fire.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "I could unmake them." His voice came from everywhere. "Retroactively. They never existed. Never touched you."

  Democritus stood. The light bent around them, creating a pocket of survivable air.

  "You could," he agreed. "But then you'd never know."

  "Know what?"

  "Why she said no. Why she chose them."

  The brightness dimmed.

  Apollo turned to him. "She was confused. Overwhelmed by My attention."

  "She said no because you're a rapist."

  The word hung in the superheated air.

  "I never touched her."

  "You exiled her to a body designed to suffer because she wouldn't fuck you. What else would you call it?"

  "Divine judgment."

  "Rape with extra steps."

  The light went from white to blue. The killing kind. Wood was vaporizing. The mortals should have been ash. Democritus's protection held, barely.

  "She was pure," Apollo said. "I would have elevated her. Given her everything."

  "Your dick isn't elevation."

  "You dare—"

  "Look at them." Democritus gestured at the mortals. "Really look."

  Apollo looked. Anaktoria had positioned herself in front of Cassandra, knowing she'd burn first. Her hands were already blistering from the heat but she didn't move. Damon was trying to shield them both, his back to Apollo, arms spread. His shirt had caught fire. He wasn't moving either.

  "They're dying for her," Democritus said. "Right now. They know they can't win. They're choosing this."

  "Mortals don't—"

  "Love? They do. Better than us." Democritus stepped closer to Apollo. "When was the last time anything cost you something?"

  "This conversation is costing me patience."

  "Your patience is worthless."

  Cassandra pulled free from Anaktoria's protection. Stepped forward through the killing heat. Her newly healed lung was already cooking. She forced her ruined throat to work:

  "Yes."

  One word. It came out wet, destroyed. She pointed at Damon and Anaktoria.

  "Them."

  Then at Apollo.

  "Never."

  The light went nuclear. The house ceased to exist. Everything was ending—

  "Enough."

  The voice came from the garden. Young. Female. Trying for authority.

  Through the destruction, a figure approached. Bronze helmet too large for her frame. Aegis across her chest that she hadn't grown into yet. She looked maybe twenty, gripping a spear like she'd been practicing.

  Penthesilea's spear. The old woman's breath caught.

  "Apollo." Athena stepped in, carrying distant ozone. Piercing grey eyes, ancient in that young face. "You're done here."

  The light changed. Apollo turned, saw her, and actually laughed.

  "The baby goddess. Still hiding from stepmother?" His smile was cruel. "This is desperately stupid, even for you."

  "Probably." She adjusted her grip on the spear. "But these are my people."

  "Yours? You're barely born. Hera's still—"

  "Looking for me. Yes." Athena stepped into the ruins. Each footstep was deliberate. "She'll feel my manifestation in about... three minutes?"

  Apollo's expression shifted. "You're risking exposure for mortals?"

  "My mortals." She planted the spear. "The inventor who gave men thunder. The soldier who held the pass. The pirate who found her harbor." Her gaze moved to Penthesilea. "The Amazon who should have never been queen."

  Penthesilea hadn't moved from her chair through any of this. Now she stood slowly.

  "That's my spear."

  "You left it in Troy. Thirty years ago." Athena's young face smiled. "After killing thirty-seven men. Not thirty. You miscounted."

  "I was dying."

  "You were glorious." Athena turned back to Apollo. "They all are. That's why she chose them."

  "She's coming with me."

  "No." Athena lifted her chin. The helmet shifted, too heavy. "You want to fight me?"

  Thunder in the distance.

  Apollo's form flickered between light and flesh.

  "Don't be stupid. This is sentiment. Weakness."

  "This is wisdom." Athena was trembling but held her ground. "A time to fight, a time to give. A time to love, and a time to die."

  She gestured at the mortals. "They understand time. That it ends. That's why their choices matter."

  "They die at the end."

  "Yes." Athena's voice was steady. "And she'll mourn them. And it will hurt. And it will be worth it. Because they chose her too."

  "One minute," Democritus said mildly. "Looks like they're hunting together today."

  The horizon was gone. Making way for the Queen.

  Apollo looked at Cassandra. She was leaning against Damon now, Anaktoria's arms around her waist. They were holding her up. All of them watching him with the same expression.

  Pity.

  "You pity me?"

  Cassandra nodded. Her ruined throat managed one more word:

  "Empty."

  The light went cold. For a moment, Apollo's true form showed through... vast, hollow, endlessly burning nothing.

  "Thirty seconds," Democritus mentioned. The stars were going out.

  Apollo stepped back. The temperature normalized. The house was gone but they were still alive, standing in the middle of a building storm.

  "This isn't over."

  "Yes it is." Athena lowered the spear. "You're the god of prophecy. Look forward. See any future where she chooses you?"

  His eyes went white. Then empty. Then rage.

  He turned without another word. Walked into the garden. The light followed him, diminishing until he was just gone.

  Athena immediately dropped the spear. Her form solidified. Young woman, early twenties, exhausted. The armor was too heavy. She started to tip.

  Democritus caught her. "Got you."

  "We need to leave." Athena turned in his arms. "Can you—"

  "Already handled." He was pulling something from his satchel. "Drink this. All of you."

  "What is it?"

  "Lethe water. Diluted. You'll forget this."

  "We'll forget you're gods?"

  "OBVIOUSLY." He was already tipping it into Cassandra's mouth. "You'll remember... something else. Maybe a fire. We helped. Athena is a new-ish acquaintance. Theron. Shit! The arrow missed... no, grazed your rib. We were all very concerned."

  "Will we forget what he said?" Anaktoria looked at the spot where Apollo had stood. "Who he was?"

  "Just the words. The knowledge, not the imprint." Democritus moved to Damon next. "Drink."

  They all drank.

  The world was already getting fuzzy around the edges.

  "Ten seconds," Democritus said. "Athena, you need to—"

  She was already changing into traveling clothes, soot-stained from fighting the fire. Camouflage.

  "Thank you," Cassandra whispered, her voice barely working. "Sister."

  Athena smiled. Then the Lethe took hold.

  The last thing they remembered clearly was standing in the ruins of Penthesilea's house, drenched from the storm, wondering how they'd all survived the lightning strike that had destroyed everything except them.