Chapter Text
There’s no fun in being the god of prophecy.
At first, you’re ecstatic, yes—you can predict in which direction the wind will blow on the next day, which flower species will bloom in the soil, when a wave will crash against the shore. You can hear the sound of a child’s laugh before it’s even born, melodies that still have to be composed, words and languages that haven’t been invented yet. You’re the first witness of the power of a great civilization born from a bunch of sheds that they call a village; you can already see beautiful paintings that are still just sketches, and feel the spice of elaborate dishes that don’t exist yet.
Soon, however, you discover that there’s the other side of the medal. Soon the voices start whispering more persistently in your ears and visions of blood and war and death start clouding your mind like a fog. Soon your eyes start spilling premature tears for innocent heroes who believe that they’ll get to grow old when, in truth, their parents will still be alive when their pyre will burn. You realize only then, after you’ve asked the Fates to change those children’s destinies and their cold and unforgiving eyes have stared into your soul, that the future is not as kind as you thought.
It’s cruel. It’s unmerciful. It’s remorseless. No living being can change it, once it’s sealed, not even a god.
Zeus might believe that he did it, once; sitting on his throne of gold, convinced that he has the whole world at his feet, he might believe that he defied the Fates when it was foretold that Metis’ second child would usurp his power, but that’s no more than a lie and he’s no more than a puppet in their hands. Something happens only if they allow it to happen; that’s how it goes.
Yet while I understood that quite soon, for millennia gods and mortals alike still kept on fighting, stubborn as they were—especially my father. He kept on struggling against a current that was destined to overpower him, sooner or later. He kept on trying to fool the Fates, unaware that their designs are often too elaborate to be unraveled, too fleeting to be caught in a man's hand.
Of course, scared of any change that the future might bring, this time he did the same.
“You look terrible.”
I was sitting on my bed with my knees up to my chin, my head leaning on the wall behind me. As the sun was slowly rising outside of the window, I stared at the whiteness of the wall, contemplating how the colour changed as more light illuminated the room. It wasn’t white, the other day; I repainted it, following Rachel’s example, hoping that it would help me clear my mind.
Alas, it didn’t, and the messy, careless job only made me more miserable.
“Thanks,” I told my sister, rolling my eyes.
Artemis looked almost the same as always, except her hair was awfully messy, which was probably due to the fact that she just came back from a hunt, and her eyebrows were frowning even more so than usual, to the point that I thought that, if she tried just a little harder, they would have fused together.
She stared at me for another moment; then, sighing, she turned to look at the mess I'd turned my room into. Pencils and paintbrushes were scattered across the floor, along with crumpled music sheets and book pages; dried paint that I'd spilled who knows how long ago created a strange abstract painting on my desk, and shards of what had once been my mirror could be found in every corner of the room.
Glancing at the furniture, she probably noticed that it was the third time I had changed its disposition over the course of four months—or, at least, the third time she could be a witness of it.
With a snap of her fingers, every trace of paint or dust disappeared. Every object was put back into place, and the yellow ceramic bowl that lied broken on the floor magically fixed itself in less than a second.
Satisfied with her work, Artemis returned to what seemed to be her favourite hobby at that moment: judging me. She sat down beside me, telling me to 'scoot over', and looked at me once again with sadness dripping out of her eyes.
Not really wishing to look at her expression, I leaned on her shoulder, and she put an arm around me. While she did so, my hands reached out for a small photo I kept near my bed.
It was taken a couple of days before I left for the solstice meeting on Olympus, when my godhood still hadn’t been restored: all of my children were there, some looking at the camera with bright eyes and big smiles and others talking to one another, laughing and sticking their tongue at each other; beside them was Chiron, who was looking at the mess with an amused smile on his face; then Annabeth, who was kissing Percy on the cheek, Grover laughing beside them and Meg, who apparently was trying to make me fall by pulling me down by my shirt.
That photo was the only remaining memory of my journey; it was the only object that kept my mind from forgetting and slipping once again into the cold indifference that the other gods seemed to love so much. I couldn't help the sinking feeling in my chest at the mere sight of it.
As I was holding the frame, Artemis’ hand reached my hair, and she started playing with the curls while stroking it.
I suppose I accidentally changed my appearance in my sleep, just like I'd done many times before; considering that my skin tone was significantly paler and my hair way shorter than it was before I fell asleep, instead of looking like the blonde twenty-something-year-old I usually presented myself as, I probably looked more similar to what had been my mortal form.
“You had another nightmare, didn't you?” she asked, and I felt her head turn so she could look at me.
“You’ll come to visit us, right?” Meg crossed her arms, looking at me with a frown on her face. “You said that you’d give me piano lessons.”
I laughed, while my heart was collapsing on itself like a sandcastle, the lies I was about to tell her weighing on it so much it started cracking. “Of course. Olympus gets boring after a couple of days.” I shrugged, with a smile. “Besides, yes, I did say that I’d teach you how to play. A promise is a promise, and I’ll keep it.”
Suddenly, the other campers turned to look at me. They all looked faceless, but despite that, I could still feel their stares on me, and it sent shivers down my spine.
Meg’s face morphed as well, becoming one with Styx’s. Her voice sounded distorted, sinister. “Are you sure about that?”
I blinked a couple of times, trying to make that image fade from my memory.
Closing my eyes, I took in a shaky breath, inhaling the scent of pines and fire that Artemis brought with her every time she walked into a room, and that alone comforted me. It reminded me of home and safety, even if the wild was the place that the mortals least considered close to 'home'.
I nodded weakly, rubbing my eyes with my hand. “The same as usual.”
Artemis summoned two bars of ambrosia, handing one to me. “I thought you were doing better,” she said. “Last time I visited you, you seemed to be okay.”
“And I am okay, I am.” I tried to smile, but judging by my sister’s expression it didn’t really look like one. “It was just a nightmare.”
“It wasn’t ‘just a nightmare’. You have one every time you fall asleep. You of all people should know it's not normal.” She seemed disappointed. "It makes me wonder, by the way, why you still insist on sleeping. You’re not mortal anymore, you don’t need that.”
Yes, why did I still sleep? For a mortal, sleep is important to function properly; for a mortal who has to fight monsters nearly every day, sleep is important not to die—it’s hard to have good reflexes when all your brain does is yelling 'BED BED BED' for hours. After I spent months nearly passing out from exhaustion and taking a nap at any chance I could get, it would be natural for my sister to assume that I would give into any tiredness merely out of habit.
However, godly brains don't work like that. I don't recall any immortal saying 'Oops! I fell asleep without noticing, how silly of me!', and that’s because it's not something that our bodies do. We don't need to sleep and, if we do, it has to be a conscious choice. I suppose that it could be defined as some sort of leisure activity; dreams can be quite enlightening and, to some of us, they make for a fine distraction.
To me, at least, it did.
“I don’t know, I thought it’d be nice. I used to like sleeping.” I shrugged. “I like nightmares better than prophecies, that’s for sure. At least I know that those ones aren’t real.”
Glancing at Artemis, I could see the concern in every wrinkle of her forehead. It was so intense that I felt like it was just about to manifest itself in a physical form to check my fever and put a blanket around my shoulders.
She sighed, again. “Well, you can’t keep doing… this.” She gestured at the room, at me and at the secret stash of ambrosia-coated cereal I kept under the mattress, before crossing her arms. “Before being turned mortal you used to have many activities that would keep you away from your visions. Why don’t you dedicate yourself to those?”
I straightened my back, side-eyeing her. “The visions are not my only issue, and you know that.”
“Yes, but you still need to find something else to do. This is unhealthy.”
“And I suppose you have some suggestions?” I scoffed, crossing my arms.
Artemis hesitated. “You could… well, you could get back to your duties, for one. It would be a good idea.” Her fingers were tapping on her arms. She was probably thinking I would burst in anger as soon as she mentioned work, considering how reluctant she seemed to talk about it. “If not for your own sanity, do it for mine. Eos calls me every day to complain about you. It’s irritating and distracting, and I’m this close-” She brought the index finger and the thumb of her hand close, almost touching. “–to using her as shooting practice.”
“Oh, I heard her too. After years of dealing with such a bad-tempered goddess, you learn to hear the vibrations of her voice cursing you from miles away.”
We smiled at each other. However, Artemis’ expression immediately returned to be as troubled as it was a couple of seconds ago. “I’m serious, Apollo. I can feel the Council’s displeasure. You missed a meeting, and your domains remained unsupervised for four full months. Father says–”
“Who cares about what he says?” I snapped, interrupting her. A clap of thunder echoed miles away from there, but I ignored it. “I was away for one year while I was mortal, Artemis. The world didn’t seem to miss me much, so I think it’ll manage for a little while longer.”
“What about the nosoi? They went feral in your absence. I’ve heard that they’re planning to spread a new pandemic. We can’t have that.”
“I’ll take care of that, but now- I'm not ready now.” I hugged my arms. “I need more time. Just a bit more.”
“But–”
“Artemis,” I pleaded, turning to look at her, “Please.”
We stared at each other for a long moment. Artemis scanned my expression, her eyes moving from a point to another; then, without saying a word, she looked away.
I leaned against the wall again, staring at the ceiling and biting off a piece of the ambrosia.
I appreciated its taste more, lately: before my trials, I used to always take it for granted, and after some centuries I even grew bored of it; after being unable to eat ambrosia or drink nectar for so long, though, I started to consider it as some sort of rare pleasure, even though I knew that I was able to summon and eat it whenever I wanted.
Its taste was definitely something new: two years ago, I would have said that it was the sweetness of my mother’s fig pie, or the flavour of the roasted rabbits my sister and I used to share whenever we went camping together; now, however, ambrosia had the salty, familiar taste of Camp Half-blood's burned pork.
“It’s not that I don’t want to return to my work,” I said, “I just want to have some time to adjust to being a god again. I mean, I admit that it’s taking quite long, but that sentence, it makes…” My mirthless laugh echoed in the empty apartment. ”It makes everything so, so difficult, Artemis. It–”
“It's consuming you,” Artemis proposed. I nodded. “But is it worth it, feeling so much?”
Black eyes stared at me, glistening with malice. “I feel merciful, today, and I’ll give you a choice. You could watch as they all die, one by one, but keep talking to them—as much as your father will allow you, that is,” a low voice whispered, hands as cold as a corpse’s gripping my shoulders and twelve pairs of eyes staring at us, in disbelief, “Or you could be the good parent and friend you always wished to be. You could give them the chance of having a good and long life, at the cost of their memories of you.”
“I won’t be allowed to see them, I suppose.”
A deep laugh reached my ears, too close for me not to shiver. “Of course you won’t.”
A lump formed in my throat. Despite that, I managed to croak, “Alright.”
“It’s better like this,” I murmured.
Artemis sighed. Perhaps, while looking up at the ceiling, she was trying to imagine what it felt like, not being able to leave any useless emotion behind.
I doubted that she understood me. Of course, the Hunters weren’t fully immortal, which meant that she still had to provide for their safety to some degree and that, once in a while, she still had to face the anguish that came whenever they went missing, or chose to give up the Hunt for a mortal life; yet she had centuries to learn to give that pain a purpose. Her anger became the push she needed to go on, to keep on living.
I wasn't like her, and despite the pain, I found that I didn't want that to change. I didn't want a century, nor two; I didn't want to move on, to get used to my grief—maybe I wasn't even capable of it. I just wanted to kiss my children's forheads. I wanted to hug them close, spend time with them, and not have to live with the thought that, when I would eventually find them in Elysium, they might not even want to talk to me, if not to spit a single, hateful question: 'Where were you?'
Why was there always someone forbidding me from doing that?
Artemis glanced at the bar I was still holding, then back at me. “Does that remind you of them?”
I frowned, in confusion. “What?”
“The ambrosia,” she clarified, “Does it remind you of the demigods?”
“Oh.” Whenever she visited, she never asked me much about what happened when I was a mortal, so even that little question came as a surprise. “Well, yes.”
“What does it taste like?”
I smiled, breaking what remained of it in two halves and giving one to my sister. “You first. You never told me what it was for you.”
Holding up the piece of ambrosia, she smiled back at me and ate it. “Let’s see…” While trying to make out what the taste was, she looked like a vaguely pleased Gordon Ramsey. “Marshmallows, definitely.”
I scoffed. “Foolish of me to expect something better from the goddess of forests.”
She pinched my arm, laughing. “What about you then? Does the god of medicine’s ambrosia taste like disinfectant?” she mocked me, raising an eyebrow, “Maybe like a Capri Sun?”
“It tastes like bacon,” I answered, almost offended.
“Even worse!”
After a moment, we both burst out laughing, our voices vaguely tinted by a surprised tone. The rumbling that the laughter caused in my chest felt like the hesitant clang of rusted old gears, as if days of silence caused my chest to stiffen.
I managed to pull myself up at some point and, as I looked at myself in the mirror, I understood what Artemis meant by ‘terrible’. I hadn’t paid attention to my appearance lately and, despite the fact that I was a god, my mental state affected it deeply regardless: the dark circles under my eyes made my face look much paler, and my shoulders looked tense as if I was ready to run away at the first sign of incoming danger. Some of it I fixed with godly magic, and some of it with a dose of confidence that I got who knows from where. Then, closing my eyes, I let my power flow free through my veins and fibers, letting it reach every inch of my skin and godly flesh; when I looked at myself once more, I was staring at my old form again, good as new, as if I hadn't spent four months wasting away in my apartment.
I'd never looked this refreshed—not even after Aphrodite's Pink Radiance Spa Treatment.
Artemis was observing me from behind. Ignoring Eos’ distant yet increasingly loud angry tone, she suddenly asked, “Do you have plans for today?”
I turned my head to look at her. “No, I don’t. Why?”
“I was thinking we could go out.” She played with the fabric of the pillows, shrugging. “Perhaps go to eat something? We could even find a place that serves bacon.”
“It’s almost breakfast time and we’re in America,” I replied, laughing, “Of course we’ll find a place that serves bacon.”
The mattress jumped up and down, as I sat back on it, next to Artemis. I smiled at her. “Anyway, that sounds like a good plan. Maybe going out will do me some good.”
When we were ready to leave, the sun was already up. I wondered, silently, who was controlling its course that day.
“Is there any good place you think we could go to?” Artemis asked, with a grin, while leaning on the closet, “Does Mister Papadopoulos have any good idea?”
I laughed. “Yeah, yeah, keep on mocking me, very nice of you.” I took the hand she offered me to help me stand up. ”So, I was thinking of this place in California we came across once...”
And as Eos started cursing me and my whole ancestry, we slammed the door shut, leaving her behind us.