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His heart raced as he sprinted down the winding corridors.
Fatigue and hopelessness nipped at his heels, those dark sensations seeking to choke him once more.
But the tight, almost painful grasp on his too thin hand was grounding and compelled his aching body to keep going.
Watching the braid of shining onyx hair flying, a silver circlet and jacket catching the lights as alarms blared, hearing her iconic rasp...
It was like a fresh glass of water for a man dying of thirst.
The past months had been nothing short of harrowing, according to what little he had been able to stay conscious for.
Shortly after his ‘arrival’, he had been placed inside an unassuming room. It had been reminiscent of a stable with hay littering the floor and little wooden furniture, wall-mounted torches and the smallest window high up on one wall.
They had shackled his hands to the single chain mounted into the wall, said leash barely allowing him to move much further than a few steps from the hay bed. Not a comfortable arrangement but it wasn’t the worst he had been given.
‘Business’ began the next day.
His captors - people, beings, who had managed to restrain and capture a deity of his calibre - wanted something from him. It wasn’t surprising, gods were often sought out for such reasons. But what they desired was something he couldn’t afford to give.
Evidently, this made them very irritable, especially when he refused to cave to their offers and demands.
Then came the ‘persuasion’, as they called it.
Knives, guns, whips, cattle prods, all sorts of tools that he struggled to keep track of through the haze. They were forged from something that had the ability to cause damage to gods, working much like the regular steel versions would with mortals.
More than once per session, he would wonder if it was possible for an immortal to bleed out. He had never seen more golden ichor pour out of him in those months than at any other time in his existence.
The pain wasn’t unfamiliar. Excruciating torture was nothing new. It seemed to shock his captors at certain points, he couldn’t fathom why.
Spending much of his captivity aching or unconscious was better than the alternative. Had he been awake for the whole time, alone save for the visits and sessions, his mind would have fallen far sooner. Not to the pain nor the demands, but to the darkness within his own head.
He, by no means, hated himself - at least, not to any extreme - however, it was hard not to direct scathing thoughts of criticism when that was all he got from his father on any other day.
Compliments were a rare thing amongst his family, same for the minor gods and others that dwell in Olympus. Much of one’s worth was based on what they could offer and how useful they were; you needed something to merit residence in the home of the gods, much less have a palace there.
But talents and domains aside, there really wasn’t much else to define himself with. It was but one of a number of things that he admired about mortals. They could be judged by personal merit instead of relying solely on others’ perceptions, if that was what they wished.
Was it any surprise then, that during the few times he was coherent and allowed to lay peacefully on the hay, he often reminisced on the time spent with Chiron and his children? Days of teaching a young colt, strolling beside a grown stallion, holding new lives in his arms, watching those small babies grow into heroes...
Such memories were from an age long gone but they were cherished all the same.
The last thing he had expected was to see silver eyes upon waking.
His sister was the first one he saw and he had no reason to protest as she pulled him up, freeing his hands from the shackles. Months may have passed but not once had he believed she wouldn’t come for him.
Artemis, fierce Artemis, was never one to let those she loved suffer for long.
He could remember repeating her name and gripping her arm. In a way, it felt surreal to see her again after such a trying time.
She had shushed him, focused purely on getting them both out.
Hand in hand, just like when they were but small children on Delos, they ran with Artemis taking the lead.
He jolted back to the present when Artemis suddenly stopped, him almost crashing into her.
Past her, blocking the way out, was an entire squad of men, all armed with those same guns he had seen over the past few months.
Perhaps it was the fatigue or even just a subconscious reaction trained into him by now; how else could he explain how he acted next?
A barely audible whine escaped his lips as he pressed himself closer to his sister’s back, almost as if he wished to hide behind her. The squeeze she gave through their entwined hands lessened the tension within him.
He barely heard whatever it was they were saying, only registering the hissing defiance with which his sister sniped back at them. One of his captors - the thing with a blocked nose, from the sound of it - was sneering at them, or rather Artemis.
No matter how disconnected everything was, he was aware enough to latch onto something. A brief exchange but it was enough to spur him into action.
“He will not be your toy any longer!” Artemis snarled, disgust evident with the word ‘toy’.
“No? Then why don’t you take his place?” he sneered in that nasally voice. “That’s the only way either of you are getting out of here. What do you say?”
“NO!”
His body lurched from behind his sister before his mind even caught up to his mouth.
He ignored the shock on her face as he placed himself in front of her, eyes on the man before him. His voice shook, eyes burning.
“Don’t,” he pleaded. “Not her.”
The other raised an eyebrow, “Then what do you propose I do, hm, Lord Apollo?
She broke into this facility and has clearly shown that she would do anything to take you from us. If anything, I should order the men to subdue her as a second specimen.”
Apollo blanched.
“NO! Anything but that!”
“ Anything? ”
His throat felt dry as he tried to swallow.
“Yes,” he choked out. “Please, just... let her go. Do whatever you want with me, but leave her out of it.”
Artemis’s hand gripped his shoulder, almost hard enough to bruise, as the man in front of him smirked.
“Well, if a god is begging me, then who am I to refuse?” He signalled to the men behind him. “Escort her out.”
In sync, the armed forces parted down the middle and lined a path to the exit. Two of the most heavily armoured strolled up to them, reaching for Artemis.
“No,” she breathed. He did nothing to resist her turning him around to face her. “Apollo, you-”
A small smile was all he could give her in reply, vision beginning to swim with tears.
“I love you,” he whispered.
He didn’t dare hold his gaze with her wide silver eyes, staring down at the cold grey floor as she was pulled from his sight and body.
It was all he could do to keep himself from breaking down as he heard her yell after him, a tiny whimper making itself known as the doors finally shut and she was gone.
His legs buckled, sending him onto his hands and knees.
Apollo did nothing as the man ordered him to be collared and led back to his cell.