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Apo moved the cleaning cloth over their armor in broad sweeps, treating the metal carefully. Their armor was their most prized possession, a gift from their god, and they refused to let it become dirty or otherwise fall into disrepair.
The strange black metal shone in the light of the sun, reflecting their warped reflection in shadow. Polishing their armor was one of the few bits of routine they’d kept through the years, ensuring it was well treated and looked just as new as the day they’d been given it.
It was still strange to think that Apo of all people had been chosen by a god to become their champion. They had grown up a child among the foothills of Mount Orthyrs, cradled by the steep curve of the land and the forests that covered its slopes. When they were only five years old, they’d fallen in love with swordfighting. It was a sweaty, hacking exercise, but the truly talented warriors made it into a dance, and Apo had been mesmerized by it.
She had thrown herself into learning, slowly teaching herself the strikes and parries. No master would want to waste time on one of the thousands of farming villages across the land, not when there were kings and nobles with more money and more promise that their skills would be seen. So Apo had taught herself, moving with clumsy unsureness at first. Eventually she had gotten stronger and more confident, had begun to land most of her swings, had built up her stamina and muscles.
She had woken up at dawn every morning to run before beginning her chores, had trained regardless of heat or chill, had worked tirelessly to become as good as she wanted to be. To become better, even. Apo had wanted something and decided she was going to get it, and she had set herself to achieving it with stubborn determination.
It came to be that Apo was not just a competent warrior, was not just skilled at swordsmanship, but was graceful in their movements, fluid when they fought. That had been the effort of nearly two decades of work, and Apo had regretted none of it the first time they asked their father to challenge them and beat him as easily as breathing.
That was the moment their parents had declared to the village that their child was gifted by the gods. Apo hadn’t said the gods had no hand in it, because that could be taken as disrespect. But it was the truth; the gods had done nothing. Apo had been the one to build themself from the ground up. They did not have some innate ability or special magic for the sword and spear. Just a willingness to learn and a want to become the best.
In all of her hours training, she had never once suspected someone was watching her. But they were, unbeknownst to her, able to conceal themself from the eye. One day, as Apo was exchanging stabs and blocks with an invisible opponent as she tended to, they revealed themself to her.
The dappled sunlight of the clearing Apo practiced in had lit up with a sudden blazing glow, and heat had swept over her, dry as opposed to the sweating humidity of the summers. It was like the glow of a fire in a hearth, only much stronger. A fire uncontained.
Apo had spun around, startled and wary, to find a woman standing there, around her age. The woman’s skin was darker than hers, as if they’d spent long hours under the sun, and one of their eyes was gold, unnaturally bright as they watched Apo. The other was covered by a flickering flame, pink in color, the ends of which feathered off into the air.
Apo’s heart had jumped, breath catching in her throat. Even if the sudden heat and the eye hadn’t been a giveaway, the flame would’ve. This woman was a goddess.
She’d knelt immediately, knees meeting the sandy ground, sword lying in front of her as she bowed her head. “Lady,” she’d said, and then fallen silent, not knowing what else to say. Was the goddess here to punish her, or to offer her a reward? She didn’t know. Their beauty had caught her off guard, made her feel like she was stumbling for balance.
“You are very talented with the sword,” the god had spoken, her voice bright and lovely. Apo felt dizzy from hearing it, the sound drawing her back to the giddy euphoria she felt the first time she could properly swing her sword, the awe upon seeing other swordsmen fighting, the heady rush when she’d disarmed her father in barely three minutes.
“Thank you,” they’d murmured, daring to glance up. The goddess’s expression was amused, eye twinkling, flame dancing merrily over her face.
She stared at them for several moments while Apo felt each and every sensation in them: their racing heart, the flush on their face, the places where their sweaty hair clung to their forehead. They thought she must find them disgusting, and were suddenly ashamed of it.
“I offer you my patronage,” the goddess had said finally, and Apo had frozen, unsure if she heard it right but not wanting to ask the goddess to confirm. A finger hooked under Apo’s chin, and the goddess tilted her head up. She blacked out for a moment; she hadn’t even heard her move. She took up Apo’s field of vision, a vision from on high. She would’ve pledged her entire life to the goddess in that moment, her soul as well.
“You are skilled,” the goddess hummed, the corners of her mouth ticking up. “Continue to fight in my name and I will reward you.”
Apo found her voice finally. “My sword is yours, lady,” she swore, sounding strangled to her own ears. She could feel the beat of her heart. The place where the goddess’s finger touched her skin was ablaze, though she didn’t know if that was the goddess’s magic or just her own head.
The goddess smiled then, stealing the breath from Apo’s lungs once more. Her stomach flipped. It was beautiful, that smile, shining out from her face like a sunbeam. Apo wanted to get lost in it. It could’ve blinded her, and she would happily let it.
“I leave you with a gift,” she said, and then she was gone suddenly. Apo blinked, but couldn’t get her eyes to make sense of it. It was as if the sunlight had shifted to adjust for her absence; one second she was there, the next, she wasn’t.
In her place was the same dark set of armor Apo polished now, neatly laid in the sandy dirt. It emanated a strange chill even when it had been left in the sun for hours, and it was like no metal Apo had ever seen before. But it was a gift from her god, and she treasured it all the same, wore it every time she picked up her sword.
“I can feel your eyes,” Apo murmured, continuing to focus on the breastplate she polished.
The dry heat of fire came from behind her, scorching her back and neck. Apo didn’t turn, not even as she felt the warmth of Cherri’s presence beside her. Her god, she’d learned, was endlessly fascinated with humans and their ways. She watched Apo frequently. Over the years, Apo had come to recognize what her gaze felt like and to be comfortable with it. She encouraged Cherri to talk with her if she wished, but she never pushed.
Favored though Apo was, they doubted angering a god was a smart idea. Besides, feeling Cherri watching them brought a smile to their face, to know that their goddess was focused on them at the moment. Nothing and no one else.
It was selfish, probably, and a foolish thing to do. Cherri had an entire domain to rule over, though she had yet to tell Apo what domain it was. She had half a million things that probably caught her interest, and why would she give her attention to only Apo anyway? They were only a mortal, after all.
Still. They enjoyed it. They prayed to their goddess, sacrificed the best portions of their meal to her, gave her offerings, fought in her name. In return, she gave them her blessing, her patronage, and her protection. Apo was devoted, and they liked the feeling of belonging to Cherri. They would give everything for their goddess.
“You take such care of that armor,” Cherri murmured, leaning over Apo’s shoulder. Her breath caught at the proximity, but they didn’t seem to notice. “I almost feel flattered.”
“Of course I do,” Apo responded, almost without thinking. “You gave it to me.”
She thought for a moment that she’d made a mistake when Cherri froze beside her, until hot fingers brushed along her jaw and Cherri was tilting her head toward them with a look halfway between fond and amused. Apo went still.
“Sentimental,” they hummed, caressing the side of her face. “But sweet.”
Their attention turned to the armor, leaving Apo feeling like she was burning up inside. Her foolish infatuation with her god was part of the reason her devotion was so strong, and she believed it made her a better warrior because of it. Every movement, every swing, every strike was for her god, made in their name with the knowledge that their eyes were on her.
But it also made her distracted when Cherri was nearby. It was an idiotic thing to do, fall for a goddess. Gods and mortals never mixed happily in the stores Apo had heard. But Cherri made it hard to think of that, and Apo was perhaps not as cautious as she should’ve been when around a goddess capable of smiting her in a moment.
“You are quite generous in your offerings as well,” Cherri mused.
“You are my patron, are you not? I fight for you, lady,” Apo said quietly.
Cherri giggled, an airy and bright sound. Something in Apo’s chest went funny hearing it. “Mortals are so interesting,” they mused. “Especially you.” Their fingers flickered over Apo’s shoulders, as light as air. “My favorite mortal.”
Apo felt breathless. “I am your favorite, lady?” she asked, just to double check.
“I am your patron,” Cherri said. “I think it would be rude if you weren’t my favorite.”
“…Thank you very much, lady,” Apo murmured, looking down. “It is my honor to fight for you.”
They could hear Cherri’s smile when she said, “Yes, it is. You are quite a puzzle, Apokuna.” She leaned closer, breath ghosting over Apo’s skin. Their heart pounded. “I enjoy trying to figure you out.”
They felt her vanish and tried not to miss the loss. Their pulse was still racing as they went back to polishing their armor. Cherri…Cherri made it hard to think, made them dizzy and breathless and foolish.
And Apo would let her mark every inch of them if she wished, let the whole world know that she was their god and they belonged to her. They would do anything for Cherri as her warrior and her blade.
Apo was devoted to her, after all. She was Cherri’s and Cherri was hers. And it felt right, to be so. Apo wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world. She would be an extension of her god’s will until Cherri decreed otherwise.