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Eclipse: Chapter 1

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Adventure Characters: Apollo, Hades, Nico di Angelo, Will Solace According to the prophecy, Will has to go to on a quest to Tartarus. According to Apollo, that isn’t going to happen, even if it means he has to break the Ancient Laws. It's finally here - this fic was conceived in February 2022 and after fourteen months it's finally finished and ready to share! At its core, this fic is a response to the upcoming novel The Sun and The Star, specifically the plot I would love to see but know for a fact won't happen for reasons that hopefully will be obvious very quickly - so I wrote my own version! I have specifically avoided any TSATS spoilers so any similarities are completely unintentional. After today, updates will be biweekly on Tuesdays and Fridays. This is the longest story I've ever completed at over 130k words, and I hope you enjoy the ride! There are blanket warnings for various degrees of injuries and similar nasties throughout the fic.

HADES I Not Another Blasted Prophecy

“No.”

Apollo could be dramatic when he wanted to be, which was more often than not, and this was no exception. How his nephew had barged his way down into the Underworld – and specifically his own palace – Hades was not quite certain, but he knew he didn’t approve. Apollo’s current temperament was not helping any thoughts of endearment, either.

“Absolutely not,” his nephew ranted, inconsiderate enough of his surroundings to glow as brightly as his chariot, freezing several skeletons in place and going so far as to immolate the ones that didn’t manage to escape his immediate sphere of influence. The sun was not supposed to materialise in the realm of the dead, and it was certainly not supposed to be in the heart of his palace, ranting about something Hades had yet to make heads or tails of.

“Leave,” he ordered, cutting through Apollo’s next nonsensical words. “You do not have my permission to be here.”

Apollo, all blindingly painful energy and movement, stilled and his eyes met Hades’ own. All of them had eyes like fire, a window to the true godly energy concealed beneath the forms they favoured, and Apollo was always the brightest, the most vibrant. Usually, those flames were gold, dancing more in amusement as he went about his business. Sometimes, they flickered blue, into the territory of white-hot and dangerous when he couldn’t quite smother the rage that occasionally flared up inside of him.

Today, they were neither golden nor blue-verging-on-white. Today, they were orange, and mortals might think that orange was a weak flame, but mortals had never stood on the bank of the Phlegethon and felt its frigid heat soaring through their essence. Hades could not recall seeing the exact shade of fire water in Apollo’s eyes before, and he could not say he was pleased to see it now.

The river of healing and fire suited his nephew better than he cared to admit, at his most volatile, and Hades did not need that same nephew’s domain of prophecy and foresight to conclude that something drastic was about to occur.

Why did Apollo have to come to the Underworld in this mood?

“I am not letting this happen,” his nephew all but hissed, solar flares cascading off of him in waves and dousing Hades’ throne room in colours it had never seen before.

Colours it was never supposed to see.

“Get out,” he snapped, drawing the shadows in tighter and snuffing out the vestigial edges of the light. Whatever it was Apollo was having a fit about, Hades was not having that behaviour in his palace. His nephew didn’t even flinch as the outer edges of his light faded away, instead having the gall to continue to approach his throne. The souls of his robe writhed against the encroaching light. “Apollo-”

“They’re going to the Pit,” Apollo growled. “And I will not let that happen.”

In theory, there were any number of candidates that could be encompassed by the word they. Six billion living souls above them, a large minority with some level of godly legacy from various pantheons, left for a large degree of interpretation.

In practicality, there was only one they his nephew would ever bother to talk to him about, only one they both of them had any level of investment in, and Hades had always been cold, ever since taking on the domain of the Underworld, but that did not stop the icy realisation curling up inside his essence.

He gave no sign of this to the younger god in front of him. “I told you to leave, Apollo,” he ordered, rising to his feet and drawing upon his domain to evict the unwelcome interloper.

Apollo was powerful, yes, but despite his brother’s paranoid fears, he was not at the level of an elder god – certainly not in the heart of Hades’ domain, so far from any of his own. Fire water eyes widened a fraction, not enough to be a chink in Apollo’s armour and betray what he was truly thinking but enough to prove which of the two was more powerful, as the blazing sun was muffled and stifled into a dying star.

“And next time you decide to offend me with your obnoxious presence, leave the dramatics at the door.”

With one last heave of his powers, the sun god vanished, expelled from the realm of the dead and deposited back in the Overworld, where he belonged.

Hades was under no illusions that Apollo would stay there, however. His time as a mortal had changed something inside him – nothing so dramatic it had altered the core of the god, but enough that he was now apparently willing to consider and do things that before he would have brushed off.

And, truly, Hades could not in honesty say that he did not understand his nephew’s protectiveness of the demigods. That was not to say Hades cared about the half-bloods running about on the husk that had once been his grandmother as a whole, but his own child – one, single living child – had done much to worm his way into his attention.

In fact, he had done it by being so obnoxious it was difficult to dismiss him, rather like a certain sun god. Perhaps there was some logic behind his decision to couple with one of Apollo’s myriad of offspring, after all.

Regardless of the hows and whys, Hades had found himself wanting Nico to be happy, a feat all but impossible for one of his own children (and, secretly, a reason why it had been so easy for him to keep the pact his younger brothers had failed miserably at; there was little reason to bring demigods into the world if, even by the standards of heroes, their lives would be short and miserable). Happy meant having friends, being accepted, even having a son of Apollo for a boyfriend, it transpired. Happy did not mean returning to the depths of Tartarus, which was why Hades had explicitly forbidden it after learning of his last trek down there.

Perseus Jackson might no longer be the unwitting holder of his son’s heart, but he had certainly done plenty of damage while he’d had it. Hades was certain this rebellious streak had more of Poseidon’s influence on it than his own, even if he knew that, truthfully, Maria had been just the same. Of course she had, to have not one, but two children out of wedlock at a time when a woman’s reputation was solely dependent on her marriage status.

Not for the first time, and not for the last time, either, Hades wished she had taken his offer of a palace by the Styx.

Apollo’s children, by contrast, were less mired in tragedy. As far as demigods went, they were weaker, not bright beacons for monsters and quests despite their parentage, and thrived in the modern world just the same as they had across the millennia. No matter how much society changed, there were always calls for healers and music, and Apollo seemed particularly gifted at not passing down his less favourable domains to his children. Hades could not recall the last time he’d heard of a Plague Child. There was no reason for Apollo to cling so tightly to his living offspring.

No reason except for the increased influx of demigod souls to Elysium over the past few years, with a far higher percentage of Apollo’s children compared to the rest. Except for the six months Apollo had just spent as a mortal, bonding with demigods in a way no god – not even Dionysus, despite his current position as Camp Director of Camp Half-Blood – had done for millennia. Except for the way Apollo had, ever so subtly, changed after his punishment.

That had been particularly cruel of Zeus, in Hades’ opinion. The quests were one thing, and almost getting his son killed had been another, and Hades had approved of neither, not when he could see echoes in his brother of their father in the actions – a tyrant in the making that not he, not Poseidon, and not even their sisters could bear to see but equally had no idea how to stop it before it got too far – but the cruellest punishment of all had been giving Apollo, the god who loved so deeply and unapologetically, no choice but to make bonds with mortals who would all too soon pass beyond his reach.

Now his nephew was attached to his mortal offspring, and it was already making him do reckless things, barely a day after regaining his own godhood. Hades couldn’t deny that he was glad for the warning his son was intending on finding a way to sneak into Tartarus despite being told explicitly that he was never to do so again, because that meant he knew to keep a closer eye on Nico’s actions, but he did not appreciate his palace being invaded without so much as a by-your-leave.

(His sister, no matter how much the pair of them disagreed on everything, at least pretended to ask permission before barging in to see her daughter.)

And yet, he had invited Apollo to come back, as much as he ever gave invitations, and his nephew was not stupid enough to miss the way he’d worded the last dismissal. Knowing that Nico intended to go to Tartarus again – taking his boyfriend with him as though he’d lost any common sense he might have once had and failed to realise that a child of the sun, especially one as healing oriented as that one, would have no chance at surviving – was useful, yes, but it was not enough. It did not tell him why, and that was important. There had to be a reason why Nico would even consider returning there, especially against his own father’s orders, and there was a part of Hades that feared it was because he had no choice.

Therefore, he made sure to always keep one splinter of himself on his throne, even as the rest of him busied around with all the work that went into keeping the Underground functioning, and waited for Apollo’s inevitable return, knowing it would not be long.

Sure enough, it was barely a day before he felt the same unnatural light permeating through his realm, heading for his palace. Hades was going to need to find which entrance his nephew was sneaking in through and do something about it before any of his other brethren decided to follow Apollo’s example (he suspected the doors of Orpheus, given their musical nature), but for the immediate present, he had other things to push to the forefront of his mind. Chief amongst those was the information he was determined to glean from his nephew, no matter what Apollo was planning on telling him, and he gathered all of himself back together again, whole on his throne moments before there was a knock on his door.

A knock. That was un-Apollo-like enough for him to harbour some sliver of hope that, just maybe, he could get through his conversation without getting so frustrated at his nephew’s dramatics that he threw him out again.

Of course, Apollo wasn’t so unlike himself that he’d follow the common courtesy of waiting to be permitted entry before pushing the door open and stepping in, matching Hades’ stature exactly as he strode towards the throne.

He was, at least, making some sort of effort not to immolate the dead this time, which was about as far as Hades could expect Apollo’s hold on his natural tendency for dramatics to extend. His eyes betrayed him, however – still windows that seemed like they were offering a view of Phlegethon, rather than Apollo himself, and proving that he was no calmer than he had been on his previous visit.

Hades didn’t bother with small talk, pleasantries, or giving Apollo the chance to control the conversation.

“Why,” he demanded, leaning back on his throne and making sure he was still looking down at the younger god from his dais, “is my son planning to disobey me and return to the Pit?”

“Our sons,” Apollo corrected, but Hades waved him off.

“I never forbade your offspring entry,” he said. “If William wants to dive into the Pit, I will not stop him, although I will question his sanity.” His throne room brightened by a noticeable degree and Hades pulled on the shadows to dampen Apollo’s influence but otherwise ignored the minor – by Apollo’s standard – dramatics. “That was not my question, Apollo. Why is Nico planning to return there, against my explicit command?”

If it had anything to do with Apollo’s offspring, he was going to have to keep a closer eye on that relationship.

Apollo met his gaze firmly, unafraid. “He believes something down there is calling him.”

“What.”

The word slipped out before Hades could consider if he wanted to give it voice or not, his throne room darkening further until the only light was what little Apollo was mustering against the shadows encroaching on the sun god.

Something in Tartarus was calling his son? Hades’ thoughts leapt immediately to his giant bane, who would no doubt know of his son’s existence even if Nico had never directly interacted with him. Alcyoneus was unfortunately intelligent, and it would not be beyond his schemes to attempt to lure Hades’ son down to him if he could not get to Nico himself.

Why Nico was listening was another matter entirely.

“I refuse to believe my son is so foolish as to listen to a voice from the Pit,” he said, narrowing his eyes at his nephew, “and despite his foolish father, surely William would not let him return there.” If that son of Apollo was in any way encouraging it…

“He believes it is… Bob.” Apollo’s tone was difficult to decipher, but Hades did not think he was particularly impressed, although whether by the name or the Titan’s real identity, he was not certain. “Whom he believes he owes a debt.”

Perseus Jackson’s fatal flaw was not supposed to be infecting his son.

“He owes him no such debt.” The memory-wiped Titan had never been the most comforting of individuals to have around his palace, no matter how much Persephone had enjoyed ordering him around. Hades had no fond recollections of his uncle, or living in close proximity to Titans; while it was possible that returning to Tartarus had restored Iapetus’ memory, he was far more comfortable with the knowledge that the Titan was back where he belonged.

Still, now he knew that something was luring his son down there, there were preventative measures that could be taken. Hades would not thank Apollo for bringing the information to his attention, because he was well aware his nephew had only done so in order to prevent his own son from dying in Tartarus, but he was, privately, glad that the younger god had opted to do so.

“Very well,” he said out loud, rising from his throne and making sure he remained taller than his nephew as he descended his dais. “I will keep a closer eye on my son, and prevent him from returning. You are dismissed, Apollo.”

The sun god startled, as though he hadn’t expected to be thrown out. Or perhaps he had, and was surprised that Hades was not forcibly banishing him this time. “But-”

“You are dismissed,” he repeated more insistently, walking past him without a backwards glance. “Leave, before I make you.”

“No, you don’t-”

Hades gathered his shadows and sent them to swarm the younger god, ignoring his protests. Apparently an eviction was required after all. “Do not worry, I see no reason to inform my brother of your attempt at interfering with demigod lives,” he told him, considering that more than enough as a show of gratitude. “Goodbye, Apollo.”

His power surged, preparing to hurtle his nephew back to the overworld.

“There’s a prophecy!” Apollo shrieked just as he disappeared, and Hades froze in place for a moment, before realising the other god was gone and reaching out his shadows to snatch him back.

“There’s. A. What?” he growled out as the sun god – the god of prophecy – reappeared, hair slightly dishevelled from the sudden transportation.

“A prophecy,” Apollo repeated, standing up straight and locking eyes with Hades. The orange flames within flickered fiercely, and Hades couldn’t help but notice the vain god not even raising a single hand to fix his hair. “It was spoken yesterday.”

Just before Apollo appeared in his realm in a flurry of drama and Phlegethon-eyes, desperate to find a way to stop it, Hades realised in hindsight.

He was not Zeus; he knew that Apollo did not choose the prophecies that were spoken by his oracles, and nor did he have any control over their timing. Unlike his little brother, he would not torment Apollo over an aspect of his domain he did not actually control.

That did not stop him from covering the distance between them in a single step and grasping his nephew by the throat. “And this prophecy says that my son will return to the Pit?” he demanded, his nails digging into the soft flesh of Apollo’s favourite form.

Being a god, Apollo did not actually need to breathe in order to be capable of speech, so Hades had no qualms about how tightly he gripped his throat.

“Our sons,” the younger god corrected. “It was spoken to both of them.” Apollo was carefully avoiding which Oracle had issued the prophecy, as though that would stop Hades from finding out and unleashing another curse – the odds were higher than even that it was once again that blasted Delphic prophecy, and if she was going to be the reason Hades lost the last of the di Angelos, she would not be spared.

Hades was no fool; he knew that, with the exception of Great Prophecies, they were spoken to one they were relevant to. If Apollo was certain that it had been issued to the two demigods specifically, then it was inevitable that somehow, no matter what evasions anyone – mortal or god – tried to make, they would be the subject of it. Still, he could at least try to hope that there was something else at play.

If he lost Nico, his last child, to a prophecy…

The Pythia would only be the start of his retaliation.

“What did it say?” he demanded.

Apollo had not looked away despite Hades’ aggression; his eyes remained that burning fire water as he stood stock still, head tilted upwards partially because of Hades’ own hand, and partially because his nephew refused to back down. It backfired slightly on the younger god, however, because it meant Hades could see the barest glimmer of fear within his expression.

Despite that, the god of prophecy’s voice was perfectly steady as he spoke.

Sunshine and darkness go deeper than earth Topaz and silver search for rebirth Gold passes through the shadow of death A fading light to take one final breath

Chapter 2>>

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So, just call me Jul