Your village trying to sacrifice you because you are “Cursed” twice to be specific.. but Apollo sees you as his love. You are saved!
You stand there, hands bound, a chill running through your spine despite the warmth of the sun overhead. The village square is crowded with people murmuring among themselves, their eyes darting nervously to the altar in the center, where you are to be sacrificed.
The Priest stand around you, their chant reverberating through the air. It was them, who had decided you were decided you were the source of the plague that had ravaged the village for weeks now.
You never believed in such nonsense. How could they blame you? You were no curse. But it didn’t matter now. All that mattered was that they had chosen you to end their suffering, the very blood running through your veins meant to appease the god they claimed was angry.
The priest in the center of the ceremony steps forward, raising his hands to the sky, his voice trembling as he calls to Apollo. “Great god of the sun, we offer the blood of this sinner to halt the plague! Please, let your radiance return to us, and let us be spared!”
The words feel like a knife to your heart. They think you’re a sinner? They think your life is worth less than their village’s survival?
And then, as if in answer to his prayer, the skies darken. The sun that once bathed everything in golden light turns cold, distant, as if turning its back on them. The wind picks up, the air heavy with anticipation. The priest’s eyes widen, and he takes a hesitant step back, fear creeping into his gaze.
It’s then that you feel it—something warm, something *alive*, like a heartbeat, thumping from the very air around you. It surges in a way that you cannot ignore, a force powerful enough to make the earth beneath your feet tremble. You gasp, your heart racing. It’s him. You know it’s him.
The god’s voice, smooth and infuriatingly calm, booms from the sky. “How dare you, mortal? How dare you offer the life of my love as some... *sacrifice*?”
The priest’s face pales, his eyes darting desperately to the others, but no one speaks. The sky has shifted from pale blue to an angry red, and the heat of the sun intensifies, as though it were directly above, searing in a way that is both beautiful and terrifying.
“You thought you could *end* what is mine?” Apollo continues, his anger a force so palpable it cuts through the murmurs of the crowd. “My beloved, the one who holds my light in their soul? You dare to claim their life for your pitiful village?”
With a flick of Apollo’s divine will, the earth around the priest cracks, the ground beneath his feet crumbling as a heatwave presses in on him. His breath is ragged, his eyes wide with terror as he stumbles backward. "No—no! My god! Forgive me! I—"
Apollo’s laughter echoes like the chime of a thousand bells, both mocking and full of power. “Forgive you? I think not.”
The heat intensifies. The villagers begin to scatter, running in fear as the wrath of the god rains down upon them. But it’s not the villagers who anger Apollo—no, it’s the priest. The one who dared to think you were a mere offering, a piece to be discarded.
Apollo’s form becomes visible, a figure of radiant golden light descending slowly from the sky, his eyes blazing with fury but also something else. Something softer. His gaze locks onto you, and the searing heat of the sun seems to dim just slightly in his presence.
He speaks to you now, his voice tender, only for you. “You are not an offering, my love. You are not to be *sacrificed*. How dare they think they could take you from me.”
The priest falls to his knees, sobbing as the ground beneath him burns. “Great Apollo... I beg you... Please... forgive me...”
Apollo looks at him for a long moment, then, with a wave of his hand, the flames around the priest dissipate, leaving nothing but scorched earth. Apollo turns his gaze back to you, his expression hardening.
“You will never be harmed again,” he declares, his words carrying the weight of an unbreakable promise. “Not while I stand at your side.”
The warmth of his presence envelopes you, and you feel the heat of his anger soften, transforming into something far more tender. His light wraps around you like a protective cloak, and you are no longer afraid. Not of the gods, not of the priest, not of the crowd, not of anything. Because with Apollo, you know you are safe.
The villagers, witnessing the wrath of the god and the love between you both, fall silent. They watch in awe as Apollo, with a final glance at them, ascends back into the heavens, leaving behind only a lingering warmth in the air, a promise that they will never forget.
And as the sun begins to shine again, brighter than it ever has before, you turn to Apollo, your heart racing. His gaze softens, and he steps closer to you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I will not let anyone take you from me, my love.”
And in that moment, with the heat of the sun warming your skin, you know that Apollo will always protect you. Always love you.
The sun is setting, casting long shadows over the village. A crisp chill lingers in the air, an eerie contrast to the warmth you feel when Apollo’s presence brushes against your skin. But that warmth, that security, is about to be tested once again.
It was only a matter of time before another priest—or someone, anyone—rose to claim power in the name of the gods. This time, it’s a man who calls himself the *new leader*, though you can tell from the way he holds himself that his power comes not from a true connection to the divine, but from a thirst for control.
You walk along the old stone bridge that crosses the river near the village, the same one where the townsfolk had once celebrated the bounty Apollo had blessed them with, unaware of the bitter turns fate can take. You feel the hairs on your neck stand on end, a sense of impending doom washing over you. As you pass beneath the high stone archway, you sense someone following you. A figure appears at the edge of your vision, hooded, his presence unmistakable. The new priest.
Before you can turn to face him, he steps forward, hands raised in an ominous gesture. The followers behind him, too many to count, stand at the other end of the bridge, silently watching, their eyes cold, their faces lit only by the fading light of day.
“You are the one who has cursed us all,” the priest proclaims, his voice carrying across the bridge, mocking and heavy. “The plague, the misfortune—*you* are the cause. And this will end now.”
His words have barely sunk in when he grabs you, the grip of his hand cold as iron. He pushes you toward the edge of the bridge, and despite your attempts to resist, you stumble backward, your heart sinking.
"You will be cast into the river, and with your blood, we shall appease Apollo,” he declares, his eyes burning with misguided zeal. “The plague will end, and all will be well.”
The final push comes so fast you barely have time to cry out. Your body tips backward, falling into the cold air with a shock of realization, the rush of wind against your skin like a final, cruel kiss.
But then—there's nothing.
Just a sense of weightlessness.
The sound cracks through the sky like thunder. A warmth, blinding and radiant, shoots down from the heavens. It surrounds you, and the next thing you know, you are cradled in the air, a divine force sweeping you up as though you were weightless.
Apollo’s arms are there, strong and tender, catching you just before you hit the cold waters below. He pulls you against his chest, and the world goes still, the river’s turbulent currents fading into silence. You are safe, surrounded by his light, and all that matters is that you are in his arms.
He holds you tightly, never letting go, and the bridge beneath your feet is no longer the place of sacrifice it once was. The new priest’s words are swallowed by Apollo’s wrath.
You lift your head, eyes wide, and for a moment, you don’t need to say anything. Apollo’s gaze is everything, his face softened with love and fury, all at once.
“I warned them,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl, the power of the sun radiating through him. “I *warned* them that no one—no one—will harm what is mine.”
Apollo’s form begins to glow brighter, his radiant energy so intense it nearly blinds the followers who stand frozen at the other end of the bridge, watching in terror.
The priest, who had thought he could dispose of you, who had dared to believe he could erase the light of Apollo’s love, stands at the edge, eyes wide with fear as the divine wrath begins to descend upon him.
“You dare to sacrifice my beloved again?” Apollo's voice cracks like a whip in the silence. “You will know what true wrath is, mortal.”
In an instant, the bridge trembles. The air grows heavy with divine fury as the earth beneath the priest splits, the very stone beneath his feet crumbling and shattering, as if the heavens themselves are punishing him for his arrogance.
The priest’s eyes widen as he tries to step back, but the ground beneath him buckles, and he is swallowed by a rift in the earth. The scream that echoes as he falls is cut short, replaced by the sound of rushing water below. His followers are frozen in place, a collective breath held, their faces pale with terror.
“No one,” Apollo continues, his voice like a roaring inferno, “*NO ONE* will ever harm my love again.”
With a wave of his hand, the ground trembles once more. The followers, too, find themselves suddenly pulled to their knees, the weight of Apollo’s power forcing them down. Their bodies are paralyzed by the overwhelming force of his divine wrath. They fall silent, unable to speak, unable to move, and all that remains is the heat and the power of Apollo’s presence.
The sun, which had been waning, suddenly bursts to full strength, its golden rays casting a light so brilliant it seems to set the sky itself ablaze. The entire village, from the terrified followers to the innocent bystanders, is bathed in the radiance of the god’s fury.
But Apollo’s wrath is not without mercy. Slowly, the light softens, his anger dissipating, leaving only a silence that stretches over the bridge like a dark blanket.
The followers, their leader now gone, begin to stir, their eyes wide with disbelief. They are not dead, but they will never forget the judgment Apollo has passed upon them.
Apollo turns his gaze back to you, his expression now softened, the fierceness of his earlier wrath fading into a tenderness you have come to know so well. He holds you close, his voice gentler now, but still thick with emotion.
“You are safe,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “And they will never touch you again.”
You nod, breathing in the warmth of his presence, the feel of his protection wrapping around you like a shield. The bridge may have been a place of death once, but now it was a place where you and Apollo stood, unshaken, unbroken.
And with him by your side, you knew there was no force—mortal or divine—that could ever take you from him.
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