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Chapter 4 Apollo ❝A God's Lament❞
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APOLLO found himself dreaming of what he did every day; driving his sun chariot across the sky. The top was down in Maserati mode and the music choice was his go-to jam, Alabama Shakes' "Rise to the Sun." His eyes closed, enjoying the song that was blasting from the radio at top volume, either oblivious to the immediate loud honks that were sent his way, or uncaring.
He was just about to turn the chariot into a Google self-driving car, when an abrupt voice spoke from the back. "You've got to hurry, man."
Apollo almost jumped out of the sun.
A woman dressed like a Libyan queen of old had appeared in his passenger seat. Her gown swirled with red, black, and gold floral designs. Her long dark hair was crowned with a tiara that looked like a curved miniature ladder—two gold rials lined with rings of silver. Her face was mature but stately, the way a benevolent queen should look.
The first thought that crossed Apollo's mind was that this person was definitely not Hera. His step-mother had never smiled at him in his whole long immortal life. He didn't even think it was possible to remove that horrible scowl from her face.
But still, she was oddly familiar. So familiar it itched at his brain. Despite the elder-hippie vibe she was giving off, she was beautiful, so obviously she must've been related to him. Duh.
"Who are you?" Apollo finally asked, struggling to calm his racing heart after the near heart attack she gave him. Ah, stupid mortals. Always weak and prone to heart attacks. How do you live with yourselves, always knowing you're one jump scare away from certain death? The former immortal couldn't comprehend it.
"Wait..." Apollo said, before the woman could respond. He could faintly remember how he passed out; the voice in the woods had driven him insane. "You were the one talking...Were you speaking a prophecy?"
The woman grabbed ahold of his wrist. "Find the gates. You've gotta find them first, you dig?"
