CHAPTER 54: THE MIDNIGHT INTRUDER

Apollo woke to the sound of splintering wood as night’s silence shattered into chaos. The door to their rented room burst inward with a flare of crimson fire that painted the walls in bloody light. He jerked upright, sleep evaporating in an instant as a hooded figure stepped through the ruined doorframe.

The intruder’s hands wove complex patterns in the air, each gesture trailing ribbons of flame. Words spilled from beneath the hood, guttural, harsh syllables that made the floorboards beneath Apollo’s bed begin to hiss and smoke.

"What in all hells—" Thorin’s voice cut through the darkness, followed by a stream of dwarven curses as he fumbled for his axe.

Across the room, Nik tumbled from his bed in a tangle of blankets, narrowly avoiding a lick of flame that scorched the wall where his head had been moments before.

Lyra was already on her feet, knife gleaming in her hand, her green eyes reflecting the intruder’s fire. Cale moved with surprising speed for his size, positioning himself in front of Renna, one arm extended protectively.

The magician’s fire cast his face in fractured glimpses, pale skin, a thin mouth twisted in contempt, eyes that reflected the flames with unnatural intensity. He flung another ball of crackling energy into the center of the room, where it exploded in a shower of sparks that ignited the bedding and set the curtains ablaze.

"Outsiders should not meddle in holy rites," the intruder sneered, his voice carrying the same rhythmic cadence Apollo had heard in the underground chamber. "The city has eyes. The depths have watchers."

Lyra lunged forward, knife aimed at the man’s throat, but hit an invisible barrier that flared red at her touch. She stumbled back, cursing as angry welts rose on her exposed skin.

Thorin grabbed a wooden stool and hurled it with all his considerable strength. The furniture splintered against the same barrier, fragments raining down uselessly.

The magician laughed, a sound like grinding glass. "Is this all? Knives and furniture?" He raised his hands again, flames dancing between his fingers. "The temple demands proper sacrifice for trespass."

Apollo felt the sluggish gold in his veins stir, responding to the threat with a warmth he hadn’t felt since before his exile.

He rose slowly from his bed, bare feet pressing against the smoldering floorboards. The sensation should have been painful, but the building heat in his blood dulled everything except the pulse of power awakening within him.

’Not yet,’ he thought, watching as the magician gathered another, larger ball of flame. ’Not here. Not in front of them.’

But the choice was made for him as the intruder hurled his attack directly at Nik, who stood frozen, eyes wide with terror.

Apollo moved without conscious thought, one hand rising in a gesture as natural as breathing. He didn’t chant like the fire priest, didn’t need the elaborate gestures the magician employed. Power simply bled from him, raw and instinctive.

The fireball struck his outstretched palm and unraveled, not extinguished but devoured, the flame separating into harmless sparks that swirled around his fingers before vanishing entirely.

Golden light pulsed beneath his skin, tracing the network of veins from his heart to his fingertips.

The magician faltered, his next incantation dying on his lips as he took in the sight before him.

Apollo felt words rise to his tongue, not the clumsy, mortal language he’d been using since his fall, but something older, purer. Words of power that had shaped stars and commanded tides.

"Let my light blind you." he intoned, his voice resonating with authority that filled the small room.

The gold in his veins flared, no longer confined beneath his skin but radiating outward in a wave of searing brilliance. The light filled the room, banishing shadows, consuming the magician’s flames as if they were nothing more than candles in a hurricane.

It struck the intruder’s barrier and shattered it, the sound like breaking glass magnified a hundredfold.

The force of it slammed the magician against the wall. He slid to the floor, blood trickling from his nose and the corners of his eyes, his arrogance replaced by naked fear.

"What—" he coughed, spitting red onto the scorched floorboards. "What are you?"

Apollo said nothing, but the gold light continued to pulse around him, casting his shadow in sharp relief against the wall, a shadow that seemed, for just a moment, to wear a crown of rays.

The magician scrambled backward, fumbling for the window. His cloak caught on the splintered sill, tearing to reveal the ceremonial robes beneath—the same style Apollo had seen in the underground temple.

"This isn’t over," the man snarled, one foot already over the ledge. "The Eye will see you. All of you." His gaze locked with Apollo’s, hatred mingling with terror. "Especially you, whatever you are."

Then he was gone, vanishing into the darkness beyond. The only evidence of his presence: scorch marks on the floor and walls, and the lingering stench of sulfur that hung in the air like a promise.

The golden light receded, drawing back into Apollo’s skin until only a faint shimmer remained beneath the surface. He lowered his hand slowly, feeling the familiar weakness return as the power ebbed. His legs trembled, threatening to give way beneath him.

The silence that followed felt absolute. Apollo turned to find five pairs of eyes fixed on him, expressions ranging from awe to fear to calculation.

Nik was the first to break the stillness. "That..." he swallowed hard, pointing a shaking finger at Apollo, "that wasn’t Tier Nine."

Thorin spat on the floor, whether to clear the taste of smoke or express his feelings, Apollo couldn’t tell. "Didn’t seem like any tier you mentioned," the dwarf muttered, his beard singed at the edges, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Lyra said nothing, but her gaze cut deeper than any blade as she studied Apollo with hard, evaluating eyes. Her knife remained in her hand, though she’d lowered it to her side.

Renna and Cale exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them that Apollo couldn’t interpret.

"We need to leave this city," Apollo said, his voice rough after the power that had flowed through it moments before. "Now."

No one moved. No one seemed capable of movement, still processing what they’d witnessed.

"Well, that secret didn’t last long," the relic’s voice broke the silence, its mocking tone echoing from Apollo’s pack. "I was taking bets with myself on how many more days you’d pretend to be just another wandering scholar. Not even one full night! Impressive, really."

Apollo closed his eyes briefly, fighting the urge to snap back at the artifact. When he opened them again, the others were still staring, their expressions now edged with something new, not just fear or awe, but hurt. Betrayal.

’They know I’ve been lying,’ he thought, the realization sinking like a stone in his stomach. ’Not everything. But enough.’

Outside, a bell began to toll, not the regular marking of hours, but an urgent, uneven clanging that spoke of alarm, of warning. The city was waking. The Eye, whatever it was, would soon be looking for them.

"Pack," Apollo said, forcing authority into his voice despite the exhaustion creeping through his limbs. "We have minutes, not hours."

This time, they moved.

The golden light faded from Apollo’s skin, leaving behind a bone-deep fatigue that made his knees threaten to buckle.

He steadied himself against the wall, feeling the rough texture of charred wood beneath his palm. The room reeked of smoke and ozone, the familiar aftermath of power hastily unleashed.

"We need to move," he repeated, his voice hoarse. "That man will return with others."

The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. Then Thorin grunted, breaking the spell as he stuffed his meager belongings into his pack with quick, efficient movements.

"Knew you were hiding something," the dwarf muttered, not meeting Apollo’s eyes. "Just didn’t think it’d be this."

Apollo ignored the accusation, focusing instead on gathering his own possessions. The relic pulsed against his hands as he lifted it, warm and somehow satisfied, as if pleased by the chaos it had witnessed.

He wrapped it quickly, shoving it deep into his pack where its mocking voice might be muffled, if not silenced completely.

Nik darted around the room, snatching up scattered items with nervous energy. "That was... you just... the light came right out of your skin!" His voice pitched higher with each word. "You said you were Nascent! That was not Nascent!"

"Not now, Nik," Lyra cut in, her tone glacial. She had already packed, her movements economical, nothing wasted. The knife remained in her hand, its edge catching the moonlight from the broken window. Her green eyes never left Apollo as she spoke. "We get clear of the city first. Then we talk."

The implied threat hung in the air between them. Apollo felt the gold in his veins retreat further, cooling beneath his skin. He’d revealed too much, too soon, and the fragile trust he’d built with these companions was fracturing before his eyes.

The bell continued its frantic pealing, joined now by others across the city. Shouts echoed from the street below as the night watch mobilized. The Eye, whatever it was, had been alerted.

Cale appeared in the doorway, having slipped out while the others argued. "Back stairs," he said, his usual economy of words unaffected by the night’s events. "Guards at the front. Five, maybe six."

Renna checked her spear, testing the peace-tie with a scowl before slicing through it with a small knife. "East gate?" she asked Cale, who shook his head.

"Too obvious. North wall has a breach. Old drainage tunnel. Tight, but passable."

Apollo slung his pack over his shoulder, wincing as the weight settled against muscles already protesting the surge of power that had coursed through them. Divine energy through mortal flesh, the combination was never comfortable, even in the small amounts he could still channel.