CHAPTER 56: BEYOND THE WALLS

The tunnel narrowed to a cruel joke of a passage, forcing Apollo deeper into the rancid water until it lapped at his chin.

The stench invaded his nostrils, rotting vegetation and worse things, the accumulated filth of a city that preferred its waste forgotten. Each forward movement required a full-body contortion, shoulders scraping against slimy stone as he inched through the constricting darkness.

’Just a little further,’ he told himself, though his body screamed otherwise. The divine light he’d forced down earlier now pressed outward like a living thing, seeking escape.

It burned beneath his skin, molten gold trying to reclaim its rightful place in the world. Apollo clamped down harder, jaw clenched so tight his teeth might crack. Each second of containment sent fresh waves of agony through his veins, acid eating him from within.

Behind him, water splashed as the others struggled through the narrowing passage. Nik’s breathing had grown rapid and shallow, edging toward panic.

"Something—something just—" Nik’s voice rose sharply, followed by a strangled yelp. "It touched my face! Gods, something furry touched my face!"

A frantic splashing followed, then Lyra’s harsh whisper: "Stop thrashing! It’s just rats. They’re more afraid of you than—"

"Don’t," Nik hissed. "Don’t you dare finish that sentence with ’than you are of them.’ I’m exactly the right amount of afraid!"

Apollo might have smiled in different circumstances. Instead, he focused on the next excruciating movement forward, the next breath of foul air.

The gold in his veins surged again, responding to his distress with ancient instinct, protect, illuminate, burn away the darkness. He forced it deeper, grinding his teeth against the pain. If it flared now, in this tight space, with the others so close behind...

Boots thundered on the stones above, the vibrations traveling through the tunnel walls. Voices filtered down through cracks in the ancient masonry, sharp, urgent commands cutting through the splash of their passage.

"Southeast quadrant, sweep it again!"

"The priest says they’re still within the walls. The Eye doesn’t lie."

"Check the drainage systems. All of them."

Apollo froze, the others instantly stilling behind him. Through a hairline fracture in the tunnel ceiling, a blue glow seeped in, the unmistakable color of the detection lanterns.

The light swept across the stone inches from his face, searching, hungry. He held his breath, forcing the gold so deep inside himself that he felt hollow, carved out.

The light paused, hovering, then moved on.

"Nothing here," a voice called, frustration evident. "Moving to section four."

The footsteps receded, but no one moved. The tension held them like insects in amber, waiting, listening for any sign they’d been discovered.

"Well, congratulations," the relic’s voice cut through the silence, loud enough for all to hear despite emanating from Apollo’s submerged pack. "You’ve officially won the city’s annual rat race. First prize: typhoid fever. Or perhaps cholera. The jury’s still deliberating."

"Shut up," Renna hissed from somewhere in the line. "Or I swear I’ll find a way to melt you down and make you into fishing weights."

The relic’s laughter echoed in the confined space, a sound like metal grinding against stone. "Delightful as always, spear-maiden. Your wit is almost as sharp as your weapon. Almost."

Apollo said nothing, conserving his energy for the battle raging inside him. The gold pressed against its constraints, seeking any weakness in his control. Each pulse sent fresh pain radiating outward. He forced himself to move again, one agonizing inch at a time.

"Wait," Cale’s quiet voice drifted from ahead. Apollo hadn’t even realized the man had moved past him in the darkness. "I see moonlight. Tunnel outlet ahead."

Hope surged, nearly as painful as the trapped divinity. Apollo pushed forward with renewed purpose, following the barely perceptible silhouette of Cale’s form.

The tunnel widened slightly, enough that he could lift his head above the water, but then he saw the problem, the outlet was half-collapsed, a jumble of stone and debris blocking their escape.

Water rose steadily around their legs, backing up behind the blockage. Cale was already at work, trying to shift the smaller pieces, but the larger stones remained immovable.

"We need to clear it," Lyra said, voice tight with urgency as she squeezed past Apollo to help. "The water’s rising too fast."

Thorin pushed forward, his broad shoulders scraping painfully against the tunnel walls. "Let me," he growled, positioning himself before the largest of the blocking stones. With a grunt that seemed torn from the depths of his being, he heaved against it, muscles straining beneath his soaked clothing.

The stone shifted slightly, then settled back. Water now reached their waists, cold and insistent.

Lyra braced herself against the tunnel wall, providing counter-pressure as Thorin prepared for another attempt. "Together," she said, nodding to Cale, who positioned himself on Thorin’s other side.

Apollo watched, the rising water now reaching his chest. The gold in his veins pulsed in time with his racing heart, demanding release. He could help, just a touch of divine strength, just enough to move the stone. No one would notice in the darkness, in the chaos.

He edged forward, placing his hand beside Thorin’s on the largest boulder. As the dwarf counted down for another push, Apollo let the tiniest thread of gold flow into his fingertips. Not enough to glow, not enough to be seen, just enough to add his strength to the effort.

"Now!" Thorin bellowed.

They pushed as one, shoulders straining, feet slipping on the slimy tunnel floor. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, with a grinding sound that vibrated through Apollo’s bones, the stone shifted. Moved. Rolled aside.

"Still pretending to be ordinary, little sun?" the relic whispered, its voice pitched for Apollo’s ears alone. "How long can you keep up the charade?"

Apollo had no time to respond. Water, freed from its containment, surged forward with unexpected force. It swept them along, tumbling through the newly cleared opening and out into the night air.

They spilled into a shallow marsh beyond the city wall, a tangled mass of limbs and curses and gasping breaths.

The sudden silence was shocking after the confined echo of the tunnel. Apollo found himself sprawled in reed-choked water, the night sky spinning overhead, stars impossibly bright after so long in darkness. His lungs burned as he gulped clean air, each breath a reminder that he’d survived, they’d all survived.

Around him, the others struggled to their feet, coughing and spitting out the foul water. They were covered in slime and filth, clothes plastered to their bodies, hair hanging in sodden clumps. In any other circumstance, it might have been comical.

Behind them, the city blazed with activity. Horns sounded from the battlements, their urgent notes carrying clear across the marsh. Bells rang from a dozen towers, calling guards to their posts. Torches flickered along the top of the wall, moving in organized patterns as search parties coordinated their efforts.

From their vantage in the reeds, the wall loomed impossibly high, a barrier between them and the danger they’d barely escaped. No one had noticed their emergence into the marsh, not yet. The search remained focused within the city, the guards certain their quarry couldn’t have escaped.

Apollo felt a flicker of relief, quickly smothered by the tension that radiated from his companions. They had escaped the immediate danger, but something had broken between them, trust, perhaps, or the illusion of understanding.

Thorin spat a mouthful of swamp water onto the muddy ground, his expression darkening as he turned to Apollo. "Unnatural tricks," he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "First the light show at the inn, then the stone moves too easily. What are you not telling us?"

Apollo opened his mouth, but Nik cut in before he could respond, words tumbling out in nervous succession.

"What did you do back there? In the inn, I mean. And just now? Was that magic? Real magic? Not the fire-priest kind, but something else? Something bigger? How did you learn it? Can you teach—"

"Nik," Lyra’s voice sliced through his questions. She hadn’t spoken directly to Apollo, hadn’t even looked at him since they’d emerged from the tunnel. Now she did, her green eyes hard and evaluating in the moonlight, measuring him as one might measure a weapon, for utility, for danger, for whether it was still safe to keep close at hand.

"We need to keep moving," Renna said, wringing water from her hair with efficient twists. "Put distance between us and the city before they widen their search." Her voice softened fractionally as she glanced at Apollo. "We’re not dead, thanks to him. Whatever else he is or isn’t, that counts for something."

The defense was practical, not emotional. Apollo heard the calculation beneath it, he was useful, therefore worth keeping, at least for now. The trust that had begun to form between them had evaporated like morning mist.

The relic chose this moment to laugh, the sound startlingly loud in the quiet marsh. "Oh, this is delicious," it said, voice dripping with amusement. "Look how quickly the so-called heroes turn on one another when power enters the equation. First sign of the extraordinary, and out come the knives, metaphorical for now, but how long until they’re real?"

Apollo said nothing. He stood slightly apart from the others, the night wind cold on his damp skin, carrying the scent of mud and distant rain. The gold in his veins had quieted to a dull throb, no longer fighting for release but waiting, patient as only immortal things could be.

He had revealed too much and not enough. The questions would come later, he knew, when they had found safety, when the immediate danger had passed. Questions he couldn’t answer truthfully without revealing everything.

The marsh stretched before them, a dark expanse leading away from the city and its searching guards. Apollo took a step forward, then another, moving deeper into the wilderness. After a moment’s hesitation, he heard the others follow, their footsteps squelching in the soft ground.

The rift between them widened with each step, invisible but undeniable. Apollo kept his gaze fixed ahead, ignoring the weight of their stares on his back and the cold certainty that nothing would be the same again.