CHAPTER 57: THROUGH THE MARSH

Black water rose to Apollo’s knees as he pushed through the tangled reeds, each step releasing bubbles of fetid gas that burst around him with soft, wet pops. The city wall still loomed behind them, its torches flickering like angry eyes watching their retreat.

’They hate me now,’ Apollo thought, feeling the weight of the others’ stares on his back. ’Or worse, they fear me.’

The marsh stretched before them in endless darkness, broken only by the occasional glimmer of moonlight on stagnant pools.

The sounds of pursuit had faded to distant echoes, horns calling to each other across the city battlements, bells marking the progress of search parties. Not gone, but no longer immediate.

"Keep moving," Lyra called from somewhere to his right, her voice tight with barely controlled tension. "They’ll widen the search by dawn."

Apollo said nothing, conserving his strength. The gold in his veins had gone dormant again, retreating to a dull ache that throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Using even that small amount of power in the tunnel had cost him more than the others could understand.

Thorin splashed noisily behind him, muttering curses that grew more elaborate with each step. "Unnatural," the dwarf grumbled, loud enough to carry. "Tricks and lies since the beginning. Light pouring from his hands like he’s some kind of—"

"We’re alive, aren’t we?" Renna cut in, her spear serving as a makeshift walking stick in the treacherous mud. "Save the complaints for when we’re safe."

"Safe?" Thorin’s laugh held no humor. "With him? Who knows what else he’s hiding? I’ll be watching you," he added, raising his voice to ensure Apollo heard. "Day and night. No more surprises."

A chorus of insects rose around them, whining in Apollo’s ears, their tiny bodies illuminated occasionally by flashes of phosphorescence in the murky water.

Something slithered past his ankle, snake or eel, impossible to tell in the darkness. The marsh was alive in ways the city had never been, teeming with creatures that had never known walls or rules.

Nik skittered sideways, nearly falling as his foot sank unexpectedly into deeper mud. "Did you see that?" he gasped, pointing at ripples spreading across a nearby pool. "Something’s in there. Something big."

"Probably just a fish," Cale said, his calm voice a counterpoint to Nik’s rising panic.

"Just a fish? Just a fish?" Nik’s words tumbled over each other, gaining speed as his anxiety mounted. "Do you know how many parasites live in swamp water? Brain-eating amoebas. Flesh-dissolving bacteria. Things that crawl inside you while you sleep and—"

"Nik," Lyra’s voice cracked like a whip. "Focus."

Nik fell silent for a moment, then started again, softer but no less frantic. "But did you see what he did? The light? It came right out of his skin, like he was burning from the inside, but not burning, just... glowing. Golden. Like a—"

"Like a what?" Apollo asked, the words escaping before he could stop them. He turned, facing Nik fully for the first time since their escape.

Nik swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing visibly even in the dim light. "Like a... I don’t know. Nothing I’ve ever seen before." His eyes were wide, reflecting the distant torchlight from the city walls. "What are you?"

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with implications. Apollo felt the others waiting for his answer, their movements slowing, bodies tensing.

"I’m the same person I was yesterday," he said finally, the half-truth bitter on his tongue. "The one who helped you escape."

"With ’unnatural tricks,’" Thorin interjected, the last words dripping with suspicion.

"We need to keep moving," Lyra said, deliberately stepping between them. Her green eyes caught the moonlight as she glanced at Apollo, her expression unreadable. "Whatever this is, we deal with it when we’re not being hunted."

They pressed on, the city falling farther behind with each labored step. The reeds grew thicker, forcing them to push through walls of vegetation that scraped against exposed skin and caught in hair and clothing. Mud sucked greedily at their boots, each step requiring conscious effort to avoid being trapped.

"Well, well," the relic’s voice suddenly cut through the chorus of insects and splashing water. "The mighty heroes, reduced to wading through sewage. I must say, you all smell significantly worse than when we started. A remarkable achievement."

No one responded, though Apollo heard Renna’s sharp intake of breath and Thorin’s muffled curse.

"Silent treatment? How mature," the relic continued, its voice emanating from Apollo’s pack with unnerving clarity. "Though I suppose I’d be sulking too if I’d just discovered one of my companions was something other than human. Oh wait...did I say that out loud?"

Apollo felt the others’ stares intensify, burning into his back like physical wounds. The relic’s words hung in the air, too specific to dismiss, too vague to confirm outright.

"Ignore it," he said, not turning to face them. "It wants discord. Division."

"At least he’s right about that," Renna muttered, but her voice lacked conviction.

They trudged onward in strained silence, broken only by the constant symphony of marsh sounds...water bubbling, insects humming, the occasional splash as something unseen moved through the deeper pools. The city’s torches had dwindled to pinpricks of light behind them, no longer illuminating their path.

After what felt like hours, Cale raised a hand, signaling a halt. "There," he said, pointing to a slight rise in the otherwise flat landscape. "Ground’s higher. Drier."

The small island...it barely deserved the name, rose perhaps two feet above the surrounding marsh, a patch of relatively solid earth where the reeds thinned out enough to allow movement. It wasn’t much, but after hours of wading through water and mud, it seemed like sanctuary.

They climbed onto it gratefully, collapsing in various states of exhaustion. Apollo found a spot slightly apart from the others, dropping his pack beside him with a wet thud. His muscles screamed with fatigue, the combination of physical exertion and magical depletion leaving him hollow.

No one spoke at first. They simply sat, breathing heavily, wringing water from clothing and emptying boots of accumulated muck. The silence grew, stretching between them like a physical thing, taut with unasked questions.

Thorin broke it first, his voice low but carrying clearly in the still air. "So. The light. The strength. The stone that moved too easily." His eyes never left Apollo’s face, searching for answers in his expression. "What are you?"

Apollo met his gaze steadily, though it cost him effort. "Someone who helped you escape. Someone who’s traveled with you for weeks. That hasn’t changed."

"Everything’s changed," Thorin countered, fingers tightening around his axe handle. "You’ve been lying since the beginning."

"Not lying," Apollo corrected. "Omitting."

"Same difference," Thorin spat.

Nik leaned forward, his earlier fear temporarily overcome by curiosity. "But the magic, it wasn’t like the priest’s fire. It was different. Older somehow. More... real." His eyes gleamed with fascination. "Is it because of your Aether core? Is it stronger than you said? Are you actually Tier 5? Or higher?"

Before Apollo could answer, Lyra cut in, her voice sharp as a blade. "It doesn’t matter what he is. What matters is whether he’s a danger to us."

The words struck Apollo like a physical blow. He’d known their trust was fragile, but to hear it stated so baldly, that he was now categorized as a potential threat rather than an ally, sent a wave of isolation through him colder than the marsh water.

"I’m not," he said simply, unable to offer more without revealing everything.

"The golden man doth protest too much," the relic chimed in, its voice dripping with malicious glee. "But then, what would a fallen star know about danger? About consequence? Gods play such different games than mortals."

Apollo felt the blood drain from his face. The relic had gone too far this time, too specific, too close to truths he couldn’t afford to have exposed.

"Shut up," Renna snapped, glaring at Apollo’s pack. "All of you. There are still patrols out there. Or have you forgotten we’re being hunted?"

Her words brought a momentary unity, a shared recognition of immediate danger that transcended their internal conflicts. Heads turned toward the distant city wall, where torches still moved in organized patterns.

"We rest," Lyra decided, assuming command with practiced ease. "One hour, no more. Then we move deeper into the marsh before dawn."

No one argued. They settled into an uneasy silence, each lost in private thoughts. Apollo felt the distance between himself and the others as a physical ache, more painful than his exhausted muscles or the gold still throbbing faintly beneath his skin.

The marsh stretched endlessly before them, wild and unknowable. The city loomed behind, a reminder of dangers narrowly escaped. But the real threat, Apollo realized, might be the fracturing trust within their small group. Whatever hunted them from the city was less dangerous than the suspicion now growing between companions.

’They’ll never understand what I was,’ he thought, gazing up at the stars that seemed suddenly cold and distant. ’Only what I am now, something they can’t categorize, can’t trust.’

The silence deepened as they rested, each lost in private calculations of risk and benefit, of trust and survival. The wilderness around them pulsed with life, hostile, indifferent, but somehow less threatening than the questions hanging in the air between them.