Dawn broke grudgingly over the campsite, pale light filtering through twisted branches to illuminate the aftermath of yesterday's violence. Apollo winced as he shifted, the wound in his side protesting the movement despite the gold in his veins working steadily through the night to mend torn flesh.

The others were already stirring, their movements stiff and cautious. No one spoke. No one needed to.

The tension hung in the air like morning mist, palpable in the way Thorin kept one hand perpetually near his axe, in the quick, sidelong glances Cale cast toward Apollo when he thought himself unobserved.

'They fear me now,' Apollo thought, watching Lyra methodically roll her bedding with movements that betrayed neither pain nor fatigue. 'Not the forest, not the bandits. Me.'

The bow thrummed against his back with renewed urgency, more insistent than it had been since he'd first claimed it. The sensation wasn't quite pain, but something adjacent to it, a pull that made standing still almost physically uncomfortable.

"We should move," he said, breaking the silence that had stretched too long. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, roughened by thirst and something else. Something that tasted like regret.

Thorin grunted acknowledgment without meeting his gaze. The dwarf's shoulders remained bunched with unspoken tension as he hefted his pack. "Which way?" he asked, the question directed at no one in particular, though they all knew only Apollo could answer.

"East," Apollo replied, the bow's guidance unwavering despite his wound, despite his companions' fractured trust. "Always east."

They formed their line with practiced efficiency, though Apollo noted how the formation had subtly shifted. Cale now positioned himself between Apollo and the others, sword within easy reach. Not a threat, not yet, but a precaution. A barrier.

The gold in his veins cooled with something close to sorrow. 'Is this what it means to be mortal?' he wondered. 'To be feared by those you would protect?'

The forest swallowed them once more as they left the relative safety of their camp, but something had changed in the twisted landscape.

The dense growth that had pressed against them for days seemed to be thinning, trees standing further apart, their gnarled trunks no longer reaching for travelers with branch-fingers.

"The light's different," Mira observed, her voice barely above a whisper. She alone seemed unchanged by yesterday's revelations, moving close to Apollo as they walked. "Clearer somehow."

She was right. Sunlight penetrated the canopy in distinct shafts rather than the diffuse, sickly glow that had illuminated their journey thus far. The forest floor, too, had changed, fewer twisted roots erupting from corrupted soil, more patches of ordinary dirt and stone.

The bow's insistence grew with each step, vibrating against Apollo's spine with almost painful intensity. 'It wants something ahead,' he realized. 'Something important. Something urgent.'

"Look at this," Cale called, halting beside a large boulder that jutted from the forest floor like a broken tooth. His fingers traced patterns on the stone's weathered surface. "These markings, they're not natural."

Apollo approached, the gold in his veins quickening as he recognized what Cale had found. Beneath centuries of weathering and moss, geometric patterns had been carved into the stone, not random scratches but deliberate design. Triangles and spirals arranged in configurations that stirred something deep in Apollo's memory.

'Greek,' he thought, fingers brushing the ancient markings. 'Old Greek. Older than mortal memory.'

"Just weathering," Thorin declared, peering at the stone with skeptical eyes. "Wind and water do strange things to rock over time."

"No," Apollo said before he could stop himself. "These are carvings. Deliberate."

Lyra studied his face with that penetrating gaze that seemed to peel back layers. "You recognize them," she said. Not a question.

Apollo hesitated, caught between truth and necessary deception. "They're similar to markings I've seen in ancient temples," he said finally. "Very old."

As they continued, more signs appeared, similar markings on trees and stones, growing clearer and more frequent with each passing mile. The forest continued to thin, giving way to what might once have been a path, though centuries of neglect had nearly erased it.

"We're following something," Renna observed, her hunter's instincts alert despite her exhaustion. "A road, maybe. Or a trail."

The bow's vibration intensified to a constant, demanding hum against Apollo's back. Whatever waited ahead, they were getting closer. The gold in his veins responded in kind, warming beneath his skin despite the cool morning air.

They crested a gentle rise, and Apollo stopped so abruptly that Nik nearly collided with him. Before them lay a clearing unlike any they'd encountered in the twisted forest. Sunlight poured unobstructed through the canopy, illuminating fallen columns and broken stone partly reclaimed by the earth.

"Ruins," Cale breathed, stepping forward with reverent caution. "Ancient ones."

The group spread out among the fallen stones, their earlier wariness momentarily forgotten in the face of this unexpected discovery. Apollo moved forward as if in a dream, the bow a counterpoint of warmth against his back as the gold in his veins sang in recognition.

He knew this place. Or rather, he knew what it had been.

Lyra knelt beside a column half-buried in earth and vines. With careful fingers, she brushed away moss to reveal carvings that had somehow withstood the centuries, waves etched in flowing lines, dolphins leaping between them, and in the center, a symbol that made Apollo's breath catch in his throat.

A trident.

"Look at this," she called, her voice carrying an edge of wonder. "Some kind of sea imagery. And this symbol in the center, it almost looks like a three-pronged spear."

The others gathered around, examining the revealed carving with curious eyes. Thorin ran his thick fingers along the trident's outline, his expression thoughtful.

"Some old god of the sea, perhaps," he suggested. "Humans worshipped all manner of strange deities before the Enlightenment."

Apollo kept his face carefully neutral as the gold in his veins surged with recognition. 'Poseidon,' he thought, something like nostalgia twisting in his chest. 'My uncle. His temple stood here once.'

"These are everywhere," Nik called, limping between fallen stones. "Waves and fish and that three-pronged thing. Must have been quite the shrine back in the day."

Apollo moved among the ruins with growing certainty, the bow guiding him toward the clearing's center where a massive tree stood. Unlike the twisted growth that dominated the forest, this oak grew straight and true, its trunk wider than three men could encircle, its branches spreading in a canopy that dappled the ground with gentle shadows.

At its base, ancient roots curled into the earth like protective fingers, cradling something that made the gold in Apollo's veins sing with recognition.

A spring.

Water bubbled from between the roots, impossibly clear and still despite its constant movement. Unlike the corrupted stream they'd encountered days before, this water radiated no wrongness, no taint of golden corruption. Instead, it glowed with faint, bluish light that pulsed in rhythm with the bow against Apollo's spine.

"Water," Mira whispered, stepping forward with undisguised longing. Their supplies had dwindled dangerously over the past days.

"Wait," Apollo cautioned, though the gold in his veins registered no danger. "Let me check if it's safe."

He approached the spring cautiously, kneeling beside the crystalline pool. The water seemed to hum as he drew near, a sound felt rather than heard, vibrating through bone and blood. He dipped his fingers into the cool liquid, half expecting it to burn or freeze or transform at his touch.

Instead, it simply parted around his skin, pure and clean as the mountain springs of his divine youth. The gold in his veins responded with warmth rather than warning, recognizing the water's ancient power.

"It's safe," he announced, bringing a handful to his lips. The water tasted of minerals and something else, something old and deep that spoke of Poseidon's domain.

The others approached with varying degrees of caution. Mira knelt beside Apollo, her face reflected in perfect detail on the water's mirror surface as she drank deeply. Thorin hung back, suspicion evident in his stance.

"I don't trust water that glows," the dwarf muttered, though his cracked lips betrayed his thirst.

"It feels... strange," Lyra said, her fingers hovering just above the surface. "Not wrong, but... alive somehow."

"It's beautiful," Mira countered, refilling her waterskin with reverent care.

Apollo watched as Cale approached the spring last, his movements hesitant in a way they hadn't been before. The young man knelt at the water's edge, opposite Apollo, his reflection sharp against the glowing surface.

The moment Cale's knees touched the ground, the spring's gentle movement stilled completely. The water flattened to a perfect mirror, reflecting his face with unnatural clarity.

Cale's breath caught, a small sound of surprise escaping his lips as he leaned forward. The water remained perfectly still, responding to his presence in a way it hadn't for the others. As he extended a tentative hand toward the surface, the faint glow intensified, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat rather than the spring's natural flow.

The gold in Apollo's veins surged in sudden recognition, humming with a frequency that matched the water's response to Cale. 'Poseidon's blood,' he realized, the truth breaking over him like a wave. 'The boy carries Poseidon's bloodline.'

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