The Nameless Heir

"How do you want to do this?" Kael asked. His voice was steady, almost bored, eyes locked on Sole. "Over coffee?" He let it hang, then added, "Or we can just hug it out."

Sole's stare didn't shift. His jaw moved once, a muscle tightening under the skin. "Stop yapping and fight."

His gaze lingered a second longer before the corner of his mouth twitched upward — not enough to be a smile, more like the ghost of one that had already died. The noise around them dimmed, not because it stopped, but because it didn't matter.

They stood in the center of the training ground, the crowd pushed back just far enough to give them space. Faces lined the edge. Sole's family was there. Liz sat beside her parents, spine straight, eyes fixed on him with that look — disappointment wrapped in silence. She'd already decided this was his fault.

Alice sat in her lap, legs kicking lightly as she cheered, an ice cone in her small hand. He didn't know where she'd found it. He didn't ask.

He rolled his shoulders loose, shifting his weight as if settling into something familiar. The air felt tight. It wasn't choking him — it was waiting. Sole hadn't moved, but Kael could feel it, that first step already coiled behind the man's stillness, pressing against the second like it wanted out.

"Ready."

Sole materialized a bow in his hands.

"That's a nice-looking bow," Kael said, eyes still on Sole.

He never got the rest out. A sharp hiss tore past his ear. He felt the air split beside him, sharp enough to sting.

"Oh… fast."

Sole didn't slow. Another arrow was already in the air, then another — a relentless stream. The hiss of each shot blurred together, forcing Kael to shift in quick, precise movements. A lean of the shoulder. A pivot on the heel. Each step kept him just outside the path of the arrows, his eyes tracking the smallest flicks of Sole's hands.

Sole moved with the rhythm of someone who'd done this a thousand times — feet gliding, bowstring snapping back without wasted motion. The distance between them closed in heartbeat intervals.

A sidestep. A dash. Kael was on him now, close enough that the bowstring's draw would be awkward.

Sole didn't hesitate. He snapped an arrow in half mid-draw — and the world went white.

A blinding yellow light exploded in Kael's vision, burning away every shape, every shadow. Nothing to see. Only the heat of it pressing against his face.

"I'm here," Sole's voice came, low and close.

Then it came again, but from another direction entirely.

"I'm here."

Kael didn't answer. His head tilted slightly, listening — not for the words, but for the weight of Sole's steps over dirt. He let his body turn in small, deliberate shifts, lining his stance with the sound.

An arrow tore past his ribs. Another grazed his sleeve, leaving the faintest pull of fabric. His boots slid across the dirt, every move a response to the faint crunch of Sole's movement.

Then the noise broke.

The crowd's noise swelled, drowning the scrape of Sole's boots.

Kael pulled the shadows in until they clung to him, not smooth like armor, but rough and close — the way a storm feels when it presses against your skin.

The light didn't hit all at once. It crept in, bleeding through the dark, each inch heavier than the last. It clung to the arrows, each impact eating into the dark until the shadows thinned and broke.

Silence.

No steps.

Only laughter — light, careless — drifting from everywhere at once.

Kael's jaw tightened. Shadows ripped outward, snapping through the air in jagged bursts, each one aimed where he thought the sound might be. They struck at empty space, hunting Sole in the fractions between heartbeats.

The haze began to thin. Shapes bled back into his sight.

When the last of the blur cleared, Sole was already there — bow drawn, arrow locked.

The string sang.

The impact slammed into Kael's face, snapping his head back. His feet left the ground. He hit hard, rolled once, dirt scraping against his arm, and stopped on his side.

Sole's shadow stretched over him. "He was all talk." The bow lifted again.

The crowd roared. But Liz didn't join them.

She set Alice down on the bench. Flames swelled in her palms, heat pouring off in steady waves. Without hesitation, she hurled both fireballs toward Kael.

He moved before they landed.

The heat skimmed past his cheek, close enough to prickle the skin. He was already low, knees bent, breath steady. An arrow jutted sideways from his mouth, the shaft biting between his teeth. He let it drop into the dirt, eyes lifting to Liz with a flat, unamused look.

"Damn, sunshine. You trying to kill me?"

The cheers cut off instantly.

Sole's face shifted — the edge of triumph gone, replaced by the tight look of a man who'd just been dragged under someone else's shadow.

"Stop messing around. We have work to finish," Liz snapped.

"Fine." Kael's eyes slid back to Sole. "Let's go."

Sole charged, his steps sharp, deliberate. "You dare make fun of me?" His voice cracked with heat as the bow whipped across in a sharp arc. The air bit at Kael's cheek, close enough to catch a faint sting.

Kael shifted back, a small, precise lean — just enough to let the swing cut through where his head had been a breath ago. His eyes stayed on Sole, unblinking.

An arrow formed in Sole's grip mid-step. He drove it toward Kael's head. Kael leaned back, the tip missing by a breath.

His counter came fast — a kick, heel slamming into Sole's gut. The sound of impact was dull, heavy. Sole's breath broke, his body folding before he was thrown back, skidding across the dirt.

"Let's stop this before you get hurt," Kael said, his voice flat, almost bored.

Sole's answer was a glare and another charge.

He stepped in, fist sinking deep into Sole's gut. The breath ripped out of him in a sharp grunt. Before he could fold, Kael's other hand came up hard, snapping his head back. Sole's feet left the ground.

Sole shot upward — but Kael was already there. His heel slammed into Sole's chest with a sharp crack, driving him down like a dropped stone and slamming him into the ground with a bone-deep thud.

Sole lay still, the wind ripped from him.

"Idiot."

He stepped over, crouched, and placed his hand against Sole's chest. Purple energy bled from his palm, sinking into Sole's chest. It wasn't gentle. It forced its way in, like roots cracking stone.

The crowd stayed still, caught somewhere between curiosity and unease.

Sole's body jerked once before breath tore back into him. His eyes snapped open, sharp and confused.

"How?" His voice was raw.

Kael reached down, offering a hand. Sole took it, pulling himself up with a grimace.

"Man, the reason I'm wanted is because I beat a god almost to death," Kael said. He let the words hang for a moment. "Then I disrespected Zeus."

Sole's eyes shifted — wariness still there, but now layered with something else. "Then… you're not different from a god," he said, almost certain.

Kael's laugh was low. His gaze slid past the crowd to the far back, finding a man who hadn't moved the entire fight. White hair streaked with deep red caught the light, his stillness carrying the weight of someone who didn't need to move to be seen.

"So, Apollo…" Kael called. "Do you consider me a god… or a mistake, like he did?"

The man rose. A warm glow rolled off him, soft yet heavy, like a chord that could both soothe and crush. Each step was deliberate, and the crowd parted without a sound. Some bowed their heads, not out of choice, but because it felt inevitable.

"When did you figure it out?" Apollo asked, voice smooth, unhurried. His fingers brushed the strings of his lyre, a single note drifting in the air.

From the shadows, two thrones rose.

Kael gestured toward one. "Sit. We'll speak properly."

They sat. The crowd stayed still.

"The moment I walked into the palace," Kael said. "Your voice was hidden among the rest, but it was too… soothing. Couldn't mistake it. It stood out like a song in a room full of noise."

Apollo studied him. "And knowing a god was there, watching you… you didn't feel fear?"

Kael leaned back, cheek resting against his fist, his voice flat.

"Why would I feel fear?" The question landed without heat, as if the answer was already obvious.

"Fear's for the weak." The words came slower this time, measured — like a simple truth that didn't need dressing up.

"If you're strong, it's nothing." His eyes didn't move, but the faint pull at one corner of his mouth carried more challenge than a raised blade.

"And you didn't attack me — not because you're fearless, but because you know strength when you see it." The tone shifted, almost lazy, yet it pressed just enough to cut.

He let the silence hang before adding, low and certain, "Am I right?"

Apollo's tune shifted, soft but edged. "Confidence marks a god," he said. "But even gods drown when they mistake the sea for their own reflection."

"If the sea tries to take me," Kael said, voice low, "it will learn to bow before I sink. Now… why are you here?"

"Zeus has invited you again to join the thrones of Olympus."

Kael's smirk flattened. "My answer hasn't changed. Not because I scorn your offer, but because I answer only to myself. I do not bend for gods, nor kneel for kings. If I set foot in Olympus, it will not be as a guest or servant — it will be as the one who stands above its thrones. That is not rebellion. That is simply the order of things."

He straightened. "So tell Zeus I hope we can keep the peace. I do not want Olympus as my enemy. Not because I would lose… but because it would end the era of Olympus."

Apollo stopped his playing with a soft press of his hand against the strings. "Thank you for your time, God of the Underworld."

His gaze shifted to Alice. "Oh… interesting."

Kael leaned back. "I wouldn't go near that child if I were you."

"Oh… what do we have here? Blood of Zeus? Someone we didn't know about?" Apollo's voice curled upward, like a refrain meant to linger. "You've been hiding her."

The crowd stirred.

Apollo stepped toward Alice. "Hello, child."

"Idiot," Kael muttered.

The light dimmed.

Pride rose from Alice's shadow like a living wall, blotting out Apollo's glow. The air tightened, warmth shrinking under something older and heavier.

"If your hand so much as reaches for her," Pride said, voice level, each word deliberate, "the sun will set… and it will not rise again."

Apollo's fingers hovered over the strings, ready to strike a sharp chord — but didn't. His eyes narrowed. The crowd leaned back, holding their breath.

He stepped away. "You are truly a scary one, cousin."

Kael said nothing. Only smiled.

Apollo turned, rising toward the sun. Light and faint music followed in his wake.