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I point to the crowds in the tunnels. “These tunnels lead to a set of caverns. Sit there until the guard comes to you and let you know the threat has passed.” The crowd eyes me skeptically while rushing inside. “You,” I turn to a guard. “Stand at the corner. Direct civilians inside.”
The guard nods and darts to the entrance of the side street. Bobbing and weaving through the crowd of people funneling down into the caverns.
“And you, stand guard her. Direct people downstairs.
Darting back out to the street, I sprint past the begrudging looking guard.
Directing anyone that I see, toward the caverns.
Returning closer and closer to the chaos of battle.
The loud clanging of metal cracks against metal. Each stroke is like thunder crashing overhead. Guards locked in combat with guards. But the two making the loudest ruckus is Apollo and another shadowy figure. Squinting my eyes, I memorize the shape of his opponent.
A middle aged god with a large barrel chest is locked in close combat with Apollo. Long gray hair tied back and flowing past his shoulders. A black but actively graying beard matches his hair.
But those eyes.
Eyes that I know.
A face that I know.
Uncle Ov’s vivid blue eyes shoot daggers at his nephew like lightning bolts.
Confusion fills my being.
Is Apollo fighting his Uncle?
I blink several times.
Ov? I grit my teeth. Thinking back to my first encounters and how uneasy I felt.
His pervasive questions.
His pressure.
His entire demeanor.
Everything only thinly veiled by the hint of a mask.
Ov stands tall, sword and shield in hand. Fully plated armor glinting in the light. Was Ov the shadowy figure at the border that’s been reported all this time?
Locked in tight combat with Apollo. They strike at each other with trained strokes. Each with years of practice.
Entering earshot, I see how the guards keep a wide berth from the two warring gods. Probably for the best. Accidental magic ripples through the air with each strike. Light tingles of electricity or flames or other elements spark outwards from each contact.
“You won’t have my throne!” Apollo grunts between his strikes.
Ov looks on lazily, like he is hardly paying attention to something as trivial as a sword fight with another god. “Ah but this isn’t your kingdom, nor has it ever been,” states Ov as he holds his ground. Blocking Apollo’s blow with ease.
The clanging of iron on iron rings like tolling bells.
Pulling away, Apollo braces for Ov’s counter act, instead, Ov stands straight. A shimmer flows around him. The fluttering of colors reminds me of a midday rain shower.
Ov’s appearance melts away and a very different god stands in his place, one I recognize from nearly a year ago.
A god that I'll never be able to forget, no matter how much I try.
The pure gray hair is wavy, his beard trimmed neatly. But his eyes are the same. Same as the garden. The same eyes as the god from the Veil. My entire body tenses up.
