The Golden Fool

Apollo woke to the taste of ash in his mouth and the absence of birdsong in his ears.

The fire had died sometime in the night, leaving nothing but a circle of cold cinders where warmth had been. He pushed himself upright, joints protesting after a night on the hard ground, and looked around at the sleeping forms of his companions. The gold in his veins felt sluggish, reluctant to warm with the dawn as it usually did.

Something was wrong.

He tilted his head, listening for the familiar sounds of morning, rustling leaves, chirping insects, the distant calls of birds greeting the sun. Nothing. The silence pressed against his ears like a physical weight, broken only by the soft breathing of the others as they began to stir.

'This isn't natural,' he thought, reaching instinctively for the bow that lay beside him. The weapon's touch was reassuring, its wood warm beneath his fingers despite the morning chill. 'Even after we escaped that place, something's still not right.'

Thorin sat up with a grunt, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Morning," he muttered, then paused, his thick brows drawing together as he too noticed the unnatural quiet. "Still no birds."

"Not even insects," Apollo agreed, keeping his voice low. "It's been like this since we emerged."

Renna was already up, methodically repacking her bedroll with movements that betrayed her exhaustion. "We need to find water today," she said, not looking up from her task. "We're down to the last few drops."

One by one, the others woke, Lyra rising silently as was her way, Nik with dramatic groans about the hardness of the ground, Mira and Tomas helping each other with the careful movements of those nursing injuries.

Cale was the last, his normally alert face creased with fatigue that spoke of poor sleep.

"Last of the rations," Thorin announced, distributing what remained of their food, pitifully small portions of dried meat and a few crumbling biscuits. "Barely enough to call breakfast."

Apollo accepted his share with a nod of thanks, though the portion was so meager it almost seemed pointless. He chewed slowly, savoring what little sustenance it provided while his eyes scanned the surrounding hills.

The landscape remained as eerily empty as it had been yesterday, rolling grassland stretching toward distant tree lines, beautiful in the morning light but somehow wrong in its perfect stillness.

"Anyone else notice there's no dew?" Tomas asked suddenly, rubbing a blade of grass between his fingers. "Not a drop, even though the night was cool enough for it."

Apollo hadn't noticed, but now that Tomas mentioned it, the absence was obvious. The grass should have been wet with morning moisture, yet it remained as dry as if the sun had been beating down for hours.

Nik swallowed his last bite with exaggerated difficulty. "So no birds, no bugs, no dew... anything else missing from this lovely morning? Perhaps the sun will decide to turn purple next, just to complete the strangeness."

No one laughed. The jest fell flat against the unnatural silence, making Nik's normally infectious humor seem forced and hollow.

"We need to decide where we're going," Cale said, rising to his feet and surveying the surrounding hills. "We can't stay here. No water, no food, and..." he hesitated, clearly reluctant to voice what they all felt, "...something not right about this place."

"There's a forest to the east," Lyra pointed toward a dark line of trees visible on the horizon. "Where there are trees, there's usually water."

"We don't know how far it is," Tomas argued, wincing as he adjusted the fresh bandage around his head. "Could be hours of walking, and some of us aren't in the best condition for a long march." He glanced meaningfully at Mira's injured arm and Nik's swollen ankle.

"We need rest," he continued. "Real rest, not just collapsing from exhaustion. Maybe we should stay here another day, recover our strength."

Renna shook her head firmly. "Without water, we won't last another day, injured or not. Dehydration will kill us faster than exhaustion." She gestured toward the distant treeline. "Forest means streams, shelter, possibly game. We need all three."

Apollo listened to the debate without joining in, his fingers absently tracing the intricate patterns on the bow's surface.

The weapon seemed to hum faintly beneath his touch, as if agreeing with some unspoken thought. He kept it close, unwilling to return it to his back where the others might ask more questions about its origins.

'Strange how none of them seem curious about the quiver,' he mused. The arrows it contained were as remarkable as the bow itself, shafts that felt weightless yet solid, fletching that shimmered when caught in certain light. Yet no one had commented on them, as if the quiver somehow deflected attention away from itself.

Lyra's voice broke into his thoughts. "What do you think?"

He looked up to find them all watching him, waiting for his opinion as if it might tip the scales of their indecision. The gold in his veins warmed slightly, responding to the subtle pressure of leadership they placed upon him.

"The forest," he said after a moment's consideration. "Renna's right, we need water above all else. And I don't like staying in one place too long." He didn't mention the tremor he'd felt last night, the sense that something far below was still aware of them, still tracking their movements.

His decision settled the matter. They gathered their meager belongings, doused the cold ashes of the fire with the last drops from one waterskin, and prepared to depart. Apollo slung the bow across his back, feeling its weight settle between his shoulder blades like a comfortable presence.

The sun climbed higher as they set out across the hills, its warmth a small blessing against the unsettling silence.

Apollo took position near the middle of their straggling line, keeping pace with Mira and Tomas as they supported each other over the uneven ground. Ahead, Cale and Lyra led the way, while Renna and Thorin brought up the rear, the hunter's eyes constantly scanning for any sign of threat.