The Golden Fool

Thorin raised his axe, though Apollo could see the doubt in the dwarf's eyes. They had seen what those claws could do to solid wood, steel would fare no better. Renna clutched her knife with white knuckles, knowing it would be useless against such a foe.

Mira had pressed herself against Tomas, both their faces pale with terror as they watched their protection crumble.

The bow sang in Apollo's hands, demanding action.

A strange calm settled over him as he stepped forward, toward the failing barrier rather than away from it. The gold in his veins warmed, flowing more freely than it had since his exile began. For the first time since finding the weapon, he reached for the quiver at his hip with purpose rather than curiosity.

The arrow he withdrew felt both solid and insubstantial between his fingers, its shaft cool against his skin despite the warmth of the bow. Without conscious thought, Apollo nocked it against the string and drew back in one fluid motion that felt as natural as breathing.

The bow's pull should have been difficult given its size and apparent strength, yet it yielded to him as if they were old partners in a familiar dance. The string came back to his cheek with perfect tension, the arrow aligned with his target as if guided by an invisible hand.

Apollo exhaled slowly, sighting along the shaft toward the creature that continued to batter the failing barrier. Time seemed to slow, the world narrowing to just himself, the bow, and the corrupted beast that threatened his companions.

He released.

The arrow leapt from the string with a sound like a struck bell, pure and resonant. As it flew, the shaft transformed, no longer merely physical but wreathed in blue-gold light that left a blazing trail through the night air.

It passed through the sanctuary's barrier as if the protection didn't exist, its light momentarily repairing the golden cracks it crossed.

The creature sensed the attack too late. It turned just as the arrow struck, the glowing shaft burying itself deep in the monster's shoulder. Golden ichor erupted from the wound, but instead of flowing outward, it seemed to burn away, consumed by the arrow's blue-gold fire.

The beast recoiled with a shriek that shattered the forest's unnatural silence, a sound of pain, yes, but also of outrage and surprise. It staggered backward, claws scrabbling at the arrow embedded in its flesh, but the shaft refused to be dislodged.

Apollo was already drawing again, another arrow nocked and flying before conscious thought could catch up to his actions. This one struck the creature's thigh, driving it further back from the sanctuary's edge.

A third followed immediately, finding its mark in the beast's chest just below where a heart would be in a natural creature.

Each shot rang out with that same bell-like tone, filling the air with a sharp, rhythmic thrumming that seemed to strengthen the sanctuary's failing protection. Where the sound waves touched the golden cracks, blue light surged back, pushing the corruption away.

His companions watched in stunned silence as Apollo drew and fired with inhuman precision. The bow moved in his hands as if it were an extension of his own body, each arrow finding its mark with flawless accuracy.

Fire bloomed wherever the shafts struck, blue-gold flames that consumed the corruption from within.

The creature made one last, desperate charge toward the sanctuary, golden ichor streaming from half a dozen wounds. Apollo planted his feet, drew the bow to its fullest extension, and loosed a final arrow that struck the beast directly between its eyeless sockets.

The impact halted the charge as if the creature had hit a wall. It stood frozen for a heartbeat, the arrow's blue-gold fire spreading outward from the point of impact, racing along those corrupted veins that pulsed beneath its hide. The golden light flared brilliantly, then began to dim as the arrow's power overwhelmed it.

With a final, rattling hiss, the beast staggered backward. It swayed unsteadily, those burning sockets fixed on Apollo with what might have been recognition or hatred or both. Then it turned and crashed away into the forest, leaving a trail of dimming golden ichor in its wake.

Silence fell once more, broken only by the soft sound of Apollo lowering the bow. The sanctuary's protection had stabilized, the blue glow steady again, the golden cracks sealed by the strange harmonic resonance of his shots.

He turned to find his companions staring at him with expressions ranging from awe to fear to something that looked unsettlingly like worship. No one spoke. What could they say? They had just witnessed something beyond their understanding, arrows of light that wounded a creature steel couldn't touch, fired with precision no human archer could match.

The bow pulsed warmly in Apollo's hand, a sensation not unlike satisfaction. He ran his thumb along its smooth surface, feeling the patterns shift beneath his touch as if the weapon were preening under his attention.

"What—" Nik finally broke the silence, his voice cracking with tension. "What was that?"

Apollo looked down at the bow, then back at the dark forest where the creature had disappeared. "I don't know," he said, though the gold in his veins hummed with a recognition

that went beyond conscious understanding. The gold in his veins knew this bow, knew its purpose. And now, it seemed, the bow knew him.

"Whatever it is," Thorin said, breaking the stunned silence, "it saved our hides." The dwarf lowered his axe, studying Apollo with new wariness in his eyes. "Where did you learn to shoot like that?"

Apollo sheathed the arrow he'd been ready to fire, feeling the strange material slip back into the quiver with a whisper of contact. "I've always been a decent archer," he said, keeping his voice neutral despite the way his heart hammered against his ribs. "The bow seems to... help."

"Help?" Renna's eyebrows shot up. "I've seen master archers who've trained for decades who couldn't make half those shots. In the dark. Against a moving target."