Apollo lowered the bow, his arms trembling not from the weapon's weight, but from the raw power that had coursed through him. The gold in his veins settled into a gentle hum, cooling after the fire of combat.
No one spoke. His companions stared at him as if seeing a stranger wearing a familiar face. Their expressions ranged from awe to fear, with shades of suspicion darkening their wide eyes. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint sizzle of corrupted ichor burning away where his arrows had struck.
Nik was the first to break the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "How did you... the arrows... they were glowing."
Apollo slid the bow back across his shoulder, feeling its warmth press against his spine like a reassuring hand. "The bow," he said simply. "There's something special about it."
