AUTHOR NOTE:

I AM MELONLORD MUAHAHAHAHA. This is the first fic I've published, I've started many and deleted many. I've given it an M rating just to be safe, I don't really think it's needed. I've only found a few good 'Artemis has a child' fics so I thought I'd throw my hat in the ring and see if anything of quality can come out of it. It'll be a longer fic, not quite sure how long though, guess we'll just have to find out. I'm going to mainly use characters and events from PJO, possibly HOO, but will probably be ignoring TOA.

PJO is not owned by me but Rick Riordan.

Hope you enjoy

The view of Earth was unrecognisable, a stark contrast to his memories. From the vantage point of his ethereal form, Ouranus, the primordial ruler of the heavens, beheld a foreign world below—a realm drastically different from what he once knew. A distant era had passed since the betrayal inflicted upon him by his own wife and children. Cast into oblivion, his essence cleaved apart by Kronos' newly forged scythe, ten millennia had since passed. A span of peace and isolation, a prolonged retirement that offered respite from turmoil and concerns. In the aftermath of his initial demise at the hands of his sons, vengeance had been his driving force. Yet, with time, his need for vengeance waned, yielding to an unexpected contentment amid tranquillity.

However, such serenity was not to last, as Ouranus now found himself abruptly pulled back into awareness, confined within a feeble and weak form. "Why," he mused despondently, though the answer was all too clear. Gradually, fragments of his essence had coalesced, yielding a tangible but fragile form—akin in strength to the humblest immortals like nymphs or dyads, far removed from the stature of a true deity.

'This is useless! What's the point of this, I'd rather be dead,' his inner thoughts cried out, despite that he already knew the answer. Ouranus' gaze descended upon the form of his once-beloved Gaea, his erstwhile spouse. To his ancient eyes, she had transformed, altered beyond recognition. Novel races had marred her once resplendent beauty, erecting unsightly urban sprawls that drained her vitality. How could his children allow this desecration of their mother? His initial surge of anger was soon replaced by bewilderment, realising that he could not sense the presence of his progeny—the Titans—only a presence vaguely akin but inherently distinct. 'So, you too succumbed to your destined path, Kronos. Overthrown by your offspring, as you did to me.' An overwhelming sadness enveloped Ouranus, a blend of remorse and incredulity. 'Thus, the cycle continues.'

Hovering momentarily, Ouranus observed from the celestial expanse, each moment torture, until he came to a decision. He resolved to surrender once more to the abyss, resigning himself to uncountable aeons of obscurity and serenity. However, this choice necessitated relinquishing one's essence, bestowing it upon another—another immortal. Surveying the Earth, he sought out a suitable candidate, ultimately settling on an unsuspecting great-granddaughter. As she glided through the woods, bow in hand, hunting her quarry, she remained oblivious to her impending fate—an unwitting quarry herself, to a far mightier entity. "She seems so free, so blissful," Ouranus noted with a wistful smile, conjuring his essence. Remarkably, the act of detaching one's very essence—while not painful for immortals—evoked a sensation akin to the loss of something profoundly vital, an integral aspect of one's existence.

With ambivalence, Ouranus witnessed his essence surging towards the Earth and his chosen great-granddaughter, converging to merge with her being. "Forgive me, child, for burdening you with my selfishness. This path is one I can no longer endure." He continued to watch with a melancholic smile, empathetic to the forthcoming collision, even as a shroud of darkness encroached upon his vision.

Apollo was acutely aware of the recklessness in his actions, fully understanding that the consequences could entail immense suffering for both himself and others. He acknowledged the substantial potential for his endeavour to go awry, comprehending its potential futility. Nevertheless, Apollo made it clear that he wouldn't be swayed by sceptics or critics. Thus, he found himself in a precarious position atop a towering northern hardwood, suspended more than 200 feet above ground, his focus affixed to a pair of magically enhanced binoculars.

In the embrace of autumn, the forest foliage had transformed into a captivating medley of reds, oranges, yellows, and browns, reflecting the moon's pale light. Through his binoculars, Apollo tracked his target, positioned over four miles away. With precision akin to an art, the subject manoeuvred through the forest, leaping from tree to tree. Apollo's gaze was fixed on his sister Artemis, the deity of the hunt. Alone in her pursuits, her hunters were back at camp preparing a meal. Apollo grappled with the idea of whether this isolation was favourable or not. His sister was trailing a hellhound through the underbrush, the creature unaware of the peril it was in. While Apollo harboured unwavering confidence in Artemis's self-sufficiency, the air tonight carried an electric energy, distinctly different in nature. On this occasion, doubt infiltrated Apollo's conviction in his sister's ability to navigate any danger. And so, he observed, fulfilling his role as her elder sibling.

Guided by his status as the god of prophecies, Apollo had received a premonition – one frustratingly vague, hinting at danger and urgency but refusing to unveil specifics. A foreboding sense of impending catastrophe enveloped him, aggravating him. Abandoning a more indulgent and carnal endeavour, he promptly embarked on the vigil over his sister.

A gnawing dread and anxiety settled in his gut, nearly inducing nausea. He wondered at how mortals dealt with such feelings of uncertainty and unknown. These sensations were alien to a deity of prophecy. A flicker of golden light in the distance drew Apollo's attention back to his binoculars. A brilliant, multi-colored sphere descended from the heavens, gradually approaching the ground. Bewilderment gripped him; he sensed the power emanating from the orb as it descended. Artemis remained oblivious to the enigmatic light, her focus singularly dedicated to her pursuit. Perplexity and concern melded as the light continued its descent, eventually positioning itself right behind Artemis, who had halted her chase.

The impulse to rush to his sister's side was nearly overpowering, threatening to surge beyond his restraint. Yet, he held back, conflicted.

Suddenly, the light altered its course, hurtling towards Artemis in a burst of acceleration. Panic surged within Apollo, clouding his thoughts. Artemis drew her bow, arrow poised, but the rainbow radiance collided with her back. Her eyes widened as the arrow missed its mark, her balance broken. Convulsions seized her body, as she teetered on the edge of a tree 150 feet above the ground. Apollo emitted a strangled cry, discarding the binoculars as he teleported toward her, arriving just a moment too late. He watched her body's collision with the damp earth in agonising helplessness.

"Artemis!" His desperate cry filled the air as he cradled her head. Her unseeing gaze met his, unfocused and distant. "Artemis, say something!" Her lips moved, but silence prevailed. Her body contorted with uncontrollable tremors, her limbs flailing weakly.

From behind, a snarl pierced the air. In a burst of golden light, Apollo materialised, sword in hand, striking down the hellhound. The creature collapsed, disintegrating into dust. Apollo's attention swiftly returned to Artemis. To his astonishment, the convulsions had ceased, leaving her seemingly at rest, eyes closed. A radiant silver-grey light radiated from her midriff, casting a luminous glow, before rising high into the air, and settling a few feet away.

With trepidation, Apollo approached the spot where the light had settled, revealing a newborn baby boy. Dread filled him as he comprehended the implications. 'No no no no no, this can't be happening.' The child bore the unmistakable traits of Artemis – auburn hair, pale skin, and silver-grey eyes. Apollo reached out to touch the baby's cheek, met with a gaze mirroring his sister's disdainful stares.

An overwhelming sense of doom overcame Apollo as he channelled his divine power into the boy. What returned to him was an echo of his sister's power. Recoiling as if stung, Apollo looked back at his sister. 'They're the same.' The realisation struck him – the boy possessed powers akin to Artemis, albeit in a diminished form. Such a connection could only mean one thing: parentage, similar to how Athena bore her children. The child was Artemis's, a truth he found difficult to accept, despite the undeniable resemblance.

Desperation gnawed at him. Gently cradling the baby in his arms, Apollo's gaze lingered on Artemis. He had made a decision, one that demanded immediate action. "I'm sorry, sis," he whispered before vanishing from the scene.

Apollo materialised before a petite mansion nestled amid a forest in a remote expanse. A collection of exotic and lavish sports cars and motorcycles adorned the freshly laid driveway. In the courtyard's heart stood a fountain featuring a bow-and-arrow statue, from which water trickled. The house's backyard hosted a hot tub adjacent to a basketball court, and intriguingly, a racetrack encircled the property. This mansion, known only to Apollo, served as his clandestine retreat—a haven away from prying eyes. He visited it infrequently, reserving visits for moments of relaxation and solitude, shielded from familial scrutiny.

Ascending the marble steps with agile strides, Apollo cradled the slumbering baby boy against his chest. Swinging open the grand front door, he revealed an unexpectedly unassuming interior. The living room mirrored that of a conventional abode, devoid of towering vaulted halls, colossal self-representations, or opulent crystal chandeliers. Not a single peacock graced the scene. Despite its divine owner, the house seemed somewhat normal. White leather couches formed a circle around a crackling fireplace, while the latest TV forged by Hephaestus adorned the wall beside various gaming consoles. A guitar occupied one corner, and movie posters and records created by Apollo's offspring hung on the walls.

With a burst of energy, Apollo shut the door behind him and sank to the floor, his back supported by its surface. Nestling the baby wrapped in blankets on his lap, he ran his hands through his hair, releasing the pent-up emotions that had surged through him during the night's events. As his gaze shifted to the slumbering infant, he recognized the mounting stress within him. Grateful for the baby's peaceful slumber, Apollo couldn't fathom dealing with inconsolable cries at that moment.

Apollo ran his hand across his face, his finger tenderly brushing the child's cheek. "You have no idea how special you are, how much danger you are in, so short into your little life." he murmured, conscious of the danger of the child's situation. Upon realising that the baby was Artemis' own, Apollo understood the urgency of removing the child from her presence before she emerged from her coma. A mix of worry and determination clouded his thoughts. He thought that Artemis might react rashly upon discovering her child abandoned nearby after her seizure-induced unconsciousness. She had already been caught unawares, which would've angered her, but to find a child, her child lying in the dewy grass a short distance away might've been too much. Protecting the baby was paramount, especially considering the potential consequences of a violated vow.

In the shelter of his secluded mansion, Apollo's barrier concealed the child from the scrutiny of other Olympian deities, shielding the infant from their potentially lethal judgement. He mused, a note of relief in his thoughts, "At least she remains a maiden." The thought of Artemis breaking her sacred vow stirred a wave of apprehension; the ramifications of that could be extreme.

"You, little one, will attract more attention than any child of the big three—perhaps only rivalled by the prophesied child," Apollo declared, knowing the dangers the child would face. He understood that an immense host of monsters would converge upon the baby if not for the protective shield he had erected.

The baby woke, gazing at Apollo with shimmering silver eyes. Smiling in return, Apollo engaged in a one-sided conversation. "I should give you a name." The firstborn of Artemis deserved a name that reflected strength and humility akin to his mother's character—a name to encapsulate his existence in a single word. Then, as if an avalanche of sensations erupted within him, Apollo experienced a prophetic vision—a name, clear and resounding, emerged amid the chaos: Temn.

The vision's intensity waned as swiftly as it had arisen, leaving Apollo gasping for breath. Gazing at the curious, almost concerned, expression of the child in his lap, Apollo whispered, "Temn." The name had been chosen by prophecy, an irrevocable decree. Few entered the world bearing a name bestowed by fate, and deciphering its portent remained elusive.

"Temn, that shall be your name," Apollo declared with unwavering resolve. Addressing the baby, he spoke with certainty, "Greetings, Temn, son of Artemis. I am Apollo, your uncle. Fate seems to have bound us together for a while."

Describing Apollo's venture into parenting as smooth would be an exaggeration. It's safe to say that Apollo was ill-prepared for the role (not that most gods were). He was thrust headlong into the whirlpool of parenting challenges, grappling with the care of a mortal infant while still grappling to learn the ropes himself. Strains in Apollo's relationship with Temn, his quasi-son charge, were soon evident. Newborns have a knack for disregarding established sleep schedules, opting instead for the 'cry-at-the-top-of-your-lungs-until-needs-are-met' strategy. Apollo, who cherished his sleep greatly, was taken aback by this behaviour

Addressing Temn, swaddled on the couch, Apollo declared, "Listen, little mister. Unlike your mother, I'm not nocturnal." He gestured toward himself. "That means your nocturnal activities must stop. No more midnight howling for snacks or diaper changes, got it?" Temn just gazed back, unresponsive.

In no time, Apollo realised that at one month old, Temn wasn't about to change his habits; if anything, his "nighttime escapades," as Apollo termed them, would increase. After a bit of research, Apollo reluctantly discovered that his nephew's conduct was perfectly normal, expected to continue for about a year. That night, Apollo cried himself to sleep.

Undeterred, Apollo, the god of culture and refinement, resolved to introduce Temn to the world's cultural wonders—culinary delights, music, art, and cinema. Apollo aimed to educate Temn with class, as opposed to the rustic, pig-on-a-spit fare his mother might offer.

"Behold, Temn, this freshly made fettuccine alfredo," Apollo announced loftily, pointing to a dish adorned with truffle shavings and olive oil from the slopes of Mt. Smolikas. "It hails from my son's two-Michelin-star restaurant in Florence, Italy." He had blended the dish into a mush for Temn's toothless state. Scooping some onto a spoon, he nudged his nephew, "Open wide, Temn."

Temn turned away, uninterested in the puréed pasta. "Bah."

"Hey! You'll eat this and you'll enjoy it!" Apollo prodded Temn's mouth with the spoon. "Open up."

"Bah!"

"Don't use that tone with me, young man! You will savour your pricey dinner, gifted to us for free, and you'll like it!" Apollo's patience with the highchair-bound baby was thinning. He was a god, after all! This disrespect was unacceptable.

"Bah!" Temn shook his head, avoiding the spoon's advance. Arms flailed, face turned away, Temn resisted Apollo's attempts. With a chubby fist, Temn knocked the spoon from Apollo's hand, sending it crashing to the floor with its contents. "How dare you," Apollo hissed, regarding Temn in disbelief. "You little jerk. Fine, no food for you tonight—just water." Apollo begrudgingly consumed the now-unappetizing mush, his grimace revealing the taste. 'This stuff is awful.'

For dinner, Temn ended up with boiled carrots. That night, Apollo cried himself to sleep.

On one of the white leather couches, Apollo and Temn prepared to watch a film. Popcorn rested on Apollo's stomach, Temn nestled in his arm. Temn, reminiscent of Artemis, exhibited both her positive and negative traits. Thus, Temn brought Apollo both boundless joy and ungodly amounts of stress.

To Apollo's surprise, Temn showed an eerie fascination with movies, unfazed by jump scares or deaths. "Temn, this is one of my children's most famed works, among others, important for your education," Apollo informed as the Jaws theme signalled the start of the movie. Apollo wondered if the amount of violence that he was exposing Temn to, might cause issues in the future.

Temn's hand reached for the popcorn bowl on Apollo's lap, only to be swatted away. "That's my popcorn, you little freeloader! You can't eat it yet, not old enough."

"Bah," Temn grumbled.

"You don't even have teeth, stop complaining."

"Gah."

Exasperated, Apollo paused the movie, glaring at Temn. "We had this exact conversation yesterday, give it a rest." Apollo moved the popcorn bowl farther away, as Temn shot him an annoyed look—a trait shared among those close to Artemis.

Temn huffed and sat up, beginning to crawl toward Apollo. Watching in shock, Apollo marvelled as Temn crawled for the first time. With a mixture of laughter and shock, Apollo pulled Temn into a bear hug, the baby squirming in protest.

Trembling slightly, Apollo continued laughing in disbelief and joy. He had succeeded in raising a child who learned to crawl—a triumph that eased his months-long worries. 'I actually did it.' Overwhelmed with happiness, Apollo cried himself to sleep that night.

Sitting forlornly in a chair on the patio just outside the house, Temn gazed out at the expanse of the forest. The allure of that woodland was irresistible, yet it remained off-limits, the reason behind its prohibition shrouded in mystery. Some days, an overwhelming compulsion gnawed at him, a deep-seated desire in his core, an insatiable yearning in his heart. His entire being urged him to dash into the forest, to be among the trees that felt like his true home. But the whims of Apollo kept him restrained, confined within the property's boundaries, shielded from some enigmatic threat.

Out of nowhere, Apollo sauntered up to Temn and playfully ruffled his hair. "What's on your mind, buddy?"

Turning to face his uncle, Temn's eyes reflected a mixture of pain and confusion. "Where's my mother?"

Apollo's heart sank, a heavy sorrow welling up within him. He had dreaded this moment, knowing it would come, yet hoping for more time to prepare, to gently ease Temn into this revelation. "Somewhere out there, in the vast world."

"Why isn't she here with me, or why am I not out there with her?" Temn's confusion deepened.

A lump formed in Apollo's throat; he could feel the weight of the truth bearing down on him. The bluntness of the answer hurt him more than he could express, especially witnessing the anguish etched on his young nephew's face. "She... she doesn't know you exist."

In a voice barely louder than a whisper, Temn choked out his next words. "Why?"

"Because I took you in almost the instant you were born, even before your mother was aware of your conception."

"Why?" Temn repeated the question, his gaze fixed on his small feet.

Apollo sighed, closing his eyes momentarily, grappling with the cruel hand fate had dealt this innocent child. 'I'd curse the world itself if it could spare him this fate.' He opened his eyes, taking Temn's hand within his own, his grip dwarfing the child's hand. "Your mother, Artemis, made an oath to remain a virgin forever, to abstain from having children. The latter part of that oath was broken the night you were born, without her knowledge, without her consent. I had no way of predicting her reaction to your existence, or how the world would react. What if she, or any of the other gods or mythical beings out there, decided to harm you, believing it would right a perceived wrong?"

"I would have risked it, let her hurt me, just to know her," Temn murmured. "To be with her."

A sudden anger surged through Apollo – anger at Temn for harbouring such thoughts, and anger at everyone, including himself, for thrusting these thoughts upon him. "I wouldn't have allowed that. You're too important, too exceptional. You're a miracle of extraordinary rarity." The words emerged with a harsh edge that Apollo regretted, so he softened his tone. "I would do anything for my younger sister, anything, and that includes keeping her son hidden from her. I've witnessed countless tragedies befall numerous demigods, and I refuse – I cannot let that fate befall her only child."

"Thank you," Temn whispered softly.

Apollo gazed down at his nephew, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips. "You're welcome... and, if it means anything, I'm sorry."

Temn met Apollo's gaze, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "It's alright, you're a great uncle no matter what."

A swell of warmth filled Apollo's chest. "Thank you. Would you... perhaps be interested in a few laps around the track before bedtime?" he asked, attempting to lift the mood.

Temn sprang to his feet, a true happiness lighting up his features. "Yeah, I want to drive!" With that, he dashed down the stairs toward the garage beside the track.

"Not a chance, you're only four!" Apollo called out, laughter in his voice as he chased after Temn.

"I don't like this movie," Temn grumbled, his arms crossed in a pout. He slouched against the leather couch, gaze fixed on the oversized television.

"What? Why?" Apollo exclaimed in disbelief. They were watching "Back to the Future," a film that Apollo held in high regard as a masterpiece. "It's a classic, a timeless gem."

"Nah, it's just... weird," Temn retorted.

"Weird? It's just a story about time travel," Apollo countered. Temn's consistent inability to appreciate good movies was starting to wear on Apollo. He didn't like "Star Wars," deemed "Jurassic Park" and "Indiana Jones'' boring, found amusement in "Titanic" (which genuinely scared Apollo), and never even finished watching "E.T." However, he strangely enjoyed "Happy Gilmore." After six years, Apollo was losing hope that he could refine his nephew's taste for culture and refinement. Temn had no interest in fancy cuisine, nearly ruptured Apollo's eardrums when he first tried playing a musical instrument, and treated poetry with disdain. His mother would surely be proud.

"Marty McFly kisses his own mom. He's crushing on her!" Temn exclaimed in frustration, as if he'd explained this point multiple times before.

"Yes, but he realises who she is and stops. The movie's plot revolves around him ensuring his parents get together," Apollo explained.

"But he thought his mom was attractive. That's just gross," Temn asserted, reaching for the popcorn.

Apollo swatted Temn's hand away from the popcorn bowl, earning himself a defiant glare. "No way, you dimwit. It's not that strange. It adds tension and enhances the storytelling. You just can't grasp it."

"Shut up," Temn muttered, finally managing to grab a handful of popcorn. "Your storytelling skills aren't great either, I've read your stuff." With his mouth full of popcorn, Temn mumbled a bit before swallowing to speak again. "And honestly, your perspective on family dynamics, being a god and all, is quite twisted based on what you've told me."

Apollo gave his nephew a sharp smack on the head, glaring down at him. "Say 'shut up' one more time and you'll learn to fear Zeus' mightiest son."

Rubbing his head, Temn met Apollo's glare head-on. "Are you the mightiest because you're the only one who's not the result of inbreeding?"

"Inbreeding?! How dare you, you little-" Apollo seethed, but Temn cut him off.

Apollo ran a hand over his face in exasperation, glaring at Temn. "Why do mortals always get hung up on this? Gods don't have DNA or genetics; we come into existence as completely distinct beings. So, for us, it's not weird at all."

"I guess..." Temn wasn't entirely convinced.

"The only things we really discourage are gods dating their own offspring or demigods with the same divine parent. But that shouldn't concern you," Apollo said with a grin, patting Temn's head. Suddenly, an alarm went off, causing Apollo to glance at a watch that appeared on his wrist. A malicious grin spread across the sun god's face.

Watching in dread, Temn backed away from his uncle. He recognized that expression—it meant Apollo was about to unleash something truly terrible. Once, Apollo had tied him to the roof of his Corvette and raced around a track at 100 miles per hour. Another time, he had swapped all the water in the house with vinegar while Temn was showering, leaving his eyes stinging for days. But the worst was when Apollo had hidden alarm clocks in Temn's room's walls, set to go off randomly at night. "Oh no, no, no. What are you plotting?"

Apollo's sly grin matched the appearance of a roll of duct tape in his hand. "That alarm reminded me of a council meeting today. Remember what happened last time I left you alone during a council meeting?"

Fear crept into Temn's eyes as he realised what Apollo was hinting at. "I accidentally set the kitchen on fire that day! And, in case you've forgotten, I vowed never to bake again!"

"Exactly. You lost the privilege to be home alone that day," Apollo said, grabbing Temn's arm and pinning him against the wall, resisting Temn's struggles.

"Release me, you oversized man-child! This is child abuse! I'll call protective services right-!" Temn's protests were muffled as Apollo covered his mouth with a hand. Methodically, Apollo taped Temn's limbs and torso to the wall, leaving only his head, hands, and feet free.

Stepping back, Apollo admired his handiwork, a proud grin on his face. "You know, this might be one of my more impressive creations. Each piece of tape contributes to the structural integrity of your captivity. I can make art out of anything."

"Let me go!" Temn screeched through the muffle.

"Don't worry, since I'm feeling generous, I'll let you watch TV," Apollo said with a wicked grin. "How about some 'Full House'?" Apollo despised the show, and he knew Temn felt the same. It was perfect torture.

"No, please, anything but that! I beg you!" Temn pleaded, struggling futilely against his restraints, watching as his uncle walked toward the front door, chuckling to himself.

"I HATE YOU, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF-" Temn's angry shouts were abruptly cut off as Apollo closed the door behind him, leaving Temn in his prison.

Apollo gazed at the painting in front of him, utterly bewildered. It might have been the single most dreadful piece of art he had ever laid eyes on. "You know, the complete lack of coherence in this is oddly fascinating. It's as if it's purposefully defying the essence of true art just to challenge expectations," he remarked, though looking at the artwork was almost physically painful. The extent of its terribleness bordered on a potential crime against humanity, yet Apollo was ready to fabricate lies as needed.

"I can see right through your act, Apollo. Your eye keeps twitching," Temn said with a sense of disappointment, allowing his paintbrush to slip from his hand to the ground. Temn could read his uncle like an open book, especially when Apollo struggled to rein in his feelings, as was evident at that moment.

"Thank the heavens, I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep it going." Apollo reached out in exasperation, gesturing toward the artwork. "I'm genuinely baffled by how you managed to miss the mark so completely. It's physically painful to behold."

"Perhaps it could be a form of contemporary art?" Temn proposed with a hint of optimism.

"No, that would be an affront to civilization and all the remarkable achievements you little humans have achieved."

"Ouch, a bit brutal, don't you think?"

"No, Temn, I'm merely providing a reasonable assessment. Despite my best efforts, it appears that you may never quite become a patron of the arts." Apollo shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. "You've inherited your mother's traits through and through."

"That's what I've been attempting to say all along! Something about painting just feels incredibly wrong and off-putting. I'd sooner climb a tree, a rock, or even endure needles." Temn resolutely rebelled against anything artistic; it simply didn't resonate with him—except for today. On this particular day, Temn had decided to relent to his uncle's desires, just to see if there had been any improvement since his last artistic endeavour. Regrettably, there hadn't been.

"I suppose so. It's just disappointing. I had high hopes that you could be a mini me," Apollo sighed.

"At the very least, I'm good with a bow."

Apollo's lips curved into a fond smile as he ruffled Temn's hair. "Yes, you do have skill with a bow."

Temn leaned back, his heels supporting him as an arrow whooshed past his face—a close escape from Apollo's aimed shot. Swiftly recovering, Temn surged forward, narrowing the gap in just a few agile bounds. Springing upward, his twin hunting knives primed to strike, he hurled himself towards Apollo.

Wearing a smirk, Apollo sidestepped gracefully, evading the assault and compelling Temn to roll to regain his balance after the forceful manoeuvre. The young kid had truly honed his combat skills under Apollo's tutelage. Temn's proficiency with combat seemed to inherit heavily from his mother, but Apollo aimed to mould the raw potential into a honed weapon, adept at fending off any threat. "Nice try kid. You almost had me there."

Only an arrow's breeze responded as Temn pressed the attack again, crouched low and sprinting. His right knife swept in a powerful upward arc aimed at Apollo's chest, while the other intercepted a descending sword targeting his ribs. Apollo retreated, observing as Temn overcommitted, slashing at empty air where Apollo was mere moments ago, causing his balance to falter. Without mercy, Apollo executed a Spartan kick, sending Temn into a tumble across the floor.

"You're over aggressive; be more patient," Apollo admonished, firing two arrows at Temn as he scrambled upright, clutching his chest.

"But you're a god! Aggression is all I have!" Temn wheezed.

Apollo's smirk remained as he released two more arrows, skillfully knocking Temn off-course during his renewed charge. "Still, strategy is key."

Temn reciprocated, drawing his bow and firing an arrow at Apollo's feet followed by one aimed at his visage, compelling Apollo into an ungainly evasion. Seizing the opportunity, Temn hurled one of his knives in desperation. Apollo's eyes widened in surprise, causing him to duck instinctively, only to be tackled to the ground by Temn's sudden assault, dropping his sword in the process. Temn pounced onto Apollo's chest, delivering two rapid punches to his face before the god could regain his bearings. Apollo raised his forearms to block subsequent blows, then seized Temn's throat, snarling, lifting the struggling youngster into the air and slamming him onto the training mat. Gasping for breath, Temn curled up into a protective ball.

"I can't believe you'd actually punch me like that," Apollo complained, rubbing his jaw. "You pack a punch for such a little guy."

Struggling for air, Temn glanced up at his adversary. "It stings worse when you're on the losing end. Sucks to suck."

"I'm clearly winning; you've only landed two hits," Apollo retorted indignantly.

"Excuses," Temn shot back.

"Alright, stand up." Apollo summoned his golden bow anew. "Round two, since you fancy yourself a pro, I'll raise the stakes." Apollo notched five arrows onto his bowstring.

Filled with trepidation, Temn retreated, hands raised in a placating gesture. "I'm sorry! Can't we talk it out?"

"No chance; time to dodge," Apollo quipped.

Temn wished to thank the mastermind behind that stole Zeus' lightning bolt, recognizing their genius. What used to be his customary two days of solitude at home each week had now been elevated to a full seven days, courtesy of Apollo's absence as he searches for the stolen super weapon.

Lounging on the rear porch of the residence, Temn inhaled the pleasantly pungent aroma of molten rubber. His afternoon has been deeply satisfying, tearing across the track among Apollo's array of automobiles, relentlessly pushing each vehicle to its utter limit. Among the recent acquisitions to the collection was a Subaru Impreza, a car that Temn had relentlessly begged Apollo to get for weeks on end, until the god begrudgingly yielded. The cars provided endless hours of amusement, accompanied by movies, television, and video games. However, a sense of boredom now settled upon Temn.

His gaze fixated on the expanse of woods before him. The yearning to traverse those woods, to chase and explore, had embedded itself in the recesses of his mind long ago, a sentiment he couldn't seem to shake. "I need to escape this place," Temn said to himself. Yet, he was very much aware that an opportune moment to escape was in his grasp. Despite the appearance of such a moment, he recognized his unreadiness. Further training was needed to hone his skills, provisions must be gathered, and plans demanded meticulous preparation. Soon, however, he would seize the moment to test his limits and embark on a journey to explore the world beyond.

"You know, in the fourteen years I've been raising you, you've never fallen ill," Apollo remarked, his fingers absently tracing his chin as he pondered the matter that had been gnawing at him for quite some time.

"Really? I can't remember if I've ever been sick," Temn replied.

"Interesting, I feel like you should have, you were a disgusting child."

Temn shot a sharp look at Apollo. "And whose fault do you think that was?"

"Certainly not mine, for I'm extremely hygienic," Apollo retorted, sweeping his hand across his well-groomed appearance. "Do you think all of this just happens by chance?"

As Temn matured, Apollo had gradually granted him more independence, allowing Apollo to resume his more... indulgent activities. He justified it by claiming them to be strategic motives, suggesting that he needed to maintain a façade to the counsellors at Camp Half-Blood to avert suspicion about the lack of new children of Apollo. Temn, however, saw through the thin veil – the sun god was simply driven by his desires, aka, horny.

"Probably a mix of ego and magic," Temn shot back.

"HEY! The ladies like this 'ego and magic'." Apollo defended. "Not that you would know you ugly little goblin."

"You jerk! We're family, which means that if I look like a goblin, that means you're even more of a goblin, you… you ogre!"

Apollo brushed off the insult, maintaining his scrutinising gaze on Temn, resembling a scientist observing a subject in an experiment. A white lab coat materialised around him as he continued, "My sister Artemis' Hunters possess immunity to diseases only after she's blessed them. I'm curious whether you might share a similar immunity." Suddenly conjuring a stick, Apollo began prodding Temn in various spots.

Temn eyed Apollo warily. "I'd rather not be a guinea pig for some science project."

Ignoring Temn's reservations, Apollo's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "Think of it as a scientific venture, an experiment!"

A surge of panic washed over Temn. He never anticipated falling victim to his own uncle's experiments. "But I'm the subject here! That changes everything!"

With a snap of his fingers, Apollo leaned closer to Temn. "Too late."

"What did you just—"

"Strange, you should've lost control of your bowels and rectal sphincters."

"You are a monster." Temn hissed. "A monster!"

Apollo glared at his nephew and pointed out the obvious. "Well it didn't work anyways, which makes me curious, are you actually immune to all diseases?"

"Hey wait a seco-!"

An hour later, following a barrage of ailments, infections, viruses, and diseases that could have decimated a civilization, Apollo stood, tapping his foot impatiently and glaring down at a cornered Temn, who seemed to be mentally bookmarking the traumatic episode for future therapy sessions. 'No one should have a deity as their primary guardian,' he thought. 'They're all deranged, a family of lunatics.'

"This is outrageous! Crafting unique diseases with distinctive symptoms is no walk in the park! Artemis shouldn't be gifting immunity to every sad little girl with daddy issues she finds!" Apollo ranted as he paced.

Temn cautiously looked up at Apollo, beginning to grasp that this might be a longstanding bone of contention between the twin deities. He had heard Apollo's rants about his mother, ad nauseam, along with the occasional praise, but he hadn't yet heard Artemis' side of all the stories (which often placed Apollo as the hero. "Maybe she wouldn't do it if you offered more cures and remedies for your diseases. After all, you are the god of healing."

"I have! I dish out cures all the time; the common flu, chicken pox, HIV, smallpox. I gave you a vaccine for that and you wiped it off the face of the earth! It was one of my best works too." Apollo pouted, mortals never appreciated his gifts, only focusing on the bad things. He gave them vaccines, they said they never would have needed them if he didn't create diseases, he gave them archery to hunt food, they call it a murder weapon for war, it was a never ending cycle.

"What about cancer?"

Apollo waved the remark away with a dismissive hand. "Bah! I didn't create cancer, it's just a result of your puny bodies trying to self-destruct." It was true, Apollo realised annoyingly late into his career as god of diseases that he didn't need to create any diseases to cull humans, their bodies would do it to themselves. Humans didn't even know about cancer until they began to find ways to combat Apollo's diseases and live longer.

"Oh well, another loss for the god of diseases!" Temn teased, before sprinting away up the stairs with a shit-eating-grin towards his room, which had a barrier that Apollo couldn't cross, offering sanctity from the peeved god.

Apollo chased after Temn, trying to grab the teen's ankles. "Dammit Temn! I swear on Zeus' underwear I will find a disease you aren't immune to and infect you with it!"

Temn looked up at the clock mounted on the wall, a sinking feeling settling in his gut. 'He's not going to be here is he.' In one minute, Temn would turn sixteen. In one minute Temn would celebrate his birthday by running away from home. In one minute, he would celebrate his birthday alone. In one minute- the clock ticked, and Temn's precious minute expired. 'I really thought he'd be here.' A faint sense of betrayal wound its way up Temn's throat.

Apollo was gone, had been for two months, off fighting the cataclysmic monster Typhon with the rest of the olympians, Temn had been informed by his uncle about the war that had erupted between the gods and the titans, history will always repeat. The importance of what Apollo was doing was not lost to Temn, he knew that if Typhon got to New York, Olympus would be destroyed, and the demi-gods that were defending the city from the titan's army would get decimated. It was a matter of life and death for everyone, which is why Temn felt a tad guilty for being upset that Apollo wasn't home for his sixteenth birthday.

Apollo was his sole companion, the solitary individual he could share memories with. Thus, the notion of Apollo's absence on one of his most significant days stung a bit. 'Though, it's probably for the best that he's not here. He has his responsibilities, and so do I,' Temn thought glumly as he packed essentials into a duffle bag. A water flask, tarp, sleeping bag, spare clothing, rations, a blanket, and a couple bars of ambrosia were meticulously placed inside. Throughout the preceding year, whenever Apollo was away attending to his obligations, Temn had been amassing items through Hermes' Overnight Express, laying the groundwork for his eventual departure from the estate.

Stooping over his provisions, Temn scrutinised each item closely. He had to travel light, so everything he carried was absolutely essential. His bow, quiver, and hunting knives were secured on his person, while he donned a dark cloak and loose-fitting, practical attire for the journey. In his pocket rested a wallet containing one of Apollo's numerous credit cards and several drachmas worth of currency. "Don't forget the mask," Temn reminded himself. Acquired at the last moment, the mask was a necessity he recognized only two days prior. A pristine ivory face mask, concealing all but his eyes, would aid him in keeping his identity hidden. Both cloak and mask served their purpose – shielding him from prying eyes in the unforgiving wilderness.

With his backpack slung over his shoulder, Temn cast a final look at the only place he'd ever known – the backdrop to his cherished, harrowing, and joyful memories. A wave of uncertainty surged within him as he reflected on his life thus far. Was he genuinely prepared? Apollo's descriptions of nightmarish monsters and the tragic fates of other demigods sent shivers down Temn's spine. Almost everything in the world seemed poised to extinguish his life. "I'm a hunter," Temn reaffirmed, gathering his resolve. Apollo had tirelessly trained him to stand alone against adversaries, and now was the moment to put that training to the test.

The front door swung open into the night, and Temn stepped onto the dew-kissed grass. Gazing across the lawn toward the forest, he contemplated the tall conifers that marked the boundary between the only life he'd known and the prospect of freedom. The trees also functioned practically, concealing the house and Temn from the outside world.

"Thank you, Apollo, for everything... but now, I must leave. It's what I need to do," Temn whispered, setting forth into the night, following the forest's beckoning call.

AUTHOR NOTE:

Please let me know about any glaring spelling or grammar errors I may have made, but be nice about it though. I'm going to try and upload every 1-2 weeks, I think that's a fine schedule and pace.

Thank you very much, MelonLord