Chapter V: Eyes of Apollo

Act II : The Unwritten 13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJot2dw9ut8

"Eyes of Apollo" 13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4viCCOC37i

The first thing Aion learned about his strange sight was that it did not behave like an ordinary one.

Ordinary eyes showed him what was.

His other sight showed him what might be.

At first, the distinction had frightened him.

Now, it fascinated him.

He had learned not to trust every image that appeared before him. A path through the forest might split into three possibilities. A bird taking flight might lead his thoughts toward a storm that had not yet arrived. A stranger walking through the village might carry with him a dozen possible futures, most of which would never happen.

The possibilities were not promises.

They were not prophecies.

They were doors.

Some would open.

Most would not.

Aion had begun to understand that the difference between them was choice.

And choice was something he was still learning.

There had been a time when the visions came without warning.

He would reach for a cup and suddenly see it shattered against the floor. He would watch a bird leave the roof and see it disappear into a storm that had not yet formed. He would hear footsteps on the road and glimpse the person arriving before the person had even appeared around the bend.

Sometimes the possibilities lasted only a heartbeat.

Sometimes they remained long enough for him to study them.

And sometimes they showed him things that made no sense at all.

A road he had never walked.

A city he had never seen.

A face that belonged to someone he had never met.

He had once tried to tell Mara about the visions.

She had listened.

She had never laughed.

But she had told him something he had remembered ever since.

"Seeing something does not mean it will happen."

At the time, Aion had not understood.

Now he did.

The future was not a single road.

It was a forest.

Every decision could create another path.

Every path could disappear.

And sometimes, the smallest choice could change something much larger than anyone expected.

Aion had begun to wonder whether the same was true for him.

He sat beneath the ancient tree, a small stone resting between his fingers.

Mara was several paces away, hanging freshly washed clothes along a wooden line.

The afternoon was quiet.

Too quiet.

Aion looked toward the village.

For a moment, everything remained ordinary.

Then his sight shifted.

The village divided.

In one possibility, a cart broke its wheel near the well.

In another, a horse frightened a group of children.

In another, nothing happened at all.

Aion blinked.

The possibilities disappeared.

He looked again.

Nothing.

He smiled.

He had become better at controlling it.

Before, the visions had come whenever they wished.

Now, sometimes, he could invite them.

He closed his eyes.

The world changed.

The tree became many trees.

The field became many fields.

The path before him became a thousand paths.

He could not see all of them clearly. Some were only flashes.

A sword.

A ship.

A crown.

A burning city.

A mountain.

A face he did not recognize.

A hand reaching toward something.

Then—

nothing.

Aion opened his eyes.

He looked at the sky.

There was someone there.

Not physically.

Not yet.

But somewhere among the possibilities, something was watching him.

Aion had felt it before.

He had never known what to call it.

This time, however, he tried to look back.

The possibilities bent.

For an instant, he saw a man surrounded by golden light.

A bow.

A lyre.

Eyes like the sun.

Then the image vanished.

Aion frowned.

"Mara."

She turned.

"What is it?"

"Someone is watching."

Mara stopped what she was doing.

"Who?"

Aion looked toward the horizon.

"I don't know."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded.

"I saw him."

Mara came closer.

"Where?"

Aion pointed upward.

"Not there."

He touched his forehead.

"Here."

Mara studied him.

She had learned that when Aion spoke about the things he saw, she should not dismiss him.

But neither should she encourage every strange vision.

"Was it a dream?"

"No."

"A memory?"

"No."

"Then what?"

Aion looked toward the forest.

"A possibility."

Mara's expression tightened.

"What kind?"

Aion was silent.

He did not know how to explain it.

The other visions were different.

When he saw a storm, he saw what could happen.

When he saw a hunter, he saw the ways the hunt might end.

When he saw himself, sometimes he saw paths that stretched farther than he could understand.

But this was different.

He had not seen a possibility.

He had seen someone seeing him.

And when their eyes met—

the possibilities had disappeared.

"I don't think he was looking at what I might become," Aion said.

Mara frowned.

"What was he looking at?"

Aion looked at her.

"Me."

Mara lowered the cloth in her hands.

For a moment, she did not speak.

The breeze moved through the garden, carrying the smell of soil and leaves. Somewhere beyond the house, a bird called once and then fell silent.

"Have you seen him before?" she asked.

Aion nodded.

"I think so."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

"Was he in the village?"

"No."

"Then where?"

Aion looked toward the trees.

"In the light."

Mara's brow furrowed.

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know."

She knelt in front of him.

"Can you see him now?"

Aion closed his eyes.

Nothing.

He waited.

Nothing.

Then—

a flash.

Golden light.

A road beneath a burning sky.

A man standing alone.

A hand holding a bow.

A pair of eyes looking directly at him.

Aion opened his eyes.

"No."

Mara watched him carefully.

"Good."

Aion looked confused.

"Good?"

"Some things are better when they stay far away."

Aion looked back toward the horizon.

He was not convinced.

Far away did not mean gone.

And he had begun to understand that some things could travel farther than people expected.

Far above the mortal world, Apollo opened his eyes.

He had seen the boy look toward him.

Again.

It should not have been possible.

Apollo had hidden himself behind clouds and distance. Even mortals blessed with exceptional sight could not have found him there.

Yet Aion had looked directly toward him.

Not by chance.

Apollo knew the difference.

He had spent too long watching mortals to mistake coincidence for awareness.

The boy knew.

Perhaps not who he was.

Perhaps not what he was.

But he knew that something was watching.

Apollo leaned against the railing of his chariot.

Below him, the world stretched endlessly.

He had returned to the boy several times.

Each time, he had tried something different.

Distance.

Nothing.

Prophecy.

Nothing.

Memory.

Nothing.

Even the ordinary present seemed strangely uncertain around Aion.

But Apollo had discovered something more troubling.

The boy could see possibilities.

Not with the precision of a god.

Not with the authority of Fate.

But he could see them.

Apollo closed his eyes.

He searched for the boy's future.

A thousand possibilities appeared.

Then they scattered.

Not because they were hidden.

Because they changed.

Apollo watched one future form.

Aion standing beside a river.

The image shifted.

Aion standing in a city.

It changed again.

Aion holding a sword.

Again.

Aion walking beside a ship.

Again.

Aion standing before a temple.

Again.

The possibilities multiplied until Apollo could no longer distinguish one from another.

Then something unexpected happened.

One possibility remained.

Apollo stared.

Aion was older.

Much older.

He stood beneath a dark sky.

Around him were fallen stones.

Behind him—

nothing.

Before him—

Olympus.

Apollo's vision snapped shut.

He opened his eyes.

His hands were gripping the reins of the chariot.

"No."

The vision was too vague.

Too incomplete.

It could mean anything.

A possibility was not a prophecy.

He knew that better than anyone.

Yet Apollo had never seen a mortal whose possibilities refused to settle.

Aion was not simply difficult to foresee.

His choices seemed capable of disturbing the shape of the future itself.

Apollo looked down again.

The boy was still beneath the tree.

He was staring into the distance.

Apollo smiled faintly.

"So you can see me."

The wind carried no answer.

Apollo turned the chariot.

He would descend.

This time, he would speak to the boy.

But before he moved, Apollo looked once more toward Olympus.

The golden peaks rose above the clouds.

The home of the gods.

The place where certainty had become tradition.

Every god had his domain.

Every god had his place.

Every god believed the world could be understood because the gods had spent eternity understanding it.

Apollo had always been among those who knew the most.

He could read signs in the movement of birds.

He could hear meaning in dreams.

He could see the possibilities of kings before they sat upon their thrones.

He could watch a mortal child and know whether that child would become a poet, a soldier, a farmer, or a forgotten name.

But Aion did not fit.

The boy was not hidden behind some greater power.

Apollo had searched for such a power.

He had found none.

There was simply no fixed shape for the god's sight to grasp.

That was what disturbed him.

Apollo was not accustomed to mysteries.

He was accustomed to answers.

And the more he watched Aion, the more the question changed.

At first, Apollo had wondered:

Who is the boy?

Then:

Why can I not see him?

Now there was a third question.

What happens when he learns to see himself?

Apollo turned the chariot downward.

Aion noticed him before he arrived.

He was sitting near the edge of the forest when the sensation returned.

That same presence.

That same impossible light.

Aion closed his eyes.

The world opened.

Possibilities spread around him.

He followed one.

The stranger walking down the road.

Another.

The stranger entering the village.

Another.

The stranger turning away.

Another—

the stranger speaking to him.

Aion opened his eyes.

A man was approaching.

He looked ordinary.

A traveler.

A bow was absent from his shoulder.

No lyre hung at his side.

His clothes were simple.

But Aion could see the light beneath them.

It was impossible to mistake.

The man stopped several paces away.

"You saw me coming."

Aion nodded.

"Yes."

"How?"

Aion considered the question.

"I saw you."

Apollo smiled.

"With your eyes?"

Aion shook his head.

"Then how?"

Aion looked at him carefully.

"In the other way."

Apollo's smile disappeared.

"What do you see when you look at me?"

Aion hesitated.

The answer came easily.

"Many things."

"Such as?"

Aion looked into his eyes.

"A man."

Apollo almost laughed.

"That is reassuring."

"A man who is not only a man."

Apollo went silent.

Aion continued.

"You have many paths."

"Do you see my future?"

"No."

Apollo raised an eyebrow.

"Why not?"

Aion looked at the ground.

"Because when I look at you, everything becomes bright."

For the first time, Apollo looked genuinely unsettled.

"Bright?"

Aion nodded.

"Like the sun."

Apollo stared at him.

The boy did not know.

He could not know.

And yet somehow he had described him perfectly.

Apollo crouched so they were closer to the same height.

"Do you know who I am?"

Aion shook his head.

"Have you seen me before?"

"Yes."

"When?"

Aion looked toward the trees.

"Before."

Apollo smiled.

"That's not very helpful."

"You were watching me."

"I was."

"Why?"

Apollo paused.

Because I cannot see you.

Because you should not exist.

Because every law I have trusted for centuries seems to fail around you.

Because something about you makes even the future uncertain.

Instead, he said:

"I was curious."

Aion studied him.

"That's not the whole reason."

Apollo's expression changed.

"You can tell?"

Aion nodded.

"Sometimes."

"How?"

"I see what people might say."

"Before they say it?"

"Sometimes."

"And what am I thinking now?"

Aion stared at him.

The possibilities opened.

Apollo's expression changed in three different ways.

In one, he became angry.

In another, he laughed.

In another, he stood and walked away.

But beneath all three possibilities was the same thought.

Fear.

Aion looked back at him.

"You're afraid."

Apollo said nothing.

Aion frowned.

"Of me."

Apollo stood.

"Not of you."

"Then what?"

Apollo looked toward the horizon.

"Of what you might become."

Aion followed his gaze.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Aion asked:

"Can you see it?"

Apollo smiled sadly.

"No."

That answer interested Aion more than anything else.

"Why?"

Apollo looked at him.

"I don't know."

Aion smiled.

"Neither do I."

Apollo studied him.

The boy's answer was not mocking.

There was no challenge in it.

Only recognition.

They shared the same uncertainty.

For the first time, Apollo wondered whether Aion understood more than he appeared to.

Not about the gods.

Not about Fate.

But about the simple truth that neither of them could see everything.

"What happens when you look farther?" Apollo asked.

"Farther?"

"Beyond the first possibility."

Aion thought.

"Sometimes there are more."

"How many?"

"I don't know."

"Can you choose which one you see?"

"Sometimes."

"Can you make one happen?"

Aion hesitated.

"I don't know."

Apollo's eyes narrowed.

"Have you tried?"

Aion looked toward the village.

"Once."

"What happened?"

"I chose not to go somewhere."

"Where?"

"The forest."

"And?"

"There was a storm."

Apollo looked toward the sky.

"It was going to storm anyway."

Aion nodded.

"I know."

"Then you did nothing."

Aion looked back at him.

"Maybe."

Apollo smiled.

"Maybe?"

Aion shrugged.

"I saw one possibility where I went into the forest."

"And another?"

"I stayed."

"Which one happened?"

"I stayed."

Apollo understood.

Aion had not changed the storm.

The storm had existed as a possibility regardless of what he chose.

What Aion had changed was his own place within it.

He had not chosen the future itself.

He had chosen which possibility became his reality.

That distinction mattered.

But there were greater questions hidden behind it.

If Aion could choose between possibilities, how far could that ability eventually reach?

Could he choose between the fate of one person?

A village?

A kingdom?

A god?

Apollo stood.

"Do not trust everything you see."

Aion frowned.

"Why?"

"Because the future lies."

Aion thought about that.

"The future doesn't lie."

Apollo raised an eyebrow.

"No?"

"It only shows what might happen."

Apollo smiled.

"Then you have already learned more than most prophets."

Aion looked at him.

"Are you a prophet?"

Apollo almost laughed.

"Something like that."

"You see possibilities too."

"Yes."

"Like me?"

Apollo shook his head.

"Not like you."

Aion frowned.

"Then how?"

Apollo looked toward the village.

"I see what the world may become."

He looked back at Aion.

"You see what it could become."

Aion's eyes brightened.

"Can you teach me?"

Apollo did not answer.

It was the first question Aion had asked that genuinely frightened him.

Because Apollo knew what would happen if he taught the boy.

Aion would become better.

And Apollo did not know where that improvement would lead.

"I don't think I should."

"Why?"

"Because some knowledge should be earned."

Aion considered him.

"Will I earn it?"

Apollo looked at the boy for a long moment.

"Perhaps."

Then he walked away.

Aion watched him go.

The possibilities opened.

In one, Apollo never returned.

In another, he came back the next day.

In another, years passed before they met again.

In another—

Aion stopped looking.

He had learned something else.

Sometimes it was better not to know.

Apollo returned to Olympus before sunset.

This time, Zeus was waiting.

"You spoke to him."

It was not a question.

Apollo nodded.

"What did you learn?"

Apollo removed his cloak.

"He can see possibilities."

Zeus's eyes narrowed.

"Like you?"

"No, his abilities are unlike mine."

"Then how?"

"I don't know."

Zeus stepped closer.

"You seem to say that often when discussing this boy."

"Because it is true."

"What did he see?"

Apollo hesitated.

"Me."

"Your future?"

"No."

"Your past?"

"No."

"Then what?"

Apollo looked directly at Zeus.

"He saw that I was watching him."

Zeus was silent.

Apollo continued.

"He does not understand what he is seeing. He does not know who I am. He doesn't even appear to understand what I am."

"Yet he sees you."

"Yes."

Zeus turned toward the great doors.

"Then he is dangerous."

"Not necessarily."

"Anything that can see what the gods cannot is dangerous."

Apollo did not answer.

Zeus looked back at him.

"You said he is young."

"He is."

"Then watch him."

"I am."

"No."

Zeus's voice hardened.

"Watch him more closely."

Apollo nodded.

But as he left the hall, one thought remained with him.

Zeus was afraid of Aion.

Apollo was beginning to wonder if they should be afraid of something else.

Not what Aion could see.

But what Aion might eventually learn to do with what he saw.

Days became weeks.

Apollo watched.

He watched Aion learn.

He watched him stumble.

He watched him laugh.

He watched him become curious about things that no mortal child should have cared about.

The boy asked questions about everything.

Why the moon changed.

Why some flowers closed at night.

Why birds migrated.

Why people died.

Why Mara grew tired.

Why some people were kind and others cruel.

Why the stars stayed in the sky.

Why Apollo had visited twice.

Mara always answered what she could.

For the questions she could not answer, she simply said:

"Some things take time."

Aion accepted this.

Apollo did not.

One evening, the god sat unseen upon a hill above the village.

Below him, Aion and Mara were walking home.

The sun was setting.

The world turned gold.

Aion stopped.

He looked toward the horizon.

"Something is coming."

Mara looked around.

"What?"

Aion shook his head.

"I don't know."

Apollo's eyes narrowed.

He looked where Aion was looking.

Nothing.

No army.

No monster.

No god.

Only the setting sun.

Yet Apollo could feel it.

A change.

Small.

Almost invisible.

A possibility had shifted.

Somewhere in the world, a thread had moved.

Apollo followed it with his sight.

He saw a distant kingdom.

A child not yet born.

A king not yet crowned.

A war that had not begun.

A ship that had not been built.

A hero whose name had not yet been spoken.

All of it existed only as possibility.

And then Apollo saw Aion.

Not standing in those futures.

Not living among them.

Watching them.

The vision disappeared.

Apollo's breath caught.

Aion turned.

For a moment, the distance between them seemed to vanish.

The boy looked directly at the hill.

Directly at Apollo.

Then he raised one hand.

Not waving.

Pointing.

Toward the sky.

Apollo looked upward.

The first star had appeared.

Then another.

Then another.

And for the briefest moment, Apollo saw something impossible.

A line of light stretched between the stars.

A thread.

It crossed the heavens.

Passed beyond Olympus.

Beyond the mortal world.

Beyond the Loom.

And ended nowhere.

Apollo stared.

Then it vanished.

He looked back at Aion.

The boy had already turned away.

Apollo remained on the hill long after the village had gone dark.

He finally understood why the Fates had failed to see the child.

They had been looking for his future.

Apollo had been looking for his past.

But perhaps neither was the right question.

Perhaps the real question was not:

What will Aion become?

Perhaps it was:

What will Aion choose?

Because if Aion truly stood beyond Fate, then his choices were not merely decisions.

They were possibilities the Loom had never been able to account for.

And for the first time in his immortal existence, Apollo found himself hoping that the answer would never come.

Because somewhere beyond the sight of gods, beyond the reach of Fate, a child was growing.

A child without a thread.

A child without a promised ending.

A child who could look upon the future—

and perhaps, one day,

look back.

Apollo turned toward Olympus.

Zeus knew that Aion existed.

But Zeus did not know everything Apollo had seen.

Not the thread beyond the Loom.

Not what Aion might become.

And certainly not what Apollo had begun to fear.

For now, Apollo kept that knowledge to himself.

And he knew one thing with absolute certainty.

Whatever Aion was,

whatever had brought him into the mortal world,

whatever secret lay between the child and the silent Loom—

the story had already begun.

And the gods were already inside it. 13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsQUYgYCFWl

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