The cheers of the villagers faded into memory long before the sound itself disappeared, leaving Apollo with an unfamiliar ache in his chest as they crested the first gentle slope beyond the settlement.
He glanced back once, watching the cluster of thatched roofs grow smaller beneath the brilliant morning sky, smoke from cooking fires rising in lazy spirals that blurred the line between earth and heaven.
Apollo adjusted the weight of his pack, feeling the wooden flute shift against his spine. The gift felt heavier than its physical form warranted, laden with something he couldn't quite name, expectation, perhaps, or memory, or the simple truth that kindness was often more difficult to bear than cruelty.
The path narrowed as it wound upward, the cultivated fields of the valley giving way to wild grasses that brushed against their legs. Nik had been uncharacteristically silent since their departure, but as the incline steepened, his restraint finally broke.
