The Sun God Apollo (2)
In ancient Greece, when people needed to perform rites of atonement and purification, they sought out the Temple of Delphi. After all, the Apollo worshipped there was the god of the sun and light, of healing and cleansing.
In Heracles’ case, he was consumed by Hera’s Madness. To purge it, he required an oracle directly from Apollo himself. Only the god of light knew the means to wash away Hera’s curse.
Yet the Pythia, the oracle of Delphi, refused to deliver any prophecy to Heracles. It was Apollo’s way of declaring he would not involve himself in the feud between Hera and her stepson. The god who prized order and balance always maintained strict neutrality in public matters.
The problem is that he turns emotional the moment it becomes personal.
In short, Apollo was the type of deity who defaulted to neutrality unless the issue touched him directly. Naturally, the fiery-tempered Heracles wasn’t about to accept that. And the result…
We received a cold welcome the instant we arrived at the Temple of Delphi. More than two hours passed while we stood outside, and still they refused to let us in. Iolaus eventually grew bored of waiting and headed down the mountain, saying he would guard the chariot.
“Heracles, what exactly did you do last time?”
“They wouldn’t give me the oracle, so I threw a few things and broke a pillar. That’s all.”
“...I can see why they’re giving us the cold shoulder.”
The man who had rampaged through their temple was now back demanding another audience. Of course the priests weren’t going to roll out the welcome mat.
“I’m sorry. If I had been more useful, none of this would have happened.”
“It’s not your fault, Jeanne.”
Jeanne felt guilty that her powers hadn’t been enough to cleanse the madness. Meanwhile, Vanessa sat quietly on the stone steps, knitting.
She’s working with the Nemean pelt again.
I had told her there was no need, yet Vanessa had somehow obtained the legendary lion skin from Heracles. The hide was incredibly tough to work with, but she sat there every day, needles flashing. Her scissors and needles could slice through even that impervious leather—though the process clearly wasn’t easy.
“Vanessa, the wind is cold. Why don’t you head inside? I’ll call you when it’s time.”
Mornings at the summit temple were surprisingly chilly. There was no reason for Vanessa and Jeanne to freeze out here, but…
“Anywhere is enjoyable when I’m with My Lord.”
“...Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“......”
I still didn’t understand what was so fun about being near me. Still, when she put it like that, I couldn’t dismiss her summon.
“Then let’s wait together.”
I dropped onto the stone steps and watched Vanessa knit. The steady rhythm of her needles was strangely calming.
“What are you making?”
“I’ll tell you once it’s finished.”
She smiled brightly and refused to say more. I was curious, but I didn’t press. Vanessa would show me when she was ready. Seeing her look so content was enough.
By the time the sun climbed higher, a long line of pilgrims had formed in front of the temple. Jeanne’s eyes widened at the sheer number of people crowding the stone steps.
“There are so many.”
“Apollo is the god who reveals the future, after all.”
Ancient Greeks visited Delphi before any major decision. Kings and generals were no exception. In modern terms, it was like checking a fortune slip at a shrine—except these oracles were genuinely accurate, which explained why pilgrims flocked here from every corner of Greece.
We had arrived early precisely to avoid the crowds, yet…
They clearly have no intention of letting us in.
Pilgrims who had been admitted were trickling back out, but Heracles’ turn never came. The neglect was too deliberate to be mere resentment over his earlier rampage.
It’s a silent command to leave.
Apollo had no reason to risk clashing with Hera for Heracles’ sake. He would prefer to remain neutral. Perhaps once the Twelve Labors were complete, he might consider lifting the curse. The problem was that I didn’t have time to wait. And it seemed Heracles felt the same.
“So they won’t let us in.”
After sitting in silence for three full hours, Heracles stood. He began walking straight toward the temple entrance.
“Halt!”
“Only the permitted may enter!”
The temple warriors moved to block him, but they might as well have tried to stop a landslide. Two punches—thud, thud—and the men crumpled. Heracles stepped calmly over their bodies and continued inside.
“That’s refreshing,” Vanessa remarked.
“We did wait three hours.”
I nodded. For someone like Heracles, three hours of patience was practically a miracle.
“Let’s go in.”
We followed the path he had cleared. Inside, towering white marble columns rose like symbols of divine authority. Heracles strode down the gleaming corridor without hesitation.
Priests serving Apollo blocked his path.
“Stop at once!”
“This is a sacred temple dedicated to Lord Apollo!”
Golden power erupted from them, forming holy chains that wrapped around Heracles’ entire body. Dozens of gleaming links tightened like heavenly judgment, binding him completely.
“Imprison Heracles!”
“Don’t let him move!”
More priests rushed in, pouring their power into the chains until Heracles vanished beneath layers of glowing metal. Only when the bindings formed a solid cocoon did they stop.
“Heracles,” the old high priest said, stepping forward. “Promise to leave and never return. Do that, and we will release you.”
Heracles remained silent.
“You refuse to answer? Then we have no choice but to keep you locked away.”
Still no reply.
“For a man who must complete his labors to come here and—”
At that exact moment, the mass of chains began to shake violently. Dark red energy seeped between the links like ominous blood.
“W-what is this?!”
The high priest stumbled backward. The crimson power spread, staining the holy chains. The priests could only watch in horror as the bindings trembled.
Then—
CRACK!
The chains exploded outward. Golden fragments scattered and dissolved. Heracles walked forward as if nothing had happened. The priests, their power shattered, collapsed throughout the corridor, coughing blood.
“S-stop!”
The high priest tried to block the way alone, but one look into Heracles’ madness-filled eyes made him flinch and step aside.
Unhindered, Heracles continued toward the inner sanctum where the oracle Pythia resided.
In Greek mythology, a temple entrance was never just a door. It marked the boundary between the divine realm and the mortal world. Beyond it lay the inner sanctum—a holy ground only the oracle Pythia could enter.
The chamber was quiet, filled with a mysterious atmosphere. At its center stood a statue of Apollo, declaring this the sacred place where prophecies were received.
“This is a place you must not enter.”
The voice came from beyond the statue. A young woman sat on a chair there, beautiful, with hair and eyes the color of sunlight woven into gold.
“...Heracles, and the foreigners.”
Her golden gaze swept over Heracles and the rest of us. A mystical aura surrounded her. She was Pythia, the oracle who spoke directly with Apollo.
“I came for the oracle.”
“As I have already said, I cannot provide one.”
Red madness stirred in Heracles’ eyes. He advanced. A soft golden barrier of holy power rose to block him, but he tore through it like ripping cloth and kept walking.
Step. Step.
He stopped directly in front of Pythia. Beast-like eyes burning with insanity stared down at her. Yet even under that terrifying pressure, her expression remained perfectly calm. She simply looked back at him with serene, tranquil eyes.
“Killing me will change nothing.”
Her voice carried only truth. Heracles, sensing it, fell silent.
“Heracles, look at the chair she’s sitting on.”
I pointed at the tripod beneath her.
“?”
His puzzled gaze shifted.
“That is the Omphalos.”
Pythia’s calm expression finally cracked.
The Omphalos—the stone that marked the center of the world and served as Apollo’s sacred relic. The place where she sat was literally the navel of the cosmos.
“I see.”
Understanding dawned. The corner of Heracles’ mouth curved upward. If Pythia refused to give the oracle, they would simply summon Apollo himself. And the key to doing that was the Omphalos.
Heracles reached out.
“Stop!”
Pythia leapt up to block him but was shoved aside and fell. Just as his hand was about to touch the stone—
"Who gave you permission to touch the Omphalos?"
An enraged divine voice thundered through the sanctum. Gentle light poured from the ceiling. From within it descended a man who seemed formed of pure golden radiance. A laurel wreath crowned his head, and he held a lyre in one hand. He was impossibly handsome.
With his arrival, mysterious golden sunlight flooded the chamber. Jeanne quickly raised her holy power to shield Vanessa and me from the intense rays.
“I greet you, Lord Apollo.”
Pythia, who had fallen moments ago, was already kneeling before him.
The god’s gaze turned to Jeanne.
“Foreigner. Do not unleash power from another realm inside my sanctuary.”
With a casual gesture, her holy energy scattered and vanished.
“Heracles. Who told you that you could rampage as you pleased?”
Furious golden eyes—bright as the sun itself—fixed on the man who had shoved Pythia aside.
He was one of the twelve Olympians. The reader of fate. The sun god Apollo.