CHAPTER 46: THE CROOKED PATH

The landscape warped before Apollo’s eyes like a painting left in the rain. Trees that had stood firm moments ago now bent at impossible angles, the path beneath his feet twisting into spirals that led nowhere and everywhere at once.

The very air felt wrong, thicker in his lungs, almost reluctant to be breathed.

Ahead, Lyra charged forward with the determination of someone refusing to acknowledge reality.

Her blonde hair flashed beneath her hood as she pushed through a thicket that hadn’t been there seconds before, muttering coordinates under her breath like incantations.

"East. Due east. The valley opens at the third ridge."

Apollo lagged behind the others, watching. The gold in his veins pulsed with quiet recognition.

This wasn’t natural confusion, it was deliberate manipulation. The relic in his pack had been silent for nearly an hour, which worried him more than its taunts.

"You’d think our fearless leader would notice we’ve passed that crooked pine three times now," the relic’s voice suddenly rang out, loud enough for everyone to hear. "But then, noticing things was never her strong suit, was it?"

Lyra’s shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t slow or turn. "Ignore it," she called back to the group. "It’s just trying to confuse us."

"Oh, I don’t need to try, Queen of Nowhere," the relic shot back, its tone dripping with mockery. "You’re doing a splendid job of that yourself. Tell me, Pathfinder of Circles, how many more hours shall we spend admiring the same hillside?"

A muscle jumped in Lyra’s jaw, but she pressed on, back rigid. The others exchanged uncomfortable glances, all except Cale, whose dark eyes remained fixed on the shifting terrain ahead.

Apollo felt the weight of the relic shift in his pack, almost like it was settling in for a performance. The gold in his veins warmed in response, a quiet harmony he tried to ignore.

"Perhaps," the relic continued, its voice sweetly venomous, "we could save time by simply walking in place. The scenery would change just as much."

Thorin stopped abruptly, his face flushing dark beneath his beard. "That’s it," he growled, swinging his pack down and extracting his axe.

The blade caught the midmorning light, glinting with deadly promise. "I’ve had enough of this cursed thing."

Apollo tensed. "Thorin—"

"I warned you all," the dwarf continued, advancing toward Apollo with his axe raised. "Said from the beginning we should smash it and be done."

The relic’s laughter bubbled up, delighted and taunting. "Oh yes, the hammer solution! When all you have is an axe, every problem looks like kindling. Go on then, little man. Take your swing. See what happens when you try to break something older than your entire bloodline."

Thorin’s knuckles whitened around the axe handle. His eyes, narrowed to slits, fixed on Apollo’s pack.

Apollo stepped sideways, positioning himself between a gnarled tree trunk and Renna. "We don’t know what would happen," he said quietly, forcing calm into his voice. "It could make things worse."

"Worse?" Thorin’s laugh was harsh. "We’re walking in circles while this thing mocks us. How could it be worse?"

"Remember the cave," Apollo said, watching Thorin’s eyes. "Remember how it felt when the tide came in. This isn’t something we should act on in anger."

The relic chuckled. "Listen to pretty-boy. He’s smarter than he looks. Not that it’s a high bar to clear."

Thorin hesitated, axe still raised. For a moment, Apollo thought he might swing anyway. Then Nik stepped forward, placing a hand on Thorin’s arm.

"He’s right," Nik said, his usual smile nowhere to be seen. "We don’t know what we’re dealing with."

Thorin lowered the axe slowly, his face still dark with rage. "Fine," he spat. "But when this thing gets us all killed, remember I tried to stop it."

The tension eased, but only fractionally. Apollo felt sweat cooling on his back as Thorin stomped away, muttering curses under his breath.

They continued walking, the landscape shifting around them like a fever dream. Trees appeared where none had been, rocks changed shape and position, and twice Apollo could have sworn the sun jumped positions in the sky.

"I almost think it knows more than we do," Nik said suddenly, breaking the strained silence. His voice was quiet, almost contemplative. "About where we’re going, I mean."

Lyra turned on him, green eyes flashing. "Don’t start," she warned. "That’s exactly what it wants."

"I’m just saying," Nik continued, spreading his hands in a placating gesture, "maybe there’s a reason we keep ending up in the same place. Maybe we’re supposed to go another way."

"And follow the directions of something that does nothing but mock us?" Renna’s voice was sharp with scorn. "Brilliant strategy."

Nik’s face fell, the rare moment of honesty met with derision. He shrugged, trying to recapture his usual nonchalance. "Just a thought."

Apollo watched the exchange with growing unease. The cracks in their unity were widening by the hour.

The relic had gone quiet again, but Apollo could feel its attention, focused and waiting. The gold in his veins hummed with anticipation.

They climbed a steep incline, the ground beneath their feet shifting treacherously with each step. At the crest, the path split three ways, or seemed to, as Apollo couldn’t be sure any of it was real anymore.

"Careful, pretty-boy, cliff’s on your right, unless you want to swan dive," the relic said suddenly, addressing Apollo directly for the first time that day.

Apollo hesitated. The others continued forward, ignoring the taunt. But something in the relic’s tone made him pause. He glanced right and saw nothing but solid ground, covered in the same scrubby vegetation that blanketed the rest of the hillside.

’What if...’

Making his decision in an instant, Apollo shifted slightly to the left. The ground beneath his feet remained solid. But ahead, where moments before there had been only twisted paths and impenetrable thickets, the landscape suddenly cleared. A straight trail opened before them, cutting through the underbrush like a well-used road.

Apollo blinked, certain he was imagining things. But no, the path was there, obvious and inviting where seconds ago there had been only confusion.

The others continued forward, not seeming to notice the change. Only Cale paused, glancing back at Apollo with an expression that could have been curiosity or recognition.

Their eyes met briefly, and something passed between them, an acknowledgment, unspoken but clear.

Cale knew. He’d seen what happened when Apollo followed the relic’s direction.

Apollo fell back into step with the group, saying nothing about what had just occurred. The gold in his veins warmed with something that felt uncomfortably like satisfaction.

By midday, the strain was visible on everyone’s faces. Lyra pushed on with grim determination, refusing to acknowledge they were making no progress.

Thorin stalked along with his hand never far from his axe, eyes constantly darting to Apollo’s pack. Renna’s spear tapped against the ground with increasing force, a physical manifestation of her simmering frustration.

Nik had grown unusually quiet, his usual stream of chatter dried up in the face of the group’s fracturing morale.

Only Cale and Apollo maintained any semblance of neutrality, though for entirely different reasons. Cale watched and waited, his patience seemingly infinite.

Apollo kept his revelation to himself, the decision solidifying with each step: the relic must be obeyed, at least by him.

When they finally made camp as the sun began its descent, no one had the energy for their usual banter.

They ate in silence, each lost in private thoughts. Apollo set his bedroll slightly apart from the others, the relic a constant presence against his back.

One by one, exhaustion claimed them. Nik first, then Thorin with his usual rumbling snores. Renna lay with her back to the fire, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her wakefulness for a long time before she too succumbed. Lyra stared into the flames until her eyes grew heavy, finally curling on her side with one hand still near her knife.

Cale was the last to sleep, his dark eyes meeting Apollo’s across the dying fire in silent communication before he finally closed them.

Apollo remained awake, watching the coals pulse from orange to red to gray. The night deepened around him, stars wheeling overhead in their ancient patterns.

"You already know, golden-boy," the relic whispered, its voice so close it might have been inside his head. "You’ll walk where I tell you. The rest will follow...or they’ll break."

Apollo stayed silent, staring into the coals. The gold in his veins pulsed in quiet agreement. The path was crooked, but he was the only one willing to walk it.

Apollo waited until the camp had fallen into the deep rhythms of sleep before he moved. He slipped his hand into his pack, fingers brushing against the cloth-wrapped relic. It warmed at his touch, a living pulse that matched the gold stirring beneath his skin.

’I understand now,’ he thought, carefully extracting the bundle. ’You’re not just mocking us. You’re teaching us.’

He unwrapped the spiral artifact, its surface catching the dying firelight and transforming it into something richer, deeper. The metal, if it was metal at all, seemed to drink in the glow, swirling with colors that shouldn’t exist in the darkness.

The dog lifted its head from where it had been curled, watching Apollo with unblinking eyes. It made no sound, merely observed as Apollo turned the relic over in his hands, feeling its weight, its intent.

"Show me."