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[b][color=#DBA901]Successor to the Sun[/color][/b][/center]

[right][sub][color=#c4c4c4]R O M E[/color] [color=#DBA901]☀[/color] [color=#c4c4c4]I T A L Y[/color][/sub][/right][table][row][/row][row][cell][img]https://i.imgur.com/CdiYdcW.gif[/img][img]https://i.imgur.com/pgSe1d3.gif[/img]
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Rome always felt like a city that refused to die.

Perhaps that was why Sasha liked it so much.

Civilizations had risen and fallen here. Empires had stretched across continents and collapsed into dust. Kings, saints, artists, tyrants. They had all left their mark upon the Eternal City, layer upon layer, until history itself seemed to seep from the stone beneath your feet.

And yet people still hurried through it with coffees in hand and phones pressed to their ears.

Life went on.

Sasha sat near the gate with his violin case resting beside him and a backpack hooked around one foot. The departure board overhead flickered with updates in half a dozen languages. Around him, travelers occupied themselves in the universal rituals of airports, checking tickets, chasing children, complaining quietly about delays.

A woman in a tailored suit typed furiously on her laptop, an elderly couple shared a newspaper, a young man across from him was trying and failing to conceal how terrified he was of flying.

Sasha smiled faintly, people were fascinating. Every face held a story. Every hurried conversation offered a glimpse into a life he would never fully know. That was why he had spent so many years wandering, not for the destinations, for the people.

His fingers absently turned the golden ring on his right hand as sunlight spilled through the enormous terminal windows. The warmth settled comfortably across his shoulders.

New York.

The thought still felt strange. But not as absurd as what had happened to him in Venice. 

Titans, successors, ancient gods, monsters. If someone else had told him the story, Sasha would have laughed and suggested they sleep for a few hours. Instead, he had heard the voice himself, had seen the impossible, and felt sunlight gather in his hands and take shape as a bow crafted from living radiance.

No amount of skepticism survived that.

His fingers brushed against the pendant hanging beneath his shirt. The metal felt warm against his skin, though whether from the Roman sun or something else entirely, he couldn't say.

New York.

That was where the others were gathering.

Others.

The idea remained strangely comforting.

Somewhere out there was another poor soul who had woken up one morning as a normal human being and ended the day carrying the weight of a god's legacy.

Perhaps they were just as confused, or maybe they were terrified, though he hoped they were handling it far better than he was.

The boarding announcement echoed through the terminal.

Passengers began to form a line. Sasha needed a moment to himself, to make sure he was actually about to turn his back on everything he had in Europe. The plane felt final, like all decisions were over. 

The airport bathroom was quiet, mercilessly so. The constant drone of announcements, conversations, rolling suitcases, and crying children faded the moment Sasha stepped through the door. For the first time in nearly an hour, he found himself alone, or close enough.

A businessman occupied one of the sinks near the entrance, washing his hands before quickly leaving. The door swung shut behind him. Silence returned, and Sasha exhaled. The flight would be long, he might as well take advantage of a moment's peace while he still had it. He set the violin case against the counter and splashed cold water against his face.

The reflection staring back at him looked tired, not physically, something deeper, like someone who aged years in the span of a week. A successor, which still felt ridiculous. He ran a hand through his hair and a small laugh escaped him. Then the lights flickered. Once, twice, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood upright, instinct telling him he was in danger. Suddenly his new sense, that strange divine intuition that had guided him since his Awakening screamed at him. Danger. 

Sasha slowly lifted his head, and the reflection in the mirror wasn't alone, someone stood behind him. It was a young man, quite beautiful and attractive, tall and confident. A sword rested casually against one shoulder as though carrying weapons through an International Airport was the most natural thing in the entire world. Golden light bled from the blade's edges. It wasn't sunlight, it was something harsher, something wrong.

Sasha turned and immediately the young man smiled. [color=yellow]"Ah, found you."[/color] The voice was melodic, and it landed with unsettling familiarity, not in the sense that Sasha knew the young man but because he felt a similar power inside him. It wasn't identical to his, but it was related in a strange way as if two notes from the same song played in different keys and yet still managed to create harmony instead of dissonance.

[color=#DBA901]"You're one of them,"[/color] Sasha said quietly.

The stranger's grin widened. [color=yellow]"Took you long enough."[/color]

The bathroom door burst open and a young woman stepped through, golden wings unfolded from her back in a shower of metallic feathers, stretching nearly wall-to-wall before folding slightly inward. Beautiful, terrifying, and impossible, yet somehow no less impossible than the strangely glowing sword or the bow that had manifested in Sasha's hands previously.

[color=white]"No monsters?"[/color] she asked.

[color=yellow]"Didn't need them,"[/color] the swordsman replied. [color=yellow]"Tracking him was easy."[/color]

Sasha's eyes narrowed as he took in the two of them. [color=#DBA901]"Who are you?"[/color]

The woman tilted her head almost sympathetically. [color=white]"Wrong question."[/color]

The swordsman planted the sword's tip against the tile floor, where golden cracks of light spread outward. [color=yellow]"The question is whether you're going to come quietly."[/color]

The answer arrived before Sasha could think, the intuition again, louder this time. It was a simple warning and yet so loud in his mind. Run. 

Suddenly light exploded through the bathroom, coming from Sasha, brilliant blinding light as if the sun had just flared. Sounds of painful screaming reached his ears and Sasha was aware of the feeling of the bow from before now in his hands, having materialized in a burst of solar radiance.

Ryan's expression darkened even as he unshielded his eyes, his companion not so lucky as she was on her knees in pain. [color=yellow]"So it's true."[/color] His sword blazed brighter. [color=yellow]"You really are Apollo's."[/color]

The first swing came without warning golden light screamed through the air.

Sasha dove sideways, his heart fluttering as the blade hit the sink behind him. The mirror shattered and glass erupted across the room. The two chosen of Sun and Light went back and forth, bow deflecting sword with shields of sun fire and Sasha's own agility and survival instincts. As the fight reached its climax, Sasha managed to duck under the sword strike and bring the bow around, an arrow manifesting in the string before Sasha fired and hit the young man in the shoulder, pinning him to the wall. 

All of his muscles burned, and the smell of blood reached his nose. A grimace of pain was on the young man's face though his eyes shone with anger. The woman was still on the ground clutching her eyes and shrieking in pain and Sasha rushed out of the bathroom, snatching up his violin case as the bow disappeared. 

And for the first time since his Awakening, Sasha understood exactly how serious the war between Gods and Titans truly was. Two persons had looked at him and decided he needed to die. Had come to stop him, to kill him. 

He hurried to his flight still shaking from adrenaline and had to try and fight down his adrenaline to tell the attendants that he was fire, just nervous about flying for the first time. The reassuring smiles helped in more ways than they realized and soon enough he was tucked into his seat, face pressed into the glass, trying not to hyperventilate or show his seat-mate he was crying.

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