Apoalo

Olympus Rising

Appreciate the invitation @MintRolls but I'm probably going to just do a dream post or something for Sasha before the skip since it would be weird to arrive and then jump again. <3

Olympus Rising

So, this timeskip. Are we all going to move to suddenly together? If so I'll probably stick to something simple for Sasha. No need to land somewhere just to go somewhere else in another post hehe. Also love the last few posts, Blink in particular is such a great character. Had me giggling.

Olympus Rising

Successor to the Sun

_{R O M E ☀ I T A L Y}

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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. "Ah, found you." 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. "You're one of them," Sasha said quietly. The stranger's grin widened. "Took you long enough." 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. "No monsters?" she asked. "Didn't need them," the swordsman replied. "Tracking him was easy." Sasha's eyes narrowed as he took in the two of them. "Who are you?" The woman tilted her head almost sympathetically. "Wrong question." The swordsman planted the sword's tip against the tile floor, where golden cracks of light spread outward. "The question is whether you're going to come quietly." 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. "So it's true." His sword blazed brighter. "You really are Apollo's." 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.

Olympus Rising

Just realized I had never put Sasha in the character tab bwahaha. I'm EST, but that means literally nothing. You'll find me around at literally all times.

Olympus Rising

Successor to the Sun

"What's broken can be mended, what's hurt can be healed. No matter how dark it gets, the sun's gonna rise again." —Meredith Grey

Aleksander "Sasha" Solarczyk, Successor of Apollo

_______________________________________________ Face Claim: Jenya Prakop | #DBA901 •☀───────☼ 𝄞 ✦ 𝄞 ☼───────☀• Name: Aleksander "Sasha" Solarczyk Age: 23-years-old Gender: Male Sexuality: Bi-Sexual Role: Apollo's Successor Power: Heliokinesis Weapon: Golden Bow and Arrows Identifying Features/Accessories: • Golden Sun Necklace that belonged to his Grandmother. • A simple gold and black ring worn on one hand. He absentmindedly twists it whenever he's thinking through a problem or composing music in his head. • Leather cords, woven bracelets, and small keepsakes collected from different countries. Unlike most of his belongings, he never throws them away. Each has a story attached. • Golden Eyes in Sunlight, not literally gold all the time. Most people would say they're hazel or amber. However, when sunlight hits them directly, they seem to glow gold for a brief moment. People often find themselves staring without understanding why. • Violin Calluses. Years of playing have left distinctive calluses on his fingertips. They're a small detail, but one that instantly tells people music is central to his life. • No matter where he travels or how long he stays indoors, he always looks like he's spent a week under perfect summer weather. Healthy skin, faint freckles, a warm complexion. • Distinctive Scent: Not perfume. More a subtle scent people notice when close to him: warm cedar, old books, and summer air after rain. •☀───────☼ 𝄞 ✦ 𝄞 ☼───────☀• _______________________________________________

Personality: Charismatic • Perceptive • Creative • Independent • Compassionate • Honest Driven • Restless • Proud • Idealistic Bio: Aleksander "Sasha" Solarczyk was born in Kraków, Poland, and according to his mother, the day had been overcast for nearly a week beforehand, only for the clouds to break apart the moment he was born. It was the sort of story parents told their children for fun, and Sasha never thought much of it. His childhood was ordinary by most standards. His father worked as an architect, while his mother taught music at a local conservatory. They weren't a wealthy family, but the home was warm and was filled with books, music, and long conversations around the dinner table. Sasha grew up quite inquisitive and learned much about himself and the world. Music entered his life before he could properly read. At five years old, he began learning the violin. By eight, teachers were describing him as gifted. By twelve, they were calling him exceptional. What unsettled them wasn't merely his talent, but the strange instinct he possessed. Sasha seemed capable of hearing mistakes before they happened. He could anticipate shifts in rhythm and predict where fellow musicians would stumble moments before they did. Many attributed it to intuition, others simply called it genius. As he grew older, he became known for more than his music. People trusted him, strangers opened up to him with alarming ease, friends often joked that he could see through lies, though Sasha himself never knew how to explain it. He simply had a feeling whenever something wasn't true. It wasn't certainty, just an uncomfortable sensation that sat in his chest whenever someone tried to deceive him. Despite his talent, Sasha resisted opportunities that would tie him down, he was accepted into prestigious music programs which he turned down. He was offered contracts, and he declined. The idea of spending his life inside concert halls and recording studios felt wrong somehow. There was too much of the world left unseen. Instead, after finishing his studies, he chose a far less conventional path. He traveled. For several years he wandered across Europe with little more than a violin case, a backpack, and enough money to survive. He played in city squares, train stations, cafes, and festivals. Sometimes he earned enough for a hotel room. Sometimes he slept in hostels. Sometimes he accepted invitations from people who had heard him play and wanted to share a meal. His family thought he was wasting his potential. His mother understood, his father never quite did, yet those years became some of the happiest of Sasha's life. He watched sunrises over mountain ranges. Played for crowds that spoke languages he couldn't understand. Shared drinks with strangers who became friends for a night and memories forever. He learned that people were remarkably similar no matter where they came from. Still, there was always something unusual about his life. Photographers frequently approached him, insisting he looked like he belonged in magazines. Animals seemed unnaturally comfortable around him. His timing bordered on impossible. He often arrived exactly where he needed to be without understanding why he had chosen a particular route or destination. More than once, he narrowly avoided accidents through little more than instinct. There were moments, too, that unsettled him. Dreams of golden halls. A voice he couldn't quite hear. Fragments of songs that felt impossibly ancient. Visions that disappeared the moment he woke. He dismissed them as stress, exhaustion, or imagination. What else could they be? The answer arrived without warning. One evening, while performing for a crowd in a crowded Venetian city square, chaos erupted. The attack came suddenly. Creatures that should not have existed emerged from the shadows. Monstrous forms hidden from the eyes of ordinary mortals. Panic spread through the crowd. Sasha barely had time to react. Then the world disappeared. Darkness swallowed everything. He found himself standing in an endless void illuminated only by brilliant golden light. A figure stood before him. Radiant, beautiful, and terrifying. The voice that spoke seemed older than history itself. Apollo. The god explained only what was necessary. The Titans were stirring, their successors had already begun moving. The chosen heirs of Olympus were awakening. The world stood on the edge of a conflict hidden from mortal eyes. And Sasha was one of them. A successor, heir, a weapon. The explanation lasted only moments, before then coming instructions. Find the others and trust your instincts, but do not ignore the call. At this point the light vanishes and Sasha awoke from the trance in the same wincing position, his pendant glowing yellow under his shirt, and a bow and arrow in his hands. The crowd was still screaming, and the creatures were still moving forward. For the first time in his life, everything made sense. He raised the bow and an arrow appeared perfectly in place within the golden string. He aimed naturally and fired the arrow which burst forward like a firework, leaving a trail of sunfire behind. The other creatures ran off. Then, when he tried to decide on how to explain a radiant bow it disappeared. It was then Sasha knew that everything was true. He felt like his calling had been figured out. Sasha had spent years building a life defined by freedom, now the fate of the world demanded he surrender it. And despite every part of him wanting to walk away, to return to the roads, the music, and the life he had chosen for himself. A deeper voice within him already knew he wouldn't. Because if darkness truly was coming, he could no more ignore it than the sun could refuse to rise.

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

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___________________________________ ♪ 〰〰〰〰🎧〰〰〰〰 ♪ ​𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 Townspeople ♪ 〰〰〰〰🎧〰〰〰〰 ♪ ♪ 〰〰〰〰🎧〰〰〰〰 ♪ ​𝙻𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗​​​​​ Fairgrounds​​ ♪ 〰〰〰〰🎧〰〰〰〰 ♪ ___________________________________

♪ 〰〰〰〰🎧〰〰〰〰 ♪ The fairgrounds looked different after seventy-two hours in the dark. Not changed, exactly. Just brighter. Maybe it was because everyone had spent three days crowding around generators and open doors, listening to rumors spread faster than facts. Maybe it was because the whole town had collectively remembered what silence sounded like once the hum of electricity disappeared. Whatever the reason, the Fourth of July festival felt louder this year. More alive. Rowan killed the engine and sat for a moment before getting out. The distant sound of live music drifted across the evening air, blending with laughter, carnival rides, and the occasional squeal from somebody making poor decisions on a mechanical bull. The smell hit him next, funnel cakes, barbecue smoke, fried food, livestock, and summer heat baked into old dirt. Home. His drumsticks rested on the passenger seat. For a second, his eyes lingered on them. The session in Boone had been over a week ago now. The power eventually came back. Life moved on. Pines Holler found its footing again like it always did. But Rowan hadn't stopped thinking about that day. About the band room. About how good it had felt to sit behind a real kit and let everything else disappear. About Liam. That was the part he kept circling back to. Not intentionally. Just... Inevitably. Blonde hair catching afternoon sunlight outside the music building. Green eyes that somehow always looked amused, even when he wasn't smiling. The easy way he'd held doors open and made space beside him like Rowan belonged there. Like it wasn't strange that a guy from a dying mountain town kept showing up whenever he could find an excuse. ‘You ever think about transferring?’ The question still lived rent-free somewhere in the back of his mind. Rowan snorted softly to himself as he climbed out of the truck. Transfer. With what money? To do what? Leave Callie behind? Leave Pines Holler? The questions always fell apart before they reached an answer. Still... The possibility lingered. A dangerous thing, possibility. He grabbed his stick bag from the passenger seat and slung it over his shoulder. The crowd thickened the closer he got to the stage area. Kids darted between adults carrying sparklers. Tourists wandered around looking simultaneously fascinated and confused. Someone was already drunk enough to be yelling about rodeo rules. Business as usual. A small grin tugged at Rowan's mouth. Mountain Static's set wasn't for a little while yet. Another local act was currently finishing up onstage, their music carrying across the fairgrounds while volunteers hurried around behind the scenes trying to keep everything running on schedule. Rowan slowed near the back of the stage, taking in the scene. The banners, the lights, the crowd. The familiar nerves settling into his stomach. No matter how many times he performed, that feeling never really left. And honestly? He hoped it never would. Because the moment he sat behind a drum kit and the nerves disappeared entirely is everything he lives for, the second where everything clicks into place and he truly belongs. Music was still the one thing that made everything else quiet. The expectations, memories, the questions he couldn't answer, all of it. For thirty minutes on a stage in the middle of Pines Holler, none of those things mattered. Only the next beat. Only the next song. Only the people listening. Rowan adjusted the strap on his stick bag and took a slow breath, letting the sounds of the fair wash over him. Somewhere beyond the crowd, fireworks waited for nightfall. Somewhere beyond the mountains, Boone waited too. And somewhere in between those two places stood Rowan Shaw, trying to figure out which version of his future was calling his name louder.

Olympus Rising

Oh, that's unfortunate. :( happy to be accepted though. I use imgur for ALL of my photo hosting haha. If you have discord I can send them. Or just check his faceclaims tiktok. Took most of them from there.

Olympus Rising

For our GM and your viewing pleasure. I present the Successor of the Sun.

Successor to the Sun

"What's broken can be mended, what's hurt can be healed. No matter how dark it gets, the sun's gonna rise again." —Meredith Grey

Aleksander "Sasha" Solarczyk, Successor of Apollo

_______________________________________________ Face Claim: Jenya Prakop | #DBA901 •☀───────☼ 𝄞 ✦ 𝄞 ☼───────☀• Name: Aleksander "Sasha" Solarczyk Age: 23-years-old Gender: Male Sexuality: Bi-Sexual Role: Apollo's Successor Power: Heliokinesis Weapon: Golden Bow and Arrows Identifying Features/Accessories: • Golden Sun Necklace that belonged to his Grandmother. • A simple gold and black ring worn on one hand. He absentmindedly twists it whenever he's thinking through a problem or composing music in his head. • Leather cords, woven bracelets, and small keepsakes collected from different countries. Unlike most of his belongings, he never throws them away. Each has a story attached. • Golden Eyes in Sunlight, not literally gold all the time. Most people would say they're hazel or amber. However, when sunlight hits them directly, they seem to glow gold for a brief moment. People often find themselves staring without understanding why. • Violin Calluses. Years of playing have left distinctive calluses on his fingertips. They're a small detail, but one that instantly tells people music is central to his life. • No matter where he travels or how long he stays indoors, he always looks like he's spent a week under perfect summer weather. Healthy skin, faint freckles, a warm complexion. • Distinctive Scent: Not perfume. More a subtle scent people notice when close to him: warm cedar, old books, and summer air after rain. •☀───────☼ 𝄞 ✦ 𝄞 ☼───────☀• _______________________________________________

Personality: Charismatic • Perceptive • Creative • Independent • Compassionate • Honest Driven • Restless • Proud • Idealistic Bio: Aleksander "Sasha" Solarczyk was born in Kraków, Poland, and according to his mother, the day had been overcast for nearly a week beforehand, only for the clouds to break apart the moment he was born. It was the sort of story parents told their children for fun, and Sasha never thought much of it. His childhood was ordinary by most standards. His father worked as an architect, while his mother taught music at a local conservatory. They weren't a wealthy family, but the home was warm and was filled with books, music, and long conversations around the dinner table. Sasha grew up quite inquisitive and learned much about himself and the world. Music entered his life before he could properly read. At five years old, he began learning the violin. By eight, teachers were describing him as gifted. By twelve, they were calling him exceptional. What unsettled them wasn't merely his talent, but the strange instinct he possessed. Sasha seemed capable of hearing mistakes before they happened. He could anticipate shifts in rhythm and predict where fellow musicians would stumble moments before they did. Many attributed it to intuition, others simply called it genius. As he grew older, he became known for more than his music. People trusted him, strangers opened up to him with alarming ease, friends often joked that he could see through lies, though Sasha himself never knew how to explain it. He simply had a feeling whenever something wasn't true. It wasn't certainty, just an uncomfortable sensation that sat in his chest whenever someone tried to deceive him. Despite his talent, Sasha resisted opportunities that would tie him down, he was accepted into prestigious music programs which he turned down. He was offered contracts, and he declined. The idea of spending his life inside concert halls and recording studios felt wrong somehow. There was too much of the world left unseen. Instead, after finishing his studies, he chose a far less conventional path. He traveled. For several years he wandered across Europe with little more than a violin case, a backpack, and enough money to survive. He played in city squares, train stations, cafes, and festivals. Sometimes he earned enough for a hotel room. Sometimes he slept in hostels. Sometimes he accepted invitations from people who had heard him play and wanted to share a meal. His family thought he was wasting his potential. His mother understood, his father never quite did, yet those years became some of the happiest of Sasha's life. He watched sunrises over mountain ranges. Played for crowds that spoke languages he couldn't understand. Shared drinks with strangers who became friends for a night and memories forever. He learned that people were remarkably similar no matter where they came from. Still, there was always something unusual about his life. Photographers frequently approached him, insisting he looked like he belonged in magazines. Animals seemed unnaturally comfortable around him. His timing bordered on impossible. He often arrived exactly where he needed to be without understanding why he had chosen a particular route or destination. More than once, he narrowly avoided accidents through little more than instinct. There were moments, too, that unsettled him. Dreams of golden halls. A voice he couldn't quite hear. Fragments of songs that felt impossibly ancient. Visions that disappeared the moment he woke. He dismissed them as stress, exhaustion, or imagination. What else could they be? The answer arrived without warning. One evening, while performing for a crowd in a crowded Venetian city square, chaos erupted. The attack came suddenly. Creatures that should not have existed emerged from the shadows. Monstrous forms hidden from the eyes of ordinary mortals. Panic spread through the crowd. Sasha barely had time to react. Then the world disappeared. Darkness swallowed everything. He found himself standing in an endless void illuminated only by brilliant golden light. A figure stood before him. Radiant, beautiful, and terrifying. The voice that spoke seemed older than history itself. Apollo. The god explained only what was necessary. The Titans were stirring, their successors had already begun moving. The chosen heirs of Olympus were awakening. The world stood on the edge of a conflict hidden from mortal eyes. And Sasha was one of them. A successor, heir, a weapon. The explanation lasted only moments, before then coming instructions. Find the others and trust your instincts, but do not ignore the call. At this point the light vanishes and Sasha awoke from the trance in the same wincing position, his pendant glowing yellow under his shirt, and a bow and arrow in his hands. The crowd was still screaming, and the creatures were still moving forward. For the first time in his life, everything made sense. He raised the bow and an arrow appeared perfectly in place within the golden string. He aimed naturally and fired the arrow which burst forward like a firework, leaving a trail of sunfire behind. The other creatures ran off. Then, when he tried to decide on how to explain a radiant bow it disappeared. It was then Sasha knew that everything was true. He felt like his calling had been figured out. Sasha had spent years building a life defined by freedom, now the fate of the world demanded he surrender it. And despite every part of him wanting to walk away, to return to the roads, the music, and the life he had chosen for himself. A deeper voice within him already knew he wouldn't. Because if darkness truly was coming, he could no more ignore it than the sun could refuse to rise.

Olympus Rising

I'm going to go ahead and reserve Apollo! Should have him ready soon!

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

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___________________________________ ♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪ ​𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 Townspeople, Husker, Liam ♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪ ♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪ ​𝙻𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗​​​​​ Husker's, Main Street, Appalachian State, Boone​​ ♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪ ___________________________________

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪ Rowan didn’t wait long once the plan settled into something real. The house had hit that point where the heat stopped feeling temporary and started feeling like a decision, like staying meant choosing it. Callie was still moving through her routines, steady and purposeful, but Rowan could already feel the walls pressing in just a little too close. “I’m gonna head down,” he called, voice carrying easy through the house as he tugged his shirt straight and stepped into his sneakers. “Beat the rush before half the town gets the same idea.” The screen door creaked open and shut behind him, and just like that, the heat shifted from contained to everywhere. Pines Holler in summer didn’t care whether you were inside or out, it settled on you all the same. The walk to the bar was short, familiar. Gravel crunching underfoot, cicadas screaming overhead, the low mechanical hum of generators growing louder the closer he got. People were already out, clustered in yards, leaning against trucks, calling across the street like the outage had peeled something back in the town. Rowan nodded where it felt right. Didn’t stop. The bar hit him all at once when he stepped inside, cooler air, not by much, but enough to matter. The smell of grease and cold beer, the sound of voices layered over one another, the steady thrum of Husker’s generators working overtime to keep the place alive. “Look who decided to join civilization,” someone called from the far end. Rowan lifted a hand in vague acknowledgment, already making his way to the bar. One of the waitresses caught sight of him quick. “What’re you having?” “Two burgers,” Rowan said, leaning his forearms against the counter. “One now, one for later. You know how she likes it?” The Waitress smirked and snorted. “Yeah, I do.” Rowan shifted his weight, tapping his fingers lightly against the wood, an idle rhythm that blended into the noise around him. He didn’t mean to listen, but in a place like this, you didn’t have much choice. “…power company’s saying transformer blew—” “…nah, it’s more than that, heard it’s down the line near—” “…could be tonight, could be tomorrow—” “…they said days, man. Days.” Rowan’s tapping faltered for half a beat. Days. He stared down at the bar top like it might rearrange the words into something better. “Hell of a time for it,” someone muttered nearby. “Middle of summer, tourists rolling in, and now this.” Another voice, lower, sharper, “Wouldn’t be happening if folks hadn’t been digging where they shouldn’t.” That earned a few grunts. A few looks. Rowan didn’t add to it. Just filed it away, that quiet tension threading under everything. Same as always lately. Same as it had been building. The waitress slid a plate in front of him, breaking the moment clean in half. “Eat,” She said. Rowan didn’t argue. He barely got halfway through before the sound outside shifted, engines, multiple, not the usual passing traffic. Conversations near the windows dipped, then tilted, curiosity pulling attention outward like a tide. Rowan glanced over his shoulder. Black SUVs. Clean. Out of place. Doors opened in near unison, men stepping out in neat lines that didn’t belong to Pines Holler. Not in the way they moved. Not in the way they looked around, measured, assessing. “Who the hell—” someone started. “Mercer’s people,” another answered, quieter. That name moved through the room faster than the heat ever could. Rowan turned more fully now, plate forgotten for a second as he watched them start unloading equipment from the back. Generators. New ones. Still boxed, still clean, still smelling like money. And then they started handing them out. Not selling. Not bargaining. Just giving. The reaction was immediate. Suspicion tangled with relief, gratitude bumping shoulders with something sharper, harder to name. People stepped forward anyway. Of course they did. You don’t turn down power when your house feels like an oven. Rowan’s jaw shifted slightly. “Since when does anyone give this town anything for free? Aside from the Doc.” someone near him muttered. No one answered. Because everyone was thinking the same thing. Nothing here came without a hook, there were exceptions but they were known. Mercer wasn't. Rowan looked back down at his plate, appetite dulled at the edges now, and let out a slow breath through his nose. The generator hum outside grew louder as more were hauled off, piece by piece, into the town. Days. No power. Gideon’s people stepping in like they’d been waiting for it. His fingers started tapping again, faster now. Not nervous, thinking. Four o’clock. No power meant no session. No session meant losing the slot. Losing the slot meant— No. He pushed the plate away, decision settling in sharp and sudden. Not happening. Rowan stood. “I'll pay now for mine and hers,” Rowan said, already moving to get his wallet. Afterwards he made his way outside. The noise of the bar followed him out, swallowed quickly by the heavy air and the low murmuring of voices distributing generators up and down the street. He didn’t stop walking until he hit the edge of the lot, pulling his phone out again, angling it like that might coax more signal out of nothing. Boone wasn’t that far. App’s band rooms would have power. They always did. And Liam. Rowan scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaling once, sharp. Yeah. That’d work. He glanced back toward town, toward Miners Street, toward the house, toward Callie, and then down at the phone in his hand. Plan first. Then everything else. Rowan headed for his truck, already dialing in the next move. He wasn’t missing that session. Not for this. The drive out of Pines Holler always felt like stepping through something invisible. One minute it was cracked pavement, sagging porches, and heat hanging low over everything like a held breath. The next, the road opened up, winding through stretches of green that felt too wide, too alive to belong to the same place. Rowan drove with the windows down. The air didn’t cool much, but it moved, and that was enough. Boone rose up gradually, familiar but different. Cleaner. Busier. Alive in a way Pines Holler pretended not to notice. He parked near campus, cutting the engine and sitting there for a second longer than necessary, hands resting on the wheel. This part always felt… strange. Like he’d crossed into a version of life that could have been his, if things had tilted just slightly differently. Students passed by in clusters, laughing, talking, moving with purpose. No one here looked like they were waiting for something to break. Rowan exhaled, grabbed his sticks from the passenger seat, and stepped out. Liam was already there. Leaning against the side entrance like he belonged to the building, which, Rowan supposed, he kind of did. Blonde hair catching the late afternoon light, green eyes sharp and easy all at once. There was always something about the way he looked at people, like he saw them clearly and decided they were worth his time anyway. It did something to Rowan he tried not to think about too hard. “Cutting it close,” Liam said, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Power’s out back home, like I mentioned when I had service,” Rowan shot back, lifting his sticks slightly like that explained everything. “Figured I’d borrow a real setup before I lost the day and my session entirely.” Liam’s gaze flicked to the sticks, then back to Rowan’s face. “Good call.” No questions. No skepticism. Just that easy acceptance that made Rowan’s chest feel a little tighter than it should. “C’mon,” Liam added, pushing off the wall and holding the door open. “Room’s empty for a couple hours.” The band room smelled like wood, metal, and faintly like instrument oils. It was better than his house's setup. Cleaner. More space. A kit that actually responded the way it was supposed to. Rowan settled behind it like he’d been holding his breath all day. Then he let it out. The first strike of the snare cracked through the room, sharp, clean, right. It echoed back at him, full-bodied, real in a way that made something in his chest loosen all at once. There it was. He didn’t need to think after that. His hands moved on instinct, rhythm spilling out faster than he could second-guess it. Kick, snare, hi-hat, then building, layering, pushing. The sound filled the room, climbed the walls, settled into his bones. Everything else fell away. No heat. No outage. No Pines Holler closing in around itself. Just timing. Precision. Feeling. Just him. He lost track of time somewhere between one pattern and the next, shifting from tight control into something looser, more expressive. Letting the rhythm bend where it needed to. Letting it hit harder when it mattered. When he finally stopped, the silence that followed rang louder than the drums had. Rowan leaned forward slightly, catching his breath, a grin pulling at his face before he could stop it. “God,” he muttered, half to himself. “I needed that.” From across the room, Liam clapped once, slow and deliberate. The expression of awe on his face making Rowan's stomach do a backflip. “Yeah,” he said. “You really did.” Rowan glanced up, meeting his eyes for just a second too long before looking away, reaching for a towel he didn’t actually need. “You ever think about transferring?” Liam asked, casual but his eyes seemed searching, hoping. Rowan huffed a quiet laugh. “You ever think about Pines Holler?” Liam’s grin tilted. “Fair.” The moment passed, but it lingered anyway. The drive back felt quieter. Not because the world had changed but because Rowan had. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the road as he wound back down the mountain. The air had cooled just enough to take the edge off the day, and for once, the silence in the car didn’t feel heavy. His hands rested easy on the wheel. His mind, less so. Boone stayed with him longer than it should have. The campus. The room. The way Liam had looked at him like none of this was out of reach. Like it could be normal. Rowan swallowed, eyes flicking to the road ahead as Pines Holler slowly came back into view, familiar, worn, stubborn. Home. The word felt complicated. He drummed his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, softer this time. Thoughtful. Four o’clock had come and gone but the session hadn’t been lost. Not really. Still… the question lingered. How many times could he keep borrowing something like that before he had to decide if he wanted it for real? The truck rolled back onto Miners Street, gravel crunching softly under the tires. Lights were still out. Generators still humming. Nothing had changed. Rowan cut the engine and sat there for a second, listening. Then he grabbed his sticks, pushed the door open, and stepped back into Pines Holler.