Seeds And Sunbeams

The brass bell over the door tinkled softly as Eli turned the sign to Closed. It had been a slow Thursday at Petals on the Wind, but that was fine with him—he preferred quiet nights. He locked the door, flipped off the display lights, and inhaled the sweet, damp smell of soil, blossoms, and seed packets.

Even though his dad owned the shop, Eli always felt it was partly his. He’d grown up here among the bags of compost, hyacinth bulbs, and terra cotta pots, memorizing the Latin names of flowers before he could spell his own.

Diospyros lotus, he thought to himself as he swept up a pile of spilled dirt. The date-plum. Fruit of the gods. Like me, huh?

He chuckled at the thought. Being a demigod son of Demeter wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Sure, plants loved him—he could make the basil on the windowsill perk up just by smiling at it—but that didn’t exactly keep him safe from monsters. His mother had left him in his dad’s care when he was six, muttering about “harvests to tend elsewhere.” And since then, it had just been the two of them and the shop.

Tonight, though, something felt off.

The street outside was quiet. Too quiet.

Eli’s broom stilled mid-sweep. He heard it then—a faint, rasping scratch, like claws against brick. His skin prickled. He turned slowly toward the door.

And saw eyes. Six pairs of glowing, orange-red eyes in the darkness beyond the glass.

Then came the sound: wings beating hard and fast.

The first harpy crashed through the front window, talons glinting under the faint light of the shop. Glass exploded everywhere.

Eli staggered back, shielding his face.

Another harpy screeched, barreling through after her sister. Then a third, fourth, fifth, sixth. They were terrifying—half-women, half-bird, with tangled hair, cracked beaks, and filthy wings. The stench of rot clung to them as they circled him, claws digging into the wooden floor, knocking over shelves of seeds and vases as they advanced.

“Demeter’s whelp,” hissed one. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Eli backed up, groping for anything he could use as a weapon. He grabbed a wooden dowel from the broom, but even as he brandished it, he knew it was hopeless.

They pounced.

And then the door burst open with a deafening bang.

Golden sunlight blazed through the shop, brighter than the noonday sun, making the harpies recoil.

A tall, tanned man in a cream suit and crisp white shirt stepped inside, his gold chains flashing as brightly as the light that poured from his hands. His hair was artfully tousled, his grin sharp. In one hand he held a gleaming golden bow, already drawn and humming with power.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, almost casually, loosing a shaft of pure sunlight into the nearest harpy. The creature screamed as it disintegrated in a burst of feathers and ash.

At his side strode a woman with a sleek pixie cut, wearing a grey tunic that shimmered like steel and wielding a spear that glowed with a quiet, deadly light. Behind her, an enormous owl swooped in, its talons extended, its wings beating furiously.

The three of them moved like a storm.

Eli could only stare.

The man—whoever he was—unleashed another blazing arrow that skewered two harpies at once. The woman jabbed with her spear, parried claws with her shield, and in a single motion, impaled another. The owl raked the face of a harpy trying to circle around, tearing her to shreds.

When the sixth harpy finally collapsed in a heap of feathers, the air grew still again, save for the sound of Eli’s own ragged breathing.

The man lowered his bow, grinning that dazzling grin.

The woman wiped her spear clean with surgical precision. The owl landed silently on her shoulder.

Eli, still clutching the splintered broom handle, gaped at them.

“Who—who are you?!?” he finally croaked.

The man smirked and gave an exaggerated bow.

“Apollo,” he said, his voice like music. “God of the sun, light, poetry, prophecy, and—well, lots of other things.”

The woman straightened. Her grey eyes were sharp and calculating as they swept over him.

“Athena,” she said coolly. “Goddess of wisdom, war, and strategy. This is Glaucos.” She nodded at the owl, who fixed Eli with an unsettling, golden stare.

Eli’s mouth worked soundlessly.

He finally managed to whisper, “Are you real?”

Apollo laughed. “Oh, we’re real, all right. Very real. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Eli shook his head, backing up until he bumped into a display of orchids. “No—no, no, no. You can’t be real. You—this is just a dream or something.”

Athena arched an eyebrow. “Does this feel like a dream to you?” she asked, toeing the pile of ash that had once been a harpy.

“Or smell like one?” added Apollo, sniffing the air theatrically. “Yikes, they really stink when you fry them.”

Eli stared at the smoldering feathers scattered across the floor. “You’re—you’re gods.”

“That’s the word,” Apollo agreed.

Eli blinked at them, struggling to find words. “But… why? Why are you here? Why me?”

Athena’s gaze softened—just a little. “Because you’re hers,” she said simply. “Demeter’s son. That makes you… valuable.”

Apollo leaned against the counter, adjusting his gold chains. “And very much a target,” he added. “Harpies have been sniffing around you for weeks.”

Eli swallowed hard. “Why didn’t she come?”

“She’s… been taken,” Athena said delicately. “We can’t find her.”

Apollo rolled his eyes. “What she means is: You’re the key to finding your mother.”

Eli flinched. “Me?”

Athena gave him an almost imperceptible nod. “We have our suspicions, but we cannot let Uncle Hades know that. Nor Uncle Poseidon—though I would love to give him a piece of my mind.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Eli stared down at the wreckage of his shop—the broken window, the shredded shelves, the blackened feathers.

“I can’t stay here, can I?” he asked softly.

“No,” said Athena. “You can’t.”

“There’ll be more,” Apollo added cheerfully. “Always more.”

Eli felt a strange mixture of fear and indignation rising in his chest. “And what, exactly, am I supposed to do about that?”

Athena fixed him with a look so sharp it pinned him in place. “Survive. Help find your mother and take over for her in the meantime.”

“Learn,” added Apollo. “Fight back. You’re not helpless, kid. You’ve got her blood in you. That counts for a lot.”

Eli shook his head, sinking down onto the stool behind the counter. His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair.

“I can’t just leave my dad.”

Athena’s expression softened again, but there was no pity in her eyes—only resolve. “Your father will understand.”

“And,” Apollo added brightly, “we’re not saying you have to run forever. Just long enough to get strong. We can help with that.”

Eli blinked up at him. “You’d help me?”

Apollo grinned. “I like underdogs. And you’re cute. Aph would agree.”

Athena shot him a disapproving glare, but said nothing.

Eli let out a shaky laugh despite himself. “This is insane.”

“You get used to it,” said Apollo.

Glaucos hooted softly from Athena’s shoulder, as if in agreement.

After a long moment, Eli straightened, brushing the dirt from his shirt. He still felt dizzy, but he met their eyes with something approaching courage.

“All right,” he said. “Where do we start?”

Athena’s lips curved into the faintest ghost of a smile.

“We start,” she said, “by cleaning up this mess. Even gods leave footprints.”

They worked together for hours. Athena’s owl helped pick shards of glass from the floor while she and Apollo righted the shelves and swept away the ashes. Apollo hummed under his breath the whole time, shooting Eli occasional flashes of that infuriatingly perfect grin.

When they finally finished, the shop looked almost normal again, save for the boarded-up window.

Eli stood in the doorway, staring out at the street, still quiet but no longer menacing.

Athena joined him. “You have questions,” she said.

Eli swallowed. “So many.”

“Ask.”

He hesitated, then blurted out: “Why me? Why now? I’ve lived here my whole life, and nothing’s ever happened before.”

“Because you were a child before,” Athena said matter-of-factly. “Too small to be worth the risk. But now?” Her grey eyes flicked over him. “You’ve grown. The scent of power is on you.”

Eli glanced down at his hands, flexing them. They didn’t look powerful to him.

“Besides,” Apollo chimed in, draping an arm around Eli’s shoulders, “monsters are getting restless lately. Lines are being drawn. You’re not the only one they’re hunting.”

Eli frowned. “What does that mean?”

Athena’s mouth tightened. “It means… war is coming.”

Eli’s stomach churned. “That’s… great.”

“Don’t worry,” Apollo said, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “We’ve got your back.”

“And if I refuse?” Eli asked quietly. “What if I just… go back to pretending I’m normal?”

Athena’s gaze hardened. “You won’t live to see next spring.”

That settled it.

Eli nodded slowly, his throat dry. “All right. What do I do?”

Athena straightened, shoulders squared. “You’ll come with us. We’ll train you, teach you to fight, to grow into what you’re meant to be.”

“And,” Apollo added with a wink, “you’ll get to ride in my chariot. Ever seen a car made of sunbeams? It’s very exclusive.”

Despite everything, Eli cracked a smile. “Sounds… hot.”

Apollo whooped with laughter. Even Athena’s lips quirked faintly.

When the dawn began to lighten the horizon, they were ready.

Eli packed a small bag—just a few changes of clothes and a pouch of seeds that hummed softly when he touched them. His father was still asleep upstairs. He’d leave a note.

At the door, Eli turned back for one last look at the shop. The place where he’d grown up. The place that would always feel like home.

“You’ll come back,” Athena said quietly, as if reading his thoughts. “You’re her son. The earth always calls its own.”

Apollo leaned against the doorframe, spinning a golden arrow between his fingers. “Ready, kid?”

Eli drew a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

Athena inclined her head. “Good. Let’s go.”

As they stepped out into the faint glow of morning, Eli glanced at the two gods walking on either side of him—the sun and the owl. His protectors. His teachers.

And, maybe, his friends.

“Are you real?” he asked softly, almost to himself.

Apollo heard him, of course. He grinned, slinging an arm around Eli’s shoulder.

“Oh, we’re real,” he said warmly. “You’ll believe it soon enough.”

Glaucos hooted in agreement.

Eli felt a shiver of something—fear, yes, but also excitement—run through him. The ground seemed to pulse under his feet as if answering him, promising him something he didn’t yet understand.

And for the first time in his life, he felt alive.

He walked between the gods, into the light.

And the adventure began.