Apollo's sevens

On a sunny afternoon, Apollo changed the course of the world. He didn’t know it, nor did I, although I was the gods’ counsellor. However, he changed people’s perception of the gods and was an ultimate factor in the fall of the Olympians at the end of the twenty-first century. Did I lose you? Well, let me explain everything from the beginning.

As I - Chiron - have said before, Apollo - almighty god of Music, the Arts, and Healing, part of the twelve Olympians - had a teeny tiny responsibility in the end of the cult of the ancient gods. It all began on a sweet and light-filled afternoon in New Athens, capital city of Greece. We were precisely the seventeenth of July of the year two-thousand-and- seventy-seven, centuries after the rebirth of the ancient Greek gods. Indeed, after the wreckage of the world wars which happened during the previous centuries, the people - who had totally occulted the Olympians they worshipped during the very first millennium of Man’s existence - realised that they needed to put their faith into something for their salvation. They had God, of course, but some of them wanted more. They needed to believe in something with which they could share their flaws, their fears, their mistakes and their joys. They needed to be understood, the virtue of not. So that’s why they remembered Zeus and his beloved family: the Olympians.

Alright, I know what you are thinking: that’s such nonsense. Everyone knows that these gods are only myths, part of a story written by some lonely and weird man during Antiquity! Well, if you say so. But how do you know that they don’t exist? And how do you know that God exists? I do think that everyone could use a little imagination and enjoy a nice story about a bunch of gods overwhelmed with imperfection. So here we go, again.

On this beautiful afternoon, Apollo was in a foul mood. You could say he was enraged, rumbling nonsense, pacing the floor of his penthouse located in the very centre of the city, and literally fuming with anger. The reason for it was linked to Apollo’s visit to Hermes, another Olympian, messenger of the gods, god of travels, merchants and…

“That filthy god of thieves!” Apollo erupted, kicking the feet of a nearby marble table.

Well, he said it better than I could have done it. So, Hermes and Apollo saw each other just after lunch with the goal of ending once for all one of their biggest disagreements: Hermes’caduceus. I didn’t understand before why this sceptre was such a big deal for these two guys, but if you think of it for one second, it’s kind of rational. However, I will not choose a side in this story. As you might know, the caduceus, a long sceptre on which two serpents are intertwined, was owned by Hermes, given to him by Zeus. It was a symbol of healthcare according to humans, a symbol that Apollo, as the god of healing, reclaimed. He had done so for millennials. However, despite his eagerness, he’d never acquired it. And that was the very reason for his quarrel with Hermes and Apollo’s anger as the god threw a punch in the large and gilded mirror hung on his wall. Ichor dripped from the golden grooves of the mirror frame, on the glass shards piled up on the marble floor at the feet of Apollo. The room was quiet except for the god’s harsh breath until he heard them. The Fates. Three wrinkled ladies holding destiny in their fragile hands with clawed nails, appearing in Apollo’s living room like a mirage made of mist, claiming in unison a sentence that would be the end of the god’s sanity.

“You, Apollo, god of the Arts and of Music, are doomed for seven years of misery!”

And just after that, they were gone. Leaving a wordless god staring at the broken mirror, persuaded to have dreamed for several seconds. Convinced of the gullibility of the moment. He was certain that nothing could happen to him, all because he was a god. He was wrong.