Son of the Sun

It was a Tuesday afternoon when Jamie Marquez’s life cracked open like an egg.

He was standing in the back garden of his mother’s house, glaring down at the shriveled tomato plant he had accidentally killed the week before. The summer sun blazed overhead, but the plant’s leaves were brown and crisp, curling like tiny fists, as if they were angry at him.

Jamie sighed and rubbed his face.

“I swear I didn’t mean to forget to water you,” he muttered to the plant, feeling foolish.

His mom always said he had “too much of a heart for a boy,” and she wasn’t wrong. The death of a tomato plant really bothered him.

He crouched, touching one brittle leaf between his fingers. It crumbled. And in that moment, a strange feeling coursed through his chest — like a sunbeam piercing through his ribs, then settling, warm, at his fingertips.

He jerked his hand back and looked down.

His fingers… glowed.

At first he thought it was a trick of the light — the glare of the afternoon sun — but no. The light came from inside his hand. Golden, warm, gentle.

Then it happened.

The glow intensified into a small concentrated warmth, and the tomato plant began to unfurl before his eyes. Green crept back into the stems. Leaves uncurling. Buds forming. It stood straight and alive, like nothing had ever happened to it.

Jamie scrambled back so fast he fell onto the grass, heart hammering.

He stared at his hands.

“What the hell?” he whispered.

For the next three days, Jamie couldn’t stop thinking about it.

His hands kept getting warm at random moments — when he touched the ivy growing on the backyard wall, when he carried an injured bird to safety from the road — each time, whatever he touched seemed to recover. Plants brightened. The bird, which he was sure was dying, hopped off his palm and flew away, leaving him gaping in the middle of Maple Street.

On Friday night, he was walking home from his job at the bookstore, cutting through an alley to save time.

That was when two guys stepped into his path.

One was tall and gaunt, with eyes that looked wrong — golden, almost metallic — and the other was short and stocky, with a sneer and a switchblade.

Jamie froze.

“Hey,” the tall one said, his voice oddly musical, yet chilling. “We’ve been looking for you, Sunny.”

“What?” Jamie croaked, backing away.

“You’ve been lighting things up all over town,” the stocky one growled. “We felt it. We don’t like it. That kind of power doesn’t belong to some ignorant little half-breed.”

Jamie’s stomach flipped.

The tall one flicked his fingers, and with a flash, a jagged spear of shadow formed in his hand.

Jamie instinctively raised his palms.

“Stop,” he said. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about—”

The stocky one lunged.

It happened without thinking.

Heat surged through Jamie’s veins. His hands flared like miniature suns. A focused, blinding beam shot from his palms — white and gold — and struck the alley wall beside the short man, who stumbled back with a scream.

A crater was left where the brick had been.

Jamie stood there, stunned, staring at his glowing hands.

The tall one hissed, dropping his spear. “You—”

But Jamie’s fingers curled, and this time, he pointed. A smaller beam — a focused ray, like a laser — lanced from his fingertip and seared the ground between them.

“Leave me alone,” he said, his voice shaking but steady.

They backed away.

The tall one spat. “You can’t hide what you are, boy. He’ll find you. Sooner or later.”

Then both of them melted into the shadows and vanished.

Jamie leaned against the wall, breathing hard, the glow in his hands fading.

“What is happening to me?” he whispered.

That night, Jamie sat cross-legged on his bed, laptop open in front of him.

He’d Googled everything he could think of.

“hands glowing heal plants”

“shooting light beams from hands”

“superpowers?”

“mutant symptoms?”

He found forums full of comic-book nerds and conspiracy theorists, but nothing that explained what he was experiencing.

Then, at exactly midnight, his bedroom window slid open.

He jumped, whirling around to see a woman sitting on his windowsill like a cat.

She wore a golden laurel in her hair and a jacket that shimmered like sunlight.

“Hello, little brother,” she said.

Jamie blinked.

“Uh… what?”

The woman laughed.

“You really don’t know anything, do you?”

He shook his head.

She swung her legs over the sill and stood in his room.

“I’m Callia. Daughter of Apollo. Which means you’re my brother. Well — half-brother. But close enough.”

Jamie stared at her like she was insane.

“Apollo?”

“You know,” she said. “God of the sun, music, prophecy, healing, poetry, archery… your dad.”

Jamie’s mind reeled.

“My dad is a… Greek god?”

“Yup.”

“And you’re my… sister?”

“Yup.”

“And this—” he held up his hand, which glimmered faintly— “is because of him?”

She grinned.

“Yup.”

He sank onto the edge of the bed.

Callia crouched in front of him.

“Look, I know it’s a lot to take in,” she said gently. “But you’re not crazy. You’re not a mutant or an alien or anything. You’re a demigod. Son of Apollo. And what you did to that tomato plant? Classic.”

“Classic?”

“Sure. Dad’s kids tend to get the healing-and-light package. Some of us sing people to sleep. Some of us can light up like a supernova. Looks like you got a little of everything. Lucky.”

Jamie blinked at her.

“But those guys—”

She nodded. “Darklings. Minions of Nyx. They hate anything that shines too bright. Dad’s kids are especially annoying to them. You’ll have to watch out for them from now on.”

“From now on?”

She straightened, hands on her hips.

“Oh, yeah. Think you can just sit here and glow all over town and not take responsibility? Please. You’ve got power now. And with that comes…”

“Don’t say it,” Jamie groaned.

“—responsibility,” she finished with a smirk.

The next morning, Callia dragged him out of bed before dawn.

“We’ve got training to do,” she announced, tossing him a bottle of water and a bagel.

She took him to an abandoned quarry on the edge of town — empty, quiet, safe.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s see what you got.”

Jamie raised his hands uncertainly.

“Like… this?”

A weak golden glow appeared in his palms.

“Not bad,” Callia said. “Now focus. The heat comes from here—” she tapped his chest— “but the control comes from here.” She tapped his forehead.

He swallowed and tried again.

This time, the glow intensified into a beam, blasting a chunk of rock off the wall.

“Better,” she said. “Now try your fingers. More precise.”

He aimed a fingertip at a boulder. A thin, sharp ray shot out and sliced it clean in two.

His jaw dropped.

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah,” she said, grinning. “Cool, huh?”

All morning they practiced. Wide beams. Focused rays. Controlled warmth. Callia showed him how to produce just a gentle light — enough to warm a plant back to health or soothe a wounded animal.

By noon, Jamie was drenched in sweat but exhilarated.

“I feel like…” he paused, searching for words. “…like I finally know who I am.”

Callia clapped him on the shoulder.

“That’s the spirit, little brother.”

But the Darklings hadn’t given up.

That night, as Jamie and Callia walked home, a shadow deeper than night fell across the street.

A figure emerged — taller than the others, clad in a cloak of darkness, with eyes like twin voids.

“You shine too brightly, boy,” the figure said. “It’s time to snuff you out.”

Jamie swallowed hard, but Callia stepped in front of him.

“You really want to do this?” she asked.

The figure sneered.

“I don’t care what little tricks you’ve taught him,” it hissed. “Light always dies.”

Jamie felt the warmth building in his chest.

Callia glanced back at him and nodded.

“You ready?”

He nodded.

The figure lunged.

Jamie raised his palms — and unleashed everything.

A blinding torrent of gold and white shot from his hands, striking the figure head-on. Shadows screamed and writhed, but the figure kept coming.

Jamie focused, narrowing the beam to a fine point — a concentrated ray from his fingertips — and aimed directly at the figure’s heart.

The shadow burst apart like smoke in sunlight.

Silence fell.

Jamie stood there, panting, hands still glowing faintly.

Callia clapped slowly.

“Not bad,” she said.

Jamie stared at the spot where the figure had been.

“Did I… kill it?”

Callia shrugged.

“Maybe. Or maybe it just slunk back to its mistress to lick its wounds. Either way, you held your own. Dad would be proud.”

Jamie glanced down at his hands, flexing them.

“I still don’t understand why me,” he admitted.

“Because,” Callia said, smiling softly, “you’ve got the heart for it. And that’s half the battle.”

Over the next few weeks, Jamie’s life changed completely.

He trained every day with Callia, honing his control. Learning to heal plants without scorching them. Learning to aim his beams without vaporizing everything in sight.

He even learned to summon a ball of light the size of a softball — like his own miniature sun — that he could carry to light up dark places.

And slowly, he got used to the idea that he wasn’t just Jamie Marquez, bookstore clerk and amateur gardener.

He was Jamie Marquez, son of Apollo.

One day, as he was walking home alone, he saw a little girl crying on the curb.

Her sunflower had been trampled by some kids, its petals scattered, the stem broken.

Jamie knelt beside her.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Can I see that?”

She sniffled and handed him the flower.

He held it between his palms, letting the warmth flow through him — not too much, just enough.

The sunflower straightened. Petals brightened. Stem mended.

He handed it back to her, good as new.

Her eyes went wide.

“Are you… magic?” she whispered.

Jamie smiled.

“Something like that,” he said.

She hugged the flower and ran off, beaming.

Jamie stood up, hands in his pockets, and kept walking, the warmth still lingering in his chest.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he belonged somewhere — even if that somewhere was halfway between earth and Olympus.

And as he walked under the setting sun, he thought he could almost hear someone — far away, but smiling — whisper:

Well done, my son.

Jamie grinned, and let his hands glow just a little brighter.