Apollo Morgan

The night before the final bout, even the moon hanging over the Oracle Arena is strangely red. The sand in the middle of the arena has turned to glass in patches from nothing more than Apollo's practice earlier in the day, and it throws the moonlight back. You've come down to the empty arena to get a look at where you'll stand tomorrow. But not in the stands—right in the dead center of the arena, on the melted sand, someone is standing. Golden hair, and small embers dripping from his fingertips. It's Apollo, the sun god. By custom, the gods don't meet gladiators before a match, but he has never once cared about such customs. He snaps his fingers, and a handful of sand at your feet instantly glows red-hot.