The storm had been getting worse for the last twenty minutes.
Rain hammered against the pavement as you hurried home from work, collar turned up against the wind, one hand wrapped around your bag while thunder rolled somewhere overhead.
It had been an ordinary day.
Exhausting, boring, painfully ordinary.
And then the thing stepped out of the alley.
At first, you thought it was a man.
Then lightning flashed.
Its shadow stretched impossibly long across the wet pavement, and you saw the claws. The crooked limbs. The mouth filled with far too many teeth.
The creature inhaled.
Its eyes widened.
“Divinity…”
You froze.
It smiled.
“Sweet, young divinity.”
Then it lunged.
You don't remember screaming.
You remember fear.
You remember its claws coming toward your face.
And then something inside you answered.
A brilliant flash of golden-white lightning exploded from your body.
The monster didn't even have time to scream.
It simply ceased to exist.
For several seconds, there was nothing but rain.
You stared at your trembling hands.
A faint blue-white spark crawled between your fingers.
“No.”
Another spark.
“No, no, no…”
You ran.
By the time you reached home, you'd convinced yourself you'd suffered some kind of hallucination.
You showered.
You changed.
You went to bed.
And you decided, with absolute certainty, that tomorrow you would wake up and everything would be normal.
You were wrong.
Far above the mortal world, Olympus trembled.
Not metaphorically.
The golden halls of the gods actually shook.
Lightning crawled across the marble columns without being summoned. Clouds gathered beneath the floating palace. The great Veil surrounding the divine world flickered like a dying candle.
Upon his throne, Zeus struggled to breathe.
For centuries, his power had maintained the boundary between Olympus and the mortal world. Every generation that passed had made the task harder.
And now his strength was failing.
But tonight—
Something had answered his power.
Something ancient.
Something familiar.
Zeus slowly opened his eyes.
“Zagreus…”
The name escaped him as little more than a whisper.
Across the throne room, Hera rose sharply.
“What did you say?”
Zeus stared toward the mortal world.
“I felt him.”
The room went silent.
Poseidon frowned.
Hades slowly set down his cup.
Athena's expression sharpened.
Artemis exchanged a glance with Apollo.
Hermes stopped halfway through stealing something from a nearby table.
“You're saying,” Poseidon said carefully, “that you felt your dead son?”
“I felt Zagreus.”
Hera's face had gone pale.
Then she forced herself to scoff.
“You are mistaken.”
Zeus looked at her.
“I am the King of Olympus. I know my son's power.”
The room erupted.
Questions. Accusations. Arguments.
Until Zeus slammed his fist against the arm of his throne.
“I have not sired a child in decades!”
Silence.
Hermes blinked.
“Well,” he said, “that's certainly a sentence I never expected to hear.”
“Enough.”
Athena stepped forward.
“If Zeus has not fathered another child, then whatever manifested tonight may not be a demigod.”
Apollo's eyes gleamed with curiosity.
“Then what is it?”
Athena looked toward the mortal world.
“That,” she said, “is what we are going to find out.”
You wake the next morning expecting everything to be normal.
It isn't.
The first thing you notice is that the storm has stopped.
The second is that four strangers are standing inside your apartment.
One is a beautiful young man with golden hair and an easy smile.
Another is a woman in silver armor.
A third carries himself with the effortless confidence of someone who has never once considered the possibility of consequences.
The fourth is a dark-haired woman whose expression suggests she has already judged every object in your home and found most of them wanting.
You sit upright.
“…Who the hell are you?”
The golden-haired man smiles.
“Hello.”
You grab the nearest object you can use as a weapon.
“Don't come any closer.”
“Fair.”
He raises both hands.
“My name is Apollo.”
You stare.
“Right.”
He smiles wider.
“I'm serious.”
“Sure you are.”
The woman in silver armor sighs.
“This is going poorly.”
“It's going wonderfully,” Apollo replies. “They're conscious, they're coherent, and they haven't tried to stab Hermes yet.”
“Yet?” Hermes asks.
“I have faith.”
You look between them.
“Get out of my apartment.”
Apollo's smile becomes sympathetic.
“I'd love to.”
He pauses.
“But unfortunately, we've come to collect you.”
“Collect me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The four exchange glances.
Apollo steps closer.
“You killed a monster last night.”
Your stomach drops.
“You saw that?”
“No.”
He points toward you.
“But Zeus did.”
A bolt of lightning crackles from your fingertips.
Apollo's eyebrows shoot upward.
“Oh.”
A grin spreads across his face.
“Well. That answers that.”
Olympus is nothing like the stories.
It is brighter.
Louder.
Far more crowded.
And considerably less dignified.
You stand in the center of a vast marble hall surrounded by beings you've spent your entire life believing were myths.
Athena watches you carefully.
Poseidon looks skeptical.
Hades looks tired.
Ares looks entertained.
Aphrodite looks fascinated.
Hermes looks like he is already planning several ways to annoy you.
Artemis simply stares.
And Zeus—
Zeus is crying.
The sight is so strange that you don't know how to react.
Then three ancient women appear.
The air becomes still.
The Moirai.
Even the gods fall silent.
The eldest approaches.
She looks at you.
Not at your body.
Not at your mortal life.
At whatever lies beneath it.
Her eyes widen.
“Zagreus.”
The word echoes through the chamber.
Your heart suddenly hurts.
You don't know why.
Memories flicker at the edge of your mind.
A golden palace.
A man's enormous hand resting gently upon your head.
A woman's voice.
A crown.
Fire.
Titans.
Betrayal.
Death.
You stagger.
Apollo catches your arm.
“Easy.”
The Moirai continue.
“The son of Zeus was not destroyed.”
“He was scattered.”
“He slept.”
“He waited.”
“And now…”
The eldest smiles.
“He has returned.”
Zeus makes a broken sound.
Then the King of Olympus crosses the entire hall in moments.
He stops in front of you.
For the first time, you see Zeus not as the terrifying ruler of myth, but as a father who has spent thousands of years mourning his child.
He reaches toward you.
Then hesitates.
His hand trembles.
“May I?”
You don't know what to say.
Slowly, uncertainly, you nod.
Zeus embraces you.
And something inside you recognizes him.
The realization is almost more frightening than the monster.
You know this man.
Somewhere beneath memories that aren't yours and yet somehow are, you know him.
“Father…”
The word slips from your lips.
Zeus breaks.
He clutches you tightly and openly weeps.
Across the room, Hera looks as though she has seen a ghost.
Because she has.
The Moirai raise their hands.
“The blood of Zeus has returned.”
“The heir has returned.”
“The lost prince shall become the king.”
Silence.
Then chaos.
“You cannot simply declare—”
“He has no experience!”
“He's mortal!”
“Not anymore.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Are we seriously doing this again?”
Apollo watches the uproar with an increasingly amused expression.
Then he leans toward you.
“You're taking this remarkably well.”
You stare at him.
“My entire understanding of reality has collapsed in the last twenty minutes.”
“Fair.”
“You're telling me I'm a god?”
“Nascent god,” Apollo corrects. “Technically.”
“And I'm supposed to become king?”
“Apparently.”
“I don't want to be king.”
Apollo considers this.
“Excellent.”
You blink.
“Excellent?”
“Means you'll probably be less insufferable than the last several candidates.”
Before you can respond, Apollo offers you his hand.
His smile is warm.
Genuine.
Almost reassuring.
“Come on, Zagreus.”
You stare at his hand.
“Where?”
“Somewhere quiet.”
He glances over his shoulder at the bickering gods.
“Before someone tries to explain divine politics to you.”
A pause.
“And if you survive that, I'll show you Olympus.”
His smile turns playful.
“Music, temples, ambrosia, divine gossip…”
He lowers his voice conspiratorially.
“And absolutely everything Zeus doesn't want you knowing about your family.”
For the first time since arriving, you almost smile.
Apollo notices.
His expression softens.
“Welcome home, little prince.”
Then, after a beat:
“Although, between you and me…”
His golden eyes sparkle with mischief.
“I suspect you're going to be a rather interesting king.”
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