Chapter Text
In the days of its prime, Olympus’ shine was brighter than the sun itself—a palace of ivory and gold that stood high above the mortal world. Clouds curled themselves like silk around its halls, and magnificent columns towered above the ground. Time did not touch Olympus. Seasons changed in the mortal realm, but the air up there was always sweet, filled with the scent of blooming gardens.
Below, humanity lived in admiration and devotion. Temples stood tall in every city, chiseled from stone and filled to the brim with offerings. Fires burned at altars day and night, fueled by belief. Festivals dedicated to the gods roared with life—dancers spun beneath starry skies in tribute to Dionysus, their laughter carried by the wind all the way to Olympus. Artists sculpted statues so divine that the gods themselves felt flattered. Poets wept at their own parchments, penning words so beautiful that Apollo would reach down and whisper new verses into their ears.
Love was sacred. Couples offered honey and roses at Aphrodite’s shrines, praying for passion and fidelity. Warriors swore oaths in Athena’s name before heading into battle, their shields painted with her sigil. Merchants whispered Hermes’ name as they sealed their deals, hoping for fortune to favor them. Every corner of mortal life was brushed by the hands of the gods, and the gods, in turn, gave .
They watched over the people, unseen but ever-present, sprinkling blessings. Aphrodite once turned an entire field of plain grass to roses for a woman in love, while Hephaestus crafted tools for farmers that never dulled or broke. Pheme whispered the names of forgotten heroes into the mouths of storytellers, ensuring that their legends endured. Yes, the gods watched and they were loved, feared and adored.
And they thrived .
In the heart of Olympus, they celebrated their power. Great feasts were held frequently, where goblets were never empty and platters overflowed. Dionysus led songs that spilled into eternity, laughter and music ringing out like thunder across the heavens. Atë, goddess of mischief and ruin—caused harmless chaos among her kin, tipping goblets just enough to spill wine onto clothes and tugging at egos with sharp, playful jests. Athena discussed strategies and Aphrodite presided over it all with an elegance that drew everyone’s eyes.
Aphrodite was at her most radiant then. She walked the halls draped in flowing dresses that shimmered in the light, and people’s hearts burned with worship for her. In return, she gave them beauty, desire, and devotion. It was simple. It was glorious.
The world below worshipped, and Olympus thrived.
But belief, like all things, was fleeting.
Now, Olympus was no longer what it used to be. The fall had started slowly, like a flame flickering in the wind. The marble halls, that once shone with divine light, felt cold and empty.
Whispers had started spreading in the mortal realm—doubts spoken in secret. Science replaced myth, reason replaced admiration. Temples emptied. Altars were left cold and forgotten. The fires died out, and no one noticed.
The gods had been untouchable. Their names had been carried on the lips of mortals for so long, their powers undiminished by time. But now that power was slipping away. The belief that had once sustained them had faded to nothing but a faint echo, and with it, so had their strength. The gods felt it like a sickness in their bones.
Olympus, once unshakable, began to crack.
Aphrodite sat on the throne she’d occupied for millennia, gazing down at the mortal world below. Love was no longer sacred—now it was all about swipes left and right on glowing little screens, and that was what love had become. Her temples were empty, her name merely the subject of a questionable meme. She felt it in every part of herself—the void, the emptiness. Love was no longer a tool or a blessing, but a foreign concept, fragile in a world that didn’t care for it anymore.
“This is beneath me,” she murmured to no one in particular.
“Beneath all of us,” said Athena, who had been scribbling in a leather-bound notebook, something Aphrodite assumed were prophecies she wouldn’t share. Athena was always insufferable like that: wise, poised, and annoyingly calm.
“We’re fading,” Pheme, the goddess of gossip, piped up, seated on the edge of a fountain. Her brows furrowed. “Mortals worship different things now. Fame. Likes. Retweets. I used to command attention. I owned the spotlight. Now I’m… nothing. A has-been, forgotten in favor of the next viral trend.”
“I don’t understand,” Aphrodite muttered, her voice edged with frustration. “I am the goddess of love. What happened?”
“Maybe people just aren’t into love anymore,” Atë, the goddess of mischief—retorted from behind her. She was leaning sideways in a throne that didn’t belong to her, one foot resting on its arm. She wasn’t exactly thrilled by the situation, but she was trying to remain calm. “Have you seen what passes for romance these days? Dating apps and one-night stands. No one knows what real love is. It’s all just a game now.”
Aphrodite’s eyes narrowed. “You think I don’t know that? I can’t make people believe in love anymore. It’s like trying to hold water in my hands. Everything slips right through my fingers.”
Atë shot Aphrodite a sideways glance. “Yeeeah,” she drawled. “Love doesn’t exactly scream relevant these days. People need drama. Chaos. They want their love to be an adventure, not some soft, rose-colored thing.”
Aphrodite glared at her. “Don’t talk to me about chaos, Atë. You don’t know what it’s like to be the goddess of love in a world where no one values it.”
Atë grinned. “You’re right, I don’t. But I do know what it’s like to cause some serious chaos when no one’s paying attention. Chaos used to mean something. Now? People throw tantrums on the internet and forget about it five minutes later. There’s nothing left to disrupt. Everyone’s seen everything. Besides, it’s kinda cozy here. Quiet, even. I think I’m starting to like it.”
Aphrodite’s gaze snapped toward her. “If you like the quiet, it’s because you’re not listening.”
Dionysus, perched nearby, swirled a goblet of wine lazily. He had not yet fully lost his spark, but even he looked frayed at the edges. “She’s right,” he said, finally breaking the tension. “This place is dead. We’re dead—metaphorically, of course.”
“I don’t see why we can’t fix it,” Athena chimed in, her voice thoughtful but distant. Her radiance had dimmed, but the stubborn optimism remained. She stared toward the mortal world as though searching for answers. “Maybe if we tried harder. Maybe if we—”
“It’s over, sunshine,” Atë interrupted, dropping her foot with a loud thud. She sat up and spread her arms dramatically. “Mortals have TikTok now. They don’t have time for us. And if you think a poem or two will change that…” She whistled low, shaking her head. “ Delusional. ”
“ Enough, ” Aphrodite snapped, her voice cutting through the room. The others fell silent. “We were meant to be worshipped. To be adored. That’s who we are. And I, for one, refuse to disappear.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, it happened.
Olympus trembled. A soundless quake shook the heavens, cracking the walls and shattering the floors. The gods felt themselves being pulled— downward . The skies darkened, and for the first time in their immortal lives, they fell.