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Mount Olympus is the highest mountain in Greece and was believed to be the dwelling place of the Twelve Olympian gods. The ancient Greeks envisioned it as a paradise of palaces, gardens, clouds, and eternal feasting — far beyond mortal reach unless one was given a direct invitation. Zeus ruled Olympus as king of the gods. Major myths often begin or end on Olympus, where the gods hold council and decide the fates of mortals.
The history of the gods is well known to all, as it was how the world operated. Though it’s not as clear as others would think.
For gods were not immortal, as mortals once thought they were. Many have taken the title of a god, whether that be Ares, Apollo, or some other god that had temples of worship. But those titles were not the names of those who held them.
For example, right now, Athena is the goddess of She’s the goddess of wisdom, reason, and practical knowledge. She inspires humans with clever ideas, strategic thinking, and fair judgment. Unlike Ares (god of brutal, chaotic war), Athena rules strategic, defensive, and just warfare. She gives armies tactics and discipline, not mindless violence. She’s shown leading warriors into battle and protecting cities, especially Athens, the very city named after her.
But that wasn't her name.
She isn’t even the first goddess to take up the mantle of Athena.
When Athena, the original goddess, died hundreds of years ago, there became a vacuum of power that needed to be filled or else reality would become unbalanced and collapse against itself. So, the gods and goddesses joined together and found a mortal that mirrored Athena’s attributes and dedication and transferred her power into the mortal, creating a new Athena.
But with the knowledge that the gods could die and be succeeded, it became dangerous for them to walk among the mortals, for they wanted their power, and would do anything to get it. Vengeful gods who wanted their equals eliminated would divulge to mortals their target’s weaknesses and would promise them their power if they succeeded.
Turns out, it’s hard to kill a god, but not entirely impossible.
It was especially impossible to kill the big three.
Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades.
The only ones that could kill the big three were one another. And the only ones that could succeed a god of that power had to have the blood of that god in their family bloodline. So, three protected bloodlines had to be erased from the history book so no one would hunt down the families that could take over the power of the sky, waters, and underworld.
No one knows who the big three are; only their titles and powers are what mortals go to temples and pray to. No names are given, unlike Athena, who is a past mortal named Carol Danvers, or Ares, the god of war, whose real name is Samuel Wilson.
So far, all of the gods and goddesses have been hidden away in Olympus or on Earth to ensure their reign of power and the safety of their lives. The youngest god was Dionysus, whose name was Wade Wilson, aged around 150 years old.
These days, most people just keep to their own lives and try to focus on surviving through the mortal lands, as it seems the mortals are always at war with one another lately. Ares must be holding a grudge against the mortals for killing off his bloodline after some mortals tried to take his power.
Going after the god or goddess of war was never a wise decision on the mortals’ part, but there were always stupid people willing to try anything.
Yelena would rather just spend her days ignoring the entitled gods and live her life without mentioning anyone from Olympus, but the gods were all the news reported on since they were the ones who controlled everything.
Even at a club in the heart of New York City, all the people around her could do was talk about their jobs or the gods gossip. And respectfully, Yelena couldn’t care less what people did for a living or what the god Hermes delivered to Olympus.
“I’m telling you, people in Greece are worried.” Natasha yells out to her friend Maria, while Yelena stands to the side, rolling her eyes. She was her sister’s wing woman tonight, even though Maria has had heart eyes for the redhead for over a year now. Yelena’s presence was just requested because Melina wanted to get her out of Ohio for a week to meet new people, and to see what life was like outside of their comfortable farm, that Natasha was living in Manhattan.
“I’m sure it’s not that big of a deal.” Maria Hill brings her beer to her lips and sucks away the dull taste through her teeth. She hides her grimace well, but not well enough to evade Yelena’s notice. She knew the brunette was only drinking beer because her sister liked it.
“Not a big deal?” Natasha exasperates, “He visited the war zone in Estonia and goes straight back to Zeus with no detours? Come on, Maria, even you know that Hermes likes to linger in the tropics before going back to Olympus. No way it’s not important.”
Maria shrugs, “Has anyone seen Ares lately? I would get worried if I saw him in the battle zone.”
Yelena rolls her eyes and leans over Natasha’s shoulder, “I’m going to find the bathroom.” Natasha nods and goes back to talking with Maria, angling herself closer now that Yelena pushes off the bar, away from the conversation. Three beers in, and there was a slight hint of a buzz, but nothing major to lighten the mood. Maybe her hidden pack of cigarettes will bring some good feelings into the stuffy night Yelena has found herself in.
Apparently, this was the hottest club in the city, said to have hosted some of the gods themselves. So naturally, Natasha had to go.
Yelena pushes past the dancing bodies on the dancefloor and towards the opposite side of the entrance. She figured that if she left from the entrance, the security guard would give her a hard time and make her wait in line for an hour before reentering. So it was looking for an exit door on one of the busy sides of the club.
It wasn’t long until she found the bathroom line consisting of about fifteen different girls, swaying and slurring their words while they waited for what looked like a single stall. The hottest club in New York couldn’t get more toilets?
Whatever, not her problem. What she did care about was the beautiful red door with ‘EXIT’ painted in red letters was propped open and being used by random people, while smoke wafted through the cracks. Yelena inhales through her nose and allows that tension in her shoulders to relax as she passes through the line in the hallway that was just wide enough for her shoulders to brush against the ladies in line, making a beeline for the escape.
The air hitting her face and cooling the murky sweat accumulated from the hundreds of bodies pressed up against one another in a small space was a relief. Yelena looks forward to each time her sister drags her to a bar or a club similar to this. That sticky feeling instantly washes away as her skin has time to breathe against the somewhat fresh air of Manhattan.
It seems that for now, Yelena has the alley poorly lit up from the corner that meets the street to herself. She double checks to see that the door stays propped open before going to the wall across from it, pulling out her pack of cigarettes. She places one between her lips and tucks the pack back into her oversized graphic bomber jacket that has some kind of NASCAR sponsorship on it.
She pats her left pocket for her lighter, and finds nothing, then pats her right to see if she accidentally switched. When she finds nothing, she pats her back pockets and then pats the pockets at her knees since she chose to wear black cargo pants for the club. She lets a pained groan, knowing Natasha somehow picked the lighter out of her pants.
Damn her sister for knowing her too well.
“Fucking Hell.” Yelena’s head thumps on the brick wall behind her, and she closes her eyes for a few seconds, trying to drown out the muffled club music to clear her head manually since the cigarette wouldn’t be doing it for her.
That was until the sound of a lighter perked Yelena’s ears, opening her eyes to see a blue flame lit a few centimeters away from the cylinder between her lips. Her eyes darted to a strange-looking woman with blue eyes that looked like the live flame lit from her silver lighter.
The only way to describe this woman was that she was polished to a razor's edge — hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, emphasizing the sharp lines of her face, a tailored black suit with slim-fitting trousers and a crisp midnight purple shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a delicate silver necklace that speaks of power rather than flash, and eyes that hold none of the warmth of the flame flickering between them. It was strange, looking at her with the darkness curling behind her as if it were emanating from her rather than the lack of lighting the alley provided. Even looking closer, it looks as if the shadows were curling around her ears until they recoil as if being discovered by Yelena were forbidden.
Weird.
“I would say smoking kills, but something tells me that doesn’t scare you.”
Those eyes. Those beautifully tragic blue eyes were so cold.
Yelena couldn’t help but stare, as if she were a moth attracted to the flame. She leans forward, not breaking eye contact with the figure, inhaling and lighting her cigarette.
The woman smirks and then snaps her lighter shut, tucking it into her tuxedo jacket. She then folds her hands behind her back and just stands there watching Yelena expectantly with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.
Yelena frowns and exhales the beautiful smoke that fills her lungs. She takes the cigarette with her pointer and middle finger. “Is there something funny?”
“Nothing amusing about harming your body for momentary pleasure.” The woman huffs, and her eyes filter to the cigarette between Yelena’s fingers before returning to her curious stare, “Is that really worth the trouble?”
“Isn’t life about moments.” Yelena’s eyes narrow at the passive-aggressive reprimand and takes another long drag as if it were to shove that she didn’t care in the stranger’s face, “Seems pointless if I did everything in fear of dying.”
The trick of the light and maybe the combination of her cigarette and the three beers she’s had makes it look like the shadows behind the woman still, as if staring at her, the same as the blue eyes.
“Some would disagree with that.” The woman says, moving to the other side of the alley, leaning back against the brick with the red door leading back into the club on her right. The shadows once again look as if they were following, twirling around her as if they were dancing and whispering sweet secrets, “Some think that the fear of death spurs them to live. It's that spark that drives them to flirt with the god, as if their stunts taunt Hades like a big middle finger that they live despite it all.”
Yelena scoffs, “That's stupid. And you would know, wouldn't you?”
The woman’s brows knit together, but her smirk remains, “How do you mean?”
Gods were so pretentious, it was downright boring. Always looking down on mortals and their limited time on Earth, believing they were all stupid. But Yelena saw past their power and knew they were all just egotists because they were chosen by chance by the fates.
“Which one are you?” Yelena asks casually, observing the shadow peak more prominently from the woman’s ear, as if it were tilting its head in question like a puppy does when it’s curious. “Judging by the shadows and the whole nighttime look, I assume you’re Nyx? The goddess of the night.”
“Bold to assume I’m a god.” The woman says, mimicking the shadow by her ear by tilting her head to the right. “I could be a wraith. They thrive in the shadows, no?”
In Greek mythology, wraiths are often depicted as spirits of the dead or ghosts that haunt the living. They are typically associated with unhappiness and despair, embodying the emotions of the deceased who have not yet entered the afterlife. Wraiths are often described as cursed or vengeful, seeking to torment the living and drain their life force. They are considered evil and are believed to be immortal entities that wander the earth, often linked to tragic events or unfinished business.
Yelena didn’t have any enemies, nor did her gut tell her she was about to get the life sucked out of her. In schools, teachers love to tell their students that gut feelings are key to understanding and living among the supernatural. And her gut was never wrong about people, so she assumes it's the same for the supernatural. And here, with this being, she didn’t feel as if she were in danger. She honestly felt the opposite.
But that was something she wouldn’t pay close attention to when meeting a supernatural being in a dark alleyway for one night of her life.
“I would be dead if you were a wraith.” Yelena takes one last final drag of her cigarette before flicking it to the ground, where she stomps out the dwindling flame. “They are also apparently terrifying. You don’t seem scary in the slightest.”
A smile breaks out on the woman’s face, “I don’t.” She agrees with Yelena, “But looks can be deceiving.”
Yelena shrugs, “A problem with all of the gods, in my opinion.”
“Something I agree with.” The woman sighs, “They’re all assholes when it comes down to the nitty gritty of it all.”
“So, you are a god.”
The woman nods, “One of the many, yes.”
So, she was right. She was conversing with Nyx, the goddess of the night. Boy, when she tells Natasha, she’s going to flip out that she missed out.
Yelena’s eyes move back to the shadows swirling around the goddess’s ears, moving her chin as if to point with it, “What’s up with your friends?”
“My shadows?” Again, her blue eyes seem to flicker a glow like a blue flame — a weird god-like quality that probably made her eyes like liquid blue flames raging in the night. “They come with the job. I can send them away if they make you uncomfortable.”
“What are they?”
The woman raises her hand by her ear, and the shadow slithers through her fingers like a weightless serpent, happily dancing through her digits to the muffled beat from the club, “Well, they’re what they appear to be. While you mortals have a shadow prisoner to the sun, mine roam free.”
Yelena squints, watching the wisp of darkness twirl unnaturally in a cyclone in the palm of the woman’s hand, “That’s cool. But what do they do?”
The woman chuckles as she watches a piece of her own shadow with admiration take shape as a deer, jumping around her arm as if it were a real animal prancing around a field. Other shadows remain by her ear, twirling with whispers of secrets the mortals could not comprehend.
“They feel what others cannot and hear secrets that hold power.” The woman motions with her head to the door next to her, “Ill intent. Dark desires. Lies. I hear them all as if they were standing across from me, as you are now.”
“That would be suffocating, no?” To hear that kind of negativity must be exhausting, but the goddess’s immortal soul shows no sign of exhaustion. It must come with the crimes and evil done when the sun goes down and Apollo retires for the night. Though that kind of power is strangely grand for the goddess of the night. Maybe this god was an Olympian under the disguise of something less. Due to her blue eyes raging like flames, maybe this wasn’t Nyx and instead was Hephaestus, God of fire and metalworking, the divine blacksmith.
“Sometimes.” The shadow returns to a wisp and resumes its song by the goddess’ ear, “But it also allows me to see into a soul. I know the gods’ and goddesses’ intentions because my shadows can read intentions. Not every ill intent is a promise. Thankfully, of course.”
“Still.” Yelena crosses her arms as a chill sweeps through the alley, tucking herself into her bomber to cover the crop top showing the skin of her stomach. “Do all the gods have powers like that?”
“Unfortunately, I cannot divulge the specifics of the other gods.” The woman remained perfectly still, as if the cold did not bother her one bit, “As much as they pain me, I wish none of them harm. And telling random mortals, even with pure intentions of curiosity, is not something I want to make a habit out of.”
Yelena rolls her eyes and lets her sarcastic tongue slip despite being in the presence of a deity that could quite literally kill her with the snap of her fingers, “What flattery, allowing me, a mortal, to know your powers. I am gratefully honored.”
The woman’s brows twitched up as if she was pleased by Yelena’s tone, “You’re not even sure which deity I am. You have two guesses.”
“Don’t read my mind.”
“I can’t read your mind.”
“Then how do you know what I’m thinking?”
“I’ve been alive for a long time.” The woman admits, Yelena, knowing the one across from her was older than 150 years old, due to the youngest god being Dionysus. “Mortals are very complex and never fail to surprise me, but very predictable at times. The shadows make you think I’m Nyx, but my eyes, which look like flames sometimes, make you wonder if I’m actually Hephaestus. Both gods have done well hiding their identities from the mortals’ knowledge.”
Yelena straightens, “So you’re neither?”
“I didn’t say that.” The woman smoothly says, “I could be either protecting my identity. You see what’s happening with Ares’ mortal name becoming public knowledge.”
Estonia was a war zone because of the selfishness of one terrorist group that thought to travel to the States and attack Louisiana just to kill the Wilson bloodline. Not only did they succeed, but New Orleans was trying to rebuild itself because of the destruction they caused just to hunt down one family. Thousands lost their lives in the pursuit of the destruction of Ares, resulting in their whole country reaping the consequences of their actions. The terrorist organization was named ‘The Titans’ — a group of believers that praises the fallen Titans and believes that they should rise again to take what was stolen from them by their children. Why anyone would want that was beyond Yelena’s comprehension, but what she heard was that the organization believes that the history of the Titans terrorizing all that lived was false information to drive the mortals into submission.
This war happening only makes Yelena believe that the gods should remain a myth and leave the mortals to their realm of living. Them being separate entities should remain that way.
“Now you’re mentally cursing the gods.” The woman says, without any distaste for Yelena hating on the very thing that stood across from her. “But would the world truly be better off if we stayed off the Earth’s soil?”
“One would think so.” If this god has not lashed out for her thoughts already, then Yelena felt it was safe enough to truly speak her mind. If not now, then when would she ever get this chance again? “People are scared of being wiped out by a title wave if Poseidon has a bad day. What’s stopping Hades from growing mad of his sentence in the underworld and taking over Earth. That’s not exactly a fair share of power.”
The woman shrugs, “I think if Poseidon wanted to do that, he would have done it already. Same goes for Hades. Why wait all this time, then, if that is their endgame?”
Yelena counters, “Why did they wait so long to kill Cronus?”
“Comparing the gods to Cronus is a big no, no. And quite frankly, offensive.” The woman feigns as if she has gotten burned, hissing at the jab. But alas, she was still amused by Yelena’s line of questioning, “I don’t see any of the gods eating mortals, do you?”
“I don’t see any of the gods. How would I know what they do in their free time?” Yelena defends, not believing herself that the gods eat mortals, just more so, trying to make a point.
“I mean, fair.” The woman’s mouth opens to say something else, but she stops and turns her head to look curiously at the shadow to the right, now floating directly in her eye line, “Really?”
It seems as if the shadow was speaking directly to the woman, because the woman’s eyes twinkled with mischief as she stared into silence, at least from Yelena’s point of view.
“I’m fine with it, but I’ll have to ask.”
As if on cue, the other shadow joins its twin, joining the weirdest conversation Yelena has ever witnessed. The fact that she was standing across from a god, while she talked to shadows, with her sister and her secret girlfriend at a club, was not on Yelena’s bingo card for this week's trip. It wasn’t even on her bucket list of things she wants to accomplish before her soul is taken to the underworld.
The god holds up her hands placatingly, “Hey, I didn’t say anything. It’s only okay if she agrees and you two are on board with one another.”
Yelena’s brows pinch inquisitively, “Are you having a conversation about me with your shadows?”
The woman turns her head back to look at Yelena with a small but genuine smile. “No. They just want to say hello. And they’re fighting about it.”
“Say hello?”
The god nods, reaching up to grab each respective shadow in each hand, allowing them to creep towards her fingers as she reaches out in the space between them. “Only if you’re okay with it, they want to say hello.”
Yelena hesitantly looks at the god’s extended hands and her little friends in each palm. In her right hand was the more animated shadow, looking like a coiled snake with a little wagging tail, holding itself back. While in the god’s left hand was a more reluctant shadow, studying Yelena as if she were a threat. Her mind told her no — to return back into the club where her sister was probably starting to look for her since she had been gone for a while now.
On the other hand, she wanted to see what it felt like — to hold something she never thought she could. To touch a god’s power without consequences.
Eyes filtering to the door, then back to the hands, Yelena pushes off the wall and slowly opens her hands with her palms facing upward, silently accepting the offer.
Yelena’s left hand instantly felt a slither of chill, except for it being a cool chill of October wind, it was a literal shadow twirling in delight at the palm of her hand. It doesn’t stop moving, through her fingers, around her palm, and eventually up her arm to her shoulder, where it circles her ear, the same as it did for the god. The only difference was that she couldn't hear what the god claimed it whispers, only the cool trail it left as it danced around her.
Her right hand was a bit different, as the shadow took its time, never veering past her wrist. It slowly made its way, tracking the wrinkles in Yelena’s hand as if they held untold secrets, sniffing away the ill intent the god had previously spoken of. Maybe it would find something, or maybe it wouldn’t. Yelena wouldn’t know, because it looked like it was digging deep enough to find things Yelena herself buried long ago, forgotten.
And just as soon as the shadows began to pleasantly cool her bones, they vanished, and just like that, they were once again on the god’s shoulders, frantically bombarding her ears as if they found something they weren’t supposed to see.
The god’s smile vanishes, and that cool breeze drops to freezing.
The warm flame in the god’s eyes wakes and rages in a neon blue that looks like an ethereal rage a god could only experience. Yelena backs away until the wall behind her stops her from retreating anymore, for the first time, scared of what may happen.
The god looks back at Yelena, and her eyes dim a little, telling Yelena the rage was not directed at her, “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Something has come up.”
Instead of going towards the opening of the alley, the god starts towards the opposite direction and into the deep darkness that lingered there for the entirety of their conversation. And just before the darkness enveloped her whole, she stopped and turned back around to look at Yelena. And just like before when they first encountered one another, Yelena was drawn into the god’s glowing eyes, unable to look away from the power that lurked beneath the facade of a mortal girl.
“I apologize for being so rude.” The god started, and her tone was gentle, a startling difference from the emotion raging in her eyes, “I never asked you your name.”
Yelena’s heart thunders beneath her chest like one of Zeus’ bolts of lightning, igniting chills to erupt in the form of bumps all over her skin. The god does not move despite the urgency in her actions and the rigid pinch of her shoulders, looking like she would pounce on any prey if she so willed it.
Her gut remained feeling a sense of safety despite the clear power that stood just a few meters away, creating a conflict with her heart and her mind. Any god would leave without ever giving her much a second thought, but this god is asking her for her name. Asking to remember this with meaning.
And under any other circumstances, Yelena would refuse. She doesn't particularly care for the gods like her sister or most of the mortals. She just wants to live her life without the trouble of the gods interfering, especially one that seems so dangerous across from her.
But the shadows left a trail along her skin felt comforting, in some strange way, as if they were a part of her now rather than just an experience.
And so, for some reason that Yelena will never understand, even far off into the future, she answers, “Yelena.”
“Yelena.” The god repeats as if the roles were reversed — Yelena, the god, and the god, the mortal. A prayer with such delicacy in which her name rolled off the tongue of this god with no name made Yelena feel so powerful, even with her mortality. The god nods to herself and says, “Is it alright if I seek you out again? I don’t often find myself enjoying another’s company.”
Yelena is taken aback that a god wants to speak to her, out of everyone and every god in the world of existence. “Is there no other god you would rather confide in? You’re a god, you can talk to whomever you please.”
“No.” The answer was simple as it was firm, as if it were an easy choice. “In fact, this was the most enjoyable conversation I’ve had in a long, long time.”
That thunderous beat in her chest grew more powerful and more frequent with each passing second, still in a state of shock that this god was asking to see her again. The sight of that very right shadow staring back at her, along with the molten blue eyes and the left shadow, something urged Yelena to ask, “Only if you tell me your name.”
The god’s eyes light up, but not out of that rage bubbling beneath, but of amusement. The god smiles, “Only if you promise never to repeat it.”
That was an easy choice. The god knew as well as Yelena that she had no intention to use her name for evil. Just sheer curiosity.
“I promise.”
The god pushes away from the darkness and holds out her hand, as if to seal the promise. Gods often did this, and anyone who breaks an oath would reap dire consequences. But again, Yelena has no intention of repeating what the shadows were protecting.
The push off the wall bore no stable ground as Yelena felt her legs approach the god halfway, grabbing the god’s hand in a deal. Their joined hand erupted in a blue flame that had no effect upon Yelena’s skin but a show of the promise she had just made.
“Katherine Elizabeth Bishop.” The god whispers, as the shadows elongate and become the height of the god, surrounding both her and Yelena in a bubble of security so that no other lingering ears could hear the admission. “But I’d rather you call me Kate.”
Yelena nods, unable to move while she looks up into those blue eyes, a sense of dread washing over her back like a weighted blanket. “Kate Bishop then.”
The god smiles, and Yelena finds it remarkable that she was still able to breathe with such a sight born in front of her, as if deep down she knew that this was a sight not often seen by most, if any. But the god was still in a state of urgency, and as fast as their deal was made, was the same speed the god pushed away from Yelena and disappeared into the darkness.
It must have been fate, or something else akin to it, because as soon as the god disappeared with the sheet of darkness, the door swung open, revealing an annoyed Natasha. Maria was by her side, and both of them pushed out of the door, kicking it shut with a click. There was no returning now, and by the moods Yelena saw written across the couple’s faces, she knew they had no intention of returning.
“Come on, loser.” Natasha starts to walk towards the street with a slouch of her shoulders, “Party’s over.”
Maria looks forlorn and waits a few seconds before following after Natasha. Yelena shakes out of her stupor and chases after her sister, catching the rest of the club filtering out with disappointed faces. It wasn’t even past midnight yet, and clubs in Manhattan did not close before four in the morning, so something had to have happened for this to occur.
She catches up to the couple on the sidewalk, feeling this renewed energy despite the effect of her cigarette long gone, “What happened?”
Natasha grumbles low, shoving her hands into her pockets to grab Yelena’s lighter, shoving it back into the blonde’s pocket. The redhead offered nothing more, so that left Maria to answer, “News got around about what Hermes delivered to Zeus.”
This news piques Yelena’s ears, “You mean what he found in Estonia, the war zone?”
Maria grimly nods, and the air around them seems to shift with a quiet mourning presence found at a funeral. The woman looks at Natasha, wary of her sour mood, and goes to explain further, when Natasha stops and pivots on her heels to look Yelena in the eye.
“Persephone, the goddess of Spring and growth, was just found dead in Estonia.” Natasha announces, her green eyes looking dark, “It’s time for a mortal to be chosen and take her place.”