Making Waves - How to Rule the Seas and Annoy Zeus (Poseidon SI)

by BlackHoleSunS10

Summary:

(Crossposted from Questionable Questing)

It is the dawn of the world, the Primordial Age of Creation. The Titans hold dominion over a new and brutal cosmos, their rule absolute and born of patricide. Their king, Kronos, devours his own divine children, consumed by a prophecy that he will share his father's fate. The future is a closed loop of violence, promising only an eternity of fear under a tyrant's thumb, where divinity is not a thing of grace but of monstrous, untamed power.

Into this darkness, a god was meant to be born: Poseidon, the Earth-Shaker. A being of violent tempests, petty rage, and rapacious desires, destined to be as feared and ruthless as the father who imprisoned him. But in the suffocating blackness of Kronos's stomach, that destiny has been broken. The nascent god has been subsumed by a soul from another time, one who carries not a thirst for power, but a fire for creation and a fierce, desperate love for the family he now shares a prison with.

The Golden Age of the gods awaits its true architect, and Atlantis dreams of rising once more, for the King of the Seas has cometh.

Chapter 1: I Sit By and Watch my New Dad get Vaporised.

---

Homeric Hymn 22 to Poseidon (Greek epic 7th or 6th century B.C.)
"I begin to sing about Poseidon, the great god, mover of the earth and fruitless sea, god of the deep who is also lord of Helikon (Helicon) and wide Aigai (Aegae). O Shaker of the Earth (Ennosigaios), to be a tamer of horses and a saviour of ships! Hail Poseidon Holder of the Earth (gaienokhos), dark-haired lord! O blessed one, be kindly in heart and help those who voyage in ships!"

---

I once made the argument that Percy Jackson & the Olympians was a better and more entertaining book series than the Harry Potter series. To my surprise, several people in the room with me immediately gasped in shock and horror, like I'd just declared a holy war on their beloved childhoods. That was the moment I realised such a statement wasn't exactly… universally accepted as divine truth. How was I to know that I had befriended a group of Harry Potter-stanning heathens?

It was after several rounds of beers and poor gambling decisions later during the night that an acquaintance of mine, whose name escapes me now, made a rebuttal to my argument that stuck with me more than the rest. He slammed down his half-finished glass of Vodka Red Bull and made a series of dramatic gestures. He was a car dealership Tube man brought to life.

"Mate, let's be honest here," he said, shaking his head in drunken disbelief. "What you said earlier? Just isn't true! Percy Jackson has always been just a cheap knockoff of Harry Potter. How can you actually think that throwing a hodgepodge of those old Greek myths and fairy tales into some boring ass American summer camp is better than the magic of Hogwarts? It just doesn't live up to the hype."

Now, ignoring how objectively wrong that statement is, I do think it's worth unpacking why Percy Jackson mattered so much to me, and to a lot of others. My own lifelong love and fascination with ancient Greek and Roman history helped get my foot in the door, but come on! What's not to love about the dynamic cast of characters? Or Percy's hilarious first-person narration? How many young kids were introduced to Greek Mythology through those books? Where else has ancient myth so seamlessly blended into a modern setting? How many fell in love with Annabeth Chase before they even hit puberty?

So why exactly am I gushing about a YA book series I'm now technically a decade too old to be seen reading? Because… well, one particular aspect of those books has become startlingly relevant to the unforeseen circumstances that I now find myself in. Above all else, Percy Jackson & the Olympians was about divinity, about the gods. Their flaws, their pettiness, their flashes of humanity wrapped in impossible power. Each book, through Percy's young eyes and dramatic experiences, stripped away the grandeur of Olympus and asked what kind of people the gods really were.

In those stories, Kronos, the King of the Titans, was painted as the ultimate villain and primary antagonist that Percy and his allies had to overcome. He was cruel, power-hungry, and openly manipulative. He was the kind of bastard who'd openly point and laugh at a child's funeral. I always assumed Riordan exaggerated that for effect. A villain made cartoonishly evil for the sake of plot and a younger audience, just like how Zeus was reduced to mostly an arrogant jerk rather than a serial rapist, and Hera's jealous harpy tendencies were made less vindictive, merely resulting in petty acts of annoyance.

Well, as it turns out, if anything, he undersold it.

You see, I'd grown up human, ordinary, boring, and 100% mortal, with a father who'd perfected absence into an art form right from the jump. I'd barely made it to Pre-School before he was power-walking his way out the front door. I wish I could honestly say I got over it, that I was able to easily move on as I grew up into a man and experienced various kinds of love, loss, triumphs, and defeats.

Yet… well, in the end, I went to my deathbed still carrying that familiar ache of an abandoned son all the way from childhood, thinking in my final moments that at the very least death might bring me a kind of peace. As I felt the cold spread through me, I had frantically inventoried my forty-something years. No white-picket-fence dream achieved, no beautiful kids to call my own, my dreams of being a famous architect never realised, just poor, meagre circumstances and a story cut short. In that final, fading moment, all I could do was try to convince the pathetic, dying man that was myself that he had, somehow, lived a life of significance. That it hadn't all been a waste of time and effort.

So without my consent, the universe decided I wasn't off the hook. No 'game over,' which, frankly, was a swindle. I'll admit, I was an atheist my whole life, but in those final seconds? You can bet I crossed my fingers. I was hoping I'd done enough good to squeak into heaven. And, as a man of... particular culture... I wasn't just hoping for harps and clouds. I was hoping for the High School DxD version. The one where angels are as bountifully blessed in the chest as Gabriel, and the logic is less holy and more hentai. A guy can dream, right?

Well, my dream turned into a nightmare. There was no fan service. No heavenly 'plot.' Just... awareness. I remember even now the terrifying fact of my persistent consciousness when there should have been nothing. I was still here. That dawning shock, however, had been cut short by the violent, shocking slam of rebirth.

After a brief period of disorientation, my new eyes had flown open, and that's when I saw her. The most radiant, grief-stricken woman I'd ever laid eyes on. Even then, a dormant instinct I couldn't yet explain allowed me to recognise her instantly: Rhea, my mother. Her terror was a mirror to the fear that gripped me. Before I could even draw a breath, a shadow blotted out the light. A colossal jaw unhinged in a way that was utterly vile and unnatural, wider than any nightmare, a living cavern of meat-covered teeth. The dormant instinct returned once more to identify the monster.

It was Kronos. Leader of the Titans. Child of Gaia and Ouranous. Greek God of baby-eating. My new Father.

The universe or some malevolent entity had looked at that old wound from my first life and decided to twist the knife. It gave me another chance at having a father, only this one was far more terrible than the first could have ever been. Imagine your first act of existence, or more accurately, re-existence, being digestion. One heartbeat, you open your eyes in a new world; the next, you're being shoved down your own father's humid, suffocating throat into a living tomb. Stomach acid sears your skin while your bones try to regrow faster than they melt. You desperately try to find some purchase to slow your rapid descent, but find your unfamiliar baby hands are too weak and stubby to grab onto anything of substance.

Let me tell you, falling headfirst into a Titan's stomach is a uniquely terrible experience. The darkness isn't just an absence of light from the sun; it's a genuine physical presence that you can feel on the back of your neck, thick and hot and smelling of bile. The only sounds I heard for what could've been hours had been the deep, groaning rumbles of my father's divine digestive tract as I was slowly acclimatised to my new surroundings.

And then, voices. Faint, trembling, young. My new siblings. Four of them were already there, having been consumed one after the other, nine months apart. Each whisper carried fear and exhaustion, but also innate recognition. Even without my new innate instincts, I knew who they were. I should've been horrified. Instead, I felt something shameful, relief. Relief that I wasn't alone. That someone, anyone, could understand this nightmare and share it with me. After the first awkward greetings, the nervous questions, and the disbelief, they eagerly embraced me in a group hug. Not as a stranger, but as family, five broken lights flickering against the darkness. And in that brief, fragile warmth, I almost forgot the horror that had brought us there.

By the time we all let go of one another, I had no forgiveness left in me, not for my first father, and certainly not for the second.

My new siblings were exactly what I expected from the mythology, and nothing like it at all. They weren't gods yet, not really. Just frightened kids stuck in the dark, grasping for meaning, desperately seeking an answer to the one question that echoed in the stifling air: Why?

Hestia quickly proved to me that the slogan about her was undeniably true. She is truly bestia. As the eldest, she tried to be the brave one. She'd hum lullabies to me and the others to help us sleep, her voice a fragile light against the crushing dark, but I could hear the tremor in it. She was singing to keep herself from shattering. Demeter just paced, an endless, frantic rhythm of bare feet slapping against moist flesh, wringing her hands so hard I thought she might grind them to dust. Her terror wasn't loud; it was a deep, frantic vibration, like an earthquake waiting to happen.

Then there was Hera. She chose rage as her shield. She'd snap at any sound that she found unsensible or annoying, her anger a blistering force that was so obviously a mask for absolute, gut-wrenching terror. It became obvious fairly quickly that she was scared of the dark but would rather combust than openly admit it. And Hades… well, Hades was already Hades. He'd found the darkest, quietest corner of our father's stomach, don't ask me how he knew, and just stayed there, brooding. His silence was heavier than all their noise combined.

And I, apparently, was now Poseidon. The God and Ruler of the Sea. Now, said title was still pending, as I was currently trying my best to avoid being submerged in Divine Stomach Acid, and the Titan Oceanus was the current ruler of the Ocean. Though I knew he wouldn't have that position for much longer, not if I had anything to say about it.

Compared to my older siblings, I was different. My mortal memories hadn't faded; if anything, they gave me a perspective they couldn't possibly have. They were born into this nightmare and knew nothing else. I remembered sunlight. I remembered freedom and all the wonders that life had to offer beyond these walls of meat and bone. I remembered what it was to comfort someone, and that, it turned out, was the most useful memory of all.

"He's going to digest us!" Demeter would occasionally wail, her pacing growing faster. "We'll just… eventually dissolve into nothing!"

"Then dissolve quietly," Hera would hiss back, her voice sharp enough to cut. "Your whining is insufferable."

That's when I'd step in. I'd take both their hands in mine and put on all the brotherly charm I could muster. "He can't, sisters," I'd say, my voice calm. It was a guess, but a confident one. "If he could, we'd be gone already. We're… indigestible in our current forms. If I had to guess, it must be quite taxing on his resolve to keep all five of us contained."

My calmness was a foreign object in that chaotic space. Hestia had tried her best, but at the end of the day, she was still a child herself. I managed to find several ways to cut through their panic. I quickly learned to play to what I knew of their natures. I'd talk to Demeter about things I remembered, fields, seasons, the way things grow and die and grow again. The concepts were alien to her, but the idea of cycles, of things continuing, seemed to soothe the frantic energy in her soul. She started looking at me with a wide-eyed fascination, a sort of desperate reliance that was equal parts flattering and heartbreaking.

With Hera, I took a different approach. I didn't challenge her anger. I acknowledged the injustice of it all. "You're right to be furious, Hera," I told her once after a particularly nasty outburst. "What he has done to us... It is a grave betrayal. To be given life only to have it trapped like this… It's the work of a monster, not a father."

She fell silent, staring at me in the gloom. I hadn't just heard her anger; I had validated it. From then on, her rage, while still present, was less often directed at us. Instead, she'd watch me, a strange, calculating softness in her eyes. I noticed she would try to take the seat closest to me and seek out my hand to hold when we all hunkered down to sleep, not that we had any grasp on a sense of what time it was. Somewhere between the acid burns and the existential dread, and despite being the youngest, I became the older brother I'd never had the chance to be.

To keep their minds from fracturing or getting lost in boredom, I told them stories. Stories from a world they'd never know. I changed the names, of course. I told them of Lorc Starkiller and his light-blade, who took on a galactic empire. Of the Black Knight, Battyman, a mortal who weaponised fear against the evil criminals of a perpetually dark city. They'd listen for hours, their own nightmares momentarily forgotten, lost in worlds that weren't a suffocating prison. To them, it was just my surprisingly vast imagination. To me, it was a eulogy for a life I'd never get back.

I came to cherish story-time above all, as it was one of the few times that Hades would leave his brooding corner and come and sit with us. He liked to act like he was above it all, but he could never fully hide the look of abject wonder in his eyes when I described these fantastical worlds and their inhabitants. Deep down, the future Prince of Darkness was just a big softie. We grew to love each other in that disgusting, fleshy prison. I saw past the myths to the people they were: Hestia's fierce, quiet strength; Demeter's deep, wounded empathy; Hera's terrified, desperate need for order and love; and Hades's profound, solemn integrity. They were my family I'd never had but always wanted.

Then one day, everything changed. There was a lurch, a violent spasm from the stomach walls around us. And then, something new tumbled into our world. It wasn't divine. It was heavy, lifeless, and utterly out of place. It was a rock.

And it hit me. Squarely. On the fucking head.

My sisters panicked and began to fuss over me, but I just sat there, seeing stars, rubbing the spot. That's when the clarity hit me. A rock. Swaddled. Rhea. She'd done it. She'd saved one of us. Our baby brother, Zeus, was out there. Free.

A wave of hope washed over me that everything was going according to plan... or well, fate, followed immediately by a burning, petty resentment. Because of course. Of course, the one to get out of being trapped in here is the one who immediately finds a way to make my existence more painful. He wasn't even in the stomach, and he was already being an annoying little shit of a brother.

For the first time in months, I laughed. A real, genuine laugh that echoed weirdly in the close confines.

"What is it?" Hestia asked, her voice filled with hope.

"It's our ticket out of here," I said. And under my breath, I made a solemn vow. "And I am going to dedicate the rest of my immortality to annoying that little shit right back. He has no idea what he just started."

When Zeus finally tricked Kronos into vomiting us out, wine and mustard, courtesy of Metis, we didn't come out as children. We emerged fully grown, radiant, and divine. And the moment our feet hit the earth, we were at war.

---

Ten years of chaotic war followed. Titans shattered mountains. We answered in kind. Oceans boiled, skies burned, and the primordial world learned what the word divine really meant. After a decade of that, I had naively assumed overthrowing Kronos would taste glorious, like ambrosia on the tongue. Instead, it tasted like ash. The final battle had been hellish as our father had refused to go down quietly.

Throughout the fight, a harsh psychic vibration had rattled deep in my skull, as if my thoughts were being flayed raw. The air, the stone, and even the space between atoms, had howled with the same awful pitch. The scream of reality itself being cleaved apart in countless ways, it was not able to handle. It hadn't taken me a decade to learn that a battle between the Gods was a truly awful thing.

And now, as Zeus raised his arms to the heavens, lightning flickering around him like a crown, I realised how little had changed after all this time. "Let this be the fate," he thundered, pausing for effect, "of all tyrants!"

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Gods, he was milking the moment for all it was worth, ever the drama queen.

Somewhere in that cacophony, Kronos's soul was being carved into countless fragmented shards. He screamed like a dying pig while Zeus hit him with lightning again and again. Each strike split the horizon. I stood silent, my handy trident buried in scorched earth, watching ichor pour like molten gold. For all the spectacle, I felt nothing. No relief, no triumph. Just the kind of bone-deep fatigue that sinks into your soul after being on your feet too long. Even my formidable divine body and constitution had its limits.

For a moment, I almost pitied Kronos. Almost. Then another bolt hit, and I remembered what it felt like to be swallowed alive. Remembered my sisters crying in the dark, and with that, all pity for the bastard fled me.

Kronos' physical form dissolved into light, his immortal essence scattering like dust. The Former King's shattered existence would spend eternity flayed beyond consciousness in the Deepest Pits of Tartarus. The silence that followed was worse than the cacophony of noise. I looked out over the scarred land, rivers steaming, forests burned to bone, and tried to tell myself it had been worth it. But for the first time since waking up in a Titan's stomach, I was free.

The Titans were defeated. The Titanomachy was over. The Golden Age of the Gods had begun. Lucky us.

It was hours later, after ensuring the Titans were all secure in their imprisonment, that a ripple stirred the air, a summons. Zeus. It was time, then. Time to carve up the world. As I climbed toward the designated meeting place, my sisters waited below the rise, the tension thick as storm clouds. Demeter, even free from her confines, continued to pace like a caged lioness, her eyes fixed on a valley of ash where a gorgeous emerald forest once stood.

"We've scraped the green from the bone of the world," she murmured, her voice trembling with fury and grief.

I followed her gaze and saw the corpse of the earth, our victory written in scars.

"Victory requires sacrifice, sister," Hera said coolly, smoothing an invisible crease in her gown. "If anyone has earned the right to lament, it's me." Of course. I'd tried my best to... encourage Hera's disposition into something less overtly antagonistic and had only somewhat succeeded. Despite the changes my own unique personality had caused in all of my siblings over the course of the war, she still tended to always make it all about herself.

"Do you know how many of those Titan dogs I had to charm and mislead into making a mistake with my succulent body?" she went on, as she gestured to herself. "They just make it too easy! Too focused on getting a peek under my skirt, overblocking my strikes. Their lucky I refrained from cutting their puny pricks off!"

I held back a fond sigh, while I'd long wished Hera would move away from using her physical beauty to lull her opponents into a false sense of security, I couldn't argue the point that she had grown into quite the looker. I'd thought Rhea had been the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, but as my sisters came into their early twenties and physically matured, I'd been proven wrong. Drastically wrong.

Hestia, Demeter, and Hera were Goddesses and their appearances reflected as such. Even after hours of battle, Hera looked radiant. Majesty Incarnate. A bronze body of succulent curves, with tits bigger than her head. Her hips flared out and swayed with what, at times, I swore to be a genuine gravitational orbit of their own. After years of war, her thighs were thick with muscle yet did not lose their shape, leading down to a pair of legs impossibly long, perfect beyond what was possible in my previous life. She often openly teased Demeter and Hestia over the fact that her ass was so fat that no clothes could ever try to fully hide it.

Why Zeus would ever cheat on this woman with mere humans at times utterly baffled me. But in all honesty, it wouldn't surprise me if I one day found him trying his best to seduce a rock to suck his dick. I'd never met anyone else so led around by their lust in all my two lives.

Demeter's control finally cracked. "Look at you," she snarled. "Speaking of vanity while the world lies dying around us! Sister, can't you feel the silence where there used to be song? What of all the creatures that we've brought to extinction with this war!"

Hera flinched, barely, but I caught it. Her mask slipped for half a breath. Before Demeter could drag me into it, I stepped forward.

"Before you ask, Demeter," I said quietly, "You are not wrong for feeling as you do. I know how much preserving nature means to you." I met her gaze. "You're right to grieve. I do too. We've lost wondrous flora and fauna that will never return for as long as we live." Then I turned to Hera. "And you're right as well. Victory cost us all something. I'm particularly proud of how you dealt with Hyperion; that roundhouse kick was really something to see."

That stopped them both. I tried my best to ignore the way they both preened like peacocks.

"The real question is what we do now. We can mourn, or we can rebuild. The world will heal if we care enough to help it."

Demeter's fury dimmed to exhaustion. Hera looked between us, uncertain. I could almost hear Hestia's voice from our time in the dark: You always find the calm in the storm, that's why you are so precious, my beloved little brother.

"The Titans shaped the bones of the world," I said, inclining my head to them. "We'll outshine them by giving it a soul."

Then I turned toward the summit, where Zeus and Hades waited.

The air on the summit reeked of ozone and burnt Titan. Zeus stood slightly apart from Hades, already radiating an aura of command that was just a little too practised. I watched him subtly shift his divine will, making himself appear a fraction taller than the pair of us. Always the showman, I thought. Dealing with Zeus was exactly like managing a theatrical, yet somehow always horny, toddler who'd stumbled into godlike power. To be fair to him, his ambition was a fierce, bright thing that had led us through the Titanomachy relatively unscathed. He'd led alongside me and Hades without vying for outright dominance, and for the most part, he'd led well.

But the seeds of that infamous pride, the arrogance that would one day cause so much grief, were already sprouting. Honestly, there were moments during the war when I genuinely considered whether a well-aimed smack to the back of his divinely thick head might do him some good. I'd refrained… for now. Mostly. Patience was the key with Zeus, especially when a significant part of me found him utterly insufferable. A gentle nudge here, a carefully worded suggestion there, he'd usually take the advice, thinking it was his own brilliant idea, which gave me a quiet, enduring satisfaction.

Hades, on the other hand, was even after all this time still a figure of still intensity. Shadows seemed to cling to him even in open daylight. The war had carved new lines of grief and understanding onto his young face. Our eyes met, and a wordless acknowledgment passed between us, a shared memory of Mount Othrys, of fighting back-to-back when all seemed lost, the metallic tang of ichor sharp in the air. That grim camaraderie, forged in the terror of being un-made, was a bond I'd surprisingly come to cherish.

The silence on the ravaged plateau grew thick with unspoken purpose. Zeus, letting the dramatic pause hang in the air, finally spoke. His voice was clear, carrying an innate authority that I knew would soon become command. "The Age of Titans is over," he declared. "A new dawn breaks. The cosmos awaits its new masters." He swept his gaze over Hades and me. "It is only right that the three of us, who bore the weapons that shattered their reign, shall divide the dominions of the world."

I saw Hades's expression tighten. A flicker of grim understanding, or maybe resignation, passed through his eyes. He knew. Of course, he knew what role he was destined for in this grand, cruel theatre of fate.

"We shall draw lots," Zeus announced, producing a battered bronze helmet taken from a fallen Titan, still scorched from battle. Another piece of theatre. "Fate shall guide our hands."

I had to give him points for political savvy, even as it grated. The lots made it all seem so impartial, though I'd bet a significant piece of my non-existent godly domain that Zeus had already tried to 'encourage' fate in his direction. He pulled three smooth, grey stones from the helmet. They looked like any other pebble, but I could feel a subtle thrum coming from them, the condensed power of unformed dominion. Whoever claimed one of these stones would have free rein to take its corresponding realm and godly aspect upon themselves without interference from the others.

"The Sky, the Seas, and the Underworld," Zeus intoned, holding the helmet aloft. "The three great realms. Let the eldest of us freed, Hades, draw first." A magnanimous gesture, on the surface.

Hades stepped forward, his movements soundless. He reached into the helmet, his hand disappearing inside before emerging with one of the grey stones. He closed his fist around it and simply nodded, his face unreadable.

"I'll go next," I said, stepping up before Zeus could engineer the sequence any further. I plunged my hand into the helmet. My fingers found the two remaining lots, smooth and identical.

As I touched them, a faint resonance pulsed from one of the stones, a subtle, rhythmic pull, like the deep, patient cadence of a tide. It was a calling. A recognition. In that instant, I knew. This one, humming against my fingertip like a forgotten memory, was the Sea. Which meant the other, silent and inert beneath my thumb, was the Sky.

For a heartbeat, I pressed my thumb down on the silent stone. I could resist the pull and take it. The heavens, the throne, the whole damn show would all be mine. The thought was calm, certain, and utterly without ego. But it held no appeal. Height has no allure for a soul that now craves depth. With a deliberate act of will, I let it go and closed my hand around my destiny.

I didn't look at the stone. Instead, I met my brother's eyes. I saw the flash of triumph in Zeus's expression, but then watched it shift, complicated by a slow, reluctant understanding. He knew. He knew I'd had a choice. He hadn't cleverly won the Sky. It had been conceded.

A flicker of something, annoyance perhaps, passed through his eyes, but he stepped forward without a word and pulled out the final stone. "The Fates have decided," he said with a faint smirk. He gestured to Hades. "Reveal your portion, brother."

Hades slowly uncurled his fingers. The grey stone transformed. Shadows coalesced around it, deepening to the black of a starless void. An intense chill bled into the air, and the light on the plateau seemed to dim. "The Underworld," Hades stated, his voice a low rumble of finality. No triumph, just a heavy, dutiful acceptance. A familiar helm of pure darkness flickered around his brow.

Zeus then turned to me, a challenging glint in his eyes. I opened my hand. The stone pulsed once, a soft blue light, before shimmering into a luminous, sapphire hue that mirrored the deepest ocean trenches. The faint scent of brine touched the air.

"The Seas," I said. As I spoke, I felt a visceral click, as if a long-misplaced piece of my soul had finally slotted into place. A simple circlet, like solidified seafoam shot through with pearl, rested on my brow.

Finally, Zeus unveiled his. White-hot light erupted from his fist, so bright we had to shield our eyes. The sharp scent of ozone filled the air as the first true thunder of this new age echoed from the heavens. "Ha Ha! How glorious! The Heavens are mine forevermore!" he proclaimed, his voice booming. A crown of jagged lightning solidified above his head.

He gave us both brief, formal congratulations. "Go forth, my brothers, and establish your reigns," he said, already swelling with authority. "Our other siblings told me they wish to wander and bask in their new freedom. We shall all convene here again at the summer solstice. Let our domains be shaped by then."

With a deafening crack of lightning, he was gone, a streak of light soaring toward the highest peaks, no doubt already coming up with designs for a throne as big as his forehead and ego.

Hades lingered. He stood in silence for a long moment, his gaze fixed on me. "Brother, you could have taken what he wanted," he said, his voice low. "I felt it. You chose not to. Why?"

I turned to him, one brow arched. "Because," I said dryly, "if Zeus hadn't gotten his precious sky, he'd have been an insufferable, whining little shit about it for all of eternity."

A beat passed. Then I shrugged, glancing out toward the unseen horizon. "And honestly? The ocean is vast. Ancient. Full of potential. I think I came out ahead amongst the three of us."

For a moment, Hades just looked at me, then gave a soft, sardonic huff, the ghost of a laugh. With a final glance, he stepped backward into the lengthening shadows, his form dissolving into the dark like ink into water.

For the first time in a long time, I stood alone. After having become so close with my Olympian siblings, it was somewhat disconcerting. The quiet of the mountaintop returned, but it was a quiet transformed. The faint call I'd felt from the wind, the scent of distant waters, was now an irresistible tide pulling at the core of my being. My duties as a soldier were over; my true work was about to begin. An instinctual pull resonated with the sapphire circlet on my brow, and without moving, I found myself standing on a colossal, wave-lashed cliff, the roar of the surf a welcome home. It was time to get to work.

Chapter 2: I Accidentally wake up the Landlord

Do you remember the very first time you ever went swimming?

If you say yes, you're a liar. I sure as hell don't. And believe me, I've checked. I now have a brand-new, god-tier brain with perfect recall, and if I scrub back through the archives, there's nothing. Zip. Just a lot of blurry, wet screaming. Probably my own.

Here's a better question: Do you remember the first time you felt afraid while swimming?

And no, your first bath as a baby doesn't count; that's just existential shock. Nor does that time you got splashed unexpectedly at the school swimming carnival and flinched in front of your friends. I'm talking about a genuine, heart-gripping, 'Oh-God-I'm-Going-To-Die' moment of pure, pants-wetting terror.

I do. I was ten. It was a typical Aussie summer, the kind where the air itself is trying to murder you and the concrete is molten-hot lava. Seriously, we had to use the hose to create a hopscotch path of "safe" wet spots merely to reach the pool fence. My cousins and I had been left to our own devices while our mums drank Prosecco and laughed on the patio, blissfully unaware of the apex predator that had infiltrated their backyard.

My cousins stuck to the shallow end, terrified of the automatic pool cleaner. 'Kreepy Krauly,' I think it was called. The slow, steady tick-tick-tick of it moving along the pool floor really freaked them out.

I, naturally, thought they were being chicken-shit. I decided to prove how brave and hot-shit I was by swimming alone in the deep end. And of course, that's where it happened.

My foot brushed the cleaner's drifting hose. My brain, with the impeccable, flawless logic of a ten-year-old, arrived at a single, ironclad conclusion: Great. White. Shark. In my auntie's suburban, chlorinated, five-foot-deep pool.

If you were a pool kid, you likely know this feeling. The irrational, primal-brain-hijack that vaporises all logic. One second you're fine, the next your heart is trying to escape through your throat, and you are certain something's lurking beneath you. You try to reason: 'It's just chlorinated water and concrete, you numptey.' But your prepubescent brain only replies with a, 'Yeah, but... what if?'

The deeper the water looked, the darker it felt. Every ripple became a fin. Every shimmer of light was definitely a tooth. I remember kicking for the edge as fast as I could, putting on a big show about 'practising my super speed,' like I wasn't fleeing for my life from a piece of plastic. Even after I hauled myself out, dripping on the hot concrete, I couldn't stop staring, half-expecting the shark from Jaws to surface and eat the pair of floating noodles I'd selfishly abandoned as sacrifices.

Funny how that works. Even as kids, we somehow know that water is beautiful, but it's vast, and you'll never really see what's underneath. That memory crept back the moment I stood on the cliff and looked down. The difference, of course, was that my aunt's pool had a fake monster. This ocean was full to bursting with the real thing.

Below me stretched a vast, endless blue, the kind of view that makes you forget to breathe. (Not that I really needed to breathe anymore, which was still a weirdly cool perk of being a God, but that's beside the point.) The surface churned and glittered under the sun, every wave flashing like a pile of steel blades. The familiar scent of salt hit me, sharp, clean, ancient. It filled my lungs, and something inside me stirred in answer.

This was an ocean that had never once been touched by Man. No pollution, no overfishing, no plastic bags drifting in the current. Just pure potential. And now it was mine. My sea. My canvas. My home. My Kingdom.

I lifted a hand to test my new powers, half out of curiosity, and the sea responded before I even finished the thought. A gentle rise, rolling out from the shore like the world had just exhaled with me. Nothing dramatic. Nothing otherworldly. Just a ripple, calm and measured.

But it was enough. My heart kicked against my ribs. Grinning like an idiot, I raised both hands this time. No more asking. Show me something, I commanded.

The response was immediate. A deep GROAN rumbled through the surf, and a single, towering swell heaved itself up from the shallows. It smashed against the rocks below me in an explosion of white spray, high enough to drown five men standing shoulder to shoulder. The CRACK of it echoed through the air like applause. For a heartbeat, I couldn't help it. I laughed, beaming like a kid on Christmas morning. A kid who'd just been given the universe's biggest, most dangerous water pistol.

I adjusted my stance on the cliff edge, ready to dive in, when a voice, light as wind chimes, drifted toward me.

"Wait! Don't jump~ You have so much to live for~"

I looked up in surprise. I could've sworn I was alone.

Hovering just off the cliff edge, as if the concept of gravity was a mild suggestion she'd politely declined, was a being made of shimmer and light. Her form was barely solid, her hair a pale, wispy cloud that drifted even in the still air. She looked like a heat haze given a pretty, if somewhat vacant, face. She was wringing her translucent hands, her features pinched in genuine, if utterly baffling, concern.

"Please don't~" she pleaded again, her voice a tinkling sound that barely carried over the surf. "It's so wet down there~ And... and cold~ You'll... you'll get salty and your hair will get all soggy~"

I blinked at her, trying to process what I'd just heard. Of all the things to worry about, this random thing (girl?) wasn't that I was jumping to my death; no, she was worried I'd get my hair wet? Right. Cause that made sense.

"I appreciate the concern," I said slowly, deciding to be polite to whatever this was. "But I'm not jumping to anything. I'm jumping into... well, my ocean. I'm Poseidon, the new King of these seas."

Her head tilted, making her cloud-hair swirl. "Oh! Ohhh. You're him! The new one! That Zeus guy's brother! The one with the... the... thing~" She snapped her fingers, which made a sound like a tiny, distant bell. "The pointy stick!"

"Trident," I supplied. "And you are?"

"I'm Alaste the Aurai~" she chirped, her worry vanishing instantly, replaced by a bright, breezy smile. "A breeze! Pfft~" She giggled, and a literal puff of wind ruffled my hair, smelling of mountain flowers. "I saw you from waaaay up. You made that big splash! It was so loud! Then I saw you standing here and had to warn you~ Lots of my sisters get sad and do the jumpy-jumpy from high places thing all the time. Some of them come back soggy or don't come back at all~"

I wasn't sure how to unpack that last statement, so I decided it would be better if I didn't ask. I was far more interested in what she actually was, anyhow. An Aurai. A nymph of the breeze. That made her…

"You're a daughter of Oceanus, then?" I asked, latching onto the connection.

"Oh, yeah! Papa Oceanus. He and Mama Tethys. They're just... around," she said, making a lazy, circling motion with her hand.

This was a perfect, unexpected opportunity. I needed to know the political landscape, and the old Titan of the Seas was a major question mark. "My siblings and I noticed he never joined the war. To fight against us with his brother."

"Ugh, no," she puffed, rolling her eyes so hard I thought her head might detach. "Soooo much shouting. And rocks. Papa hates shouting. It messes up his naps."

"And do you know if he is content? With me taking this?" I gestured to the endless blue below us. The dominion of the sea. It had, by rights, been his unchallenged sphere of influence under Kronos' rule.

The Aurai giggled again, a sound that was quickly losing its charm. "Taking it? Oh, that should be fine~ Papa doesn't do anything with it~ He just is. He circles the world, you know. Back and forth. Back and forth." She mimed a slow, lapping wave, looking bored just describing it. "He just lazes about these days. It's been ages since he felt energised enough to... I dunno... do anything fun~ He says the world is too fast now and full of young upstars Pfft Whatever that means." She leaned in, as if sharing a great secret. "I think he's just really boring and loves cuddling up with Mama."

That was surprisingly useful. If what she said was true, then Oceanus wasn't ambitious. He was tired. An old god who was merely happy to retire and let the new generation handle things. Good. That was one less rival to worry about, hopefully.

"Right. Well, Alaste, thank you truly for your concern. And the information. I won't forget it."

"Anytime, Pointy-Stick-God!" she beamed. "Have fun getting salty!"

And with a final, airy pfft, she dissolved into a shimmer and was gone, a faint scent of flowers left in her wake. I turned back to the ocean. She had been a sweet, if a little airheaded, interruption. Right. Time for that swim. I bent my knees and dived right in.

The fall wasn't terrifying; it had been years since I'd gotten used to being able to fall from great heights and land unscathed. It was, in actuality, genuinely liberating. The wind tore past me, salt desperately trying but failing to sting my bronze-gold face, and the ocean rushed up to meet me like an old friend. When I hit the surface, it didn't resist or push to expel me; it eagerly caught me. The water rose around me in a blooming spiral, wrapping me up in an embrace that felt both gentle and infinite.

The world beneath the waves exploded into my perception, a symphony of light, pressure, and life that was both overwhelmingly new and intimately familiar. Sunlight fractured into a million dancing diamonds above me, each shard piercing the surface and scattering through the blue like shards of heaven. The light filtered down in vast, ethereal columns and glorious beams, illuminating coral cities that pulsed with an inner radiance. They teemed with life so vivid, so absurdly beautiful, that it stole my breath, even the breath of a god.

I didn't hesitate to explore and take in all that I could. I didn't swim. I didn't need to. I just willed, and the ocean moved me, a frictionless glide that felt more like flying than any dream I'd ever had. The pressure, which would have turned a mortal into paste, was just a gentle, firm hug. My hug.

Vast kelp forests swayed in unseen currents, emerald and gold ribbons twisting like the hair of sleeping angels. Their fronds brushed against the mouths of colossal trenches that yawned beneath me, unfathomable chasms of Stygian blackness. Yet where my mortal self might once have felt fear, I now felt only contentment. The depths called to me, I could feel their weight and silence, the crushing cold, the ancient pressure, and it was not alien. It was a mere extension of me.

Volcanic vents hissed in the abyssal plains, birthing new earth in plumes of superheated life. The tremor of their creation echoed through me, a slow, planetary heartbeat that thrummed in perfect rhythm with my own. The ocean was not merely a large body of open water. It was a living cosmos, a vast and ancient body of constant death and rebirth, and somehow, I understood that I was now its consciousness. It's greatest caretaker.

Every current brushed against my awareness like the pulse of ichor through veins. I could feel the subtlest shift in salinity, the faintest curl of heat carried from equatorial tides. The invisible dance of the ocean's circulatory system wove across the globe, one endless flow, one thought. From the flicker of planktonic sparks to the low, mournful songs of leviathan whales, every voice sang in my mind. Their harmony was a language beyond words, a music of balance and belonging.

And yet, amid that vastness, I'll admit I felt small. But it was not out of a misguided sense of insignificance, but in reverence. The sea was endless, and so was my duty to it. I could sense its chaos and order, its wrathful cruelty and gentle grace.

There was just so much potential thriving all around me. So much about this wondrous place I was yet to learn, yet to understand. You have to understand, I'd just spent a decade on land. Ten years of gravity, of dirt, of breathing air that felt too thin, of strategy and blood and the constant, grinding weight of war.

This... this was release.

---

It was harder to tell the passage of time beneath the waves, but frankly, I found it hard to care. I knew I had heaps of time before the Summer Solstice and was content to drift through my domain at leisure.

I lay on my back staring at the glittering, mercury ceiling, shot through with a thousand spears of light. This was the Epipelagic, the sunlit world, and it was a bloody cathedral. My senses, which had been crammed into a mortal-shaped box for so long, finally unfurled. I could taste the silt of a river birthing itself a world away. I could feel the slow, planetary heartbeat of the great currents. I could hear the clicks, whistles, and deep, resonant thrum of a million, million things just living.

A flicker of pure, unadulterated fun zipped past me. A school of tuna, tens of thousands strong, a living river of silver muscle, flashed by. My first, idiotic impulse, born of war and being a hot-shit new god, was to command them. I reached out with my will.

Stop. Turn. Acknowledge me.

The entire school shuddered, a ripple of confusion breaking their perfect, fluid dance. They didn't understand 'command.' They didn't have a concept for 'king.' They just were.

Right. Wrong approach. Wow, I felt like a dick. I tried again. This time, I didn't push. I listened. I felt their communal mind, just a single, ecstatic thrum of go-go-go! The sheer, brainless joy of speed. I let go of my own will, bent the water around me into a perfect slipstream, and joined them.

I was no longer a god. I wasn't a warrior either. I was just part of the chase, and the feeling of their, no our, shared joy was so pure it almost knocked me sideways. I lost myself in it for an hour, or maybe a day. Time didn't really matter.

Eventually, a deeper song pulled me away. A vibration, so old it felt like a forgotten memory, rumbled through the water. I let the tuna go, their happy chorus fading, and descended toward the sound.

You don't see something that big, not all at once. You just become aware that the water in front of you is moving with purpose. Floating mountains. Leviathans. Whales, my old brain supplied, but that word was too small. These were larger than any warship, moving with a slow, ancient grace.

Their song was a wave of pure telepathic emotion that washed over me. Memories of ancient tides, the contentment of a hunt a century past, the fierce, unconditional love for their young. A calf, the size of a bloody village, broke from its mother's side. Its curiosity was a palpable force. It circled me, its immense eye a universe of placid intelligence, and it pinged my brain.

The images it sent weren't friendly. It was a racial memory, a warning. I saw a kraken of living shadow dragging down an ancestor in a time before gods. I felt the searing heat of a meteor strike that boiled the surface. I saw a prior deity, a being of rage and storm, demanding tribute.

The question was layered with millennia of experience, but it was simple enough: So, who the hell are you? Another asshole who's come into our home to mess with us? Another storm to be weathered?

I held out a hand. And answered. First, I projected a blinding flash of a lightning-wreathed crown in the heavens. Power in the sky. They felt the ozone, the sudden terror of the storm, but also its necessity. The winds that drive the currents. My brother.

Then, a glimpse of a shadowy helm in the deep earth. Power in the dark below. They felt the quiet finality of it, the slow, patient decay that returns all life to the cycle. An ending, as necessary as a beginning. My other brother.

Finally, I just let my own divine essence flow out, a cool, steady, sapphire glow. The Power of the Sea. I showed them the tides, the ceaseless, rhythmic pull of the moon. I shared the sensation of the life-giving warmth of the currents, the steadfastness of the shelves.

The calf nudged my palm, a touch that sent a tremor of acceptance through my core. A moment later, the great mother, her eye a gateway to forgotten eons, added her own silent pulse. He understands. He belongs.

As they moved on, a deep, unshakeable peace settled over me. This was the kingdom I'd fought for. A realm not to be dominated or left to stagnate, but to be nurtured and encouraged to flourish.

Peace is nice, but peace can get a little boring. And there was a lot more kingdom to see. Something pulled me. Down.

I let the sunlit world go, the brilliant sapphire fading to a deep indigo. This was the Twilight Zone, and the rules were different here. The sheer weight of the water above devoured the last ghosts of sunlight. In its place, a far more honest light rose: bioluminescence. Life making its own sun.

The pressure became a firm, constant embrace. The water grew cold, a clean, sharp chill that felt invigorating. The chorus of the upper world faded into a silence full of anticipation.

I drifted into a forest. To call it Kelp doesn't do it justice. These were sea-redwoods, stalks thicker than temple columns that rose from an unseen floor hundreds of metres below, their fronds swaying like banners in a forgotten hall. The whole place glowed with a soft, phosphorescent moss, a labyrinth of shifting green light.

The locals were quite intense.

A sea serpent, all obsidian scales and molten-gold eyes, uncoiled from the kelp. It was pure, predatory might. It fixed its gaze on me, jaw unhinging and then it just froze. I felt its primal, 'eat-it' instinct quickly click off. It knew what I was. It lowered its head in deference and coiled back into the shadows.

Later, a single, mesmerising light hung in the dark. The lure of a colossal anglerfish. I could feel its patient, cold hunger. A mind stripped down to one command: consume. It rose from the silt to swallow me whole and then, just like the serpent, its entire brain, wired for one thing, blue-screened. The lure dimmed, and the great beast sank back down, utterly confused but totally submissive.

The kelp forest thinned, then ended abruptly at the edge of a cliff. No. Not a cliff. A chasm. A wound in the seafloor that plummeted into an absolute, lightless nothing.

Remember that irrational ten-year-old's panic about a shark in the pool? This was that, only it was entirely rational. My divine senses, which could taste the Nile and still feel the signature of that school of Tuna, went silent. Worse, they were pushed back. The trench wasn't empty. Empty has room. This was full. Full of silence. Full of pressure. Full of something that made the leviathans seem like mayflies.

It was a consciousness so vast, so slow, that it was indistinguishable from gravity. It was dreaming, but its dreams were the tectonic grind of continents and the patient formation of minerals. It was not hostile. It was not welcoming. It was just there.

I didn't learn its name. I remembered it, a truth that had been sitting in the foundation of my new soul.

Pontus. The Primordial God of the Sea. The actual sea, in its most raw, chaotic form.

I hung there, suspended over the infinite black, and had a very humbling realisation. I was king of the house, sure. I was god of the currents, the tides, the storms, and all the teeming, breathing life. But this, this was the foundation. This was the landlord.

This was the ocean's soul, and it would never, ever answer to me.

My first instinct was pure, unadulterated Zeus. A tremor of inadequacy shook me, and the raw, violent power of the Earth-Shaker swelled in response. When in doubt, smite it.

(A lesson I had to drill into innocent little Hestia over and over again for years, lest she try to make friends with dangerous Titans who meant her harm. Again.)

I actually considered, for one glorious, stupid second, charging down there to stab it with my Trident.

And then rational thought returned. So I'll just simply show that literal primordial concept of existence, whose boss by stabbing it in the face shall I? What a bloody idiot I was. I'd clearly been spending way too much time with Zeus; throughout the war, using his likely immediate reaction as a guide for what not to do had proven to be a solid life strategy.

No. I wouldn't answer with a tantrum. I'd answer with a point. I'd leave a small token of my presence and return later when I was ready to have a more formal meeting... or confrontation.

I drifted away from the chasm, back to a barren patch of seafloor. I closed my eyes and reached down with the precise pressure of a master craftsman. I found a weak point in the tectonic plate and coaxed it open. A plume of black, superheated water, thick with minerals, erupted from the fissure. A new hydrothermal vent. A new wellspring of life, born of my will.

Almost immediately, life came. Ghostly crabs scuttled toward the warmth. Tube worms anchored themselves. Life, in its desperate, tenacious beauty, found the oasis I'd made in this dark void.

This is who I am, or rather who I want to be, I thought.

And as the first pulse of this new life radiated outwards, the deep answered. It did not have a voice. It answered through a change in pressure that rattled my very essence down to the core. The entire ocean, for a thousand leagues, seemed to swell and inhale.

The sleeping mind had stirred. A thought, slow and heavy as a continent, rolled out from the abyss and echoed directly in my mind. The voice was ancient, immediate, and laced with a terrifying, dismissive amusement.

A... flicker... Where all is still.

The surface sings its brief, loud song. Of thrones... and rage... and forgetting.

But you... You have brought your noise... into my quiet. You are... not what I dreamed.

This one is storm and stone... and thinks itself a King.

I... am the Sea. And you... ...are a ripple.

Come... little god. Let the deep... see what you are made of.

Little god. Oh, that stung. All the power, the divinity, the 'King of the Sea' vibe, all of it just evaporated. I felt small. Breakable. And then, chasing away the terror, a bubble of pure absurdity rose within me.

I'd just been standing there, not five minutes ago, full of the self-important notion that I'd be the one to choose the time and place for our meeting. Me! A snot-nosed god-ling barely dry behind the ears, planning to "return when I was ready."

The sheer, weapons-grade arrogance of it.

A laugh escaped me, a pulse of azure, mirthful energy that pushed back against the crushing presence. The fear was still there, but now it had company: a solid, ridiculous sense of humour. I'd been summoned. By the bloody landlord of my domain, and I'd been caught trying to redecorate his front lawn without permission.

Right. I was a king. And I'd been summoned. I straightened my back, a monarch accepting an audience. I looked up one last time. At the edge of the kelp forest, a silent audience had gathered. A great sea serpent, a translucent squid, dozens of jellies pulsing with soft light, and, further back, the immense shadows of the leviathans.

Popcorn-gallery time. All of them had come to watch the new boss go meet the real boss. No sense keeping him waiting. I descended into the black.

 

Chapter 3: I stand before, Ṗ̸̹o̷̦͒n̵͍͋t̷̮͗ü̶̜s̸̺̆,̴̼̀ ̸̟̚Ṱ̶͑h̷̲̔ę̸́ ̷̥̀P̵̪̚r̶̠͝ị̸̔m̴̼͂o̶̦͑r̷̥̅d̷̦̄i̴͖̿a̸̝͛l̷̩͊ ̸̪̊G̷͓͌o̸̬̽ḑ̷̈́ ̴̢̾ǒ̴̢f̷̰̉ ̷̛͎t̴̙̑h̶̋ͅe̴͎͑ ̴̖̾S̸͈͒é̵͙a̵̦͝​

The ancient witnesses above shrank to pinpricks, then vanished. I felt their fading awe, a final, reverent tremor before I plunged beyond their world. I was falling from the known. The pull from the deep was no current. It was a summons that hooked into my very soul, an irresistible gravity drawing me into absolute, lightless negation.

My senses, divine, world-spanning, did not just fail; they were inverted. I could tell almost immediately that the void I had entered was alive and ravenous, eager to swallow everything I was down to the atom, hungry to gorge itself on the very metaphysical concepts of my existence.

My own radiance was swallowed, leaving me a guttering spark in an infinite, crushing hurricane. My vision and hearing abandoned me as the void's silence became a solid, pressing weight that suffocated any mere attempt to simple think, making my own consciousness feel sluggish and alien.

I reached out, tried to grasp the shape of this place. My mind met no wall, but a paradoxical substance of nothingness. This chasm had no dimensions I could parse. It was a geometry of madness, a wound in the fabric of what is, older than law and time. To fall here was to be unmade. The concepts of Self, of Here, of Now, were flayed away. I, who had broken Titans, was a mere point of awareness, a mote helpless against the passive, absolute mass of the abyss.

Time ceased. I simply was in the crushing, silent presence... until a change. Not seen, not heard, but felt at my core. The texture of the void shifted. The infinite dark... focused. The general, indifferent pressure coalesced. It was no longer just the bottom of the ocean; it was the gaze of the ocean. I stopped my fall. My sapphire glow, the only light in this dead universe, illuminated... it.

The source. No throne. No temple. No form.

Only a scar. A single, impossibly ancient fissure in the seabed, a wound from the world's first scream, a place where the planet's raw, naked mantle was exposed. From this gash pulsed a cold, azure light. Not the warm blue of life, but the sterile, colourless radiance of fundamental power. It was the light of creation's first, terrible moments, a light that had not shone for eons. This was not a place of life. This was the bedrock of everything.

I hovered before the glowing fissure and felt the unfiltered weight of Pontus's presence. This was no consciousness I could ever hope to truly read or understand.

The leviathans that I had encountered above clearly processed their thoughts through the medium of song, but this was the slow, inexorable turning of a universe. This was a mind that dreamed in geological time. As I basked in its presence I could feel the slow grind of tectonic plates, the formation of molten crystals in the planet's heart, and the rise and fall of ever mountain as a single, waking breath.

For the first time since I had become a god all sense of happiness, humour and humanity left me. I… I was afraid.

My immortality, I realised, was a frantic, fleeting joke. This was not an arrogant king waiting in a court. This was a fundamental law, and I was a cosmic error in Its perfect, silent equation. My strength? My divine right? The very idea of threatening this... this Thing... was an absurdity that bordered on madness.

(So, precisely the kind of thing Zeus would do. I fought the hysterical urge to both smile and cry.)

But to kneel... to supplicate... was to declare my entire order and my siblings and I's new age, a failure. Lesser. To admit we were just another fleeting layer atop the true, formless powers that made up the world.

I needed a third path. Doubt, cold as the abyss, tightened its grip. Could I truly stand against this? What could I hope to offer it not to harm me or do with me whatever it pleased? If this thing or any other Primordial were to ever try and attack my siblings how could I keep them from harm?

The faces of said siblings flashed before my eyes; in many ways, our time outside of our father's stomach had only brought us closer. Even now in the heart of darkness, I could recall my beautiful sisters: Hestia beaming with pure joy at the tiniest of gifts I spoiled her with, Demeter eagerly dragging me along to show me her favourite plants and wildlife, and Hera dropping her guard to fuss over me whenever I had been seriously injured during the war.

Hell I would've felt far more confident had I come to this meeting standing shoulder to shoulder with my brothers. Hades, despite our many disagreements, had always had my back from the very start and yes, even Zeus, who had often taken time away from the war or his personal vices to spar and debate with me whenever I asked.

And with that, I knew the answer to my own question.

Yes.

I gathered the fragments of myself that the void had tried to unmake. I solidified my will. I would not be an invasive tyrant demanding tribute, nor a petitioner begging for favour. I would be what I was: a fellow divinity.

A younger power stating its purpose to an older one. I would meet the soul of the ocean not as its master, but as its new, living will. I hung in the absolute dark, a single point of blue before the glowing, abyssal eye. The pressure did not lessen. It intensified, becoming a focused, inquisitive weight.

The measuring of my soul had begun.

​

---

One did not converse with a primordial. As casual as the classical myths and Percy Jackson books made it look, to speak with the divine was an unforgettable experience. Even for me.

The Primordial of the sea did not speak to me with words, rather with memories. I was subjected to the autobiography of the water itself. I felt the searing-cold impact of comets delivering the first seas to a cooling world. I witnessed the slow, agonising grind of continents being born, the tearing of the trenches, and the silent, lightless eons before the first, hesitant spark of life.

I witnessed mere glimpses of Khaos, Eros, Gaia, Tartarus, and Pontus himself and what I saw nearly stole my breath. Combined, they blazed brighter than all the stars in the universe combined.

Then, I saw the Titan. Oceanus. He wasn't a tyrant of storm and fury as one might expect him to be, but rather something almost stranger: a being of immense, passive inertia. He spent his immortality travelling the world-river, a placid, encircling belt around the world, his reign an age of endless, unchanging flow.

Pontus showed me this as Oceanus's first failure. The ocean now teemed with untamed monsters, life exploded unnaturally in the sunlit zones, but still the Titan King merely flowed, a great, circular thought that never descended to know the vibrant, violent heart of his kingdom. His was a peace that bordered on stagnation.

The vision shattered. Chaos. I saw the Titanomachy no longer as a war, but as a violation upon creation.. I felt the sea boil as divine energies tore through it. I witnessed a fallen Titan of fire and stone crash into the seabed, the impact a silent scream that scoured a crater would repel life for ten millennia.

Hundreds of thousands of mythical sea species were now on the brink of extinction. The "noise of the surface" had become a poison, a storm of celestial fury raining on an underwater world that craved only silence.

Finally, the vacuum. The Titan's neglect, the Olympians' war... I saw the consequences. The rise of Pontus's own monstrous children, Phorcys and Ceto. A proliferation of nightmares. The sea became their hunting ground, a nursery for every primal, predatory horror given free, unchecked rein. Oceanus's second failure: a kingdom consumed by its own untamed nature.

The visions ceased, but the pressure remained. Then... a rumble. The void itself vibrated, a pulse of pure, kinetic force that shook my very essence. It was a voice. A voice of collapsing stars.

I̵T̴ ̴C̸O̵M̵E̵S̵.̶ ̷I̴T̴ ̸C̵L̴A̸I̵M̸S̵.̶ ̵I̷T̸ ̸B̷R̸E̸A̸K̸S̵.̶

T̷H̴E̴ ̴S̴C̴A̸R̷-̴L̴I̵G̴H̴T̸ ̴O̴F̴ ̵Y̴O̴U̵R̵ ̸K̴I̴N̵.̴ ̵T̶H̸E̵ ̵S̶U̸F̶F̴O̶C̴A̸T̸I̴N̸G̷ ̴S̸T̸I̵L̶L̶N̴E̵S̶S̸ ̵O̶F̵ ̴T̷H̵E̸ ̸T̴I̸T̵A̵N̸.̸

A̵L̶W̶A̷Y̴S̵ ̶T̴H̵E̵ ̷S̵A̷M̶E̷.̷ ̶N̷O̵I̶S̶E̷.̷ ̸O̵R̸ ̸V̵O̴I̷D̵.̸

It was madness. A physical assault of meaning I could not parse. My divinity recoiled, my thoughts splintered. This was not language. This was the raw, unfiltered thought of a primordial, and it was crushing me.

My first instinct was to flee, to recoil from this psychic agony. My second, the warrior forged from a decade of war, was hungry to strike back, to answer this pressure with my own. In some ways the war had moulded me… made me closer in temperament to the Poseidon of old for good or ill.

Following either instinct, I knew, meant annihilation. Instead, I did the hardest thing possible. I released my will. I stopped fighting. I closed my eyes in the absolute dark, folded my legs, and held my trident's staff upright before me. I let the crushing, chaotic vibration wash through me, as a torrent of raw data. I forced my divine mind to find the pattern in the chaos, to listen to the shape of the vibrations, not the crash of their breaking.

There was a pause. The raging, physical pulse of the voice subsided, the vibration lessening from an earthquake to a deep thrum.

...YOU... HEAR... ME.

The sound was still a pressure, a deep, seismic hum that I felt in my bones, but now... now it had form. The chaos resolved into meaning.

UNEXPECTED. THE OTHERS... BROKE. OR FLED.

THE TITAN CHILD... HE LET MY DARKNESS FESTER. THE TITANS AND YOUR FAMILY... BOTH SCARRED ME WITH YOUR MIGHT.

THIS HEARTBEAT YOU CREATE ABOVE MY HOME... THIS NEW ERUPTION OF LIFE AND HEAT...

IS IT ANOTHER SCAR... YOU WISH TO LAY UPON ME? WOULD THY BE SO BRAZEN AS… TO CHALLENGE ME HERE?

IF SO... PREPARE TO MEET YOUR END... GODLING.

OR PERHAPS...

YOUR INNER FLAME... IS IT THE FIRE OF THE STORM... OR THE FIRE OF THE LURE?

...OR RATHER ARE YOU A MERE FLEETING PEST... BEFORE THE BLISSFUL SILENCE RETURNS?

SPEAK. CHILD OF TIME. CHILD OF RHEA. WHAT IS YOUR TRUTH?

I opened my eyes, meeting the cold, inquisitive light of the fissure, which now openly resembled a behemoth's glowing eye. My calm was absolute, I told myself but that was a lie.

"Pontus. First of the Sea. I hear you. Words are tools of the surface. Fleeting. My answer must be felt. Let me show you."

I closed my eyes again, not this time in meditation, but in an attempt to project my consciousness beyond my body. First, I projected the foundation of my understanding: the silver flash of the tuna school, the sheer, thoughtless bliss of movement, a harmony of muscle and instinct. The joy of being able to participate in the ocean's most primal dance. Then, the slow, patient dignity of the great leviathan, the deep peace of its ancient song, its acceptance of me as a new note in the unending melody.

But this was only the beginning. The vision blossomed from memory into breathtaking prophecy. I showed it a city rising. Not of stone that displaced the water, but of living, pearlescent coral coaxed into graceful spires. A metropolis layered upon endless layers, its avenues filled with darting schools of fish, its plazas home to gliding leviathans, its gardens pulsing with soft bioluminescence. I showed structures of gleaming, resilient metal supporting vast, shimmering domes, entire ecosystems thriving within, in perfect harmony with the divine will that shaped them.

I showed the purpose of this kingdom: fleets trading guided by joyful dolphins; immortals, mortals and Nereids all communing in the sunlit upper levels. A kingdom that connected life, not hoarded it. Then, I showed its strength. The mightiest krakens, as guardians, and the most dangerous sea serpents tasked with patrolling the seas.

The entire ocean, a vast, interconnected network working as my eyes and ears. I offered Pontus the opportunity to turn well... himself into a living, breathing, ordered kingdom. A true pillar of the new world.

AHHH..... THE AMBITION... OF THE YOUNG...

IMPRESSIVE... AUDACIOUS... FOOLISH... RASH

AND YET…

FOR A BREATH... A FRACTION OF FOREVER... YOU STOOD OUTSIDE THE WEAVE. THE THREADS HESITATED. THE TAPESTRY TREMBLED.

YOU WERE UNBOUND. FOR THAT IMPOSSIBLE MOMENT… FREE TO CHOOSE.

EVEN I… EVEN KHAOS HERSELF… CANNOT UNMAKE WHAT IS WRITTEN. BUT YOU... YOU ALMOST DID.

BUT YOU CHOSE THE DEEP OVER HEAVEN. YOU CHOSE... ME.

WHY?

The ultimate test. Why choose the dark, silent depths that had once terrified me over the boundless, sunlit heavens themselves? The old Poseidon would not have had a particularly compelling answer other than it was now mine by right of conquest. But the man I used to be... he did. A faint, nostalgic smile touched my lips, a human expression that felt strangely at home in this inhuman place.

"Honestly? I've just always loved the sea as much as I found it daunting. Even on land, I always felt a little weighed down. The mountains, the forests, they're beautiful, sure. I think my sister Demeter would kill me if I said otherwise. But... they never matched the sheer, vibrant life beneath the waves. It's where I always found my peace. So when I held infinity in the palm of my hand, why would I ever choose anything else?"

I let that simple truth settle before dropping the equivalent of a cosmic bombshell. "But that is only the half of it. There is another reason I chose the ocean as my domain, one I have kept secret until now. It is because I have already seen one terrible future that awaits us."

The abyss, filled with a new horror, felt as a violation against its own being. It felt its waters choked with a black, greasy sickness. It felt the sting of chemical runoff and the slow suffocation of vast garbage islands. It recoiled from the insidious spread of microplastics, polluting every current, every depth. It felt the vibrant reefs bleach and crumble into white graveyards. It felt the grand chorus of its children, the clicks of dolphins, the songs of whales, fade into a horrifying, empty quiet as vast, sprawling nets scraped the seafloor bare.

Then came the insult. A mortal emperor, Caligula, ordered his soldiers to whip the waves. The act was nothing, a flea striking a mountain. But the arrogance... the sheer, blasphemous disrespect of a Primordials Essence. For a moment, the cold light in the fissure flared with a violent, violet rage, and the pressure spiked, threatening to crush me into non-existence.

Finally, I showed Pontus the most painful vision. A future version of myself. A bitter, rage-filled tyrant of the waves, a rapist, a god who demanded fear because he could not earn love or true power. A man who, despite all his divine strength, stood by and let the oceans he ruled fall into ruin and disrepair. Who stood by and did nothing to stop his siblings from fighting amongst themselves.

"This," I conveyed, a solemn vow in the turbulent abyss, "is the future I chose to unmake. I saw a world where the gods are forgotten and your waters are desecrated. I saw a version of myself I refuse to become. I chose to make the seas mine not just because I love them, but because I saw it needed a Shepard. Zeus... he would never have been capable of being the king this domain needs. He would have been resentful of everything about this wondrous place and its inhabitants suffer for it. This was the only way."

A long, profound silence. The violet rage died. The crushing pressure receded, replaced by primordial respect. And something so alien I could barely comprehend it: amusement.

TO HAVE SUCH POWERFUL FORESIGHT… YOU ARE INTERESTING INDEED, LITTLE GOD…

IT IS NOW CLEAR… WHY GAIA IS SO INTRIGUED BY YOU…

Wait… what?!

WHAT YOU HAVE SHOWN ME... SUCH DESTRUCTION AND DEATH.

TO BE A KING WHO FORESAW HIS OWN FAILURES AND CHOSE DUTY.

A GOD WHO DEFIED FATE TO BECOME A SHIELD.

YOU ARE INDEED... UNEXPECTED, SON OF TIME. SON OF RHEA. YOUR LIFE SINGS A NEW UNHEARD SONG.

YOUR FORESIGHT AND WISDOM HAS IMPRESSED ME. I WILL GRANT ONE SHAPING OF MY DOMAIN.

A BOON FREELY GIVEN. ASK.

The offer hung in the dark. The worth of such a boon was incomprehensible. The original Poseidon, whose traces still lingered in the depths of my soul, would have asked for a weapon, for control of the tectonic plates, for power to overcome his brothers. But what would more power grant me? I had seen its limits. My strength was useless here. To ask for more of the same would be to learn nothing. I looked at the glowing fissure. This was the final test. Pontus was asking me to define myself.

"You have seen my nature," I conveyed, respectful but unwavering. "My trident helps boost my power and connection over the sea. But I seek to anchor my purpose within the sea."

I gathered my will. "I will not ask for a fortress or a weapon. I ask for your wisdom. Show me the one place in this domain, that utterly dominates this world, where the currents, the life, and the ancient energy of the sea are most in harmony. I do not wish to impose my will upon the ocean. I wish to build my capital where the ocean itself would have it be."

For an eternity, the abyss was still. Then a slow, seismic wave of approval. The light in the fissure exploded, erupting upwards in a silent, breathtaking weave. Lines of pure energy shot out, mapping the world's great ocean currents. I saw the warm rivers and the cold, the surface streams and the deep flows, the planet's glowing circulatory system laid bare. One powerful, primary current detached itself, a ribbon of pure sapphire energy. It surged upwards, enveloping me in an irresistible, guiding embrace.

I was hauled upward and away from the abyss, the choking pressure vanishing immediately. I could feel my powers and immortal strength return to me and let out of a relieved huff.

I shot through a thousand territories, past Nereids and the ancient sea monster Cetus, feeling the joy, fear, and hunger of a million lives, a king being shown the full scope of his people.

I could've sworn that at one point I passed by the most gorgeous woman I'd ever seen casually sitting atop a clam shell, but before I could make a note of it or turn back to look, I had already crossed the world two times over.

As suddenly as it began, the journey ended. The current dissolved, depositing me gently. I was no longer in the abyss. I hovered in a vast, sun-dappled caldera, a perfect circle of undersea mountains protecting a vast, sheltered seabed.

But it wasn't just undersea. The mountains' inner peaks breached the surface, forming a ring of seven lush, virgin islands, their white-sand beaches untouched, their jungles thick with life I had never seen.

The seabed itself was a marvel. Not dead stone, but a plateau of living, pearlescent rock that glowed with a soft, internal light. Geothermal vents, rich with minerals, breathed gentle warmth into the clear water. And in the very centre, the plateau was veined with a shimmering, reddish-gold metal... Orichalcum, raw and singing with power.

This was the nexus where all the great currents met, where life congregated, where the magic of the ocean and the light of the surface touched. A place of perfect balance. A final whisper from Pontus echoed in my soul, seeming to emanate from the glowing plateau itself, clearer than ever.

I GIVE YOU THIS.

MY ATLANTIS.

SHOW ME YOU MEAN YOUR WORD BY MAKING ITS HEARTBEAT ROAR THE LOUDEST OF ALL.

BUT A HEART NEEDS A BODY. YOUR VISION IS... LARGE. YOU CANNOT BE A PILLAR ALONE.

The voice paused, laced with an ancient, weary disdain.

THE OLD RIVER. HE STILL FLOWS. AIMLESS. HE IS STAGNATION. MY BROTHER'S FIRSTBORN. A FOOL. BUT HE KNOWS THE WEAVE OF THE WATERS. AND HE LISTENS.

GO TO HIM. SHOW HIM YOUR PLANS. PERHAPS. EVEN A STAGNANT RIVER CAN BE WILLED AGAIN TO MOVE.

TILL WE MEET AGAIN.

WELCOME HOME... POSEIDON.

KING OF THE SEAS AND LORD OF THE DEEP BLUE

The primordial presence receded, returning to its eons-long slumber. I floated in the quiet, gazing at the sunlit peaks of my new home. Atlantis.

Pontus was right. A kingdom needed more than a king. The Olympian Council would certainly be born on the coming summer Solstice but for me… that wasn't enough. I needed to form a council of my own, to help bring my vision of my domain to its fullest potential

My mind turned to the primordial's words. The Old River. Oceanus. The Titan, who had sat out of the war, lost in his placid, circular thoughts. His Aurae daughter had seemed certain he was the type to not be interested in my plans. That he was an old titan of the past.

But perhaps, just perhaps, he was the key to my future. My first act as king it seemed would not be to build, but to recruit. It was high time I paid the former ruler of the seas a visit.

Chapter 4: I Carry New Life to the Old Waters

I can't lie to myself anymore. I've known for the last few days that I'm being watched.

It's a strange, unnerving thing. Gods aren't easy to surprise, and seventy-one per cent of the earth's surface was now completely under my scrutiny. No mortal could look upon me without giving themselves away. No lesser spirit could ever hope to traverse the sea and still hide from my sight. Not even my siblings should be able to evade my gaze here.

And yet, that faint, instinctive chill prickled its way down my spine. The ghost of a fingertip across the back of my neck. An old, primal, human reflex.

I once more let my divine senses uncoil like a cast net. The ocean unfolded in a web of perfect clarity: coral polyps exhaling in slow, symbiotic rhythm; schools of silver fish darting through the shallows; nymphs, leagues away, their laughter like bubbles rising through kelp forests; and high above, the whispering play of breeze-spirits tumbling through distant clouds.

Nothing. I couldn't sense another divine entity for a thousand leagues. And yet, for a single heartbeat, I could have sworn someone had been lingering right behind me. A strangely familiar presence that I couldn't place.

The faint scent of honey drifted in the air.

A slow smile touched my lips. I didn't feel threatened in the slightest. If anything, I felt intrigued. I had always been fond of solving a good mystery, and I was certain that revealing the identity of this mysterious watcher would prove to be, at the very least, entertaining.

Well, I thought, a spark of mischief flickering in my chest, if someone is going to the trouble of spying, the least I can do is give them a show.

I stood on the warm, white sand of the central island, and with a deliberate, unhurried grace I hadn't possessed in my first life, I began to strip. My rebirth had done wonders for me; I possessed a body sculpted like marble, skin bronzed to perfection. My modesty, I mused, had died somewhere between the stomach of a Titan and the birth of a god. The old me would have been horribly embarrassed right now, fumbling awkwardly with his clothes.

That, I had to admit, was something I found... unsettling. Many of my old tics were gone. The awkward clearing of my throat whenever it got too dry, the nervous energy that caused me to bounce my right foot all the time when sitting down, and the habit of saying umm between every second word. They were all gone. The human in me was eroding, polished smooth by divinity's tide. I hadn't truly noticed how much until now, and at times, it was hard to remember being anything other than a God.

I turned, deliberately, toward the empty air where I'd felt the presence, and walked naked into the surf, relishing the feel of the sun on my skin and the water on my ankles. Heat from the vents below curled around my legs, the mineral taste of the deep rolling across my tongue. I didn't need to bathe; divine flesh was self-renewing. But the feeling of it was a ritual I wasn't yet ready to abandon.

I ducked my head under the water, and the instant it closed over me, the power in my veins flared. Every cell in my body thrummed with ancient energy drawn from the nexus deep below. Here, in this place, I was more powerful than I had ever been or potentially would ever be.

Yet… I was not so drunk on this excess of power to see the truth of it; the further I went from Atlantis, the more this absolute power would fade to my normal, godly levels. Here, and only here, would I be able to stand undaunted against the greatest of foes.

I let myself drift in the warm currents, eyes half-closed, a smile still tugging at my lips. The silence here was sacred. The gentle whhssshh of the waves nearly lulled me to sleep.

Careful not to overindulge in the peace for longer than was necessary, I shot up to the surface in a spray of diamonds, casually floating on my back, and the feeling of being watched returned, this time mingled with... approval? Embarrassment? Lust and arousal?

I was genuinely surprised that someone had found a way to hide from me at the epicentre of my domain. That alone narrowed the possibilities to something divine. It wasn't one of my siblings; any of them would have revealed themselves by now… unless one of my sisters had suddenly picked up voyeuristic tendencies.

Or Zeus had turned his sights on me, a shudder passed through me at the mere possibility.

Nor could it have been a Nereid or an Oceanid; by their nature, they should not be able to hide from me. So, maybe a Titan, then? But who? And why? Or had another Olympian been born without my noticing?

In the mythology, Hermes crawled from his crib on the day of his birth to cause trouble for Apollo. So perhaps it was him? As a trickster god, he's one of the few who might slip past me undetected.

Yet that would require Apollo to already exist, and I doubt the timeline has unfolded that far so soon. Then again, I wouldn't put it past Zeus to have already thrown everything off by getting a few nymphs and titanesses pregnant ahead of schedule.

I waded ashore, the water cascading down my divine skin, leaving it instantly dry. As I redressed, I let the matter drop. I'd delayed my journey for long enough.

I took one last look over my new capital, and my gaze drifted over the seven islands that dominated the surface. The seven islands would be the bridge between my world and the surface. The largest, the one I was on, would be the public heart: harbours, lighthouses, and grand, open-air temples. A huge temple for Pontus, out of respect, and... well, several for me, I suppose.

The other six would be privately owned. I'd gift half of them to my siblings and fellow Olympians.

A lush, waterfall-laced villa for Hestia. A vast, fertile isle for Demeter, a personal garden where she could experiment. A magnificent, fortified beach-side palace for Hera, all white marble and gold, a place that screamed majesty, she'd like that. And for Hades, a quiet, shadowed grotto with a direct, private link to his own realm, for when he needed to get away from his paperwork and subjects. Zeus could build a temple at the highest peak.

I wondered what they were all doing. Was Hestia already tending that first, pure flame on Olympus? Was Hera managing well out there on her own? What of Aphrodite? I was certain I'd gotten a glimpse of her as Pontus dragged me from the trench. A wave of power and, well, perfume that could only be her. Was she the voyeur then? It seemed like the obvious answer. Too obvious perhaps, she wasn't known for stealth.

I made a mental note to also soon check on Metis specifically. The myth of Zeus swallowing her to prevent a prophecy wasn't something I could stand by and let happen. I wouldn't allow my brother to become a tyrant like our father, if at the very least for my own future self-interest.

My vision was grand, and for it to come to fruition, my first recruit had to be Oceanus. But where to find him? "The river that encircled the edge of the world" was a lovely, poetic concept, but in practice, the world in its current state was... messy. I'd spent the last week trying to locate him to no avail. I'd journeyed to the edge of the world, and despite spying the world-river, I'd found no trace of him or his divine signature. Yesterday, in a fit of impatience, I'd tried to force it.

"Take me to the World-River!" I'd thundered, my "Earth-Shaker" persona rising to the surface.

The current in response decided to snub me. It spun me in a disorienting loop and summarily deposited me back where I started.

Right, I'd thought, I've got to start remembering to use finesse and diplomacy. Got it. And... It appears I need a guide.

It was only after said incident that a half-forgotten memory sparked to life. During the war, Rhea had sequestered my sisters away for a time, keeping them safe while my brothers and I fought on the front lines. Where? In the safest, most neutral place in the cosmos at the time: The Primordial Cave of the Gods or rather, the Springs of Oceanus. A secret location that served as the home and court of Oceanus and his wife Tethys.

I'd been a fool not to consider the possibility sooner. Where else would the Titan have gone after the war's conclusion? The only reason I didn't already know its location was my efforts to maintain some form of OpSec during the Titanomachy. Trying to teach the concept of Operational Security to Zeus, Hades, and my sisters in case we were ever captured had not been easy.

No one in our family, save my mother and sisters, knew its location.

So all I had to do was ask one of them to point me in the right direction. I reached out, extending my senses. Hestia was with our mother, and both were in a state of meditation. I placed them both far away, tending to a village of frightened nymphs. I wouldn't disturb them. Hera was also busy, her divine signature almost on the other end of the world.

At what point did she develop such an adventurous spirit? I wondered. Also, was that the signature of Iris and Hecate? As far as I'd been aware, she didn't get along well with either goddess, so what was she doing with them? I suppose I'd have to ask her at the solstice.

But Demeter... She was, in actuality, startlingly loud. Her divine energy was a furious scream of pure frustration. And she was the closest. With a mere expulsion of willpower, I teleported, the world dissolving from my pristine, silent paradise into... mud.

I walked ashore on a vast, coastline-hugging plain, in a state of utter ruin. I meandered my way to the epicentre of the destruction, and there she was. She was not, at this moment, a radiant goddess of peerless beauty. She was ankle-deep in muck, her hair wild and full of soot, her beautiful face streaked with grime and fury. She was screaming at a patch of barren, blackened earth.

"Grow!" she shrieked, her hands plunged into the mud. "By the Styx, grow, you stubborn, miserable patch of... of dirt!"

A single, pathetic blade of grass sprouted, shivered in the wind, turned a sickly yellow, and promptly died.

Demeter let out a sound of pure, unadulterated frustration, a half-sob, half-scream that I hadn't heard since Hera stole her "favourite" corner of the stomach and refused to cede it back.

I took a moment to straighten my posture, brushed some imaginary dust from my shoulders, and called out in my most regal, kingly voice.

"Greetings, Sister! I believe someone very intelligent and benevolent once told you that it wasn't a wise idea to go about swearing on the most mundane things, 'By the Styx,' but never fear! The King of the Seas has come to your aid! You look like you've gotten yourself into a tight spot."

She didn't even look up. "Oh, be quiet, brother. Can't you see I'm in no state to put up with your teasing!"

She ripped a fist-sized rock from the mud and hurled it at my head. I casually batted it aside with the shaft of my trident, where it shattered down to the atom against the divine metal.

"This entire region," she hissed, finally turning to face me, her green eyes blazing with fury and that familiar, deep-seated grief. "It is a living entity, and it still remembers the pain it felt during a battle between Hades and Iapetus. It's afraid to live again and so refuses my help. It's forgotten how it used to be. It's... It's broken, and I can't fix it!"

Her anger and grief were so palpable, I immediately dropped the "King" persona. This was the Demeter I knew, the one who felt everything so utterly deeply. Still, that same girl who wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty, something I'd always admired about her. I walked over, the mud sucking at my feet, and looked at the dead soil.

"It usually takes me longer to find you," I said gently. "Your... 'frustration' today is rather loud."

"What do you want, Brother?" she asked, the fire in her eyes already dimming, her frustration turning to the bone-deep exhaustion I knew so well.

"I require a guide," I said. "I need you to take me to the Springs of Oceanus."

That stopped her. She stared at me, her muddy features frozen in shock. "The Springs? Why? Why would you ever want or need to go there?" She visibly shivered. "I haven't thought of that place in... well, since we left. It was safe for a time, sure, but in the end, it was like being in a different kind of prison all over again. So isolated. We all hated hiding away while the three of you kept fighting."

"I need to speak with Oceanus," I said.

I almost confided in her about Pontus, about the crushing, cosmic weight of meeting a Primordial. But looking at her, so raw and struggling, I couldn't. It wouldn't do for me to frighten her with something that wasn't her problem to deal with anyway.

"I'm building a council for my new kingdom. A new order to help me rule the sea. There's so much I wish to do, but I cannot do it alone. I need the old powers beside me, if only to grant me legitimacy with the Oceanids and Nereids."

She studied my face, searching for the truth of it. "A council," she echoed quietly. "Are you sure that's wise, brother? Zeus may not take kindly to you establishing your own power base so soon. We haven't even decided what becomes of the world now that Father and the Titans are defeated."

Her fingers twisted anxiously. "What if he sees your council as a threat and it causes a fight between you two? Do you truly need to start making allies so soon? Father didn't bother with such things."

"That's the point," I replied. There was no heat in my voice, only honesty. "I'm trying not to be like Father. As for Zeus… part of this is to see whether he keeps his word, that Hades and I are to rule as equals beside him in the new order. What I build in my domain is my right. If he begins to interfere, then we will know his promise was a lie."

Demeter's hand tightened slightly around my arm. "And if he does interfere?" she asked, voice small but steady. "We've only just won one war, Poseidon. I don't want us to begin tearing one another apart now."

"I've planned for that," I said. "Hades and I spoke of it long before the war ended. We each have contingencies. But that isn't my first course." I exhaled slowly. "Five years ago, during the war, Zeus and I had a conversation. We both made promises and concessions."

Her eyes flicked upward, searching my face. "What kind of promises?"

"I'll keep most of that between us," I said. "But the heart of it was simple: so long as Zeus did not cross certain lines, I would stand at his side. I would be his brother in truth, not only in title. A loyal ally. A steadfast one. I would earnestly look out for him and his interests."

Her brow furrowed. "And these… lines? What are they?"

I reached up and brushed a smear of soot from her cheek with my thumb. "Well, as far as you're concerned, the most important one was this: if Zeus ever harms a hair on your head, yours, Hera's, or Hestia's, I oppose him. To the death, if need be."

"You would go that far… for us?" she whispered. Colour rose across her face, surprise first, then warmth, then something softer.

"Of course I would."

She hesitated, then frowned. "And Hades? Does he not deserve the same protection?"

I huffed, a short laugh. "Hades has never needed protection a day in his life. He could fend off an army of Titans with a solid rock and a poor attitude."

She pouted, actually pouted. "So we ladies cannot take care of ourselves, then?"

"You can," I said. "But that's not the point. Brothers stand in front of their sisters. That's all."

She blinked at that, a little dazed. "I… suppose that's fair," she added under her breath, "But.. it's also the duty of the eldest to look after the younger siblings."

I pretended not to hear her. "Now," I said instead, "Tell me how your work has been going."

Her eyes slid toward the barren plain. "Poorly," she said. "But it is only today that I have begun to understand why."

Demeter looked down at her soiled palms, and something shifted behind her eyes, understanding, realisation, and awe all at once. "I… I see it now," she whispered.

I blinked. "What?"

"The stories," she murmured, her voice soft and distant. "The cycle of things, life, death, and life again. I didn't see the meaning of them back then. I only thought they were tales you told to soothe me, ones I liked to hear simply because you're a wonderful storyteller and your voice is beautiful." She turned her face away at the admission, before I could catch her expression.

"But now—" She lifted her hands. They glowed with a soft, green light, as if life clung to her skin. "I feel it. The cycle here is broken. And I now know who I am." Her voice trembled with ancient power.

"I am Demeter, the Goddess of the Harvest. Of Agriculture. Of the Sacred Law that binds life to death and back again."

Her voice cracked, raw and aching. "And I can't even make one fucking blade of grass grow!"

"Who taught you such language!" I demanded, more startled than scolding.

She shot me a look. "You did." Oh… right.

She looked at me, her eyes sharp and demanding, the old, frantic energy now focused. "How did you know? You told me all about it, but you never said how. How did you know about cycles and harvests? We never saw the outside world until Father vomited us out on the floor of his palace."

I gave her a slow, wry smile, "I have to have a few secrets. It's part of my irresistible charm."

She actually snorted, a very un-goddess-like sound. "You? Charm? Hestia has more charm than you in just her pinky finger." She's got me there.

"Oh?" I said. I stepped closer, leaning in just a bit, and pitched my voice low. I gave her the full, 100-megawatt divine smile, the one I'd been practising in the mirror ever since I discovered I now had perfect teeth. "Are you truly telling me, my dearest, most beloved sister, that you are completely immune to my charms?"

A true divine blush, a fascinating shade of rose-tinted gold, bloomed across her cheeks. She shoved me, hard, nearly sending me back into the mud. "You... you thrice-damned... man! You say that to all of us when it best suits you! You're insufferable!"

I laughed, victorious.

She huffed, wiping her hands on her tunic, but the grief-stricken tension was gone, replaced by familiar, affectionate exasperation.

"Fine. Fine. I'll take you to Oceanus." She pointed a muddy finger at a new commotion further up the coast. "But first, you're helping me. Part of the reason why the region is struggling to heal is that it's drowning due to some lovesick nonsense. You're the 'King of the Seas,' now, right? By the Earth, just make it stop! Please, Poseidon, you have to!"

"It's a river, technically," I corrected. "Somewhat beyond my sphere of influence, but... I'll see what I can do."

We crested a hill and found the source. A young, handsome Potamos, a river-god, his form churning with rapids and adolescent angst, was trying to defy gravity and flow up a huge mountain. It didn't take long to see what had caught his attention. He'd apparently fallen in love with a beautiful Oread, a mountain nymph, and was trying to reach her summit.

I couldn't blame him in the slightest; I was half tempted to join him in his efforts. Her breasts were even bigger than Hera's for gods' sake, by a degree of multitudes. I'm pretty certain she was more bountiful than my smallest island.

Though in his misplaced ambition, the Potamos was flooding the surrounding area and leaving other areas barren.

"Oh, get over yourselves, they aren't that impressive," Demeter whispered, her voice dangerously bitter. She looked half-ready to wipe this lovesick Potamos and the mountain-nymph out of existence.

"It's alright, sister," I put a hand on her arm. "Let's not do anything rash. Let me handle this."

I waded into the shallows of the new, unwanted lake. "Ho, there, Potamos!" I called out, projecting calm authority. "A word, if you please!"

The river-god paused his upstream surge, his watery form coalescing into the shape of a man. He looked me up and down, his gaze arrogant. "And who are you to 'have a word' with me? Can't you see I'm busy trying to introduce myself to this beautiful lady?"

"I am Poseidon, King of the—"

"King? King?" He laughed, a sound like stones grinding together. "The only King I know around here is Kronos! And I don't see him anywhere, and even if I did, it wouldn't matter. Be gone! My love awaits me, and nothing will stand in my way!"

He turned his back, and the river surged in vain again.

"Rude," I muttered.

"Your 'diplomacy' is as weak as a newborn, brother," Demeter said, but there was a teasing glint in her eye as she caressed my shoulder while passing me. "My turn."

She threw her hands up, and a colossal wall of earth and tangled roots erupted from the ground, blocking the river's path. My eyes widened at the display. I hadn't realised how far along she was in harnessing her divine powers.

The river, now completely enraged, slammed into the wall. It didn't stop. It just started to pool, eroding the barrier, creating a massive, swirling, muddy, and utterly catastrophic mess.

"You're just agitating him!" I shouted. "He's just going to keep trying to go over it!"

"Well," she shouted back, "your 'charming' words did nothing! He's just as arrogant as... as Hera!"

We stood there, knee-deep in mud, our divine powers locked in a useless stalemate, while the river-god wailed about the cruelty of fate in denying him such glorious teats.

I looked at Demeter. Her face was once again spattered with mud; she looked murderous, and... I laughed. A real, genuine laugh at the absurdity of it all.

She stared at me. "What is so funny? We're embarrassing ourselves!"

"This is," I gestured to the entire scene, "completely absurd." I wiped a bit of mud off my own face. "Alright. New plan. Let's try... a third option."

"What third way?"

"Divide and conquer."

I waded back into the churning water. "Hey!" I shouted at the river-god. "I get it! She's beautiful! Truly! Top-tier mountain nymph! Those breasts are unlike anything I've ever seen!"

"B-Brother! How uncouth!"

"Just play along," I whispered.

The river-god's raging form stilled, just a little. "You... you see her? Please, I have never laid eyes on anything more gorgeous than this mountain. I must at least speak with her face-to-face," he blubbered.

"Of course! I've come here to help you. But look," I said, "You're... you're coming on a little strong. You're just making a mess and embarrassing her in front of all the other mountains. It's not a good look, my friend."

While I was having my... 'bro-talk'... Demeter, ever the practical one, marched up the mountain. She found the Oread, who was looking down at the River-God with uncertainty.

"He's a bit much, I know," Demeter said to her, her voice surprisingly gentle. "But... he's persistent. And he is life-giving. Look at the flowers blooming in his mud." She then added, with a practical glint, "And think of the influence. You'd be the muse for the entire valley. That's a good position. You'll be the talk of all the nymphs in the valley."

The Oread was sold. Apparently, it wasn't easy finding anyone interested in romantically pursuing a mountain of her size.

I used my powers to show the river-god a new, gentle, winding path around the base of the mountain. At the same time, Demeter used her power to coax a path of iridescent, flowering moss down the slope, right to the river's new edge. It worked. The river-god's current calmed. The Oread shyly transformed down to human size and dipped her toes in his water. The valley's water cycle began to return to its natural state as the two began to calmly chat with one another.

Demeter and I met back on the hill, covered in mud, but triumphant. "Not bad, 'King of Puddles,'" she said, giving me a solid punch on the arm.

"Not bad yourself, 'Queen of the...'" I paused. "...'Mud-pies.'"

"I will end you," she said, but she was smiling. We turned to leave... and a blinding light stopped us.

It was the place where our powers had collided. The earth, soaked in my sea-essence and charged with her life-essence, began to thrum. Light surged from the soil, azure and emerald swirling together, pulsing with a newborn heartbeat. The ground shuddered. I stepped in front of Demeter, raising an arm to shield us as the energy swelled, raw and primeval, creation itself forming without restraint.

The light ruptured, and from it stepped a creature, broad-shouldered, bull-shaped, but unmistakably something else. Its body was not a hide but a living shell, of coral-green and ocean-blue, glimmering like wet stone catching dawn. Its horns curved like polished driftwood sculpted by centuries of tide. Its hooves, smooth, pearlescent, and gleaming, struck the earth with the weight of inevitability.

A soft, melodic hum resonated through the air, like a conch drawn slow and low. Wherever its hoof touched, the ash-starved ground flushed with colour, first green, then gold, until a whole patch of wheat rose tall and ripe as mid-harvest.

The creature turned to Demeter and released a deep, sonorous bellow, warm, gentle, and impossibly old.

We stared, both of us breathless. Even with all I knew of Greek myth and fantastical stories, there was nothing to compare it to. Something new had been born.

Demeter, finally finding her voice, looked briefly confused, then intrigued, then... she just looked awestruck. "It... it's... perfect."

The creature, hearing her, trotted over and nuzzled her hand. I reached out my own and was further surprised to find its mossy, coral-like hide was as soft as silk. Demeter knelt slowly, as though afraid the vision would shatter if she moved too fast. Her eyes shone wet, reverent.

"…I know what he is," she whispered. "Not simply a beast born of chance. He is the Sea in Bloom." Her fingers brushed the new wheat, trembling. "Koryanthos," she named him. "For he is the bloom that rises from water to feed the earth."

She laughed, a breathless, unbelieving sound. "And this one," she said, looking up at me with wide, shining eyes, "this first of his kind… I will name him Euthalios. The Gentle Bloom. Our first shared blessing upon this world, brother."

The bull lifted its coral-crowned head and lowed softly, spreading life like a tide.

"It's yours," I said. "His Kin's purpose forevermore will be to assist you in you're work of bringing life to this damaged world, let all who gaze upon the Koryanthos recognise my everlasting affection for you."

She looked at me, and for a second, I thought she might cry. "Welcome to the family," she murmured to the creature, who lowed in response.

After that, the journey felt different. Demeter and I were no longer just siblings; we were creators. We were a team. The new Koryanthos, Euthalios, followed, its every step leaving a trail of budding life.

---

As we travelled west, following the path Demeter remembered, the world began to change. The sky looked thinner. The stars felt closer. The very air grew misty and ancient.

I stopped, looking up. A familiar, metaphysical vertigo seized me; it had nearly floored me when I first briefly visited the edge of the world in my search for Oceanus.

"Brother? Are you alright?" Demeter asked. "You look like you just swallowed that rock I threw at you."

"Just... adjusting to the view," I murmured, staring at the sky.

I focused my divine senses. I looked. And I saw it. The Earth, a blue-white marble, my home, spinning in the silent void of space. I saw the sun, a raging ball of plasma, 149.6 million kilometres away. It was all there, just as my human mind remembered.

Then... I tweaked my perception. I let the 'god' side of my senses take over.

The black void vanished. The Earth flattened. The ground beneath my feet was now the surface of a vast, unmoving disc. The sky became a solid, crystal firmament. The stars weren't distant suns; they were pinpricks of light in the dome. And I saw, far in the east, the sun. Not a star, but a golden chariot, blindingly bright, just beginning its climb from a glittering, endless body of water. Helios, Titan God of the Sun, even from such a distance, was able to detect my attention and waved joyfully in response before spiriting his chariot onward and upward.

And I saw it. All around the edge of the disk, the source of that chariot's light. The endless, circular river. And beyond that? Non-existence.

"I... what? How did I not see it before?" I whispered. I now saw both. The sphere. The disk. The galaxy. The firmament. Both were contradictory and yet also true. One was the law of physics. The other was the law of myth and magic. And here, in this primordial age, they hadn't yet decided which one was in charge. It appeared I still had some trouble in letting go of what my former humanity had assumed to be fundamentally true about the universe.

"You and your strange, faraway thoughts," Demeter said, pulling my arm. "I never know what's going on in that head. Come on. The cave is just past this ridge. The reason you couldn't find it before is that Tethys had Hecate set up some wards around the boundary during the war."

"Smart."

She was right. The land ended at a vast, misty cliff face. At its base was a meagre cave of no significance. But after passing the magical barrier? I had to tilt my head to gaze up at the colossal, yawning archway from which water streamed, not in one river, but in a thousand springs. This was it. The Fontes Okeanou. The Springs of Oceanus. All the freshwater in the world, all her rivers, began here.

Demeter stopped, refusing to go closer. The Koryanthos lowered nervously, stamping a patch of wildflowers into existence. "This is it," she whispered, her voice tight. "This is where we stayed. It's... just as quiet as I remember."

I turned to her. "Thank you, 'Meter. For everything."

She pulled me into a fierce, sudden hug, her arms tight around my neck. "I thought I told you not to use that nickname for me anymore! We're not kids anymore. I... I like the sound of your council idea, Poseidon. I hope it goes well," she murmured into my shoulder."

She pulled back, her eyes full of an achingly familiar worry. "Be careful, in there okay? He's not like Father. He's not cruel. He's just... old. Don't let him get the best of you."

"I'll be fine," I promised. "I'll see you at the solstice, sister."

She gave me one last, worried look, then knelt to pat her new companion. "Come on, Euthalios," she said. "We have work to do." She turned and began her long walk back, two faint trails of impossible, golden wheat sprouting in the pair's muddy footprints.

I stood alone and looked at the cave. I gripped my trident, anchored myself in the memory of my empty, waiting Atlantis, and stepped into the source of all the world's rivers. The light of the cave was dim, starlit, and placid. And it was full.

Dozens, no, hundreds of divine beings floated in the still water. The Potamoi, the mighty River Gods, their forms shifting and indistinct. And the Oceanids, his daughters, were beautiful as distant starlight. They weren't talking. They weren't celebrating. They were just... floating. Meditating in harmony with one another.

And in the centre, on a throne that seemed made of solidified, unmoving current, sat the source. He was colossal, his beard a flowing mass of white foam, his skin the colour of river-silt, his eyes closed.

My feet touched the 'floor' of the current, the impact of my presence a silent, psychic thud that shattered the perfect, eternal silence. Hundreds of ancient, divine eyes snapped open, their placid expressions turning to shock.

And in the centre, on his unmoving throne, the great Titan Oceanus, Firstborn of Ouranos and Gaia, the World-River himself, opened his eyes and met my gaze.

"Took you long enough, boy. I've been expecting you."

Chapter 5: I Become a Guest of Oceanus and Tethys

I stepped across the threshold to Oceanus' cave, and reality morphed around me.

The cave's entrance lay on the razor's edge between the formed world and the immaterial. Aqua-coloured mist curled where stone should have met open air, and each breath I drew tasted of cold minerals. I could smell a pungent aroma drifting in the air, one from a time before rivers had names, old enough to have still lingered here long before the springs bubbled to the surface to meet the sun.

The cave was immeasurable, to the point that "cave" was too small a word to properly describe it. Without enhancing my vision, I could only glimpse its walls as distant horizons. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like frozen bolts of lightning, their tips gleaming with embryonic divinity.

Even without reaching for divine sight, I knew the truth of this place. The waters above were so thick with power that a mortal who tasted even a single fallen droplet would never thirst again in his lifetime.

The floor was a shallow sheet of water, clear as blown glass. Beneath its calm surface yawned a depth with no bottom. The pond was only the surface skin of something far older, far deeper: the World River, the primordial blueprint from which every current, tide, and storm in the cosmos took its pattern.

Here was the echo that would one day become the Nile's floodplain, the Aegean's shore-wind, the tears of widows, the rain that would fall on cities not yet dreamed of. If I listened long enough, I could find in these currents the first whisper of the Styx, oath-water of the divine, the river that could bind my kind in chains of consequence.

The realisation unsettled me more than I cared to admit.

I stepped forward. The water rippled around my ankles, and the stillness of the cavern shattered like glass struck by a hammer. Thousands of divine minds turned toward me at once. The Potamoi, river-lords shaped of current and sinew, rose in slow spirals from the water. The Oceanids swayed like reeds in a sudden wind, countless, far more than I imagined could gather in one place. No matter where I looked, I saw dozens. Hundreds. More.

And at their centre, upon a pair of thrones formed by a still, unmoving current, sat the twin sovereigns of the waters-that-were-first. Oceanus. And Tethys.

Oceanus opened his eyes to meet mine.

He was vast in the way a sunset is vast, calm, slow-moving, inevitable. His broad-shouldered form seemed human, yet his hair was the grey of silt and foam, and two curling horns of driftwood arched from his temples. Beneath the lapping water at his throne's base, I saw the slow, powerful coil of a serpentine fish tail.

Beside him sat Tethys, and she was… rather plain. The sight of her was frankly a shock. She wasn't beautiful in the way most Goddesses were radiant and blinding, but oppositely: she looked like an aged woman at the end of her days, body wrinkled and robed in cloud-grey. Yet her posture was flawless, her stillness absolute, and her eyes held the calm omniscience of someone who had watched the previous age rise and fall and felt unbothered. Two tiny, iridescent wings shimmered like dragonfly wings at her brow; a quiet reminder that she needed no ornament to be divine.

Oceanus regarded me, and his frustrated sigh was the sound of a tide going out.

"You took long enough, boy. I've been expecting you."

He leaned forward, his eyes passing over me unhurried, appraising, unimpressed.

"Your mother once sang your praises in this very chamber. Lo! How she spoke with such pride of Poseidon, her son, who held wisdom and maturity beyond his brief years." Oceanus exhaled, not quite a sigh, a tiny, amused dismissal. "It seems even Rhea may adorn the truth when it suits her."

A flick of his gaze across the court, making certain all heard him. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Tethys looking at her husband with a look of faint disapproval, but she did not speak up in defence of my mother, her friend. Did not dare to interrupt whatever performance Oceanus was putting on.

"A month you have worn your mantle of conquest, and only now do you recall and deign to stand before the one who shaped these waters before your father first drew breath?" He leaned forward, disappointment sharpening into something pointed. "Tell me, nephew, has your recent victory blurred the lines between inheritance and true control? Do you really believe that merely claiming this ocean as yours makes you its master? Or was the faith Rhea placed in your wisdom, perhaps… misplaced?"

He did not shout at me, nor did he openly sneer. He simply spoke casually, as if calling my mother a liar and a fool was as topical as discussing the weather. A clean, deliberate insult, not of me, but of her. It landed with surgical precision. I was given no courtesy, no ritual welcome, no observance of kinship. He had dismissed me before the court, and to some that would be the greater insult, but it was the public defilement of my mother's character that cut deepest.

There are many things I can accept. Mockery. Rivalry. Challenge. But not that. Not about Rhea, the woman who had to endure Kronos' vile cruelty and poisonous lust more than any other. A woman who had gambled everything on being brave enough to try and deceive him. Our victory was only achievable thanks to her sacrifices.

If Pontus had said such words, I would have held my tongue. Pontus was older than fear itself, and I am not so arrogant as to test the jaws of a primordial. But from Oceanus? Who had taken no stand in the war, who had hidden in this magically hidden cave while my brothers and I bled and starved and killed and watched helplessly as our warriors were erased by our father's scythe.

My vision narrowed.

A pulse of heat surged beneath my skin as the golden Ichor in my veins began to boil over. The water at my feet stirred, then lifted, responding to my fury rather than my will. My hand tightened around my trident, knuckles paling, the weapon suddenly eager, hungry, to be brought down, to remind this ancient fossil that I am the Earth-Shaker, the Sea-King, breaker of fleets and maker of storms.

For a heartbeat, just one, sharp and blinding, I snapped.

My shoulders tensed, breath flaring, power spiking outward in a rippling wave that made the cavern tremble.

Stop.

The command sounded inside me like a crack of thunder. I had to restrain myself from physically seizing my forearm with my free hand, lest I make a fool of myself. Instead, I dug my fingernails into the flesh of my palm to anchor myself in pain, dragging myself back into my body. The surge of power faltered, but not before a thin sheet of seawater pulsed outward in a trembling ring across the marble floor. Silence followed, thick, taut. I had not spoken a word, yet I had threatened them all.

A cold dread slid beneath the heat. Was I truly so easily provoked? So ruled by love and insult that I would bear my power in another's hall over a single childish slight? That was not who I believed myself to be. That was not someone fit to rule. I forced my fist to unclench. Forced my breath to slow. Forced the emotional storm inside me to still.

Only then did I truly see what I had wrought. Oceanus hadn't risen to fight me. His shoulders were tense, yes, but his first, instinctive movement had been to curl his great serpentine tail protectively around Tethys's throne. He was shielding his wife. From me.

An ugly, cold shame washed through me. Tethys didn't deserve such treatment in her own home, not after she'd eagerly sheltered my female relatives from harm. When I spoke, my tone was even, controlled, and loud enough to carry.

"Forgive me, Lord Oceanus. Lady Tethys." The words came evenly, my posture composed, chin lowered just enough to acknowledge his age and stature, but not enough to suggest subservience. "My mother is dear to me, and I allowed that affection to answer in place of my voice. That was a discourtesy to your hall and to you."

A murmur rippled through the chamber, shock, disbelief, even a flutter of amusement among the younger river-gods. A god apologising was unsurprisingly a rare thing to witness. Tethys' brow lifted. Several Oceanids exchanged glances.

"But," I continued, softly, "I would ask that her name be spoken with the respect due to her. Whatever else may be debated between us, that is not a matter I will leave to ambiguity."

Oceanus' eyes narrowed. His wife's hand touched his arm, a silent counsel. His jaw shifted; a subtle concession.

"Very well," he said. "No slight was intended." Sure, buddy, you believe that.

"Then let us proceed clearly." I raised my voice so that it travelled, unimpeded, to the furthest shadowed alcoves of the cavern. "Before we go further, Lord Oceanus… do you mean to honour xenia?"

I was asking whether the eldest son of Ouranous would uphold the oldest binding between host and guest, or break it. Oceanus blinked once. The silence stretched. Then he laughed, soft, riven with age and salt. Not cruel but not warm either. Simply… amused.

"You enter my waters," he mused, as though tracing the logic aloud, "trident bared, the storm of war still clinging to your skin. You rouse the currents at a thought, unsettle my daughters, startle my court… and then question my hospitality?"

He leaned forward, eyes bright as the sun, and to my surprise, smiled.

"Ah. How I have missed the arrogance of the young. Do you know how many sicophents I have to suffer through with no spine? It has been an age since I was last confronted by such bold resolve."

With a flick of his fingers, the decree was made. Xenia was acknowledged. The law of host and guest sealed. No blood could be drawn between us, unless both of us wished it.

Tethys rose with solemn grace. She was not imposing in height; she did not need to be. The water itself attended her.

"Be welcome, nephew," she said. "Let the waters recognise peace between our houses, at least for the span of this visit." She inclined her head. "You are our kin, and now you are a guest. The law holds. You will be bathed. You will be clothed. You will dine with us at our table tonight. Only then shall we speak of your purpose here. So the law commands."

I bowed, shallow, but with real respect.

"I thank you, Lady Tethys. Lord Oceanus." I added, "As thanks for your hospitality and the shelter you provided to my family, and as an apology for my unannounced arrival, I would offer the first gift, as is right." I held out my hand.

From the deep sea, I called forth my gift. A shimmer of power, and they appeared in the hands of two nearby Naiades, who, in their surprise, nearly dropped them.

"Pearls from the blackest trenches, larger than a titan's fist, and gold from cracked veins your currents sank before my reign began," I said. "Tokens of beauty from the new sea to the old."

Then, I made the true offering. "And I offer a promise. I swear here and now, on the Styx, that for as long as I am king of the sea, I shall not extend my dominion into your world-encircling stream. Your realm shall remain your own. A pact of maintaining our mutual boundaries."

A distant thunderclap could be heard in response to my oath. Oceanus and Tethys looked at each other in stunned surprise. An Oath on the Styx was no paltry thing to do on a whim.

"Beyond this, in my own realm, I will order the construction of a grand temple, a shrine where offerings of animals, fruit, and wine alongside prayers of well wishes to you both, will always be made for the rest of time."

Oceanus nodded slowly. "These gifts are accepted. And reciprocity is law." He gestured. A Naiad, Fresh-Water Nymph, brought forward an amphora that seemed to contain a pure, swirling glow. "A Spring of my own water. Place this near where you choose to build your palace. It will never stagnate, and from it, you may touch and instantly transport yourself to any river that flows in the cosmos. It is our realms, connected forevermore."

Tethys then offered her own gift. Another nymph brought a simple, polished abalone shell, the inside swirling with mother-of-pearl. "A Tide-Mirror," she said. "Fill it with water from your sea, and it will show you what you wish to see: far-off harbours, gathering storms. A tool to provide sight over vast distances for the new King."

"These gifts are graciously accepted," I said, bowing again.

Well... now I felt like a bloody cheapskate, I hadn't been aware they'd possessed or be willing to part with such potent artefacts. I would have to come up with something to make up for it. My pride refused to allow me to be one-upped in the sacred act of gift-giving.

"And so we receive you. "Tethys said simply, "I myself will—"

"Grandmother, do not trouble yourself. I will see to our guest."

A new voice cut through, sharp and clear. Not an Oceanid. A Nereid. One of the fifty daughters of the Old Sea God Nereus. She stepped forward from the throng, and my attention snagged and held. It was Thetis. Goddess of the sea and future mother of the Greek Hero Achilles.

Tethys paused, surprised at the interruption. She glanced at Oceanus, who gave an almost imperceptible shrug, as if to say, Let the child do it.

"Very well," Tethys said, her voice softening. "Thetis, daughter of Nereus, will guide you. Take your time, nephew. We will prepare the feast and await your return."

The entire hall shifted its attention. Even the current of the World River seemed to slow, as if to better observe her. I had seen beauty among goddesses before. My sisters were examples enough of this. But this was different. This wasn't the remote, celestial beauty of a star. This was intimate. Physical. The sort of beauty that hits the chest first, a sudden, breathless punch, then tightens the throat, and only afterwards reaches the mind. It was a beauty that demanded a response.

Her hair curled softly to her shoulders, dark brown threaded with a single, striking streak of silver-grey at her brow. Instead of diminishing her youth, it sharpened it, a mark of something ancient sleeping behind her eyes. A silver diadem-cord was wound through the tresses, and a small strip of royal purple ribbon tucked near her ear drew the eye to the elegant, vulnerable line of her neck.

Her eyes, gods, her eyes were the mesmerising blue of the sea's hidden places. A piercing gaze that did not ask; it assessed. There was a fathomless intelligence there, and something like old sorrow.

Her lips were soft, perfectly shaped, full and plush, the kind made to be pressed against, to be bruised. Her skin was smooth as polished marble, yet it radiated a warmth that the cold-water Oceanids lacked.

But her body... her gown couldn't ever dream of hiding a single, glorious thing. It was a strapless purple silk that seemed to be poured over her. It didn't just cling; it worshipped her. Her breasts were full, heavy, cresting the edge of the silk, a lush, perfect swell that promised a weight to fill a god's hands.

The fabric, which seemed to be woven from an impossible, liquid light, clung to the impossible narrowness of her waist before flaring out to embrace hips that were wide, generous, a testament to life, to power. The slit in the gown was a dare, running high, all the way to the swell of her thigh, and with every step, the fabric parted, revealing the long, strong line of her leg, skin that looked warm, and ending in the delicate arch of her foot.

And when she turned, just slightly, to gesture me forward... The silk was stretched taut over the divine, heart-stopping curve of her ass. It was full, perfectly round, a shape the gown could only outline, a bounty that promised... everything. A body made to be held from behind, to be gripped, to be devoured.

There was no shyness in her stance. No coy seduction. Just a potent, undeniable confidence.

She stopped before me. Close enough that I could smell the sea salt on her skin and something faintly sweet. Her eyes never left mine as she spoke, her voice a low murmur that I felt in my ribs.

"If you would follow me, Lord Poseidon, I will attend to you. Personally."

My throat went dry. And, damn me, I felt a jolt, a hunger, deep in my gut. No hint of hesitation. No fluttering of eyelashes. Just a statement. A claim for all present to hear.

---

AN: Smut/Lewds Ahead intermingled with a deep convo, so wouldn't recommend fully skipping if smut ain't your thing.

---

I followed Thetis from the main hall, my eyes locked on the hypnotic sway of her hips. We walked in silence through passages where the pool's water ran deeper, flowing over glowing moss.

"I apologise for my grandfather's words, Lord Poseidon," she said, her voice cutting through my reverie. She didn't look back, but I could hear the amusement curled tight in her tone. "His habit of insulting uninvited guests rarely earns him anything but trouble."

"His words themselves don't trouble me," I said, still watching the silk as it swayed. Hera would be furious if she knew a backside existed more alluring than her own. "It was the part about my mother that struck a nerve."

"I've never seen anyone bold enough to challenge him like that," she replied, a smile threading her words. "The raw power you unleashed was truly marvellous to behold. You should feel honoured; none of us has ever seen him so caught off guard."

"He was more surprised by the apology, I think," I said. "It seemed he only half-cared I'd just threatened him and his entire court."

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that did interesting things to my insides. "Oh, we all noticed that," she purred, turning to look at me over her shoulder. "That is precisely why I came forward."

"To protect your family from the barbarian at the gate?"

"No," she said, stopping at the entrance to a grotto. Steam, rich with salt and herbs, poured from the opening. "To get a closer look at the barbarian, and to ensure I had him all to myself."

She turned to face me fully, her expression a mix of confidence and intrigue. "Did you know I have been blessed with powers of foresight Lord Poseidon? They are not as precise as those wielded by others, but they tease me nevertheless from time to time. I've known for sometime that someone potentially significant to my future would be coming to this cave today."

I let my eyes travel from her diadem down to the slit in her gown and back up. "So the... welcome?"

"A Nereid must be prepared to greet her new king properly, mustn't she?" she said, all innocence. "Besides, I heard tales of you from one of my sisters... she has a very descriptive way of speaking. I had to see for myself."

"I'll have to thank her."

"I'm sure you will," she teased. She gestured to the grotto. "My foresight also warned me of... other things. A prophecy my sister Metis and I both carry. Perhaps you've heard rumour of it? The one that says any son I bear will be greater than his father."

I stopped. "I have."

Her smile faltered, replaced by a sharp, probing intensity. Her eyes narrowed, reading me in a way that had nothing to do with sight. "You... you have." It wasn't a question. "You already knew." The surprise in her voice was real, but it was immediately followed by that same, dangerous spark of excitement I'd seen in the hall. "Well. This changes things."

"I'm beginning to sense a pattern," I said.

Her laugh was back, more predatory this time. "Come, My King. The nymphs will help me attend to you."

She strode into the grotto. Several Naiades were waiting. "My lady?" one began.

"He is to be bathed," Thetis commanded, her voice ringing with brazen authority. "And we will give our guest the full welcome of the springs. See to it. Oils, unguents, petals. Everything." She looked back at me, her eyes raking over my form, a physical touch that left heat in its wake. "And do not be shy, girls. He is a benevolant god of the sea; I am sure he appreciates... generosity."

The nymphs, catching her cue, giggled, their boldness returning tenfold.

This was not a simple bath. The grotto was vast, the pool itself carved from what looked like polished black obsidian, large enough to host a party. Thetis reached for the clasp of her chiton with a deliberate, unhurried motion, her eyes locked on mine. She let it fall to the floor, and the sight of her was... staggering.

My eyes drank her in. The prophecy had been about a powerful son, but the woman before me was the true prize. Her naked form was a divine sculpture come to life, every curve and contour demanding supplication. Her breasts hung full and heavy, nipples hardening into dark peaks under the cool mist, begging to be sucked and pinched. Her skin shimmered flawless and glowing with an ethereal luminescence that made her seem untouchable yet irresistibly inviting.

Her waist cinched in a graceful arc before exploding into wide, fertile hips that swayed with innate seduction, promising the grip of thighs that could crush or cradle in ecstasy. Between those powerful legs, her pussy was a lush invitation, plump outer lips parting slightly to reveal slick, pink folds already glistening with arousal, the dark curls above framing it like a sacred thicket.

Her ass was a masterpiece of rounded perfection, firm globes that flexed as she shifted, the cleft between them hinting at hidden depths ready for exploration. She stood there, magnificent and unashamed, her body a testament to godly allure, every inch pulsing with the raw, erotic vitality of immortality.

I divested myself of my own armour and robes, matching her confidence. Her eyes, in turn, drank me in, and the look in them was pure, unadulterated appreciation.

She clapped her hands, and the nymphs scurried forward, scattering handfuls of fragrant rose and lavender petals onto the water's surface. They brought amphorae of scented oils, pouring them into the steaming pool, which glowed from heated stones beneath.

I stepped in. The water was hot, intoxicating, steam rising around me like a lover's breath. And then the nymphs were on me, their lithe, naked bodies pressing close, skin slick and warm against mine.

Their laughter tinkled like distant bells, but their touches were pure sin, small, soft hands gliding over my shoulders, kneading the tension from my muscles before sliding down to my chest, fingers circling my nipples until they stiffened into hard peaks.

One nymph knelt before me in the shallow end, her palms massaging up my thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive inner skin, inching toward my hardening cock. Another straddled my lap from behind, her breasts flattening against my back as she soaped my neck, her tongue flicking out to lick the water from my earlobe.

Their lips, chilled from the spring yet burning with desire, claimed my skin in a frenzy of kisses, soft pecks turning to hungry sucks on my arms, nipping at the cords of muscle; open-mouthed presses along my collarbone that left trails of saliva; teasing bites across my ribs that made me tense.

One bold nymph dipped lower, her mouth latching onto my abdomen, tongue swirling around my navel before trailing downward, her breath ghosting over the base of my throbbing cock. Wet strands of their hair draped over me like silken ropes, clinging to my chest and legs as they worked, their hands now pumping soap along my length, stroking firmly from root to tip.

It was a ritual of welcome, an unambiguous, sensual worship of their new god. I found myself indulging fully in the sheer, uncomplicated adoration, my hips bucking slightly into their grasp, the water churning around us with their eager motions.

And through it all, Thetis watched. She had slipped into the pool and leaned back against the obsidian edge, half-submerged, her chin resting on her arms, a look of amused, appraising curiosity on her face. Like a queen observing her handmaidens tending to a prized stallion, her eyes gleaming with possessive hunger.

After a time, when I was thoroughly cleansed and far too relaxed, Thetis clapped her hands. "That is enough, girls. Go, amuse yourselves. I would speak with our guest... alone."

The nymphs, disappointed but obedient, giggled and swam to the far side of the vast pool, starting their own games. The silence that fell was thick, heavy, charged with steam and petals.

Thetis glided through the water toward me, her movements fluid and predatory, the dark liquid parting around her nude form like a veil. She didn't stop at a polite distance. She swam right up to me, the water lapping at the undersides of her full, heavy breasts, droplets clinging to her erect nipples.

With a single, fluid motion, she turned and settled herself onto my lap, straddling my hips, her toned legs locking behind my back. Both of us were stark naked beneath the water's surface, her slick skin electric against mine, her lush curves molding to my body as if sculpted for this intimate fit, her soft belly pressing to my abdomen, the heat of her aroused pussy brushing my thigh.

She leaned in, her breath warm against my neck, voice a sultry murmur that sent shivers down my spine. "So. You knew." It wasn't a question. "You knew any son I have is ordained by fate to be greater than his father, and you still... looked at me the way you did in the hall."

"Is that so terrifying?" I asked, my voice a low rumble, my hands instinctively settling on the swell of her hips, thumbs tracing the dip of her waist. "A strong son?"

"To gods such as us? It's the thing many fear most of all, and rightfully so." Her fingers danced lightly over my chest, nails grazing my skin, circling one nipple until it pebbled under her touch. "Our kind have an extensive track record of strong sons overthrowing weak fathers. You yourself would know that better than most. And yet..." She looked into my eyes, her gaze smoldering. "You're not afraid."

"I would love any son gifted to me," I said honestly, the thought surprising me with its sincerity, even as her body shifted subtly, grinding her wet folds against my hardening cock. "And I would raise him. Properly." My own past, mortal and divine, flooded my mind. "I've never had a real father. I would want to be one my children could be proud of."

"But Kronos—" she began, her hand sliding lower, palm flattening over my abs.

"That doesn't count," I cut her off, my voice harder than I intended, though my grip tightened on her hips, pulling her closer.

Her eyes softened, the predatory light dimming, replaced by genuine curiosity. She leaned back, resting her hands on my thighs, the motion thrusting her breasts forward, water beading on their curves and trickling down to where our bodies met. "And what if he did? What if he wanted to overthrow you? Kill you?"

I considered it, my cock twitching against her as she rocked gently. "I would ask him his reasons. If they were just... I would fight him, but I would be satisfied with either outcome." I met her gaze steadily. "But if he hurt his own kin, or my family... if he did it merely for power, for my position..." I shook my head. "He would not need to hear my words. He would feel my disappointment in him. And my wrath."

A strange, complex emotion passed over her face, awe, respect, and something hotter, more primal. She laughed, a low, throaty sound that vibrated through my chest, her pussy clenching against me in the water. "Gods, we've only just met, and we're already discussing our hypothetical, world-conquering child. What does that make us?"

"Practical?" I offered, a smile touching my lips as I slid one hand up her side, cupping the weight of her breast, thumb flicking her nipple.

"I was going to say 'ambitious,'" she whispered, her voice husky. "Ambitious... I like that." She leaned closer, her full breasts brushing against my chest, nipples dragging across my skin, her lips parting as her hand dipped below the water to wrap around my thick shaft, stroking slowly from base to tip. "You know... xenia commands a host to see to all of a guest's needs." Her hips shifted, just slightly, rubbing her slick entrance along my length. "And you, Lord Poseidon... you look like you have... needs."

"And you, Lady Thetis," I murmured, my hands finding their way to her hips, guiding her subtle grind, "look like you are a very... generous hostess."

"Let me show you just how generous..." Her words trailed off into a wicked smile as she slid down my body, the water swirling around us. She submerged briefly, her hair fanning out like dark seaweed, then resurfaced with her mouth hovering near my cock. Without hesitation, she took me in, lips stretching around my girth, tongue swirling over the head as she sucked deeply, bobbing once, twice, her cheeks hollowing with the pull. The sensation was exquisite, hot, wet suction drawing a groan from my throat, her hand pumping the base while she hummed around me.

I tangled my fingers in her wet hair, thrusting shallowly into her mouth, but then reality pierced the haze. "Thetis," I rasped, pulling her up gently, her lips popping free with a slick sound, a string of saliva connecting us. "I doubt your grandparents had this in mind as the first thing for me to do under guest right in their home."

She emerged laughing softly, water streaming down her face, eyes gleaming with mischief as she pressed against me once more. "Perhaps not," she conceded, nipping at my jaw. "A little indulgence never hurt anyone... yet."

She let out a reluctant sigh, "But you are right, my grandfather is not known for his patience and will send my grandmother to come looking for us soon, best not give him any more reason to insult you."

The steam in the grotto had thinned, the fragrant petals now floating lazily on the still surface like a scattered offering. The nymphs were long gone, leaving only the echo of their earlier attentions.

Thetis rose from the water, magnificent and unashamed, rivulets sluicing down her glowing curves, over the swell of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, to the dark curls between her thighs. She dressed with the same unhurried, confident grace she had undressed with, the silk chiton clinging to her damp skin. I followed, drawing the fine robes the nymphs had left over my body, the fabric whispering against my still-throbbing arousal.

She turned, her eyes bright, her lips slightly swollen and glistening from our brief encounter. "It's a pity, I was just getting warmed up," she said, her voice still throaty from the heat of the moment. "But you are right. The law must be respected above all else. And dinner is next on the list." She gave me a slow, wicked wink. "We'll have to pick this up another time."

I followed her out, my body thrumming with sated power. She led me down a new corridor, one that smelled of salt and roasted meats, the sounds of her family's feast echoing faintly in the distance.

As we rounded a corner, I felt it. A gaze. Not Thetis's. Not the nymphs. This was something else.

I looked up. Across the corridor, partially hidden in a shadowed alcove, stood a woman. She was alone.

She was another Nereid; I could feel the salt-sting of her aura, but she was unlike any being I had ever seen. Where her sisters were gorgeous, she was alive. Her hair was not a single colour, but a wild, untamed mass of seafoam-green and deep blue, as if she'd just surfaced from a storm. Her eyes were a sharp, piercing turquoise, and they held an almost painful intelligence, a spark of defiant, untamable laughter. She wasn't just looking at me; she was sizing me up, as if I were a particularly interesting piece of driftwood washed ashore.

What truly set her apart, what made my divine heart thump even after the exhlarating experience I'd just had, was her divine presence. It was the sea itself: loud, moaning, joyous, and utterly free. She was the breaking wave, the howl of the wind, the salt spray in your eyes. I suddenly understood, with the force of a revelation, why my predecessor had chased this single nymph across the world.

Our eyes met.

A jolt went through me, a spark of recognition. Challenge. Interest. Jealousy.

She didn't look away. She didn't giggle. She just held my gaze, a slow, appraising smile tilting the corner of her mouth. Then, as if satisfied with her initial assessment, she vanished back into the shadows.

Well, hello there… Amphitrite. On one hand, who knew my canonical wife was a voyeur? On the other… that's two voyeurs watching me bathe in one week. I'm sensing a pattern emerging, and I'm not sure how to feel about it. That and the fact I now had to attend dinner with Oceanus after being left blue-balled by his granddaughter. Truly it was hard being King of the Seas.

Chapter 6: I Engage in Dinner & Diplomacy

Gods, Thetis knew exactly what she was doing to me.

The damp silk of her robe didn't just cling; it mapped the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, the bounce of her ass, and the swell of her calves. It was a second skin, made all the more potent by the damp heat that lingered on her skin from the bath. She moved ahead of me through the stone corridors, each step a fluid, deliberate sway. It was a taunt, a delicious, agonising reminder of what she'd offered, and what I'd been forced, just barely, to refuse.

I caught myself thinking, if one of Oceanus's granddaughters could wind me this tightly, what in Tartarus would happen when I finally met Aphrodite? Would I have a seizure? Stumble over my words like a fool? The thought was almost comical. Helen of Troy's beauty might one day launch a thousand ships, yet it was Thetis's hips alone that could launch a fleet of millions to conquer the world in her name.

We walked in a silence thick with all that had passed between us, the air heavy with salt, steam, and a lingering, perilous desire. She'd nearly made me forget why I was here, and from that alone, I knew she was one of the most dangerous goddesses I'd ever met. My mind was caught between the whirlwind she'd ignited and the cold calculations of my purpose for being here. I needed Oceanus and Tethys to bend the knee willingly. Their loyalty was the first true step to all my plans coming to fruition.

Thetis must have sensed my distraction. Without slowing, she said softly, "You're quiet, my King. I hope your heart isn't burdened with regret over what transpired between us."

I smiled faintly. "Hardly, Lady Thetis. If there's any regret, it's that business must come before pleasure. I was merely wondering if that personal welcome was a welcoming gift or a test."

That earned a low, musical laugh. "So suspicious, my King. What if I said it was a trap?"

"Then I'd say you're a poor strategist," I replied. "You let me escape unscathed."

Thetis turned slightly, the movement catching the glow of the walls, tracing her smile in gold. Her eyes flickered down to my pelvis. "Ah, but you didn't, not all of you at least. But yes... it was a test. A test you passed, my King. Unlike so many others."

"Oh?" I asked. "Do you often share baths with guests of your grandparents that you find intriguing?"

"No, I do not," she said bluntly. "While some of my sisters are quick to trade their maidenheads for the attentions of men, I am not so easily moved. Most who've approached me, minor deities, river gods, can barely contain themselves." Her lip curled faintly, a sharp glint of scorn in her eyes. "More than once I've watched them… spill their seed in their own garments like trembling beasts, all from the mere sight of me." She exhaled softly, the sound equal parts amusement and disgust. "They never return. Shame is a powerful repellent."

Her gaze found mine. "I have not given myself fully to any man, nor will I until one proves himself worthy of more than fleeting hunger. The Fates have spoken of what my first union might bring; I will not be made a cautionary tale."

She paused, her voice softening, silk drawn over steel. "You are the first who has not wilted. The first whose pride isn't chained by fear of my grandfather." Her eyes flicked meaningfully toward me. "Even in the baths, when you knew of what could result from our joining, and yet you did not tremble when I caressed you. The idea of a child between us should terrify you, but I felt how, instead, it excited you."

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Perhaps that means you are merely too bold for your own good. Or perhaps," she leaned in, her scent, salt, ozone, and something intoxicatingly female, washing over me, "it makes you the most interesting man I've ever met."

This woman...

Before I could reply, the passage widened. The faint hum of voices and music drifted through a set of great doors. Thetis drew a slow breath, fingers fussing with the damp folds of her robe. With a wave of my hand, the moisture vanished; our clothes came away clean, the water and steam atomised into nothing.

Thetis ran a single, slow finger down the front of my now-pristine robe, tracing the line of my sternum. "Oh my," she whispered. "You truly do know how to treat a lady, my King. Come, Grandfather is waiting. And I, for one, am famished."

I had been expecting to enter a traditional dining hall, and so you can imagine my shock when I was met instead with an entirely new biosphere.

The ceiling was a translucent firmament, kilometres above, through which the light of the sky filtered, creating a shifting golden aurora. The chamber itself was built in descending terraces carved from anemones and stone, all undertoned with soft azure light.

And it was full.

Thousands of divine spirits, Oceanids, Nereids, Naiades, reclined on couches (klinai) sculpted from marble. This was a true, ancient symposium. Their collective laughter and whispers were like the chime of a thousand tiny bells. Musicians played harps strung with whale baleen, their song a haunting melody. At the far end sat my two hosts. Thetis guided me through the throng and led me to the foot of the dais.

"Grandfather, Grandmother," she announced, her voice clear. "Lord Poseidon has been attended to with the utmost care."

She bowed and, with a final, lingering look at me, dissolved into the crowd, her form vanishing among the room's denizens.

Oceanus gestured to a place of honour, a kline of sponge that seemed to grow to fit my form as I approached. "Be welcome, nephew. As our guest, it is only right that you dine with us at our table."

I reclined, accepting a cup of shimmering gold from a Naiad. The feast began, and holy hell, it was a long one. Fortunately, endurance came naturally to gods, but I'd grown far too used to the rushed, utilitarian meals of wartime, when you had to be ready to fight at a moment's notice.

This was my first taste of an older, slower dining ritual. The first course arrived: translucent oysters that glowed softly, each cradling a single, perfect pearl of ambrosia. It was like eating a miniature star; warmth and power burst across my tongue the moment I swallowed.

As we ate, a troupe of Nereids, Thetis's sisters, entered the central floor. They began to dance. Their movements were slow and fluid, telling the story of the sea's birth. At first, I paid it little mind, knowing it for what it was: a diversion, a test of patience, a way for the thousands of eyes in the chamber to watch me, to weigh me. I ate slowly, my posture relaxed, my gaze appreciative. I would not be rushed.

But then the music shifted, and the crowd of dancers parted. One figure moved to the centre. Amphitrite. Her wild, seafoam-green and deep blue hair was untamed, a stark contrast to her sisters' artful arrangements. And her dance… gods, her dance. She wasn't just the best among them; she was the dance. The music seemed to follow her, not the other way around.

Where her sisters were graceful, she was alive. Where they were elegant, she was pure, unbridled joy. Her movements were sensual, yes, but not in the predatory, confident way of Thetis. This was the sensuality of a breaking wave, of a storm's joyous howl. Every turn of her hip, every arch of her back, every stomp of her bare foot on the stone was a dare, a challenge, an expression of absolute, untamable freedom.

My gaze was locked. My divine heart, which had been so steady through Oceanus's insults and Thetis's seductions, thumped in my chest with the force of a revelation. She knew I was watching. As the music reached its crescendo, she spun, her eyes finding mine across the vast hall. A spark of challenge, of defiant laughter, flashed between us. She held my gaze for a heartbeat, a slow, appraising smile tilting the corner of her mouth. Then, as if satisfied, she was gone, vanishing back into the throng as quickly as she had appeared, leaving me with only the memory of her gaze and the echo of a wild, free spirit.

I forced my attention back to the feast, my mind reeling. The second course came hours later, announced by the bellowing call of a horn. Slabs of roasted kraken heart, served on plates of black pearl. The meat was electric, humming with the contained power of the slain beast. Oceanus had slain the beast himself millennia ago, if his words were to be believed.

The third course arrived, and I was handed a pair of translucent fruits that pulsed with an unknown energy; each bite flooded my senses with strange, distant memories of my childhood. The air grew thick with expectation. The court was silent, and the music faded. The hours of ritual were over.

Oceanus set down his goblet. "Gifts were exchanged, you were bathed and clothed, and now you have been fed and entertained," he said, his voice flat. "The law is fully satisfied. Now, Poseidon. Tell me why you have come. You did not journey to the edge of the world to dine with my court."

This was it. I took a breath, letting the power of my domain settle around me like a mantle.

"I came, Lord Oceanus, because the age of the Titans is over. The Titanomachy is done, and it has left the sea scarred and poisoned. While you sat in this timeless haven, the war has torn the ocean apart. The trenches are overflowing with the remnants of my father's most vile monsters. The currents are sick with the remnants of divine corpses and Titan-ichor. And in this power vacuum, Phorcys and Ceto run rampant with their brood."

I let my voice rise, turning my gaze to the thousands of Oceanids on the terraces. "They hunt, rape, and defile your kin. Your daughters and granddaughters, Lord Oceanus! They are dragged to the dark to be made eternal broodmares, and you, their patriarch, do nothing!"

A collective gasp, a hiss of indrawn breaths, swept the chamber. Oceanus's face darkened. Tethys's motherly expression vanished, replaced by a cold, hard mask.

I pressed on before they could speak. "This coming Summer Solstice will mark the first great council of the new age. My siblings and I will declare the new order from Olympus. Allies will be rewarded, and make no mistake, your sheltering of my mother and sisters will be remembered with honour."

I let my gaze sweep across them both, a king making a statement. "But that is not why I am here. No. I will not attend that council as the King of a fractured domain. I will not have my brothers see the Sea as a chaotic backwater, a fractured realm to be ignored or exploited for their own designs."

Oceanus scoffed, "You speak of 'orders' and 'councils,' Olympian," he rumbled, his ancient eyes unblinking. "You believe that because you have won one war, you have refashioned the world."

He spread his great hands. "Your father's 'Golden Age.' Your brother's new 'Order.' They are temporary. They are games for power-hungry gods and ambitious young bloods. The Ocean... is not a kingdom. It is the source of life itself. It is the beginning and the end. We who inhabit and embody it do not choose sides in the squabbles of our kin any more than a cliff chooses sides in the waves that break upon it. We endure. Your war was a fleeting, violent noise. Now it is over. And we remain untouched. And so we shall when the next war comes, and the one after that. This will not change."

"A very noble-sounding, very comfortable justification for being a coward," I said, my voice cutting through his.

The hall went utterly silent. Oceanus's eyes narrowed.

"You call it 'endurance'?" I continued. "You talk of 'not choosing sides' as if it were a virtue. But the war did come to you, Uncle. It came in the poison that now chokes your currents. It came in the form of Phorcys and Ceto, who took your neutrality as permission to act out their depraved desires unchallenged."

I pointed to a cluster of weeping Oceanids on a terrace. "Go and tell them your philosophy. Tell them you 'endured' while their sisters were dragged away into the abyss to be brutalised and impregnated with monstrous children for years. Your timeless view is just a word for idleness. Your 'peace' is nothing but neglect."

I let the accusation hang, sharp and venomous.

"You held dominion under Kronos," I said, my voice cold and hard. "A dominion you let fester, and the world has been divided anew."

I let the power of my domain, the true power of the sea, swell around me, a cold, crushing pressure that made the very air feel heavy. Every nymph in this hall could feel it, the shift in the currents, the new will bound to the water.

The Ocean is no longer yours to passively observe from, Titan. It is mine now.

"By lot, by the right of conquest, and by the new law of the cosmos, I am the King of the Sea. You are no longer the patriarch of the waters. You are a subject. And your neglect of your fellow subjects is a crime I am here to end. I come to you now, as your King, because the Sea will stand as one, unified and powerful."

Oceanus' jaw tightened. "And so what is it you come to offer me? Relevance? Is that it?" Oceanus sneered. "You think because you drew a lucky lot, you can command me? You, a child who has not yet seen a single century!?"

"The lot gave me the title," I said, my voice dropping, "but my authority? That comes from a higher power." I let the words settle with the necessary weight. "I come because I was summoned and bid to seek you out. By Pontus."

The music stopped. Nymphs gasped and cried out. Thetis, in the crowd, covered her mouth, her eyes wide with terror.

Oceanus flinched. His immortal calm broke, and for a second, I saw true, primal fear, all at the mere mention of a name.

"You... claim to have spoken with a Primordial?" Tethys whispered, her voice tight with disbelief.

"He sought me out," I stated, pressing the advantage. "The Primordial Sea is... displeased... with the 'Titan child' who let his domain fester."

I turned my gaze fully on Oceanus, whose face had gone pale. "He feels your passivity, Oceanus. He labels your great philosophy wasteful stagnation. He blames you and you alone for letting the darkness of the ocean thrive while you hid at the edge of the world."

"Lies!" Oceanus roared, his voice rolling through the chamber like a tidal quake. His massive tail unfurled beneath him, coiling as he rose higher, towering over me. The World River itself trembled, waves breaking against the cave's walls in answer to his wrath.

"You trifle with forces that unmake gods, boy!" he thundered. "That name is forbidden! To even feel his presence is to invite madness! Are you so brazen, nephew, to wield your silver tongue and speak such a lie to my face—"

"I saw him with my own eyes!" I thundered back, rising as well, my trident appearing in my hand. "And he gave me his mandate! He is weary of chaos. He demands I bring order to the seas! And not only did he acknowledge my kingship, he granted me a boon!"

This new claim sent a fresh shock through the hall. A boon? From a Primordial? Ludicrous.

"I speak the truth!" I raised my voice for the entire hall to hear, my power resonating. "If I speak a single word of falsehood, I call upon the Primordial Pontus to strike me down where I stand!"

A challenge like that should have been met with silence. Instead, a deep, seismic hum filled the chamber. It was as strong as an earthquake, cracking the walls and shattering the goblets. The Oceanids cried out, clutching each other. Oceanus and Tethys froze stiff. The vibration coalesced for a single, powerful moment, then receded, leaving a stunned silence.

They didn't know what it was. They only knew that I had called directly upon a primordial, and it had answered without hesitation. I wondered how they would feel if they knew that hum was a mere infinitesimal fraction of Pontus expressing his amusement at the drama I was causing.

I held the silence, letting the terror and awe sink in. Then, I spoke to the room, not just to Oceanus.

"Pontus granted me a boon no god has ever received. I asked him for his wisdom, and he... showed me. He showed me his true heart, the secret nexus of all ocean life and power. And he himself chose the site as the location for my new capital!"

A murmur of excitement, of hope, began to ripple through the nymphs. This was more than the latest power-hungry tyrant on the scene; this was something they'd not seen before. I was claiming to be a divinely ordained ruler.

"I will build it there," I declared, my voice ringing with the conviction of prophecy. "The grandest city this cosmos shall ever know, a marvel that will make Olympus itself look pale. I will call it Atlantis, and I invite all of you to see it, to live in it, to make it the beating heart of a new, flourishing world!"

I turned my gaze to the weeping nymphs I had pointed out earlier. My voice softened, but lost none of its steel.

"From Atlantis, I will build a new age. I will not be an idle king. My very first act will be to hunt down Phorcys and Ceto. I will bring them to justice. And I swear to you..." I met the eyes of Tethys, the mother of so many of the lost, "...I will find every nymph they have taken. I will free them. And I will use my power to heal them, mind and body, and restore them to their families."

The nymphs openly wept now. The tide of the room turned, sudden and absolute.

"Promises," Oceanus whispered, seeing his authority evaporate. "Words. You are... You are just a child..."

"And you are just afraid," I said, my voice carrying just enough for the first few terraces to hear.

"You go too far, boy!" Oceanus looked ready to denounce me and banish me from his home.

"Do I?" I said. I stepped forward, past the feasting tables, until I stood at the very foot of his throne. The thousands of nymphs watched, hushed, seeing their king confronted. I lowered my voice to a cold, private whisper, one meant only for the three of us. "You've been afraid for a very long time. Haven't you... Ophion?"

Oceanus froze mid-rise, his immortal calm shattering like thin ice. He sank back into his throne, his knuckles white on the armrests. Tethys gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with horrified disbelief.

"How..." Oceanus's voice was a choked, strangled whisper. "How do you know that name? No one..."

"Pontus showed me," I said, letting the lie cut clean. In truth, it wasn't divine revelation that led me here, but memory, scraps of myth and half-forgotten history from another life. Some sources claimed Oceanus and Ophion were the same: the first king of the heavens, cast down by Kronos with his wife into the endless river-stream. I hadn't been sure, but his reaction told me everything I needed to know.

"I saw it all. The brief, glorious moment you held heaven as the firstborn of the Titans. The pride you felt. And then I saw my father. I saw him wrestle you, break you, and cast you down into this very river. He didn't just take your crown, Uncle; he taught you to fear ambition."

I leaned in, my voice laced with a cold, piercing understanding that was far more brutal than any shout. "This entire philosophy... this 'great, placid endurance'... It's a lie you've built to hide your own shame. You've spent millennia seething with resentment, bitter that my father took what was yours, but you were too afraid to ever try and take it back. You traded your ambition for this quiet prison, and you've spent an age convincing yourself it was all your choice to begin with."

I looked from his shattered expression to Tethys's pale, trembling one. Silence. To the hall, it looked like a moment of intense, quiet negotiation. On the dais, it was a total dismantling. Oceanus looked... old. Beaten. Defeated with ease by a secret he thought was buried deep enough to fade into myth.

"Uncle," I said softly, the word carrying both reverence and command. "I am offering you more than forgiveness. I'm offering freedom. You've built a cage around yourself, one of fear, of isolation, of the old order's ghosts. But that prison can be broken."

I took another step closer, "I would see you restored, not ruined. The seas have always needed a voice older than mine, one that remembers when the cosmos was young. I offer you your purpose back, not as a relic, but as the Elder Statesman of a new age. Stand with me, and the oceans will no longer tremble at the name of Kronos. Stand with me, and you will once more be a titan worthy of the title you once bore."

Silence. Long, heavy, and absolute. Oceanus looked at his hands, then at his wife. Indecision clouded his features.

To my surprise, it was Tethys who stood first. Her plainness fell away, and for a moment, I saw the true Matriarch, towering and terrible. She saw her husband was broken, and she saw the crowd was mine. In an instant, she seized the moment to seal the bargain.

"You have offered our children hope," she said, her voice clear and strong. "You have promised them justice. But we have heard promises from new kings before. Your words are wind."

Her gaze hardened, and she challenged me before the entire court. "Swear it. Swear here, at the font of all waters, on your new domain. Swear on the Styx that your very first act as King will be what you said: to hunt down Phorcys and Ceto, and to rescue our daughters."

This was the price. My mind raced. She was demanding that I bind myself before her entire court. I could just accept. Or I could show them what a true King's vow looked like.

I let a small smile touch my lips. "An oath is a powerful thing, Lady Tethys. And I will do more than that."

I turned from her and addressed the entire, silent hall. "My 'rule' will not be passive, like that which came before! I am assembling a Royal Council to govern the sea. And when my capital, Atlantis, is constructed, I will summon the members of that council. And there, all together, we will swear our Oaths. On the Styx. Oaths to protect this realm, to uphold the law, and to serve you, our people. Oaths that will bind me as well as them for all time."

I turned back to Tethys, my voice resonating with power. "You are the Matriarch. You are the Nurse of Nymphs. But you have no power to enforce it. I am not merely offering you a title. I am offering you my law. My authority. My trident. When you speak as Matriarch of my council, you will speak with my voice. Your domain will no longer be just a fact of your nature; it will be a protected territory of the sea's first and only Kingdom."

I let that sink in, the promise of real power.

"You, Lord Oceanus," I declared, looking at the broken Titan, "will be the First River and Elder of my Council. You, Lady Tethys, will be the Royal Matriarch and Protectress of Nymphs, your title now backed by the King's law. And as for Phorcys and Ceto... I will not just hunt them. I will break them. I will force them to kneel, and they will serve my new order as Wardens of the Outer Dark, their power turned to my purpose as recompense for their crimes."

I had not just met her demand. I had absorbed it into a grand, sweeping vision of a new world. I had answered her challenge tenfold.

The time for negotiation was over. I was their King. Acknowledged by the Primordial. Sworn to their protection. And now, I held the love of their people. I looked at the ancient Titan and the canny Matriarch beside him.

"I have sworn to protect your house. My mandate comes from Pontus itself. I am the King of this domain. And I will have your fealty. Here. Now."

The demand hung in the absolute silence.

Oceanus looked at Tethys. He looked at the trident in my hand. He looked out at the thousands of his own kin, their faces turned to me, shining with hope. His pride was broken, his philosophy exposed. For a long moment, the only sound was the rush of the World River, a ceaseless current carrying the weight of ages. Oceanus stared down at me, his eyes wide and unseeing, the fury within them giving way to something older: exhaustion, maybe even relief.

Slowly, with the grinding sound of ancient stone, the Lord of the World River began to move. His vast, scaled tail uncoiled from around the throne, the currents parting as he lowered himself. The waters trembled as he descended. And then, with a gesture that had not been seen since the dawn of gods, Oceanus bowed his head and bent the great coil of his tail, placing one knee upon the marble floor.

Tethys, seeing her husband yield and knowing my vow was true, gathered her robes and gracefully knelt beside him.

A gasp went through the hall. And then, as one, like a wave falling, the court followed. Thetis, Amphitrite, her sisters, the Nereids, the Naiades, the thousands of Oceanids, all knelt before me.

Silence, absolute and reverent, filled the hall. I let the moment hang, the weight of their submission settling into the very foundations of the chamber. Then, from the crowd, a single clear voice, Thetis's, rang out.

"Hail, Poseidon! King of the Sea!"

Another voice joined. "Hail, Lord Poseidon! Hail the King!"

Then, like a gathering storm, the chant began, low at first, a ripple through throat and tide, and then it swelled. A hundred voices; a thousand; whole currents of sound rolling outward until it became the ocean itself, finding its will. The stone walls shuddered; the marble under my feet sang with the rhythm of a billion waves.

From the deepest trenches to the sunlit shoals, whales answered with a long, keening song; shoals of silver fish flashed like a thousand heralds; kelp forests shivered and sounded like a vast, rustling choir. Even the smallest sea-sprites struck shells and made the surface sparkle with frantic applause.

I could feel it in my bones: the World River thrummed, the skies leaned in, and somewhere far above the vault of heaven the cosmos turned to look. My siblings would hear it, every summit and throne, every isle and inland spring, and know what had been done. The chant rose higher, a tide of voices anointing me not by crown or sceptre but by the world itself, and the air tasted of salt and thunder.

"HAIL, POSEIDON! KING OF THE SEA! HAIL! HAIL! HAIL!"

I stood on the dais, trident in hand, the roars of my new, ancient subjects washing over me. The first pillar of my kingdom was set.

---

Hours later, I stood at the misty gates of Oceanus's domain. Thetis was beside me, her earlier sensuality replaced with a profound, awestruck respect.

"They are... still chanting," she whispered, looking back toward the great hall. "You have undone millennia of stagnation in a single night."

"The old way is done, Thetis," I said, looking out into the dark, open water.

"My father, Nereus, is an old and stubborn god," she said, her voice dropping to a more intimate, conspiratorial tone. "He is the Old Man of the Sea; so by his very nature, he does not bend easily. But he will seek you out in his own time... he must. You've left him no choice."

A flash of her earlier confidence returned. "As for my mother and sisters... leave them to me. I will work on them. They were... impressed by your display. They will follow the power you've shown. I'll make sure of it."

"I will count on it," I said.

Before I could turn, she stepped in close, rising onto her toes. Her scent washed over me. Her lips, soft and warm, pressed against my cheek in a brief, proprietary kiss.

"I hope," she whispered, her breath hot against my ear, "that the next time we meet, we can... continue where we left off."

She gave me one last, smouldering look, then turned and dissolved back into the mists of her grandfather's hall, the sway of her hips a final, delicious promise.

I watched her go, then turned to the open void. My victory here was absolute, but my promise to Tethys was iron-clad, and the rage I felt at Phorcys and Ceto's crimes was still burning hot. I had to act, and act now.

I stopped in the dark, empty void outside the World River and recalled the gift from Tethys. I drew the simple, polished abalone shell, the Tide-Mirror, from the folds of my robes. Pouring a handful of my own sea into its swirling, mother-of-pearl basin, I gave it my will.

"Show me Phorcys. Show me Ceto."

The water in the shell clouded, swirled with black, then cleared. A vision formed. A sun-drenched, white-sand beach on a newly formed, unnamed island, born from the churning war. And on them... a being of incandescent beauty, born of sea-foam and the blood of Ouranos, stumbling onto the sand.

Aphrodite.

And cornering her, leering and dark, their forms intent on rape and domination were the ancient horrors of the deep. Phorcys and Ceto.

A cold, abyssal rage washed through me. My political victory felt distant, the echoes of the chant fading against this new, immediate reality. My vow to Tethys, to hunt these very monsters, had come due sooner than I planned.

I shot through the fabric of reality, thundering toward that unnamed shore and the Goddess of Love in need of my help. I would have four members of my council secured by day's end.

One way... or another.

Chapter 7: I Come to the Defence of Love

The moment I willed it, the sea obeyed.

Distance folded, pressure built, and my will compressed the leagues between me and my destination into nothing. The ocean floor groaned in protest, trenches splintering beneath the focused weight of my passage. The water didn't have time to part for me, as it vaporised, flash-boiling into supersonic tunnels of steam that collapsed behind me with the force of a thousand underwater volcanoes.

I wasn't just moving through the sea; I was actively punching a hole in it. My supersonic passing created a series of wounds in reality that sealed themselves with a shuddering series of booms that vibrated the primordial landscape. To reach Aphrodite from the edge of the cosmos should have taken minutes, potentially hours.

I made the trip in five seconds.

I breached the surface a league out from the isle that I'd seen, and the world went silent. For a kilometre around me, the waves vanished, the roiling sea cowering into a perfect, circular plain of glass. The air itself grew heavy, crackling with the sudden, crushing weight of my presence. My trident was in my fist, a familiar cold, its tines humming a blue-white song of anticipation.

And then, all that power, all that fury... evaporated. Even from a great distance, I felt her enchanting aura. My mind, which can chart the migration of every krill and feel the shift of every tectonic plate, locked solely onto her blazing divine signal. The signal was so potent that it short-circuited the rest of my thoughts. My god-brain went utterly quiet. Blank. A void where a billion calculations for the coming battle should have been.

I let the sea around me calm, sinking back into my own element, and moved in a daze the final five kilometres as a silent, unseen current. I came to rest just beyond the breaking waves, a shadow in the surf, and I watched.

My entire being was entranced by the angel I found standing before me. She was trapped. She stood at the back of a tight, crescent-shaped cove, her back pressed against a sheer wall of black rock. Her only escape, the mouth of the cove, was blocked by her harassers. The famous scallop shell, the one that had carried her across the ocean, lay at her feet, cracked and discarded like a broken cup, still slick with the foams of her creation.

The word 'beautiful' died in my throat. It was a child's word, useless. My eyes weren't seeing a person. They were being force-fed a sight unlike anything I'd ever seen before. It was the sting of Desire, the dizzying, honeyed warmth of Procreation, the sweet, suffocating weight of Love, all of it raw, unfiltered, and so potent it felt like the most putrid of poisons was being poured into my retinas.

Her aura thrummed in my bones, a vibration that made my molars ache in a way they hadn't since my reincarnation.

A wave of something dark and foundational washed up from the bedrock of my own soul. It was the blunt, animal need to... possess her. To own her. To claim her for myself. The vulgar, reptilian heat slammed into me, attempting to bypass thought entirely.

I fought it.

I anchored my mind, driving my will down like a celestial bronze spike into the foundations of my own being. I met her chaotic, generative heat with the cold, crushing, absolute pressure of the ocean. It was an equal and opposite force, a battle of concepts fought in the space of a nanosecond. My knees threatened to buckle from the sheer effort of the psychic war I was waging. I had to physically clench my jaw, my neck muscles cording, to keep the guttural roar of the beast she was calling from within me from escaping.

This was what Aphrodite was. An unguarded, untamed force. In her, I felt the same wild, generative pulse of raw power I'd only ever sensed from Pontus himself.

My mind reeled. She was a natural disaster in female form. Utterly naked, her physical body was clearly unstable. She was a living, breathing, divine glitch, her domains and concepts failing to cohere into a single vessel. Her untamed, desperate power was actively latching onto my perceptions to give itself shape.

One second, she was a platinum blonde bombshell. Her skin was pale pearl, her lips a wet, all-consuming pout. Her breasts were just impossible, gravity-defying orbs that belonged on a hentai figurine, jutting proudly from a tiny ribcage. Her ass was a perfect, high, round globe of carved marble, set below a ludicrously small waist.

The next, flicker. Her hair flashed to a vibrant, shocking pink, her skin warming to bronze. Her waist cinched impossibly tight, a painful, perfect V-shape. Her hips flared out dramatically as her tits and ass swelled to obscene, cartoonish proportions.

Flicker. She towered into an eight-foot Amazonian warrior, all terrifying, sleek muscle and a glare that promised exquisite, glorious death. Her breasts were high, hard, and proud, her abs were sculpted granite, and her long, powerful legs looked like they could crack a man's skull open or shatter his pelvis with ease.

Flicker. Her form melted. Now she was a dark-haired vixen, all pouty, wet-looking lips and eyes that promised blissful, agonising trouble. Then just as quickly, she was a desert princess, her skin olive, her limbs slender, her defiant chin held high under a fall of midnight-black hair.

Flicker. She shrank, becoming a plump, five-foot-nothing short-stack. Her flesh was soft and pliable, her belly soft, spilling over in a way that screamed 'fertility' and 'comfort', yet those same vixen's eyes promised pure debauchery.

I couldn't get a lock on her. Each new form she took felt like a personal slap to my face. She was every fantasy I'd ever had, every pin-up, every statue, every half-remembered dream of desire or celebrity crush, all melting into one another from moment to moment. She was a chaotic, perfect symphony of Want, and it was agonising to behold.

And through that overwhelming aura of Need and Procreation, I could feel two other, sharper notes: her white-hot indignation and a shrill spike of pure, animal terror. Her defensive broadcast was only driving her attackers utterly mad with lust and thus worsening her situation.

Her two helpers were putting on a panicked, useless defence. They were the Erotes, Eros and Himeros, though I barely recognised them from their usual depiction. They were little more than divine children, with smooth, milk-white skin and tiny, fluttering wings. They looked exactly the part of 'Cupids,' complete with miniature arrows. These were the beings who were supposed to light their mistress's way to a wedding banquet with gleaming torches. Instead, their defence was useless, and their high, panicked voices seemed to speak only in an infantile song.

"My golden dart, it will not chart!" shrieked Eros, the tiny archer, loosing a glittering arrow.

The bolt zipped through the air and pinged harmlessly off the spiky, crab-like shell of Phorcys, preventing Aphrodite from escaping. The brute's laugh began as a wet, choked gurgle, as if it were fighting its way through a throat thick with phlegm. He was a nightmare of the deep, a humanoid torso, scaled and armoured in a chitinous shell that was fused to the coiling, blubbery tail of a colossal seal. He lumbered across the beach, slime dripping from his form, and held aloft a torch that burned with a sickly green fire, the colour of dread, of what lurks just beyond the light.

"Is that all you've got, little gnat!" Phorcys roared. "Your puny arrows only make my old blood boil all the more!"

"Oh, scales and slime, a dreadful crime!" wailed the other child-god, Himeros. "You cannot have her, she's not thine!"

The god of sexual desire threw his tiny body against Ceto, pushing with all his might. It was a completely futile gesture, like a bug trying to slay a dragon. The "Mother of Monsters," a living island of dark whale-flesh and quivering blubber so vast it blocked the sun, didn't even register the impact. Her aura was a physical wave of foulness, the stink of the unplumbed trench. She gurgled, a sound of wet amusement, and slapped Himeros away. The tiny god went tumbling, skidding across the sand like a skipped stone.

"Himeros!" Aphrodite shrieked, her voice cracking with worry.

Forgetting her own safety, she darted out from her small cove, a flash of pale skin against the dark sand. In one desperate, fluid motion, she scooped up the stunned child-god. She wasn't a second too soon. Ceto's other hand swept through the space she had just occupied, a casual, crushing motion that would have pulped her tiny companion into dust. Aphrodite was already scrambling back to the relative safety of the rocks, clutching Himeros to her chest, her entire body trembling.

"Stop interfering, you little pests," Phorcys sneered. His eyes roved over Aphrodite's shifting, flawless form, and his voice grew thick with a malevolent, possessive hunger. "We'll play with your cute little bodies after we've finished with the main course."

He gurgled, a hideous mockery of praise aimed at the tiny gods. "You've done a fine job, little ones. All this... terror..." He gestured to Aphrodite. "It's seasoned her perfectly."

He took a slimy step further into the cove, speaking now to Ceto, but at Aphrodite. "We've been patient, haven't we, my love? Watching her. Letting that new-god essence... settle in. We've waited weeks for her to be just ripe." His gaze dropped, his voice a lecherous whisper. "And now... she is just the way I like 'em."

Ceto's gurgling voice rose, bubbling with a vile, gluttonous greed. "Fear not, girl, we will not take you dry; in fact, we will make you wetter than ever before! We will fill you with our spawn. We will breed new, beautiful monsters from your flesh! You should be delighted!"

Alright, that was enough.

I strode from the surf, the sea flattening in my wake. My voice made the air crackle."Phorcys, Ceto. Enough!"

I felt Aphrodite's aura, that chaotic symphony of Want, hitch and spike. A new flavour was added to the mix: a sharp, icy terror. And it wasn't aimed at the monsters. It was aimed at me. Of course. Why would she think I was any different? To her, I was just a new and unknown threat, one more powerful than the others, arriving to join in and take my 'share'.

Phorcys turned to face me and laughed, a wet, grinding sound. "A son of Kronos!" he gurgled, his eyes flicking between me and Aphrodite, sizing me up. "What a surprise! Oh, he's a powerful one! Look at the shoulders on him, Ceto!"

Ceto gurgled in appreciation. "Strong. Yes. Very strong."

"Well, don't just stand there!" Phorcys sneered, gesturing with his torch, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial, lecherous tone. "We saw her first, but... look at the meat on her. There's plenty to go around. She's ours, but if you hand over that trident you're carrying, I'll let you have the scraps of her left after we're done!"

My jaw clenched. The casual, vulgar assumption made my ichor boil. I felt Aphrodite's aura dim, her fear becoming a suffocating, silent scream. She thought I'd accept and that she was doomed.

I levelled my trident. "I'm going to give you one chance," I said, my voice flat. "You will leave this island. You will return to the dark from which you came and swear oaths of eternal fealty to me as the new King of these Seas. Or I will... break... you."

Phorcys's sneer faltered, his ancient mind finally processing the threat I posed. "You'd fight us... for her? Are you that greedy for some—"

I didn't let him finish. I slammed my trident on the sand and re-anchored the very bedrock beneath our feet.

The entire island tore free from the seafloor and leapt. A thirty-metre column of roiling ocean and shattered rock blasted upwards as the entire landmass was flung high into the air, and held there for one sickening, weightless second. Ceto, Phorcys, Aphrodite, and I, all of us, were thrown off our feet, flailing in zero-gravity as the world vanished beneath us.

The chaos was my cover. In the microsecond of weightlessness, before the island began its earth-shattering descent, I moved. I crossed the beach, grabbed Aphrodite by the waist, and scooped up the two flailing Erotes. I transported the four of us five hundred metres out to sea, willing the ocean to obey. A smooth, dry platform of compressed water and hardened salt formed beneath them, a stable refuge.

"Stay here," I commanded as I set them down, my voice flat. "You're safe now."

I didn't wait for a reply. Before her wide, shocked eyes could even blink, I was gone, flashing back as a bolt of seawater, aiming for the apex of their fall.

Phorcys was pinwheeling in mid-air, his face a mask of stunned confusion. I met him there, far above the rapidly approaching ocean, and back-handed him.

My knuckles met his face with a precision born from a decade of war-honed experience.

There was no sound at first, just a silent, absolute transfer of force. Then the world tore apart. The BOOM of the impact was a physical thing, a shockwave that obliterated the clouds in every direction, leaving a perfect, circular hole of clear blue sky. The sheer pressure of the blow lanced downwards; the falling island beneath us, not even touched by my fist, cracked and splintered, a fifty-metre crater of pulverised rock appearing on its surface from the concussive force alone.

Phorcys's crab-shell armour imploded inwards, a sound like a mountain cracking in half. He didn't fly sideways. He was blasted downwards, trailing fire and steam like a comet.

He struck the ocean with the force of a meteor. The sea flash-boiled on impact, a kilometre-wide crater of steam and spray erupting as he ploughed into the water... and kept going. He became a divine skipping stone, but his skips were half-kilometre-long trenches ripped through the water and the bedrock beneath it. He cartwheeled, each impact a geyser, leaving a trail of steam for ten solid kilometres before smashing into the side of a neighbouring volcanic atoll, shattering its peak.

That was one of them out of the way. Now for the other.

I turned my eyes to Ceto and smirked. She was a screaming, tumbling mountain of blubber, plummeting helplessly towards the sea. The island I'd launched was descending just above her, a colossal stone hammer waiting to fall. The timing had to be perfect.

I shot under the falling landmass, aimed my trident at its stony underside, and roared. A pillar of pure, pressurised water erupted from the ocean to meet it, a hydraulic ram that arrested its descent for one crucial half-second. It was just long enough. Ceto's helpless, falling form passed directly into the perfect drop zone.

With a second command, I vaporised the pillar. Gravity reclaimed its prize, and I added my own fury to its pull. I slammed my fists into the water, and a final pulse rocketed from the seafloor, meeting the island and driving it down onto Ceto with the force of a nuclear bomb.

The CRUNCH of the impact was absolute, a sound that was felt more than heard, as thousands of tonnes of rock and earth met the unyielding bulk of a god. The island slammed back into its original footprint, and the sea convulsed. A thirty-metre-high tsunami, a sheer, circular wall of white water, blasted outwards in all directions, a ring of pure destruction.

My will was a fortress. The wave hit an invisible barrier around the saltwater platform, splitting and parting around Aphrodite and the two wide-eyed Erotes, leaving them in a circle of perfect, impossible calm as the world-ending surge raced past them.

The sea around the island itself flash-boiled, venting plumes of steam that hissed from new fissures in the resettled rock. Ceto was gone, pinned, crushed, and trapped beneath a mountain.

A temporary victory.

I turned my eyes to the horizon, focusing my divine sight, pushing it past the curve of the world to the shattered volcanic atoll five kilometres distant. I saw the fresh crater where Phorcys had struck. I watched, my jaw tight with a familiar annoyance, as his pulped, divine flesh writhed and re-knitted itself at a sickening pace. The Titanomachy had taught me this infuriating lesson: a god doesn't go down easily. The cracks in his chitinous armour flowed shut like cooling lava. He was already a blur of green rage, his torch relit, hurtling back across the surface of the sea, a vengeful spear aimed at my heart.

He saw the island, saw his mate and sister were gone, and he screeched, a cry of pure, primordial loss and fury that tore through the air. Beneath my feet, the entire island groaned. The rock vibrated with a living, captive rage. Ceto wasn't dead, obviously. Not by a long shot. And she was just as furious as her Brother-Husband.

"Children!" her voice, muffled, furious, and amplified by the stone, boomed from the very rock I was standing on. "Feast on his bones!"

The sea around the island churned as her brood answered. A blur of six serpentine necks, Scylla, erupted from the surf. From the sand itself, her other children clawed their way out: the cackling, ancient Graiai, and a hundred Gorgonai, lesser, proto-forms eerily similar to what would one day be the infamous trio of Gorgons. These were monstrous hags of the deep, their hands tipped with claws of jagged obsidian.

They all charged me simultaneously.

I met them with a roar, a pulse of my power that incinerated the first wave. The pulse of energy I released was strong enough to turn dozens of the Gorgonai to dust. It didn't matter. A hundred more took their place, a tide of slithering, grasping flesh.

I was a god, but I was also a single point. I could unmake them, but they were climbing me. I was a mountain, and they were a tide of venomous ants. I blasted a chasm, and they swarmed over its edges. I summoned a hydro-blast, and it just cleared a path for more. Scylla's six heads were a tangle of necks, impossible to track. I'd spear one, and two more would take its place, fangs sinking deep into my divine flesh. The Gorgonai were at my legs, their serpentine hair a hissing, venomous tide, their obsidian claws finding purchase.

My trident became a blur, a whirlwind, an extension of my own domain. I was the eye of a hurricane of my own making. For every Gorgonai I impaled, three more scrambled over their sister's corpse. I tore a chasm in the earth with a stomp, and the Graiai shrieked with glee, using the crumbling ledge to leap at my throat. I was a god of the sea, a king of the depths, yet here on this cursed rock, I was being drowned in a tide of writhing flesh.

Scylla was the true menace. My knowledge of the myths to come was a curse, a premonition of her danger that screamed in my mind and made me hesitate. Her six heads darted and weaved on their impossibly long necks, a hydra of the sea, each one a separate, thinking predator. I parried a lunge, my trident's tine scraping against fangs that dripped a venom so potent it sizzled on my divine skin. The pain was a distant, annoying thrum, but the venom's true purpose was insidious; it clouded the mind, a psychic fog that would dull my connection to the sea.

Phorcys saw his opening. While five of Scylla's heads feigned an attack on my right, he lunged from the left, his green torch held low. The sickly light wasn't just fire; it was an illusion, a weapon of the mind. It struck my senses, and for a fraction of a second, the horde of monsters vanished, replaced by the towering, wrathful face of my father, Kronos. The phantom roared, and the primal fear, the memory of being swallowed whole, coiled in my gut.

It was only a moment, but a moment was all they needed.

The sixth head of Scylla struck. Fangs like obsidian daggers punched through the divine muscle of my shoulder. A jolt, cold and sharp, shot through me as her venom flooded my ichor. Simultaneously, Phorcys drove the butt of his torch into my ribs with a crack of chitin and a grunt of triumph. I roared, a sound of pure frustration and fury, and unleashed a wave of raw power that sent them all reeling back. I tore Scylla's head from my shoulder, golden ichor weeping from the wound, and hurled the snarling beast into the churning sea.

But I was tangled. Gorgonai clung to my legs, their weight a constant drag. Phorcys was circling, his torch flaring, ready for another trick. Ceto's hateful laughter echoed from the rock beneath me, fuelling her children's frenzy. They were winning. Not by strength, but by a thousand venomous bites, a smothering, relentless assault. My rage was a bonfire, but they were trying to snuff it out with a mountain of filth.

"ENOUGH!" My voice was the sound of the seabed splitting open. I slammed my trident down, and a shockwave of pressurised water erupted outwards, atomising the closest ranks of monsters and blasting the rest clear. For a single, blessed second, there was a circle of clear sand around me.

It was in that moment of silence, I felt a shift in the world.

The cloying, desperate aura of Want and Procreation that had radiated from Aphrodite was… changing. It was being forged, compressed by the violence she was witnessing. The raw, untamed force of Desire was finding a focus. The fear for her own violation, the terror of being made a brood-mother for monsters, was the fire. My own unrestrained, furious battle was the hammer. She was watching a male god fight not to possess her, but to protect her. And in that act, something dormant and terrible within her own divine nature answered the call.

The chaotic symphony of her being suddenly resolved into a single, piercing note. It was the sound of a bronze-tipped spear cleaving the air.

Her flickering, unstable form solidified. The soft flesh hardened into something more than marble, more than granite. It became living bronze. Her hair, no longer shifting, blazed into a banner of blood-red, braided with strands of gold. Her eyes, once pools of pleading terror, now burned with the cold, focused light of a supernova. Armour, forged from pressurised salt and solidified sea-foam, materialised over her body, covering her from throat to shin in gleaming, pearlescent plate. A spear, its point a shard of crystallised wrath, appeared in one hand, while a shield, shimmering like the surface of a perfectly calm sea, strapped itself to her other arm.

This was not Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love.

This was the War Goddess Aphrodite Areia. The Warlike. The Bringer of Passionate Fury.

Her voice, when she spoke, cut through the din like a razor, cold and absolute. "You came to violate me."

Her burning eyes flicked to me, a glint of terrible, new understanding. "You taught me terror." She glanced at my fighting form, then back at Phorcys, her power rolling off her in waves of cold, metallic passion. "He taught me wrath."

She levelled her spear. "You thought Love was a passive prize to be taken. You were wrong. Love... is a fury. And you will not touch what protects me, and I protect in turn."

She moved. She wasn't a blur; she was an inevitability. One moment, she was on her saltwater platform; the next, she was in the heart of the Gorgonai swarm. Her spear was a piston of death. She didn't bother with decapitation; she drove the point straight through their skulls, their chests, pulping their monstrous hearts. Where I was a tidal wave, she was a focused, inescapable current. The Gorgonai, who had been so eager to swarm me, shrieked and fell back from this new, terrifying beauty.

Phorcys stared, his lecherous grin frozen on his face. "What—"

Aphrodite was upon him. Her shield met his torch with a clang of cosmic finality, extinguishing the green flame. Her spear-point rested a hair's breadth from his throat. "You," she snarled, her voice a low, terrifying promise of pain, "have offended me."

With Phorcys checked and the swarm in disarray, I turned my full attention to the true problem. I looked down at the island beneath my feet. "CETO!" I bellowed, my voice shaking the very stone. "Your children are broken! Your mate is humbled! Face me!"

The only answer was a furious, muffled curse from below.

"So be it."

I raised my trident high. The sky darkened, and the sea for leagues around me rose, forming a single, colossal wave that dwarfed the island, a liquid mountain hanging in the air. Then, I brought it down. Not on the island, but around it. The water struck the seafloor with the force of a thousand meteors, the pressure wave fracturing the bedrock. With a final, guttural roar, I drove my will into the earth and tore.

The island split in two. The rock groaned, shattered, and was ripped asunder, revealing the massive, pulped form of Ceto pinned in the trench below. She was already regenerating, her blubbery flesh writhing to seal the wounds, but she was exposed.

Aphrodite, seeing my action, finished her own. She disarmed Phorcys, her spear a blur, hamstringing him with a single, contemptuous slash. As he fell, gurgling in shock, she drove her heel into his face, pinning him to the sand.

I strode into the chasm I had created. Ceto saw me coming, her many eyes wide with a fear she hadn't felt in millennia.

"You wished to breed," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "To fill her with your spawn."

I levelled my trident, not at her head, but lower, at the vast, generative centre of her monstrous form. I poured my will into the weapon, not heat, but the opposite. The tines hummed, glowing with a frigid, blue-white light, the absolute zero of the deepest trench, the sterile, crushing pressure of the abyss.

She shrieked, knowing what was coming.

"Then breed no more."

I thrust the trident deep into her. It wasn't a killing blow. A flash of icy, blue light pulsed outwards. Where it struck, her flesh didn't just burn; it was salted. Her divine essence recoiled as a wave of pure, sterile Order flash-froze her primordial concept of procreation. It was a wound that would not, could not, heal, for my divine will was now a permanent, icy cyst in her very being, a curse of eternal barrenness for as long as I deemed it to be.

I ripped the trident free, leaving a gaping, frost-rimmed wound that wept golden ichor and flakes of salt. She thrashed, her cries now a sound of pure loss.

I returned to the surface to find Aphrodite standing over the whimpering Phorcys, her spear-point at his throat. I walked past her, my face a mask of cold judgment. I stood over the cowering male god.

"You will sire nothing," I stated.

Phorcys's one good eye widened in abject terror. "No... please..."

I didn't bother with a grand swing. With a single, brutal, downward thrust, I drove the butt of my trident into his groin. The same frigid, blue-white light flared, the same conceptual salting. He screamed, a thin, pathetic sound that was cut short by a wave of agonising, permanent sterility.

"You will swear an oath," I commanded, my voice booming over their agony. "On the River Styx. You and your children will serve me as Master of the Seas. You will guard the trenches and the dark places in my name. You will never again rise to the surface without my leave. Swear it, or I will unmake you piece by piece and scatter your essence to the void."

Mutilated, broken, and defeated in a way they couldn't even comprehend, they swore. The oath settled over them, a chain of purest fate, and the world itself bore witness.

"Go," I commanded. "Crawl back to your darkness before I change my mind."

Without another word, they vanished, dragging their mutilated forms back into the crushing depths they called home. The remaining monsters, their will broken, fled after them, a tide of failure receding into the abyss.

Silence fell. The sea calmed, the sky cleared. The only sounds were the gentle lapping of waves on the shore and our breathing. The broken island was a ruin, littered with the dissolving dust of fallen Gorgonai. I looked at the goddess before me. Her armour dissolved back into seafoam, her spear and shield vanishing. Her hair softened from blood-red to a warm gold, and the terrifying light in her eyes gentled, though it did not lose its fire. She was Aphrodite once more, though forever changed.

I gestured to a fallen tree, its trunk massive and bleached by the sun, that had been thrown onto the beach by the chaos. Wordlessly, I sat down, the fury of battle draining from me, leaving only a profound weariness. After a moment, she walked over and sat beside me, the sand crunching softly under her feet. We watched the waves for a long time.

"I am Poseidon," I said finally, my voice quiet.

She turned to look at me, her gaze direct and impossibly deep. A small, genuine smile touched her lips for the first time. "My companions call me Aphrodite."

A flutter of tiny wings broke the quiet. The two Erotes, Eros and Himeros, zipped over from their saltwater platform, their panicked expressions from before replaced with awestruck relief. They landed on the sand before me and bowed in their clumsy, childlike way.

"Oh, strong and grand, you saved the land!" chirped Eros, his little voice no longer a shriek."A mighty lord, by us adored!" added Himeros, beaming.

I gave them a curt nod, unsure how to respond to the rhyming children. Before I could speak, Aphrodite's voice, now soft and melodic, cut through.

"That's enough, little ones. Go... go find me the prettiest flower on the island. A red one."

"Yes, my lady!" they chimed in unison and vanished in a blur of white wings, grateful for a simple task.

With them gone, the silence returned, but it felt heavier now, filled with unasked questions. She was the first to speak, her voice quiet.

"I... I didn't know I could do that. With the spear." She looked down at her hands, as if seeing them for the first time. "I just... I saw you fighting. I saw them hurting you... And I was so angry. I... it just... happened."

"You were magnificent," I said simply. "You saved me from a great deal of annoyance."

"And you... You're bleeding!" she gasped, her war persona gone, replaced by a sudden, genuine concern. She pointed to my shoulder, where the ichor still wept from Scylla's bite.

Before I could wave it off, she reached out, her small, warm hand hovering over the wound. A gentle, rose-gold light emanated from her palm, and a wave of pure, conceptual Pleasure washed over me. It didn't seal the wound; my own regeneration was already doing that, but it instantly erased the dull, venomous ache, replacing it with a warm, tingling calm.

I stared at her, awed by the casual, precise power in her touch. I hadn't ever expected her to be capable of such a thing with her powers.

"You are... incredible."

She blushed, a lovely shade of pink that seemed to colour the very air around her. "Love heals wounds... so it's what I'm supposed to do. I think." She drew her hand back, and we sat for another long moment. Her gaze drifted from me to the ruined beach, then to the endless, dark sea.

"Why?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Why what?"

"Why did you save me?" She turned to me, her eyes, no longer burning with Areia's light, were an impossible, mesmerising shade, and they were filled with genuine confusion. "Phorcys... he was right. You're a son of Kronos, the great king. You could have... taken your 'share' of me. Why fight them for me?"

I didn't answer right away. I let the silence stretch, focusing on the gentle, rhythmic hiss of the surf washing over the sand. The sea was finally quiet, calm, and mine. The feeling of the cool water lapping at the log, the salt spray on my skin... it was a balm. But her question brought a sharp, biting shame. She was right. I was king of this domain, and I had almost let this happen. I was offended at myself for not sensing her distress sooner, for not arriving before those... things ... had even touched her shell.

I would have to see it repaired with haste, perhaps as a welcoming gift once she was accepted into the pantheon.

I finally looked at her. "I've seen enough of the old ways," I said, my voice flat, holding a new edge of self-recrimination. "I'm tired of monsters devouring things just because they can. This is my ocean now." I gestured to the ruined beach. "That I... that I stood by for even a moment... is an offence. But I'm here now. And they won't do it again."

That seemed to be an answer she understood. She nodded, accepting it. Her gaze fell to her own bare feet, then back to the waves lapping at the shore. I saw her look at the sea, and for the first time, I saw that old terror flicker in her eyes. It clicked.

"Your shell," I said, gesturing to the cracked, discarded scallop. "You were born in the sea-foam, but you never left it. Why?"

Aphrodite went still. Her newfound confidence evaporated. "It's... stupid," she muttered, looking away. "It's... humiliating."

"More humiliating than dealing with those two?"

She took a shaky breath. "I was born from the sea. But I... I don't know how to swim." Her voice was a small, embarrassed whisper. "The water is... It's vast, and... it's full of... creatures like them. From the start, I could sense their hunger for me, their eagerness to take me the moment I entered the water."

I didn't laugh at her vulnerability; after all, there were worse things in this world for gods like us to fear than the ocean. Instead, I stood up.

"You're not wrong," I said gently. "The sea is bursting with life and all sorts of things. But it's also my home." I waded into the crystal-clear, calm water, the foam bubbling around my ankles, letting the gentle surf surge around my knees. I turned and offered her my hand.

"And I can make it yours, too. If you'll let me. May I show you?"

She looked at my offered hand, then at my eyes. A slow, dazzling, real smile spread across her face, and it was a more potent force than her Areia form by far.

"I think I'd like that," she said.

She took my hand. And for the first time, Aphrodite, Goddess of Love and War, willingly stepped into the ocean.

The water was a perfect, impossible turquoise and warm as a new breath. It lapped gently at her waist as she held my hands, her knuckles white.

"It's... endless," she whispered, her eyes wide as she looked at the endless horizon.

"It is," I agreed, my voice low. "But it's mine. And it won't hurt you. I promise."

I guided her out until the water reached her chest. She was, as I'd first seen, utterly naked, but the leering, bestial desire I'd felt earlier was gone, replaced by a simple appreciation of the divine fact of her.

She let go of one of my hands and waded a little closer, her body heat a tangible presence in the water. Her eyes, those deep, mesmerising pools, darkened from a shy peach to a smouldering rose. This was her domain, her core. She understood exchange.

"You've been so very good to me, Poseidon," she whispered, her voice a low, alluring thrum that vibrated in the water. "A handsome god and a warrior. You fought for me. You protected me. Oh, my... my... what should I call you?"

"Poseidon is fine."

"No, no." She shook her head, her hair sending droplets across my chest. "It's too... formal. I will call you... My Seaheart. Yes. I like that."

She rose on her toes, her breasts pressing lightly against my bare chest. "You deserve a reward. It is the law of the cosmos, isn't it? An equivalent exchange. Tell me... what do you desire? What pleasure can I give you? I am... very new... but I'm a fast learner."

Her hand, which had been in mine, slid from my grasp and rested on my waist, her intent clear and unabashed.

I caught her wrist gently. My pulse was hammering, but not just from her aura. I was looking at a being who believed her only value, her only way to repay a kindness, was this. There was more to Love, Desire, Pleasure, and Beauty than mere prostitution.

"Aphrodite," I said, my voice soft but firm. "That's not why I did this."

She froze, pulling back in genuine surprise. Her pout was a weapon of mass destruction. "But... I can feel your... passion." Her gaze flicked down, and I felt her aura consciously stroke my own divine essence, a tangible, velvety touch. "It's a shame to waste it. We would both enjoy it. I could... ride you... right here, my Seaheart. I could make you release hard enough to shake the seas you rule. I can feel how much you want it. Why deny us both such... gratitude?"

My throat was dry. "Later, perhaps," I managed, my voice a little rougher than I intended. I offered her a small smile. "Right now, you have another lesson to learn. One prize at a time."

Her pout melted, replaced by a slow, analysing smile. "A man who waits? Who values a lesson over the chance to fuck me? How... interesting. You are not like those monsters at all." She sighed, a dramatic, put-upon sound. "Very well. Teach me."

"Alright. First, just float. Lean back. I've got you."

I slid my hands to the small of her back. She tensed, then, trusting me, let out a breath and leaned back, her body light and buoyant in the salt water. I held her, my hands supporting her weight as she floated, her head resting near my shoulder.

"Oh..." she sighed, her eyes closing in pure bliss. "That's... nice. It feels... warm."

We stayed like that for a long moment, the sun beginning to dip, painting the sky in shades of orange and violet. The trauma of the fight faded.

"Alright. Swimming is about moving with the water, not fighting it. Lie flat on your front this time. I'll hold you." She did, and I supported her by the waist. "Good. Now, kick. Not from your knees, from your hips. Long, straight legs. Just... flutter."

She did, and the water began to churn.

"Perfect. Now, your arms." I moved to stand in front of her. "Reach out, one arm at a time. Pull the water straight back, all the way past your hip. When one arm is pulling, the other is recovering. See?" I demonstrated the front crawl, my arm cutting cleanly through the water.

She watched, her eyes sharp and focused. The Goddess of Victory was a terrifyingly fast student. She nodded once, and I moved back to support her.

"I'm letting go," I warned.

She put it all together. Her form was a little clumsy at first, but in less than a minute, she found the rhythm. Her kicks became smooth, and her arms began to pull with a nascent power.

"I'm doing it!" she squealed, paddling a clumsy, happy circle around me. "Look, Poseidon! I'm swimming!"

She let out a real, genuine, bell-like laugh of pure joy and splashed me.

I laughed, splashing her back. A full-on splash-fight erupted, one which I, of course, took too far, summoning a small waterspout that drenched her from above. She emerged, sputtering, hair plastered to her face, looking utterly indignant... before she broke into another peal of laughter that echoed across the quiet beach.

As the stars began to appear, we waded back to the beach, the air cool, the sand still warm. She sat on the log, and I stood before her, looking out at my sea. It felt more like mine now than it ever had.

With a flick of my wrist, I used my domain to draw a bit of seawater, mixing it with the sand to the perfect consistency. I showed her how to pack it, how to form walls and towers. She created intricate, beautiful patterns on the walls. I built a tiny moat. It was... peaceful. We sat there, two of the most powerful beings in creation, getting our hands dirty and building a small, simple sandcastle as the moon began to settle overhead.

"The summer solstice is in two months," I said, my voice quiet.

She looked up at me, wringing the water from her long, golden hair. "Solstice?"

"A... meeting of the gods. On Mount Olympus." I turned to her. "I wish to introduce you. To my kin."

"Will there be dancing?" she asked, a playful, assessing glint in her eye. "I'd really like to dance."

"I think," I said, "we can definitely arrange that."

Chapter 8: I Put My Monsters on a Leash

"It's... It's mine?" Aphrodite's voice was a whisper, her wide, mesmerising eyes fixed on the island I'd brought her to.

It was one of the seven that crowned my new capital, a jewel of white sand, lush jungle, and a small, turquoise lagoon that steamed gently from the vents below. Her cracked scallop shell, which I'd repaired as best I could, sat at the mouth of a nearby sea cave, its surface gleaming.

"It's... a sanctuary," I said, my voice quiet. "A safe harbour, if you'll have it."

"Home," she tested the word. She turned to me, the setting sun painting her skin in hues of rose and gold. She had already, I noted, begun to put her own touch on the place through her mere presence. The rocks of the lagoon were blooming with vibrant pink flowers I'd never seen before, and the air smelled of wild roses.

The word "home" hung in the air, feeling heavier than what I'd intended.

"Or just a place to stay," I clarified, not wanting to sound like I was trapping her. "To rest until you decide what you wish to do for yourself. This place is... isolated, I'll admit. Peaceful, sure, but isolated. I know most of our kind are currently living on Mount Olympus. It's well-populated. Busy. Lots of other gods, goddesses and nymphs of all kinds, if you'd prefer to socialise rather than be alone out here. I can certainly get you settled there, if you'd prefer."

My mind briefly conjured an absurd and utterly delightful image of pitching Hestia the idea of becoming a divine real estate agent. She was the goddess of the Hearth and Home, after all. It was a perfect fit. I could easily picture her, blessedly innocent and earnest, wearing a small, neatly pressed chiton with a himation folded smartly over her arm like a business suit. She'd be holding a little scroll listing the available households, her face serious as she led new gods on tours.

I could almost hear her gentle, enthusiastic voice.

'And this Oikos (Home), as you can see, has an excellent view of the sunrise. The stone here is very warm, and I've already consecrated the central hearth myself, so it's quite stable. If you wake up early enough, you'll likely see my sister Hera going for her morning stroll right along that path, so be sure to say hi! Oh, and the ambrosia cellars are just a short walk away!'

She'd probably love it. The thought almost made me smile.

I pushed it aside. "It's your choice. But this place is yours, for as long as you want it."

It's funny. In my old life, hospitality was a casual thing, a mate crashing on the sofa, or popping over to the neighbours' for a backyard barbecue. Often very temporary. Here, I'd quickly learned (post-vomiting) how truly sacred the concept was. The Ancient Greeks had... or now, I suppose, would in time come to believe that Zeus himself tested them by disguising himself as a humble stranger. They would have powerful, divine reasons to treat all guests with proper respect and ritual, lest they accidentally mistreat the King of the Gods under their own roof.

But seeing Aphrodite's earnest, simple joy, what I felt wasn't the satisfaction of following a sacred tradition. It was something more fundamental. Giving someone a permanent, safe home... that simple, deeply personal act had a weight, a rightness I'd never felt before. It felt like the first real brick in the foundation of the man I was trying to be.

"You get first pick, by the way," I said, gesturing to the other six islands, dark and silent against the horizon. "I also plan on inviting my siblings to have homes here, though I imagine most may choose to live on Mount. Olympus. You just... well, you happened to be the first one I've brought here."

Aphrodite's eyes widened, and she pressed her fingertips together in front of her, leaning in just a fraction. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial, breathy whisper.

"The first one? Oh, Seaheart... are you sure you should be saying that so loud?"

"What? I just meant—"

"First pick, first choice... my, my." She brought one hand up to cover her mouth in a mock-bashful gesture, but her eyes were sparkling, absolutely all-knowing. "A powerful new king, with seven beautiful and private islands all to himself... and you bring me here first?"

She let the hand drop, her expression turning openly, unabashedly teasing. "And I'm just the first? Oh, how exciting!"

My face flushed gold, a hot rush of ichor I couldn't control. A groan escaped me, but I couldn't stop the smirk that followed. "You're terrible."

"Am I?" Her laugh, a bright, chiming sound, was my reward. "I'm the goddess of love, Seaheart. I know exactly what desire looks like." She tapped my chest with a single, perfect finger. "And I know what a man building a paradise looks like, too. I just had to see what kind."

Her smile softened then, the teasing light fading into something more genuine and thoughtful.

"As for your other offer," she said, her voice quiet, "Olympus... it sounds too much for my tastes. And after..." She shivered, a brief, violent tremor that had nothing to do with the sea breeze. "Honestly, I'm grateful for some quiet. For a place to be alone for a while."

A spark of her mischief returned, and she winked. "Besides, I think I'd rather see Olympus for the first time walking arm-in-arm with you at the Solstice. We can make an entrance together! Oh, I can't wait to see the looks on all their faces!"

Her gaze met mine, suddenly stripped of all artifice. It was the most vulnerable I'd seen her. "I was born of the sea, Seaheart. This feels right. And... I feel safer here. With you close at hand, should anyone ever try that again."

I held her gaze. It was a hell of a thing to have a literal goddess place her trust in me, but she was missing the most important part. "I saw your fire on that beach, Aphrodite. The Areia in you. I have a feeling you can take care of yourself just fine, with or without me."

Her laugh was bright as a supernova. And in that instant, as I watched her genuine, unrestrained, and dangerously sharp-witted joy, a cold sweat-drop trickled down my back.

Ah. Shit.

I had just given first dibs on my new kingdom to a goddess I'd just met. A goddess who was, without question, the most gorgeous being in all of creation. My sisters, Hera in particular, were absolutely, one-hundred-per cent going to kill me. Half-joking, half-serious, I made a mental note to be wearing my best set of armour under my clothes when I finally introduced her to everyone at the Solstice.

She stepped close, rising on her toes to press her lips to my cheek. The contact was electric, a gentle warmth that had nothing to do with her Areia aspect and everything to do with the goddess of love. It was a gift, freely given. The formal, divine reciprocity, the charis (grace), for my hospitality.

"A guest-gift, Seaheart," she whispered. "For my new home. Thank you."

"I'll be holding my first council here soon. A formal gathering of the sea's divinities. I would be honoured if you would attend."

"I will," she said. "Now go." She shooed me, a playful, assessing glint in her eye. "You have that... look. The one you had before you tore those monsters apart. Go and do whatever it is Kings do. I will be here when you return."

A mischievous grin spread across her face as she turned to the lagoon. "But first... I have so much to explore. So many possibilities! Himeros! Eros! Come, my darlings! We have a most delightful task ahead of us!"

A flutter of tiny wings broke the quiet. The two Erotes, Eros and Himeros, zipped over from the scallop shell. They landed on the sand before me and bowed in their clumsy, childlike way.

"We saw it all! The monsters fall!" chirped Himeros, his little voice no longer a shriek."Your power's bright! A mighty light!" Eros added, puffing out his little chest. "We'll sing your praise for all our days!"

I smiled tightly at the little gods, my mind still half on Hera's future wrath with me. Did they... always talk like that? Surely it was just an act they were putting on to fit with their divine domain... right? A few centuries of non-stop rhyming couplets sounded like a specific, undiscovered circle of Tartarus. I made a mental note to ask Aphrodite in private sometime.

Aphrodite just laughed, a sound like wind chimes. "Oh, stop it, you two. We have work to do!" She held out her hand. A single, blood-red pomegranate seed rested in her palm. With a look of intense concentration, she knelt and pressed the seed into the black volcanic soil near the lagoon.

The effect was instantaneous. The dark sand blushed. A lush, flowering myrtle tree sprang up, unfurling its leaves in seconds. The air, already sweet with rose, thickened with the scent of myrrh. Vibrant red anemones and roses bloomed in a carpet around the lagoon's edge, their impossible colour a stark, beautiful contrast to the white sand.

"Ah, that's better," she sighed, brushing soil from her hands.

She clapped her hands, her eyes sparkling with an idea. "Now it's time to really explore!"

Before I could say another word, she laughed, and her entire form dissolved. She exploded into a swirling, cooing cloud of two dozen pure white doves. The flock circled the lagoon once, a living vortex of joy, before scattering to every corner of the small island.

Eros and Himeros let out identical, high-pitched groans.

"My lady, not again! Your form, please maintain!" Eros zipped into the air, his little wings a blur. "Our sandals get wet!" Himeros wailed, chasing a dove that was swooping low over the turquoise water. "On this we have bet!"

Eros, in his frantic chase, zipped past my head. He stopped, hovering at my eye level. His impish grin was gone, replaced by an unnerving, wide-eyed seriousness, but the sing-song rhyme remained, making his next words even more chilling.

"A warning, Lord, so please take care," he chirped, his voice suddenly lacking all its warmth. "Of all the loving hearts you share! Be careful of your own desire, And all the passions you inspire!"

He tapped his tiny, unstrung bow, his expression almost grave.

"A heart can build, a heart can crash, A kingdom rise, or burn to ash! Even the ground beneath your feet can feel a want so strong and sweet."

Before I could process that, his impish grin returned in a flash. "But for today, you are our friend! On this, we can depend!" He winked, then shot off after his brother, shouting, "The goose is loose! I mean the dove! Oh, for the love!"

I stood there, momentarily stunned and confused at what any of that meant.

One white dove peeled off from the flock and landed gently on my shoulder. It cooed, a soft, warm sound that resonated directly in my mind with Aphrodite's voice.

'Go, Seaheart. Your work isn't finished.'

The dove nuzzled my cheek, a soft, feathery contact that was as electric as her kiss. Another charis, a thank you for the freedom to be herself. Then, it too launched into the air, rejoining the chaos of its flock.

I gave her one last nod, then turned and dived from the cliffs of her new island, striking the water in a clean, silent line.

The warmth of her presence faded instantly, replaced by the cool, immense silence of my own domain. I sank beneath the waves, down into the vast, empty plain of my new capital. The seven islands were silent above me, the glowing veins of Orichalcum in the seabed a map of a city not yet built.

My time with Aphrodite had been a necessary balm. But it was over. A king's anger had time to cool. A king's duty did not. I had made a vow to do more than just put Ceto and Phorcys in their proper place.

I floated in the centre of my future kingdom, a single point of will in the deep, and I pulled. I found the metaphysical lines of the Styx oath that bound my new vassals, and yanking them. I felt the lines shudder, leagues away in the dark, and then the sickening, wet tear of reality as I dragged them to me.

The water in front of me tore open. A gout of black, oily brine and the stench of millennia-old rot spilled into my pristine caldera. First came Phorcys. He was no longer the leering, crab-armoured god. He was a wreck. The "salting" I had inflicted upon him had taken root. His flesh looked waterlogged, his scaled skin a dull, dead grey. The barrenness I had cursed him with was not just a fact of his body; it was an aura, a cloud of cold sterility that made the water around him seem to freeze.

Ceto followed, collapsing from the portal in a quivering, blubbery heap. She was worse. Her regeneration was fighting my curse and losing. Badly. Where my trident had struck her, the wound remained, a gaping chasm in her being that wept sluggish, colourless ichor.

They fixed their many hateful and fearful eyes on me.

"You... summoned us, Lord Poseidon." Phorcys gurgled, the word a physical object of spite he was forced to cough up. I could feel his self-loathing at having to address me so formally.

"You know why you are here," I stated. My voice was flat. There was no more room for negotiation. I'd given them an out, and so felt no pity for their new circumstances.

Ceto hissed, a sound like a thousand dying fish. "Our brood-mares... You would... steal our livestock?"

My hand twitched. The urge to unmake her, piece by piece, was so strong it was a physical taste in my mouth. I fought it down.

"You misunderstand," I said, my voice dropping, the water turning still. "I am not here to steal from you, for those Nymphs are living beings and not your property. I am here to fulfil a promise to see them freed. You," I pointed at them, "are here to begin your servitude."

"My first command, bound by your oath, is this: you will undo the crimes you so enjoyed. You will take me to the nymphs you have kidnapped. You will do it now. And you will not, for one second, leave my sight."

Phorcys let out a wet, choked sound, a gurgle of absolute fury that his oath would not let him voice. He could only nod. They turned and plunged back into the dark water, a stain of filth and despair. I followed them.

The journey was a descent into pure oppression. We left the sunlit upper levels, left the territories of the Nereids, left the deep migration paths of the leviathans. We went down.

We travelled almost deeper than the trench where I had met Pontus. That had been a place of conceptual, clean nothingness. This was a place of filth. A place of discarded, ancient life and choking, sulphuric vents. The water was not black; it was a thick, soupy brown, and it stank of decay.

Phorcys and Ceto, in their element, swam with a miserable grace. We passed through a region they had clearly marked as their own. Lesser monsters, things with too many teeth and not enough eyes, scattered from our path, sensing and fearing their masters' attention.

Finally, we arrived at a chasm. It was not a natural feature. It looked like a wound, a place where the planet's skin had been torn open, and the wound had festered. This, I sensed with a deep, primal revulsion, was the Maw.

My vassals paused. "They are down there in the deep-dark," Ceto hissed. "In the nursery. Where they are kept secure."

"Show me," I commanded.

We swam into the Maw. The "prison" wasn't a structure of coral or stone. It was a vast, lightless cavern, its walls pulsing softly, as if the entire cave were some single, colossal, sleeping beast. And in the oppressive dark, I heard it.

Weeping.

Hundreds of soft, terrified, hopeless sobs, echoing from the blackness. I lit my trident, the blue-white light cutting through the gloom, and I truly saw what they had done.

They were huddled in the centre of the cavern, a desperate, shivering mass of divine flesh. Oceanids and Nereids, dozens of them, clinging to one another, their eyes wide and vacant. They were not bound physically by chains. Yet they were so clearly in the deepest throes of terror that it prevented them from taking any action to save themselves. They were broken.

And then they saw me. I was a new, terrifying light in their darkness. And I was flanked by the two monsters who had put them there. They didn't see a rescuer. They, like Aphrodite, saw a new monster.

A single, high-pitched scream of pure, animal terror cut through the cavern, and then they all screamed.

It was a sound I knew I'd never forget.

Because it was the same sound my sisters had once made. That same, high-pitched, hopeless terror. It was the sound of the darkness in my father's stomach, the sound of why are we suffering like this? echoing in the bile-filled air.

My rage, which had been a cold, controlled thing, became a white-hot nova. I didn't even look back at Ceto and Phorcys.

"GET. OUT."

My voice hit them with the force of a physical blow, a concussive blast of pure will. "GET OUT! WAIT FOR ME IN THE TRENCH. DO NOT MAKE ME SAY IT AGAIN." Scrambling, shocked by the force of my fury, even they were terrified. They fled the Maw, vanishing back into the filthy water.

I was alone with the weeping. I let the light of my trident dim, the harsh blue-white fading to a soft, ambient glow. My armour and royal regalia dissolved, leaving me in a simple tunic. My trident vanished from my hand. I held up my empty palms, wading slowly towards the cowering mass.

"Wait," I said, my voice softer than I thought I was capable of. "Please. I mean you no harm. I swear it."

They shivered, their sobs hitching. The screaming lessened, falling into desperate, ragged gasps.

"My name is Poseidon. I am the son of Rhea." I searched for a name that would mean safety. "I am Tethys's and Oceanus's kin. I am your kin." I kept my voice low, steady. "I am not here to hurt any of you. I am here to take you all home."

One of them, a Nereid with hair the colour of sea-foam, looked up, her eyes vacant and full of madness. "Home...?" she whispered, the word a foreign sound. "There is... no... home. Only the dark. Only the... the spawn..."

A wave of nausea hit me. The entire cavern was heavy, choking on a spiritual filth, a miasma of terror, despair, and violation. I had to heal them. Not just their bodies, but their souls. I had to cleanse this place. This was not a king's duty; it was a brother's.

I closed my eyes. I focused. I thought back to the battle on the beach. To the frigid, sterile cold, I had forced into Ceto and Phorcys. It had been the opposite of life. A pure, conceptual "salting" of the soul. If I could do that... could I do the reverse?

I reached out, not with my hand, but with my will. I let go of the cold, crushing pressure of the abyss, the identity of the King and the Stormbringer. Instead, I called upon that other, older aspect of my divinity. The "fertilising power of water." The power of life.

I didn't project cold. I projected warmth. Not the heat of a forge, but the gentle, insistent warmth of the sun on your skin after a long winter. The warmth of a clean, geothermal spring. The warmth of Hestia's hearth.

My own aura changed. The blue-white light of my power shifted, softened, and warmed into a gentle, rose-gold glow. It was the colour of Aphrodite's healing touch, but on a massive scale. The light pulsed outwards, soft and undemanding. It wasn't a command. It was an offering.

A kátharsis (purification) freely given.

The water in the cavern, thick with despair, began to clear. The spiritual stain resisted, but the light was insistent, burning away the filth. The light touched the nymphs, and their shivers did not stop, but they changed. The vacant, terrified looks in their eyes began to clear.

"It's... warm," one of them whispered.

"I promised Lady Tethys I would bring you home," I said, my voice resonating with that gentle, healing light. "I keep my promises."

I stood there for an hour, a beacon in the dark, pouring my divine essence into the wounds of their souls. It did not erase the trauma; nothing could, not so quickly. But it performed the purification. It mended the worst of the fractures. It burned away the miasma that had kept them trapped in that living nightmare. I used my will to show them one simple truth: that they were safe. That the monsters were gone. That they were free now.

Because I was here.

The weeping stopped. One by one, they stood up, their forms still trembling, but their eyes... their eyes were theirs again. The Nereid with the sea-foam hair waded through the water and, before I could react, collapsed at my feet, her hands clutching my tunic.

"You came for us," she wept. But this time, the tears were not of terror. They were relieved.

"I did," I said, resting a hand on her head. "Now, let's get you lot home."

I formed a protective procession, with myself at the front, and led the dozens of nymphs out of the Maw, up from the lightless depths, and back into the sunlit world. I made a show of obliterating any sea monsters that got too close, both to put the girls at ease and to remind those waiting in the shadows of what would happen to them if they tested me.

We travelled to the Springs of Oceanus. When our procession arrived, the entire court was silent.

Tethys was the first to see us. She had been kneeling on the shore of the World-River, her back bowed, the picture of a grieving mother. She looked up, and her eyes widened. She saw the nymphs, whole and healed, and she broke.

She let out a cry, a raw, maternal sound of such profound relief that it shook my own soul. She ran into the water, and the nymphs ran to her.

But it was not just an embrace. Tethys and all her daughters formed a living passage, guiding their lost kin deeper into the sacred, pure water of the Springs itself. They began to wash the figurative and literal filth of the Maw from their skin, their sobs mixing with laughter and low, ancient songs of homecoming. It was a reunion, a healing, and a baptism all in one.

I stood back, letting the family have its moment.

Oceanus approached me. His face was not as emotional as his wife's. He looked at me with a new, deep, and unnerving respect. He was a god of the old order. Gods, in his experience, made threats. They made demands. They took. They did not rescue. They did not heal. They did not keep promises unless it served them.

He said nothing. He just looked at me, at his weeping wife, and at his restored daughters. Then, the great Titan Lord of the World-River, Firstborn of Ouranos and Gaia, bowed his head to me.

I gave him a nod, and then, with my promise kept, I returned to my capital. My work was not finished.

I stood on the central beach of Atlantis and pulled on their oaths once more.

Ceto and Phorcys appeared in an instant, collapsing onto the white sand. Their forms were even more wretched in the bright sunlight. They flinched, expecting punishment for their failure to keep the nymphs hidden.

I let them wait in the silence, letting the sunlight sear their abyssal forms.

"Your former... activities," I said, my voice cold. "Your reign of hoarding nymphs and committing such filthy acts. It is over."

I let that finality settle on them.

"Let me be clear. Should you ever return to those ways, should I ever learn of you harming another nymph, your oaths to me will not protect you. There will be no third chance. I will personally tear you from this domain and throw you into Tartarus, where my father can enjoy your company. There will be no escape. Am I understood?"

They didn't speak. They didn't dare. They just trembled and bowed.

"Good. Your old purpose is dead. I am giving you a new one."

I pointed to the vast, open ocean. "Your crimes have left a stain on my domain. Your penance is to cleanse it. This sea is a mess. Your mess."

"Cleanse...?" Phorcys gurgled, the concept foreign.

"You will hunt," I commanded. "You will hunt down every child of your brood. Every Gorgonai, every beast you let fester in the dark. You will find all the other horrors that your 'stagnation' allowed to flourish. You will scour the deep. You are my kynagoi, my hound-leaders, my hunters."

I let the new command sink in, watching their expressions shift.

"When you find them, you will give them a simple choice. They can kneel and swear fealty to your new King, serving my order. Or... you will unmake them. I do not care which. You will bring this ocean to heel."

Ceto's many eyes widened, a spark of her old, cruel nature flickering through the terror. A hunt. A slaughter. This, at least, she understood.

"You will patrol the trenches. You will guard the deep passages. You will be my eyes in the dark." I commanded. "Every new moon, you will report to me, here, and you will tell me what you have found and what you have culled."

I stepped closer, letting them feel the full, crushing weight of my authority. "Your old reign is over. Your new purpose has begun. On the eve of the Summer Solstice, I will hold the first gathering of my council. You will be there. You will kneel before my allies, and you will swear your oaths anew for all to see. You are my monsters now. Do you understand?"

They did not speak. They did not need to. They just bowed, their forms trembling with a mixture of hatred and, for the first time, a sliver of genuine, undeniable purpose.

"Go," I said. "My oikos (house) needs cleaning. See it done."

They vanished, and I was left alone on the shore. My promise was kept. My monsters were on their leash. My kingdom was finally on the path of recovery. And yet... I was standing in the middle of a vast, empty caldera.

I had the site for Atlantis, the will and veins of untouched Orichalcum glowing in the seabed. In another future, it was the strength of my own arms that would build the walls of Troy. But I was not a fool. I was a king, not a master mason. A city of this magnitude, a capital worthy of a new kingdom, would take me decades to build alone. And I wanted it established before the coming Solstice. A functioning capital was a statement of power, one I'd need for the negotiations to come.

My gaze fell on the trident in my hand. The perfect, balanced weight. The flawless, divine craftsmanship. It thrummed with my power, but it was a work of art far beyond my own skill.

I knew, in that instant, who I needed. The ones who had forged this very weapon. The Elder Cyclopes. Arges, Steropes, and Brontes. Sons of Ouranos, uncles to us all, and masters of the forge. I knew where they were. As a reward for their service, Zeus had made them his personal ministers. They were on Mount Olympus, at the very heart of my brother's new power.

This wouldn't be a simple family visit.

I couldn't just demand their services. The Cyclopes were Zeus's prized artisans, the very smiths who had forged the weapon he'd used to defeat our father. To ask him to lend them, even to his brother, would be a delicate, political request. Zeus, in his soon-to-be role as King, might see it as me trying to poach his greatest assets. He might refuse, and as their master, he'd be within his rights to do so.

And if he did?

My mind turned to the Cyclopes themselves. What had they been doing on Olympus? Tending forges, perhaps, or merely sitting on their skilled hands. Were they being challenged? Was Zeus utilising them to the best of their abilities?

I looked out at my empty kingdom. The clean, raw potential of it all was merely waiting for a master's hand. It wasn't just a project; it was a challenge. A master craftsman's dream. Yes. That was the path.

I would go to Olympus and make my formal request to Zeus. That was the proper, brotherly thing to do. But if my brother proved... possessive... I would be prepared to make my own appeal directly to the forge-masters.

It wasn't stealing. Not really. At worst, it was simply an extended form of borrowing. Zeus was the youngest, after all. What were older brothers for, if not to... appropriate... their younger sibling's best toys? A form of divine, brotherly taxation for all he's put me through. And I had a much better toybox to offer: the chance to build the wonders of the age, not just sit in Olympus maintaining the King's armoury.

I let out a slow breath. This was already going to be a complicated trip. My mind flashed back to Aphrodite's sparkling, all-knowing eyes. I'd just given a private island to the goddess of love before even telling my siblings that I'd come across this place.

Hera was almost certainly going to have... thoughts... on that.

Arriving with a complex political request on top of that... I squared my shoulders. So be it. It was time to go home.

Chapter 9: I Visit the Home of the Gods

The walk up the final path to Olympus was a strange one. I trailed my hand through a passing cloudbank, the mist coiling around my fingers like cool, damp silk, only to dissipate an instant later. Being able to walk among the clouds was a sensation I doubted I'd ever quite get fully used to, a poignant reminder that this... all of this... was genuinely real.

I've always loved a good story. It was one thing to read them, to get lost in the ink and paper of a world. It was another entirely to be living inside one, walking a path of solid cloud toward a literal golden gate taller than any skyscraper I'd ever seen.

As I approached the summit, my mind couldn't help but drift back to the poet who'd first tried to capture this sight. To Homer. I'd practically buried my head so far inside the worn pages of my mum's copy of the Iliad that I gave myself a frustrating crick in my neck before even hitting my mid twenties.

I hadn't read it as an academic, mind you; I had just been someone who loved the sheer, epic scale of it all. I'd read one passage, in Book 5, a hundred times, trying to picture this very moment.

"Now in turn Athena, daughter of Zeus of the aegis, beside the threshold of her father slipped off her elaborate dress which she herself had wrought with her hands' patience, and now assuming the war tunic of Zeus who gathers the clouds . . . She set her feet in the blazing chariot and took up a spear heavy, huge, thick, wherewith she beats down the battalions of fighting men, against whom she of the mighty father is angered.

Hera laid the lash swiftly on the horses; and moving of themselves groaned the gates of the sky that the Horai guarded, those Horai to whose charge is given the huge sky and Olympos, to open up the dense darkness or again to close it."

What was so significant about that passage in particular? Well, the image of Athena and Hera gearing up to intervene in the Trojan War in defiance of Zeus was so epic, tantalising and physical that it had stolen my breath every time I read it.

Homer had told the story of the divine through the only eyes he could, mortal tradition. A world of elaborate dresses wrought by hand, of blazing chariots with brazen wheels, of heavy, thick spears. He described their tools of trade and war with the loving detail that he would have recognised in his fellow Greek smiths, artists, and soldiers.

It's no wonder that when he pictured the gates of the sky, he imagined them the same way: massive, physical doors of bronze, gold or stone, creaking and groaning on vast hinges.

The truth was far more ethereal and far more terrifying. The 'Golden Gates' of Olympus weren't a physical construct; they were purely conceptual. A shimmering, blinding curtain of pure golden light, a barrier of divine will that parted like mist for those who belonged or were welcome and stood as immovable as a mountain for those who did not.

And Homer, at least, had gotten one part right.

The Horai were there.

Three daughters of Zeus and Themis, Titaness of law and order, they were the living personifications of its highest ideals: Eunomia, Good Order. Dike, Justice. Eirene, Peace. And right now, they weren't opening the gates. They were guarding them, standing in a tight, imperious triangle before a woman who radiated a luminous gold-silver light.

I recognised her instantly: Theia, Titan goddess of sight and the shining aether of the blue sky. She was the mother of Helios (The Sun), Selene (The Moon), and Eos (The Dawn). She was, as an Elder Titaness, for all intents and purposes, one of the pantheon's grandmothers.

And Zeus' daughters were laying into her like she was a delinquent.

"I can assure you that your request for a private audience with our Lord-Father has been recorded, Lady Theia, but there is an issue," Eunomia said. Her voice was charming, yet held all the warmth of a freshly chiselled marble slab.

Though she was a new goddess, barely a blink in the Titanesses' memory, she wore her authority like an imperial mantle. Dike stood to her right, ostentatiously polishing a set of bronze scales. Eirene stood to her left, fidgeting with her hands in open anxiety.

"I'm afraid our Lord-Father has informed us he is not granting private audiences this century," Eunomia continued, eyes never leaving the scroll. "You may, if you wish, resubmit your petition a hundred years hence."

The aether around Theia shimmered with her indignation. "A century?" she repeated, her voice echoing with the brilliance of a thousand sunrises. "I am the Mother of the Sun and Moon. My children give light to thy father's new world, child. They answer his summons. I do not."

Eunomia finally looked up, her expression one of mild, rehearsed pity.

"Yes, Lady Theia, we are all very grateful for Lord Helios's and Lady Selene's... compliance and service." She tapped the scroll. "Which is noted here. But Good Order must be maintained. Our Lord-Father is very busy, and the rules and procedures of being granted an audience with him apply to everyone equally."

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Especially to those whose spouses chose... poorly... in the late unpleasantness. Lord Hyperion's name is still on quite a few ledgers, you understand. It makes the paperwork so very complicated."

Dike spoke for the first time, her voice a sharp clang like a gavel striking stone. "Justice must be served. And today, the queue serves it, one petitioner at a time. Next."

Eirene, ever the gentle one, gave the elder goddess a helpless look that all but said, I'm so sorry. Please don't yell at us. We're just doing our job, and my sisters take it far too seriously.

As the Goddess of Sight, Theia was quite infamous for her piercing stares, and right now, she looked as if she had the very transparent, very prophetic vision of turning these three jumped-up little goddesses into a trio of decorative garden statues, ol' medusa style. Her gold-silver light seemed to warp with frustration.

"The labours of my children sustain the turning of thy heavens," she stated, her voice dry as ancient stone. "Helios and Selene must alter their courses for this solstice. I request to speak with Metis and your Lord-Father with haste, specifically for this purpose. If my work is to be hindered by this folly, the firmament itself shall answer for it."

Knowing Theia, she was preparing an argument that could easily last the rest of the week. I glanced at the rest of the queue: a few minor river-gods, some nervous-looking nymphs, and what looked like some minor god whom I failed to recognise.

A faint tingle at the back of my neck, my mysterious watcher, again, made my patience thin. I didn't have time for this.

Some small, human-adjacent part of me felt a twinge of guilt. It was an asshole move to cut in front of them. I'd always hated people like that. But I was also King of the Seas. I was an Olympian. And frankly, I wasn't going to wait.

With a sigh that stirred the clouds at my feet, I strode past the queue, the butt of my trident thudding against the celestial floor.

"Halt!" Eunomia's voice was a whip-crack of pure, lawful authority. "You will wait your turn! All must be heard in their proper order! Return to the—"

She stopped mid-sentence as I turned to face them.

The three young goddesses froze. As one, the various nymphs and minor deities gathered in the entryway recognised me and dropped to their knees, heads bowed. Even Lady Theia gave me a respectful, if weary, nod of acknowledgement. It's what happens when you and your siblings overthrow a tyrannical King who had ruled the cosmos for millennia; you become the closest thing the pantheon has to celebrities.

I ignored the commotion, my focus fixed on my nieces. Oh, how their faces had turned a bright, golden, "oh-shit" red. They scrambled to regain their imperious triangle formation, but their composure was already toast.

Eunomia recovered first, clearing her throat. "Lord Poseidon. Forgive me. We were not made aware you would be visiting Olympus… as you are not on the day's registry."

"Am I required to report my comings and goings to you now, Eunomia?"

"The registry exists for the smooth function of Olympus, Uncle," Dike replied crisply, her frown sharp enough to cut. "All arrivals must be recorded."

"Recorded?" I arched a brow. "Am I to sign in and out of the heavens like a petty guest?"

Her chin lifted. "It is not a petty formality. It is the foundation of divine order. Without structure, Olympus drifts toward chaos, the very thing you and our Lord-Father overthrew. Justice cannot exist in the cosmos if we do not first uphold it in our own house."

Eirene stepped forward, her hands clasped. "Please, Uncle," she said softly. "We mean no disrespect. Father is occupied with solstice preparations, and we are simply trying to keep things orderly to lighten his burdens."

I looked past Eirene to Eunomia, my gaze hardening. "Lighten his burdens? Or settle old scores? I heard your exchange with Lady Theia. Holding her husband's choices against her? Making her wait a century for a simple audience? Is that 'Good Order,' Eunomia? Is that 'Justice,' Dike?"

Dike's chin lifted. "Her husband was your enemy—"

"And she was not," I cut her off, my voice dropping. "What was that simple phrase I once taught you girls? The one I made you repeat when you'd get into a squabble?"

They stared at me, silent. Eirene looked at the floor.

I prompted them, my voice cold. "'There..'"

"...There are three ways to ultimate victory: The first way is to be kind. The second way is to be kind. The third way is to be kind," Eirene whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Exactly." My eyes swept over all three of them. "I thought I taught you better than to practice petty, generational spite. You're goddesses of Olympus, not river-gods squabbling over which fork in the river is yours. You've disappointed me."

That was what truly broke their composure. Disappointment was a thousand times worse than anger.

I let the butt of my trident strike the ground again, harder this time. The sound rolled through the air like distant thunder. Every attendant froze, their chatter dying in an instant. Even the breeze seemed to hesitate. I said nothing, simply watching them, three goddesses wound tighter than harp strings.

Eirene's knuckles whitened; Dike's jaw was locked, not in defiance now, but in shame. Eunomia looked as though she might faint if I so much as twitched. They were terrified. Good. They should be.

But they were also my nieces. And frankly... or rather hopefully, they'd learned their lesson.

Time to deploy the Embarrassing Uncle Protocol.

A huge, beaming smile split my face as I changed tactics on a dime. "By the heavens, look at you three!" I boomed, my voice echoing across the heavens. "So stiff, serious and grown up! What happened to my sweet little nieces who used to braid seashells into my hair and call me Unca Sea-Sea?"

The tension shattered. The gathered nymphs exhaled as one, anxious laughter rippling through them. The Horai, however, experienced a total system malfunction. All three broke formation and, to my immense amusement, converged on me.

Dike was the first to reach me, her face thunderous. She began thumping a petite, clenched fist against my chest, each blow punctuated by her words. "I am not 'growing up'!" she barked, sending a ripple through the cloudbank beneath her. "I've been fully grown for five years! Mocking me here, before all these witnesses, is simply unseemly!"

"Uncle!" Eunomia hissed, coming in from my left. Her propriety shattered like thin glass as she resorted to a series of frantic, open-palmed slaps against my arm. "Must you bellow such things so loud!? We are on duty! We are the Guardians of the Threshold! We have a reputation! There are… expectations of us!"

I just stood there, taking the 'assault' with a grin as my two serious-minded nieces pouted and whined. Eirene, for her part, just hid her rose-tinted cheeks and desperately tugged on Dike's sleeve to no avail. "Please stop, Uncle…" she murmured. "Stop... you'll make Eunomia cross, and Dike will start quoting decrees again…"

My adorable nieces had never been children in the mortal sense. Gods are strange that way. Theirs was a complicated birth, coming as they did in the middle of the Titanomachy. Zeus and Themis... well, their union had been a scandal. Metis, Zeus's first lover, had been furious that she hadn't been the one to provide him with his first divine children.

So, the Horai were born under a cloud of political scandal and in the middle of a cosmic war. With Themis for a mother, they'd had 'duty' and 'order' practically encoded into their ichor from their first breath. It's no wonder they'd spent the last five years being so desperately stiff and serious; they were practically overcompensating, trying to prove their legitimacy and worth to a court that still whispered about their origins.

Which was why that first month had been such a treasure. For one brief, shining month, before their inherent domains fully settled on them, they'd been these cute little toddler ducklings who followed me and my siblings around. I'd let them ride on my shoulders, their laughter like bubbling springs, as they declared me "King of the Fishies."

But that phase passed as quickly as it came. Thirty days was all it took for them to grow into their duties, their bodies shooting up into those of fully formed adult women, their childish adoration replaced by the cool poise of their stations. And when they remembered how they had acted in their infancy, they were mortified and so, in turn, were no longer so openly affectionate with me.

I was proud of them, of course, but I'd be lying if I said it hadn't stung at the time... cause it certainly still did.

"Is that so?" I chuckled, striding forward. I ignored Eunomia's gasp of 'unauthorised approach!' and Dike's indignant yell of, "Uncle, remember our boundaries!" and reached out to tousle Eirene's hair.

Her immaculate goddess-bun disintegrated, a cascade of golden curls tumbling free. Her gasp was halfway between a squeak and a hymn gone wrong. The attendants stifled their laughter. Dike looked ready to smite me for crimes against decorum.

"Has your mother got you on permanent gate duty already?" I asked, my tone softening. "That's a bit harsh, even for the Titan of Law. You three should be out celebrating your youth!"

Themis and I had become fast friends during the war; she helped me coordinate battle lines, and I helped her workshop the divine laws we now lived by. It hadn't been surprising to find that the Goddess whose existence embodied Divine Law often made for an engaging conversation partner.

So why or how she fell for Zeus's galaxy-sized ego, I'll never fathom. It likely had to do with the fact that he was still in his Young Hero Phase. But she made her choice, and these three serious, wonderful, and currently dying of embarrassment goddesses were the result.

Still, I supposed one true benefit of Zeus's promiscuity was that I would likely have a whole host of new nephews and nieces to tease in just the same way with each coming year.

"No other god does this!" Dike burst out, her voice rising with righteous outrage. "When other gods visit their families, they merely exchange polite courtesies! Why must you be like this!?"

I stopped and turned to her. She froze as my shadow fell over her, then yelped as I reached out and tapped her on the nose. "Simple," I said, my voice gentle. "Because no other god has nieces as wonderful as mine. Obviously, that makes you three worthy of the special treatment."

That did it.

Eirene made a tiny, strangled sound and buried her face in both hands, her shoulders trembling with suppressed laughter. Dike looked like she might combust, caught between indignation and a helpless fondness she'd never admit to. Eunomia was trying desperately to compose herself, to find some obscure statute against excessive familial affection, but her lips kept twitching.

For all their divine poise, they were still those same little girls. Though I doubt they'd ever ask to ride on my shoulders again.

"Now, now," I said, patting Eirene's head one last time. "You're all doing a wonderful job. Very… 'lawful.' And 'serious.' I'll be sure to tell your mother you've been doing the family proud!"

I then turned to the Titan they had detained, offering her a warm smile. "Lady Theia, you have waited long enough. Come, walk with me. I shall see you to your destination."

"Uncle, no!" Eunomia yelped, her composure snapping. "You cannot!" She gestured wildly, not at me, but at the shimmering portal behind her. "Olympus is on lockdown, so the Solstice preparations run smoothly! Father has decreed that no one may enter who is not on the celestial docket! The mountain is in chaos, the guest lists are still being worked over, and he is not taking any private audiences! We must—"

I just chuckled and offered Theia my arm. "Oh, hush, little one. All that 'Good Order' is making you flustered. It's perfectly lawful. She's my guest. My... 'plus-one,' if you will. You can't deny me entry, can you?"

"But the rules...!" Dike groaned, hiding her face. "A 'plus-one' is not a valid override for Father's Celestial Seal!"

"Let me worry about your father," I said, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder that made her wince. "If he has an issue with me dropping by unannounced, he knows where to find me. You're all doing marvelously... in fact, I'm so proud of your diligence. Next time I visit, I'll bring you all something lovely from my new kingdom. Perhaps some new, very official-looking coral paperweights? Now, open the gates, there's a good girl."

The three of them looked at each other, their faces a perfect, comedic picture of bureaucratic terror. Eunomia let out a tiny squeak and nodded, her authority completely dissolving.

With a slow, grateful nod, Theia laid her ancient, silver hand upon my offered arm.

I gave my nieces one last, brilliant wink. "See you later, girls!"

As we strode toward the gate of light, I heard Eunomia's voice, suddenly all-business again, though it trembled slightly.

"Log the arrival of Lord Poseidon. Time: just now. Purpose:… 'To Disrupt Public Order..' Note: unauthorised escort of Lady Theia via... custodial... override. Add a final notation for… 'disruption of celestial procedure via familial nonsense and inappropriate timing of head-pats.'"

"Is that a real notation?" Dike hissed.

"It is now," Eunomia snapped back.

The moment we cleared the threshold, the Conceptual Gates of the Sky quietly faded shut behind us. The bickering voices of my nieces were cut off, replaced by an immediate and overwhelming wave of sound.

Olympus was loud.

The great cloistered courtyard before the palaces was a riot of frantic, celebratory motion. The air, the bright, thin aether of the upper world, thrummed with energy, smelling of ozone, nectar, and the metallic tang of distant forges. Golden pavements, polished to a mirror sheen, reflected the chaos.

I turned to my companion, and for the first time, I truly looked at her.

In my mind, I still carried the physics of my old world. I knew that 'sight' was a passive act: photons striking a source, bouncing off, and being collected by a retina. That was the scientific plane of existence.

But on the mythic plane, the one I now inhabited, that was all wrong.

As I focused, my divine perception shifted. The ancient Greeks believed the eye emitted a beam of invisible light, like a lamp, that 'touched' the world to perceive it.

And they were, at least in Theia's case, correct.

From Theia's ancient eyes, I could perceive faint, shimmering beams of pure aithre, the shining aether of the sky, projecting outward. They weren't just showing what she was looking at; instead, they were beams that actively reached out and touched reality. Scanning and tracing. It was an active, tangible power. Her name, Ikhnaie, 'the Tracer,' was literal.

Her ancient hand tightened on my arm. She didn't flinch, but I felt a tension in her as her "sight" swept the courtyard.

"This is..." I began searching for the word.

"Bright," Theia finished, her voice a dry rustle. Her eye-beams were visibly touching the air itself and piercing it down to the molecular level. We began to walk, two stones in a rapid current. Nymphs, their laughter like wind chimes, darted past, their feet barely touching the ground as they hung garlands of spun silk from the gold-founded archways.

"It is bright," she continued, her gaze sweeping the courtyard, "in the way a flint-spark is bright. Frantic. And gone in an instant." Her sight-beams lingered on a passing nymph, who was giggling as she wove a ribbon of light. "Her divinity there is no... weight... to it. No foundation."

Theia's hand, the one not on my arm, was open at her side. She seemed to be weighing the very air she was tracing. "Your brother's new world feels... startlingly thin in comparison to the old order."

"Thin? How so?" I asked, sidestepping a frantic-looking minor god of architecture who was waving a blueprint at a group of exasperated Dryads.

"It will get pine needles in it here!" a Dryad snapped, gesturing to her sister-trees. "We will not be blamed for clogging the celestial plumbing!"

Theia ignored them, her gaze fixed on the golden portico ahead. Her sight-beams focused, narrowing on a gleaming, wet golden pillar. She reached out and tapped it with one long, silver nail. The sound was a dull clink.

"This," she said, her voice filled with a profound disinterest. "This is just metal. Zeus builds with gold, thinking, as the Titans did, that this gives such structures an innate strength of character. That Gold's grace is a strength he can syphon onto himself."

Her words reminded me of something from Pindar, arguably one of the most famous and pious of the ancient poets. I'd once read his claim that it was thanks to Theia that men ascribe to gold 'a strength exceeding all other powers.' What I'd dismissed as poetic flair back then was, I now saw, a simple statement of fact. She was the goddess who endowed gold and silver with their brilliance and intrinsic value.

And as I watched her tangible sight wash over the pillar, I understood. She was 'tracing' it and finding it hollow.

As if reading my mind, she spoke again,

"Mankind will one day ascribe to gold a strength exceeding all other powers," she murmured, almost to herself. "They will fight for it, build for it, die for it. But they, like your brother, will mistake the vessel for the source. True gold," her ancient eyes, the source of that tangible light, turned on me, "has a slow, ancient essence. It must be coaxed out and earned. It must be drawn from the dark and given purpose. This pillar bears the light of a new coin, but it does not shine with radiance."

I jolted. My blood ran cold. The word "Mankind" echoed in the silent air.

Mankind didn't exist. Not yet. I had assumed that nobody but myself... and maybe Prometheus would have an inkling of the future that far in advance.

Her gaze, which had been passive, snapped into focus on me. The feeling of being 'traced' intensified, becoming an active, invasive piercing. I felt her sight bypass my eyes and skin, probing not my mind, I felt, with a jolt of panic, that was still my own, but my very essence. She was tracing the effect of her words on my divine nature.

"You know of what I speak," she stated, her voice quiet. It wasn't a question.

My heart, a strange, thumping, mortal habit I hadn't yet kicked, hammered in my chest. Deny it. Deny it now.

"Mankind?" I forced a laugh, but it came out sharp, a bark of sound. "What is it, some new creature from the mud?"

My denial was met with a long, piercing silence. Theia's head tilted, a flicker of academic curiosity in those ancient orbs. Her sight-beams didn't waver.

"No," she said, her voice dry as ancient stone. "You are a poor liar, Son of Rhea. Your words say 'no,' but the ichor in your veins quickens. The 'aithre' around you clouds, as if you are instinctively trying to conceal your very presence." She held up a hand. "I cannot see what you know, or how. Your mind is your own. But I can see the lie etched into the pattern of your being. I can see that you know."

She held my gaze for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. "And still... the fact you know at all," she repeated. "You are not gifted with theiazô, with prophecy, and yet, you see. You see Mankind's eventual coming as clearly as I do."

I was speechless. My throat was dry. Hiding such secrets from a goddess with such strong prophetic capabilities was as impossible as hiding a fish in a clear puddle.

"I trace their patterns," she continued, her voice a low murmur as we walked, leaving the bustling courtyard and arriving at a great, circular terrace, a crossroads of the sky. "I see... cities of bronze, and then of iron. I see a king named Agamemnon, who will sacrifice his own daughter for the promise of wind. I see another, Odysseus, who will value the journey of returning home more than the home itself."

Her eyes, those all-seeing orbs, turned back to me. "And Mankind's fate... it shall be bound tightly to your hands, Poseidon. Perhaps more tightly than you'd like. I see a war over a woman not yet born, and I see your hand in it.

I reeled. The Trojan War. She was talking about the Trojan War.

"Be wary, Son of Rhea," she said, her voice dropping. "You should speak to the sons of Iapetus. Prometheus and Epimetheus. They are soon to begin their work shaping things. Creatures to replenish the world. They, at least, understand forethought and afterthought. Your brother," she glanced up at the highest peak, "understands only... thought-in-motion. Your fate is tangled with their creations, as is his own."

As if summoned by her words, two figures of impossible brilliance descended from the high heavens. One was a man, his form forged from unbearable, steady sunlight. Helios. The other was a woman, her light a soft, piercing silver. Selene.

I felt Theia's hand release my arm. She took a step forward.

Helios and Selene did not run to her. They did not embrace. They stopped a respectful distance away and inclined their heads as one. Their light, the all-powerful, world-defining light of sun and moon, dimmed in her presence.

"Mother," Helios said, his voice the sound of a great, golden bell. "You summoned us."

Theia turned back to me, and for a second, I saw a flicker of something... warmer... in her ancient, all-seeing eyes. A flicker of gratitude.

"This is where I must leave you, Son of Rhea."

"Go with grace, Lady Theia," I said, my voice still shaken. "And thank you. For the... warning."

"It was not a warning. It was a promise of what was to come," she corrected. "We... briefly spoke of foundations, yes?"

Her hand, for just a moment, gestured not up at Zeus's frantic, high peak, nor back at the chaos, but toward a simple, unadorned stone archway on the terrace that led in and down, into the mountain's heart.

"Your brother builds on stone and shining metal. He lacks understanding of the most important foundation. But it isn't his fault that he was spared from it.

Theia's eyes, the eyes that saw the truth of things, held mine.

She turned, her silver-gold light merging with the radiance of her children. The three of them stood for a moment, a trinity of true, ancient light, before they turned and glided away, ascending toward the upper world, leaving me in the sudden, glaring noise of the new Olympus.

I looked at the path to Zeus's peak, pulsing with frantic, 'thin' energy. I looked at the path back to the bickering nymphs.

Then I turned and walked toward the dark, quiet archway.

The sounds of Olympus faded with every step. The music softened, the hammering grew distant, the bright, sharp aether gave way to a different air, warm, still, and ancient. The scent of ozone was replaced by woodsmoke and baking bread, the oldest smells in the cosmos.

I passed under the archway of unadorned, living stone, and the clamour of the new Olympus vanished as if a door had been closed.

The Hearth was exactly where I knew it would be, at the heart of the mountain. And there she was. Hestia knelt before the flame, a great, steady, indomitable column of warmth that burned with a quiet, confident roar.

My sandal touched the floor. The sound cracked the silence like a dropped pebble in glass water.

She rose, slow and deliberate, and faced me. For a long moment, she just looked, her gaze as warm and steady as the fire she tended. Then, a small, genuine smile touched her lips.

"Hello, little brother. Welcome home."

Chapter 10: I Speak with the Heart of the Home

A puff of flour, escaping my grasp like a rebellious cloud, settled on my nose. There was a moment of perfect, crystalline silence. The only sound was the low, steady thrum of the eternal fire at the centre of the room, a sound more felt than heard.

Then, Hestia laughed. A genuine, warm, unguarded cascade of amusement filled the chamber. It was like the sound of a log splitting in a fireplace, bright and sudden, and utterly comforting. The flames themselves seemed to pulse in time with it, burning steadier, as if they shared her joy.

"You look ridiculous," she said, trying and failing to suppress a smile. "It reminds me of the one time Hades tried to help me bake, you remember? He was so mortified he wouldn't talk to any of us for half a year outside of war meetings."

I brushed at my face, which only succeeded in smearing the white powder into my beard, transforming my divine humiliation into a confirmed rout. "And you," I retorted, though the words had no real heat, "look far too pleased with yourself for a goddess who just tricked me into being her servant."

"Servant?" She arched a single, perfect brow, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "I believe the word I used was 'Disciple'. You still have much to learn about the cooking arts, brother."

I huffed, a sound that was lost in the soft air. Despite all the power this new life had given me, I had to admit… I still couldn't cook to save my immortal hide.

And yet… I couldn't be truly annoyed at Hestia. Not here. It was practically impossible. The Hearth was alive in a way nothing else on Olympus was. Every breath carried the scent of bread and cedar smoke, of warmth and memory. I could smell the sharp, green tang of herbs Hestia had been grinding, something like rosemary, and the fruity, golden scent of ambrosial olive oil in a clay jar by her knee.

Sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw flickers of movement, small, half-formed illusions of laughter, family old and new, moments long gone from my old life. The place pressed gently against me with everything I associated with home. Peace crept in and took hold of me here whether I wanted it or not.

This chamber was the epicentre, the node from which all Olympus' warmth pulsed. Veins of molten gold, looking almost organic, ran through the walls, all feeding the fire at its centre. It was a simple, steady blaze, the colour of dawn. A soft warmth rolled through the stone underfoot, pulsing like a heartbeat.

It was a peace I hadn't felt in a long time, and the reason I was now covered in flour traced back to my arrival hours ago.

My thoughts drifted back. I had arrived unannounced, my head full of churning, restless thoughts after giving Theia an escort through the bustling streets of Olympus. Hestia had risen from the hearth to face me, her small, steady frame illuminated by the fire's glow, and for a long moment, she just looked. Then a small, genuine smile touched her lips.

"Welcome Home, Little Brother." She'd looked me up and down and immediately tsked.

"You've changed," she'd said softly, more observation than accusation. "Ever since you claimed your dominion over the seas… your presence feels different. Broader, wilder, deeper, like the ocean itself, I suppose. It's... all-encompassing, but maybe that's why it suits you so well."

I'd forced a half smile and let my aura contract, folding back the tides of divine energy I normally carried. I had spent over a month learning to temper mine now that it had grown to such vast proportions, to keep the sea from announcing itself before I spoke.

I could have tried to hide it completely, though not as well as a trickster god, but I wouldn't. To go completely dark would cause my siblings to panic. From an early age, we'd taken comfort in feeling each other's presence in Kronos's stomach, our key assurance that we weren't alone. Now, before Hestia, I'd dialled it back further, letting only the barest hint slip past.

"You haven't visited me in over a month," she pouted, a faint crease between her brows, the shadow of displeasure in her eyes. "And here you are, finally, gracing the hearth. You'll help me, then, won't you?"

Her tone was playful, but there was an edge of command beneath it. That was Hestia's way of letting me know she was upset with me. I could hardly refuse.

And so, my "lesson" had begun. I'd found myself beside her, legs folded awkwardly, attempting to knead a lump of dough that seemed to have a life of its own. My hands, made to shatter continents and grip a trident, were clumsy and wrong for this.

"You're having the god of storms prepare food," I'd grumbled when she'd first presented the dough. "I don't see the point. You can conjure a perfect loaf with a snap of your fingers."

"And what's the purpose in that?" she replied, her voice a soft murmur against the crackle of the fire. "Sometimes, it's good to do things with your hands. To not be in such a rush." She gave me a small, knowing look. "It was you who taught me that, little brother, remember? How brazen of you to forget your own teachings! Now stop pouting and be gentler, or we'll have to start over."

Which had led, eventually, to my current predicament, my exasperation real as I glared down at the sticky object of my failure.

Hestia's voice pulled me from the memory and back to the present. She tapped my hands, her eyes twinkling.

"Gracious, brother, still so rough. Not everything responds to that much... enthusiasm." She paused, letting the word hang in the warm air, her smile knowing.

"It's alright," she continued, her voice laced with amusement. "We aren't all gifted with our hands, I suppose. Now stop, you're bruising the poor thing."

"It's dough," I said, poking it. "It's not a living thing."

"It's becoming one," she said, her voice soft. "It's listening. Creation is always alive while it's still changing. It listens when you are."

"Bread listens?"

"Everything does," she said, "if you're quiet long enough to hear it."

I tried again, slower this time, mimicking the rhythm of her hands on her own portion. Press, fold, turn. Press, fold, turn. The dough was resilient, pushing back with a stubborn, springy life. My strength was useless here. So I just let myself get lost in the simple, repetitive motions until my thoughts were stripped away.

Or, at least, it was supposed to strip me of my thoughts. For me, the silence only gave my mind more room to roam. The restlessness I'd carried in, the mental knots I'd been trying to untie for years, tightened. I had been carrying a silent argument, a question, and Hestia's quiet presence was the final catalyst.

She set her own bowl aside, wiping her flour-dusted hands on a cloth. My own hands stopped in the dough, leaving a deep, clumsy imprint. The silence of the task, instead of calming the storm in my head, had only given it a shape to push against.

"You've been restless ever since you took up your new mantle, brother," she said, with the tender observation of a healer. She pointedly scanned my body with a keen eye. "I sensed you travelling with Demeter for some time. I watched you dine with Oceanus. I felt the joy of thousands of nymphs as they welcomed the return home of their sisters, rescued, thanks to you. And I... I briefly felt your conflict with Phorcys and Ceto, little brother. Did they harm you?"

I blinked, surprised. "It was nothing I couldn't handle. But... how? How did you feel it all from in here? You hadn't told me that your divine senses have become so keen."

"In here?" She tilted her head, as if the question itself was absurd. "Poseidon, my domain is not this room. It is the Hearth. And where is there no hearth?"

Her voice was a soft murmur, but it carried a sudden, profound weight."I am the fire at the centre of every home. I am the sacrificial flame in every temple, the one who receives the first and last offering. I am the public fire in the Prytaneum where kings hold council. I see the child born by my fire, and I see the father who strikes his wife in anger. I see the lovers who make new life under candlelight, and I see the betrayals whispered in the darkest of palaces. I see all of it. I don't go anywhere, little brother. Eventually, everything and everyone comes to me."

I stared at her, the full, staggering scope of her power settling on me. I'd always had suspicions, but she'd never been so open. Many gods, in their arrogance, saw her as a simple homebody, the one who stayed behind or didn't get involved. They were fools. She wasn't just a keeper of one flame; she was a living network. The one who always listened. The one everyone ignores, and in doing so, tells all their secrets to. Every whispered plot, every private prayer, every family argument... all of it bared openly before her.

I was only now realising she was the ultimate information broker, who simply chose never to act on what she saw.

"When you dined with Oceanus," she continued, her eyes distant, "I was the fire between you. I tasted the salt on your lips as you spoke. When those nymphs welcomed their sisters, they lit a bonfire of thanks on the shore, and I was that fire. I felt their joy as they warmed their hands."

Her gaze sharpened, the warmth in her eyes cooling. "But when you fought Phorcys... I was not there. There is no hearth in the deep, cold dark. Not yet. I only felt the distant echo of conflict. A disturbance. A cold draft extinguishing a dozen small flames on distant shores. It was... violent."

Her eyes, now ancient and serious, focused on me. "So I ask again. Did those two monsters harm my little brother?"

I let out a slow breath, touched by her genuine concern and also a little intimidated. "No, Hestia. I am unharmed. They are ancient, but their power has no hopes of eclipsing mine, even together. They were never a true threat."

Best I keep Aphrodite's involvement a secret for now... at least until she calms down.

She watched me for a long moment, her gaze still sharp, as if searching for any sign of a lie. Finally, she nodded, the tension leaving her shoulders. "Good. Good. That cold... I did not like it and had they done you true harm, I would have been very displeased with them." She returned to her dough, but her focus was still on me.

"But that was in your domain. You are here, on Olympus, looking like you're carrying Atlas' burden." Her hands stilled, and a small, almost worried, look entered her eyes. "I am glad to see you, brother, truly. But I doubt you came all this way just for me... and you're certainly not here for baking lessons."

A small, genuine smile touched my lips. "Never doubt that I would come all this way just to see you, sister. You're the only one on this mountain who makes any sense." I paused, my smile fading as I looked back at the dough. "But you're right. I am also here on business."

I let out a different breath this time, one of resignation. There was no point in hiding it from her. "I've found the site for my capital, a foundation for my new kingdom. But a city worthy of an Olympian... it requires masters to craft it. I need the Elder Cyclopes."

Hestia's hands, which had been idly dusting flour, went completely still. "Arges, Steropes, and Brontes."

"The very same."

"Poseidon, no," she said, her voice dropping, losing all its warmth. "You can't. They are Zeus's. They are his prized assets, his symbols of authority. He won't let you have them."

"They are our uncles, Hestia, sitting idle here on Olympus when they could be building true wonders. Zeus wastes their talents. I need them before the Solstice. A functioning capital will be a statement of power and strength that I'll for the negotiations to come."

"You call it 'negotiation,'" she pleaded, "but Zeus will call it 'poaching.' He is not our father, but he has his own fear. His grip on the throne is not yet official, and that insecurity only makes his hold all the tighter, you know this. Do not mistake pride for strength, brother. It is a brittle, fragile thing. Tread carefully. Please. If you approach or commission them without his consent, he may see it as rebellion."

"And if I don't?" I said, the challenge rising in me. "If I let Zeus stop me from building my kingdom the way I desire? From taking any action that might displease him? What then?"

I looked down at the dough, the tension returning in a hot rush. "And that," I said, my voice quiet, but with a new weight, "is the real reason I'm here. This... this weight on my spirit. I came down here, I think, hoping you, of all people, could help me make sense of it."

She tilted her head, her full attention an honest and powerful thing.

"I've been thinking about why we fought the war," I said, the words I'd practised in my head for weeks now sounding clumsy. "I've been considering the principle of our rebellion, beyond its simple necessity. At its core, it was a war of principle."

"Principle?" she repeated softly, the word foreign in this simple, tactile room.

"Yes. Think about it." I leaned forward, "Our father's defining sin wasn't just his cruelty to us. It was his stasis, an ultimate perversion of his own domain. Kronos is the God of Time, Hestia. His very nature is time as a destructive, all-devouring force. And yet, he feared the future. He feared the very change his domain brings."

"So he became that all-consuming void. He devoured us, yes, but in doing so, he tried to devour time itself. To devour change. He sought to stop the universe, to make himself the end of time, a god of an eternal, dead present."

I felt a fire light in my chest, a different kind from her hearth. "We defeated him. We un-stopped the world. We restarted time. And in that, we inherited a profound duty."

I paused, gathering my thoughts."Our father's sin was stillness." I tore my hands from the dough, trailing sticky threads, and gestured, the movement too large for the space. "So our divine mandate must be its opposite: to move ever forward, to act and create without fear, to take stewardship of the living cosmos and keep it from falling still again."

My new essence thrummed with the truth of it. "My domain is in constant motion, Hestia. The sea is never still. A storm or drought is in a state of constant change. My very nature proves I have a duty to the world."

I slumped, the energy leaving me as the conflict within me warred. "And that is the internal conflict I feel, Hestia. You, in your wisdom, tell me to respect Zeus's position and fragile pride. But your advice... It's based on a trust in the design of the cosmos... one I do not have."

"I am afraid, Hestia," I admitted, the admission tearing from me. "I am terrified. Because I see the flaw in that design."

Her brow furrowed. "Flaw? What are you..."

"The pattern," I cut in. "The one from our father. And the one from his father. I look at Ouranos, and Kronos... and I see a cycle. A design for pain, written into our very nature."

I met her gaze, my passion returning as a desperate plea. "You see? I desperately desire to break that cycle. Our father consumed his children to keep control over his destiny. We overthrew him to seize it for ourselves. How long, Hestia? How long until we become the tyrants? How long until Zeus... or I... see a new creation or generation as a threat, and the whole bloody pattern begins again?"

My thoughts turned to Metis; if she wasn't pregnant already, I had no doubts she would be soon. Athena's birth was on the horizon.

"Kronos fell because he was alone, Hestia. He had no equals, only subjects, and that isolation made him a tyrant. I... I cannot let that happen to Zeus. I have no desire to overthrow him and take his place as king over the cosmos... but nor can I stand by and let him rule my life uncontested. If I just tread carefully around him and don't actively work to shape the world... then I'm not being a good god or brother. I'm abandoning him and my subjects both. I'm allowing the cycle of violence to continue unchallenged."

My voice dropped, the truth of my burden finally surfacing. "For me, that is the greatest sin I can commit. That is true abdication."

"Hestia..." I said, my voice softer now. "We both remember what it was like. We were in there. We heard our mother's grief. We are the children of that trauma." This was the heart of it.

"I... I look at what happened and work desperately to prevent that pain from ever happening to our family again. But you...You endured it the longest."

I looked at her, my plea open. "I have to ask... because I love you and I need to understand... how are you so content with not taking action? Is your stillness the answer? Is it an internal strength I'm missing? Or... is it just a different way of hiding? The memory of being consumed by father drives me to act. How does it allow you to be still?"

I finished, breathless, my true conflict now laid bare at her feet. I waited for her to speak.

Hestia was quiet for a long time. She didn't flinch. She didn't look away. Her amber eyes, which I had always thought of as merely 'warm', now looked ancient. She just absorbed it. All of it. The flour, the philosophy, the pattern of pain, the trauma. The fire in her deepened, settling from a bright, passionate flame into a core of pure, white-hot certainty.

Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet, but with the density of a collapsing star. "You've laid your heart bare, brother, and your conflict is real. Your nature is motion, so I empathise. But in your passion, I fear you have misread everything."

"First," she said, her voice sharp, "you have misread our father's sin. You call it Stasis. But stasis is just... quiet. A mountain is in stasis. Is it evil? No. Our father's sin was not an absence of movement. It was his violent interference with the cosmic order."

She leaned forward, her amber eyes burning with the memory. "Kronos, more than anyone, should have understood that the nature of the cosmos is to change. To become. We were that change. We were the future. And when he saw the future, he did not like it. So he intervened. He sought to possess time, to own creation, to make all reality subservient to his fear. He didn't just stop the world, Poseidon. He caged it. He denied its right to become."

She let that word, Interference, hang in the air.

"And now you come to me," she said, her voice softening, "and you also have a specific future you want. A grand city. A Kingdom to rival the heavens. You've seen the new order, with Zeus on his throne, and it is... in some ways inconvenient to your goals. So, in the name of your 'duty,' in the name of your 'progress,' you are preparing to do the same thing. You are preparing to intervene, to force your will onto the natural order, just as Father forced his onto the old. You call it 'action.' Kronos called it 'survival.' It is all just... Interference where none should be."

She stood with a simple, undeniable grace, and walked to the central fire."You ask me how I am not broken by our mother's grief," she said, her voice radiating a new power that dwarfed my own. "You think you're the only one who remembers?"

"I remember everything. I remember her weeping. Mother's grief was because her creations were possessions to him. She made, and he owned, simple as that."

She turned back to me, her face illuminated by the dawn-colored flame. "Poseidon. I am her legacy."

"My hearth," she said, her voice echoing, "is the rebuttal to Father's ideals. It is the antithesis of his sin. This," she gestured to the fire, "is the promise that creation is not the same as possession. That to make something is not to own it. That a home is not a cage. That to be is not a passive state, but the hardest effort of all."

Her gaze, now filled with a devastating compassion, found mine."You... you carry this... fear of the future," she said, "and it drives you to change the world. I... I carry the memory of all of us. Of being devoured. And it drives me to be the one thing that endures when everything else ebbs and flows."

"You see the suffering, and you want to ride out like a storm. That is your nature. But the storm is not the answer. My work..." she placed her hand into the fire, cupping it gently. "...is to be the place they return to after the suffering passes. Your impulse is to save the body. Mine saves the idea of 'home.' Of 'centre.' Of 'self'."

"I am the mother of the return," she whispered. "I am the warmth that waits. I am the why we fought in the first place, Poseidon. I am the one thing in all of creation that does not demand anything from you. I do not demand you act. I do not demand you change. I just... am. I am the Ousia. The essence. And that is my choice. That is my will."

She was the anchor. And a ship needs an anchor, not because it's afraid of the sea, but because it needs a place to call home. I had no answer for that. Only silence. A long, heavy silence that somehow, in this place, finally... finally... felt like peace. I slowly sat back down. I picked up my lump of dough. It was still a mess. I looked at it, then at her.

"You're right," I said, my voice hoarse. "I'm a terrible baker."

When the bread was done, she used a wooden peel to slide it from the stone. She broke the loaf in half, steam rising in a fragrant column, and handed me a piece. It was soft, steaming, and touched with herbs. I tasted it.

It was earthy. Real. "It's good," I said quietly. She smiled faintly. "Thank you."

We ate beside the fire, the sound of crackling filling the space between us. The argument was over, not with a winner and a loser, but with a deeper understanding of one another.

"My new city," I said, breaking the quiet. "Atlantis. It... it will need a centre. A true hearth for every home."

"All homes do," she said simply.

"Yes, well..." I paused, a small, absurd image flickering in my mind. "I had this... well, this ridiculous thought on the way here. You're the Goddess of the Hearth and Home. It's a perfect fit. I could almost picture you... as an Oikos Guide."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "A... what?"

"Leading new gods on tours of their homes," I said, a grin spreading on my face. "Wearing a neat little chiton, holding a scroll of available households, you'd love it!"

She stared at me for a long, flat moment. Then, a slow smile spread across her face. "You are," she said, "an unendingly strange god, Brother."

"Come on, admit it! You'd be good at it!"

"I am sure," she said, her smile turning into that small, private laugh, "that I have no idea what you are talking about. But I am glad your city will have a hearth, I'll be sure to visit to install it myself." She took another bite of bread. "Now. What else have you been up to, besides planning my new career and helping me bake for our siblings?"

"Exploring, as it happens," I said, the idea taking full shape even as I spoke. "The capital, Atlantis it's a ring of seven islands. I've been walking them. There's one, on the inner ring, that's quiet. It's sheltered from the sea, full of old-growth forests and clear springs." I met her gaze. "I thought of you. Of all of you. It's yours, Hestia, if you want it. A place for you, Demeter, and Hera. A home for the sisters, away from... well, all this."

Hestia's small laugh faded, and her expression softened. I saw genuine surprise in her eyes, and then, a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. She was truly touched. "A home just for us," she repeated softly, as if tasting the words. "That is the kindest thing anyone has offered me in a long time, brother." She nodded, a small, firm gesture. "I accept."

"My place is here, of course," she said, her gaze drifting to the central flame, then back to me. "The heart of Olympus must be tended. But I did say I would install the hearths in your new city. It wouldn't be proper for me to neglect my own now or that of my little brother, would it?" She smiled, the private laugh returning. "I will make it a true home for all of us."

I felt a weight lift from me, a simple, unexpected joy. "I'm glad." I took a bite of my own bread, and the silence was comfortable again. "So, that's my secret. What about you? What have you been doing now that the war is over?"

"Exploring," she said, her voice light.

A knot of genuine worry tightened in my chest. "Alone? Hestia, it's still dangerous out there even with the Titans imprisoned. You should have taken someone with you or called for me."

She tilted her head, genuinely confused. "Oh, yes. That might've been wise... a beast did find me after all. A large, ravenous one. A Drakon, I believe."

I froze, "A Drakon? And? Why didn't you call for help?"

"Why would I?" she asked, her voice full of simple logic. "It was just hungry. And angry."

"That's generally when you call for help, Hestia!"

"No," she said, but her voice was a shade tighter now, her memory of it less placid than she let on. "I told it that its hunger was valid and its anger was understandable. And then I introduced it to my fire. Directly. It dissolved instantly."

'Smite first, sister,' I heard my younger self say. 'Ask questions of the ashes.'

"Right," I said, my voice hoarse. "Well. Good. That's... certainly efficient."

After a while, I asked, "Do you ever wish you could leave this cavern more often? See the world?"

She turned her gaze to the flame. "Every day. But if I left, this place would forget to be home. Someone has to remember."

"You sound lonely," I said.

"I am peace," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Peace is always alone. That is how it endures."

When I finally rose to leave, the silence felt complete. I stood there for a moment, reluctant to break it, to return to the noise of the surface and the churning of my own domain.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

"For what?"

"For the bread," I said, though that wasn't what I meant.

She smiled, understanding anyway. "Few gods stay long enough to see the hearth for what it is."

As I turned to go, she said, "Poseidon?"

I paused at the threshold. She met my gaze, her amber eyes pleading. "You're going to him now, aren't you? Please just be careful. His pride is new, and he needs to feel like a king; otherwise, he'll believe all we endured was for nothing. Don't needle him too hard.

Before I could answer, she closed the distance between us in two quick steps and wrapped her arms around my waist in a tight hug. She pressed her face against my chest for a moment.

"And don't be away so long from now on," she whispered. "Come back for bread again. Soon."

She let go and stepped back, her gaze firm but warm. I looked back at her, the still figure by the eternal flame, and inclined my head.

Then I left her there, in the quiet heart of Olympus. Behind me, the warmth followed like a heartbeat. The hearth didn't chase me. It only waited, steady, patient, and unafraid of time.

I carried that warmth, that certainty, as I stepped back into the frantic chill of the new Olympus. The noise of construction returned, a frantic, hollow sound. Hestia was right. My talk with her had only clarified my purpose. I now knew exactly what I had to do.

I didn't shout. I didn't have to. I spoke to the aether itself, my voice quiet but carrying the authority of the sea.

"Zeus. We need to talk."

I didn't wait for a summons. I let the world dissolve. The marble of the terrace vanished, and the noise of construction ripped away. The air thinned, the world dropping out from under me. I stood on solid stone, but the world was gone.

I was at the very apex of Olympus, a place I had never been. This was the Olympian akropolis, existing in the cold, bright aether above the bronze dome of the sky. A flat, wind-blasted rock face, scoured clean of any life. The clouds were a roiling, silver sea below me. The world, blue and green and distant, was a map at my feet. At the very edge of the precipice, a single, massive throne was carved from the living rock.

I had come here to Zeus' private sanctum without permission. I had claimed this space, his secondary, private throne, as a meeting ground. It was an act of audacity. The air, already thin, thickened. It charged until my hair stood on end. A shadow fell over me, though there was nothing to cast it.

A concussive CRACK split the sky. A bolt of pure, white-hot lightning struck the stone ten metres in front of me. As the blinding, violet-edged flash faded, Zeus stood in its place.

His eyes were storm clouds, pure and dark. The playful and smug expression I had seen him wear at our last meeting was gone, replaced by the sheer, cold weight of his authority.

He strode to the edge, his back to me, his chiton snapping in the gale. He was the king surveying all he had conquered. He didn't offer me a seat.

"Speak, Brother," he said. His voice was sharp, cutting through the wind. "You have my full attention. And you've interrupted a rendezvous I was having with these salacious twin nymphs, so make it quick."

Of course. I almost smiled. He wasn't furious that I'd appeared uninvited on his private, forbidden summit. He was just mad I'd interrupted him having sex. Typical.

Chapter 11: Hades Interlude:

Hades felt it the moment their fingers brushed against his skin.

The shadows here were not his own. Ancient, cold and thinking, they recoiled at his touch like a wounded animal, sliding in patterns too deliberate to be mere darkness. Even the air carried a sulking resentment, thick with the mood of something wronged.

This was the House of the Unseen. From the start, it had rejected him.

Every breath the place released smelled of old hatred. The dark here was older than memory, awake and brooding, desiring to push him out the way torn flesh rejects a graft. It hissed at the edges of his will, clawed at any shape he tried to give it, and whispered from every corner in a voice soft as dust:

You do not belong. This House is not yours. It will never be yours.

It was to be expected. Unfairness had followed Hades from the moment of his making. Zeus now commanded the sky, and it eagerly bent itself to please him. Poseidon had always been drawn to the ocean, and so it was no surprise that the seas now hummed and curled around him like a well-trained hound. But his realm... his realm demanded labour. It had never offered anything freely, and it would not start now with him.

Its age pressed itself into his senses. The air tasted of dust rising from a sealed tomb, heavy with the memory of those who ruled before him. It remembered Tartarus, the pit that could think, whose primeval reign was nothing but unsatisfied hunger. It remembered Erebos and Nyx, drifting through like shadows of the first night. And it remembered his uncle, the Titan Iapetus, who had taught the abyss its simplest creed: cruelty requires no creativity.

Cruelty was effortless, the path of least resistance. Trying to end it, he was learning, was the true burden.

His mind slipped back to the day the lots were drawn: Zeus' polished magnanimity, Poseidon's lopsided grin. The Heavens! Zeus had proclaimed, claiming the crown he had intended to possess all along. The Sea! Poseidon had been delighted in a way that Hades had never seen from him before.

And Hades was left with what remained. The foundation. The discard heap of creation. The dark cellar where unfinished things went to moulder.

A newborn god with Titan blood still hot in his veins, he was handed the impossible task of civilising the silence beneath all existence. And that silence, courteous as it pretended to be, wanted nothing to do with him; the shadows loathed him for trying to make them more than what they were.

Hades stood in the formless expanse, a realm of mist that breathed like a sleeping giant. At its centre sat his throne: a slab of Stygian iron, functional and unadorned, almost painfully honest. No gold. No gems. No carved boasts. It was a throne built for a bookkeeper, not a conqueror, a huge, permanent chair rather than a symbol of triumph.

But he took his seat regardless. Authority, he had already learned, was mostly posture.

His father had not fallen through weakness, but because he clung to a cosmos that no longer wanted him as its king. That was the lesson Hades carried, heavier than the throne itself: rule was never guaranteed. You held a seat only as long as you could bear its weight, and as long as the realm allowed you to remain.

So he placed himself where he intended to stay, resolved to wait until the underworld either accepted him… or succeeded in unseating him.

The first soul of the day arrived as he always expected it to: barely more than a thought with edges, flickering at the limits of perception. Hades had come to know the rhythm of his work, an endless procession of such raw, half-formed remnants. The world was still young, still cooling, still learning how to lose things.

Hades' routine had crystallised quickly. He would observe. He would wait. He would speak once, quietly, deliberately, and the echoes of his judgement would ripple outward. Some of the smaller, weaker shades would fold under the authority of his presence alone. Others resisted, yowling and twisting, testing his attention and power over them like a child tugging at a leash.

He had yet to conceive a method for anyone else to match the exactness he demanded. Judging the dead required subtlety, calculation, and infinite patience, qualities he alone possessed. Perhaps in the future, nymphs or lingering spirits could be trained, but for now, the ritual was his.

He was not certain how long he had sat upon the throne of the Underworld. To a god, moments stretched like years; the hours melted into one another. His new work had found its rhythm. Some days were an endless, tedious procession of shades. On others, something substantial or, at the very least, stimulating occurred.

Today had been one of the tedious ones. He had dealt with the psychic aftertaste of a patch of moss that refused to accept it had died. The lingering irritation of an ancient, proud creature that had perished in its sleep. The baffled solemnity of a rock split by his brother's lightning.

None of them truly possessed a soul. None knew they had existed, or that they had ceased to exist.

And now, finally, something of consequence arrived.

A Drakon of Othrys, felled in the last hours of the Titanomachy, descended into his realm as a vortex of molten rage. Its form writhed between smoking coils and fractured bone, eyes burning like collapsing suns. It detonated in the centre of his half-formed hall, and Hades, seated and still, prepared to administer the order he alone could impose.

"I AM OF THE TITANS!" it shrieked, its voice cracking the underworld's pungent air. "YOU HAVE NO RIGHT, SWALLOWED-SON! RELEASE ME!"

Hades did not flinch. Stillness came easily; it was the one part of this throne that felt natural. He regarded the creature as one might a problem already solved.

This was his charge: to govern the dead, whether they understood themselves or not; to preside over what remained once violence, hunger, or fate had unmade a life. He was no judge, not yet; the cosmos had not invented true justice for the dead. For the moment, he was simply the barrier that stood between this howling remnant and the chaos above.

So when the Drakon roared and the walls trembled, he only raised his sceptre: a rod of black iron, bare of ornament, the symbol he had chosen for his will. His voice was quiet enough to be undeniable.

"You are dead. You died screaming beneath my brother's trident. And this is where the dead remain."

He struck the sceptre against the ground. The sound was finality itself, the turning of a page, the settling of an account.

The Drakon lunged, a wave of heat and spite. Hades need not move. The darkness, until now sullen, resentful, found something it despised even more than him: this loud, burning, unwelcome thing that refused to accept its proper place in the realm of the dead. The shadow at his feet surged upward, given sudden shape by his will. It coiled. It clutched. It obeyed.

The Drakon's flames sputtered against an infinite cold. Its roar dwindled into a sharp, thin scream. It was like watching a bonfire being smothered to death by the very earth it burned upon.

"Your potent essence is a resource," Hades said, calm and almost pedagogical. It seemed polite to explain to the poor beast what lay in store for it. "The fire of your soul is wild, wasteful. Your fury is a tool without a purpose."

He gestured, and the shadows that had smothered the creature did not retreat. Instead, they fused with the dying, spiritual embers, drawing out the rage like venom from a wound.

"You are a Drakon," Hades continued, "Your name comes from drakein. 'To see clearly.' 'To gaze sharply.' You were born to be a guardian, a watcher. Yet you guarded nothing, not even your own rage."

The shadows began to twist the molten essence, reshaping it, cooling the fire but honing its focus. The spirit shrieked as its mindless fury was given an inescapable, singular purpose.

"My realm requires clarity. It requires sight. Your fury will harden my borders, yes, but your piercing gaze will become my instrument. You will be unmade, and from your essence, I will forge the first of my kingdom's sentinels. Fret not, for you will not be a mere guardian; you will be the act of guarding itself. You will serve, and in serving, be useful again."

He paused, his eyes narrowing. Beneath the heat and rage, he caught an older scent, sharp, metallic, unmistakable.

"I smell your father on you," Hades murmured. "Iapetus. Even in death, he brands his children like tools. Perhaps, when my realm is settled and Tartarus is ready for visitors, I will allow the thin remnant of your soul that survives your coming metamorphosis to see him again." His voice slipped into something colder. "As a courtesy, of course."

The shadows dragged the spirit downward, devouring its defiance as it vanished beneath the obsidian mist-covered floor. The last thing to fade was a single, focused point of light, an unblinking eye, already beginning its vigil.

---

---

The final, formless wisp of the day's petitioners faded into the mist. The procession of the dead, from furious Drakons to baffled moss, had at last come to an end. The great, formless hall fell quiet. Since taking up his mantle, he had allowed only a measured portion of souls each day to be judged, enough to keep order, yet leave him time to attend to other duties, his realm still young, and entirely his to shape.

Only then, when the last echo of judgement had faded, did a single shade drift forward. Unsteady as a candle in the wind, this one was different. It did not wail, nor did it drift aimlessly. It waited with a clear, coherent purpose. It was one of the first such souls Hades had found, and somewhere along the way, it had become his personal scribe.

Hades glanced toward the shade and felt an uncomfortable twist beneath his ribs, a kind of reluctant embarrassment he had never learned to name. He had once enjoyed listening to Poseidon fill Kronos's stomach with those outlandish tales of heroes, blades of light, cities wrapped in eternal night. All five of them had clung to those stories in the dark, even him, especially him, though he would sooner be ground back into Titan spit than admit it.

When all you knew was darkness, half-digested air, and the slow pulse of a monstrous heart, a story became more than a distraction. It became a world. A place with colour, shape, and noise beyond the endless churn around them. They would argue, quietly or loudly depending on how passionate they felt, over a character's actions or appearance, the height of a tower, or whether a creature felt like it should have wings or hair.

Much to his frustration, his sisters had spent an extraordinary amount of time arguing over the stories that centred around romance. He remembered the flush on their cheeks when Poseidon revealed, almost casually, that Lorc Starkiller had unknowingly kissed his sister, Leia Antilles.

Hera had erupted into a stuttering mess, and the others had blushed up a storm. Poseidon had tried to explain that it was merely due to not knowing their relation at the time, yet even he could not suppress a teasing grin when his sisters argued over whether the moment had been romantic or scandalous.

At the time, they had no points of reference, so they relied solely on imagination, building impossible landscapes from Poseidon's vivid descriptions.

Demeter once insisted that Battyman's cape must be made of thousands of tiny bats, not that any of them had ever seen such a creature; Hestia was convinced Starkiller's light-blade hummed like a lullaby; Hera demanded a detailed explanation of what a "city" even was. And he, gods help him, had found himself quietly picturing every detail with an intensity he would never confess.

Those stories had given shape to boundless worlds he'd never seen. They were, in a way, the first things he and his siblings had ever owned. In truth, he found the real world, upon escaping that darkness, to be a profound disappointment, lacking the impossible, intricate wonders he had imagined it to be.

So when the first shade he met with anything resembling a personality appeared, a faint echo reminiscent of the tireless servant from his favourite tale, Hades took one look and promptly drafted it into service.

He didn't know the shade's true name. It hardly mattered. A creature that tidied without prompting deserved a name suited to its function, and Hades had given it one the moment it began arranging loose scraps of soul-residue into neat, sorted piles.

Alphrēdēs, the servant from the Knight of the Dark City. If the shade could not match the legend, it would at least mimic it.

Hades folded his hands atop the iron armrest. His voice dropped into the brusque efficiency that passed for warmth in the underworld.

"Alphrēdēs. The final ledger for the day."

The shade materialised beside the throne with immaculate posture, hands folded behind his back, a gesture painstakingly copied from the servant Hades had gone to lengths to describe. Alphrēdēs inclined his head.

"Lord Hades," he said, voice smooth as measured refinement. "The accounts from the Titanomachy continue to present... complications."

His outline flickered as if he sighed. "The influx of destroyed natural spirits is considerable. We have countless shades of burnt Hamadryads attempting to re-root themselves into the obsidian floor. A grove of wailing Oreads from the destroyed mountain ranges has also arrived, creating an acoustic hazard. Furthermore, we have the spiritual echoes of a troupe of Satyrs, apparently reaped by Lord Kronos's scythe mere days before he was defeated. They are... confused, my lord. Their souls are carved into so many pieces that they are struggling to remember their own shape or that they are Satyrs at all. And," hesitated, gesturing to a far corner where an amorphous haze pulsed, "there is the residual odour of a hydra nest leftover from before your kingship. The hydra itself is still unaccounted for. Only the smell. I regret to report that the beast is... rather mobile. And profoundly motivated to escape your notice."

Hades honed his senses to study the drifting mass of metaphysical stench and promptly reconsidered several life choices. This, apparently, was the state of his dominion. No refined souls. Not yet. Merely debris, the swept-up remnants of a war that had scorched creation.

He surveyed the vast, half-formed chamber. It did not feel like a kingdom to be proud of; it felt like an archive abandoned mid-catalogue, waiting for shelves, categories, and a patient hand to impose sense upon catastrophe.

His thoughts flicked, unbidden, to Tartarus. At least the Hundred-Handed Ones oversaw prisoners of consequence: Krios the Ram-Lord, still spitting starfire, Koios whose mind could shear prophecy, Hyperion burning without end. Titans of name, of weight, of stories grim enough to justify wardens forged from storms. A Harsh duty to be certain, but one of significance.

By comparison, he had…

"So," he said, "my realm is populated by bewildered Dryads, screaming Oreads, disoriented Satyrs who do not yet realise they are dead, and a… wandering Hydra that has left in its wake an offence to the concept of inhaling itself."

"Yes, my lord," Alphrēdēs replied with crisp professionalism. "Quite the distinguished clientele."

Hades exhaled through his nose. "This is becoming undignified."

He drew a steady breath and forced the irritation to settle. "Most of the souls from the war are not defiant," he murmured, more to himself than the shade. "They simply persist. Without malice. Without intent."

That truth settled into place like a stone in a foundation. The Underworld could not function without structure. Even the insignificant and the confused needed placement, not punishment.

A plain appeared in his thoughts: endless, pale, quiet. A field without joy, but without torment either.

"Alphrēdēs," he said, the shape of the new order solidifying, "the Dryads, the Oreads, the Satyrs… they require somewhere to drift without purpose or harm."

He named it as the thought crystallised.

"The Fields of Asphodel."

"Very good, my lord."

Hades tapped his fingers on the Stygian iron armrest. One problem solved. But his new fragile kingdom was pointless if it was to be constantly battered by the whims of Olympus. Knowledge of the world above was not a luxury; it was his only shield.

"Alphrēdēs, what is the state of the world above?"

"My lord, my sources remain reliable. River-nymphs gossip freely when they believe no one listens. Currents along the Styx and Acheron carry every whisper eventually. And a few of the oak spirits who cling near the many entrances to your realm have taken to informing me of anything unusual, usually in exchange for the assurance that their souls will not be punished beyond measure if they were to ever perish."

Hades inclined his head. "Proceed."

"First," Alphrēdēs said, "Lord Zeus requests confirmation of your attendance at the solstice. Two intermediaries have already asked; a third is expected to be sent in the coming days. Your unexplained absence from the celebrations will invite speculation and gossip."

A faint tightening around Hades' eyes served as acknowledgment. "Noted."

He would attend. Not for delight, never for delight, but because the alternatives were intolerable. If he failed to show, Poseidon would likely stride down into the Underworld himself to drag him to Olympus. Worse, if he deemed that too much effort, he would simply inform Hestia that Hades was intentionally avoiding her.

The thought of her quiet disapproval and sadness was, quite simply, unacceptable.

"Second," Alphrēdēs continued, "Lord Poseidon's movements have reshaped the political landscape considerably, my lord."

Hades allowed the barest hint of a nod. "How so?"

"He visited the Springs of Oceanus. The thousands of nymphs present report that his visitation from start to finish was a spectacle. He confronted the Titan directly before his entire court, demanding fealty."

"Bold," Hades murmured. "And dangerous. Oceanus is no fool, nor is he a weakling."

"Lord Oceanus, by all accounts, dismissed him as a child, and his authority over the seas was mocked. He even publicly insulted Lady Rhea before his court."

A faint tightening around Hades' eyes was the only acknowledgment. "An even bolder provocation."

"Indeed. In response, Lord Poseidon accused Oceanus of cowardice and neglect, specifically for allowing the gods Phorcys and Ceto to abduct his daughters unchallenged. When Oceanus publicly decried this, Lord Poseidon claimed his authority came not merely from the lot he drew with you and Lord Zeus, but from a higher power... the Primordial Pontus."

The shadows contracted around Hades. "The Primordial?" His voice was ice. "That is… unlikely. To even feel the presence of one of their kind invites madness and death. My brother is many things, but he is not so foolish as to court a Primordial directly; if the truth of it ever reached our sisters, they would disembowel him for the worry alone. What did the witnesses report? Did he show signs of injury?"

"My lord, that was the main question asked of many of the witnesses, who all insist he was physically unmarred, and his divine presence felt no weaker; if anything, it has never seemed so potent. I confess… I assumed it was a political boast, a strategic lie."

Hades cut him off, flat and absolute. "A lie? No. My brother is reckless in sentiment, not in survival. Audacious, yes, but not suicidal. He would not invoke a name he was not fully confident would answer… or at least not annihilate him outright. He must have been certain. Tell me what happened."

"He swore an oath, my lord. Inviting Pontus to strike him down if he spoke falsely. And the Primordial answered. The Nereids, Thetis, Amphitrite, Cymodoce, Thoe, and Ocyrhoe, all spread word of a deep, seismic tremor that shook the entire World-River, validating his claim. He declared a new capital to be named 'Atlantis,' and a royal vow to hunt Phorcys and Ceto to rescue the lost nymphs. Oceanus and Titaness Tethys knelt before him immediately. The entire court followed. The chant of 'Hail, King of the Sea' was reportedly heard on shores across the surface world. It only escaped our notice here because we are so far down in the earth, my lord."

"A complicated thing," Hades murmured, "and efficient. To use a Primordial's name, a public promise, and an old Titan's fear... my brother's audacity had only grown in my absence, it seems. Our sisters will not be pleased that he took such a risk."

Alphrēdēs inclined his head. "The event at the World River was only the beginning, my lord. Immediately following this, he moved to make good on his vow."

Hades's posture didn't change, but his attention sharpened. "Phorcys and Ceto."

"The same. My lord, do you recall the minor tremors we felt not long ago? The ones you attributed to the earth settling under your stewardship?"

"I believe those tremors were the battle," Alphrēdēs said. "The struggle was brief, brutal, and absolute. But the seismic disturbance is not what the ocean spirits are whispering about. It is the... other event that occurred simultaneously."

"Other event?"

"All sources, mostly from river-nymphs leagues away, report an overwhelming force that erupted at the same moment the battle occurred. They describe an aura of raw, untamed desire and procreation that saturated the seas. It was... irresistible. All beings in its range, sentient or not, were reportedly overwhelmed. It triggered a 'passionate frenzy,' my lord. Mass spawnings, chaotic couplings among beasts, naiads and river gods abandoning their posts as the ocean itself was driven into a procreative madness of sex and debauchery."

"Lord Poseidon is not known for such a domain, and the aura felt separate from his own. Then, mid-battle, it spiked. The chaotic energy reportedly... focused. Sharpened. It became intensely powerful for several moments before settling. The common speculation is that this was a boon from Pontus, a blessing for his new champion or some new kind of weapon that Lord Poseidon did not utilise during the war."

Hades's mind raced. An unknown, primal power. A wave of uncontrollable lust potent enough to drown the seas in uncontrolled sex.

"Pontus is the salt and the cold," he murmured, his voice flat. He was puzzled, but he would wait for the full report. "This... must be something else. Continue."

"This unexplainable event aside," Alphrēdēs continued, "the battle's conclusion was permanent. Some of the nymphs who were rescued overheard their former captors whining about their final judgment. He did not just defeat Phorcys and Ceto; he used his will to render them barren, my lord. Eternally."

A muscle in Hades's jaw tightened. A power over creation itself.

"And then he returned to the Springs of Oceanus less than a day later with dozens of the lost nymphs. They were... healed."

"Healed?" Hades's voice was sharp.

"Not just freed, my lord. Ceto and Phorcys had not been merciful with their toys; the nymphs for years had been broken, their bodies sullied, their minds drained of clarity, and their essences weaker than the shades that reside here. That is, until Lord Poseidon came upon them, and to hear it from their own lips, they speak of a blinding light that mended their bodies, minds, and souls. They say he purified them."

Alphrēdēs fell silent. The report was complete.

Hades was utterly, profoundly still. He processed the totality of it.

Pontus's approval. Oceanus's fealty. A new, mysterious primal force. A new, terrible power to make his enemies barren. A new, divine power to heal. The love of thousands, if not millions.

Hades, too, had felt new abilities settling upon him since claiming the Underworld, a deeper command of shadow, an intrinsic understanding of mineral wealth, the cold finality of judgment. His domain was granting him power, just as the seas were clearly granting them to Poseidon.

But these powers...

Throughout the war, Poseidon had been a known quantity, boisterous, bold, and transparent to a fault. He was not one for secrets. Now, in the space of a few months apart, his brother had revealed an arsenal Hades had never dreamed he possessed.

Was this the first true 'growing pain' of their new, separate reigns? Poseidon, unsupervised in his realm, cultivating secrets of primal lust, sterilisation, and soul-healing?

The discomfort was a physical thing. His brother, in such a short time, had not just conquered his realm. He had charmed it. Healed it. Inspired it. The seas had not just been claimed; they had welcomed their new king with open arms and been rewarded for it with grand acts of service.

Hades glanced at the restless, sullen shadows of his own realm. Here, the Underworld still recoiled from his touch. Here, he was not an inspiration; he was an irritation. He had to forge his sentinels from rage, not inspire them to action. He had to file his confused souls into a new, bleak plain; he could not heal them even if he wanted to.

A cold, sharp, and deeply unfamiliar tightness clenched in his chest. It was a feeling so foreign he had no name for it, but it burned like acid.

Jealousy.

His brother was bold, efficient, unstoppable... and welcomed all the more for it. Hades was the foundation, and he was utterly, profoundly alone. All he truly had down here was Alphrēdēs.

The Battyman from his brother's stories was a dark warrior, alone in a cold, damp cave, served only by his loyal attendant, dedicating his life to dealing with death and darkness. Hades had always privately liked the comparison.

Now, for the first time, it just felt bleak.

The story's hero had chosen that life. Hades had been assigned his. And his brother was now out in the light, being welcomed as a king, while Hades was left to live out the lonely part of the tale.

"So the world watches," Hades murmured at last, his voice flat, masking the sudden, acidic burn. "The seas shift, the currents churn… let them. We have our own work."

He regarded Alphrēdēs, forcing his focus back to his own, thankless domain. "Attend to the shades. Sort the screaming from the confused. Begin preparations for the Fields of Asphodel. The dead must have their place."

Alphrēdēs bowed with immaculate grace. "At once, my lord." His servant inclined, posture perfect, and withdrew into the mist, leaving Hades alone in the vast, still-resentful silence.

He let the acidic burn of his thoughts settle. Poseidon had his work. Hades had his own.

He turned his focus inward, back to the formless expanse of his hall. The Fields of Asphodel. He had given the order, and now he had to will the plane into being to carve a space of quiet neutrality from the endless, sullen chaos that rejected his every touch.

He was beginning to shape the boundaries, pushing his will against the realm's passive resistance, when a new sensation cut through his concentration.

It was not the screaming of a shade. Not the ambient resentment of the dark. This was... different. A presence, as cold and still as his own, but woven with a different thread. A managed, intentional shadow. It carried the scent of deep caves, damp earth, and something anciently female.

The shadows at the edge of his hall coalesced. Where before there was only mist, now there was a figure.

A woman was kneeling, her back to him, wreathed in shadow and a smoky, green-gold light. At her hip, unlit, hung a pair of simple bronze torches, her sigil. She wasn't looking at him, but at the bank of the Acheron, where the river of sorrow flowed sluggishly past the edge of his newly formed hall.

This was the Potamos Akherôn, the river of pain. It was a current of liquid akhos, pure pain, distilled. It was the collected, weeping sorrow of all that had died and felt loss. It gushed with the memory of tears and final, gasping breaths.

Her hands were plunged deep into it.

Hades stood. His hall did not need him to walk. The polished obsidian flowed like liquid at his will, extending the dais, carrying his throne silently toward the intruder.

"Hecate," Hades stated. His voice was flat, an iron bar.

The goddess of magic and crossroads did not turn. "Hades." Her voice was amused. "You've redecorated. It's very... dashing. And the rivers are running beautifully, I see. This one has a delightful texture."

She pulled her hands from the current. The black liquid clung to her skin like oil, and as she held it cupped in her palms, the faint, despairing faces of the dead swirled within it, born from the pain (akhe) of their passing.

"The rivers of my realm are not your well to draw from freely, witch," Hades said, his sceptre striking the stone floor. The sound was a command.

"All dark water connects, darling, you know that." She let the liquid grief drip through her fingers, each drop sizzling as it hit the obsidian floor. A single, pure black tear of concentrated sorrow remained in her palm, which she placed in an iron vial.

"Besides, this is a rare vintage. The first pressing." She held the vial up to her own green-gold light, watching the dark liquid grief swirl within. "Pure, unfiltered akhos. Such raw, unadulterated pain is a potent binding agent. Far more effective for... certain workings... than anything I could distil myself."

She gave a knowing glance toward the river. "Best to harvest it now, before you've... civilised it and made it dull."

Hades's eyes narrowed. He knew of her power over heaven, earth, and sea, a power inherited from the Titans, and he did not trust it.

"State your purpose here, witch."

"A gift," she said, sealing the vial. She finally stood and turned. Her smile was sharp, her gaze that of someone who openly gloated that she saw everything from afar, from every angle. "For a new student. She's finding her focus, but she needs the right... ingredients. She has so much... intensity. She's taking to the magical arts wonderfully."

"Hera," Hades stated. It was not a question.

Hecate's smile widened. "So clever. It's been a surprisingly enjoyable time. She sought me out, you know. 'Teach me real power,' she said. 'I am tired of being afraid. I want to be useful to those I love.' How could I refuse a plea like that?"

She idly tossed the vial in her hand. "She and Iris... a charmingly frantic pair. We were in the middle of a rather complex lesson on binding circles when word arrived. About your brother."

Hades's posture didn't change, but his attention sharpened.
"No, dear," Hecate said, catching his thought. "Not Zeus. The other one. The handsome one."

"My brother's appearance is irrelevant," Hades said, his voice dry. "What of him?"

Hecate's smile became predatory. "She heard about his... spectacle. The supposed meeting with a Primordial. The healing of the nymphs and the fight he underwent to dashingly rescue them. And, of course, the... passionate frenzy." Hecate winked, letting him know she knew more than his own spies. "She is... displeased. She feels he is being reckless, drawing cosmic attention, and frankly, disrespectful. Giving away pieces of his new kingdom..."

"To what?" Hades cut in, his attention sharpening.

Hecate's smile widened. "Oh, not to what, darling. To who. That's the part your little shade missed, isn't it? That aura wasn't him. And it certainly wasn't Pontus."

She leaned in, as if sharing a delicious, dangerous secret. "Iris and I... we are very good at finding things. That 'primal frenzy'? That was a birth. A powerful one. A new goddess, born from the sea foam. A goddess of... well, exactly that."

She gestured to the vial of Acheron water. "And your brother, in his infinite, sentimental wisdom, has already gifted her an island."

Hades processed this instantly. A new, primal goddess of... lust. An island. Hera.

Oh, Poseidon, you fool. A rare, thin, cold smile touched his lips. He pictured it: Hera, radiating pure, cold fury, the air crackling with the new magic Hecate had taught her. And Poseidon, all blustering charm, trying to explain his way out of this.

He deserves it, the thought was sharp and, to his surprise, deeply amusing. That glorious, sentimental fool. Let him face them. It will be... educational.

"A fascinating report," Hades said, his voice returning to its flat, administrative tone. "You have what you came for without my permission. Leave the vial and be on your way. Your paths are not welcome here."

Hecate stopped. She turned, that sharp smile still in place, but it no longer held any mockery. It was pure, confident amusement, as if he'd just said something profoundly naive.

"Oh, darling," she said, almost pityingly. "You truly don't know, do you?"

"Know what, witch?"

"Who do you think told me the Acheron's waters were so potent today specifically?" she asked. "Who do you think... approved my visit and hid my presence from you for so long?"

Hades tensed, ready to assert his will, to force the issue.

He never got the chance.

The darkness of his hall convulsed, not merely shifting, but fleeing. His own shadows, the very essence of his domain, tore themselves from his will. They streamed away from him like panicked animals, retreating from his throne as if he had become a blazing star. The air congealed, heavy as black oil. Silence became a physical weight, swallowing thought. Frost webbed itself across the obsidian, not from cold, but from the strain of reality itself tightening.

This was a power so far beyond Hecate's craft that the comparison was meaningless. This was not the will of a Titan, god, or chthonic spirit. This was First.

Hades' divine essence recoiled as the truth dawned, vast and cold. This was not a presence entering his realm. This was the realm welcoming an old master.

A pressure without shape or limit descended, urging every bone, every spark of divinity, to kneel. It was the weight of the endless night before Chaos took its first breath. Hades slammed the butt of his sceptre into the obsidian, using it like a spike to anchor himself against a cosmic tide. He refused to bow.

Hecate watched him with a calm, solemn respect and a flicker of something like sympathy. Then she dipped her head, low and formal, not to Hades, but to the vastness gathering behind her.

"My apologies, Lord Hades," she said quietly. "My chaperone has arrived."

She didn't fade; she was claimed. The darkness behind her folded inward, welcoming her like a returning daughter. One step backward, and she vanished into it without a ripple, taking her prize with her.

Hades was left straining against a force that had no name in godly speech, because it did not need one.

Then a voice filled the hall. Not loud. Not echoing. Simply present, as though it had been speaking since before he existed, and he was only now able to hear it. A woman's voice, ancient, smooth as polished obsidian, threaded with deep, amused warmth:

"My apologies, Lord Hades, for the formality of my arrival. I always forget what my full presence does to your kind. And still, you stand. How stubborn and admirable. To fight the very air you breathe."

The pressure pulsed, and a thought, not his own, rumbled through his mind. a vibration from the void itself.

…A… S O N… O F… S T O N E…

The darkness at the far end of the hall coalesced, thickening, drinking the ambient mist. Two figures emerged.

One was the source of the pressure: a void in the shape of a man, a shifting mass of pure absence from which no light escaped. Erebus. The Primordial God of Darkness

The other was a woman. Her form was the cold between the stars, her hair a flowing nebula of unlight. She stepped forward, and the frost on the floor traced her path. Nyx. The Primordial Goddess of the Night

She glided around him, inspecting him as one might a new, interesting piece of furniture. Erebus remained a silent column of dread, but Hades could feel his fathomless attention.

"You have been busy, Hades," Nyx purred, her voice the only sound in the suffocating silence. "So very busy. We watched you... tidying up Iapetus' messes. You file, you sort. You separate. You even pushed the filth leftover down into the lower realm where it belongs."

Hades' jaw was set. "This realm is mine. By lot. And by labour. Begone."

"This realm," she said, stopping in front of him, "is our cradle." She smiled, a terrible crescent of new-moon light. "You have done well, for a child. You've learned to command the echoes, the shades, the dust with admirable speed and skill."

The pressure from Erebos pulsed again, affirming her.

…H E… G O V E R N S… D U S T… DO... NOT FLATTER... HIM... WIFE...

"But you do not command the true powers of this house," Nyx continued, her voice losing its light, amused edge and taking on a chill. "You sit on your iron chair and judge the memory of a Drakon, but you have no authority over Thanatos. You now deign to build fields for the weary, but you do not speak for Hypnos. You claim to bring order," she leaned closer, her nebula-face swirling, "but you have no hold on my daughters, the Moirai."

She let the names hang in the air. Her brood. Death, Sleep, and the Fates. The true machinery of the dark.

"They do not answer to you," she stated. "So you are not truly the king of the Underworld. You are merely a gatekeeper."

Hades met her non-gaze, refusing to be intimidated. "Why are you here?"

"Because you are promising," Nyx said, the amusement returning. "You have a passion for order. And you are not your father. We... appreciate that. We can teach you. How to command the darkness. How to make Death listen to you without question. How to make this realm truly yours."

A genuine offer. And an impossibly large one. Hades felt the shift. This was not a threat. This was a negotiation.

"And the price for your tutelage?" Hades asked, his voice flat.

Nyx smiled. "We have a... personal agenda. Something my consort and I have desired since the first night fell."

A final, resonating pulse from Erebos.

…A… B A L A N C E… U N P A I D…

"You will help us," Nyx stated, "and in return, the Night and Darkness itself will teach you how to rule. In time, this realm could in truth become and forever be known as the House of Hades."

Hades looked from the swirling, personable face of Nyx to the absolute, crushing void of Erebos. An agenda that required the cooperation of a new, powerful god. An agenda that the first two beings of creation could not, or would not, enact themselves.

What could that possibly be!?

One that might... concern his brothers? His father and mother? Gaia?

"What is it," Hades asked, "that you desire?"

Nyx's smile widened. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper that only he could hear.

She told him.

Clang.

The sound was shocking in the heavy silence, a sharp, metallic crack against the obsidian. Hades stared, not at her, but at the floor. His sceptre, the anchor he had used to defy her, lay at his feet. His hand was still raised, fingers frozen in the shape of the grip he had just lost.

The revelation had done what her cosmic pressure could not: it had broken his stance.

His eyes, wide with a new, dawning, and terrible understanding, slowly rose to meet hers.

Chapter 12: I Wrestle With the King of the Sky

From a recovered fragment of the Theomachia, a lost epic poem detailing the numerous strifes between Zeus, King of the Gods and Poseidon, King of the Seas.
Author unknown.​

Sing, O Muses, of your father's primal strife, When first upon Olympus' wind-scoured peak, Stood Kronos' sons, their new reigns untested, Their hearts still wild from war against the old.

Came Lord Poseidon, Shaker of the Earth, His heart weighed down with purpose from the deep. He stood before the High-Throned, gatherer of clouds, and spoke, his voice the rumble of the trench: "Hear me, O Brother, Lord of Wind and Sky! My Sea grows restless, longing for its King. A throne must rise beneath the bitter waves, A wonder built to match your own on high."

But Zeus, the Lord of Aether, would not yield. His mind was wary, fearful of a rival. He saw a second throne to match his own. "Nay!" he cried, and the widest sky did crack."You ask for power that belongs to me! These are my strengths! My arms! They shall not go!"

Thus they contended, not solely with simple word of tongue, but with force of arms. Upon the living rock they set their might: He of the Sky, a torrent, white-hot fire, And he of Sea, the cold, unyielding dark.

As when a forest fire, fed by the wind, meets the ocean's cold and angry tide, the steam and ash-cloud rise to blot the sun, and neither force can claim the battered shore, so did the brothers lock their divine wills.

The world below felt Othrys' war return. Young Helios, the son of Hyperion, driving his sun-bright chariot, felt the reins grow heavy, as if the very stars did drag. His steeds, they screamed, rearing in golden trace, at high noon stopped; the blazing sun stood still.

The greatest of men shrieked; their fields turned first to ash, their rivers boiled, their grandest cities cracked and burned. And far below, the widest sea drew back, A mirror flat, its great heart stilled by dread, Revealing sights no mortal eye should see: The wrecks of ages, the forgotten deep.

The other gods looked on with shaking knees. White-armed Hera, Demeter of the Golden Sheaf, cried out, "You fools! You tear the world asunder!" But the brothers heard nothing, locked in godly rage. Their ichor ran like rivers on the stone, which melted down like wax before a fire.

And from their brows came the sweat of purest strife, not salt, not water, but the steam of strength itself. It gathered, thick and molten, upon their skin, and when it shook free, it fell.

Down it plunged from the peak of Olympus, past cloud and cliff and trembling air, burning a trail through the sky as if unwilling to cool. The droplets struck the earth like sparks from a divine anvil, sinking into Gaia's waiting soil. From that union rose a host of strange firstlings. creatures of soot and storm, of brine and buried fire. But one mattered above all.

From that seed arose a daimon: Aethalops the First, the Soot-Faced Bat, born of earth, lightning, and the brine. In time, he would fly the silent ways of the Underworld and bear the words of the Unseen King, a messenger shaped by the clash of his younger brothers' powers.

For two long days, they fought; the cosmos shuddered. Then, as the firmament began to tear, A word was spoken, whispered 'midst the storm. Its meaning is now long lost to the ages. The balance shifted, as all fate must do. In the final crash, the world bloomed. Young Helios loosed his chariot from the height; The tides returned in one great thunderous roar.

Thus was the First Contention finally done. Who stood victorious? Who was it that yielded? Of this, the Muses will no longer sing. But this is known: the bond of the brothers was forever changed.

---

---

That, at least, is the tale the bards would eventually settle on. A grand, world-breaking brawl, complete with molten ichor and cities reduced to ash.

It is entertaining, I admit. How mortals tend to twist narratives to suit them, writing mankind into the margins of a time they never saw, or singing of grand cities when the first man had yet to draw his breath. Our divine sweat did spawn a curious daimon, yes, but no, I hadn't impregnated Gaea... yet. That would come later.

But they always focus on the wrong part. The political squabble with Zeus was necessary, but it was just the prelude. The true, earth-shattering moment of that day, the one that truly forged a new future, happened almost immediately after. The poets, naturally, place centuries between the two, not comprehending that the events occurred within a single afternoon.

If they knew the truth, they likely wouldn't believe it. After all, it doesn't make for a very grand song.

---

---

I let the charged silence hang, allowing Zeus's irritation at my interruption to simmer into the cold aether. He remained at the precipice, his back to me, his gaze fixed on the world below.

He was waiting for my answer, yes, but his attention was clearly divided. Something down there had snagged his focus the moment he arrived, something perhaps even more compelling than me or the nymphs I'd pulled him from.

A lesser god might have apologised for the interruption. I, on the other hand, stepped forward to stand beside him, matching his posture.

The ability to split my awareness had become second nature to me by now. Even as my primary awareness remained anchored on the peak, cataloguing the tension in Zeus' shoulders, I let another part of myself slip free. It raced across the void in less than a thought, diving through cloud and sky toward the rugged peninsula he was still studying.

He wasn't trying to make me stew; that patch of land genuinely held his attention.

My senses unfurled. I fixed on the land's oldest river and saw my cousin Achelous, one of Oceanus' countless sons, his divine form laid over the current, a bull-headed, serpentine old god whose coils shaped every bend.

Shoulder to shoulder, we surveyed the world, our fractured inheritance, humming with stormlight and promise. For a long moment, we said nothing. His personal, dramatic gust of wind whipped my hair, and for once, I let it.

"You've been staring at that one spot since I arrived," I said, voice deliberately casual, gesturing with my chin. "All I see is old Achelous, coiling through those jumbled hills." I flashed a grin, seeking a read on him. "What about him has got you staring so hard? He doesn't seem like your usual type, grumpy, old Achelous. Not exactly cut from the same cloth as the beauties you usually pine after, brother."

I expected a lecherous laugh in return. A boast. Or, given his mood, a snap of irritation that I wouldn't just get on with what I was here for.

I did not expect the quiet, thoughtful tone.

Zeus didn't look at me, but I felt the tension in his shoulders ease, just a fraction. With my sudden arrival, he had likely expected a heated confrontation, not a mere jab.

"It's not the river god," Zeus murmured, not taking his eyes from the horizon. "It's the land he coils around."

He stood unnervingly still, like a statue listening to something beneath the marble. His fingers drifted to the back of his neck.

"There is a pulse in it, brother. A thrumming." His gaze sharpened, narrowing on that twisted, half-formed peninsula.

"I do not know how I know it, but that land will be the hinge upon which ages turn."

Interesting. And unexpected.

I folded my arms, letting the weight of silence sit before I spoke. "You've grown perceptive in my absence, brother." A pause. "Or prophetic."

That finally broke his trance; Zeus blinked, startled, and I saw his irritation rise, directed both at me and at the memory of what I'd interrupted.

"I was busy, Poseidon," he said, straightening, his tone taking on that preening edge he never seemed aware of. "Very... very... busy."

I fought back a smile. He was practically vibrating with the need to boast. It was better to let him get it out of his system.

"My apologies, brother," I said, my tone anything but apologetic. "I have my reasons for being here, I promise. But I have to ask... a pair of sisters? How did you manage that?"

He dragged a hand through his golden hair with theatrical exasperation, but the wolfish grin that tugged at his mouth told me he was thrilled to be asked.

"Ah! Well, Maia found me first, Atlas's eldest. Stumbled upon me soaring past her cave on Kyllene, or pretended to, at least. All shyness and shadows at first, supposedly just gathering herbs." He winked. "But I saw the look in those lively eyes. She was measuring me."

"So, I gilded my tongue. I offered her a smile that promised ruin and asked of the mountain she called home. Her voice was like warm smoke. She asked what business a King had on her 'quiet peak,' but the way she drew the word quiet, make no mistake, brother, it was an invitation. She was asking why I hadn't come to plunder her cave sooner."

A self-satisfied grin tugged at his mouth, and he leaned in, his voice dropping slightly. "Her hand had barely found its way to my arm, her fingers tracing the lines of my chest, when her younger sister arrived. Elektra. Gods, Poseidon, she is a different beast entirely." He let out a low whistle of appreciation. "All sharp dusky angles and fire. Not shy, she stood there, appraising me with those amber eyes, having come to see what was keeping her sister. She is the kind of nymph who wants to be taken for a ride, brother, and she does not let go."

I raised an eyebrow. "And you had them both?"

"I was weaving the net, brother!" he corrected, lifting a finger, his ego in full sail. "It was a delicate piece of diplomacy. A masterpiece, really. I was whispering to Maia about how her shyness was a mystery I must solve, and she was flushing, her hand on my chest. But over her shoulder, my gaze never left Elektra. And she was not angry. She was... impressed. Leaning against a pine, a slow, wicked smile on her face, daring me. She wanted to watch. And Maia knew her sister was there. That tension, that is what made it so... mmph."

He sighed dramatically. "I had them both in the palm of my hands, and then your call rolled across the sky."

He shot me a look that would have smote a mortal dead.

"So yes. Brother, please tell me what was so important that you had to interrupt me at my moment of victory."

That was more like him.

My mind drifted, unbidden, to what Maia might carry before the sun set, if Zeus had his way. A child of hers would not be ordinary. I could almost feel the threads of fate tugging already: Hermes, the quick-footed thief who would one day torment Apollo before he could even walk, charming the world with wit and winged sandals.

If anyone had interrupted me in the baths with Thetis, I would have levelled the entire World-River. I conceded a grudging flicker of respect for Zeus's current, if brittle, composure.

"My apologies, brother," I said, my tone far more sincere this time. "Truly. I won't hold you long. By all means, when our business is concluded, I won't hold it against you if you rush off to get back to them."

Zeus actually laughed, a short, sharp bark of surprise. He waved a dismissive hand, turning back to the view.

"No, no. Let them wait." A grin touched his lips again. "Anticipation, brother. It makes the eventual prize all the sweeter. Maia will be twice as eager, and Elektra twice as bold, knowing I could be summoned away at any moment. It adds... stakes."

I cringed internally. I knew what he meant: the thrill of the chase. But I saw the shadow at the edge of the stormlight, a possessiveness that, left unchecked, could curdle from charming eagerness into something monstrous. He wasn't that, not yet, but the potential was there.

He must have felt my silence, because his tone shifted, losing its lecherous edge and becoming something quieter. Deeper.

"I am in no rush," he murmured, his gaze distant. "Possessing the Heavens has taught me patience. More than I thought I possessed."

"Patience?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "From you?"

"I know," he said, a genuine, small smile touching his lips. "I was rash in my youth. Impetuous throughout the war. Always running with Metis to evade Father's gaze, or chasing the next battle with you. I was a fire that knew no hearth. I burned only for the next... well. The next piece of glory."

He lifted his hand, staring into it, his palm up. He flexed his fingers, and the aether itself answered. A wisp of cloud, no bigger than my thumb, gathered in his palm. It was perfect, a miniature thunderhead, glowing with a soft, internal light. He watched it swirl, fascinated.

"But up here," he continued, his voice soft with wonder, "It's not just my power, it's theirs."

I frowned. "Theirs?"

"The Aurai," he whispered, as if naming a secret. "The breezes. You know, I always thought of them as... hollow things. Fleeting. Stupid. It turns out that some are even Daughters of Oceanus, and I never knew. I had made the false assumption that they were mere Nymphs in the wind, but in truth, they are the wind's desire given beautiful form. They sing when I shape the clouds. They rejoice in the air currents I weave. I gather a storm, and they dance in the heart of it, their laughter like high, thin chimes."

His fingers closed, and the cloud vanished.

"And the Anemoi, the gods of the four winds," he went on, his eyes bright. "Boreas, Zephyrus, Notus, Euros, they are wild, chaotic, beautiful. Boreas is a savage with a heart of ice, the cold, shaggy breath of winter. And Zephyrus, gods, he is a gentle, melancholy thing, scattering spring flowers from his mantle."

He paused, a flicker of genuine respect in his gaze. "But then there is Notus, the South Wind. He is heavy, mournful, and serious, the bringer of the summer rainstorms. And Euros, the East Wind, he is pure impulse, unpredictable and volatile, shifting his heavy cloak without warning. To bind my will to theirs, to harmonise with them all, the savage, the melancholy, the serious, and the volatile, is a music I never knew I could play."

I think I know what you mean. I thought back to my own experiences in getting lost in the natural rhythms of the sea and its deep, patient cadence.

He looked at me, any mask of kingship gone, leaving only the younger brother. "The sky suits me, Poseidon", he said, almost shyly. "More than I ever expected, despite my hunger to possess it. So... I thank you, brother, for yielding it. It could have been yours had you wished it. We both know that."

I studied him. This was a side of Zeus I had never seen. It seems that gaining our domains had changed us both.

"I'm glad to hear you say that," I admitted, my own voice softening. "I'll concede the sea is darker. Colder. But full of its own wonders."

"We are well matched then, brother," Zeus said. "The world is vast enough for both our appetites."

He held the silence for a moment longer, letting the wind whip around us, before he turned fully toward me.

"But you did not climb the highest peak in creation simply to compare notes on our kingdoms," Zeus said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Nor did you interrupt my victory for small talk. Tell me, brother, what is the true purpose of your visit?"

This was it. I took a steadying breath. I needed to be direct and honest.

"I am raising a capital city," I said, keeping my tone steady and conversational, meeting his gaze. "A proper bastion for my kingdom. I envision it as a true reflection of Olympus, set beneath the waves, a testament to the new world we've forged together. I've named it Atlantis."

I stepped closer, gesturing with one hand as if tracing the outline of the future city in the air. "The site is extraordinary. It's a Nexus, a perfect caldera that is veined with raw Orichalcum and sits where all the great ocean currents meet. It's a place of immense power, brother, but right now, it's wild. Unshaped."

"Look, I can raise the walls myself, yes, but it will be a crude fortress, a temporary thing. I intend for Atlantis to be the eternal jewelled capital of the seas for all time. It must be built to endure, and I don't possess the finesse to shape it with the perfection it deserves."

I paused, letting a touch of leverage enter my voice. "And time is short. I would prefer the capital to be functioning and completed by the Solstice. How will it look for the King of the Gods if the foundation of his brother's kingdom is still just a massive pile of unshaped rock when the entire divine court gathers? A visible, magnificent seat of power is the strongest statement we can make for the negotiations to come with the remaining Titans and minor gods."

My gaze drifted to the thunderbolts sewn into his clothing, then up to his face. "To realise this vision, and to make it endure, I require the finest hands in creation, the same hands capable of forging the very weapon that now sits in your grasp."

I took a final, deliberate step. "I've come to petition you, brother, for a temporary loan of your ministers: the Elder Cyclopes."

The open, receptive mood snapped shut. Zeus crossed his arms, the gold of his lightning-donned clothing gleaming as he considered.

"This is not a simple request, Poseidon," Zeus stated, his voice sharp with new caution, the King's mask sliding into place. "The answer cannot be an immediate 'yes.'"

"Why?" I asked, keeping my tone level.

"Because the Cyclopes are not merely smiths; they are a symbol of the Sky's dominance. My right to rule. We are weeks away from the Solstice, and I need Olympus and all of the divinites sworn to me to project unquestionable loyalty, power, and stability. If I send my greatest assets away to labour in the depths, it sets a precedent. Next, Helios will want them to refit his chariot, or Selene will demand craftsmen to build her a winter palace. And frankly, brother... it looks like I am stripping my citadel bare on the cusp of my ascension to furnish yours. Rumour will quickly spread."

I let the argument hang, then nodded.

"I understand the precedent of the Cyclopes. But the scale of my vision is unlike anything these other gods could request; it will shape my kingdom's future for millennia. To anchor the Nexus, I need raw, geological power. I must also request to use the services of the Hecatoncheires."

Zeus blinked once, hard. The incredulity was instantaneous. "The Hundred Handed Ones? You are mad. Cottus and Gyges guard the gates of Tartarus by decree! All six of us agreed that they would be the best option to keep the Titans imprisoned! Only Briareus remains here, watching the western seas for any sign of a resurgence. You cannot ask for them and the Elder Cyclops's both!"

A flash of genuine, deeply buried insecurity crossed his face, gone almost as fast as it appeared.

"And let us be honest, Poseidon. You are closer to our sisters and to Hades than I am. You've been a cornerstone of this family from the start. If you build a powerful, alluring alternative to Olympus right now, before my rule is even cemented... it risks splitting our family and the court in half."

He looked me in the eye. "I cannot afford a rival throne. Not now, not ever. Especially not from you."

It was a smart argument. Paranoiac, perhaps, but politically sound. He feared that if I built a paradise, the family would flock to it and leave Olympus bare.

"You misunderstand my purpose here, Zeus," I countered with equal force, stepping into his space. "This is not a bid for power; I've made my position on that clear years ago. It is an offer of unity, and a comprehensive display of our strength."

"Unity?" he scoffed. "When the other gods decry me for favouritism will I tell them it was done in the name of unity!?"

"When," I challenged, holding his gaze, "have we ever let the opinions of other gods dictate how we live our lives? Did we not swear a sacred vow at the start of the war to never let our lives be ruled by another tyrant ever again? Many of those old Titans and minor gods stood by and did nothing while our father turned a golden age of creation into one of terror."

"They lost the right to complain about how we distribute resources amongst our family when they stood still or only now join us after our victory. You, Hades and I are the three Kings of the cosmos now. How we exchange resources is a matter of our shared sovereignty, not their petty grievances. We decide the precedents, Zeus, not them."

I pressed my advantage. "If you are truly worried about the optics, then let's get Hades involved. We can frame this as a joint effort: all three brothers preparing their kingdoms for the Solstice. A visible display of the three new thrones securing their domains simultaneously. We rise together, or we fall under the weight of petty grievances. The Cyclopes are our uncles, not political pawns. If you grant them to me, if you help me build the most magnificent capital of the deep, it sends a clear message to all: We build together. It establishes you as the magnanimous King who empowers his brothers, not a tyrant who hoards resources."

"And in return? I offer you a trade that solidifies your position and replenishes your arsenal. The Nexus site is veined with raw Orichalcum; it runs deep into the earth. I theorise it could even be self-regenerating due to the sheer magic that is permeating from the metal itself. I plan on recruiting Hecate to have a look at it. You need unique materials for your own forges, and I need the labour. You give me the smiths for a season, and I give you a permanent share of the finest, rarest metal in the seas."

I held his gaze. There was only one more thing I could think to offer him, something I planned on doing anyway, though Zeus didn't need to know that.

"When the city is finished, I will be the first to stand before the entire gathered court at the Solstice and formally acknowledge your kingship. I will pledge the strength of Atlantis to the defence of Olympus and to our new order. That endorsement, backed by the promise of unfailing resources, will be more of a benefit to your authority and reputation than any number of polished statues that our Uncles can forge for you."

I stepped back, letting the weight of the proposal hang in the thin air. I had offered him the world: wealth, unity, public legitimacy, and a new metal that hummed with magic. All for the loan of three smiths and a siege-breaker who were currently gathering dust.

It was a flawless deal.

Zeus stood silent. He looked out over the precipice, his eyes tracking the slow movement of the clouds. He rubbed his jaw, his expression unreadable. The wind whipped around us, the only sound on the peak.

Minutes passed. I waited, confident. He was my horny idiot of a younger brother, yes, but he was also a brilliant strategist and capable leader. He couldn't turn this down.

Finally, Zeus turned back to me. The conflict was gone from his face, replaced by a terrifying, serene calm.

"It is a magnificent offer, brother," he said softly. "Truly."

"Then we have an accord?"

"No."

I blinked, certain I had misheard. "Excuse me?"

"My answer is no," he stated, his voice flat and final. "I will not trade the sovereignty of my court for bribes, Poseidon. Not for metal, not for endorsements. The Cyclopes and Briareus remain here."

I stared at him, my mouth slightly agape. The sheer, stubborn illogicality of it stunned me. I felt a scream building in my chest. You, absolute idiot, I am handing you the crown on a platter!

"You are rejecting stability," I hissed, stepping forward, my temper flaring hot and fast. "You are rejecting the future of our alliance for—"

Zeus cut me off with a sharp, chopping motion of his hand.

"We cannot settle this with words, brother!" he barked, his eyes suddenly blazing with that dangerous, electric light. "Do you not see? You demand my assets; I refuse to yield them. We are the unstoppable sea and the immovable sky. Diplomacy has failed because neither of us is built to kneel."

"So what?" I snapped. "We just stare at each other until the Solstice?"

"No," Zeus grinned, a wild expression that stripped away the King and revealed the Titan-slayer beneath. "We settle it the way we were born to."

He raised a hand. The air between us shivered. With a crack of thunder, the aether coalesced, weaving together into a solid, shimmering surface, a table made of compressed storm and sky, heavy enough to crush a mortal city.

He planted his elbow on the surface. The impact sounded like a falling tree.

"A test of strength," he declared. "Bia against Bia."

His confidence was absolute. I knew why: he had always been stronger than me, even during the war. Now, enthroned in the heavens, drawing endless energy from the sky, he was supremely overconfident that he could win and quickly.

I looked at the table, then at him. "You want to arm-wrestle? Now?"

"Why not?" he challenged. "We never finished our last match since Hestia interrupted us because we knocked over her stew, remember? We were both in the doghouse for a month. But Hestia is not here now."

"That's only because she's further down the mountain, you fool! And if we mess up her cooking again, she'll kill us both."

Zeus just laughed, the sound loud and completely reckless. "Then we'd better finish this quickly!"

He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with greed and confidence. "And this time stakes shall be absolute."

"Name them," I said, rolling my shoulder to loosen the tension.

"If you win," Zeus said, "You get it all. The Cyclopes. Briareus. I shall publicly endorse your city as a cornerstone of my rule. I send them with my blessing, unquestioned, for the season. All without you needing to concede anything in return."

"And if you win?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"I keep my servants," he said, his grin widening. "But you still give me the Orichalcum. You still endorse my rule. And you do it with a smile."

I laughed. It was a raw, incredulous sound. "You greedy bastard. You want to keep your hoard and take mine too?"

"I am the King of the Sky's," he shrugged, flexing his fingers. sparks of white lightning dancing across his knuckles. "I take what I desire. Unless, of course... You are afraid the ocean has made you go soft?"

He had me. He knew he had me. It was a terrible bet, a gambler's throw, but the challenge stirred the ancient, violent ichor in my veins.

"Fine," I growled, stepping up to the table of solidified air. "But I'm adding a sweetener. Just to make sure you don't back down when you see my grip."

Zeus raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I spotted some Nereids in Oceanus' court upon my latest visit," I murmured, leaning in conspiratorially. "Daughters of Doris. Full of light, mischief, and absolutely no interest in politics. If I lose... I'll introduce you."

Zeus's eyes lit up like twin suns. It was the perfect prize for his vanity.

"Deal!" he shouted, the thunder rolling across the peaks.

I stepped up to the construct. When I planted my elbow on the translucent surface, it hummed with a high-frequency vibration, a block of captured storm held together by sheer will.

I opened my hand, my palm broad and calloused from the trident. Zeus reached out to meet me.

Our fingers interlaced.

The moment our skin touched, a shockwave hissed out, smelling of ozone and salt. His hand was a living forge, crackling with explosive, white-hot energy that sought to burn. I met it with the crushing, abyssal cold of the deep.

The world stopped. The high, keening shriek of the mountaintop vanished into an absolute, ringing silence, terrified of what was about to be unleashed.

"Begin!"

BOOM.

The compressed aether beneath our elbows didn't crack; it screamed, vibrating with a frequency that shattered the silence for hundreds of kilometres. Yet our arms remained suspended in the air, locked in a perfect, trembling stasis.

The mountain groaned. Far below, I felt the roots of Olympus shudder and knew that every god in the vicinity was turning their gaze up to watch us.

For a split second, my mind wandered. I pictured Hestia, sitting by her hearth far below, feeling the entire mountain shake. I saw her looking up at the ceiling, a flat, unimpressed look on her face. 'You had one job, little brother,' she'd think. 'Go say hello, I said. Don't break the mountain, I said.'

Zeus wasn't holding back. His eyes were glowing a furious, blinding white. The sky above us darkened instantly, heavy storm clouds swirling into a vortex directly over our heads. Thunder pealed, shaking the very marrow of my bones.

I gritted my teeth and shoved back. The ocean roared in my ears. I drew on the weight of the abyss, the crushing pressure of ten thousand leagues of water. All around the world I could feel the ocean surge and give birth to countless tsunamis.

Around us, the air began to tear. Stones levitated off the ground as gravity itself began to die. The wind whipped into a frenzy, tearing at our clothes, but neither of us moved an inch.

"Is that all?" Zeus roared over the gale, veins bulging in his neck, lightning arcing from his shoulders. "Is that all the sea has to offer? A little splash?"

"You talk too much!" I shouted back, pouring more power into my arm.

The pressure was immense. The table of air began to glow red-hot from the sheer friction of our opposing wills.

"Hah!" he crowed, slamming my arm down an inch. "You've gone soft in the deep, brother! All that floating about has made you lazy!"

"Lazy?" I gritted out, straining to hold the line. "I've been busy building a kingdom! While you're chasing half the nymphs in the cosmos!"

"It's called multitasking!" he yelled, grinning like a maniac as lightning bolts the size of skyscrapers struck the ground just metres away from us. "And for the record, I usually catch them!"

We were deadlocked. My arm was burning, every muscle fibre screaming in protest. He was stronger than I remembered; his confidence was absolute. He was drawing endless energy from the sky itself. We could stay like this for days. The mountain would crumble before either of us yielded.

I needed an edge. I needed to break his focus.

"You know," I grunted, sweat dripping from my brow, turning to steam before it hit the table. "For all your talk of conquest... You seem awfully desperate to keep chasing more and more women."

"I am a King!" he strained, his face red, lightning crackling across his knuckles. "I take what I desire!"

"But you have Metis," I pushed back, gaining a millimetre as his eyes flickered. "She is wise, loyal, and beautiful. She literally helped you vomit us up. And yet here you are, running off to chase Maia and Elektra the moment you beat me. Two at once? Is the Goddess of Wisdom not enough for you?"

"Metis is perfect!" Zeus bellowed, the storm intensifying. "But a King's appetite is vast!"

"And Themis?" I taunted, pressing the advantage. "I always thought she had a good head on her shoulders."

Zeus let out a short, sharp laugh, his grin turning wicked despite the strain. "Oh, she certainly knows how to use her head, brother. You have no idea."

"Disgusting," I muttered, though I was relieved the distraction was working.

"Don't act so high and mighty!" Zeus roared, and suddenly he shoved back, hard. My arm trembled, forced down an inch. "You're one to talk! You spent the entire war brooding in the mud or doting on our sisters! I'd wager my throne you're still as untouched as the day Father spat you out!"

"I spent a month with a dryad. Once," I grunted, the strain making my voice tight. "I told you that years ago. I'm sorry that I was so focused on winning the war that I didn't sleep with every goddess who came my way!"

Zeus laughed, a harsh, incredulous sound. "A dryad? One luscious tree-spirit in ten years? Hah! That barely counts! You have no fire, brother! What do you know of real desire?"

"The war is over, Zeus," I said softly, locking my gaze with his. "Things have changed. I paid a visit to the deep springs of Oceanus recently. To make the Old Titan bend the knee."

"And?" Zeus sneered, pressing his advantage.

"He submitted," I smiled. "But before that... I was welcomed. By one of his granddaughters."

Zeus frowned, confusion flickering in his storm-white eyes. "Welcomed? By who? Some random Sea Nymph?"

"Thetis."

The name hit him harder than my arm could have. His eyes widened. Even Zeus knew of Thetis. The Nereid of Nereids. The most beautiful, most elusive prize in the ocean.

"You lie," he breathed, his concentration wavering.

"Do I?" I smiled, and I let the memory bleed into my voice, painting the picture for him. "It was just before Oceanus swore fealty. She escorted me to the baths..."

I told him.

I told him of the obsidian pool. The steam. The petals. I told him of Thetis dropping her chiton, the way her divine form seemed to glow in the dim light. I described her naked form, a divine sculpture come to life, every curve demanding supplication. I spoke of her breasts, full and heavy, begging to be touched. I described her waist, exploding into wide, fertile hips, and the lush invitation between her powerful legs, the way the water lapped at her thighs as she swam toward me.

Zeus's eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open. The lightning overhead stopped flashing. The wind died down. He was listening, rapt, like a man at a campfire.

I told him of the nymphs, their hands, their mouths. And then I told him of Thetis claiming me. The way she straddled my lap in the water. The way she took me into her mouth,

"...and she looked up at me," I finished, my voice low, "water streaming down her face, eyes gleaming with mischief, and said..."

I paused for effect.

"...' A little indulgence never hurt anyone.'"

Zeus was stunned. The lightning in his eyes flickered out.

You have to understand, after ten years of war, the divine host had established a silent, unspoken hierarchy of desire and attraction. We all knew the ladder. At the very summit stood the most beautiful amongst us: Hera, Demeter, Themis, Mnemosyne, and others. They were the peaks everyone admired or lusted over, but few dared to climb or even approach.

I was confident that when I introduced her to everyone Aphrodite would jump to the top of the list.

But Thetis... Thetis sat at that same table. She was the shimmering, silver-footed wildcard, the raw beauty of the wild sea that rivalled the sky and earth.

"She..." he whispered, "she... really?"

"Really," I said.

And then, while his mind was swimming with desire, I slammed his arm down.

CRACK.

His knuckles hit the solidified air with the force of a falling star. The table shattered into a thousand shards of dissipating wind. The shockwave cleared the clouds instantly, leaving only the blue, empty sky for as far as our divine eyes could see.

Silence returned to the peak.

Zeus stared at his hand, pinned beneath mine. He blinked, slowly coming back to reality. He looked up at me, betrayal and awe warring in his eyes.

"You..." he whispered. "You cheated."

"I used tactics," I corrected, releasing his hand and stepping back, shaking the numbness from my arm. "I win. The Cyclopes. Briareus. For the season."

Zeus rubbed his wrist, wincing. But then, a slow grin spread across his face. It wasn't the grin of a loser. It was the grin of a man who had just heard the best story of his life.

"Worth it," he muttered. Then he laughed, a booming, genuine sound that echoed off the peaks. "Gods, brother! Thetis? The actual Thetis?"

"The actual Thetis," I confirmed, feeling a strange warmth in my chest. Not victory, but... camaraderie.

"I'm glad you came, Poseidon," Zeus said, clapping me on the back, his jealousy forgotten in the face of my 'conquest.' "Truly. It is good to know I am not the only one living up to our station. I was starting to get concerned about you! I thought you a lost cause like Hades!"

I smiled. For a moment, looking at him, seeing the genuine pride in his eyes, I thought, Maybe I misjudged him. Maybe, underneath the ego and the lightning, he really is just my brother trying to find his way.

"And besides," Zeus added, a wicked glint in his eye as he turned and began to walk away.

"Now that I know what is possible, I have some new ideas to try out on Maia and Elektra tonight. So, really... who is the true winner here?"

He winked and vanished in a flash of golden light.

I stood there, alone on the ruined peak.

"Never mind," I muttered to the wind. "He's insufferable."

I descended from the throat of the world to claim my architects, believing I had taken everything I came for. I did not yet know that Olympus had one more burden to give me, one far heavier and precious than stone.

One I was about to carry home.

Chapter 13: I Walk Among the Smiths

Notes:

If you wish to be more up to date on this story and have a QQ account be sure to check it out over there, I go by Khrubbz and the title is the same! Will try to be more consisent here but so far have tried to get a couple chaps ahead and then bulk post them on ao3.

Anyway enjoy these latest set of chapters, with these next two your all up to date!

The descent from the summit was brief. I left the raw, elemental fury of the peak in an instant, and the next I stepped out onto the blinding, sun-drenched expanse of the Olympian Sprawl.

To call it a city was an insult; it was a continent of divine architecture draped over the world's spine. Great, sweeping avenues of solid electrum wound their way through a metropolis that defied gravity and logic. Floating districts, tethered only by chains of gold, drifted lazily against the purple-bruised sky, while waterfalls of liquid nectar cascaded upward into hanging gardens of silver and jade. Every surface shimmered, polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting the eternal, golden noon of the gods.

Above, the air had been thin and turbulent. Down here, in the bustling streets of Olympus, the air was thick with gossip.

The tremor, the result of my "clash" with Zeus, had rattled the entire mountain. I could see it in the way the minor gods and nature spirits moved. They huddled in doorways, whispering, glancing nervously toward the peak. When they saw me, the whispers died.

I walked down the centre of the golden street. I didn't need to ask for a path; the crowd parted like water around a ship's prow at my passing. They felt the residual power rolling off me, the heavy, crushing gravity of the ocean that I hadn't yet bothered to retract.

I turned the corner toward the Street of Metal, and the smell hit me instantly. It was a dense wall of burning anthracite, sulphur, and the sharp, bloody tang of sublimating metal.

A shouting match was echoing loudly through the air.

"I don't care if it's broken!" a voice like grinding tectonic plates roared. "I forge the masterworks of the King of the Sky! I do not repair chariot axles for minor nature spirits such as you!"

"But Lord Prometheus said—" a nervous Satyr bleated, holding a broken bronze wheel.

"Prometheus isn't here! Fat lot of good his 'foresight' did him if he thought I'd actually listen to your bleating! Words are wind, boy. Now piss off!"

I stopped. Ahead, squeezed between a Temple to Rhea and a weaver's cottage, was a shop that looked ready to burst. Smoke billowed from the windows, staining the pristine gold of the street.

Brontes, the Elder Cyclops, stood in the doorway. He looked ridiculous. He was a mountain of muscle and scar tissue, wearing a leather apron stained with grease, oil and ichor, forced to stoop just to fit through the frame. He was red in the face, looming over a line of terrified customers.

He snatched a sword from the hands of a young, minor godling, some son of an obscure wind god by the look of the wings on his back. Brontes held the blade up to the sunlight, squinting at a notch near the hilt.

"Look at this," Brontes spat, "You claim this snapped on a breastplate?"

"Yes!" the godling blustered, puffing out his chest. "A Titan's breastplate! During the final siege against the Tyrant Kronos! I was there, on the front lines! I fought alongside Lord Poseidon himself!"

Brontes laughed, a harsh, grinding sound like boulders crushing together.

"Alongside him? Don't make me laugh. I've seen him at work, boy. He doesn't have 'allies' on his flank; he has survivors. Anyone standing within a hundred metres of one of my nephews during a fight is usually too busy trying not to shit themselves to worry about a dented sword."

He tossed the weapon onto the road with a clatter. "Besides, I know metal. This sword has never struck anything harder than a tree stump. You took a file to this blade to give it a worn look. It's pathetic."

"How dare you!" the godling shouted, his face flushing a deep, embarrassed red. "I am a veteran of the War! I stood with the Stormbringer! If he were here, he would vouch for—"

"Forgive the interruption," I said, stepping out from the shadow of a golden pillar. "But I don't recall you being on my flank."

My voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the street noise like a cold wind. The young god froze. He turned slowly.

The crowd followed his gaze. They saw me standing in the centre of the street, the heavy, suffocating pressure of the ocean's depth radiating off me.

"And I would remember," I continued, walking forward. "Because the only ones who had the stomach to hold the line beside me were the greatest warriors and butchers our forces could assemble. They were either warriors of peerless calibre or the maddest dogs we could let off the leash."

I stopped a foot away from him, towering over his shrinking form.

"And I have never seen you before in my life."

The young godling's face went pale. He looked at me, then at the sword, then back at me. He seemed to shrink three inches.

"Lord... Lord Poseidon," he squeaked. "I... I didn't..."

"I want the truth,"

"It was for a girl!" the godling blurted out, terrified. "A dryad! She likes scars! She likes war stories! I just wanted to impress her!"

"Go," I said. My voice was low, but it didn't need to be anything more than that. "And I would strongly recommend you never use my name to prop up your lies again."

I didn't just say it to him. I lifted my chin, my gaze sweeping past the trembling boy to the frozen line of customers, the faces peering from windows, the silent spectators. I let the gravity of my spiritual presence press down on the entire street, making the air heavy and hard to breathe.

"Any of you."

The godling didn't need to be told twice. He vanished in a flurry of feathers and dust.

The silence that followed was absolute. The warning hung in the air like a cloud of smoke. The Satyr dropped his wheel and scrambled away on hooves that clattered frantically against the ground. The rest of the line dissolved instantly, minor deities and spirits scattering into the alleyways to avoid the heavy, dark mood radiating from me.

In seconds, the street was empty.

Brontes watched them go, then lowered his massive arms. He squinted at me, then huffed, a sound like a steam vent opening.

"Well," he grunted, wiping soot from his forehead with a rag the size of a bedsheet. "That's one way to clear a queue. Thanks for that, Nephew. Little gnats were giving me a migraine."

"Hello, Brontes," I said, walking up to the shop. "Busy day?"

"Busy? That's one word for it," he spat, "Harassed is another. These fuckers don't stop. Morning, noon, middle of the night. Zeus is losing his mind over this Solstice. He keeps screaming that 'Everything must be perfect' for the court's debut. He wants the architecture flawless, the weapons gleaming..."

"And he has his war-smiths... making sandals."

He kicked the discarded sword into the gutter with a clang.

I raised a single eyebrow, "He actually has you making... footwear?"

"We craft everything," Brontes scoffed, immediately offended by the implication that he couldn't do it. "You think we can't cobble the greatest shoes in existence? The leather is woven from the hide of a Basilisk. The soles are enchanted to make him float an inch off the ground so he never scuffs his heel."

"So they aren't finished?"

"Oh, they've been finished for weeks," Brontes said, a malicious grin splitting his bearded face. "They're sitting in a crate in the back, gathering dust."

"You're withholding them?"

"We're 'ensuring quality control,'" he corrected with a wink. "Just to piss that Sparky bastard off. Every two days, he sends a messenger screaming about the timeline, and every morning, I tell them we're having trouble with the stitching. Knowing he's walking barefoot on cold marble right now? That's the only thing getting me through this week."

Better not tell him about the Twin Nymphs, Zeus was likely with this very moment then, I thought.

I allowed a small smile. "Let's talk inside, Brontes. Away from prying ears. I think I have a project that's a bit more worthy of your time than sandals."

Brontes grumbled, but he stepped back, ducking his head low to let me pass.

"It better not be a belt buckle," he muttered. "I swear, if another god asks for a fucking diamond belt buckle..."

If the outside looked cramped, the inside was a prison.

It was an industrial cathedral shoved into a closet. The ceiling was too low, stained black with soot. The heat was suffocating because there was nowhere for the thermal energy to go. It felt claustrophobic. Three mountains of muscle were trying to work in a space designed for regular gods.

Rivers of molten gold and magma snaked through channels cut into the floor, forcing me to watch my step.

Steropes stood before me, slimmer and twitchier, and was currently using a pair of delicate tongs to move a crate of raw iron that was blocking a doorway to an adjacent room. He looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack.

Arges sat to my left, perched on a crate in the shadows, silent and still.

And Brontes, having followed me in, moved to the massive anvil on the right, filling the remaining space with his sheer bulk.

"Brontes! I told you to move this batch yesterday!" Steropes whined, "And you're tracking dust! I just swept those benches of magic residue!"

He stopped dead when he saw me. His single eye widened behind his thick, magnifying protective goggles.

"Oh," Steropes squeaked. "Lord Poseidon. Welcome."

"It is good to see you, Uncle, but forgive me..." I said, ducking my head sharply to avoid braining myself on a hanging rack of bronze spears.

I looked around the claustrophobic space.

"Why... exactly have you set up shop here? This building is barely wide enough for your shoulders. Zeus would carve you a citadel out of solid diamond if you asked for it. Why in the name of the Void are you working in this cramped, suffocating alleyway?"

I barely finished the sentence before all three of them roared in perfect, deafening unison:

"BECAUSE IT IS THE FARTHEST AWAY FROM THOSE GREEDY FUCKERS!"

The sheer volume rattled the tools on the walls.

"We picked the deepest, darkest, dead-end street in the lowest district!" Brontes yelled, gesturing furiously at the damp walls. "We wanted peace! We wanted silence! We wanted to be so hard to find that even the most steadfast clientele would give up looking for us!"

"And yet," Arges rumbled from the shadows, his voice thick with misery, "they still knock. Every hour. They smell the magic of our creations."

"It's a nightmare," Steropes squeaked, adjusting his multi-lens goggles. "Too many vibrations. Too many voices. I can't hear the metal sing when there is so much..."

He trailed off.

His single eye, magnified to the size of a dinner plate by his goggles, didn't stay on my face. It drifted immediately to my right hand. To the Trident.

The complaints about the shop vanished instantly. He went rigid. The air in the room seemed to drop a few degrees as his obsession took the wheel.

He made a noise in the back of his throat, a pained, high-pitched whimper, like a dog seeing a bone that had been chewed on by a rat.

"Oh," he whispered, his hands twitching toward it. "Oh... oh dear."

He scurried forward and hovered millimetres from the weapon. He didn't touch it; he just stared at the Trident with a look of utter horror.

"That beveling is atrocious," he whispered, trembling. "Who sharpened that? A blind fool? And is that traces of... seaweed stuck in the filigree?"

I looked down at the weapon. To my eyes, and the eyes of every other god in Olympus, it was flawless. It gleamed with an unearthly golden-blue light. It was smooth to the touch, the balance perfect. It had shattered mountains and pierced the hide of Titans without so much as a scratch.

But I possessed eyes that saw deeper than skin.

I shifted my focus, peeling back the visual reality of the metal to look at the fundamental architecture beneath. I zoomed in, past the shine and the texture, down to the molecular and then the atomic level.

What I saw would have liquified the brain of a modern quantum physicist.

It was a structural impossibility. I saw the atomic lattice of the Trident, and it was a violation of the laws of physics held together by sheer conceptual will. The atoms were packed so densely that they defied the Pauli Exclusion Principle, their electron clouds not repelling each other but woven together into a single, flowing superfluid sheet of energy.

There was no space between the nuclei. It was a solid wall of matter. By all metrics of modern science, the strong nuclear force binding these atoms this closely should have triggered a catastrophic fusion reaction. This fork should have been a nuclear bomb.

But it wasn't. It was static. It was stable. It was a frozen scream of energy forced into the shape of a weapon. It was the most terrifyingly perfect piece of engineering I had ever seen.

"It looks... fine to me," I said, my voice sounding small against the backdrop of that atomic perfection.

"Fine... FINE!?" Steropes looked at me as if I were insane. He reached out, his gloved fingers twitching, and finally grabbed the shaft. He didn't ask. He just took it. "Look at the third tine! There are micro-fractures in the atomic lattice! And the stress points on the haft... look at this! It's practically screaming in agony! How could you mistreat her so badly!"

He pulled an even more precise magnifying lens from his belt and held it up to a section of the metal that looked perfectly smooth to me at every level.

"I see... nothing," I admitted.

"You wouldn't," he sniffed, shaking his head with a weary lack of surprise. "You swing it like a butcher hacking through bone. All you hear is the clang of impact and the scream of your enemies; you are still deaf to its song."

I frowned. Song?

Was there a layer even deeper than the atomic? A resonance or a consciousness I had missed? The thought that I was wielding only a fraction of its true potential was... intriguing. Frightening.

He cradled it in his arms, running a gloved thumb over the tines, his expression shifting from horror to a disappointed, paternal scowl.

"You have not been treating my Trident with respect, Brat," he admonished.

"Brat?" I asked, a smirk touching my lips. "I thought I was 'Lord Poseidon' when I walked in?"

"That was before I saw the state of my trident!" he snapped, rubbing a smudge on the haft. "Titles are for gods who maintain their gear. You are a scoundrel!"

"Your trident?" I asked, amused by the demotion.

"I made it," he stated, as if that superseded my ownership. "I birthed it. And look at it. It's tired. It's weeping."

"I promise you I have used it well," I said, my voice softening with genuine respect. "Since the day you gifted it to me. We would not have won the War without these weapons, Steropes. I owe you and your brothers everything for this."

I gestured to the weapon in his arms. "I did get into a minor scuffle recently with some rebellious Ocean deities, but they were soft targets. I doubt they could have damaged the Trident even if they had dared to try."

Steropes scoffed. "You probably hit a piece of coral at the wrong angle and compromised the vibrational frequency!"

He turned the Trident over, inspecting the base. He made a face of pure disgust.

"It's trash," he declared.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Trash. Garbage. Scrap." He shook his head, running a thumb over the tines with a sneer of disgust. "We were practically children, rushing to arm you against the Titans! The alloy mix is archaic, the enchantment weave is sloppy, and the harmonic balance is off by 0.0003 percent."

He looked up at me, his single eye burning with a terrifying, manic perfectionism.

"It is an embarrassment to this forge. I cannot let you be seen holding this antique; I'll be the laughingstock of Olympus!"

"Steropes, I need that to—"

"I'm taking it," he interrupted, spinning the weapon in his hands like he was weighing a soul. "It doesn't just need a polish; it needs an evolution. I'm thinking of folding a gravity-sink into the head to match your new mass and domain over the sea, and perhaps quenching the tips in the absolute zero of Khaos to ensure they never dull."

That sent warning sirens blaring through my mind. "Wait," I said, reaching out.

He ignored me, pivoting the weapon to point a thick, ash-stained finger at the neck of the trident, right where the three prongs diverged from the shaft.

"See this gap?" he muttered, tapping the metal rapidly. "A standard trishula design splits the impact three ways. Excellent for increasing surface area to trap a fish or catch a blade, but it dilutes the piercing force. I've been experimenting." He traced a circle with his thumb just below the fork. "I'm going to forge a focal socket right here at the convergence point."

He looked at me, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"If you place a powerful enough focal artefact in there, it won't just channel your power, Poseidon. It will focus the energy from the three tines back into a single singularity. It would amplify the output a hundredfold, perhaps beyond that. But you can't just put a pretty gem in there. You need something with proper weight."

He began listing options, ticking them off on his soot-stained fingers.

"A vial of water from the Styx would make your strikes unbreakable oaths. The crystallised eye of a Manticore would ensure the weapon never misses. The rotating horn of a Yale could allow the tines to swivel and parry independently of the shaft. Hell, bring me a feather from a Harpy queen, and the trident will move faster than the wind itself. Find something that resonates with who you are now, not who the war made you become."

"Steropes, that sounds dangerous to—"

"Don't worry!" he bellowed, already bustling toward a massive grinding wheel that hummed with ominous energy. "It will be better than before! It will be the definition of perfection! After I'm through, it will hold its edge for five millennia! Though..." He paused, shooting a stern look over his shoulder. "Bring it back in a thousand years. Exactly a thousand. I'll need to look at it. Now, don't touch anything, you're radiating salt all over our workshop!"

He vanished behind a pillar of steam, already muttering to the weapon, promising it that he would "make the bad man's abuse go away."

I stood there, empty-handed and blinking in the heat.

"He's not going to give that back before he's satisfied, is he?" I asked.

Brontes snorted, the sound like boulders grinding together. He didn't even look up from his anvil.

"You're not seeing that for at least a week, boy. Maybe a month. Get used to it." He idly slammed his hammer down, sending a shower of sparks cascading over us. "And wipe that rubbish look off your face. What are you, a God or a gardener? You're telling me you can't kill a man without your fancy fork? Use your fists. Crack some skulls with your bare hands like a real man. If you're helpless without the metal, you didn't deserve to hold it in the first place."

I sighed and looked past him to the third brother.

Arges was the only one who didn't look frustrated by the lack of space; he looked bored. He watched me with an unnerving intensity, his single eye tracking the way my weight settled on the stone, assessing the structure of my stance.

"I am not here for a social visit, Brontes, as much as I am glad to see you," I said, stepping over a pile of scattered tools. "I am here to collect a debt."

"We owe the sea nothing," Brontes grunted, hefting a half-polished something whose true purpose I doubted I could ever decipher. He looked irritated. "I'd remember if we were in your debt, boy. Besides, we've got clean-up to do. That little tantrum you two threw upstairs shook the entire mountain. Steropes, up until you entered the shop, has been hyperventilating because the vibrations knocked his enchantment arrays off-alignment."

"Your little spat set me back a month!" Steropes shrieked from the back, "It's a disaster! A month!"

"Besides, Zeus commands the forge and us, you know this." Brontes dismissed, turning his back on me.

"Not today," I corrected, my voice echoing off the workshop walls. "Zeus and I had a wager. I beat him in a contest of strength, and so the services of you, your brothers, and the Hecatoncheires Briareus are now mine for the season."

Brontes and Arges froze. I could even sense Steropes stop vibrating from the back of the workshop. A slow, incredulous grin spread across Brontes' face, a terrifying sight involving too many teeth.

"You beat Zeus in a bout of strength?" Brontes asked, a rough laugh bubbling up in his chest. "Hah! Sparky's got a glass jaw, I always said it!"

He paused, his single eye narrowing with sudden suspicion. He leaned down, looking me over. "Though... he's stronger than you, Lad. Raw torque, he has you beat. How'd you manage to put him down?"

I felt a sudden, hot flush creep up my neck. I scratched my cheek, looking anywhere but at the giant eye drilling into me. I wasn't about to explain to my uncles that I won sovereignty over their labour by describing oral sex.

"I... employed superior tactics," I muttered, clearing my throat awkwardly. "I exploited a, uh, structural weakness in his concentration. Psychological warfare. Let's leave it at that."

Brontes snorted, clearly not buying it but amused nonetheless. "Right. 'Tactics.' Well, I trust your word, lad, if you put him on his ass, and our service was the prize, I guess you're the boss for now. He sent you to get us out of his hair, didn't he? You probably want to put us to work as soon as possible."

I painted what I wanted from them with words. Pacing the soot-stained floor, I laid out a vision that combined divine grandeur with the structural logic of a civilisation yet to be born.

As I detailed the concentric rings of red, white, and black stone, the noise from the back room died; Steropes crept back into the room, unable to resist the technical challenge, while Arges finally rose from the shadows to loom over me. By the time I finished describing the central Acropolis, a fortress that I wanted to utilise the very thermal vents and currents of the ocean to breathe, the room was silent, save for the crackle of the forge.

"And the central citadel... the citadel must be sheathed in Orichalcum."

The silence that followed was absolute.

"Orichalcum?" Steropes whispered, looking at his brothers. "That... that is a myth. A metal of the Elder Days. It's a rumour, Poseidon, nothing more."

"It is not a myth," I countered, lowering my voice. "It exists. At the Nexus. I found the vein myself. It bleeds fire into the water."

Brontes' single eye widened. The mention of a legendary, unworked metal was the ultimate bait for a smith. "You have access to a raw vein? Unrefined?"

"I do. But mining it and shaping it requires a touch I do not possess. That is why I need you."

Brontes scratched his beard, the gears turning.

He looked at his brothers, then back to me, his expression hardening. "It's a masterwork worthy of us, Lad. I won't deny that. But we are three smiths. Even with our strength, quarrying the materials for it all? Moving mountains of bedrock? It would take us a century."

"We cannot do the heavy lifting alone," Arges rumbled in agreement. "We are artisans, not strip-miners."

"I know," I smiled. "That is where the rest of my winnings come in. You can coordinate with Briareus; he will be at your disposal for the full season. Knowing him, he'll enjoy the chance to stretch his legs."

I took a step closer to the Elder Cyclops. "In return for your services, I offer you more than just the satisfaction of your work. There is a cavern beneath the Nexus, heated by Gaia's core, vast and silent. No courtiers. If you build this for me in time before the Solstice, that cavern is yours. A Grand Natural Forge, your eternal property, neutral ground, where you can work in peace for the rest of time."

"Well?" Brontes barked at his brothers, a fire lighting in his eye that hadn't been there a moment ago. "What are we waiting for? I haven't hit anything real in a decade. Let's go build the greatest fucking city the Ocean will ever see!"

Suddenly, the three of them were a whirlwind of motion. They began grabbing tools, shoving schematics into bags, and arguing rapidly in the Old Tongue of the Earth-born. I stood there, watching them, realising with a jolt that I had ceased to exist in their eyes. I was just furniture in the way of the Work.

They bustled toward the door, a wall of manic energy. Just as they reached the threshold, Steropes paused, turning back to me one last time.

"The Trident," he chirped, tapping his nose. "I will have everything improved and re-aligned by the time the final stone is laid. Consider it a housewarming gift for the new capital. When the city sings, the weapon will be ready."

"Wait, I—"

"Don't wait up!" Brontes roared over his shoulder, already shoving his way out into the street. "We have to find the Hundred-Handed One before he falls asleep again! BRIAREUS! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU UGLY BASTARD! WE HAVE ROCKS TO CRUSH!"

And just like that, they were gone.

I stood alone in the centre of the silent forge, blinking at the sudden emptiness. The noise of their departure faded down the alleyway. The rhythmic pounding of the automated bellows seemed to slow, lacking a heartbeat to drive them.

"Right," I muttered to the empty room. "Good talk."

Chapter 14: I Anchor the Wandering Goddess

I turned to leave.

Then, the air curdled.

The sharp, industrial tang of sulphur and iron vanished instantly, choked out by a scent that had no business in a forge. It was a heavy, suffocating perfume, a divine signature so potent it tasted like syrup on the tongue.

Lilies, white and funereal. The narcotic, dizzying sweetness of crushed lotus. The richness of ripe pomegranates bursting in the heat.

"Hello, Brother," a woman's voice echoed, low and resonant, bouncing off the blacksmith's walls before I could even turn.

"I've just come from sitting with Hestia. She had so much to tell me. Fascinating stories about your little wager with Zeus. About you, a bath, and a certain Nereid."

I froze.

"And that was after," the voice continued, stepping closer from the shadows, "I learned something just as fascinating from Hecate. She whispered about a new Goddess that you've been spending time with."

The footsteps stopped just behind me.

"And finally... Demeter. Did you know she is currently parading through Gaia's many gardens, bragging to anyone who will listen about the new life she created with you during your journey to the World River not a month ago."

Shit.

My blood ran cold.

Damn you, Hestia, I cursed internally, keeping my back turned for a split second longer to compose myself.

You sit by the fire claiming to be the silent observer, the absolute neutral party... You aren't neutral at all! You're the biggest gossip in the family!

I turned.

Hera stood framed by the archway where the shadows were deepest.

If the forge was a place of grit, she was a vision of excess. Even in the dim light, she was the living definition of Peerless Beauty. She wore a peplos of white silk that didn't so much clothe her as it did surrender to her. The fabric clung to her like liquid marble, struggling to contain a body that had been sculpted for the sole purpose of sensual appreciation and expression.

She was radiant. A statue brought to life and filled with hot blood. Her neckline plunged dangerously low, barely restraining a bust of such succulent, heavy curvature that it threatened to spill over with every breath she took.

She stepped into the room, and the movement was hypnotic.

Her thighs, softened by layers of divine femininity, moved with a heavy, fluid grace. Her hips flared out with such width that they seemed to possess their own gravitational orbit, swaying with a slow, rhythmic cadence that made the silk strain and pull across her lap. As she walked, I saw the heavy, deliberate jiggle of her chest, a kinetic reminder that for all her regality, she was a creature of flesh and desire.

She looked like a fertility idol carved by a madman who had seen too much. She was so physically imposing, so thick with power and beauty, that the cramped forge felt suddenly smaller, and the air all the hotter. Her presence radiated a feverish, suffocating intensity that spiked the temperature in the room, overwhelming the industrial fires until the molten gold flowing in the floor channels seemed cool by comparison.

"Sister," I said, my voice softening. I didn't step back. I couldn't. She sucked the oxygen right out of the room.

"Don't you 'Sister' me, Poseidon," she murmured, though there was no real venom in it.

She reached out, her fingers brushing the soot from my shoulder. It was a domestic, fussy gesture, totally at odds with the divine frustration radiating off her. She picked a flake of ash from my collarbone, her nail sharp and hot against my skin, before flicking it away with a disapproving hiss.

"You look like a ruin," she tutted, though her voice dropped low, losing its sharp edge to something far more humid.

She stepped into my space, her vibrant eyes scanning my face with a mix of critical precision and hungry appreciation. She reached out, hooking a manicured finger into the neckline of my chiton to straighten it, but the movement was slow. Her knuckles dragged against my collarbone, hot and rough, a possessive intimacy that dared me to pull away.

"Look at the state of you, Brother," she murmured, her hand flattening against my chest, smoothing the fabric as if she were trying to iron it with her own body heat. "Ash in your hair. Soot on your skin. Does the Lord of the Seas truly not have a woman to attend to his needs yet?"

She looked up through her lashes, a dark, challenging smile playing on her lips. "I admit, I am surprised. To leave a god like you unpolished... it seems such a waste."

Her palms slid down my chest, the heat of her skin radiating through my grime-stained clothes, until they settled heavy and firm over my stomach, tracing the lines of muscle there.

"With how fast you've apparently been getting around since the war ended," she murmured, her eyes locking onto mine with a challenge, "I assumed someone among your new collection would be keeping you in good condition."

"Come on now, Hera, you're being unfair," I said, reaching up to catch her hand before it could wander lower. Her skin was fever-hot. "I'm sure whatever you've heard from Hestia, Hecate, and all the others isn't the full truth. Or at the very least, it lacks context."

I squeezed her fingers, offering a wry, tired smile. "Yes, I have been meeting new Goddesses. But I hardly think this makes me some manwhore."

I tilted my head toward the ceiling, where the faint rumble of thunder could be heard. "We both know who holds that title. I believe our brother is fulfilling it as we speak."

Hera recoiled slightly, her nose scrunching in a grimace of pure disgust. She huffed, rolling her eyes so hard it looked painful. "Don't remind me. If I have to hear one more traumatised report from Iris about walking in on Zeus mid-climax while transformed as some wild beast as she's trying to deliver messages, I will scream."

"Then let me clarify my own stories," I said, gently pulling her hand away from my chiton but holding onto it, rubbing my thumb over her knuckles to keep her grounded. "Because they are nothing like his."

"Are they?" She didn't step back. She leaned her hip against the heavy iron workbench, crossing her free arm under her bust, pushing it up in a way that was distinctly distracting. Her eyes narrowed, sharp and assessing. "Demeter? Thetis? This new stray goddess I've been hearing about?"

"Demeter was... messy," I started, choosing my words carefully. "We were knee-deep in mud, Hera. She was grieving the scars left by the war. We combined our power to heal the earth, and we accidentally created a coral-bull."

Hera scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Of course, she was grieving. Demeter would mourn a wilted weed if given half a chance."

She reached out with her free hand and flicked my chest. The sudden motion sent a heavy, soft ripple through her bust, which was still propped up dangerously high by her other arm. I distinctly forced my gaze to remain locked on her eyes, willfully ignoring the bounce.

"So, you played in the mud. Fine," she continued, oblivious, or perhaps not, to my struggle. "But what of the Nereid? Thetis?"

Her eyes narrowed, a flash of genuine envy colouring her tone. "She leads that flock of fifty sisters, doesn't she? A little queen in her own right. I suppose it must be nice to have a court that actually listens to you."

She scoffed, the envy instantly replaced by a sneer of haughty dismissal. "Though I suppose calling them a 'court' is generous. I've heard the stories."

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a malicious whisper. "Take that one... Eulimene? The Nereid of 'Good Harbourage'?"

Hera let out a sharp, little laugh. "Demeter tells me she offers a 'good harbour' to any Satyr that crosses her path. And Iris claims the queue for her 'dock' stretches back to the mainland."

She shuddered then, a look of genuine horror crossing her face. "Fifty sisters... gods above. Can you imagine the noise? It was hell enough in Father's stomach with just the five of us. If I had to share that cramped, dark with forty-five others..."

"I think we would have clawed our way out purely out of claustrophobia," I agreed, offering a small, appeasing smile. "Personally, I prefer the siblings I have. I wouldn't trade the five of you for a thousand Nereids. Quality over quantity, Sister."

"Is it?" Hera asked. Her voice dropped an octave, turning sultry. "Are you sure you don't want the quantity, Poseidon?"

She stepped back, slipping her hand from my grip. She turned her back to me, beginning a slow, deliberate walk around the massive workspace.

She knew exactly what she was doing. With every step, her hips rolled with a heavy, hypnotic cadence. The white silk of her peplos strained desperately against her rear, clinging to the deep, trembling curve of her glutes with every swish of movement. She didn't look back, but I could feel her satisfaction radiating through the air; she knew I was watching the sway.

"Don't you want a flock of your own?" she purred, glancing over her shoulder, her eyes dark. "A private house of concubines? Think of it. Dozens of soft hands fawning over you. A woman for every whim."

She stopped, turning slowly on her heel to face me, framing her body in the firelight. Her voice dropped to a whisper that was filthy enough to make Hestia blush scarlet-red.

"One on her knees, sucking your cock dry... another kissing your mouth... a third stroking your hair and murmuring whispers of praise... all of them begging for a single drop of your attention."

She tilted her head, her eyes burning gold. "Doesn't that sound like paradise to a King?"

Trap. Trap. Trap.

"It sounds... crowded," I managed, my voice a little tighter than I would have liked. I reached out and gently caught her hand again, anchoring her before she could start that walk again. "And exhausting. I'm a simple man, Hera. I like to focus on one thing at a time."

Her grip on my hand tightened, her nails digging in just a little. "Good answer. Because Hestia says you spent quite a long time in Thetis's private grotto."

"That was business," I said quickly. "Xenia. She was welcoming me to Oceanus's home. She tried to serve me herself on a platter as a... 'welcome gift'."

Hera's eyes flashed dangerous, molten gold. "And?"

"And I politely declined the full course," I lied, or at least, I told a version of the truth that wouldn't get me stabbed. "I told her I was there for a council with Oceanus, not a bedmate."

Hera studied my face, searching for the lie. When she didn't find one, she let out a small, satisfied huff and smoothed the front of my chiton again. "Good. Nereids are flighty things. Wet and cold. You need a woman with fire in her breast, Poseidon. Not damp fish."

"Quite," I agreed, sweating slightly. Oh, Thetis had been damp, alright. Though 'slick' was probably the more accurate word.

"And the third?" She stepped closer, invading my personal space entirely, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial, judgmental whisper. "The foam-born? I heard she birthed herself from the... leavings... of Ouranos after Kronos cut him."

Hera wrinkled her nose in exquisite disgust. "Is it true? Is she really formed from... that?"

"Sea foam," I corrected diplomatically. "But yes. The origins are... biological."

"Ugh." She shuddered, a full-body ripple of revulsion. "How common. And yet..." She paused, her eyes locking onto mine, pinning me in place. "The rumours say she is blinding. Hecate's informants say she is the most beautiful thing to ever walk the earth. That her presence alone caused the ocean to go into an orgasmic frenzy."

She rose slightly on her toes, her face inches from mine, her breath hot on my chin. Her hand slid up my chest to grip my shoulder, her thumb pressing into the muscle.

"Is she?" Hera whispered, a dangerous pout touching her lips. "Is she more beautiful than me, Poseidon?"

Abort. Evacuate. Run. Shit. That question wasn't a trap. It was a death sentence waiting for my signature.

My mind raced. Aphrodite was literally the concept of Beauty given form; looking at her was like staring into the sun of desire, a chaotic, blinding heat that bypassed logic. But Hera... Hera was Dominion. She was the breathless, thinning air at the top of the world. She was beauty refined to a razor's edge, a terrifying, golden perfection that didn't just ask for your gaze, it conquered it. Aphrodite was a fever dream; Hera was the blinding, eternal reality.

I paused, knowing that both goddesses would likely discover my answer eventually. I might have been an optimistic fool regarding the ease of maintaining familial peace over millennia, and I was certainly inexperienced in the complexities of ruling a kingdom, but I wasn't stupid. And I certainly wasn't suicidal enough to declare one Goddess superior to the other while standing within striking distance.

"It is... a different kind of beauty," I navigated carefully.

"Her name is Aphrodite," I said, deciding to humanise the abstract threat first. "And her domain is Love itself. She is Beauty given form."

I looked Hera in the eye, driving the point home. "Think about what that means, Sister. It takes the literal, raw concept of Desire just to stand on the same level as you."

Hera's eyes widened slightly, the compliment landing exactly where I intended. She preened, just a little.

"Her beauty is wild," I continued, pressing the advantage. "Chaotic. Like a storm, even I or Zeus can't control. Your beauty, Hera, is absolute. It is the sky at noon. It is all-encompassing, and I have no doubt it always will be."

Hera stared at me. She knew I was dancing around the question, but the answer seemed to satisfy her pride enough. She slapped my chest lightly, a playful, stinging hit.

"Charmer," she accused, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward. She finally stepped back, giving me room to breathe. "Aphrodite... a soft name. I suppose I can allow a little wild chaos in your life, so long as it knows its place."

"Quite," I agreed, seizing the opportunity to change the subject to something safer. "Speaking of places... I am commissioning a capital. Atlantis. It's actually why I'm here. I was enlisting the help of our uncles."

I began to pace slowly, painting the picture for her. "It will be built on a potent Ocean Nexus I've found. Seven massive, concentric islands ringing a central plain ideal for a grand citadel. It will be a fortress, yes, but also a home."

Hera watched me, her interest piqued. "Seven islands? That is... excessive, even for you."

"I have a lot of ocean to govern," I shrugged. "I intend to grant these islands to those who serve the realm, or those who require sanctuary."

Hera's eyes narrowed. The playfulness vanished instantly. She did the math faster than I expected.

"Sanctuary," she repeated, her voice cooling. She took a step toward me, the scent of lilies turning sharp. "Am I to assume this 'Aphrodite' is now staying with you?"

She pointed a manicured finger at my chest. "Did you give her one? Did you give this new goddess one of your seven islands?"

I sighed. There was no point in lying. "I did."

"Unbelievable!" Hera threw her hands up, the jealousy flaring back to life, hotter than the forge. "I am your sister! And you hand a private kingdom to a wet, newborn stray you met after a single meeting?"

She jabbed a finger at me, her eyes shimmering with sudden, sharp hurt. "You vanished, Poseidon. You dove into the sea and left us. You could have travelled to us in an instant, a single thought, to tell us about this place. You've had months! But you gave us silence, and you gave her a sanctuary?"

Her voice cracked, wavering between rage and heartbreak. "What did she possibly do to earn such—"

"She needed a home!" I snapped, my voice dropping an octave, cutting through her tirade.

I stepped forward, my aura flaring cold enough to dampen the heat of the room. "It wasn't a needless gift, Hera. The Sea Gods Phorcys and Ceto had her cornered on a beach. Two ancient monsters against a newborn and defenceless goddess."

I felt the anger rising at the memory again. "They intended to drag her down to the dark and use her as a broodmare. They wanted to break her before she even learned her own name or what love even was."

Hera froze. Her hands, raised in indignation, slowly lowered.

The jealousy in her eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a flash of cold, ancient recognition. It was the look of a survivor who remembered exactly what it felt like to be helpless in the dark.

"They touched her?" she whispered, the temperature in the forge plummeting.

"I stopped it," I promised. "But she was terrified. She needed somewhere she could reside without fear of being harassed or violated. That's why I gave her an island in the capital. Not to spoil a stranger. To keep her safe."

Hera looked at me. Her chest heaved, the silk straining against her skin. The realisation that I hadn't replaced her, but had acted out of the very protective instinct she loved in me, the same instinct that had kept her sane in the stomach, seemed to break something inside her.

"You..." she breathed, shaking her head as the realisation settled. A small, sad smile touched her lips. She reached up, cupping my cheek with a tenderness that made my heart ache. "I thought that fierceness... that desperate need to protect... I thought it was reserved for us. For the five of us in the dark."

She searched my eyes, looking at me with a new kind of reverence. "But it isn't limited to blood, is it? You really are just... decent. Even when you have nothing to gain."

"I don't need to gain anything to do what is right," I murmured, covering her hand with mine and pressing it briefly to my cheek before gently lowering it.

The moment was heavy, thick with emotion, so I grounded us the only way I knew how. I took a half-step back, turning to lean my weight against the heavy iron workbench, and tugged her gently until she settled beside me. We stood shoulder-to-shoulder, a solid, united front against the gloom of the forge.

"But family always comes first, Hera. That will never change." I paused, letting the promise hang in the smoky air. "Which brings me back to the other islands."

I felt her glance at me sideways.

"There's still six to choose from", I said quietly. "I want to give one to you. A private retreat. Not just for you, but for Hestia and Demeter, too. A place where the sky and the sea meet, far away from Olympus and its politics."

I turned my head, meeting her gaze with absolute seriousness.

"And I mean private," I added, my voice hardening with a promise of violence that I knew she would appreciate. "I will weave the wards myself, tied directly to the foundations of the earth. No one enters unless you three invite them. Any uninvited god or spirit who dares to set foot on that sand will be cursed so hard they'll wish they had been inside Father's stomach. I'll drag them to the deepest pit of Tartarus myself before they can draw a second breath."

Hera blinked, genuinely touched. Her eyes shone. But then, her gaze narrowed as she processed the wording.

"To... share?"

I paused. "Well, yes. All of them are large islands, and I thought the three of you would appreciate being close so—"

"So this Aphrodite gets an entire island to herself," she scoffed, poking me hard in the ribs, "but your most beloved sisters have to divide one up amongst ourselves? And what of Mother? Have you told her about any of this? You know she's not going to be pleased when she hears her little boy has let so many goddesses sink their claws into him."

I scratched the back of my head, grimacing. "When you put it like that..."

"I accept," she interrupted, a haughty sniff punctuating the words. "But I pick the island. And I want the one with the best sunset. You will give me the grand tour personally, Poseidon. Just us."

"Deal," I smiled.

I watched her for a moment. She was looking at the floor, twisting the many adorning rings on her fingers. The promise of a safe, private home seemed to have drained the last of the posturing out of her, leaving something raw exposed.

"You all left," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You, Hades, Zeus... the war ended, and you took your kingdoms and ran. You left us in the lurch."

"Zeus said you wanted to explore," I frowned, confusion knitting my brow. "He told us you, Demeter and Hestia wanted to walk the earth before our order began to settle."

"We did! But..." She bit her lip, looking up at me with wet eyes. "You could have seen me off, Poseidon. Instead, you dove into the ocean for months without a word. I have been wandering the earth with Iris ever since, just... looking for something to do. Hestia has the hearth, Demeter the world to heal... but what of me?"

She hugged herself, looking small despite her power. "I feel like air, brother. I feel like I have no weight or gravity in this world. Like if I stopped moving, I'd just drift away."

"You have weight," I argued immediately, pushing off the bench to stand in front of her to block her pacing. I caught her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at me.

"You are the strongest woman I have ever met, Hera. Bar none. You held us together during the war when I was tired, Zeus was frustrated, and Hades was despairing at any chance of victory. If you hadn't been there... if you weren't here now..." I shook my head, the thought genuinely unsettling. "I wouldn't know what to do with myself. You anchor the rest of us in ways that I just can't, despite wishing I could."

"Surely you didn't just wander," I said, stepping closer. The air around her felt different, sharper, more intentional. "You feel heavier, Hera. As if you've gained a new domain... but not quite."

I reached out, hovering a hand near her arm without touching, sensing the hum of energy beneath her skin.

Hera stiffened, then sighed, realising she couldn't hide it. "Iris came to me one night, hysterical. She'd seen... well, what we just spoke of regarding Zeus. I tried to calm her, but I felt helpless. That's when Hecate stepped out of the shadows."

Hera looked down at her hands, turning them over. "I thought she was there to mock us. Instead, she offered to help. We spent three nights around a fire, me, Iris, and Hecate. She was... surprisingly patient. She taught us how to compartmentalise. How to lock the horror of our traumas away."

"She helped you, without asking for anything in return?" I asked, surprised. "That doesn't sound like the Hecate I've heard of."

"She respects women with strong wills," Hera murmured. "And she saw that I was feeling lost."

She turned her head to look at me, her expression vulnerable but fierce.

"I realised something that night, Poseidon. While Iris was crying and Hecate was mixing herbs, I realised... I was tired."

"Tired of what?"

"Of watching," she whispered. "I helped where I could. I threw a spear in the skirmishes, and I stood on the line for the final siege. But let's not pretend, Poseidon. For the vast majority of those ten years, it was you, Hades, and Zeus out there shaking the pillars of the earth."

She clenched her fist, her nails digging into her palm. "And where was I? Hiding. Sent away to Oceanus for 'safekeeping'."

Her lip curled in a sneer of remembered frustration. "Tethys was kind enough, I suppose. But I hated it. I sat by those springs, watching Oceanus and his court laze about, sipping nectar and discussing the weather while the sky was falling."

She looked at me, her eyes wet and furious. "I had to watch them relax in the currents while I knew you were out there, bleeding. I had to smile at their hospitality while I sat terrified, wondering if Father had finally crushed you into dust."

She pushed off me, pacing in a small circle before returning to my side, her energy restless.

"I hated it," she confessed. "I hated the safety. I hated that while you were ending an age, I was just a spectator in my own life. And then the war ended, and you all left to claim your kingdoms, and I was left with nothing to call my own."

She looked up at me, her eyes burning with a violet intensity I had never seen before, a flush of excitement rising in her cheeks.

"I decided I wouldn't sit on my heels anymore. I wanted power, Brother. Not a sword or a trident, but something... subtle. Something that makes the world listen when I speak."

"So you asked Hecate to teach you magic," I concluded, my voice quiet.

"Do you know what she is, Poseidon? Truly? She isn't just a witch. She holds shared dominion over the Sky, the Earth, and the Sea. She walks where she pleases. She doesn't have to choose a kingdom to submit to, because she exists in the spaces between them."

I nodded slowly. That tracked with what I knew. Hecate was a liminal deity, powerful enough that even Zeus respected her.

"She showed me the threads," Hera whispered, raising a hand. Violet sparks danced between her fingers, not erratic like lightning, but tight and controlled. "She showed me that the world isn't just solid objects. It's connections. Knots. And if you know how to tie them, you can make anything stay or go where you wish it to."

She looked at her hand, her eyes narrowing in calculation.

"Think of the stars, Brother. Right now, they are just scattered fires in the dome of the sky. Lonely points of light. But if I use this..." She traced a line in the air, leaving a faint, glowing trail. "I can tie them together. I can draw pictures in the heavens. 'Constellations.' Stories written in light that we can look up to for guidance. I can make the sky itself speak."

She turned to me, her excitement growing. "And not just the sky. I've been toying with a concept for us. For the social order."

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper of discovery.

"I call it 'Marriage.' But not the loose pairings the Titans indulged in. I'm talking about a metaphysical binding. I can give women a way to secure their futures. I can make them the anchors of their own houses, just as I was for us. No more waiting to be chosen or discarded. A bond that demands respect even in eventual separation."

I looked at her, really looked at her.

I did this, I realised, a jolt of shock running through me. By acting as her anchor in the stomach, by validating her anger instead of dismissing it... I changed her trajectory. She wasn't just seeking status; she was seeking agency. She was being proactive about inventing the very laws that would govern the next age.

"Magic," I said, letting a tone of genuine admiration bleed into my voice. "Real magic. That isn't something just anyone can learn, Sister. It takes a hell of a mind to grasp the Old Arts."

Hera preened under the praise, her posture straightening. She looked at her hands, flexing her fingers as if feeling the invisible texture of the air.

"She calls it Katadesmoi," Hera explained, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The Art of Binding. Most witches use it for petty things, cursing a rival's tongue or forcing a lover to stay. Small, selfish knots."

She looked up at me, her eyes gleaming with ambition. "But Hecate says my affinity goes deeper. Because I crave stability, Poseidon. Because I hate it when things drift away."

She took a step closer. "I don't just bind limbs. I can bind concepts. Sympatheia, the cosmic connection between things. I can tie a man's luck to the phase of the moon. I can tie a King's health to the sanctity of his oath."

"That sounds... potent, Hera," I said, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down my back that had nothing to do with the heat of the forge. "But Binding Magic is dangerous. If you tie a knot too tightly, you strangle the subject. You need to be careful with that kind of authority. But I do believe you can do it," I smiled. "You always were the stubborn one."

"Determined," she corrected, bumping her shoulder against mine. "And I want to show you. I want to show you that I'm not just the sister you have to protect anymore. I want to show you I can create things and be useful, too."

She stepped closer, smoothing a hand over my chest, her voice dropping to a fiercely possessive whisper. "Do you think I'm going to sit by and let some wet Nereid or a foam-born upstart outshine me? I refuse to let those jumped-up little tarts get the best of me."

I blinked, genuinely confused. "Get the best of you... At what?"

Hera stared at me. She looked for a moment like she might slap me, or perhaps kiss me, but settled for rolling her eyes so hard it looked painful.

"Oh, you really are hopeless sometimes," she muttered, though there was a distinct fondness in her frustration. "Men. You conquer the world but miss what's right in front of your nose."

"I—"

"Enough talk," she interrupted, turning away from me. She looked around the forge, her gaze landing on the massive, humming anvil in the centre of the room. "I'm going to prove it to you. Right now."

"You don't have to prove anything to me, Hera. None of you ever have."

"I want to," she insisted, walking toward the anvil. "Demeter made a bull of life with you. It is magnificent, but it is flesh. It breathes, it bleeds. Its lineage may survive the ages, but the creature itself? One day, even if that day is millennia away, it will die. It will rot into dust."

She looked back at me, her eyes burning with that violet intensity. "I don't want to make a memory. I want to make something permanent."

"Hera, wait," I warned, stepping forward as I felt the manic energy spiking in her aura. "The residual energy in here is too volatile for—"

"I can handle it," she dismissed, raising her chin. "Stop worrying. Just stand with me. Let me prove that we can create something that lasts longer than a season."

"Poseidon," she whispered. "Let me show you."

She slammed her hands onto the anvil, pouring her ambition and Hecate's raw magic into it.

It was a mistake. She wasn't weaving magic in a quiet temple; she was striking a match in a room filled with gasoline. The forge, saturated with the Elder Cyclopes' enchantments and potent divine artefacts, shrieked in response. The flames turned a sickly, radioactive violet, sucking the oxygen out of the room.

"Hera, stop!" I roared, lunging forward.

I didn't make it. The air solidified into a wall of absolute pressure, throwing me backward. I skidded across the stone, my heels carving grooves into the floor, forced to slam a hand down to brace myself against the gale-force winds.

"I... I can't let go!" she screamed.

A pillar of violent amethyst light erupted, tearing through the ceiling and stabbing into the sky above Olympus. It was blinding, a featureless wall of white that erased the world.

My eyes were useless, I threw my divine senses open and was assaulted by a psychedelic nightmare. Hera's power felt like a high-pitched scream, a jagged taste of blood-red iron trying to crush the earth. It was spiralling, feeding on the ambient mana, threatening to burn her into ash.

I didn't think. I let the Ocean answer.

I pushed off the floor, driving my own aura into the storm. I didn't match her heat; I brought the crushing, silent gravity of the Deep.

CRASH.

My essence slammed into hers, a tsunami hitting a supernova. The sensation was mind-bending, the concept of 'wet' and 'cold' wrapping around 'will' and 'fire.' I forced myself through the blindness, navigating by pressure alone. I felt our souls coil together, a double helix of blue and violet, my stability wrestling her ambition into submission. It was intimate in a way that transcended flesh, a grinding of fundamental forces.

I found her in the white. I wrapped my spiritual weight around her frantically expanding heat, compressing it down into a single, dense point.

I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into the abyss of my protection.

BOOM.

The world turned white.

The concussion threw us off our feet. We crashed to the stone floor, limbs tangled, my hand cradling the back of her head, her body shielded by mine.

The silence that followed was absolute.

I lay there, stunned, my heart hammering against my ribs like a war drum. Hera was sprawled entirely over me, a collapsing galaxy of white silk and hot skin.

The impact had tangled us completely. Her thighs, softened by those layers of divine femininity, were slotted heavy and firm between my legs, pinning me to the stone with a weight that felt dangerously good. Her hips, wide enough to anchor a world, settled against mine with a crushing, possessive gravity.

She was buried in my neck, her hands clutching my shoulders so hard her nails bit through the fabric. I could feel every inch of her, the feverish, suffocating heat she radiated, the succulent, heavy curvature of her breasts crushed flat against my ribs, rising and falling with ragged, panicked breaths.

We were breathing in sync, inhaling air that smelled of burnt sugar, ozone, and sea salt.

Slowly, Hera lifted her head. Her hair fell forward, a wild curtain of silk around our faces, cutting off the rest of the world. Her eyes were wide, pupils blown, adrenaline flooding her system.

She looked down at me. I looked up at her.

The intimacy of the violence, the closeness of the save... it was overwhelming. I was pinned beneath the living definition of desire, trapped by the sheer, soft density of her form.

She looked at my lips. Her breath hitched.

For a second, just a second, the line between siblings and something else blurred into nothingness. I felt myself leaning up. She was leaning down.

WAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!​

A sharp cry cut through the moment like a knife.

We both froze.

Hera scrambled off me, her face flushing a deep crimson. I sat up, shaking my head to clear the ringing.

"What..." she whispered, turning toward the centre of the room.

Where our energies had collided, the floor was scorched black.

And lying in the centre of the scorch mark was a child. He was swarthy, covered in soot. He looked solid. Impossibly solid. His chest was barrel-shaped, his arms thick and muscular.

Hera crawled forward on her hands and knees, her silk clothes ruined by the ash. She stared at the child.

"Is that..." she trailed off.

The baby opened his eyes. They were glowing, volcanic orange.

He looked at Hera. Then he looked at me.

He reached out a small, knobby hand and grabbed a stray piece of scrap metal lying on the floor. He squeezed. The metal bent like putty.

"He's..." Hera gasped, recoiling slightly. She looked at his legs.

They were twisted. Shrivelled beneath the massive weight of his torso. The force of our collision had been too much for his lower half.

"He's broken," she whispered, her voice trembling with the old terror. "I failed. Demeter made perfection, and I made... this. He's twisted."

She started to scramble back, shame flooding her face, convinced I would mock her, that I would see her as a failure and her attempt to bind us together had only resulted in embarrassment.

I stood up and walked over. I looked at the boy. I saw the fire in his eyes. I saw the grip that was already shaping metal.

"No," I said firmly.

I knelt. Hera flinched, clearly expecting a rebuke.

Instead, I reached out and scooped the boy up.

He was heavy. He weighed as much as a collapsing star. He radiated heat like a furnace.

"Look at him, Hera," I said, feeling a grin stretch across my face, a wide, unbridled expression of joy that I don't think I had ever worn before in my two lives. "He isn't broken."

The boy looked at me, his magma eyes blinking slowly. He reached out with a small, soot-stained hand and gripped my thumb. His strength was shocking, enough to crush a lesser being, but to me, it felt like a promise.

I looked at him, and the rest of the room fell away.

I had lived two lives. In the first, my father had been a ghost, a jagged absence that left scars I couldn't see. In the second, my father had been a monster who looked at his children and saw only a meal to be devoured. I had never known what it felt like to be looked at by a creator who simply wanted me to exist and loved me for it.

But looking at this boy, feeling the impossible weight of him in my arms... I knew. I knew that I would burn the heavens and boil the seas before I ever let him feel the cold of my rejection.

"He's beautiful," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

I didn't look back at Hera. I couldn't. I was too lost in the volcanic orange of the child's eyes.

"Hello, Hephaestus," I whispered to the God of the Forge, brushing a flake of ash from his forehead. "I'm your father. And I'm so happy to meet you."

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a rational voice was screaming. It was telling me that this was impossible, that I had just shattered the timeline of all I knew. Hephaestus wasn't supposed to be my son. He wasn't supposed to be loved like this, immediately and without reservation. This was a deviation so massive it would ripple through the rest of history.

But as the boy squeezed my thumb, anchoring me to the present with a grip of iron, I couldn't find it in myself to give a damn about the script.

I didn't see it, focused entirely on the son Hera and I had accidentally helped bring into the world, but behind me, Hera let out a breath she had been holding for an eternity.

She brought her hands up, clenching them tight against her chest as if trying to hold her heart inside her ribs. She stared at the broad back of the man holding her "broken" child like the world's greatest treasure, and her eyes filled not with shameful tears, but with stars.

Chapter 15: I Raise a City & My Son Finds his Fire

The sea was a sheet of hammered glass, unbroken save for the gentle, rhythmic lapping of water against the hull of my small skiff.

I sat near the stern, the wood of the bench warm against my legs, holding a tool that, by all historical definitions, was a technological marvel for the yet-to-be Bronze Age, even if it looked like a glorified twig to my modern eyes. It was a rod of cornel wood, tough yet flexible, stripped of its bark and polished with oil until it shone like amber.

In my hands, it felt surprisingly balanced. I tested the weight, watching the tip flex against the azure sky.

No fibreglass. No graphite composite. No spinning reels.

Just wood and patience.

It reminded me of my childhood, my first one that is, sitting on the concrete steps that led down to the local river, knees pulled to my chest beside my grandfather or as I knew him, my Pop. I remembered marvelling at the sharp clusters of barnacles at the water's edge while he held a cane pole much like this one.

Years later, "fishing" became corporate outings with colleagues, all high-tech carbon fibre and fish finders that made the whole thing feel clinical, lifeless. Boring.

Outside of a handful of occasions, my Pop had always been distant. He'd never been paternal, simply a fixture in the background, just there, but... a familiar presence all the same. But this simple weight in my hand brought a sudden, sharp ache to my chest. I missed him.

"Bah!" A small, wet noise broke the silence.

The sound snapped the thread of memory. I shifted on the bench, suddenly feeling too large for the small boat. The quiet stretched out again, heavy and waiting. Pop would have let it sit there, content to be a statue, but the silence made my skin itch. I swallowed hard, desperate to fill the air but terrified that whatever I said would sound clumsy or forced.

I didn't want to be a statue.

I wanted to be a good dad.

I looked down. Sitting in the curve of the hull, nestled on a soft blanket, was Hephaestus.

He was utterly unconcerned with the majesty of the ocean or my brewing paternal panic. His entire world was the small pile of materials I'd swiped from the edge of the Cyclopes' workspace before we came to the surface: a coil of soft, pliable silver, a blunt nugget of cooling Orichalcum, and a smooth, tumbled chunk of obsidian. I'd tossed in a sliver of driftwood polished by the tide, a twist of electrum wire, and a pair of sea shells, simple, harmless things for a baby god to fiddle with, but textured enough to keep him enthralled.

Hephaestus's eyes were sea-green, deep and clear, but they were framed by the wide, heavy-lidded lashes of his mother; even at such a young age, he carried an imperious gaze that assessed the world rather than merely observed it. His hair tumbled in wavy, tide-like curls. His skin was the true meeting point of our bloodlines. It held the warmth of sun-baked sand, yet possessed the flawless, alabaster smoothness that was all Hera. On his shoulder blade, partially hidden beneath soft rolls of flesh, a birthmark etched in faint indigo depicted a trident, but the prongs fanned out like the plumage of a peacock, crowning him a prince of two realms. A faint scent clung to him; the sharp brine of the sea softened by the sweet, powdery aroma of lilies.

He saw the glint of the silver coil just out of his reach. His face scrunched in childish determination. He placed his hands on the hull and tried to push himself forward, to scoot toward the prize.

My heart tightened.

His upper body was strong, shockingly so for an infant, barrel-chested and broad. That was Hera's doing. She had quickly confided in me, her voice a mix of wonder and embarrassment, that since his birth she could conjure breastmilk at will. A biological miracle to match the magical one of our son's birth.

And said breastmilk was no simple sustenance; it was liquid power, the same ambrosial essence that would in another lifetime grant Heracles the strength to strangle serpents in his crib.

A sudden, vivid memory flashed behind my eyes. Hera, in the morning light, the white silk of her robe unfurling to reveal the heavy, cream-pale curve of her breast as she guided the boy to feed. I had frozen in the doorway, struck by a jolt of heat so sudden and sharp it felt like a physical blow.

It was a moment of sacred, beautiful maternity, yes, but looking at the soft surrender of her skin, I had felt a dark, possessive coil of jealousy tighten in my gut. I wasn't sure if I was envious of the boy or just desperate to be the one holding her that close.

That divine nectar had built him into a tank from the waist up.

But his legs... his legs didn't follow. They dragged behind him, twisted and shrivelled beneath the massive weight of his torso. The price of Hera's ambition and my failure to contain his explosive birth gently enough.

He grunted, frustration furrowing his brow as his lower half refused to cooperate.

I set the rod down gently and reached out, scooping him up and depositing him closer to his toys.

"Easy, son," I murmured, keeping my voice light, though the guilt tasted like ash in my mouth.

For the past seven nights, I remained at his side from dusk until dawn. I had used every scrap of knowledge I possessed from my previous life. I tried gentle massages, range-of-motion exercises, and tried to coax life into the atrophied muscles. I had prayed to anyone who listened, channelling my own divine vitality and powers into his limbs.

If I could heal a bunch of nymphs whom I'd never met, then surely I could heal my own son.

But they remained stubborn. Whatever damage had been done by the clash of Hera's magic and my own oceanic fury was fundamental. It wasn't a physical wound that could be mended with natural methods, at least as far as I had found. I feared it was conceptual to Hephaestus' very existence, and that it would be a lifelong debilitation.

Hephaestus didn't seem to mind the help. He squealed happily, grabbing the coil of silver now within his reach and holding it up for inspection. He studied it with the same intensity I once had for the river barnacles, his small brow furrowed in concentration.

"Having fun down there, buddy?" I asked softly.

Hephaestus looked up. From the start, he'd never had the vacant stare of a mortal infant; his dark eyes were sharp, analysing me for a moment before his face broke into a gummy, lopsided grin. He squealed happily, grabbing the coil of silver and raising it triumphantly, eager to show off what he'd made.

He had bent the metal into a near-perfect loop, twisting the ends together with a dexterity and strength that shouldn't belong to toddler fingers.

"Ba!" he announced firmly, shaking the wire at me.

"A loop," I said, forcing a broad, impressed smile to reach my eyes as I leaned in to inspect it. "Very distinct. Good structural integrity. Well done, you're a natural!"

Hephaestus visibly glowed at the praise. My words seemed to settle right into his bones. He dipped his head, bashful, burying his chin in his chest to hide a wide, gummy grin while a faint, golden flush rose in his cheeks.

Seeing that, seeing my words actually land, I felt the heavy weight of doubt in my chest dissolve into mist.

Something deep inside me, something that had cracked a whole lifetime ago, began to knit itself back together.

Hephaestus poked the coil again, then paused. He looked around the empty horizon, his little brow furrowing as he seemed to realise something, or someone, was missing. He looked up at me, his lower lip jutting out just a fraction.

"Ma?" he asked, a question mark floating in the single syllable. "Ma?"

I sighed, resting the butt of the rod against my hip so I could reach over and smooth down his messy hair. "Mama is gonna come check on you later, buddy. She's... working."

He accepted this with a confused blink, returning to his wire, but I felt a phantom twinge of sympathy for Hera.

For the past week, she'd barely let him out of her sight. She paraded him around Olympus, showing him off to every goddess she could corner, practically daring anyone to criticise him. One goddess made an offhand remark about his legs and was promptly beaten and hurled off Olympus for it. People tended to forget how strong Hera was. But forty-eight hours ago, the reality of the calendar had hit her like a hammer.

The Summer Solstice was only three days away. And with it came Hephaestus's official debut before the entirety of the divine court. Hera, possessed by a terrifying need for perfection, had suddenly decided she was woefully underprepared to raise a child. She was currently running around the cosmos, hunting down every Titaness who had ever successfully raised a baby, Tethys, Phoebe, probably even our own mother, and interrogating them on everything from nap schedules to child etiquette.

"She loves you," I told the top of his head. "She's just... intense sometimes. Or... well, all of the time. You'll get used to it."

Hephaestus didn't seem worried about the sociopolitical pressures of the adults in his life. He just tried to delicately balance a nugget of Orichalcum onto his nose.

I chuckled and looked out over the water. It was peaceful here, drifting just off the coast of the largest island above Atlantis. But if I closed my eyes and extended my senses downward, past the keel of the skiff and through the crushing dark, I could feel the rhythm.

Thrum. Thrum. Thrum.

Kilometres below, the Elder Cyclopes and Briareus were tearing into the bedrock, carving the foundations of Atlantis. The seabed was a hive of industry, reshaping the geography of the ocean. But up here? Up here, it was just a father, a son, and the wind.

 

The sun climbed higher, warming the back of my neck as the hours drifted by.

We had fallen into a comfortable silence. Hephaestus sat near my ankles, happily occupying himself with his treasures, while I used a dapping technique. I let the wind gently carry the bait, a simple bread paste, to dance against the surface tension of the water, mimicking a struggling insect. It was surprisingly meditative.

Then, the currents shifted.

I felt him long before he broke the surface. A dense, ancient signature entering my sensing range kilometres out, cutting through the water with focused intent. I didn't react visibly. I kept my eyes on the flax line, though I shifted my stance slightly, angling my leg to create a solid barrier between Hephaestus and the rail. In my mind's eye, I tracked the disturbance: a fast-moving pressure wave gliding through the water, rushing toward the boat like a torpedo.

Ten metres off the starboard bow, the water began to churn and transform, rising in a smooth, oil-like displacement as something massive breached the rolling swell.

First came the head, white hair plastered to a weathered skull, a beard that looked like a tangle of sea foam and kelp. And finally, the torso.

He looked like a frail, grandfatherly figure, his skin mapped with the wrinkles of a thousand tides. But that was where the humanity ended.

Beneath the water, the old man didn't have legs. As he rose higher, I saw the flash of iridescent scales, thick as armour plating. A massive, serpentine tail, easily three times the length of my entire skiff, coiled in the water beneath him, churning the currents to keep him upright. He was a chimera, half geriatric scholar, half leviathan.

Nereus. The Old Man of the Sea.

He leaned his human arms on the gunwale of my skiff, the boat tilting sharply under the sudden weight. His massive, fish-like tail thrashed lazily behind him, a reminder that while he looked frail, he could likely crush this boat into splinters with a single twitch.

"The water today is fair, King Poseidon," his voice drifted, wispy and thin, sounding like air whistling through a cracked reed. "But the wind carries a chill. Might a weary traveller request permission to come aboard?"

I smiled, appreciating the formality.

"The hull is strong, and the company is good," I replied, nodding my head. "You are welcome here, Nereus. Come aboard."

I leaned forward, scooping Hephaestus up to make space. He protested immediately, stiffening his little body against my chest. "Da! Na!" he sputtered, his chubby hands reaching back desperately for his pile of knick-knacks.

"None of that," I murmured, settling him onto my lap. "Hold this."

I pressed the handle of the cornel wood rod into his hands.

Hephaestus froze. His little fingers wrapped around the polished wood, and his eyes went wide. "Ooo..." he breathed a soft exhalation of wonder. He stared at the tip of the fishing rod, completely captivated. I could see in his eyes that he felt it, the vibration of the wind in the flax line, the subtle resistance of the water against the bait, the living tension of the tool itself.

With the seat clear, Nereus hoisted himself up.

Obviously, a thirty-foot sea-serpent tail wasn't going to fit in a ten-foot dinghy. As he crossed the threshold of the gunwale, the water shimmered around his waist. In a casual, fluid display of hydrokinesis, the massive, scaly tail dissolved into sea foam. As the foam settled, it reformed instantly into two knobbly human legs clad in a simple chiton.

He settled himself onto the rug Hephaestus had just vacated, sighing as he took the seat across from us. He looked cramped, his newly formed knees knocking against the skiff's sides, but he seemed grateful for the rest and formal welcome.

"My daughter sends her regards," Nereus said, wringing out his beard.

"Thetis?"

"The very same," the Old Man grunted. "She has a wicked tongue, that one. I told her I was content to wait and see how things played out, and she looked at me like I was the most senile fool to ever live. She said, 'Oceanus has knelt, and others will soon follow. Are you really going to dither on the fringes until you're the last stubborn relic left!? It isn't caution anymore, Father, your paralysis will doom this family to obscurity!'"

He sighed, scratching his nose with a calloused finger. "I asked her if her sudden urgency was truly for the good of our family's position, or if she just liked what she saw in our new King. She didn't care for the insinuation... but she has a way of making her point."

He looked at me, his ancient eyes assessing the way I held my son, his gaze lingering on the quiet, domestic scene.

"She can be very persuasive," he admitted.

"I'm well aware", I agreed. "Though I suspect you are not here merely because your daughter insisted on it."

I noticed Hephaestus looking wistfully at the treasure trove I'd moved out of his reach. With a subtle thought, I beckoned the sea. A small, crystalline tendril of water arched over the gunwale, delicate as a glassblower's work. It gently scooped everything, floating them through the air before depositing them neatly into Hephaestus's lap.

The water retreated, vanishing back into the deep, leaving the treasures dry.

Hephaestus let out a delighted, vibrating coo. He immediately tried to jam the Orichalcum against the handle of the fishing rod he was clutching, bubbling with happy nonsense as he tried to manage his entire hoard at once.

Nereus watched the display, his bushy white eyebrows rising. He looked from the happy, babbling infant to me with a mixture of confusion and mild suspicion.

"And this one?" Nereus asked, gesturing with a calloused finger. "A young servant? Or perhaps a hostage from a minor tributary?"

I chuckled, running a hand over the boy's dark hair. "Neither. He's my son."

Nereus leaned back against the gunwale. "Is he now? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. The victor of a great war usually starts seeding the world before the blood has even dried on his spear. It's the way of things."

He scratched his belly, looking the boy over with a critical, appreciative eye. "So, who's the mother? One of the Oceanids? A Dryad?"

"Hera," I said simply.

Nereus stared at me for a beat, then threw his head back and let out a wheezing cackle. He slapped his wet knee with a sound like a fish hitting a deck.

"Eh, fucked your sister, did you, boy?" He wiped a tear from his eye, grinning through that beard of kelp. "I can't blame you. Many of my dear Doris's siblings have tumbled with one another at some point. There's a certain... flavour to keeping it in the family, isn't there?"

My face grew hot. "It wasn't like that. He was born of our conjoined wills alone. There was no consummation."

Nereus waved a hand dismissively, clearly not believing a word of it. "Aye, aye, keep your secrets. A little sisterly love never hurt anyone." He leaned forward again, looking at the child with renewed interest. "What do you call him?"

"Hephaestus."

The amusement vanished from the Old Man's face, replaced by a sudden, sharp clarity.

"Hephaestus..." he murmured, the syllables rolling around his mouth like a tasting. "So, this is him. I have seen glimpses of fire and bronze in my visions of the future, echoes of a hammer that has not yet struck. The Great Craftsman God."

He looked from the boy to me, shaking his head slowly, a deep frown creasing his forehead as if he were trying to read a map that had been redrawn overnight.

"I could have sworn..." he murmured, his voice dropping to a confused rumble. "In the ripples... the omens always pointed to the Sky. I was certain he was destined to be a son of Zeus."

He rubbed his eyes, as if clearing away the old prophecy to make room for the reality sitting in front of him.

"I knew he was coming," he muttered. "I just hadn't known he would end up being yours. How peculiar... it is not often that my prophecies are wrong."

I blinked, surprised by the casual admission. I knew, of course, that the Old Man of the Sea possessed the gift of foresight and prophecy, but I hadn't expected him to be so open about it on our first meeting. Most seers hoarded their powers and visions like gold; Nereus tossed his out like a discarded piece of trash.
"I'm surprised you speak of your ability to parse the future so openly; many would give much to possess such a gift," I made my thoughts known.

Nereus shrugged, scratching at a barnacle on his elbow. "When you've lived as long as I have, Poseidon, time is just a thing that passes you by. It comes, it goes. I am merely blessed by fate to know what is to come next before most."

He gestured vaguely to Hephaestus. The boy was shaking the fishing rod up and down, delighted by the whip-crack motion of the tip.

"Careful," Nereus grunted. "He'll hook an eyebrow."

"He's fine," I said, though I watched closely.

Hephaestus leaned over the gunwale. He babbled something incoherent, "Da! Wis!", and slapped the surface of the sea with his tiny hand.

Beneath us, the water darkened.

A school of sea bream, dozens of them, swirled into view in a tight, frantic vortex right alongside the hull. They jostled and bumped against the wood, drawn by a magnetism I hadn't projected.

Hephaestus squealed and simply reached out, his chubby hand splayed open.

The ocean obeyed.

A singular hummock of water rose from the surface, defying gravity. It lifted smoothly, a liquid sphere the size of a melon, and trapped inside, suspended, was a single, shimmering bream.

Hephaestus giggled, pulling the floating prison toward him. He poked the water bubble, his finger passing through the surface tension to stroke the fish's scales.

I heard it then, a collective psychic scream in my head.

The school below was a cacophony of jealousy. Why him? Why was he chosen? Take me! I am fatter! I am shinier!

But drowning them out was the frantic, ecstatic voice of the captive, bubbling up from its primitive mind.

The Prince! The Firstborn holds me! I am elevated! I am caressed by one of the Almighty! Glory to the Son of the King, for he has made me his eternal disciple!

Hephaestus cooed at the fish, his eyes bright with wonder. He tilted his head, seemingly delighted by the vibrations he was sensing, then looked up at me for approval.

"Da! Fis!" he declared.

"Yes, son," I said softly. "That's a fish. But look, his friends are waiting for him."

Hephaestus looked down at the swirling dark shape of the school in the water, then back at his prize. His brow furrowed.

"It's only right we put him back where he belongs," I instructed gently. "Gently now."

Hephaestus nodded solemnly. He leaned over the side, his face scrunching in concentration as he tried to lower the sphere. But he was young, and the effort of maintaining the hydrokinesis while moving his body was too much.

His focus snapped.

The sphere disintegrated. The water splashed harmlessly into the sea, but the fish, gravity taking hold, missed the edge. It landed with a wet thwack on the wooden deck, flopping frantically.

Hephaestus gasped. He recoiled, his lower lip wobbling as panic set in. "Da! Brke!"

The fish, for its part, was not suffering. It was thrashing in religious ecstasy.

I touch the sacred wood! I die at the feet of the Prince! Witness me, brothers! Witness my ascension!

I don't even know what to think of that, I thought, shaking my head.

"It's alright," I soothed, reaching past the trembling boy. "We all slip up now and then; you'll get better at it."

I scooped up the bream, which went rigid with joy at my touch, and tossed it back over the side. It splashed into the water, and I could hear the disappointed groans of the other fish as the "chosen one" returned to the fold to preach his gospel.

Hephaestus wiped his eyes, sniffing, watching the ripples fade. I rested a hand on his back, grounding him.

"Inefficient," Nereus grunted from the other side of the boat.

I looked up. The Old Man was watching us, his arms crossed over his chest. But there was no mockery in his eyes, only a strange, distant contemplation.

"You teach him mercy," Nereus observed. "Even when he fails."

"Power doesn't mean anything without control," I said. "And in my experience, true control requires patience and forgiveness."

Nereus went quiet. He leaned back against the gunwale, watching the spot where the fish had vanished.

"My daughter was right," he said finally. "You are not your father."

He looked at me, his gaze heavy with the weight of ages.

"I knew Kronos, you know. Before the fear of prophecy took hold of his soul. Before the terror ate him alive from the inside out. He had moments... like this. Rare, but they existed." He gestured to the boy, then to me. "You are what he could have been, if he hadn't lost sight of what truly matters... if he hadn't let his inner darkness consume him... and you."

"I try to be better," I said simply.

"My daughter wants me to join you," Nereus said, abruptly pivoting back to the true reason for his visit. "She says you are building a new council to help you rule the seas. She says you need the Nereids represented."

"I do," I nodded. "But Thetis leads the Nereids. She speaks for them, and she does it well. She will sit on the council in her own right. I don't need you for that."

Nereus frowned, his ego slightly bruised. "Then why? I have a fitful wife to manage and a nap I have been delaying for a century. What purpose do you intend for me to serve?"

"Oceanus and Tethys have bent the knee," I said, leaning forward. "Three thousand Oceanids now bow beneath my throne. Thetis brings the grace and unity of your daughters. My court is filling with diplomats, builders, and warriors. But we are all mostly... young."

I gestured to the vast, open horizon. "I am a new King sitting on an ancient throne. Thetis is bright, but she is optimistic. My son," I glanced down at Hephaestus, "will have a seat himself, but he is a child. I don't need a council full of arrogant and overconfident youths, I need someone with age and experience, a Truth-Teller."

I held the Old Man's gaze. "I need someone who isn't afraid to tell me when I am being a fool, like many of the others will be. Someone with the true gift of Foresight, who can steer the ship before we hit the rocks I can't even see yet."

Nereus didn't answer immediately. He leaned back against the gunwale, his ancient, heavy-lidded eyes drifting from my face down to the child playing on the floor of the boat. He watched Hephaestus with a look that wasn't unkind, but was deeply calculating.

"You ask for my fealty," Nereus rumbled, his voice scraping like barnacles on a hull. "You ask me to eternally bind myself to a regime that is barely out of the cradle."

"I do."

"And yet," Nereus gestured a webbed hand toward Hephaestus, "I look at you, and I see a man who wears his heart on his sleeve. You hold that boy not like a successor, but like the world's greatest treasure. It is... touching. Amusing. But in a ruler, sentiment is a crack in the armour."

He leaned forward, the boat dipping with him. The air grew heavy, the playful atmosphere vanishing instantly.

"If you want my counsel, Poseidon, then earn it. Prove you understand the burdens that will fall upon you."

"Ask."

"The boy," Nereus said, nodding at Hephaestus. "Ten years from now, twenty... say his fire grows too hot. Say he insults a popular River God, or accidentally poisons a sacred reef in his zeal to forge you a weapon. Your subjects demand justice. They demand he bleeds for it."

Nereus's eyes bored into mine. "He is your blood. They are your people. When the hard reality of ruling begins... who do you choose? Do you break the son to satisfy the subject? Or do you shield your blood and let the ocean swallow the insult?"

Hephaestus, sensing the sudden tension, stopped playing with the fishing rod. He looked up, his dark eyes wide and uncertain.

My chest tightened. The image of Hephaestus, grown, confused, perhaps fearful, standing before me waiting for punishment, played in my mind. Our world was already full of fathers devouring or banishing their children to keep their power. I had promised myself I would break that wheel.

"I won't break him," I said softly, the admission tasting like ash. "I can't. I am his father before I am his King."

Nereus made a dismissive sound in his throat. "Then you are a tyrant in waiting. A King who puts his kin above the law breeds rebellion and resentment."

"No," I corrected, my voice hardening. "I will make him fix his mistakes and right his wrongs. If he breaks a reef, he rebuilds it stone by stone, better than ever before. If he insults a god of significance, he makes restitution until the debt is paid. I will ensure he understands the weight of his actions and that each choice he makes has consequences he must answer to."

"And if eventually a god demands his blood? If the law demands a sentence that breaks your fatherly heart?"

"Then the law changes," I said, meeting Nereus's gaze with cold finality. "My justice will not require cruelty to be valid. I will not eat or harm my children to keep my throne, Nereus. Not ever."

Nereus studied me, his expression unreadable. He didn't say if he liked the answer, but he seemed to respect the steel in it.

"And what of your brother?" he pressed, shifting the attack. "The Sky is not the Sea. Zeus is King by Right of Conquest." Nereus leaned in, his voice losing its hypothetical edge and taking on the heavy, resonant timbre of prophecy.

"I do not ask this idly. I have foreseen this directly, with clarity. He will want to expand. He will ask unreasonable things of you. You both will come to blows; it will be soon."

He gestured violently to the horizon. "He will eventually demand you use the oceans to choke a city of innocents that love you simply because they refuse to worship him, or sink a fleet consisting of your own mortal and demigod children to settle a petty grudge. And he will expect compliance. He will expect you to be a weapon in his hand, a loyal brother and at times a tool."

Nereus leaned further in, his gnarled hands curling into fists on his knees until the knuckles turned white. His voice dropped to a harsh, vibrating whisper.

"When the King of Gods gives you a direct order that hurts the Ocean... that hurts your very blood..." He spat the word out, a violent, visceral rejection, before his demeanour settled back into a terrifying calm. "Do you kneel? Do you remember you are his loving brother, or do you remember you are our Sovereign?"

This was the dangerous one. I knew what was coming: the Giants, Typhon, the threats that would require a united Olympus. But I also knew the arrogance of our kind and how easy millennia-long feuds could be ignited over the most petty of things.

"I am not Zeus' servant," I stated. "The drawing of the lots was a binding contract. The Sea is a neighbour to the Sky, not a province."

"Words," Nereus scoffed. "Blood calls to blood. You Olympians are a clannish lot—"

"I fought for my brother. I bled for him. But I did not take this Crown to merely end up as his vassal." I said, cutting him off.

I looked at Hephaestus, then at the vast, rolling blue around us.

"I will protect and be loyal to Zeus and my family to the best of my ability," I said quietly. "But the Ocean is my body now. I will not cut off my own arm just to warm my brother's hands."

Nereus stared at me. The silence stretched, filled only by the lapping of the waves and the distant cry of a mythical bird. He was looking for the lie, for the bravado of youth, but he found only my tired, heavy honesty.

Slowly, the Old Man exhaled. The tension drained from his shoulders.

"A dangerous answer," Nereus rumbled. "But... an honest one."

The oppressive pressure lifted. The wind returned, ruffling the white hair on Nereus's head. He leaned back, rubbing his face with a weary hand, prepared to say something else, perhaps a dismissal or a farewell.

Then, his eyes drifted down to my lap. He froze.

"By the Deep..." Nereus whispered, leaning forward. "Poseidon. What has your child done?"

I followed his gaze.

In the minutes that I had been debating the fate of the geopolitical world, Hephaestus hadn't just been fiddling.

The cornel wood fishing rod was transformed.

He had taken the coil of soft silver and pressed it deep into the wood grain with his thumbs, heating the metal with his own internal temperature until it flowed like wax, creating a perfect, spiral-grip reinforcement that cooled instantly into a silver-inlaid mesh. The blunt nugget of Orichalcum was no longer loose. He had jammed it onto the butt of the rod, kneading the metal around the wood until it fused, acting as a heavy, glorious, magical focal and counterweight to the long tip.

And the tip itself... he had taken the twist of electrum wire and used it to bind the chunk of obsidian to the very end. But he hadn't just tied it; he had snapped the volcanic glass to create a razor-smooth, frictionless groove for the line to run through.

What had been an item made out of nostalgia over my old life had been reforged into a masterwork of intuitive engineering. It hummed with a low, resonant frequency. I could sense that whatever he had done had amplified the magical conductivity of the wood tenfold.

"Mai!" Hephaestus grunted, clutching it with both hands. I could see his tiny fingerprints pressed tightly into the cooled silver.

"Not quite, my little genius," I said, reaching down. He protested, his face scrunching up for a cry, but I silenced him with a quick nuzzle to his cheek. "Let's make a new rule, okay? Until you're old enough, your dad is gonna test anything you make, okay? If it holds, you get it back."

I gently pried the modified rod from his grip and lifted him from my lap, depositing him back onto the soft blanket between my feet. He didn't fuss; he just sat up, his dark eyes wide and expectant, waiting to see his creation in action.

I cast.

The Orichalcum counterweight and the copper winding channelled my divine energy directly. The line hissed, glowing with a faint blue light, and sank. It didn't stop at the surface. It punched through the water column, diving deeper and deeper, ignoring the small fry, seeking the true monsters.

THRUM.

The rod bent almost double.

"By Khaos!" Nereus shouted, scrambling back as the boat rocked violently.

I felt the weight of a mountain on the other end. I braced my feet against the gunwale, the modified rod groaning, a sound like a cello string being tightened to the breaking point, but holding.

"HAAAAAAAA!" I roared, heaving back.

The water fifty metres away exploded.

A Leviathan, a remnant of my father's golden age, all teeth and tentacles and scales thick as shields, breached, roaring a sound that shook the fillings in my teeth. It thrashed, sending a tidal wave of spray over us. I gritted my teeth and cranked a new modified reel that Hephaestus had moulded into the stick's side, the Orichalcum counterweight giving me the magical torque to drag the screaming beast inexorably toward the boat.

The noise was deafening. And it attracted attention.

The ocean floor beneath us rumbled.

Suddenly, three massive shapes erupted from the surf, surrounding our tiny skiff like living towers. They displaced so much water that the skiff dropped into a trough, nearly capsizing us.

Brontes, Steropes, and Arges broke the surface. They were covered in rock dust and seaweed, their single eyes wide with alarm, hammers raised to smash whatever was attacking their new boss. Brontes rose directly in the path of the Leviathan, blocking it from the boat, while Steropes and Arges flanked me.

"WE HEARD AN AGGRESSIVE POWER SIGNATURE!" Brontes roared, his torso rising like an island, his shadow casting darkness over the monster. "WHO DIES TODAY!!?"

Then he stopped.

He looked down at the Leviathan thrashing in the water at his waist. He looked at the line pulling taut. And then, his massive eye zoomed past the monster to the rod in my hands.

"Wait," Steropes shrieked, swimming right up to the gunwale, ignoring the chaos. He shoved his face dangerously close to the strained wood in my hands. "Is that... is that silver kneaded directly into the grain?"

"And an Orichalcum counter-balance?" Arges rumbled, leaning down over the other side, trapping me between two giant faces. "Cold-welded by hand?"

They ignored the monster entirely.

The Leviathan, confused and enraged by the lack of fear, roared again, snapping its jaws at Brontes's hip.

Brontes didn't even look down. He just backhanded the beast with a casual flick of his fist, a motion like swatting a fly.

CRACK.

The sound was like a thunderclap. The Leviathan went instantly limp, knocked unconscious, and floated belly-up in the froth.

The three Elder Cyclopes crowded around the skiff, staring at the rod in my hands, and then at the toddler sitting behind me. He was beaming. Far from being terrified, he had his little arms thrown up in the air, cackling with delight as if the violent rocking of the boat had been the best ride of his life.

"He made this?" Brontes whispered, his voice trembling with reverence. "With scrap? In a boat? In... what? less than five minutes?"

"He understands the Song of the Material," Steropes breathed, tearing up behind his goggles. "Look at the tension distribution! It's intuitive! It's genius!"

Brontes reached down. His hand, large enough to crush the entire boat, was surprisingly gentle. He didn't grab the rod from my hands. He grabbed Hephaestus.

"Hey!" I shouted, instinctively reaching out.

But Brontes had already lifted the giggling baby high into the air, setting him on his massive, rock-dust-covered shoulder.

"He is ours," Brontes declared, his voice leaving no room for argument. "He is the Apprentice we have always dreamed of. We are keeping him."

"You can't just take my son!" I argued, though I felt the tension leaving my shoulders.

"We aren't taking him," Arges corrected, tickling Hephaestus's tummy with a finger the size of a sausage, making the boy shriek with laughter. "We are educating him. You play with this old fish, Nephew. The boy has real work to do, consider it restitution for messing up your Trident."

"Hera will flay me alive if she hears of this!" I called out as they began to sink beneath the waves.

"Then keep your mouth shut!" Brontes roared back, already halfway submerged, Hephaestus clutching his ear and looking like the king of the world. "Now, little Apprentice, let us show you how to forge the greatest city the oceans shall ever see!"

I watched them go, the three most dangerous smiths in existence, disappearing from view, cooing over my son. Fortunately, we had found out early on that he could handle being underwater just fine.

I sighed, extending my senses and weaving a protective current of water around Hephaestus, a silent guardian that would shield him from any stray sparks or falling rocks. I trusted my uncles, but accidents happened.

"Well," I said, reeling in the unconscious Leviathan and securing it to the side of the skiff. "I suppose that solves the babysitting problem."

I looked at Nereus. The Old Man was standing, brushing salt spray from his beard. He looked from the retreating Cyclopes back to me, a glint of genuine amusement in his eyes.

"I will be there, Poseidon," Nereus said.

"At the Council?"

"Aye. In two days," he confirmed. He didn't ask when or where; the Old Man of the Sea didn't need invitations.

With a nod, Nereus stepped over the gunwale and his legs dissolved into foam. Before I could blink, he slipped back into the currents of his world, leaving me alone with a very large fish and a very quiet boat.

I sat there for a moment, the silence of the surface pressing against my ears.

It was time.

I didn't need a messenger. My will was the current, and my voice was the tide. I closed my eyes, projecting my intent to the farthest reaches of the earth. Twelve seats were intended, a mirror to the Olympians above, but for now, only nine were ready.

Nine powers to bind the chaotic waters into a single, unbreakable nation. They knew who they were, and each, I was certain, wouldn't dare refuse my summons.

The First Council of Atlantis.

"Two days," I whispered to the wind. "In two days, I build an empire."

I looked down, my gaze piercing the blue, past the crushing pressure, all the way to the sea floor.

There, amidst the volcanic vents, I saw them. Hephaestus was sitting on a flat rock, holding a hammer that looked suspiciously like a modified chisel. He brought it down with a clumsy, determined clink against a glowing strip of metal.

Around him, the three terrifying Elder Cyclopes were cheering and clapping like grandmothers at a recital, their single eyes brimming with tears of joy.

I grinned, the weight of the crown vanishing instantly.

Statecraft could wait.

I stood up, took a deep breath, and dove over the side, kicking hard toward the deep to go see what my boy was building for me.

Chapter 16: Rhea, Mother of the Gods

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10 Years Ago | The Early Days of the Titanomachy​

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In the cup of her trembling hands, the Old World was dying.

Rhea felt the fading life as a physical ache. As the Titaness of Motherhood, her very essence was the flow of generations, the ease of birth, and the warmth of milk; to witness an end where there should be a beginning was anathema to her soul. She, who had defied the King of the Cosmos himself to hide her youngest away, now stood helpless before the inevitable.

The creature was tiny, no larger than a child, yet heavy with the weight of eons. It did not possess a body of flesh or common chitin, rather a spiralling, fractal shell that seemed to fold inward on itself, defying the geometry of the world. To look upon it directly was to feel a sudden, sickening vertigo, for its edges blurred and vibrated, flickering in and out of the present moment like a candle in a draft.

It was a relic of the First Breath, born in the twilight age when the Sky still lay flush against the Earth, long before the Severance. Its legs were delicate filaments of burning aether that twitched out of sync with time, moving a fraction of a second before or after they should. Its wings, now crushed and leaking a substance that looked like liquid mercury, had once beaten in perfect rhythm with the expansion of the universe.

It was the last of its kind.

The deep places of the world would be silent now. No more eggs, no more hymnals in the dark. The war was young, yet it devoured indiscriminately. While her husband sat on his throne of gold, rotting from the inside out, the true magic of the world, wild, ancient, and pure, was being butchered in the mud.

It was a wretched irony: she had saved her own son from one void, only for his war to cast the innocents of the cosmos into another. This was the cost of her defiance: to carve out a bloody space for her children to exist, she had to pave the floor with the dead.

Her hands hovered over the fracturing shell, fingers trembling, desperate to heal but knowing the slightest touch might shatter what little time remained.

"Forgive us this theft," Rhea whispered, her voice cracking as a tear fell through her fingers. "I am sorry. We did not wish for this. We never meant for you to come to harm."

The beast twitched, its many-faceted eyes swirling with a dying, confused light. It seemed to struggle against the fog of pain, its focus drifting until it locked onto her face. Recognition sparked, followed immediately by a wave of shame.

It tried to tuck its shattered legs beneath its shell, a reflex of courtly grace amidst the carnage. It tried to bow, but only managed a pained shudder.

Lady Rhea? The thought pressed against her mind, fragile as spun glass and mortified. Forgive me... I cannot rise to greet you. I am... unseemly. I did not mean to receive you in such a state.

Rhea sobbed, a harsh sound that scraped her throat. She stroked its broken wing with a touch lighter than air. "Peace, dear one. There is no need for such formality with me. Be at ease."

The others... The psychic voice trembled with a sudden, frantic worry. My brothers... my sisters... We were all here. The Chorus had just begun. We were singing... we were singing together. But then the sky shouted, and the mountain fell.

It tried to lift its crushed head, searching blindly for the home that no longer existed.

I cannot hear them. Are they hiding? Please, call them out, Lady Rhea. Their silence frightens me.

Rhea's breath hitched. She looked up at the ruin of the riverbank. The nesting caverns were gone. The side of the valley had been sheared off and had buried the entire hollow in millions of tons of rock.

An entire mythical species, gathered for their holy ritual, was snuffed out in a single heartbeat of collateral violence.

She could not tell the truth. She could not let the last feeling this creature experienced be the crushing weight of genocide.

"They..." Rhea choked out. She forced her voice to stop trembling. "They are safe, blessed one. Your song was... it was so beautiful that the mountain bowed to listen. They have finished the ritual and gone ahead. They are waiting for you."

Waiting? The creature's anxiety smoothed out, replaced by a confused relief. For me?

"Yes," Rhea whispered, tears tracking hot lines through the dust on her face. "In the Quiet Place. Where the sky never burns."

Oh... good, the voice hummed, growing fainter, but the anxiety did not fully leave. That is good... perhaps they have gone there to practice? To get it right this time?

The fading light in its eyes swirled with a heartbreaking, internalised guilt.

We came from so far, Lady Rhea, the creature wept into her mind. From the deep crystal roots, from the singing veins of the earth. We all gathered in this one valley because we wanted to make a gift. We wanted to weave a tapestry of light for you all. To show the Gods how much we loved them.

It trembled, its voice cracking with the devastation of a child who believes their house burned down because their drawing wasn't pretty enough.

We had just begun... and then the pain came. And I thought... I thought surely we had offended you. Surely our love was too small.

It wasn't an accusation. It was worse. It was an assumption that the destruction of their beautiful, peaceful existence must have been a critique of their art. These creatures could not conceive of violence for violence's sake; they only understood creation. If destruction happened, it must have been because the creation was flawed.

"No," Rhea wept, pulling the creature close to her chest, desperate to shield it from the smoke-filled air, desperate to shield herself from its innocence. "You were perfect. Your song was flawless. The sin is ours, not yours. Never yours."

The creature did not seem to hear her. Its mind was fracturing, looping back on its own failure.

I must... I must try harder, the voice faded, growing thin and cold. Please tell Lord Kronos... I am sorry the gift was broken. I will do better... in the Quiet Place... I will spin it brighter...

The beast let out a sound too high for ears to hear, a final psychic vibration of apologetic devotion, and then went still. The shifting colours of its shell dulled to a flat, lifeless grey. Rhea felt a crack in her own heart. The cosmos was now lesser. A piece of its wonder had been erased and would never return, not for all the power in the world.

With a heavy, nauseous sigh, she produced a small square of silk from her sash. With reverent care, she cleaned the mercury-like blood from the creature's fractured wings, a quiet prothesis performed in the span of a heartbeat. She wrapped the tiny corpse in the cloth, shrouding it from the smoke-filled air.

She knelt in the wet earth near the rushing water. Using her hands, she carved out a small hollow in the riverbank, a chamber tomb no larger than a helmet. She placed the bundle inside, arranging it so the creature faced the West.

"Go gently," she whispered, covering the hollow with damp earth. She placed a smooth, grey river stone atop the mound, a humble marker for a soon-to-be-forgotten race of miracles.

She knew, with a sick and heavy certainty, that this was only the beginning. By the time this war was done, whether they won or lost, she would have presided over the extinction of a hundred thousand miracles. The Golden Age would not survive her children's ascent.

Rhea turned back to the river and washed her hands, scrubbing the silver blood and the soil from her skin. She shook her hands dry and lifted her head, her gaze travelling from the small stone grave at her feet out across the valley.

It was a graveyard for the old order.

The landscape itself had been butchered. The riverbank where she stood was the only quiet edge of a massive, jagged scar that tore through the centre of the valley. Ancient pines had been snapped like twigs, and the earth had been churned into a chaotic slurry of mud and rock.

It was the smell of victory, pungent and undeniable, earned only hours ago when the world had tilted on its axis.

She could see exactly where it had happened. That crater in the centre of the clearing was where Krios, the mighty Ram, the Southern Pillar, had descended.

He had come alone, arrogant and hungry for sole glory, intending to crush their pathetic rebellion before Kronos could even muster the main host. In the Old World, battle was a ceremony; by all laws of divine tradition, you allowed your enemy to list their titles and proclaim your doom before the first blow was struck.

Krios was infamous for indulging in these traditions as he always had loved the sound of his own voice. He had stood resplendent, constellations woven into his ancient armour, his voice booming across the valley as he began to catalogue the inevitable end of their short-lived freedom.

And then, the air had exploded.

There was no honour in it, no respect for the rhythm of war. It was a raw, impulsive discharge of power from a god who had never tested his limits. Poseidon launched himself like a stone from a sling, a blur of silent, kinetic violence that collided with the Southern Pillar mid-syllable.

The impact was catastrophic. Poseidon buried his fist deep into the soft divot of Krios's flank, rupturing his torso with a force that folded the Titan in half. As Krios doubled over, the air leaving his lungs in a wheezing gasp, Poseidon met him with a rising, catastrophic uppercut.

There was a sickening crack, the sound of a jaw snapping shut on a tongue, followed by divine bone giving way. Krios's head snapped back, his grand speech replaced by a spray of molten gold and broken teeth.

But the violence was too much, too uncontrolled. The unchecked shockwave of the blow shattered the surrounding cliffs, shearing off the riverbank and burying the nesting caverns in a landslide of dust and stone. Poseidon had silenced the Titan, but in his rashness, he had unknowingly silenced an entire mythical species along with him.

Before Krios could even stagger upright, Zeus and Hades descended like starving wolves. There was no grace in it, no exchange of cosmic energy or refined duelling arts.

This was, for Poseidon and Hades at least, their first true fight since being purged from their father's gut, and they fought with the desperate, jagged fury of survivors. It was a brawl in the dirt, a frantic, rhythmic drumbeat of fists meeting flesh that ground the Lord of Constellations into the mud.

The myth of Titan invincibility didn't end with a grand cataclysm or heroic duel between champions; it ended with her brother, bleeding and wheezing, scrambling away on hands and knees, his nerve shattered by three gods who hadn't been alive a decade. He fled back to Othrys not as a victorious conqueror, but as a broken thing, leaving the stench of fear and the ruin of the valley in his wake.

Silence had reclaimed the valley for a moment, but it had not lasted. The vacuum Krios left behind had been instantly filled by the manic, impossible energy of the victors.

A roar of laughter, raw and booming, snapped her out of the memory.

Rhea blinked, the present rushing back in a wash of noise and firelight. She turned from the darkening river to the ridge behind her, where the hastily erected war camp sat silhouetted against the stars.

It was hardly an army. It was a carnival of refugees.

There were perhaps five dozen of them in total, a ragtag collection of Nymphs, minor river spirits, defectors from Kronos's own court, and the five children she had barely managed to smuggle away from Othrys after Zeus and Metis tricked Kronos into throwing them up.

They had been running for days, a desperate, breathless flight through the wilderness to evade her husband and his hunting packs. They had collapsed here only yesterday, intending this valley to be nothing more than a waypoint, a place where her swallowed children could finally scrub the acrid bile of their father's stomach from their skin before pushing on to the mountains.

Yet, as the bonfires flared high, casting long, dancing shadows against the hills, the heat of their triumph burned away the heavy shroud of exhaustion. Wine, stolen from the cellars of Othrys, flowed freely, and the air buzzed with a manic, electric energy. Nymphs danced with Satyrs, their laughter sharp and defiant, a collective scream of joy against the tyranny they had endured for so long.

They were tired, yes, bone-deep and battering, but tonight, the intoxication of survival was stronger. The camp felt larger than it was, a chaotic, beautiful mess of stolen freedom.

Near the makeshift command post, little more than a sheet of scavenged canvas stretched between two trees, she spotted Hades. He stood in the shadows, as was his habit, speaking in low, urgent tones with Prometheus. The Titan of Forethought had defected to their side almost immediately after the escape, a betrayal that had shaken Kronos's court to its core.

Further towards the centre of the camp, the scene was far louder. Zeus was seated on a log, surrounded by a giggling gaggle of Aurae and Naiads. His arm was draped possessively around Metis, the Oceanid of Wisdom, who looked both pleased and terrifyingly sharp-eyed at all the female attention her childhood love was receiving. Zeus was recounting the battle, his hands flying wildly as he mimicked the sound of Krios's jaw breaking.

Meanwhile, across the fire, Themis, the Titaness of Justice, watched him with a gaze that was heavy, unblinking, and undisguised in its hunger. It was a look that Metis seemed to catch instantly, and returned with a narrow, venomous glare that could have frozen the river solid, her nails digging a silent warning into Zeus's side.

To the left, her poor daughters were trying to salvage a meal from a spit roast, though the dynamic was far from peaceful.

Zelos, the winged enforcer, was flexing and posturing near the fire, loudly boasting about how he would have struck the hardest blow had he had time to enter the fray. He was oblivious to the dangerous mood radiating from the three goddesses.

Hera, despite the grime on her face, sat with the imperious posture of a queen in exile. She was slicing portions of meat with a dagger that looked suspiciously like it had been stolen from one of Kronos' guards, her eyes narrowing with each word that spilled from the winged god's lips.

Beside her, Demeter wasn't even looking at the food. The Goddess of the Harvest knelt in the ashes, her hands pressed flat against the scorched earth. She was weeping softly, pouring her own energy into the ground in a desperate, exhausting attempt to coax a single blade of grass from the ruin the earlier fight had left behind.

And then there was Hestia.

Her eldest looked so exhausted that she was vibrating. She held a heavy iron ladle, but she wasn't serving anyone food. As Zelos stepped too close, reaching a greedy hand toward her, her grip on the ladle tightened, her knuckles turning white. Her eyes didn't hold their usual warmth; they held a flat, terrifying irritation.

Rhea watched, her heart skipping a beat. She remembered a whisper she had overheard during their frantic flight from Othrys, Poseidon, leaning close to his gentle sister, murmuring a piece of advice that chilled Rhea to the bone:

If anyone approaches you with inappropriate intentions, Hestia, don't ask them to stop. Smite them first. We'll worry about the mess later.

Hestia looked ready to implement that lesson right now on Zelos's skull.

But before the ladle could swing, Zelos faltered. He stopped mid-boast, looking suddenly uncomfortable, as if a cold draft had hit the back of his neck.

Rhea followed his gaze and realised why.

Poseidon.

He stood near the edge of the clearing, seemingly deep in conversation with Styx and her brood. Yet, even as he spoke to some of the most terrifying deities in the cosmos, his head was turned slightly. His sea-green eyes were fixed unerringly on his sisters across the fire. It was a look of silent, absolute vigilance. He was tracking Zelos's every movement, ready to cross the camp in a heartbeat if the enforcer overstepped his bounds.

Rhea felt a pang of complex emotion. Even here, amidst the victory, her second youngest never stopped watching the perimeter. He was the shield, always positioned between his family and any threat, even if that threat was just an annoying ally.

Only when Zelos faltered and retreated did Poseidon relax. He turned his attention fully back to Styx. Rhea could not hear their words over the revelry, but the visual was striking. Poseidon said something serious and swept his arm out, pointing toward the distant, jagged silhouette of Mount Olympus. Rhea followed the line of his finger, confused. To her eyes, the peak was merely a wild, snow-capped wilderness, impressive in scale but barren of life. It held none of the golden splendour of Othrys.

Yet Styx followed his gaze, and her expression hardened, a silent, grim nod of agreement passing between them. Whatever Poseidon saw in that empty summit, the Hatred of the Gods saw it too.

Then, the mood broke, and Poseidon's demeanour shifted effortlessly with it. He extended his hand, palm open.

Styx froze. She stared at the hand as if it were a foreign object. Beside her, her Daughter Nike tilted her head, confused. Poseidon didn't wait. He stepped forward, gripped the Goddess of Hate's forearm in a firm, warrior's clasp, and shook it.

Rhea watched, stunned, as Styx's severe mask fractured into genuine shock. She looked down at their joined arms, seemingly unsure how to process being touched with such casual warmth.

Poseidon wasn't done. He turned to Bia, the fiercest of Styx's children, and with a grin that bordered on suicidal, he reached out and ruffled her short, cropped hair as if she were a child rather than the personification of violence. Bia swatted his hand away, bristling, but there was no real malice in the gesture. He laughed, clapped a hand on Nike's shoulder, and turned to leave.

As he walked away, a cluster of minor river-gods and nymphs swarmed him, clamouring for his attention, eager to converse with the god who had not hesitated to rush a Titan as infamous as Krios bare-handed. She had known almost immediately upon meeting him that her second youngest was an anomaly; he didn't drink in the worship as Zeus or many other gods would, nor did he shrink from it like Hades. He smiled with a polite, weary expression and waved them off with gentle humility.

He didn't head for the wine or the food. He headed for the river. For her.

Rhea watched him approach, her heart giving a painful, familiar lurch. Of all her children, he was the one who haunted her nightmares the most.

When she had birthed Hestia, Demeter, Hera, and Hades, they had cried with the confusion of newborns, blind and instinctual, before she had been forced to surrender them to the darkness of her husband's gullet. But Poseidon...

Poseidon had been different.

She remembered the moment he slid into the world. She remembered the trembling weakness in her arms as she lifted him, desperate to memorise his face before the end. And she remembered how he had stopped crying the instant the air hit his lungs. He had opened his eyes, sea-green and shockingly focused, and looked right at her.

In that fleeting second, amidst the blood and the sweat, she hadn't felt the draining need of a newborn. She had felt... admired. His tiny baby eyes had looked up at her tear-streaked face with a sudden, dawning awe, as if she were the most beautiful thing ever to exist. It was a look of pure, unadulterated adoration she hadn't received from anyone, certainly not her husband, in an age.

But then the shadow fell.

As Kronos's maw unhinged above them, she had felt the baby go rigid against her breast. The adoration vanished, replaced instantly by a terror that was far too sharp, far too aware for an infant. He hadn't wailed aloud in confusion; his budding divine aura instead had recoiled in absolute horror. His tiny hands had scrabbled desperately against her skin, trying to anchor himself to her, trying to climb away from the abyss he somehow recognised as death.

She had screamed, her maternal instinct overriding her fear, and tried to curl her body around him. But she was broken from the labour. Kronos had with ease shoved her aside with a callous, backhanded blow, sending her sprawling, weak and helpless, into the bloody linens. She could only watch from the floor as the dark swallowed those intelligent, terrified eyes. That memory, the image of a child who knew he was being murdered, had fractured something inside her that she feared would never heal.

Her son reached the riverbank and dropped down beside her. He didn't ask for permission. He sat in the mud, crossing his legs, unbothered by the stains on his clothes or the damp chill of the earth.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The river rushed past, carrying the debris of the battle downstream. The sounds of the celebration drifted over them, a distant, joyous hum that felt a world away.

Then, Poseidon moved. He reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a pomegranate. He cracked it open with his thumbs, the red juice staining his skin like fresh blood, and held out a piece to her.

"Eat," he said quietly. "You look pale."

Rhea stared at the fruit, shaking her head. "Thank you, son. I... I am not hungry."

"You spent centuries worrying yourself sick and the last several hours watching us beat Uncle Krios into the dirt," Poseidon deadpanned. He took her hand, forced the fruit into it, and closed her fingers over the skin. "Eat the fruit, Mum. You're going to fade away if you don't take better care of yourself."

Mum.

The word hit her like a physical blow to the chest. He had never called her 'Mother'. Nor 'Lady Rhea'. Nor 'Matriarch'.

Mum.

It was such a small, clumsy word. It lacked all the grandeur of their station. It was common. It was simple. And it sounded... heartbreakingly intimate.

Rhea looked at him, searching his face for the accusation she knew must be there. The memory of his infant terror flashed before her eyes, layering over the face of the weary warrior sitting beside her.

"You need not waste your precious time on me, son," she whispered, her voice tight, trying to push him back towards the light. "You should be with your brothers. Celebrating. Drinking. They are chanting your name by the fire."

Poseidon took a slow, deliberate bite of his pomegranate, chewing as he watched the dark water rush past. He swallowed, then wiped a speck of red juice from his lip.

"They'll cheer for me today," he said, his voice level. "But I don't know them. Not really." He gestured vaguely back toward the fire. "I know Hades. I know my sisters. But Zeus?" He shook his head. "I barely know him, the real him anyway. And the rest of them? The ones patting me on the back? I don't know who they'll be or whether they'll still be our allies in a week, or a year, or a millennium from now."

He turned his green gaze to her. The exhaustion was there, deep in the lines of his face, carved by the day's violence, but behind it was a clarity that felt warm and grounding.

"And I don't know you," he stated.

Rhea flinched, the guilt flaring again. "I know. I failed to—"

"No," Poseidon interrupted gently. "That's not what I mean. I know you're my mother. I know your scheme saved Zeus, and that in turn saved us. You have my eternal loyalty for that." He shifted in the mud, turning his whole body to face her.

"But I don't know you," he said, his voice dropping to a hush that barely rose above the sound of the river. "I don't know the person behind the title." He looked down at his hands for a second, then back up at her, a quiet, shy vulnerability cracking his mask. "And... I would really like to."

Rhea blinked, taken aback. The question hung in the air, alien and confusing.

For eons, she had been defined by her function. To her primordial parents, she was the Titaness of Flow, an abstract concept rather than a daughter. To her siblings, she was a pliant sister, a source of comfort to be drained of ease when they were weary and ignored the moment they were restored.

To Kronos, she was a Queen, a Wife, a possession to be kept on a mountain. In the dark of their bedchamber, she was merely a vessel. He had been a selfish, frantic lover, taking what he needed with a clumsy haste, only to roll away the instant he was spent, leaving her cold and alone in the sheets while he returned to the embrace of his paranoia. He had never once looked at her with curiosity, only expectation.

Even to her children, until this moment, she had been a Saviour or a Failure.

She realised, with a jolt that nearly stopped her heart, that she could not remember the last time anyone had asked her about herself.

"You... wish to know me?" she asked, her voice faltering. "Why?"

"Because the wine will still be there later," Poseidon shrugged, bumping his shoulder against hers, a gentle, solid weight that demanded nothing. He paused, seeing the genuine shock on her face, and his brow furrowed. He tilted his head, looking honestly baffled that she even had to ask.

"Besides... is it so unexpected of me?" he asked, his voice quiet and genuinely confused. "I spent an eternity in the dark, wondering who you were. Is it not natural for a son to want to know the mother he was stolen from?"

He looked at her, and she saw it again, that same look he had given her the moment he was born. It wasn't the terror this time, but the admiration was there. The focus. He was seeing her, not the Queen of Othrys.

"So, tell me, Mum," he said, and the foreign, intimate title rolled off his tongue with easy warmth. "Before everything went wrong, what did you actually do for fun?"

Rhea stared at him. The question was so simple, so disarming, that she found herself at a total loss. She opened her mouth, closed it, and felt a flush of awkwardness rise in her cheeks. It was a terrifying thing, she realised, to be seen as a person after so long being a monument.

But looking into his waiting, patient eyes, the awkwardness slowly began to recede, replaced by the first true spark of warmth she had felt in an age.

"I..." she started, her voice rusty. She looked down at her hands, then back at the river, her eyes unfocusing as the memory washed over her. A small, tentative smile touched her lips, a ghost of the girl she had been.

"I used to dance," she whispered.

"You used to dance?" Poseidon repeated, a slow, delighted smile spreading across his face.

"With the wind," Rhea clarified. Her gaze drifted toward the distant peaks, her voice taking on a dreamy, melodic quality. "Long before I was a Queen, before the walls of Othrys closed in... I would climb to the highest meadows where the air was thin and wild. I would spin until the horizon blurred, until I was nothing but breath and motion. There was no politics then. No dreaded prophecies. Just the rhythm of my mother's breaths and the joy of movement."

She stopped, the light fading from her eyes as she looked down at her muddy, calloused feet. A sudden shyness overtook her.

"It was... a very long time ago. I do not think I remember the steps."

As if on cue, the sound of the camp shifted. By the great fire, the boisterous recounting of the battle died down. A hush fell over the assembly as a dozen Naiads rose, their voices lifting in a haunting, wordless melody that drifted across the valley floor. It was joined by the rhythmic, strumming beat of a lyre.

"Well," he said, standing up and wiping the pomegranate juice from his hands. He tilted his head toward the camp as the melody drifted over the water. "Then we will find them again together. The music seems to be starting."

He extended a palm to her.

Rhea looked at his hand, hesitation warring with longing in her eyes. "Son, I told you, I do not—"

"I'm not asking you to lead, Mum," he interrupted gently. "I'm asking you to dance with me."

She hesitated, the weight of a thousand years of decorum pressing down on her. But then she looked at his face, open, expectant, and utterly devoid of judgment. Slowly, she reached up and placed her hand in his.

He pulled her up with effortless strength.

Rhea instinctively braced her legs, preparing to stomp the earth in the traditional, separate rhythms of her kind, a dance of power where partners circled each other but rarely touched. But Poseidon did something strange. He stepped in close, collapsing the distance between them. He took her right hand in his left, interlacing their fingers, and placed his other hand firmly, warmly, on her waist.

Rhea stiffened, her eyes widening. The sudden intimacy of the hold caught her completely off guard. "What is this? This is not how we—"

"Trust me," he murmured. "Just follow my lead. I've got you."

He began to move. It was a slow, swaying rhythm, utterly unlike the frantic, ecstatic dances of the Maenads or the rigid processions of Othrys. It was a fluid, three-step beat, a foreign cadence that felt less like marching and more like the tide pulling at the shore.

One-two-three. One-two-three.

He guided her backward, then turned her, his movements smooth and assured. As they spun, the motion stirred the tall reeds of the riverbank. From the darkness, a cloud of lampyrids, tiny, glowing river-beetles, rose, startled by the dance. They drifted into the air around them like floating embers, their soft, bioluminescent green mirroring the light in Poseidon's eyes.

Rhea stumbled at first, her feet tangling in the mud, confused by the need to yield to his direction. But Poseidon held her firm. He didn't let her fall. He simply adjusted his grip, his hand on her waist acting as a steady anchor, waiting for her to find the rhythm.

"See?" he said softly, spinning her gently as the living lights parted around them. "You remember."

Rhea relaxed. The music from the camp swelled, the voices of the nymphs rising in a crescendo of triumph and sorrow. She let herself lean into his hold, the strangeness of the close contact melting into a profound sense of safety. She was dancing. On a riverbank, in the mud, surrounded by stars both in the sky and in the air, held safe by her son.

"I say you speaking with Lady Styx," she said breathlessly as he spun her slowly, the stars blurring overhead. "Should I be concerned?"

"I merely told her that if she binds herself to us, she won't just be a servant of the new order. She'll be its foundation." He nodded toward the distant, jagged peak he had pointed to earlier. "And I told her where we're going."

"That barren peak?" Rhea asked. "Why leave the safety of the valleys?"

"It's a fortress, Mum," Poseidon said, his voice tightening slightly with strategic intent. "Othrys is grand, but it's open. Olympus is a spear-point. We need high ground. I spoke with Zeus and Hades this morning. We're moving the camp at dawn. That mountain is going to be our home until this is all over... and maybe beyond then too."

"Until it is over," Rhea echoed, a shadow passing over her face. "You speak with such confidence. Krios ran today, yes, but your father... he has legions. He has powerful brothers. Do you really believe this war can be won so easily? That it won't be all for nothing?"

Poseidon didn't answer immediately. He dipped her slightly, a move that made her gasp, before pulling her back upright.

"It won't be quick," he said, his voice taking on a strange, distant quality. "It's going to be a grind. A decade, I'd wager. Ten years of blood and mud."

Rhea missed a step. "Ten years? How can you possibly know that?"

Poseidon blinked before giving her a crooked, half-apologetic grin. "Call it a gut feeling. But we will win the war. I'm confident in that much."

They swayed in the quiet rhythm, the river rushing beside them and the lampyrids drifting like emerald stars around their heads.

Rhea tightened her grip on his hand, sudden panic seizing her. He had asked about her; he had wanted to know the woman beneath the crown, and she had nearly wept with gratitude. Now, she felt a desperate need to return the gift, to fill the vast, aching hollow of the years they had spent apart.

"You asked of me," she said, her voice breathless as she followed his lead. "Now, please... tell me about yourself. I've noticed you are drawn to the water whenever we take moments of rest. Is it the silence you seek?"

"Partly," Poseidon admitted, guiding her through a turn. "Water adapts. It's patient."

"Is that why you favour it?" Rhea pressed, searching his face, hungry for every detail. "Because it is patient?"

"I favour it because it makes sense," he said simply. He looked past her shoulder, toward the dark current, a thoughtful expression softening his warrior's edge. "You want to know what my favourite thing is? It sounds foolish."

"Nothing about you could be foolish," Rhea insisted, squeezing his fingers. "Tell me. Please."

"Rain," he said. "Not being in it. But sitting inside, in a cave, or a tent, wrapped in a warm blanket, just watching it fall. Hearing it hit the roof."

He looked back at her, and the playful spark in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a profound vulnerability.

"Knowing the storm is out there, but I'm safe inside," he whispered. "I haven't had a lot of 'safe' in my life. I think I'm looking forward to that the most now that we're all free."

Rhea's heart broke all over again. The guilt, which had receded during the dance, came rushing back. She stopped moving, pulling slightly against his grip.

"I should have given you that safety," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I should have fought your father sooner. I should have—"

"Stop," Poseidon said.

He didn't let her go. He held her frame rigid, forcing her to look at him. The music from the camp seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of his voice.

"You're doing it again," he said firmly. "You're rewriting history to make yourself the villain."

"I was his wife," Rhea insisted, tears spilling over. "I was a Titaness. I had power. And I let him—"

"You were a hostage," Poseidon cut her off. The words were sharp, clinical. "I've watched you, Mum. I've listened to how you talk about him. You didn't have a 'lover.' You had a captor."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "He spent a thousand years isolating you. He cut you off from those who cared about you. He made you terrified of your own strength. He twisted your reality until you thought his paranoia was your responsibility."

He shook his head. "What were you supposed to do? Fight the King of the Heavens alone? With no army? With no weapon? When he held your children inside him as hostages?"

Rhea trembled. "I..."

"You did the only thing you could," Poseidon said. "You survived. You played the only card you had left, trickery. And because you did that, because you endured that nightmare..." He squeezed her hand, his calloused thumb brushing her knuckles. "...I am standing here. Zeus is standing here. We are all here."

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers.

Rhea let out a shuddering breath, the tension of a millennium draining out of her. She slumped against him, and for the first time, she didn't feel the crushing weight of her failures. She felt only Poseidon's solid, unshakeable support.

But as the silence stretched, she felt a change in him. The solid tension in his frame didn't relax; it tightened, but with a different frequency. A vibration of unease.

Poseidon pulled back, just enough to look at the river again. His gaze drifted to the massive scar in the earth, the landslide that had buried the caverns.

"I wasn't careful," he murmured, the confidence of the warrior evaporating into the uncertainty of a young boy.

"Krios was..." He hesitated, searching for the words. "He was stronger than I expected. When I hit him, I just... I let everything go. I didn't think about the valley. I didn't think about what was living in the rock."

He looked down at his hands, the same hands that had just broken a Titan.

"I felt them die, Mum," he whispered, his voice rough with a sickening, new realisation. "When the cliff came down. I felt... small lights. Tens of thousands of them. Just snuffing out in the dark. I didn't even know what they were until they were gone."

Rhea's heart hammered against her ribs. She looked down at the mud beneath their feet.

He was standing right on top of it.

His sandal was inches from the small river stone she had placed only an hour ago. He was standing on the grave of the last singer, the final miracle of a species he had unintentionally erased.

"I told myself it was necessary," Poseidon continued, his jaw tight. "That's what happens in war. But..." He looked at her, his sea-green eyes wide and searching for judgment. "Is this how it starts? Careless destruction? If I burn down the world to save it, am I any different from him?"

The truth was a bitter coin in Rhea's mouth. She could tell him. She could tell him about the fractal shell, the mercury blood, and the song that would never be sung again. She could validate his guilt and tell him to be more careful next time.

But she looked at his face. He was already carrying the weight of a war he hadn't even fought yet. He was already haunted. She'd already failed him in so many ways.

Rhea made her choice.

"No," she said, her voice fierce and steady. She reached up, cupping his face, forcing him to look away from the landslide and back to her. "You are nothing like him. Your father destroys because he fears losing power. You destroyed on accident because you were fighting for your life."

"But the lives I took—"

"Met their end peacefully," Rhea lied. The falsehood burned her throat, but she swallowed it down. "They are at peace, Son. Do not dishonour their loss by letting it chain you. You mourn them. That alone makes you different from your father."

Poseidon studied her face, searching for the condemnation he felt he deserved. When he found only absolution, his shoulders sagged. He let out a long, shaky breath, releasing the guilt he had been holding since the first punch was thrown.

"Okay," he breathed. "Okay."

He held her for a moment longer, grounding himself, then straightened, a gentle smile returning to his face, though it didn't quite reach his eyes this time. He stepped back into the rhythm of the dance, pulling her with him.

"Now," he said, lightening his tone with visible effort. "One-two-three. One-two-three. Please don't step on my toes. I've got a war to fight tomorrow."

Rhea laughed, a wet, teary sound, and tightened her grip on his hand. She followed his lead, dancing on the banks of the river, while the stars wheeled overhead and the future waited, ten years away.