Benjamin 10/6/25 Benjamin 10/6/25

01.02 | Homecoming

Sebastian returns home after spending three months with The House of the Two-Finned Orca.

It was dawn. The air felt heavy. The sun had just risen over the horizon. Through the morning mist, the great cedar canoe cut across the water, its hull slicing cleanly through the stillness. Sebastian leaned against the bow, his thin fingers gripping the polished wood as Laguna Mariposa emerged from the haze. His lanky frame seemed to fold into itself, shoulders slightly hunched forward as he lifted a hand to the strap of the worn leather backpack slung over his shoulder. Shaggy brown hair fell haphazardly around his lightly freckled face, partially tamed by the teal headband wrapped around his forehead. The morning light caught in his striking green eyes, filled with quiet anticipation as they remained fixed on the approaching shore.

The village sat nestled between sea and sky, familiar yet somehow changed. Perhaps it was Sebastian himself who had changed during his time up north. He felt a peculiar tightness in his chest, a collision of excitement and sorrow that made his breath catch. Home waited just beyond that final stretch of ocean, but so did the life he so eagerly wanted to escape.

Fishing boats dotted the harbor like water bugs, their white hulls stark against the deep blue of the Pacific. Behind them, rows of weathered cottages climbed the gentle slope away from the shore, their pastel facades faded by salt and sun into subtle variations of the same tired palette. Sebastian's eyes traced the familiar path from the docks to his family's house—the third from the left in the second row, with the sagging porch and the wind chime his mother refused to replace despite its discordant tone.

"There it is," he says softly, more to himself than anyone else. "Home."

The word sat strangely on his tongue, neither completely true nor entirely false. His hands gripped the railing tighter, knuckles whitening. His thoughts raced, taking him into a daydream where he was darting through the village to his family's house. He was welcomed by Derek's laughter, his Grandfather's knowing eyes and his great-grandmother’s warm smile.

They will listen, won't they?

Derek will want to hear about the ceremonies he witnessed, set to the melody of rattles, whistles and drums. His eyes will glow with astonishment when Sebastian describes the way the night sky seemed to respond to their ancient songs, swirling and dancing in colorful patterns of green, crimson and violet.

And the lorelings—the mythical creatures that populate the world far beyond the boundaries of Laguna Mariposa—Sebastian had seen them now with his own eyes. Not just the domesticated pets that graced the homes of his village, but creatures far more extraordinary. The thought warmed his chest even as the cool sea spray misted his face. Evidence that his grandfather's stories weren't fabrications of an old man's imagination, but glimpses into a world more wondrous than anyone in his village dared to comprehend.

"Your thoughts have taken you," said a voice beside him.

Sebastian turned to find Iihljiwaas standing at his shoulder, the older boy's copper-toned face serene against the backdrop of churning sea. The wooden beads in his braided hair clicked softly in the breeze.

"Just... thinking about what comes next," Sebastian replied, unconsciously adopting the measured cadence of his friend's speech.

Iihljiwaas nodded as if Sebastian had shared a profound insight. His cedar-bark and wool blend tunic decorated with intricate red and black designs shifts slightly in the breeze.

"The end of one journey is the beginning of another. My father says the space between is where wisdom lies."

Sebastian smiled faintly. After spending the last three months among the House of the Two-Finned Orca, he'd grown accustomed to their way of weaving philosophy into casual conversation. He would miss that. In Laguna Mariposa, talk centered around crop yields and weather patterns, fishing quotas and village gossip, the mundane concerns of people who had chosen generations ago to turn their backs on a world full of mystery and intrigue.

"I can't believe all we've seen," Sebastian said, his voice brightening. "And Grandfather will want to hear every detail of our search for the thunder bird. He's going to be so jealous we almost spotted it."

Iihljiwaas's eyes crinkled at the corners, his expression warming with the shared memory. "Almost," Iihljiwaas repeated with a soft smile. "The elusive thunder-bringer prefers to remain a story rather than a sighting for a reason.”

The memory of their expedition flooded back. Three days they'd spent camping high in the misty mountains of the northern coast, watching storm clouds gather and disperse like indecisive spirits. They'd glimpsed only a shadow, a vast winged shape backlit by lightning for the briefest moment before it vanished in a flash of light. But that glimpse had been enough to vindicate the stories Sebastian's grandfather had told him throughout his childhood.

"No one in my village believes that my grandfather saw it," Sebastian confided, lowering his voice though there was no one else within earshot.

"Those who cannot see beyond their personal borders often mistake truth for fantasy," Iihljiwaas observed. His dark eyes scanned the horizon thoughtfully. "Your grandfather has walked beyond those borders. That makes him dangerous to those who prefer to live in comfort."

"They think his stories are just an old man's fantasies." Sebastian continued, frustration edging into his voice. “They humored him when he was younger, but now they just..." He trailed off, not wanting to complete the thought.

"They just what?" Iihljiwaas prompted gently.

"They think he's losing his mind," Sebastian admited, the words bitter on his tongue. "But he's not. He saw what he saw. And now I've seen it too, if only a glimpse."

"The elders say the great thunder bird chooses who it reveals itself to," Iihljiwaas replied. "It marked your grandfather as worthy. You should remain proud."

Sebastian nodded, a small defiant spark kindling in his chest. "I'm going to come back, you know. Next season, maybe. We'll find the loreling together, and I'll bring proof back to the village."

Iihljiwaas opened his mouth to respond when a sharp snap cut through their conversation. Both boys jerked their heads up to see one of the canoe’s sails flapping wildly, its supporting rope frayed and unraveling rapidly.

The woven, cedar bark sails billowed dangerously, threatening to tear free completely. Several members of the boat’s crew scrambled across the deck, but Sebastian could tell they were too far to reach it in time. The sail's wooden beam swung like a pendulum, gaining momentum with each arc.

Iihljiwaas stepped forward, his posture shifting with purpose. His fingers moved to the black feather crystal hanging at his chest, closing around it with practiced familiarity. Sebastian recognized the gesture. He had seen it enough times in the past three months to know what would follow.

"Stand back," Iihljiwaas said, the words carrying an authority beyond his years.

Sebastian obeyed, retreating several steps but unable to tear his eyes away. Iihljiwaas raised his free hand, palm upward toward the troubled sail. His movements subtle, fingers curling slightly.

The air around them shifted. The black feather crystal began to emanate a deep, resonant energy that materialized in the atmosphere around them. Iihljiwaas made circular motions with his raised hand, tracing unseen patterns in front of him.

The chaotic wind around the flapping sail began to steady, spiraling into a controlled current that wrapped around the loose canvas like an invisible hand. The loose rope, which had been whipping frantically, slowed its movement. The sail held steady, billowing gently in the contrived breeze.

Sebastian's mouth hung open. No matter how many times he witnessed magic like that, it never failed to leave him in awe. The casual way Iihljiwaas commanded the air around them, as if asking the wind for a favor rather than bending it to his will, filled Sebastian with a yearning so intense it was almost painful.

Iihljiwaas extended his other hand, allowing the crystal to dangle freely around his neck. The controlled current of air tightened around the rope, guiding it back toward the deck where two crewmen waited to secure it.

With one final, precise movement of his hands, Iihljiwaas directed the wind to hold the sail steady while the men tied the rope. Only when the last knot was secured did he lower his hands, the glow of his crystal gradually fading. He took a deep breath, shoulders relaxing as he returned to his usual calm demeanor.

"That was incredible," Sebastian whispered, his eyes wide with wonder. "You made it look so easy."

Iihljiwaas gently shook his head. "Not easy. Three years of training, and there is still much to learn. My father says I rush sometimes. Did you notice how the sail fluttered before settling?"

Sebastian hadn't noticed any imperfection, but he nodded anyway, trying to understand. The intricacies of magic were still foreign to him. "What does it feel like? Controlling the wind like that?"

Iihljiwaas considered the question with characteristic thoughtfulness. "It is not control, exactly. More like... a conversation. The air has its own will, its own patterns. I must use the power of suggestion rather than command."

Sebastian looked at the black feather crystal, now back to its dark and slightly iridescent appearance, no longer glowing with inner power. It hung against Iihljiwaas's chest, unassuming yet potent. "You're so lucky," he said quietly, unable to keep a note of longing from his voice. "To have been chosen. To be given magic."

Iihljiwaas touched the crystal gently, his fingers tracing its outline with reverence. "The receiving of an elemental crystal is both honor and burden. Xhuuya does not bestow such gifts lightly."

"Xhuuya is your creator deity, right?" Sebastian asked, recalling stories told around evening fires during his stay at the House of the Two-Finned Orca.

Iihljiwaas tilted his head, considering. "Not a deity as you might understand it," he said carefully. "Our relationship with Xhuuya is... more complex. He found the first of our people washed ashore in a clamshell and taught them how to live, yes. But many stories also tell of his adventures, his clever tricks, his mistakes and sorrows."

"What was it like? When you were given the crystal?" Sebastian couldn't help but ask, hungry for details of the magical process.

"I was brought to a sacred island during the winter solstice," Iihljiwaas recalled, his voice taking on a reverent quality. "The elders performed the ceremony beneath the stars, calling out to Xhuuya. When the great black, feathered deity descended, it felt like being inside the breath of the land itself. Xhuuya plucked one of his own feathers and it crystalized before my very eyes, levitating through the air into my palm." He touched the feather again.

"But, how does it feel when you use it, I mean. Does it... change you?" Sebastian continued.

"It doesn't change me," Iihljiwaas replied after a thoughtful pause. "It reveals me. The crystal responds to what already exists within—my nature, my intentions, my understanding of air and its patterns. A water crystal would lie dormant in my hands, just as an earth crystal would remain silent for one whose spirit reflects the burning of the flame."

Sebastian had heard similar explanations before, but they never satisfied his thirst to understand, to experience magic firsthand rather than a mere witness. He stared down at his own hands, ordinary hands that had never channeled anything more mystical than fishing line.

"There are no gods here," he said finally, the words emerging more bitter than he'd intended. "The village turned away from magic generations ago. We don't even speak of the old deities except in children's bedtime stories." He looked up at Iihljiwaas, unable to hide the longing in his eyes. "It's not likely I'll ever receive a crystal of my own."

Iihljiwaas placed a hand on Sebastian's shoulder, his touch light but grounding. "The world is wider than your village believes, Sebastian. Deities walk paths unseen by those who refuse to look. Perhaps you were meant to journey with us these past few months not just to witness our ways but to prepare you for your own calling."

Sebastian glanced up, surprised. "You think I have a calling?"

"I think," Iihljiwaas said carefully, "that those who yearn for understanding are often given opportunities to find it. The thunder loreling may not have revealed itself fully to us, but it allowed you a glimpse of its presence. That is not insignificant."

Sebastian nodded as the canoe bumped gently against the dock. Around them, Iihljiwaas's people were uncoiling ropes and organizing their wares. His eyes traced the familiar white path winding up from the beach toward the clustered homes of Laguna Mariposa. After everything he had experienced, how could he possibly step back into a world where magic was taboo, where tales of adventure earned pitying looks rather than amazement.

His reluctant expression was quickly discovered by Iihljiwaas. "Your journey is just beginning, Sebastian," he said. "The world has many paths, and the one meant for you will reveal itself in time."

"You sound like my grandfather," Sebastian stated affectionately.

"I merely echo what the wind has taught me," Iihljiwaas responded.

Sebastian stepped onto the familiar dock, its weathered planks creaking beneath his feet. The smell of home struck him with the familiar aroma of salted air and honeyed blossoms that grew along the village paths, wrapping around him like chains of a fragrant memory. He inhaled deeply, the maritime scents awakening the faded reality of village life he had locked away inside him. He turned back to Iihljiwaas, as he braced himself for a homecoming that felt like stepping away from a world he'd only previously imagined.

"Thank you," he said simply. "For everything."

Iihljiwaas made a small gesture with his free hand. Not magic this time, but the traditional farewell of his people. "Until our paths cross again, may the wind carry you stories worth remembering."

Sebastian mimicked the gesture and gave a final farewell nod. As he began walking the path from dock to village, he felt two halves of his life pulling at him from opposite directions. A spark of excitement flickered as he anticipated his grandfather's face lighting up at tales of the loreling sighting, and Derek leaning forward, eyes wide with wonder at each adventurous detail. As his house came into view, he wondered if there might be a way to bridge those worlds, a way to bring some of the wonder he'd witnessed back to Laguna Mariposa.

Mythologue:

Benjamin 9/16/25 Benjamin 9/16/25

01.01 | The Divine Olympics

The Greek Gods of Mount Olympus prepare to host the centennial Divine Olympic Games.

[I will be posting this story on RoyalRoad.com]

Zeus paced his balcony, gazing down to where the world prepared to gather on his doorstep. Below, Mount Olympus stood cloaked in banners, stretching out as far as his divine sight could carry. The air itself felt electric, charged with the fever of anticipation as beings from every corner of creation converged to witness his most prestigious achievement. Behind him, a melodious voice drifted through the open archways of his chamber.

"Must you wear holes in the marble with all of that incessant pacing?" Hera's tone carried equal parts amusement and rebuke, a tone reminiscent of their millennia together.

"Must I? Yes! Must I do everything? Apparently, yes to that as well." Zeus's reply was like distant thunder, booming and vibrant, filled with frustration and pride. He turned and fixed her with a golden gaze. "This year’s Olympics shall outshine the sun itself or I'll cast every last incompetent soul into the deepest pits of Hades myself!"

Hera stood calm and regal, her silvery eyes met his with practiced patience. "The games will proceed splendidly, as they have for four thousand years. Why torment yourself?"

"You don't understand," Zeus said, striding to the edge of the balcony and sweeping an arm across the horizon. "This is not just any other game. This year we will light our 1000th torch! A thousand, Hera! Every four years, for millennia, we’ve had the privilege of hosting the greatest event in the cosmos. I cannot allow anything to falter."

The legacy of the Divine Olympics hung heavy in the air between them, born from Zeus's desire to create order from chaos, law from anarchy. It had started with Greece but had grown into a global symbol of divine collaboration. From every land, gods and legends now came to witness their champions compete against one another in feats of skill, strength and power. More than just games, the Olympics were a unifying, symbolic force that fostered peace and unity across the pantheons.

He thought back to the days of isolation, when gods were as distant from each other as stars scattered across the night sky. Before the games, each pantheon had known only their own stories, their own wars, their own triumphs and tragedies. The Olympics had changed everything, paving the way to a world that welcomed cross-pantheon relations.

From these quadrennial events had emerged the Celestial Supremes, an international council of sky deities, each ruling over their respective continents. This year, in addition to attending the games, each of the Celestial Supremes would be honored by name as they make their grand entrance during the opening ceremony.

"The world shall bear witness to our greatness, Hera." Zeus declared. "The gods of the Nile, the Ganges, the Amazon—all shall be honored here tonight. They will feel the full force of Olympus!"

Hera stepped onto the balcony, her presence like a cooling breeze on a sweltering day. "And yet, you trust no one but yourself to make these preparations."

"And why should I, when so much is at stake?" Zeus replied.

Zeus knew that Hera saw through his bravado, that she understood his fears and his relentless pursuit of perfection. But admitting it aloud was not something he would do, not even for her.

"Zeus," she said with a softer note. "You need not shoulder all burdens alone. Everyone on Olympus knows their role to play today. Trust your family, and you may find their efforts more than admirable."

Zeus snorted, his impatience brimming like a storm surge. "Do you trust them? Our siblings? Our children?" He began pacing again, his steps quickening as if each footfall might encourage progress. "Each detail must be attended to, each moment choreographed to the pinnacle of divine excellence." He spun to face her, his expression a tempest of worry and determination. "Do you genuinely have faith that they will finish what was asked of them?"

Hera regarded him with a knowing smile, her calmness unmoved by his bluster. "Perhaps you should exert some of this energy on trusting those who are as invested in this legacy as you are."

He turned his gaze again to the sprawling vista, the sparkling domes and intricate columns of the great amphitheater gleaming in the morning sun. Already, a parade of celestial beings gathered, filling the air with songs and colors. He sensed the approach of other great delegations, deities and demigods traveling from realms as distant as the underworld and the heavens themselves.

"We both know that my fellow Celestial Supremes are not particularly tolerant of compromise," Zeus continued, pacing again. "Especially this year, of all years. When they will be honored in the opening ceremony!"

"I'm well aware of their scheduled grand entries and of your tactics to impress them all." Hera stated matter-of-factly. She moved beside him, regal and untouched by his fretful energy, "Surely, you do not think I would be unaware of such crucial arrangements."

Zeus's mind briefly flickered with annoyance but also admiration for her constant influence. He knew she had her own plans, her own careful orchestration interwoven with his ambitions. She always did.

"This isn’t just for them, you know," he said, voice heavy with insistence. "It's for everyone, for all of us." He looked at her with a mix of suspicion and respect, trying to gauge how much of her approval he truly had.

She simply smiled, serene and knowing, well versed in waiting for Zeus to acknowledge what she already saw so clearly.

“Have you so little faith in those who have planned alongside you these last few years?" She asked with shimmering eyes, always finding the soft points in his confrontations.

"I may have all of the faith in the cosmos in their intentions, but my trust in their competency is far from unwavering," he grumbled.

Hera placed a gentle hand on his arm. "It is precisely when you demand perfection that you must learn to relinquish control. What greater danger is there than for the king of gods to overstretch his own hand?"

Zeus paused, looking at her intently. A mixture of gratitude and resistance flared in his luminous eyes. Her advice was sound, and yet Zeus hesitated, a storm of reluctance brewing within him. She saw the flicker of doubt and pressed further, her words like gentle nudges steering him towards the inevitable.

"If you find it so difficult to let go," Hera said with calm persistence, "perhaps you should see for yourself how well everything proceeds. I hear Hestia is already preparing in the kitchen; a visit might reassure you." Her voice carried an air of suggestion, veiled but unmistakable, that he should involve himself more directly.

Zeus caught her insinuation, his eyes narrowing as he weighed its merits. "And what role have you in mind for me, my love?" he asked with a mixture of sarcasm and genuine curiosity.

Hera smiled, undeterred by his taunting edge. "Simply to be as tireless a messenger as you are a leader. Check on every detail as only you can."

He paused, their gazes locked in a moment of silent understanding. With a sigh that was part resignation and part acceptance, Zeus seemed to concede the wisdom in her words. "And what of the Pegyplume eggs?" he asked. "Have they been taken to the kitchen?"

Her eyes, brimming with illumination, flickered toward a corner of the balcony. Hera coyly replied “Perhaps there is one more role for you, after all.”

Zeus followed her gaze to where a luminous horse-like creature perched, its wings folded in a display of both elegance and defiance. The beast was an extraordinary hybrid of pegasus and peacock. Its fur shimmered with deep indigo iridescence, crowned by an emerald mane. Majestic jade wings adorned with hypnotic eyes of gold and blue extended from its shoulders. Its tail, an opulent train of elongated verdant feathers, curled elegantly below with the same mesmerizing pattern of eyespots. In the center of its forehead gleamed one large illuminated gold and blue eyespot, pulsing with an otherworldly radiance that even Zeus dared not stare into too intently. It sat brooding over a nest, the eggs beneath it glowing with an indigo brilliance, their surfaces alive with divine patterns that seemed to shift and dance as if imbued with cosmic essence.

Hera moved with deliberate grace towards the creature. In response, it fanned its majestic tail feathers in a flourish that was half display, half warning, each eyespot trailing her every move. Its wings unfurled in a burst of blue and emerald, their jeweled tones catching the light, showering the balcony with an ethereal glow. The Pegyplume let out a low, mournful cry that trembled through the morning air, a sound mingling defiance with heartache. As Hera drew closer, it shook its ornate plumage in a quiver of distraught protest.

Hera, unperturbed and gentle, bent to the beast’s nest with the familiarity of one who had done so a thousand times before. She reached with care, her movements scrutinized by each of the creature’s hypnotic eyespots. Her fingers closed around one of the eggs, and it radiated a warmth that pulsed in time with the creature’s own increasing heart rate. For a moment, she held it aloft, its surface alive with intricate cosmic patterns that appeared to shift in a celestial dance, before she placed it into the waiting basket.

The Pegyplume squawked again, this time sounding of a plea, aware of the contribution it made and yet unwilling to provide such a lofty sacrifice. Each egg that was taken seemed to dim slightly—a testament to its connection to the creature that watched over them so vigilantly, its eyespots flickering between defiance and resignation. Hera continued, her expression calm and touched with an almost maternal affection for the creature’s plight. She placed the last of the orbs into her basket, and their combined luminescence intensified, casting long, spectral shadows across the balcony floor.

"Please forgive me," Hera said, a tear running down its cheek as she stroked the glowing eyespot on its forehead. "You have done Olympus a great service today."

Hera picked up the basket of eggs and handed it to Zeus. "Hestia will be needing these soon,” she explained. “Since you are on your way to the kitchens anyway, might you deliver them for me?"

Zeus nodded, turning to the creature with a softened expression. It bobbed its head in respect, taking to the air with a sweep of its expansive wings. He watched it disappear in the distance, before taking the basket of eggs from his wife and exiting towards the kitchen.

The grand kitchen of Olympus unfolded as a vast, luminous chamber hewn from gleaming white marble, veins of gold rippling like frozen lightning through the stone. At its center burned Hestia's sacred hearth, a fire pit of cosmic intensity, its eternal flames dancing with amber hues. More than mere warmth or cooking fire, it pulsed with godly energy, casting a soothing glow which could be seen even in the brightness of daylight. Surrounding it, nymphs moved in urgent precision.

Water nymphs with hair like rivers managed enormous copper cauldrons, the pots suspended from bronze chains. Wood nymphs with skin like bark tended to herb gardens that grew along the walls, harvesting sprigs of spices. Mountain nymphs with strong, dough-kneading hands spread flour like stardust across marble countertops. Arched windows allowed sunlight to pour in, illuminating the rising mist from the cooking and creating a series of rainbow halos throughout the space. The ceiling soared upward, opening to a central dome inlaid with constellations that rotated, marking time as the feast preparation progressed. Pantries lined the walls, their shelves stocked with ingredients from every corner of the world and beyond it. Despite its spacious grandeur, the kitchen was in utter chaos.

Zeus observed the unfolding mayhem with growing agitation. Children ran amok, giggling with mischief as they tumbled through the legs of their nymph mothers. The small ones overturned baskets, knocked plates askew, and shrieked in delight as they sent fruits and flowers scattering across the marble floor. Near the center of the tumult stood Eileithyia, the goddess of childbirth, her expression wavering between amused indulgence and overwhelming frustration as she struggled to rein in the young ones. Her eternally pregnant form moved with grace, the rounded belly glowing with a warm, golden light that pulsed gently like a heartbeat, casting a soft radiance over the frantic scene.

A newborn nymph squirmed in her arms, and Eileithyia attempted to juggle her responsibilities while still attending to the baby with care. She gestured helplessly toward the throng of running children, a weary look crossing her face.

"An unexpected turnout, wouldn't you say, father?" she called out to Zeus.

Zeus furrowed his brow, surveying the frenzy of small bodies darting between the columns. "Why in Hades are there so many children here? And who is this infant in your arms?"

Eileithyia bounced the fussing baby gently on her hip. "You demanded every nymph in our employ show up and work the kitchens today. Many had nowhere else to take their children on such short notice." She nodded toward a young nymph frantically trying to slice tomatoes while keeping an eye on two toddlers. "What would you have them do?"

"See them under control!" he commanded, his voice a booming crescendo that rattled the rafters and sent the children into a momentary hush before their cries resumed, louder than ever.

Eileithyia smiled with wry sympathy, a small shrug of her shoulders indicating that she could do only so much against their youthful exuberance. "There are limits even to my powers," she replied, catching an apple before it rolled off the table and settling into the resigned patience of a mother who knew well the unpredictable nature of her offspring. "Though perhaps if some of the gods were more... behaviorally restrained, there wouldn't be quite so many children running around in the first place."

Zeus bristled at her thinly veiled accusation, the static charge of his presence intensifying as his irritation grew.

Nearby, his eye caught a figure lounging amidst the swirling steam. Aphrodite reclined in the corner of the kitchen, her golden hair damp with vapor as if she were lounging in a private spa. The goddess of love and beauty appeared utterly uninterested in the chaos around her, and the wafting mist seemed to frame her in youthful elegance, forming a soft, intimate halo of humidity. Her divine luminescence shone through a translucent gown, and she traced lazy circles on her skin with a long fingertip, admiring the droplets of moisture that danced in her wake.

Zeus's annoyance surged like a gathering storm. "Aphrodite!" he thundered, his eyes narrowing with disapproval as he strode toward her. "Have you forgotten the task I entrusted you with?"

The goddess glanced up lazily, the barest hint of interest flickering across her exquisite features before settling into a look of bored amusement. She stretched luxuriously, reclining deeper into the cloud of steam. "Look," she replied, her voice a sultry purr that dripped with innocence. "Surely you didn't mean for me to abandon beautification for the drudgery of soup stirring and children watching?"

"I tasked you with helping Hestia in the kitchen, regardless of what it entailed." Zeus reminded her, his patience eroding with each passing moment. “Now, assist Eileithyia and ensure these children stay in order, will you?”

Aphrodite let out a begrudging sigh, then raised her hand to her lips, blowing a breath that shimmered with mystical sparkles. The glittering dust floated through the air, settling over the frenzied young troublemakers. Within seconds, their boundless energy transformed into gentle affection. The children ceased their frantic racing, instead hugging one another and falling into dreamy embraces. Lulled by the goddess's spell, they sprawled across the floor, whispering secrets and giggling softly.

"There, you see?" Aphrodite remarked, inspecting a nearby crystal jar of pickled beets. "May I get back to my divine duties now?" she inquired, while opening the container and beginning to meticulously rub the burgundy liquid into her cheeks.

Zeus felt his anger simmering beneath the surface, sparks of frustration leaping from his fingers as the surge gathered within him. Aphrodite's deliberate provocations fanned the flames of his impatience, and the tension threatened to boil over.

On the edge of unleashing a storm of fury, his sister appeared beside him with her calming presence and flame-red hair, a soft glow of hearth fire radiating from her very being.

"Zeus," Hestia interjected, her voice a soothing balm that cut through his mounting temper. "Allow me to help unburden you."

With her gentle guidance, she took the basket of Pegyplume eggs from him, her touch a cooling draught to his heated agitation.

"You know how precious these are," she explained. "Imagine if one were to break."

Hestia moved with calm efficiency, managing the kitchen's chaos with ease. Her presence seemed to settle the entire chamber, the nymphs' frantic energy ceasing as she issued quiet instructions. "The preparations are going splendidly," she reassured him, placing the glowing eggs in a careful arrangement near the hearth. "Trust me, dear brother, the ambrosia bread will be finished on time."

"And what of the other ingredients?" Zeus inquired, his voice still tense with skepticism. "You’ve always had more faith in our siblings’ competence than I."

"Optimism is a virtue," Hestia replied with serene confidence. "Demeter is in the fields, harvesting the paradise grain as we speak, and Poseidon has already gone to fetch the waters of Oceanus."

"Optimism is for fools," Zeus stated coolly. "And besides, you know it isn't Poseidon nor Demeter whom I am concerned with," suspicion threading through his words.

Hestia smiled, indulgent and patient with her brother's distrustful nature. "Hermes returned just this morning with the Lethe Moss," she said, holding up a crystal jar. The jar glowed with an iridescent, blue-white luminescence, its ornate skull lid hinting at its origin. "It would appear that Hades, the one you show much concern with, was the first to deliver his ingredient to me."

Zeus scoffed. The burden of his own expectations weighed heavily on him, and though Hestia's reassurances soothed him, his relentless drive for perfection would not allow him to fully relax.

"You truly have no faith in us, do you?" she remarked with a teasing lightness, drawing her fingers through her hair and leaving a trail of tiny sparks. "I expect the ambrosia bread will be completed long before the nectar is ready."

"The nectar?" Zeus echoed, his eyes widening with sudden realization. "Dionysus should have delivered it days ago!"

"Ah," Hestia murmured, amusement tinging her voice. "And you worried we were the ones behind schedule."

Zeus's mind whirled with the implications. If the nectar was not yet in the palace, if the delivery had faltered, the consequences could be catastrophic. The thought sent a tremor of anxiety coursing through him, a sensation as alien as it was unwelcome for the king of gods. He could not afford to leave anything to chance.

"I will go myself," he declared, already turning from the now-placid kitchen. With a determined stride, Zeus departed to confront his wayward son.

Zeus stormed into the courtyard, scattering the clouds that lay around him. Fury crackled from his fingertips. Dionysus, the insufferable fool, couldn't even manage a single delivery on time. Worse, the child of his loins thought nothing of defying the king of Olympus. As the columns of the courtyard approached, Zeus ground his teeth and quickened his pace, each step a surging impact.

Suddenly, a great winged shadow swept across the marbled courtyard grounds. Zeus turned his attention to the heavens above with a smile. That wingspan, even if only in silhouette, was unmistakable. Descending down towards him was a creature with the cream and chestnut speckled body of a horse, its powerful hooves propelling through the air. Extending from the back of its body was a majestic pair of wings, accented with feathers of chestnut and beige. As its hooves touched down on the path before him, it rotated its round, feathered owl-like head 180 degrees on its neckless body. Its yellow eyes gazed upon the goddess mounted on its back as its beak opened and let out a soft “hoo.”

The sky brightened as Athena gently patted the creature’s head. Her very presence quickly dissolved his darkened mood. As she galloped closer to Zeus, he allowed a rare smile to crease his weathered face.

"Father," she called, her voice clear and steady. "I thought I might find you down here. I hope you haven’t tired yourself running all of the Olympic errands personally."

Zeus felt his ire recede, his love for this daughter almost matching his impatience with the others. "I am glad you’ve arrived early, Athena," he said, meeting her with open arms. "We know how much this event depends on you. And besides," he added, "it seems I must execute everything myself anyway,"

"I suspect you demand more of yourself than anyone else could," Athena replied with a gentle smile.

"Have you seen the kitchens?" Zeus asked, exasperation creeping back into his voice. "Children run wild while Aphrodite moisturizes herself. The chaos on this mountain spreads faster than the rumors mouthed by Hermes himself."

"I did suspect this year's scale would overwhelm even you," Athena said.

"And on top of it all, Dionysus still hasn't delivered the Nectar!" Zeus exclaimed. "We will see what kind of festivities he has planned when our divine guests drink nothing but wine!"

"Dionysus does seem to enjoy challenging your patience," Athena remarked, an amused tone barely veiled.

Zeus sighed, appreciating her steadfastness and counsel. "It is not enough that we must organize the cosmos, but we must also tolerate these endless disruptions."

"Leave Dionysus to his revels, and do not overburden yourself," she advised. "You are far too valuable to exhaust these details."

"I have learned never to trust another to complete a task with precision," Zeus declared. "There is far too much at stake for that. I only find myself wondering who else may undermine me on this glorious day?"

"I'm afraid," she began with a pause, her voice softening, "there is at least one more."

Zeus's smile turned immediately downward, as he braced himself for the unwelcome news.

"It's Ares," Athena said. "He's taken to disrupting our security forces, rallying them against my direction. If we cannot maintain order—"

"That insufferable whelp!" Zeus interrupted. "Do his appetites for rebellion and violence know no bounds?"

"There’s more. He's somehow managed to convince Hephaestus to join him in his little coup."

"The forge is compromised?" Zeus bellowed, anger simmering again. "You advise me not to bring every burden upon myself, but look at what happens when I shy away!" The air itself trembled with his rage, static charges rippling outward.

"He's persuaded Hephaestus to cease work on the security detail's weapons," Athena continued, unfazed by Zeus's bluster. "Without arms and armor, we won't have the forces ready to contain any incidents. If Ares is attempting to incite unrest among the guests—"

"This treachery will not go unpunished!" Zeus roared. His face flushed with divine luminescence, his wrath feeding on itself.

"As you are aware, the games cannot afford distractions like this, not with so many gods present," Athena urged.

"They'll not afford Ares any satisfaction, either," Zeus retorted, his voice a jagged edge. "He believes this rebellion will inconvenience me, but I shall ensure it inconveniences only him."

"We'll have to act quickly," Athena said, offering the tempered logic he relied upon her for. "Ares's influence is spreading rapidly, and we need the armory completed. There's no telling what may occur if the Celestial Supremes witness his antics."

Zeus strode across the courtyard, fists clenched, aura pulsating with raw intensity. He hated nothing more than being blindsided by his own kin, and Hephaestus's betrayal—however coerced—stung deeply. "Summon your brother," he instructed. "Have him meet us at the forge. I'll deal with him directly."

Athena regarded Zeus, waiting to see if he had anything else to say. When he remained silent, she offered him a look that was equal parts respect and affection. "As you wish," she said, inclining her head.

"Pegywise, fly!" Athena commanded. With a few powerful beats of its great wings, the creature took to the skies, ascending in smooth, elegant spirals until both beast and rider were but a glimmer of light above the highest reaches of Olympus.

Zeus brooded in the now-empty courtyard, left alone once again with the myriad complications of his legacy. An idea flared in his mind, a strategy that, if not elegant, would certainly be effective. A chaotic gambit that would ensure Ares regretted his antics. He'd cut the festering rot from his plans before it could spread any further.

With a swirl of ozone and crack of thunder, Zeus called forth a bolt of lightning. The searing white light split the heavens and struck the ground with earth-shaking force. As the blinding flash subsided, a magnificent creature emerged from the epicenter of the impact, materializing through dissipating smoke and dancing electrical currents.

The beast stood proud and defiant, its muscular form cloaked in a light storm-cloud gray coat that shifted and roiled. Its fierce eyes flashed with primordial power—electric blue rimmed with golden fury. A brilliant yellow thunderbolt marking blazed across its forehead, pulsing with its own internal energy. Its flowing mane and sweeping tail were a living current of electric yellow, crackling and sparking and sending dancing lightning arcs across its body.

Its wings unfurled to reveal electrified yellow feathers, each edged with miniature lightning that sizzled and snapped against the air. With each breath, the creature exhaled wisps of storm clouds from flared nostrils. Its hooves, metallic and gleaming, struck the ground with thunderous impact, leaving swirling miniature storm clouds in their wake. The creature tossed its head with a challenging neigh that echoed like distant thunder.

Zeus leaped onto its back with fluid precision, and they were off in an instant. Each beat of its powerful wings created a trail of churning storm clouds as they tore through the sky toward Hephaestus's volcanic stronghold.

A hot wind seared Zeus's face as he and his electrified winged steed cut through the volcanic clouds. He felt the fury and the heat of the forge long before it came into view, the fires spouting from every crevice, the very ground rumbling with life. At the entrance, he caught sight of a creature not quite living, yet not fully machine. A mesmerizing beast of flesh and steel. Its powerful frame was a melding of natural and crafted forms, gleaming with a stunning display of forged artistry. Mechanized wings and hindquarters, masterfully wrought, moved in harmony with its living structure as it trotted on molten hooves. A pulsing line of molten light ran along its seams as a glowing fusion of lava and muscle. Where its mane and tail should have been, wild torrents of flame burned brightly in frantic currents. Its eyes glowed with fiery recognition. As Zeus descended, it let out a neigh through metallic teeth. Zeus’s own pegasus summoned a gust of storm wind from its wings at the watchful beast. It backed up and allowed them to land.

Inside the forge, Zeus found Hephaestus laboring amid the chaotic roar of creation. The blacksmith god of Olympus moved with difficulty, his stout frame bearing the marks of a lifetime at the anvil. Flaming hair and beard framed a sooty face that carried both determination and the weight of physical imperfection. His broad shoulders and muscular arms protruded from his massive upper body like a living sculpture of power and strength, forged through countless hours at the divine anvil. Though powerful, Hephaestus moved with a pronounced limp, his frail, deformed legs barely able to hold him up. Despite his godly might, he leaned heavily on a staff that doubled as his smith's hammer, the flaming molten-metal braces on his forearms catching the light as he shifted his weight from one stunted leg to the other.

For a brief moment, Zeus felt pity for his son before his ire surged anew. “Why haven’t you finished the armor and weapons for the security detail?” he demanded sharply, his voice booming like the eruptions that surrounded them.

Hephaestus froze, the reverberation of his father’s sudden arrival throwing him off balance. His molten eyes widened in apprehension as he steadied himself against a great anvil, attempting to mask the fear with an air of defiance. “Do my other siblings treat you with such haste?” he replied, a slight tremor in his voice. “Am I not entitled to my own pursuits as well?”

“I do not ask you to complete your own pursuits, I ask you to complete mine!” Zeus retorted. “Was it not your sister that freed you from confinement on that pitiful mountain the last time you sought vengeance and worked against me?” The memory of his son’s earlier betrayals ignited his anger further. “Do not forget that without my guidance you would still be casting trinkets for lesser gods.”

Hephaestus lowered his head. “I am always cast aside, ignored and mocked by those same siblings," he muttered, clenching his teeth as he continued. "Only to be summoned when you are in need of my talents."

“That is because only you possess the skill to create with such unrivaled perfection,” Zeus acknowledged, his voice a strained mix of truth and insistence. “Would you let Ares continue to bend you to his will, or is there still loyalty to me left in you?”

Zeus stepped forward, the pressure of his presence making the air itself dense and stifling. The clang of hammers and the hiss of molten metal hung in the thick air, a symphony of divine creation that seemed almost to mock his impatience. Each second of silence stoked his rage, the fire inside him more turbulent than even Hephaestus's infernal forge.

“I should let you and your siblings see how absent my talents can be,” Hephaestus declared, his earlier reluctance transforming into smoldering resentment. “Then perhaps you will all appreciate how much you need me!”

Zeus glared at his son with luminous eyes, his anger an electrical charge that built to a breaking point. The one child whom he thought might appreciate what he was attempting to accomplish had turned on him as well, had sought to undermine him and the Olympic legacy. Each failure was a disappointment more cutting than the last, the weight of his divine ambitions pushing down on him, threatening to crush his dreams of a seamless celebration. “I allowed you the honor of marrying the most beautiful goddess in all of Greece, and yet you still defy me!” Zeus exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air in a grand gesture of accusation.

Hephaestus winced at the reminder, his own flaws glaring in contrast to the splendor of Aphrodite. He looked at Zeus, an unspoken question of why always lingering between them. Why had Zeus married him to a woman who found his crippled form so repulsive? Why was he to labor without end, only to receive more disdain? “You knew her heart was never truly mine, and yet you mock me now?” he asked, his words a mixture of boldness and pain.

“I granted you that union as a reward for your service!” Zeus declared, unmoved by Hephaestus’s appeals. “How am I to believe in your loyalty now, when you have turned against me time and time again?” His expression was thunderous, every feature bearing down with celestial intensity.

The flames roared higher, the volcano itself rumbling as if to echo Zeus's building rage. The old wound of betrayal reopened like a lightning strike, a pain that refused to be dulled. Just as his wrath seemed about to crash, Athena’s calm authority cut through the storm.

“Father, it is not as you think,” she interceded, moving from the shadows to stand at his side. Her voice was precise and unwavering, offering the voice of reason amid the clamor. “Ares manipulated Hephaestus into halting production.” She turned her bronze gaze on their brother, her words as pointed as the spear she bore. “You were far too quick to assume the worst.”

Hephaestus nodded, desperation mingling with relief as he found an unexpected ally in Athena. “He threatened to destroy everything I’ve worked for, to incite more havoc than you’d thought imaginable,” he added. “I had no choice.”

The mention of Ares fanned Zeus's rage into an inferno. The audacity of his son to betray him, to gather more conspirators in a campaign against his divine vision! “This insufferable child of mine,” Zeus roared, his fists clenched. “Does he think I’ll be blind to his rebellion?”

Even as he spoke, the air grew dense with anticipation, charged with the expectation of conflict. The earth trembled beneath Zeus's divine presence. Into this electrified tension walked Ares himself, his arrival as bold and brash as the war god’s own nature. The red-eyed deity strolled into the forge with a defiant swagger, his Spartan armor gleaming with fresh engravings of battle. The brightwork on his blood-stained shield glowed eerily in the volcanic light, lending his approach an otherworldly menace.

“Well, if it isn’t the family reunion,” Ares declared with mocking ease, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. He ignored Zeus and turned his attention directly to Hephaestus. “Thank you, brother, for your cooperation.”

Hephaestus flinched at the pointed sarcasm in Ares’s voice, the scorn reopening his fresh sense of shame and betrayal. Zeus’s wrath, however, did not abate. The King of Gods redirected his burning gaze toward his most defiant son, rage suffusing every inch of his being.

“You dare enter here with insolence?” Zeus thundered, his voice crashing against the very walls of the forge. “Why aren’t you aiding in the preparations for our security detail?”

Ares snorted, a derisive smirk spreading across his face. “The opening ceremony? My sweet sister’s tactics have bored even you into submission, I see.”

Zeus loomed over Ares like a storm about to break. “You dare test my patience? Why are you rallying our security forces to stand against us?”

“The games are secure enough without this meddling,” Ares spat, brushing off Zeus’s question with the arrogance of a son who had long stopped caring about the consequences. “No force would dare oppose our mighty house.”

“Unless you yourself incite that force,” Athena interrupted, her voice cool and unimpressed by her brother’s bluster. “You’re undermining our efforts, Ares. Do you think the Celestial Supremes will respond kindly to such a disturbance?”

Ares laughed, his voice a raw, brash sound that filled the space. “Let them see how you’ve elevated these pathetic mortals to glory, all while the gods themselves stand idly by!” His rhetoric shifted from strategic dismissal to personal ambition, each word dripping with jealousy and rage. “You’ve allowed mortals to claim victories meant for us! While they compete, where are the true Olympians? Sidelined and shamed!” He spat the last words, his contempt and disappointment blazing brighter than the forge’s fire.

“You should not be surprised,” Athena replied, her calmness like a stark counterpoint to his fury. “Mortals have competed since father founded the first Olympic games. Without them, the event would lose its spark.”

“You think this is for mortals?” Ares scoffed. “No wonder our siblings lose respect. I will not be ignored and degraded while you grovel for human adoration!”

“Once again you disappoint me, Ares,” Zeus declared, his anger rising to match his son’s. “It is one matter to shirk your duties, but it is entirely another to undermine Athena’s efforts and infect your brother with your insidious attitudes.”

The war god sneered, but Zeus’s voice cut through his contempt, booming with finality. “Given the oath I made to your mother, I may not be able to deliver the punishment you deserve.” He raised his hand, and with a surge of divine power, summoned an intricately designed bronze jar out of thin air. Its surface glowed with ornate patterns, and its interior shimmered with a divine energy that pulsed like a heartbeat. “But I can stop you from meddling until tonight’s ceremony,” Zeus continued.

Ares sneered. “You choose to imprison me like a coward? Is this how the King of Gods deals with those he cannot break?”

Zeus's smile turned dangerous, as he clasped the jar and prepared to open its lid.

“Besides,” Ares stated arrogantly. “I spent thirteen months in that jar. What’s a few more hours, anyway?”

Zeus began to lift the top off of the jar. His next words were eerily calm with a rumbling promise. “It will only be a few hours for us, yes I suppose. But inside this jar, those few hours will feel like years.”

Zeus knew the torment of Ares’s last imprisonment inside that very jar still haunted him. He watched as Ares’s eyes widened in shock. The bravado slipped from his voice as he shouted in protest, a sound of pure rage vibrating off of the volcano walls.

The jar sprang open and a vacuum of divine energy sucked Ares inside with an echoing finality. Zeus placed it gently on Hephaestus’s workbench.

“Now, unless you wish to join your brother in there,” Zeus warned, his voice booming amongst the sudden silence. “I suggest you finish the supplies requested of you.”

Pale and subdued, Hephaestus bowed his head. He looked at the jar, the pulsating glow a reminder of both his brother’s punishment and his own precarious standing. Reluctantly, he nodded.

Zeus's expression softened only slightly. “Bring the jar with you tonight,” he instructed as he turned to Athena, acknowledging her with a nod.

As they exited the forge, Zeus and Athena each mounted their winged creatures without a word. Alongside Hephaestus’s crafted steed of fire and steel stood another, a jet black stallion with flowing, crimson mane. It wore a fitted war helmet and saddle, both gleaming with a dark, lustrous sheen that matched the determination in its blood-red eyes.