01.03 | Nectar of the Gods

Jan 1

As Zeus flew closer to the vineyard, a soft melody drifted into his mind, its soothing notes threading through the tangle of his frustration. Below, golden stalks swayed in unison with the music, tall as cypress trees, and shimmering with inner light. Demeter moved gracefully between the stalks, a spectral figure in flowing greens and golds. Her song continued, timeless and hypnotic, as she harvested her sacred Paradise Grain.

The sky god felt the tension within him slowly unwind, her song spreading like warmth through his body. It was the tune of the abundance ritual, the very same meant to be hummed as the sacred crop was gathered. He descended toward the fields, where the grains glowed against the sunlit earth. In the gardens adjacent, Persephone knelt among wild blooms, her youthful face alight as she crafted intricate floral arrangements. He watched Demeter cut the last stalks, allowing himself, if only for a moment, to think everything might proceed perfectly

As Demeter collected the final ear of Paradise Grain, her song continued to ease the turmoil of his mind. Persephone’s bright laughter floated over the field like a bird in flight. The young goddess plucked Narcissus flowers with innocent excitement, her fingers a blur of creativity as she wove them into complex patterns. The abundance of color and life made him pause, the worries of the day temporarily held at bay.

Demeter gathered the grain into a golden sac and looked up to where her brother observed. "So focused on your tasks," she called, smiling with both amusement and purpose. "Has my song finally coaxed you from your fretting?"

The hint of a smile touched his lips, an unaccustomed expression for the typically preoccupied king of gods. He descended to the ground, where the glistening wheat stalks waved gently in the wind. "Finished with the Paradise Grain already?" Zeus asked. The weight of his anxiety lessened with each word. "I was beginning to worry when I saw Hestia hadn’t received your contribution yet."

Demeter approached with her golden sac, the Paradise Grain luminescent against the flowing fabric of her emerald gown. "And here I was convinced you'd have more faith in me," she replied. "I've just completed the final bundle. Persephone and I were about to take it to the palace."

Before Zeus could respond, the young goddess joined them with swift, eager steps. Her deep red hair caught the sunlight, a vibrant cascade of curls that danced freely in the breeze. In her hands, she carried an intricately woven olive wreath. "Look, look!" she exclaimed, excitement spilling over in her voice. She placed the wreath on his head with unrestrained enthusiasm. "I've finished fashioning the kotinos for the winning champion of the Olympics!"

A laugh rumbled from Zeus, full of genuine delight. He adjusted the wreath and admired the delicate handiwork. "It appears fit for the king of gods himself," he said, impressed by the craftsmanship and vigor. "The champion should feel most honored."

Persephone's face glowed with happiness at his praise, and she clapped her hands in playful triumph. "See, mother? I told you Father would like it!"

They continued to talk, their voices light and unburdened by the weight of the evening’s impending event. Zeus relished the ease with which they spoke. His cares melted like morning mist under the sun, and he found himself entertained by Persephone's curious spirit.

"Father," she asked, her eyes wide with innocence and curiosity, "what does it feel like to be a ruler?"

He paused, the unexpected question causing a rare moment of contemplation. "It feels like having your name spoken across the cosmos," he replied at last, his voice carrying a hint of reverie. "And knowing all shall remember it."

The softness of the flowers and songs began to thaw the old god's concerns, warming him more than Hera's counsel had earlier in their chamber. But his mood was soon disrupted when he noticed a familiar figure weaving between the gardens and vineyards. A dark aura hung around him like a storm cloud, and Zeus’s eyes narrowed as he took in his brother's staggered movements.

"Hades," he muttered to himself, irritation fraying the edges of his voice. After taking a moment to silently watch his movements, he called out, "What are you doing in the vineyard?"

Hades turned with exaggerated grace, his expression one of drunken merriment. "Ah, the mighty Zeus graces us with his presence," he said, a sardonic edge threading his voice. "So grateful to have been invited to Olympus by the King of Olympians himself."

Zeus's suspicions were immediately confirmed by the wine-stained sarcasm in his brother's tone. "How long were you and Dionysus left alone to your debauchery?"

"Debauchery? How you wound me, dear brother," Hades replied, clutching his chest in a mockery of offense. "We were merely celebrating our shared bond as the eternal forgotten ones, forever living in the gilded shadows of our Olympian siblings."

Zeus had no patience for his brother’s inebriated foolishness. "Where has my dutiful brother gone? You are most certainly aware of what this day represents, and yet you choose today, of all days, to become a slave to your indulgences." Zeus exclaimed, struggling to maintain his temper. "I need you to compose yourself."

Hades offered a sweeping bow, his amusement clear. "Yes, sire. Your word is law, after all. But don’t depart your judgment on us for reveling in the festive spirit. The solitude of the underworld can get rather tiresome, even for me."

Zeus seethed inwardly, his once-calm demeanor quickly dissolving. He was about to issue another plea for his brother's cooperation when Hades caught sight of Persephone and straightened with exaggerated interest. "And speaking of family whose greatness is cast to the shadows, how is my lovely spring blossom?"

"I just finishing making the kotinos for the winner of the Olympics. Look!" Persephone said, excitedly taking the wreath off of her father’s head and placing it on Hades.

"I suppose that makes me the winner then." Hades asked, his voice dripping with playful disdain. "Perhaps as my prize, you'll join us at the next council of Olympian outcasts."

“Oh yes! Will you tell me more tales of the underworld? Have any more heroes attempted to enter your domain? Oh, how I love those stories, uncle.” She exclaimed, gleaming with joy.

Zeus's expression darkened, knowing all too well that his brother delighted in provoking trouble whenever he succumbed to a drunken state. "Must you be insufferable? Leave my family in peace."

Hades ignored the warning, reaching up and removing the olive branch wreath from his head. Before their eyes, the verdant petals darkened to midnight black. In a twirling display of ethereal green glow, the wreath transformed into an obsidian Narcissus flower. He presented it to Persephone with a dramatic flourish. "Should you ever feel particularly out of place," he said, grazing her cheek with the ghostly flora, "you are always welcome to visit me in the underworld."

Her eyes widened with fascination and intrigue, drawn into the swirling colors and promises of the dark flower. She reached for it, lost in a trance of wonderment and unspoken longing. As she gripped the delicate stem, it suddenly began to wither. An icy chill filled the air as its petals began to encrust with frost. In an instant, the remains of the Narcissus had and frozen solid.

With mounting alarm at what he just witnessed, Zeus turned his attention to Demeter. He watched her calm and nurturing expression shift to livid devotion. She stepped forward, her scythe glowing as it absorbed her growing rage.

"Enough!" she shouted, snatching the frozen flower and shattering it upon the ground. "Stop filling her head with your dark ideas."

Hades laughed, clearly amused by his sister's fury. "Dear, dear Demeter," he replied with a smirk. "Take a look at this Eden you've crafted, this sanctuary of eternal spring..." He circled her, gesturing to the surrounding fields.

As Demeter’s temper flared, an aura of destruction radiated from her. Zeus watched in terror as the nearby flowers encircling her began to wither and freeze.

"Hades, please…" he implored.

"Your anger is potent, sister,” Hades continued. “Now, Tell me truthfully. Who are you really protecting with this prison of flowers and sunshine? Is it your precious daughter from the harsh realities of the world?" His voice dropped dangerously low as he brought his face close to hers and whispered, "Or is it the world you're shielding from what your daughter might become?"

Demeter's face flushed with anger. Her emanating radius of death and frost grew larger as her breath became visible in the chill that gathered around her. Her scythe shook with the effort to contain her spiraling emotions. Zeus's mind raced as desperation welled within him. He had seen this before. He knew all too well the consequences of her wrath when left unchecked.

"Hades, leave us!" Zeus bellowed.

His brother grinned with an air of arrogance laced with wine. "She's quite the force when upset, isn't she?” he replied before turning back to Demeter. “How can you ever manage to control your daughter, if you can’t even control yourself.”

"Stop this!" Zeus insisted, seeing the first crystals of frost from the earth begin to run up Demeter’s bare feet and course through her legs.

"You can't contain your daughter here forever." Hades continued, his voice a silken threat. "I've peered into her soul, and I can tell you this—" He reached forward, fingers delicately tracing the golden pomegranate pendant around Persephone's chest, his touch lingering with deliberate intimacy as his eyes locked with Demeter's. "Eventually, the true Persephone will break free."

Demeter’s eyes went blank with rage. Her entire form seemed to vibrate with the force of her anger. The flowers and grains around them turned white with frost, freezing in an instant as the sheer cold rippled out further from her. Zeus watched as the ice crackled up the handle of her scythe. His heart pounded with the realization that it might shatter at any moment. If he failed to act, she could turn all of Olympus into a frozen wasteland.

Zeus closed his eyes, a rare look of sympathy and regret flashing across his face. "I'm sorry," he murmured. He raised his hand to the clouds above, fingers splayed as crackling energy gathered around him. A powerful thunderbolt descended from the sky, the blinding flash of light striking Demeter with terrifying precision. Her body arched in silent agony, golden light coursing through her as the layers of ice once consuming her shattered into a frosted dust. Her immortal form collapsed, unconscious, onto the earth.

Persephone shrieked, the sound of her distress sharp and piercing. She rushed to kneel beside her mother's distorted body. "She’ll be fine," Zeus assured her gently. He watched as Persephone's love sparked the immediate regrowth of the flowers that had wilted and frozen around her.

He picked up the golden sac next to Demeter and placed it carefully in front of Persephone. "Take the Paradise Grain up to the kitchen," he instructed. "And have some of the nymphs come care for your mother."

At that moment, Hades's laughter reached him, thick with promise and satisfaction. "This is certainly going to be a night to remember," his brother remarked.

Zeus felt his anger surge anew, raw and electric in his veins. He turned to Hades, fury crackling from every word. "You knew perfectly well how dangerous your instigations were!" He clenched his jaw, struggling to maintain composure.

Hades looked at him, unrepentant and amused. Zeus summoned a winged chariot, its form appearing with a flash of divine energy. "This will ensure you get up to the palace without any further distractions," he declared, locking Hades inside. "Now take a nap and, for the love of Olympus, don't indulge in one more drop of wine."

With Persephone and Hades both headed up to the palace, Zeus closed his eyes once more, feeling the weight of the day's failures settle heavily upon him. His family had always been his greatest source of pride and his most consuming burden. Today had been no exception.

He took a deep breath, the lingering scent of wilted flowers mingling with ozone in the cool air. He tried calming his mind as he walked towards the vineyard. Given the state of Hades’ intoxication and Dionysus’s tardy delivery of the Nectar, Zeus did all he could to brace himself for whatever he was about to find lying within.

As Zeus entered the cellar, he was hit with an overwhelming aroma of fermented grapes. A labyrinth of amphorae lay scattered across the ground, some of their elegant ceramic forms tilted on their sides. Hundreds of these two-handled storage jars riddled the flooded room before him. A slick layer of wine lay stagnant across the cellar floor. As Zeus surveyed the carnage, his suspicions grew to certainties. As he took his first step into the shallow burgundy pool, the layer of win buzzed with his static fury. Even the sweet scent in the air could not hide the odor of recklessness and abandon, an all too familiar aroma of crushed grapes and overindulgence.

Hades’s dark influence was evident. Zeus cursed his own hopefulness. He should have known better. And now, even after hauling his brother to the palace, the trail of ruin pressed on. They were cutting it too close this year, and his thoughts churned with the notion of failure.

“Where is that fool?” Zeus muttered to himself, scowling at the chaos around him.

He strode through the mess, the wine soaking his sandals as he surveyed the wreckage. Glancing over each discarded vessel, he grew increasingly irate at the sheer scale of what had been squandered. Their most precious liquid flowed carelessly across the floor, pooling into low areas. His irritation surged into full-blown frustration as he picked up one of the lavishly decorated vessels. It was empty

“An entire season’s worth!” he thundered to no one but himself, throwing the amphora against the wall and watching it smash into pieces. “Dionysus? Show yourself,” he called out.

Something in the distance shifted in the pool of wine. As it did, a limp arm rose from the surface. Dionysus lay sprawled in the sticky pool of fermented liquid, face blissfully down, unconscious and soaked to the skin. With a deep, frustrated sigh, Zeus shook his head.

“Get up!” Zeus barked, wading toward Dionysus’s limp form.

“Shall I assume you have finished crafting the Nectar?” Zeus asked, his voice booming with pointed sarcasm. He nudged Dionysus with a large, disdainful foot, but the young god didn’t stir.

From behind a row of overturned clay jars, a new voice spoke up. “He did promise to assist me,” she said. “But I suspect he and Hades had more pressing matters to attend to.”

Zeus spun around to find his daughter, Hebe, stepping over a cluster of broken vessels as she approached. Her small, childlike figure carefully maneuvered the flooded cellar.

“What happened here?” Zeus demanded, gesturing at the disaster around them.

Hebe crossed her arms, lifting her chin with a defiance that belied her youthful appearance. “What always happens when you allow your brother to roam Olympus unsupervised,” she replied.

Zeus looked back at the inebriated figure on the floor, letting out an exasperated huff. “It would appear that leaving your brother unsupervised is equally troublesome. Must I shoulder all of these burdens myself?”

“Perhaps if you didn’t treat me as some lowly servant, you would have one less burden.” Hebe snapped.

A wry smile crossed Zeus's lips, amusement mingling with disbelief. “The cupbearer to the gods thinks she is no better than a servant?” he asked, his voice echoing through the cellar.

“Isn’t she?” Hebe shot back, placing her hands on her hips. “Look at me, soaked and cleaning up your mess. Perhaps you’ll grant me a more fitting position once I’ve spent an eternity serving as your errand girl.”

“You forget, daughter, that an eternity is precisely what you have,” Zeus replied sharply. “These responsibilities will be yours only until you are wed. You should look forward to the day when a husband takes my place as the source of your frustrations.”

“And until then?” Hebe inquired, unwilling to yield.

“Until then, you are indispensable to us,” Zeus assured her, offering a nod toward the slumbering god on the floor. “I’ll see to it that your new husband is more reliable than him. Though that won’t be difficult to manage”

Hebe’s expression softened, and with a smile she let out a childlike laugh. She turned her gaze toward Dionysus, giving him a slight nudge with her foot.

Zeus followed her lead and bent down to lift his son. “Such wasted potential,” Zeus said, hoisting Dionysus halfway to his feet.

“Would you like me to zap him awake for you?” Hebe offered playfully. “If not, I think he might be down there for quite some time.”

Zeus raised an eyebrow and straightened his posture. “Allow me,” he replied. With a quick motion, he drew a jolt of energy through his fingers and sent it into Dionysus’s temple. He jerked violently and opened his eyes with a start. For a moment, his limbs flailed in wild confusion as he struggled to understand where he was. Wine splashed around him, sending waves across the floor.

Zeus stepped back, his expression one of stern disapproval, silently watching as Dionysus caught his breath.

“I have spent these past weeks preparing to host the greatest games the cosmos has ever seen,” he began, in an eerily calm tone. “I have entrusted you with one of the most sacred duties on Olympus. And on the day of the opening ceremony, this is the state I find you in.”

Hebe came to Zeus’s side, “Even Hades made his delivery before you did. He understands the priority of duty before pleasure,” she pointed out. “If I hadn’t finished your work myself, there would be no Nectar for our guests this evening.”

“Ah, you see,” Dionysus replied, a note of amusement in his voice. He stood unsteadily, swaying as if on the verge of collapse. “My duties have fallen on the most capable hands.”

“I am grateful that Hebe has kept things on track,” Zeus interjected, his voice rumbling through the cellar. “But you know she cannot finish by herself. I delivered the Aether to you weeks ago, and yet the Nectar has still not arrived at the palace. Do you wish to see me fail? To have the world witness an Olympic catastrophe?”

“An Olympic catastrophe?” Dionysus said, a grin spreading across his face. “How exciting!”

Zeus clenched an electrified fist at the insolent remark. As burning fury began to rise within him, Hebe gently placed both of her small hands over his tensed knuckles, her touch a quiet plea as she attempted to coax his fingers open. “All of the batches are prepared. The crystalline Aether has already finished fermenting in the wine,” she told Zeus. “We just need Dionysus to fortify it.”

“Get it done, Dionysus. And you’re not to drink another drop.” Zeus paused, casting a severe glance at his son’s hazy expression. “Can you manage such a feat?”

Dionysus stretched, knocking against an empty amphora with a loud clang. “When have I ever failed to deliver the goods?” Dionysus went on, wobbling in place but smiling with irreverent confidence. “Relax. I always come through in the end.”

“The end is very near!” Zeus retorted. He swept his arm toward the chaos of vats and shattered pottery around them. "I delivered the Aether weeks ago. The Nectar should have been at the palace by now." He looked at his son with a mixture of disappointment and something deeper—a question he couldn't quite answer himself. "Sometimes I wonder if I was wrong to choose you as my apprentice in crafting the divine Nectar."

"Apprentice?" Dionysus scoffed, suddenly more alert. "How can I be a true apprentice if I'm not even an Olympian? Besides—" he gestured grandly, wine droplets flying from his fingertips, "—you've never actually told me how to cultivate the crystalline Aether.”

"It's because of antics like this," Zeus continued, gesturing at the wine-flooded mess surrounding them, "that the Olympians refuse to accept you among their ranks.You know, Hebe and I were just discussing her candidacy for Olympian status. Perhaps I should be petitioning the council for her elevation instead of yours."

Zeus paused, as Hebe’s stance became more dignified with his words. "Until you grow up and prove yourself worthy, you will never learn about the Aether."

Dionysus smirked, absorbing the statement with practiced ease. “How can you question my worthiness, father? Name another god more devoted to their studies than I,” he said with a laugh, twirling one of the few remaining amphora in his hand. He opened it and took a long, satisfying drink. “This is purely academic!”

Zeus watched his son’s carefree demeanor, torn between seething frustration and the slightest admiration. He shook his head, unwilling to be drawn into another round of questions. "Clean up this mess and finish binding the Nectar."

He turned toward the doorway, shoulders rigid with disappointment. "I expected more from you, Dionysus. Much more."

As Zeus departed, leaving puddles of evaporating wine in his wake, Dionysus exchanged a glance with Hebe.

"Well," he said to Hebe, straightening his wine-soaked robes, "the sooner we get this done, the better. Then we can make way for the palace, where the real celebration begins!"

Zeus mounted his electrified steed with a graceful hop and a fleeting sense of anticipation. He hadn't felt this excited in centuries. The confidence of a millennium flooded back as the full magnitude of what he had orchestrated began to settle into place. It all seemed within reach, as the wine buzzed on his skin like static. Ambrosia bread was a mere hour from completion. He had personally secured three of the four ingredients, and Poseidon, of all gods, was not likely to fail him. The nectar was nearly finished. Ares, Hades, Dionysus—none could throw the cosmic order off this year.

He felt liberated from the shackles of doubt, the weight of this task lifting with each beat of the pegasus's powerful wings. He had all but resigned himself to an evening of crisis management, but as the final pieces fell into place, he wondered if they might actually exceed the impossible standards he had set. Why not surprise them all? Each child had given him more than he bargained for today, and he would make certain they provided even more by evening. He allowed himself the rare pleasure of considering how to harness these developments into something beyond what the cosmos had ever witnessed.

It was a masterstroke, even for him. With no room for compromise, every detail had been agonizingly planned and every contingency covered. Now, in the span of a single afternoon, he had surpassed his own ambitions. What had first seemed like chaos now seemed brilliant.

As he soared above the golden fields, Zeus spotted two illuminated forms approaching from the distant sky. They moved like planets in perfect orbit around one another, one a silver crescent and the other a golden sphere. As the blinding orbs of light approached, they began to take shape. Both sprouted impressive wingspans, followed by four hooves. The golden figure remained too brilliant for Zeus to gaze at directly, while the silver one provided a more welcoming glow.

Zeus closed his eyes with a smile and inhaled deeply, basking in the radiance that their light brought to him. Mounted on his sun-like pegasus, Apollo's flowing blond hair and shimmering golden tunic danced majestically in the wind. His radiant face glowed with the confidence of one who commanded the very essence of light itself, his eyes sparkling with divine wisdom and artistic inspiration. Beside him, his silvery sister Artemis rode her crescent moon-like pegasus with perfect posture. Her translucent hooded cloak glistened like the night sky, with her bow slung gracefully over her back. Her keen gaze swept across the horizon with the watchful attentiveness of an eternal huntress, ever protective of the wilds under her domain.

"Father!" Apollo called as they swooped down toward him, a note of delight and pride in his voice. "Did you see us before you heard us? Or were we faster than the speed of light?"

"Faster than I could have hoped for, but exactly as I should have expected," Zeus replied. He admired the way Apollo' expressed his exuberant ambition. "You've brought a bounty large enough to supply the opening ceremony’s feast, I trust?"

"We brought back everything Olympus can hold and then some. We were able to track the wild game before it even knew we were there." Apollo shot a look at his sister. "There’s no limit to what we can capture."

Artemis glared back at him with unperturbed poise. As much as Zeus admired his son’s enthusiasm, he envied his daughter’s rogue independence and fierce calm. "Perhaps there should be, Apollo. You could have exercised more restraint." She answered coolly, Her moonlit eyes flickered, giving the sense that she knew something her twin brother did not. "The forest grieves, Apollo. It whispers of an imbalance you refuse to hear. Your arrows flew too freely today and I must return to the wilderness to restore what we disturbed. The hunt is meant to serve natural harmony, not to satisfy your pride."

Apollo took in the words with a smile. "Sister, our guests will appreciate our efforts today. They'll pay no mind to balance as they indulge in the abundance we’ve provided." He tossed his golden mane behind his shoulders, barely acknowledging her caution.

Artemis shook her head, pulling effortlessly on her steed’s reins. “Perhaps next time I’ll turn you into a loreling and hunt you down myself,” she said as the three of them began their descent. "Your smug grin alone could nourish the entire cosmos," she jested with a flash of a smile. Zeus and Apollo laughed in unison.

As they touched down, Apollo continued his spirited account of the hunt, leaving no detail untold. Each line of his report fueled Zeus's growing sense of pride. "And I imagine you've prepared some festive melodies for us as well," Zeus interjected, an uncharacteristic twinkle in his eye.

"Father, I’ve scored everything from the games to the feasts, from first event to last," Apollo said, as they dismounted their lorelings in the white marble courtyard. "Our guests will revel in the divine symphonies of Olympus."

At the sound of his son’s words, Zeus felt electrified. His blood hummed with the charge of accomplishment. "You've done well, both of you," he said plainly, concealing the emotions he felt growing inside.

As they moved toward the entrance of the palace, the twins suddenly stopped in their tracks, a look of shock flashed over their faces. Zeus, a step behind, followed their gaze and froze at the sight. Poseidon, whose might was surpassed only by Zeus himself, lay sprawled and soaking wet upon the polished marble floor. His imposing figure—muscular and weather-beaten from eons commanding the seas—seemed diminished in this vulnerable state. His aquamarine beard and hair, which typically flowed as if permanently underwater, now lay plastered against his bronzed skin. Beside his outstretched hand lay his legendary trident, its golden prongs no longer pulsing with their characteristic blue energy. Most disturbing of all, the normally commanding presence of the Earth-Shaker had vanished. The god who could summon hurricanes with a gesture and split continents with his rage now appeared as frail as a mortal washed ashore after a storm.

Kneeling beside him, Amphitrite cradled her husband's head in her lap, her iridescent pearl-like skin gleaming against his darkened figure. Her flowing hair rippled in shades of seafoam around them both, adorned with delicate shells and pearls that caught the light with each subtle movement. Above her head, her coral crown had partially disassembled, its intricate formations hovering in a gentle vortex that cast prismatic reflections across the courtyard. The Sea Queen’s glowing eyes were fixed on Poseidon's face, as her flowing garments, mimicking the ocean's constant motion in their blue-green hues, pooled around them both like gentle waves upon a shore.

As the flash of disbelief began to pass, Zeus noticed a crystal, two-handled jar standing at Amphitrite’s side. The amphora glowed with radiant turquoise light through its intricately etched patterns of ocean waves, the shimmering liquid inside seeming almost too brilliant even for the gods to witness. Zeus exhaled in relief as he realized that despite Poseidon's dramatic state, they had succeeded in their task. They'd delivered the waters of Oceanus.

As he watched Amphitrite tend to Poseidon’s unconscious body, Zeus walked toward them, a rare look of delight creasing his face. "Brother, I do believe you've outdone yourself this year," he said, raising a brow in mock surprise as he approached. "I expected you to deliver just the waters, not yourself along with them."

Apollo chuckled at the remark, taking the tone and joining in on the banter. "It looks like your age found you faster than you found Oceanus this time, uncle." He leaned in, inspecting Poseidon with more amusement than concern. "Some mighty god of the sea you are!"

Artemis shook her head at the jest, more interested in Poseidon's condition than the humor at his expense. "How is he? Does he need assistance?" she asked, kneeling beside her aunt.

Amphitrite maintained a steady, serene presence amidst the commotion. "He’ll be fine," she assured Artemis with her typical composure, brushing strands of pastel green hair from her eyes as she stroked Poseidon's forehead. "This year was particularly difficult, and it took quite a toll on him. But he's weathered worse." Her voice lapped softly. "We lost track of the entrance and found ourselves adrift in unfamiliar waters."

Zeus sensed a depth beneath her calm. He watched Artemis reach out and touched Poseidon's shoulder with careful affection. “Has it ever taken him like this?” she asked Amphitrite, looking at Zeus with gentle concern.

"Oceanus has taken us both before," she replied with the calm resignation of someone who had long since accepted what it meant to be a god’s wife. Her attention remained fixed on Poseidon's listless face. "My grandfather can be an unforgiving being. He will be fine. We’ve been in such currents before."

From the distance a soft fluttering sound interrupted their conversation. It grew rapidly louder, filling the air like an approaching swarm of invisible wings. Before any of them had time to turn toward the source, Hermes materialized with a blur of motion as he descended gracefully from above. His golden-brown hair fell in windswept curls around his handsome, youthful face, as his eyes sparkled with a divine light that barely contained his excitement. The messenger god's lean, athletic form was draped in flowing turquoise robes, the fabric still settling from his abrupt arrival as his winged sandals continued to hover inches above the ground. His caduceus gleamed in his hand, twin gilded serpents entwined around the staff beneath delicately crafted wings of gold.

"Father," Hermes exclaimed, breathless and full of youthful enthusiasm. "There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you."

Zeus's expression changed from excitement to concern. Hermes had delivered countless messages over the years, and Zeus could tell in an instant whether he was bringing good or bad news. This, most certainly, was not good news. "What is it?" Zeus demanded, his voice low with restrained power.

"An incident at Olympia,” Hermes continued. “A large portion of the stadium has collapsed as the guests were entering."

Zeus went pale. Dark storm clouds began to manifest above them as he felt himself losing control. Lighting surged through the clouds and his voice crackled of distant thunder when he finally spoke. "What?"

Hermes held a perfectly straight face, surveying the shocked expressions around him with satisfaction. The messenger god delighted in these rare moments when he could destabilize the mighty Olympians. “There were casualties, Father,” Hermes added. He watched as color drained from Zeus's face.

Zeus's mind raced with visions of disaster. The games—his games—ruined before they began. His beloved guests crushed beneath marble and stone. He couldn’t bear the shame of such a catastrophe taking place under his watch. He twitched with the urge to summon his pegasus, to fly immediately to Olympia and set things right.

"How many?" Zeus demanded, his voice a hoarse whisper that belied his rising panic.

Hermes paused dramatically, his eyes downcast. Then suddenly, he let out a small laugh, his eyes dancing with mischief. "I only jest!" he declared, raising his hands in mock defense of the incoming reactions. "There was no collapse at Olympia."

The storm clouds above Zeus darkened to an ominous pitch-black, crackling with dangerous energy. His nostrils flared as he drew himself up to his full, towering height. He thought to speak for a moment, but the words didn’t come. Raising his thunderbolt towards the sky, he sent a series of lightning bolts dancing around Hermes' feet, singeing the edges of his winged sandals.

Hermes hovered nimbly from spot to spot, barely avoiding the scorching bolts, yet his smile never faltered. "Come now, Father," he called out while dodging. "Surely the King of Olympus appreciates a well-executed prank? After all—" he vanished momentarily, reappearing on Zeus's other side, "—didn't you teach me the value of surprise?"

Zeus reached out with alarming speed, catching Hermes by the collar of his tunic. "I ought to have clipped your wings eons ago," he roared, pulling his son close until their faces were mere inches apart. "I have no time for your antics today."

Yet even as he spoke, a reluctant twinkle appeared in Zeus's stormy eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched once, twice, fighting against his own amusement. Hermes, recognizing the subtle shift, grinned wider.

"The look on your face, Father," Hermes whispered conspiratorially. "Worth every bolt."

Zeus tried to maintain his stern demeanor, but the absurdity of the situation finally broke through his anger. First came a reluctant snort, then a chuckle that rumbled like distant thunder, until finally he released Hermes and threw his head back in full-throated laughter that shook the very pillars of Olympus.

The others joined in. Even Amphitrite released a soft, musical giggle as she cradled Poseidon's head.

As the divine cackling subsided, Hermes straightened his singed tunic with exaggerated dignity. "Jokes aside, I did come bearing news," he announced with a formal bow. "The Celestial Supremes. They have arrived."

Zeus's eyes brightened with genuine excitement, the last traces of his anger evaporating like morning mist. He clapped his hands together with thunderous enthusiasm, sending tiny sparks flying between his palms.

"Well then," he announced. "Let the Olympics commence!"