I Am Zeus

The night on Olympus was clear, but the air felt strange—charged, as if something far away had just shifted.

Zeus stood at his balcony, leaning lightly on the carved railing, watching the gardens below.

Lucifer was down there, surrounded by the Muses. They laughed as they circled him, teasing him into playing a tune on the lyre. Even from here, Zeus could see that faint smirk on Lucifer's face—the one that showed he was humoring them but secretly enjoying it. His children darted between the pillars, weaving in and out of the torchlight, chasing each other with wooden swords.

It was a quiet, almost domestic scene. Something Olympus rarely gave him.

The sound of wings broke it.

A raven cut across the moonlight, gliding down to land on the stone ledge beside him. Its feathers shifted, lengthened, and folded in on themselves until Hera stood there, dressed in deep green, eyes sharp as ever.

"Why do you still keep him in the realm?" she asked, no greeting, no softness.

Zeus didn't look at her right away. His gaze stayed on the garden. "Unlike you," he said slowly, "I don't betray those I call friends or family. Right now, I'm that friend."

Hera's lips twitched—not quite a smile. "If you don't want me betraying you, then stop chasing your other women and make me the official Queen of Olympus instead of Metis."

That made him turn to her, brows lifting in disbelief. Then, suddenly, he laughed. Not kindly. "In your dreams."

Her expression didn't change, though her eyes narrowed just a fraction. "Figures." She folded her arms. "Ares is awake. That's what I came to tell you."

Zeus let out a short breath. "You can leave now. I'll go see my son whenever you're not with him."

The words were cold. No weight of a husband chastising a wife. No attempt to bridge the space. Just dismissal.

Hera felt it immediately. In the past, when she pushed too far, he'd still talk to her like a man trying to pull his wife back to his side. But now? Nothing. Just the wall.

And the same wall was between him and Ares. That much she could tell. He was treating her like she wasn't worth the trouble anymore.

But she wasn't going to shoulder the blame for that. She'd been robbed of her throne, and she would do anything to take it back.

Her gaze lingered on him, searching for something—maybe doubt, maybe regret. But Zeus's eyes were already drifting back toward the gardens below, to Lucifer and the Muses.

With one last look, she shifted again. Feathers erupted in a rush of black, and the raven leapt from the balcony, wings beating against the cool night air. She didn't look back.

Zeus stayed where he was, leaning on the railing, watching the flicker of torches far below. His jaw was set, his thoughts unreadable, the quiet around him thicker now that she was gone.

Far in the garden, Lucifer caught his eye for a brief second, as if he could feel the weight in the air above. But then he turned back to the Muses, laughing at something one of them had said, and the night went on.

Zeus didn't move from the balcony. The air was still heavy from Hera's visit when the torches lining the garden flickered—not from wind, but from something deeper, older.

The scent of fresh earth rolled through the marble halls, faint but impossible to miss.

A voice came from behind him, calm and steady.

"Come with me, grandson."

Zeus turned. Gaia stood in the doorway to the balcony, her hair flowing like strands of green and gold, her bare feet leaving small blooms where she stepped. Even here, in the heart of Olympus, her presence carried the weight of the first dawn.

He didn't question her. In silence, he followed her through the winding halls until they reached the throne room. The great doors swung open without a touch, and the chamber filled with the faint sound of running water, though no fountain was in sight.

Gaia walked to the center and turned to face him. Her eyes—deep, ancient—studied him in a way that made even Zeus feel young.

"They spoke of you," she said.

"Who?" His tone was level, but his hand gripped the side of the throne.

"The Primordials," Gaia answered. "Nyx, Erebus, Ananke… Eros. I was there."

Zeus raised a brow, leaning back slightly. "And what did they decide?"

"That you are now a threat." Her words were plain, with no attempt to soften them. "Tartarus was one of them. You defeated him. That alone has shifted the balance. They think you're climbing toward their level."

Zeus gave a faint smirk. "And?"

"And they are not of one mind," Gaia continued. "Some want to act. Erebus spoke of striking first—of tearing Olympus down before you grow stronger. Others will wait and watch. But when the old powers see a storm, they prepare for it."

He tilted his head, studying her. "And you?"

"I stood for you," she said without hesitation. "Nyx did too. But do not think that means the others will hesitate forever. The ones outside our world will hear of this—beings older than even them. When they see a young god killing a Primordial, they will see a danger that must be removed."

For a long moment, Zeus said nothing. His eyes wandered over the empty thrones around him, each one a symbol of power, of claim.

Finally, he asked, "Why tell me this now?"

Gaia stepped closer, the air between them carrying the faint scent of rain. "Because you need to be ready. This is not a war you can win with lightning alone. They will test you, probe you, try to see where you break."

Zeus's gaze sharpened. "Let them try."

Her lips curved—not quite a smile, not quite a warning. "Pride is a blade, grandson. Sharp in both directions. I tell you this so you understand what is coming, not so you run toward it."

He straightened, his voice calm but edged. "And what would you have me do? Hide? Bow my head?"

Gaia shook her head slowly. "No. Rule. Build. Make Olympus so strong that even the oldest powers think twice before touching it."

The quiet between them stretched, thick and heavy.

Then, without another word, she turned toward the doors. As she walked, the marble beneath her bare feet sprouted small vines that withered the moment she passed.

Just before leaving, she looked back. "They will come, Zeus. But not yet. And when they do… you will have to choose what kind of god you are."

And then she was gone, leaving the throne room filled with that faint, fading scent of earth after rain.

Zeus stood alone, his eyes fixed on the place she had been, the weight of her words settling over him like a storm cloud waiting to break.