I Am Zeus

The courtyard still rang with the sound of metal, the clash of siblings testing one another. Hermes and Apollo leaned against a column, tossing pebbles back and forth, grinning at every near miss that forced Athena and Ares to adjust. The mood had shifted into something lighter, playful almost.

Then it hit.

A weight rolled across Olympus, thick and vast, like a tide of black velvet poured from the sky. It wasn't wind, it wasn't thunder—it was older, heavier, a presence that didn't belong to marble halls or clear skies.

The training grounds froze. Ares straightened mid-swing, blade lowering instinctively. Athena's spear steadied, her eyes narrowing as a strange chill wrapped around her. Hermes dropped the pebble in his hand. Even Apollo's smirk slipped, his golden aura bristling in answer.

The aura pressed against the skin of every god in Olympus. A reminder. Something primal, something that existed before their father's throne, before the war, before even Titans roared across the world.

"…What is that?" Hermes muttered, voice thin.

"Not what," Athena said, her eyes lifting to the horizon. "Who."

The sky darkened unnaturally. Clouds that hadn't been there before spread like ink across the blue, blotting out the sun until the world dimmed into twilight. Stars flickered faintly, too early, too wrong. And at the heart of it, shadows moved with deliberate grace, coiling down like smoke forming into a figure.

Every god that wasn't on the training grounds felt it. Doors slammed open across Olympus as divine figures stepped out into balconies, plazas, towers. Demeter and Hestia emerged near the great garden. Poseidon appeared at the lower tier, trident glowing faintly. Hephaestus paused mid-forging, hammer clutched tight. Even the minor gods—Nike, Hebe, Thanatos, Eos—looked up in wary silence.

An intruder was here.

A primordial one.

Only Zeus didn't move. He remained where he was, high above, arms folded, his eyes calm as if none of this surprised him.

The shadows touched the training grounds. They folded, shaped, and in the middle of them, a woman appeared.

She was tall, draped in a cloak woven of pure starlight, hair like the endless void spilling behind her, eyes glowing with the faintest silver. Her face was unreadable, serene, her steps silent as night itself.

Nyx. The primordial Night.

Athena raised her spear. Ares's knuckles whitened around his blade. Hermes swallowed hard and muttered, "Oh, great. This is how we die. Crushed by Mom's favorite bedtime story."

Apollo didn't speak. He just drew an arrow, golden flame crackling along the bowstring.

Nyx stopped in the center of the courtyard. Her aura thickened, suffocating, pulling every breath slower. Her gaze drifted across them—Athena, Ares, Hermes, Apollo—and then she tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable.

"You've grown."

Her voice was deep, calm, the kind that wrapped around them like smoke, both soothing and terrifying.

Nobody answered.

"You train, you fight, you pretend at strength." Her silver eyes lingered on Athena's spear, then Ares's blade. "But shadows will always outlast steel. Night will always outlast day."

The gods tensed. Muscles coiled. Divine auras sparked faintly, ready to defend Olympus.

Then—

Nyx broke into a grin. Wide. Mischievous. She snapped her fingers, and the suffocating weight vanished instantly, like someone had thrown open every window in a stuffy room.

"Ha!" she laughed, hands on her hips. "Did you see your faces? Oh, priceless. Absolutely priceless. I should've brought a painter to capture that. 'The mighty Olympians, frozen like startled goats.'"

Apollo blinked, his arrow faltering. Hermes's jaw dropped. Ares scowled, face red with anger rather than fear.

"You—" he growled. "You made me—"

"Scared?" Nyx teased, cutting him off. "Adorable. You looked like you swallowed your own tongue. Do it again for me."

Hermes burst out laughing suddenly, clutching his side. "Gods, she's insane. She's actually insane."

Athena, however, kept her weapon raised, though her eyes narrowed differently now. "You hid your presence until the last moment. That's not a prank. That's a test."

Nyx wagged a finger at her. "Always the smart one. And yes, dear, a test. I like to check if the 'new generation of gods' still remembers what fear feels like. Otherwise, you get too comfortable sitting on marble chairs, sipping nectar, acting like the world isn't trying to gut you."

She flopped casually onto one of the weapon racks as though it were a bench, her starry cloak spilling around her like liquid night. "Don't mind me. Go back to hitting each other. I'll just watch. It's been ages since I saw children spar. Reminds me of my little ones."

"Your little ones?" Hermes asked cautiously.

"Oh, you know." Nyx waved a hand. "Doom, Misery, Sleep, Death. The usual bedtime crew." She smiled sweetly. "Good kids. Never talked back."

Apollo lowered his bow, though his lips twitched. "That's… comforting."

Ares still looked furious. "You come here, drown Olympus in your aura, just to laugh at us?"

"Correct," Nyx said cheerfully. "Oh, don't pout, war boy. You should thank me. Fear sharpens the blade."

Athena lowered her spear at last, though her eyes stayed sharp. "Why are you really here?"

Nyx tilted her head, eyes glinting with starlight. For a moment, her playfulness dimmed, and the weight of her presence bled back into the air, not crushing this time, but undeniable.

"Because the seam is open," she said quietly. "And when it opens, old things stir. Some of them are not as friendly as me."

That sobered the courtyard.

Zeus's voice rumbled from above, calm but carrying across Olympus. "Enough, Nyx. You've made your entrance."

Nyx looked up, her grin flashing again. "Zeusy! Still brooding on balconies? What is it with you and dramatic heights?"

A flicker of thunder rolled through the clouds, but Zeus didn't answer. He only watched her, eyes steady.

Nyx leaned back against the rack, crossing her legs. "Relax, everyone. I didn't come to eat your temples or toss your thrones into Tartarus. I just thought I'd stretch my legs, see how the children are doing. And maybe," she added, smirking at Athena, "poke at their pride a little."

Hermes finally let out a relieved laugh, flopping onto the ground. "Gods above, I thought we were about to fight night itself."

"You were," Nyx said with mock pride. "And you lost. Without me lifting a finger."

Even Athena couldn't help the faint twitch of her lips at that.

The tension slowly ebbed, the courtyard alive again with small murmurs, but every god across Olympus remained wary. Nyx might laugh and jest, but she was still what she was. A primordial, older than them, older than Titans.

And yet she lounged in their training grounds like a mischievous aunt, teasing, smiling, eyes glinting with secrets no one dared ask about.

Only Zeus stayed calm, arms folded, his gaze locked on hers. Because he knew—as much as she played, Nyx never came without reason.

And this time, the reason was tied to the seam, and the vote, and the whisper of death that followed him everywhere.