Percy Jackson: An Endless of All

Mount Olympus – The Gathering of the Gods

The marble halls of Olympus shimmered with golden light as the gods convened for their celestial assembly. Thunder whispered on the edges of the horizon, Zeus looming somewhere unseen. Ares leaned back against a column, smirking at Dionysus' drunken poetry. Hera pretended not to notice Athena rolling her eyes. The usual divine chaos.

Then Poseidon arrived—still slick with sea salt and the glow of pleasure not easily disguised by even the most stoic of gods. His trident leaned casually against his shoulder as he took his place at the round.

Across the room, Apollo tilted his head, arching a brow in curiosity.

After formalities passed and divine matters gave way to murmured side conversations, Poseidon moved toward Apollo.

"You were right," Poseidon said, voice low but unmistakably pleased.

Apollo turned to him. "Right? About what?"

Poseidon chuckled. "About Dream."

Apollo's golden eyes widened slightly, then narrowed with understanding. His lips twitched upward into a knowing smirk. "Oh?"

"You weren't exaggerating," Poseidon said. "That body—gods, that body. His waist in my hands, the way that tight little—"

Apollo raised a hand, laughing. "Say no more. I know exactly what you mean."

"His beauty is one thing, but the way he moves... the way he responds," Poseidon said, gaze momentarily distant. "It's like being taken into the undertow—inescapable, all-consuming."

Apollo grinned, brushing a curl of sun-gold hair from his brow. "That's why I warned you not to underestimate him. Dream may be all shadows and silence, but under the right hands, he burns like starlight."

Poseidon gave a low laugh.

"You didn't try to get him pregnant, did you? Last I heard, you reached your male limit for the year a couple of moons ago," asked Apollo to Posiden.

"No worries there. You're still the only one who's managed to father a child with him," said Posiden reluctantly. Apollo puffed out his chest when he heard those words.

"Ah," Poseidon sighed wistfully. "Believe me, I was too caught in the moment to think about such divine workings. All I wanted was more."

"Maybe next time," Apollo teased.

Poseidon smirked. "Let's hope there is a next time."

Apollo's eyes glinted with mischief. "Perhaps we'll catch him together. Dream always shows up when he's... longing. When the Dreaming isn't enough."

"You're suggesting a—?" Poseidon raised an eyebrow.

"A threesome," Apollo finished, without shame.

Poseidon laughed, the deep rumble of the ocean in his voice. "If he allows us into the Dreaming for it."

Apollo's smirk deepened. "Then next time he visits either of us, we ask."

And with that unspoken pact made, the gods turned their attention back to the council.

In the Dreaming…

Far from Olympus, in the eternal twilight of the Dreaming, I worked.

My hands shaped horrors and hopes alike—twisting shadows into the new nightmare, The Corinthian, all teeth and charm. I summoned dreams to walk the palace halls—newborn concepts of light and memory—and placed them among the old.

But even in my work, my mind remained tethered to the waking world. I watched the island, my son Orpeus, Eirenaios, his wife, and their children as they constructed aZ beginnigs of a castle that would anchor our bloodline. Stone by stone, memory by memory.

I watched as one of his sons—barely a teen—held the head of Orpheus, not in fear, but reverence. Orpheus spoke to the boy in soft hymns, teaching him old songs and older truths.

It was the beginning of something that would last a lifetime.

A little personal kingdom of dreams, song, and blood of family ties.

A place where the legacy of a god and a dream could thrive.

And yet, even as I watched, a whisper of laughter drifted across my realm. I felt it ripple in my bones. Two gods—Apollo and Poseidon—are plotting.

They always do.

I allowed myself a rare smile.

Let them wonder when next I'll walk among them.

Let them desire.

After all...

Even dreams can long.