The Holy Son in Marvel

What Solomon referred to as a "ladies' tea party" was actually an art exhibition with a buffet, held at the Four Seasons Hotel in Manhattan, which gave it an air of sophistication.

"I don't see what's so sophisticated about it," Solomon muttered, loosening the black bow tie on the suit Athena had chosen for him. He glanced at his phone's map and asked, "Next to a crematorium and an adult video store? Are you sure you booked the right place?"

"It's the Four Seasons Hotel, not the Four Seasons Parking Lot. Don't tell me you can't read. Now, put your phone away. You'll have to pick a car next," Athena replied, adjusting his suit and hair in an attempt to make the young mage look his absolute best. The exhibition was organized by Athena's artist friends, and to ensure Solomon attended, she even arranged for his absence from Eaton. The school quickly approved—after all, he was attending a cultural event, not a sports game.

Athena herself wore an off-the-shoulder black evening gown, with a slit running from the floor-length hem up to her hip, revealing her long, toned legs and black patent leather high heels with slender red soles. She completed the look with diamond earrings and a platinum bracelet, her hair pinned in an elegant updo. Satisfied, she hooked her arm around Solomon, who was now almost as tall as she was.

"Perfect," she said with a smile. "They'll be green with envy. You look like a true gentleman."

"Thank you, my dear single mother Minerva," Solomon replied sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. "Let's dazzle this gathering. You know I hate these things. If I encounter some idiot, I'm not inclined to handle it diplomatically. I've got plenty of mischievous spells to make them socially vanish."

"My dear boy, this is a high-class gathering. There won't be any fools," Athena laughed, playfully pinching his cheek. "You're not as adorable as you used to be. I preferred your round, chubby self back then."

"Growth, Minerva. All of that was just preparation for the person I am today." Solomon sighed. "Since puberty, I've been naturally slimming down, and I'm pretty happy with the results."

"You're starting to look more like an adult. In appearance, I mean—you've been mature since you were a child," Athena said, leaning against his shoulder. "I'm wearing lipstick tonight, so consider yourself lucky you're not in the face-kissing stage anymore."

"Whoo, whoo!"

"Shut up, you dumb owl!"

To make a striking entrance, Athena had chosen a red Ferrari. Just as she predicted, as soon as she stepped out, her artist friends flocked to her. Even after Solomon handed off the keys to the valet, they continued buzzing around her as if she were the exhibition's host—a role Athena was quite accustomed to. She'd long been a social powerhouse in New York, and in her view, even families like the Kardashians were just background noise.

"I want to introduce you to someone," Athena announced, breaking through their chatter with a proud smile. "This is my son, Solomon. He's currently studying at Eaton and has received a King's Scholarship."

Unlike the common American disdain for British middle-class mannerisms, these Manhattan socialites adored the refinement of British culture. From the way he held a teacup to his use of a white cotton handkerchief when coughing, Solomon embodied the sophisticated air they so admired and wished to emulate.

As far as Solomon was concerned, they were simply bored with their own lives.

Unfortunately, Eaton's strict rules had molded him into the perfect gentleman in these situations. If he'd gulped his tea, he would have been scorned by his teachers. So, when the young mage greeted the ladies with his perfect London accent, they were all the more taken with him. "Next time, let Lorna come instead," he whispered to Athena after finally escaping the group. But by then, the embroidered handkerchief with his initials had vanished, likely now a souvenir in the possession of some congressman's wife or CEO's spouse. "I really don't enjoy these gatherings."

"Little Lorna wouldn't fit in here," Athena replied, nodding and smiling at passersby as she spoke. "I'd be worried she might yank someone's necklace. I'll let you in on a little secret: the Sorcerer Supreme attended a few of these exhibitions with me. Now, come on, let's introduce you to some real artists."

Before Solomon could question why the Sorcerer Supreme would attend an art exhibition, Athena had already guided him deeper into the hall, finally stopping in front of a painting. Solomon found himself unable to comment on the piece, not only because he had no understanding of modern abstract art, but because he couldn't make sense of the chaotic mix of pale and bright whites. He much preferred the Baroque style.

Athena stepped forward, warmly embracing a black-haired woman standing by the painting. "Let me introduce you two," she said. "Vanessa, this is my son, Solomon. Solomon, this is Vanessa, the brilliant artist behind this extraordinary work."

"Good evening, madam," Solomon greeted her with impeccable manners.

"Oh, Minerva, I had no idea you had a son," Vanessa said, eyeing Solomon skeptically. "And such a grown one at that."

"There's a lot you don't know," Athena replied with a laugh, unfazed by Vanessa's implication that she was a wealthy cougar. Athena turned to Solomon, "Vanessa recently arrived in New York. She's here looking for a discerning patron."

"I'm part Italian," Vanessa said, extending her hand toward Solomon. "If you don't mind, I'd love to talk with you about Italy."

"Believe me, I've heard La Traviata performed at least ten times," Solomon replied, shaking her hand and giving Athena a puzzled look, unsure why she was introducing him to this woman.

"Vanessa was away from New York for some time," Athena explained. "We were friends back then, too. You can't imagine how unappreciated her talent was in Italy. People there just couldn't grasp the beauty of her work."

"You're exaggerating, Minerva," Vanessa said with a modest smile. "I actually love Italy."

"Especially making potato croquettes?" Athena teased as she led Solomon toward the painting. "Vanessa returned to Italy just to bring these paintings back. Admit it, those Italians would rather see you in the kitchen."

"Personally, I love potato croquettes—and jacket potatoes," Solomon added with a sheepish grin. "And for the sake of the perfect figure you keep insisting on, I'm trying to keep my stomach in check. I'm hungry, Minerva. Let's skip to the buffet. Those little sandwiches look delicious."

Athena smiled awkwardly, then pinched his waist—an instinctive move seemingly ingrained in women across ages and cultures. Athena, too, was no exception.

"I don't mind," Vanessa said. "Aside from the artists, most people here don't really understand art. They're just waving their checkbooks, hoping to find something to hang in their living rooms. Come on, Minerva, let's not just stand here."

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