CHAPTER 93: PAWN TO E4.

The garden of Olympus buzzed with divine energy, golden wind blowing through silver trees that shimmered under a soft, enchanted sky. This wasn’t a regular garden. It stretched wide like a realm of its own—floating islands connected by light-bridges, fountains of ambrosia spilling down from clouds, and meadows where the scent of magic clung to the grass.

Hermes was a blur.

He zipped between columns and olive trees, barely a streak of motion as he chased a white butterfly that may or may not have been a nymph in disguise. "Come on, just a little closer—!"

He leapt, missed, and landed face-first into the soft moss.

"Graceful," Artemis muttered from a nearby tree branch. She was lounging lazily, bow slung across her back, a baby deer curled beside her. "You planning on catching it or marrying it?"

"I haven’t decided yet," Hermes said, grinning as he rolled over. "Depends if she turns into a swan. Dad has a thing for those."

Apollo laughed from across the garden. He sat on a raised marble platform, lyre in hand, sunlight wrapping around him like a second skin. Every strum of his strings made the air sparkle, literally. The music shifted the colors of the sky.

"Maybe don’t mention swans. Or bulls. Or showers of gold," Apollo said with a smirk. "You’ll traumatize the plants."

Hermes flashed up to his twin in an instant and leaned dramatically on the lyre. "Brother, we are the trauma."

Artemis rolled her eyes. "Speak for yourself."

Ares crashed through a nearby bush.

"HEY!" he barked, dragging a poor tree branch that had dared deflect one of his strikes. His armor shimmered like polished blood, and his hair was tied back messily. "Who moved my training dummy?"

"It ran away," Hermes said without missing a beat.

"Liar!" Ares pointed at him. "You took it!"

"You say that like I have time to haul around sweaty sacks of hay."

"You replaced its head with a wine barrel!"

Hermes grinned. "And now it smells better."

Ares growled and lunged. Hermes vanished.

The chase restarted through the garden, disturbing birds, trees, and one of the Horae, who scowled and flicked a branch at both of them without even looking.

Athena sat at the center of the garden, by a chessboard carved from obsidian and pearl. She didn’t look up. "He’s going to break something."

"He always does," she added, adjusting a piece.

Beside her, Hebe watched silently, braiding vines into a crown. Her presence was always quieter. Kind. Warm.

Dionysus lay half-asleep under a grapevine, cup in hand, wine swirling of its own accord. "Let him. Olympus could use the noise. Too many thrones. Not enough screaming."

"Speak for yourself," Athena muttered.

And in the middle of it all—young, quiet Hestia walked barefoot through the garden, humming softly. Wherever she stepped, the grass seemed greener, the breeze a little gentler. She didn’t speak much, but no one questioned her. They never did.

Then came the thud.

Not thunder.

Not magic.

A footstep.

Loud. Direct.

It cracked the calm like lightning in a still lake.

Everyone turned.

Poseidon stood at the far edge of the garden, trident resting over his shoulder. The god of the sea looked like he had just stepped out of a storm—his cloak dripping seawater, eyes sharp like crashing waves.

"Athena," he said.

She looked up, unfazed. "Uncle."

"You’ve been busy."

She tilted her head. "I study. I advise. I train."

"I don’t mean here." Poseidon’s voice dropped, colder now. "I mean in the mortal realm."

Silence.

Apollo sat up straighter. Artemis reached for her bow. Hermes stopped running. Ares actually folded his arms. Everyone felt it. The shift.

Athena stood slowly, smoothing the folds of her robe. "I do what must be done."

"You intervene."

"I guide."

"You influence leaders. Steer wars. Shape cities."

"Is that a problem?" she asked, tone flat.

Poseidon took a step forward. The grass beneath him curled and wilted slightly from the saltwater dripping off his body. "It is when Olympus hasn’t claimed dominion yet. And you go around acting like you’re queen of mortals."

"I’m not queen of anything," Athena replied calmly. "I am knowledge. I am strategy. If mortals choose to listen, is that my fault?"

Poseidon stared hard at her.

Then his eyes shifted—to Zeus’s throne, distant and towering.

"You’re all playing king and queen up here," he muttered. "While the sea remains quiet. Too quiet."

Apollo stood, voice firm now. "What’s this about, really?"

Poseidon looked at him. "It’s about being ignored."

The words hit like a splash of cold water.

"I was the second," Poseidon said. "After Zeus. The seas bent for me before Olympus had a name. And now... now I get invitations to garden parties while the sky makes laws and the underworld schemes?"

He looked around.

"You think this garden makes Olympus whole? You think laughing and playing and forging thrones makes you gods?"

Artemis frowned. "We never said—"

"But you act like it!" Poseidon’s voice boomed now, and the wind shifted. "You think you’ve won. You think it’s yours. You forget the world is not just sky and song and prophecy. There are depths you haven’t touched. Monsters you’ve never named. And I..."

He paused.

"I was born in those depths."

Athena didn’t blink. "And what do you want?"

Poseidon stepped forward one last time. His voice softened, but it was even heavier now. Like an anchor sinking to the bottom of the world.

"I want to see if Olympus can stand against the sea."

Then he vanished.

Not with magic.

Just gone. Like a wave pulling back.

And the garden, for the first time in ages, was silent.

Hermes let out a low whistle. "Well... that’s not ominous at all."

Ares cracked his knuckles. "Good. I’m getting bored anyway."

Apollo strummed a tense chord.

Athena stared at the spot where Poseidon had stood.

Then, finally, she turned back to her chessboard.

And moved a single piece.

Pawn to E4.

A/N

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