CHAPTER 94: "BECAUSE OLYMPUS MUST FALL."

Mount Olympus.

The storm clouds above flickered faintly, though there was no storm. Just tension—coiled and waiting.

Zeus sat near the edge of the high terrace, overlooking the endless skies below. His robe draped loosely over one shoulder, and the weight of the world felt unusually quiet tonight. The kind of quiet that always came before someone brought news that would ruin it.

And as expected, it came.

A golden blur zipped across the sky and landed on the marble tiles with a quick gust of wind.

Hermes straightened his cloak, still catching his breath.

Zeus didn’t turn. "If you came just to breathe loudly, you’re dismissed."

"Wish it was just that," Hermes muttered, stepping forward. "It’s Poseidon."

That made Zeus blink.

"Go on."

Hermes scratched the back of his neck. "He stormed into the garden. In front of everyone. Called out Athena. Accused her of interfering in the mortal realm. Said Olympus is playing king and queen while the sea gets ignored."

Zeus closed his eyes. "So the jealousy finally spilled out."

Hermes nodded. "He thinks the Godking title made you forget who was second. Says he ruled the sea before Olympus even had a name."

Zeus finally turned to face him.

"And Athena?"

"She kept calm. Didn’t even raise her voice. But I think... I think Poseidon saw her guiding mortals and assumed she was trying to claim Athens. It’s not confirmed, though. Just an assumption."

Zeus exhaled through his nose. "So that’s what this is."

Hermes looked unsure. "What do you want me to do?"

Zeus rose slowly. Thunder cracked faintly behind him even though the skies remained still. He walked to the edge of the terrace and looked out.

"Nothing more," he said. "You’ve done well."

Hermes raised a brow. "You’re not sending me to talk to him?"

Zeus shook his head. "No. I’ll speak to my brother myself."

With that, the sky answered.

A single streak of lightning ripped through the clouds and vanished.

Hermes blinked—and Zeus was gone.

—

The sea was not calm.

Waves crashed without wind, tides rose for no reason, and storms circled far on the horizon but never landed. It was a restless ocean, as if it shared its god’s mood.

Zeus descended like a flash of light, landing on a rocky cliff jutting from the heart of the sea. Mist curled around his ankles, and salt kissed his skin.

Poseidon emerged from the depths, water falling from his beard and shoulders like living chains. His trident sparked with ocean energy, and his gaze was sharp.

"You came."

Zeus folded his arms. "You shouted loud enough."

"I didn’t shout," Poseidon replied, walking closer. "I reminded."

"Reminded who?" Zeus asked calmly. "The children? Athena?"

"I reminded Olympus."

Zeus tilted his head. "That you’re second to me?"

Poseidon’s jaw clenched. "That I’m not beneath you."

A pause.

Zeus didn’t look angry. Just tired.

"You think this is about hierarchy?" he asked. "That I sat on a throne to look down on you?"

"You act like you built Olympus alone."

"I didn’t," Zeus admitted. "But I kept it standing."

Poseidon narrowed his eyes. "And now you rewrite laws without me. Send messages to other pantheons. Claim realms. While the sea waits."

Zeus stepped forward, closing the distance.

"And what do you want, Poseidon?" he asked, voice low. "My seat? My title? The skies?"

"I want acknowledgment," Poseidon snapped. "I want the gods to remember who I am."

"They remember."

"They treat me like decoration."

"You’re one of the Twelve."

"I was never just one of them."

The sea churned behind him.

"I held the oceans before we even claimed Olympus. I shaped storms and drowned Titans. And now—now mortals know Apollo’s name. Athena’s wisdom. Artemis’s arrows. But the sea? They fear it. That’s all."

Zeus looked at him in silence for a moment.

Then: "Do you really want war?"

Poseidon flinched, just slightly.

"Is that what you think I want?"

"You challenged Athena in front of all our children. You speak of being forgotten like it’s betrayal. What am I supposed to think?"

Poseidon looked away. His voice dropped.

"I don’t want war. But I also don’t want to be a shadow of my past."

Zeus stepped beside him, looking out at the water.

"I didn’t give myself the title of King, you know," he said. "I fought for it. We all did. But the crown... it only stayed on my head because no one else wanted the burden."

Poseidon didn’t speak.

"I’d trade it for peace," Zeus added. "Any day. But if you raise your trident against Olympus—against your own family—I will not hesitate."

Their eyes met.

"I’m not Kronos," Zeus said. "But I won’t let Olympus fall either."

Poseidon nodded once.

"I’m not your enemy, Zeus."

"Then stop acting like one."

A long pause.

The sea calmed just a little.

"I’ll talk to Athena," Poseidon said. "But if she is guiding mortals too far—"

"She’ll listen," Zeus cut in. "She always does."

Poseidon’s lips curled. "That’s because she’s your favorite."

"She earned it."

Poseidon rolled his eyes. "You always pick the ones who challenge you."

Zeus smirked. "Makes life interesting."

Poseidon chuckled once, then turned back to the sea. "I won’t forget this, brother."

Zeus began to ascend.

"Neither will I," he said. "Just don’t let pride sink you."

And with a crackle of thunder, he vanished—leaving only silence and the sea behind.

Deep beneath the roots of all realms...

Far below Olympus... beyond the mortal world... beneath even the pit that once held the Titans...

Tartarus breathed.

Not as a place. Not anymore.

But as a being.

Stone groaned with every breath. The walls of the abyss pulsed like veins. The sky—if it could be called that—was made of molten shadow, cracked open by rivers of ash and bone. And at the center of it all... something stood.

Massive.

Twisted.

Almost human.

But not quite.

He had no skin. Only black rock and boiling magma. Eyes like burning pits—deeper than galaxies, wider than fear. His frame shifted with every twitch, half-formed, half-forgotten. Wings that were not wings unfolded from his back, stretching like warped spires. Chains hung from his arms, not bound to him—but dragging behind as if they’d once held everything and failed.

Tartarus.

He had taken form again.

And he was staring.

Across the abyss, standing with narrowed eyes, was Hera.

Her face was calm—but her grip on her scepter was tight.

Tartarus took one step forward. The entire world shuddered.

He leaned in closer. The heat nearly burned the space between them, but Hera didn’t move.

"Get your boy ready," Tartarus whispered. "Because Olympus must fall."