Olympus Has Fallen

The storm had been building for hours. Lightning flickered across the horizon, teasing the edge of his vision, but never striking. Not quite yet. Zeus stood at the edge of the Old World on a crumbling balcony carved into the rock of what once was Mount Olympus. It was overgrown now-- half forgotten by the gods. Ivy crept through the once-polished marble and cracks split the foundation of where his throne used to sit. The wind smelled of pine, smoke, and dried blood.

Below, the Mortal Lands stayed accustomed to its usual chaos. Cities powered lights that they no longer thanked him for. Ships crossed seas without prayer. Skyscrapers peirced the clouds he once ruled like a king. They didn't look up anymore. They hadn't in years.

Zeus watched. His fingers flexed restlessly at his side.

Once, the world sung for him. Storms bent to his breath. Now, he had to will the lightning. He had to summon it. Even godhood, it seemed, could decay. He had hoped the others would see it too, that they would feel it like he did-- the slow dimming of their light. Athena still cloaked herself in mortal affairs. Hades, as always, clung to his kingdom like a prisoner with brittle bones. The others just seemed... scattered.

Even he had played along. For a bit. But alas, they had become comfortable. And that was the greatest sin of them all. Power was never meant to be shared. It was meant to be held, clenched in a fist powered by lightning.

He turned from the edge. Behind him lay the remains of a map written in divine script, etched into stone by the Fates themselves. He traced it with his eyes: six points of light burned dimly, scattered across the Realms. Mortal, Underworld, and Divine. Each one was a fragment of the original flame.

If he found them, they would make him whole again.

"You think I'm mad," he murmered to no one--or, everyone, "You think this is fear or vanity."

A single bolt struck the stone beside him, splitting it.

"This is not madness. This is restoration."

The sound of wings behind him didn't startle him. He didn't turn, "Athena. Still spying, even now?"

Her voice was distant and hard, "Watching. Not spying. There's a difference."

"You should be grateful," Zeus chuckled, "You'll have a front row seat when the new age begins."

She didn't answer right away. After a pause, the goddess of wisdom finally spoke, "You're going to destroy everything."

"No," Zeus said. "I'm going to fix it."

Her silence was an answer enough. By the time he turned, she was gone. As always.

He allowed a smile to curl at his lips. When the six relics become his, he will be Zeus, the Ruler of Olympus.

Zeus, the only God.

The candle flickered once. Twice. Then stilled.

Xanthe watched the flame from where she sat, legs folded beneath her, palms open wide and facing upward on her knees. The air in her chamber was warm and smelled of wormwood and dried lavender. Smoke danced along the stone walls from the incense that burned in slow curls. She could feel the soft hum of the Veil, stretching between this realm and the next. This was the Underworld. This was her home.

She had never known a crib or a lullaby. Xanthe had no memories of a cradle rocked by mortal hands. Instead, she had grown up beneath ghosted light and the endless stone walls of her mother's-- Hecate's-- domain.

She opened her eyes. The candle's flame bent slightly to the left. A signal. A message.

Something was coming.

Behind her, the thick velvet curtain that separated her usual chamber from the main hall rustled softly. She didn't need to know who it was.

"You're restless," came the voice. Cool and measured, familiar as her own breath.

"I'm ready," Xanthe said, rising to her feet. Her layered black and violet robes shimmered faintly as she moved. Her mother's eyes glanced at the hem of carefully placed charms and stitched sigils.

"You're not ready," Hecate said plainly, "But you must go anyway."

Xanthe turned to face her mother. She was still clothed in shadows, as she always was-- barely visible, more of a presence than an actual person. But her eyes, like violet flame, watched from beneath her hood. They were unblinking and ageless.

Gods, her mother was stunning. She'd only seen her mother's true form once-- long, black hair that Xanthe definitely didn't inherit, smooth pale skin that sparkled in the moonlight, and high cheekbones that could only be considered Godly. But, Xanthe preferred her mother in her normal form. The shadows had grown to comfort her.

"The Gods underestimate you. All of you," Hecate said, "You're young. Mortal-born. But you are my daughter. And what you carry inside you cannot be taught, little witchling."

Xanthe hesitated, "The prophecy."

A pause.

"Yes," Hecate admitted, "It's stirring now. The relics have begun to wake. The balance of the realms weakens with every breath Zeus takes. He seeks what was never meant to be his."

Xanthe's fingers twitched at her sides. Her rings hummed, but she quieted them with a thought.

"Why did the prophecy pick me, Mother?" Xanthe let her curiousity get the best of her, "You have other children."

Hecate tilted her head ever so slightly, "Because my other offspring would fight with swords and..." she made a disgusted face, "fists. You will fight with knowledge. With magic, and silence. Zeus will not expect it. Even Ares has placed his hopes in warriors."

"And you haven't?" Xanthe asked.

Hecate stepped forward then, just enough that the flickering candlelight caught the curve of her face, "I've placed hope in you. That is not the same."

Hecate extended a hand. In her palm sat a black key carved from onyx, etched with runes that were reminiscent of the dead.

"The ferry waits at the mouth of Lethe," she said, "It will take you to Persephone's Garden. Athena will meet you and the others there. She will explain what comes next."

Xanthe gulped hard. Was she really ready for this?

"And Xanthe--" Hecate paused. "The Veil will follow you. It always has. Be careful what you open. Be careful of what you birth from your magic."

She nodded. It was the closest they'd get to a goodbye.

Without another word, Xanthe turned and descended the obsidian stairs. The passage led deeper, through the roots of the Underworld, down into the groves that circled River Lethe. She could already hear the water.

She stepped into the mist and didn't look back.



The river crossing had been long, silent, and awkward. The ferryman said nothing-- only held out a skeletal hand for payment and pushed off from the crumbling dock at Cape Tainaron. The water of the Styx was black and still, like ink.

As they reached the other side, the ferry pulled against a plank of pale sand. She stepped out onto the shore. Ahead, past the ridge of stone, vines curled around archways carved into the walls, leading to what Xanthe would've imagined to be Persephone's garden. She'd never been allowed this deep into the Underworld before, and she had definitely never met Persephone herself.

It wasn't what she expected. The air smelled of lilac and grave soil. Lush greenery bloomed: black stemmed roses with silver bark and deep purple leaves. They hung suspended in the air while some hovered near the trees. She wasn't afraid, not exactly. But there was no one else, no goddess waiting for her arrival or other demigods there for the same reason she was. She was the first one at the Garden.

A low breath hit her lips, "Of course I'm the first."

Xanthe found a seat on a marble bench near an extravagant fountain. Her fingers fidgeted with the charm around her neck-- an obsidian shard wrapped in silver wire. Her mother's parting gift, subtracting the onyx key. She'd gifted it to Xanthe the night before.

"For protection. Do not abuse it. Trinkets are only as strong as the soul that wears them."

Now, Xanthe thumbed it's smooth edge. She was used to waiting. But... this waiting felt different.

Did she arrive at the wrong place?

The trip through New Zealand was amazing! Cloud had always appreciated the little nation because it felt like an ideal place to visit and an ideal place to live. He was such a nerd when it came to New Zealand. So of course the first thing he booked was a trip to the shooting of The Lord of The Rings. He actually hiked up the mountains where they filmed some of the extended shots, and it felt like magic to be where the actors were, to experience what they had experienced. When he rested on his hike, he could truly begin to feel like he was a part of all of it. Truly magical, the experience.

Of course, as of about two years ago, Cloud's entire worldview of what magical was had been completely shattered and torn apart when the truth came out. See, Cloud was not exactly what people called the perfect student in school. He didn't come from one of those wealthy, influential neighborhoods in New Jersey where the schools basically had more private tutors than students. Nah, see, he came up as the son of a migrant single mother who had to work two jobs just to keep them in one of the shoddy apartments in the rougher parts of the city. He came up as a son with a single mother who never talked about his completely absent father and berated Cloud whenever he tried to bring it up. So Cloud didn't have a father figure and there were many nights when his mama was working late and he found himself not having a mother figure either. And in those scenarios, what's a hyperactive boy to do? Definitely not learn, that was for sure.

So, Cloud wasn't really the best student. School bored him and he quickly fell behind the rest of his class. Reading was hard, comprehension was harder, and whenever he struggled, he acted out to get out of the embarassment. He fell more and more behind and he never really had a teacher care about him. By the time he got into high school, all teachers had been warned pre-emptively of his rowdy behavior, so they knew what to expect and didn't waste their time on him. It hurt, but hey, he got it. By his senior year, he had almost completely given up on his future and decided he would do what he wanted. Thankfully, by that time his mama was able to get a better paying job and didn't have to work two, so she was able to spend more time with him. She saw the writing on the wall (she always knew anything and everything Cloud tried to hide from her) and told him that he should get his GED if he wanted to drop out. It was either graduate or GED; she wouldn't accept anything else.

So they worked their asses off to help him study for the GED. And his mom was by far a better and more understanding teacher than anyone in a public school. When he got his GED, he told his mom he wanted to explore the world. He wanted to never leave the sun (which was more of an exaggeration than literal, but he did mean it) and that was when his mother finally told him about his father and the world he had been missing out on his whole life.

See, his dad, apparently, was Apollo, the Greek Sun God. Geez, even thinking about it was still a bit odd, but it also weirdly just made sense. It was crazy but so logical. And so he spent the past two years exploring the world, chasing the sun and his dad, and learning as much as he could about his father and the hidden world of the Gods and Magic and all that stuff. It was far more interesting than school ever was. His mom had objected at first, but when he was adamant and energetic that this was the way to go, she had eventually relented. And, she had been saving up money for him when he moved out, to help him on his way (for possibly college until she realized that was absolutely not going to happen with the trajectory of his grades) and she gave that money to him with faith that he would find himself, or whatever he was looking for.

He learned quite a bit about both himself and this secret world. Now that he had been let in on the secret, it seemed like the hints had been there the entire time, or perhaps they were showing themselves to him now that he knew. And, at that moment it took him to Australia. New Zealand was more or less a detour for his own personal satisfaction. It was then that he began to see something a bit out of the ordinary while on his hike in New Zealand. Over the past few days and weeks, Cloud, out of the corner of his eye, or when he turned his head too fast, or when he wasn't directly paying attention, would see an owl following him. Owls were not rare in New Zealand that he was aware of, but this seemed particularly out of place. He had been to many places in the country and it was this same white owl that seemed to be following him.

It didn't quite alarm Cloud, no. It didn't really surprise him either; really, it just made him feel like he was seeing things and New Zealand was a bit weird. It was not until he called his mother. One of the few stipulations she had when she gave him the money was that he would call her every week. The moment he missed a week, he had to come home. And one does not simply disobey their latina mothers.

Cloud texted his mom ahead of the call. He saw that she had read his texts from earlier but not responded to them. One of the texts included a blurry picture of that owl following him on a walk. Looking back on the photo, though, it really just looked like possibly a cloud? He sent her a warning text that he was about to call and gave her a minute before he did. She picked up immediately.

"Hey, mama," Cloud greeted her.

The first few minutes of their conversation went by normally, like they always did. She asked about his week, he'd answer. He would ask about her week, she would tell him it was the same old, same old. There was a new dentist at her work that did not know what they were doing, and her and the girls at work were all ready for their boss to come back from vacation so something could be done. The guy she had been seeing was a dirtbag (like usual, unfortunately) but it made her feel less lonely. There were hints of her wanting him to come back home hidden not very deeply beneath what she said, and he couldn't help but feel a tinge of guilt missing out on her life. But, every time he mentioned coming back to see her, she would swat that notion aside, telling him to live his life.

It was then that the conversation died down a bit, and Cloud had time to bring up the owl.

"So, did you see the picture I sent?" He asked as nonchalantly as he could. He had avoided bringing up the owl with her before this point because he did not want to be sounding crazy to his mother. That kind of stuff would immediately cause her to fret over him and he didn't want to do that to her. She already worried about him.

"You mean that blurry cloud? Yes, I saw. Was that supposed to be a funny version of a selfie?"

"A selfie? Mama, how do you know what a selfie is?"

"Cloud, I work with a lot of girls around your age." She sighed. "The things that come out of their mouths, I swear."

"It was supposed to be an owl. Mama, it's so... odd," he avoided saying the word "weird" when talking about this or anything for that matter. That word in particular caused her to go into a spiral . There wasn't much he didn't believe anymore since he found out his dad was a deadbeat god but when he mama would start talking about magic and auras and ghosts, that was where he had to draw the line. "There's been an owl that's been, like, stalking me, mama. Everywhere I've gone in the past few days, I've been seeing it out the corner of my eye. Never directly."

His mom did not sound surprised at his confession. Actually, she sounded a tad bit annoyed at his confusion. "Anak, that sounds like something from your father's side."

That was his mother's way of saying that sounded like something to do with the gods, or the world of the gods. She never directly mentioned Apollo or any of that stuff directly since she first told him. This was her way of mentioning that. Cloud groaned out loud and plopped down on the small bench in his tiny apartment he had rented out for the week. "You think?" he asked, not wanting to deal with any of that at the moment. But, of course she was right. She was always right.

"Well, think about it, Cloud." Oh, joy, time for a history lesson. "Which of the Greek Gods are associated with an owl?"

"...Athena." Once again, he had just been schooled by his own mother. That was not the first time, and certainly wouldn't be the last time. "But what would Athena want with me?"

"I don't know, Anak. Perhaps you should ask the owl."

"Ask the owl?" Cloud asked, perplexed. Right in that moment, something plinked at the glass of the small fire escape-turned-patio connected to his room. He glanced over at the window to see the white owl perched out on top of the metal fencing. "I'm gonna let you go, Mama."

"All right, but call me back. This doesn't count as our talk for the week," she said, almost like she knew what was happening outside his apartment.

"Right, love you." He ended the call and tossed his phone onto his bed, walking to the glass door like he was in a trance.

He opened the sliding glass door and stepped out to the metal grate. The night sky greeted him with a chill breeze and the chirps of the local insects. The brilliant white owl stepped to the side, away from him. Cloud nodded at it. "What's good?"

The owl notably did not respond. Cloud coughed and let the awkward silence linger for a moment before he tried a different tactic. He held out a finger, seeing if the owl wanted to be pet or something like that. It did not back away from his initial attempt so he stepped closer. The owl tilted its head at him. He inched slowly toward the owl's head. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing (was there a right way to approach an owl that was supposedly connected to Athena? Was there a wrong way? If there was, he would find that way first) but he ventured forth with all the courage he could muster.

It was then that the owl pecked at his finger for getting too close. "Ouch!" Cloud retracted it immediately. It drew blood. He wiped it away. It was just a little pinch, just enough to warn him. Noted. The owl screeched at him and flew away, its wings flapping soundlessly.

A letter glided down to the grated metal floor in its wake. Cloud picked up the letter. "Good talk," he muttered to the owl that was long gone. He opened the letter.



Before Cloud could read the letter a second time, the paper dissolved in his hands, its dust sparkling into the night air. He sighed, squinting his eyes to see if the owl was somewhere in the distance. It was not. Besides the last fragments of that letter, this could have been a normal night in New Zealand.

Cloud stepped back inside and locked the door behind him. Picking up the phone, he dialed his mother back. "Mama, you're not going to believe this."



It took Cloud a day to get a flight heading to Greece. Funnily enough, they weren't the most common destinations from New Zealand. This was Cloud's first time actually interacting with his Greek Godly heritage. To say he was nervous was the understatement of the century.

Once he was in Greece, getting to Cape Tainaron was just an ask away from a driver. The entire ride felt surreal and mind-numbing, but that was nothing compared to his next ride.

See, it took only a moment before he found what he was looking for: a skeletal ferrycaptain docked by the water. As Cloud neared it, it held out a hand. A fee must be paid... right, he was going to the Underworld. That wasn't something he thought he would ever think, but... he had done a lot of unusual things in the past two years. Life had a way of throwing him curveballs. Before he knew it, the ferry had stopped by a wave of white sand. It was all a blur, but his body told him to get out of the boat. This was his destination. So he did.

He followed footsteps in the sand to an archway of thickly voiled vines. The leaves seemed to follow him as he trudged through the walkway. The sand melted and gave way to cobble and dirt as he entered what he believed to be the Garden itself. The vines opened forth to thick trees of silver, black, and purple.

Besides the lush greenery, the Garden was devoid of life, except for one person, who glanced up at Cloud as he walked in.

Cloud flashed a smile.

I have recently returned from an expedition to scientific societies of the West. Their members exhibited intense interest in delicate instruments of my invention which demonstrate the indivisible unity of all life. In the pursuit of my investigations I was unconsciously led into the border region of physics and physiology. To my amazement, I found boundary lines vanishing, and points of contact emerging, between the realms of the living and the non-living. A universal reaction seemed to bring metal, plant and animal under a common law. They all exhibited essentially the same phenomena of fatigue and depression, with possibilities of recovery and of exaltation, as well as the permanent irresponsiveness associated with death. By a continuous living tradition, and a vital power of rejuvenescence, this land has readjusted itself through unnumbered transformations.

“Excuse me miss, do you need anything? A meal, perhaps?” A flight attendant prodded.

Yogita removed her earbuds and silently pointed at an item on the menu she’d been handed. It was the most expensive item on the menu. The attendant nodded and allowed her to continue writing her college essay. She balanced a book on her thigh and typed hurriedly in an attempt to bang out the book report before she landed in Greece. She lazily ended the essay with a restatement of her thesis with little addition.

Flights always stressed her out. She would be away from any type of social media, so it was impossible to check up on questions, orders, or reviews. Even worse, she had to close down her online store because of “urgent family business”. Her friends knew she hated her family! They’d surely catch on and realize things weren’t right!

For this, she blamed her mother, Eris. If she were to make a top-ten list of worst potential Olympian mothers, Eris would be directly at the top. In an absolute inverse to Yogita, Eris didn’t care about anything. Consequences, public perception, and more be damned (though Yogi was skeptical about the public perception part). Her first and only impression made on the Olympian gods was an image of a hateful sociopath similar to her mother.

Years ago, when Eris came back into her life, she’d visited Olympus and met various gods, who gave her a spiteful look. Were they always like that? Was it because of Eris? Later on, they would attend a party in Greece attended by Harmonia, Eris’s sister who she had a vendetta against. They would be approached by one of Harmonia’s children, Acadia, who rightfully believed that they were there to spread chaos. Eris would hold her hand up to Acadia and effortlessly murder her in front of Yogita.

As Yogita sobbed, Eris brought her hands to the dead Olympian’s body, forcing Yogita to rest her open palm over her cold skin, unlocking her hidden power. Like her mother, she could absorb the powers of the dead as long as she made physical contact with them. According to Eris, it was called Enigma.

Yogita was snapped back into reality when she was served her meal, a spaghetti bolognese. The attendant seemed to be in a hurry, and Yogi’s head was in the clouds, so she wasn’t able to properly ask for silverware. She puckered her lip, imagining the image of a fork, visualizing it in her head. She winced, a slight stinging sensation coming from inside of her body. A glass handle sprouted from the inside corner of her eye, closest to her nose.

No matter what, the process was always a little uncomfortable. A quick pull would usually suffice. With one hand, she spread her eyelid open, using the mirror of her laptop screen, and the other, she grabbed onto the silverware handle seated inside of her eyeball and pulled.

Out came a glass fork from her eye. In her peripheral vision she saw the person from across the aisle look at her with their mouth agape.

“I…didn’t want to ask for silverware.” She peeped.



It all started when Yogita was walking across campus late at night after a party. She was the last person to leave, and she declined all of her friend’s offers to walk her back. When the spectral owl first appeared, likely sent by Athena (who she knew strikingly little about), she began to think she was seeing things through her drunken stupor. She remembered segments of it’s speech, but the ending was what stuck.

“You are one of the chosen. Will you heed our call? Olympus calls upon you!”

Yogita decided her answer was a resounding no. Sure, she believed in magic and the like. But fate? Who governed over this fate? Why had they chosen to give her of all people the short end of the stick? Besides, last time she’d become involved with the gods, she became widely hated. Less than a week later, she got a surprise call from her mother. It’d been years since she’d last seen her. A sneaky feeling told her that this “chosen” business would be brought up, but she felt like she owed Eris the visit.

When she got off the plane, she made her way to the closest coffee shop upon setting foot into Greece. The change in scenery was nice, but the bad memories and rush to end this meeting quickly caused her to miss the curvy olive trees, clean air, and stunning blue sky. She met Eris at Mythos taverne. A restaurant that sat by the water. As she entered, she saw boats of all sizes traveling in the distance.

Eris was equally beautiful and menacing. Her hair was a red, crimson shade and her eyes were similarly golden to Yogita’s. She had an umbrella by her side even though it wasn’t raining. She fiddled with a necklace while she was waiting for her daughter, her gloved hands implying she intended to get up to something illegal. She wore an olympian tunic that came down as a dress. It was baggy and sported a pinkish-red color. Her eyes twinkled when she saw Yogita approaching.

“Yogi! You made it! Just in time, too.” She exclaimed, putting on her best smile.

Yogita sat down across from Eris, keeping her distance. She sat her backpack down next to her chair, and got straight to business. “Why’d you insist I come here when you can just teleport into my bedroom, huh? Tell me what you want so I can go home.”

Eris chuckled. “Just like your mother. All about business and agendas, eh? It’s not usually my place to convince, but the gods…need your help. Did you hear about the prophecy?”

“Of course. I don’t care. You should know better than anyone that all this fate stuff doesn’t matter.”

“Yes. Chaos is the natural order of the universe. Humans created fate as a way to cope with this realization. Even so, we have been given a guiding hand. Why would we ignore it? I don’t know what Athena told you, but this is bad. My father has taken far too much. I’m sure she dumbed it down, so I’ll tell you the truth[\i]. If Zeus is able to take control, he’ll be able to do whatever he wants. It’ll be us first. He’ll either kill us or keep us on tight leashes. After that, he’ll use the gods to control humanity. Humans pray to digital deities now. That’s the reason pure Olympian gods are losing their powers. It’s why I couldn’t simply port over to you.”

“Why is it me, though?! Why did the fates or whatever choose me of all people? My only claim to power is that I [i]robbed a dead girl of her powers. Maybe it’s better off if we’re forgotten.”

“Your choice. I created this for you.” Eris slid a necklace over to Yogita. It held a small capsule of magic within. “You can only use it a few times, and it’s attuned to demi-gods like yourself. Warping magic I created based on Hermes’ designs. My father almost caught me. If he got me, he surely would’ve given me a beating.”

She held the vial of magic up to her eye, peering at the pure magic, and then at her mother. A latent rage bubbled in her throat. It was only when she wanted something that her mother acted like a figment of a nurturing figure. She wanted to swear at her. She wanted to curse her name.

But that wouldn’t stop the apparent end-of-world scenario she was faced with.



Eris denied going along with her daughter. She’d claimed that she would only be a danger to Yogita and possibly others upon her arrival at Persephone’s garden, where they would meet Athena in the flesh. Despite Yogita’s hesitance (and contentment) she moved one foot in front of the other. She’d been given some currency, which she was ordered to give to Charon, the Underworld’s ferryman.

Her golden eyes stared into the rocky, crimson walls of the underworld’s maw. A red light source impossibly twinkled from behind the rock and traveled into infinity, adding a sinister twinkle to the inky black river Styx. Her attire; a baggy, oversized crewneck courtesy of her clothing brand, coupled with thigh-highs and boots, made her increasingly uncomfortable. She was dressed for a photoshoot, not a battle against fate itself!

She was dropped off in a familiar area. She imagined ultimate hellfire like skeptics told. Instead, Persephone’s garden was as extravagant as extravagance gets. Based on her mother’s description, this was the place. A dark, flowery collection of various flora. Colors of black, purple, and silver swirled.

She let out a gasp of fresh air. There was someone there, but no god that she’d recognize. A woman who looked like she’d walked out of the black and purple flowers. Her honey blonde hair contrasted the black and purple she wore. She looked like a fortune teller the way she was covered in jewelry. Yogita felt a little jealous. Her style was immediately outclassed.

An additional figure was walking in. A tall young man with curly black hair and deep brown eyes. Adverse to the woman she had seen there, he looked like he didn't belong, just like her. She noticed an unfamiliarity with Olympian culture with his gaze. Maybe this was someone worth getting close to. Someone who didn’t know of her alleged sins.

This was going to be so much more trouble than it was worth. I am not dying this way, she thought.