I Am Zeus

The Greek realm stirred.

It didn't happen all at once. It came in fragments—like cracks appearing in marble before the statue fell.

Ships that sailed the Aegean vanished in fogs that belonged to no sea. The Nile's waters, once calm, surged backward, flooding fields with black silt. The winds that usually obeyed the peaks of Olympus howled out of control, shredding crops, collapsing villages.

And then came the intrusions. Not Titans. Not mortals. Not monsters.

Gods.

Strangers.

From the east, Shinto kami danced across rivers, stealing offerings meant for nymphs. From the north, Norse spirits stirred in the mountains, their axes echoing through passes that had never known them. From the deserts, faint shadows of Devas flickered, their auras so strong that the air split, their presence alone bending worship away from shrines of Olympus.

The realm was being tested, its borders poked and stretched. Olympus itself hadn't yet been attacked, but the message was clear: the Greek gods were no longer untouchable.

On the highest peak, Zeus called his brothers.

Poseidon rose from the sea, trident dripping foam onto the marble. His eyes were storm-dark, his expression set. "The waters of my domain churn with strangers. They fish without fear, they dive where no mortal should. Do you know what that means?"

Hades unfolded from shadow, his cloak trailing faint whispers of the dead. "It means they don't fear us anymore," he said. "Even the rivers of Styx carried a ripple that wasn't mine." His face was unreadable, but the weight in his tone told enough.

The three brothers stood together on the cracked floor of the council chamber. Lightning crawled faintly across Zeus's arms. He said nothing at first, letting the silence tighten. Then he spoke, voice sharp as the storm.

"Call them," Zeus commanded. "All of them. Major gods, minor gods, river gods, wind gods, spirits, muses, even the Titans that still breathe. If they live in the Greek realm, they will stand here now."

Hermes bowed, caduceus humming, and vanished in a golden streak.

The order spread like fire. And Olympus obeyed.

The amphitheater swelled with life. The thrones lit again, not just for the Olympians but for the ancients who had once stood beside them. Oceanus arrived, his form vast and watery, his beard dripping with salt, his voice like waves striking cliffs. Themis appeared, scales in hand, her eyes sharp, judging even as she sat. Beside her came Mnemosyne, calm, thoughtful, her gaze heavy with memory.

Demeter walked in slow, her hand brushing her swollen belly. The scent of wheat clung to her steps, though her eyes were dim with weariness. Leto came after, serene as the night, with a faint moon-glow in her hair. Maia followed, soft-spoken but steady, while Metis stood with cold wisdom, her expression unreadable.

And then Hera.

She stepped into the hall with her chin high, dressed in green. She did not bow. She did not speak. She moved to her seat and sat apart, her presence heavy, her silence louder than words. None forgot her betrayal. Her punishment was still bound by the Styx. But she was still Hera. And so she was present.

When the circle filled, the air thickened. Even the winds outside held still, waiting.

Zeus rose. His storm crown flickered faint above his head, faint enough that only the closest saw. His gaze swept the gathering—family, allies, enemies, betrayers, all here under one sky.

"Olympus," he said. The word cracked like thunder. "Our realm is no longer untouched. Strangers walk our seas, our mountains, our fields. They do not hide. They come openly. Because they know what we know."

He paused. None breathed.

"The Primordials are moving."

The words hit like a hammer. Oceanus leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. Themis's scales tilted faintly. Murmurs rippled through the minor gods, but no one spoke.

"They come not one by one," Zeus continued. "No longer testing us with whispers or shadows. They come as pantheons. As storms. Their children walk into our lands as if they own them." His hand tightened on the railing, lightning sparking once against the marble.

"They will not stop."

His voice lowered, sharp as a blade. "We cannot face this alone. Hermes."

In a streak of gold, Hermes reappeared. He bowed quickly, his sandals skidding against the stone as he stepped into the circle.

"I carried your summons," he said breathlessly. "To every throne. Every god-king. Odin. Amaterasu. Indra. I told them you called for counsel."

The amphitheater leaned forward. Zeus's eyes narrowed. "And?"

Hermes hesitated, his grin absent for once. "Odin came." He stepped aside, and there the All-Father entered—one-eyed, cloak trailing, spear in hand. His presence was heavy, not Primordial, but old enough to demand silence. He took a seat without bowing.

"And the others?" Zeus asked.

Hermes's face hardened. "They refused. Amaterasu said the kami will follow their mother, Izanami, if the time comes. Indra said the Devas walk with their Primordial fires, not with us. They will not come."

The silence was suffocating.

Oceanus's voice broke it, slow and deep. "Then the world is already against us."

Themis's scales clicked faintly. "No. Not the world. The roots. The first ones."

Mnemosyne murmured, her voice like a memory surfacing. "They have declared war. All of them."

Zeus's gaze did not waver. He looked to Odin, who leaned casually, his one eye burning like a storm contained.

"You came," Zeus said.

Odin smirked faintly. "The others hide behind their old ones. I've never been one for hiding." He tapped Gungnir against the floor. "But make no mistake, Sky King. If you fall, my realm will not weep."

Zeus's jaw tightened, but he inclined his head slightly. "Then sit. And watch."

Odin's grin widened faintly.

Poseidon slammed his trident against the floor. "Enough games. We must decide. If war is coming, if strangers walk our seas and skies, then Olympus cannot sit in silence."

Hades's voice was quieter, but it carried. "Then speak, brother. What do you demand of us?"

Zeus lifted his hand. Lightning hummed faintly, not striking, but waiting. His eyes swept the amphitheater again, over gods loyal and gods bitter, over wives past and present, over brothers, sisters, and betrayers.

"All of you," Zeus said. "Every name, every river, every mountain. You will stand under one law. Olympus answers as one. Or Olympus falls as one."

No one moved. Hera's gaze lingered, cold and distant. Demeter's hand brushed her belly, her face unreadable. Oceanus folded his arms, his tide swelling faintly around him.

Themis's scales tilted once more. And then she spoke, voice solemn, sharp.

"Then bind it. By the Styx."

The amphitheater stilled. Every god knew what that meant. Oaths unbreakable. Bonds that cut even gods.

Zeus's storm flickered faintly around his crown. His voice was calm, but the weight of it pressed into every chest.

"Then by the Styx," he said. "Olympus will stand."

The air itself trembled. The river's name whispered across the chamber, invisible but binding.

Far away, in shadows none could see, the Primordials felt the ripple. And they smiled.

Because the war was already moving.