The council chamber, located in the heart of Olympus, had no walls. Only cyclopean columns of gleaming marble, covered by eternally flowering vines. The ceiling was the sky itself, transparent and changing, displaying constellations visible even in broad daylight. Twelve thrones, each different in design and essence, ford a perfect circle. And now, one by one, they began to fill up.
Zeus occupied the central throne, higher than the others, crowned by a sculpture of an eagle with outstretched wings. To his right, Hera accompanied him, with the dignity of a queen who never needed to raise her voice to impose authority.
Athena occupied Zeus' left flank, though she remained standing, her helt thrown back and her spear resting against the back of her throne, whose base resembled a miniature library carved in stone. Her gaze remained fixed on the void, as if she were still gathering her thoughts. The hall, despite the multitude of deities, was silent, expectant. Everyone waited for her to resu her statent.
Athena did not keep them waiting long.
"Returning to the subject," she said in her clear, firm voice, "I saw him for the first ti in Athens. He was just a young man, or so he seed. He was talking to the outcasts, to the people of Athens. I didn't think it was anything important. He seed like one of those many seekers of faith, those who hope to gather believers without really understanding what mortals want."
Apollo, who was resting with his elbow resting on his golden throne, frowned. The lyre behind him emitted a faint note, as if reflecting his unease.
"And it never occurred to you that perhaps this 'faith seeker' could have co from the island of Euthysia? The island may have been sending signals of its awakening without us knowing."
Artemis, sitting not far away, raised her head with a serious expression. The living wooden throne that supported her seed to breathe with her.
"The island has always sent signals," she interjected sharply. 'I myself have dread of it in the past. I have felt the tremors in the earth beneath my feet, the subtle changes in the flight of birds, in the rhythm of the wind. Euthysia does not awaken in silence."
"But lately...' she added, lowering her voice a little, "it has been asleep. Too asleep."
Hephaestus, who was wiping soot stains from his hands with a tanned leather rag, grunted from his cast-iron throne.
"Asleep does not an dead. The earth still breathes in its slumber. But if we are honest, dreams no longer an what they once did. Morpheus has beco careless lately. He sends visions to mortals and gods alike without filter or intent."
"Are you accusing Morpheus of manipulating divine perception?" asked Hera, narrowing her eyes.
"Not manipulating," replied Hephaestus, shrugging with a crooked smile. "I'm just saying he's beco more... creative."
Dionysus, his legs crossed and a glass that never seed to empty in his hand, chuckled softly.
"What if this Akhon is just that? A collective hallucination born of a shared dream? Maybe Morpheus just wanted to amuse us. Maybe this is all a ga and we're just playing along."
"It's not an illusion," Athena interjected sternly, glancing sideways at Dionysius. "I saw him. I heard him speak. There was nothing fantastical about the way he acted. And above all, I could feel the divinity emanating from his body. This confused , but I assud he might be a demigod searching for his purpose in the world."
"And what is that purpose?" asked Hera. 'To found a village among ruins and gather followers like a mystical beggar? Is that what we define as divinity now?"
"Perhaps,' murmured Hestia for the first ti since she had arrived. Her voice was soft, like the crackling of a burning hearth. "After all, what was Protheus but a thief who shared fire? What was Dionysus but a madman followed by won dancing in the woods? And Aphrodite? Was she not born from the foam created by the fall of a part of Uranus?"
Aphrodite smiled as if accepting a well-spoken complint.
"I see you still rember my story fondly, dear Hestia."
"History will rember you in any case," corrected Hestia. "I just make sure the fire doesn't go out."
The comnt silenced even Dionysus. The tension grew, not like an impending conflict, but like the accumulation of ideas that no one could ignore.
Zeus then raised his hand slightly, and a faint thunderclap echoed beneath the marble.
"We speak of signs, of dreams, of vigils. But we forget sothing more important," he said, his voice grave and powerful: "Mortals believe in him. They believe without coercion. Without fear. Without the need for punishnt. And was that not the beginning of all divinity?"
The silence was thick. Even Hers, who had been distracted playing with a silver coin spinning in the air, stopped his ga.
Zeus looked back at Athena.
"Could you identify anything else? A gesture, a word, a sign that seed... out of place?"
Athena thought for a mont. She lowered her gaze, as if searching the margins of her mory.
"Now that you ntion it, Father, there was sothing in his voice. It wasn't divine, but it wasn't human either. As if... he were speaking from a place where both worlds et. That puzzled . He wasn't afraid of the gods, but he wasn't arrogant either. He listened to as if I were his equal."
"Perhaps it's because she's still young. Young people often don't asure the tone in which they say things," said Apollo, without looking up from his lyre. His fingers danced gently over the strings, producing a low note that resonated in the air. His voice was calm, but laden with the wisdom of centuries lived between inspiration and madness.
"Apollo is right," interjected Hers, who was skillfully twirling a golden dagger between his fingers as if it were a feather. 'Besides, young people sotis don't know what they're doing. They don't even understand the weight of their actions, let alone their words."
Apollo glanced at him and smiled. 'Speaking from experience, Hers?"
The room filled with brief, stifled laughter. Hers raised an eyebrow amusedly as he shrugged. "It could be. So mistakes beco lessons, and other tis, stories that are best not repeated in front of the Titans..."
"What do you propose, then?" Hera asked firmly, turning to Zeus. Her voice had regained its queenly tone: temperate, but unyielding. "That we claim him as one of our own? That we put him on trial as an impostor? Or simply set him free, without guidance or supervision?"
Zeus did not answer imdiately. He had leaned back slightly in his throne, but his eyes remained fixed on the image suspended in the center of the council, where Akhon's face was still shrouded in that faint glow. Finally, his voice rose above the murmur of the celestial wind.
"First," he said, with that gravity known only to thunder, "we must understand what has happened. Where did he co from, why was he not seen before? Why did no one guide him or claim him? This is not a simple oversight. It is a crack in the fabric of order."
Aphrodite, sitting gracefully on her golden throne—whose base was woven with roses that never wilted—let out a dramatic sigh as she stretched her legs elegantly.
"All this for a pretty boy with a mysterious aura," she said, tilting her head with a mischievous smile. "If you want, I can go talk to him. I have a... way of making them talk."
The words fell lightly, but no one in the room ignored the hidden weight of the proposal. Even her throne seed to lean forward slightly, as if seduction itself had materialized with her voice.
"No one is unaware of what your 'way' implies," replied Artemis, her tone as cold as the mountains she was patroness of. Her eyes, dark as night, fixed on Aphrodite's with the sa disdain with which a huntress looks at a poorly concealed trap.
"Perhaps that will make him talk faster," replied Aphrodite, still smiling with feigned innocence. "Everyone knows I can be very... persuasive."
"Enough." Hera's voice fell like a stone into a calm pond, causing even the lotus petals floating between the pillars of the hall to tremble. Her expression was one of utter annoyance, and not for the first ti that day. "Hephaestus, control your wife, please."
The blacksmith god, seated on his throne forged from iron and petrified lava, snorted with a resigned gesture. His arm, still stained with soot, rested heavily on the backrest.
"She is my wife, not my slave," he growled. "Although I admit I could talk to her... later."
Aphrodite shot him a sidelong glance, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. "Your tenderness always moves , dear."
It was then that Hades appeared at the edge of the hall, unannounced. His black robe fluttered silently, and the air around him seed to drop several degrees.
"Am I late?" he asked with a crooked smile.
Zeus looked at him with a mixture of tolerance and resignation. "As always. But not too late."
Hades approached slowly, crossing the circle. He did not sit on a throne, but remained standing, staring at the pool of water where Akhon's image was still alive, now showing the young man drawing lines on the ground, while villagers followed him like disciples.
"Interesting," he murmured. 'I don't know him."
"We already know that,' said Ares.
"What I an," Hades continued unperturbed, "is that there is no trace of him in the records of the Underworld. He did not die. He was not reborn. He was not molded by Protheus. He is not a fragnt of recycled soul. He is new."
Hestia looked at him thoughtfully. "That's what worries . Because if neither death nor life knows him... where did he co from?"
Athena nodded. "His consciousness is awake, his essence reacts to power, and yet he has carved his own path."
Zeus rested his golden staff on the ground. The sound was soft, but everyone fell silent.
"Olympus has survived wars, betrayals, invasions. We have seen gods born from foam, from thought, from emptiness. But there were always signs, paths, or so reason."
He stood up, his presence filling the air.
"Akhon, this young god... was born without witnesses. He has risen without help. He is founding a city and has claid dominion over power as his own. And more importantly... he is easily gathering followers."
He looked at each one, as if weighing their reactions. "The problem is not that he exists. The problem is that we don't know why he exists."
Hers cleared his throat. "One possibility is that the Titans had sothing to do with it. There are cracks in the seals that contained so of them. Small, but... active."
That put everyone on alert.
"Are you saying Cronus had sothing to do with it?" asked Apollo.
"Not directly," said Hers. "But the energy that feeds the seals is fluctuating. And if sothing managed to leak through..."
"They didn't create him with war in mind," interrupted Hestia, calmly. "That young man is not a weapon."
"Perhaps not," said Zeus. 'But he could beco one."
The atmosphere beca tense.
It was Athena who broke the silence.
"I propose that we observe him. One of us should accompany him, without intervening too much. To get to know him. To gauge him. Not as a threat, but as a phenonon."
"Are you volunteering?' asked Hera.
Athena hesitated, then shook her head. "I wouldn't be impartial. I've seen him once. Better soone who knows how to move between worlds without upsetting the balance."
Everyone looked at Hers.
He sighed. 'Another mission to Earth? Just when I'd found a decent tavern in Delphi..."
"Will you do it?' asked Zeus, without a trace of humor.
Hers nodded, resigned. "I'll go. And if anything is out of place... you'll know."
"Perfect," said Zeus.
Ares stretched out on his throne. "What if he rebels? What if he forms his own cult and starts raising arms?"
"Then we'll stop him," said Artemis, firmly.
"As we always have," added Poseidon.
"As if we ever stopped putting out fires," Dionysus muttered, raising his cup.
And as the council began to disperse, voices continued to discuss possibilities, ancient myths, and forgotten mories. They spoke of the ages when humans still feared the sky, of the days when the gods walked among them. Of spontaneous births, like that of Aphrodite, or the outbreaks of war, like Ares. Of tis when thrones were not needed to rule, only presence.
Zeus was left alone for a mont, the vision of Akhon still floating before him. The young god, dust on his face, talking to humble people who looked at him with hope.
The king of the gods frowned slightly.
"Not all storms begin with thunder, so what kind of storm are you, Akhon?"
And the wind blew again between the columns.
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