Di stood in the middle of a vast hall. Her hand ached under the weight of the Minotaur’s severed head. It felt absurdly heavy. Its grotesque, twisted features frozen in a macabre grimace. Her blood-soaked fingers gripped one of the beast’s twisted horns, but her gaze was far off as her mind tried to make sense of the strange space around her.

  The room was like nothing she had ever seen. The walls stretched high and reached into the stars above. Faint shadows danced among the stone and golden light. Columns of marble and bronze were just as tall, adorned with intricate carvings of Ancient Greek symbols. The floors were paved with polished gold and gleamed beneath the flickering light of torches that cast a surreal glow. The air smelled faintly of iron and incense. It was an odd, familiar scent that made her skin prickle.

  She glanced around, observing the people surrounding her. Some were injured, blood staining their clothes. Others appeared unscathed, their faces unreadable. But what struck her most was the silence. The air was thick with it, heavy and expectant, as if everyone was waiting for something.

  Her eyes landed on a girl standing nearby, her leg impaled by a jagged Minotaur horn. The blood dripped freely down her thigh, yet she stood as if the pain didn’t bother her. Di’s eyes flicked to the horn, and something clicked in her mind. The girl wasn’t alone. There were others around her marked with similar wounds.

  They had all fought a Minotaur as well.

  The thought was as clear as it was sudden. This wasn’t some random gathering. These people, all of them, had faced the same beast…and survived.

  Di’s fingers tightened on the head she held. She didn’t know why they were here, but she knew this wasn’t a coincidence.

  Just then, a figure appeared beside her. He materialised out of thin air much like she had a few moments ago.

  He stood just a little taller than Di, his imposing frame drenched in blood. His long black hair was tied back but loose strands clung to his skin, damp with sweat and gore. Scars ran deep across his face. They cut through his brow, his cheekbones, the corner of his mouth…enough to nearly obscure the beauty that lay beneath. And yet, somehow, it radiated forward anyway. As if no amount of brutality could strip it from him.

  In one hand he gripped a grotesque mess of intestines, probably the Minotaur’s. They were still slick with blood and barely contained in his fingers.

  His brown eyes flicked over the room, sharp and calculating. For a fleeting moment, there was something like confusion in them. But then they hardened.

  He did not move. He did not fidget. He stood beside her, utterly still, his presence a quiet declaration of control. Whatever had brought them here, whatever had torn them from where they’d been before, he was already adapting to it. Maybe he was already starting to suspect, as she did, what was happening.

  A voice boomed over the vast hall, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.

  “Welcome, children of Olympus.”

  The words sent a ripple through the gathered crowd. Some flinched, others froze, and a few simply watched with guarded expressions.

  Di’s looked up.

  Floating above them, standing in the air like it was solid ground, was a man. The wings on his sandals fluttered lazily and kept him effortlessly aloft. He was young-looking, athletic, his skin a warm brown that caught the torchlight and made him seem almost golden. His short, dark hair curled slightly at the edges, framing his features. A strong jaw, high cheekbones, and eyes that held quiet amusement.

  His clothes were a mix of old and new, as if he hadn’t quite settled on a single era. A deep blue tunic, sleeveless and draped just loosely enough to look effortless, cinched at the waist with a leather belt stamped with swirling patterns. The hem fell to his mid-thigh, revealing fitted black pants. They were tucked into the golden sandals, strapped high up his calves in a style that should have been ancient but somehow looked sleek and effortless. A dark leather jacket was thrown over one shoulder, worn open and unzipped, the kind that looked like it had been stolen off a particularly expensive runway. It should have clashed with the rest, but somehow, on him, it didn’t.

  He held a staff in one hand. It was a smooth rod topped with a pair of outstretched wings and twin serpents coiling around it.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  It was Hermes.

  Hermes hovered above them, one leg crossed casually over the other like he was lounging in midair. He twirled his staff in his hand, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

  “Well, well, well,” he drawled, grinning like a cat who had just found an unattended fish market. “Look at you lot. Still standing. Bleeding, sure. A little worse for wear, absolutely. But standing! That’s the important part.”

  He gestured broadly to the room, to the towering columns, the gleaming gold, the flickering torchlight. “Welcome to Olympus. Home of the Gods, the legends, the occasional dramatic family feud… Really, we have it all.”

  Di fought the urge to roll her eyes.

  Hermes clapped his hands together. “Now, introductions! Because I am nothing if not polite.” He flashed a dazzling smile. “I am Hermes. God of merchants, travelers, thieves,” he waggled his eyebrows. “and other extremely important things, like wit, cunning, and looking fantastic in a pair of winged sandals.”

  There was a beat of silence. Somewhere in the crowd, someone snorted.

  “Oh, and languages,” Hermes added, as if it were an afterthought. “Which is why you can all understand me right now.” He tapped his staff against his palm. “And why, no matter where you came from or what wildly obscure dialect you speak, you’ll be able to understand each other from now on. You’re welcome.”

  Another pause. Then a few murmurs of realization.

  “Oh, but accents stay,” he said, grinning mischievously. “We can’t just have everyone speaking in the exact same boring voice, now, can we? No, no, that would be dreadful. Accents are important. As Dionysus would say, ‘character.’”

  Di cringed.

  The man beside her shifted slightly, as if noticing her reaction, but she ignored him.

  “Now, onto the fun part. The reason you’re all here.” He lifted his staff and let it rest against his shoulder. “You, lucky souls that you are, have been chosen to take part in the Ektomia. A grand contest. A challenge of wit, strength, and survival. The prize?” He grinned, letting the pause drag out.

  Then, with great theatricality, he declared, “Godhood.”

  Silence.

  Then, all at once, the room erupted. Voices overlapped in confusion, disbelief, and, in some cases, outright laughter.

  Hermes let it happen. He adjusted the fit of his sandals, inspecting his nails like he had all the time in the world. Then, with a sharp whistle, the noise cut out.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, did I not mention the catch?” he said brightly. “Silly me. There can only be one winner.” He snapped his fingers. “And the rest of you? Well…you die.”

  The silence that followed was different this time. Heavier.

  “Now, before anyone asks, no you don’t have a choice. No, you can’t sit this one out. And no, you definitely shouldn’t make any other plans for this time next week, because like it or not, you’ll be summoned back here. So try not to be otherwise occupied.” He gave an easy shrug. “Don’t bother complaining to me, though. I don’t make the rules. I just love delivering them. Zeus did try to explain all this once. Multiple times, actually. He was terrible at it. There were long speeches, a lot of dramatic pauses, and a scroll so massive it took three hours to get through,” Hermes sighed. “But let me spare you the pain and get to the important part. You fight for the honour of godhood. You refuse? You die. You surrender? You die. Nice and simple, isn’t it?”

  Then, clapping his hands, he straightened. “But before we get to the bloodshed, we have introductions to get through. Can’t just have you lot hacking away at each other without knowing who you’re trying to kill.”

  He gestured toward the towering golden doors at the far end of the hall. “You’ll all be brought into the main chamber in groups, according to parentage. That means all of Poseidon’s brats together, all of Aphrodite’s little charmers, and so on.”

  There was a pause. Then, Hermes sighed dramatically. “And, of course, we’ll start with the cannon fodder.” He made a vague, dismissive motion. “Dionysus, Apollo, the usual lot. And then, at the very end, we’ll get to Zeus’ children. I’m not making that mistake again. Takes forever to introduce them all.”

  Di’s fingers twitched around the Minotaur’s horn.

  Cannon fodder?

  Beside her the bloodied man shifted. His shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, and his grip on the grotesque, glistening mess of coils still clutched in his fist twisted just slightly. It wasn’t hard to imagine what he was thinking.

  Honestly, if he tried to strangle Hermes with them, Di thought she might help.

  But before either of them could make a move, the golden doors at the end of the hall groaned open. Hermes was suddenly inside the chamber, standing at the far end with his staff resting lazily on his shoulder. A long scroll materialized in front of him in a flicker of golden light. He caught it effortlessly, unfurling it with an exaggerated flourish.

  He cleared his throat dramatically. “And now, we begin. As always, we start with the ones that, statistically speaking, tend to drop like flies.” His gaze flicked up, bright with mischief. “The children of Dionysus.”

  Hermes’ smirk deepened as he scanned the scroll. “Oh, now this is fun.” He cleared his throat, then, with great dramatic flair, announced, “Dionysia Kourakis.”

  A few people snickered.

  Hermes grinned. “Dionysia… A little on the nose, isn’t it?”

  A few more chuckles rippled through the crowd, some bolder than others. Someone outright snorted.

  Hermes, clearly pleased with himself, gestured grandly. “Come on now, don’t be shy. Step forward, Dionysia. Or do you need a little liquid courage first?” He grinned. “I’m sure dear old dad would approve.”

  Di’s arm shook with a violent urge to punch Hermes square in the jaw, but she pushed it down. She knew that she would be dead before she even got the chance to try.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Instead, she inhaled slowly and straightened her posture. A sharp pain lanced through her ribs at the movement, deep and aching, but she forced herself not to react. Not to wince. She tightened her grip on the Minotaur’s horn, steadying herself, and stepped forward.

  Di moved through the crowd, every step a reminder of the battle she’d just endured. The pain in her ribs throbbed with each motion, a sharp, constant ache that made her breathe shallowly. She forced herself to ignore it. To push through the weight of exhaustion and discomfort. The eyes of the crowd were upon her. Some snickered, others sized her up like a fresh piece of meat. She didn’t care. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her falter.

  When she stepped into the main hall, the sheer size of the room hit her like a wave. The ancient stone walls stretched high above her, the ceiling lost in shadow. Massive columns lined the hall and rich, vivid paintings adorned the walls, showing scenes of triumph, power, and myth.

  The scent of roasted meats and fresh bread filled the air, drawing her gaze to a long table piled high with food. Her stomach clenched painfully, the reminder of hunger a sharp contrast to the exhaustion and pain that still pulsed through her body. She hadn’t eaten in what felt like forever.

  But her stare quickly lifted, her eyes drawn upward to the landing above. The Gods. A group of towering figures sat in seats that were nothing less than thrones, positioned high above the hall, watching the events unfold below. The booth was grand, its pillars winding like twisting vines, golden in the dim torchlight. Each of the Gods sat with an air of casual superiority. Their gazes were piercing as they looked down at her. As if she were nothing more than an insect.

  “Next up,” Hermes announced, his tone dripping with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Callum Barry.”

  Di glanced to the side as a boy stepped forward. He was young, probably no older than thirteen, but he moved with the casual ease of someone who wasn’t particularly bothered by the weight of the Gods staring down at them. Dirty blonde hair fell in messy waves over his forehead, and sharp blue eyes flicked around the room with quiet curiosity. His sun-kissed skin and the loose, worn-out hoodie hanging off his frame gave him the air of a kid who probably spent more time at the beach than anywhere else. His shorts were frayed, and his sneakers were well-loved, scuffed from years of use.

  Callum turned to Hermes with an easy smile. “Yeah, nah. It’s just Bazza.” His Australian accent was thick, his tone casual, like they were chatting at a barbecue instead of standing in a hall full of killers and deities.

  Hermes blinked at him. Then wrinkled his nose. “That’s not happening.”

  Callum shrugged, entirely unbothered, then turned to Di. His grin widened. “How's it goin’, sis?”

  Di barely had time to respond before Callum’s gaze dropped, and for the first time, he noticed the Minotaur’s head still clutched in her grip. His eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Did you rip that fucker’s head off?” He let out a delighted laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “What a sick cunt.”

  Di’s entire body tensed. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

  Callum blinked, his grin fading a little but never seeming to completely disappear. “Oi, relax, it’s a compliment.” He threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Means you’re a fuckin’ legend.”

  Di stared at him for a moment, weighing his words, before letting out an irritated exhale. “Right.”

  Hermes clapped his hands together, averting their attention back to him. “Ah, what a lovely little family reunion.” He swept a hand toward them, then to the space beside them. “And speaking of family, why don’t you meet the rest of your siblings?”

  With a snap of his fingers, a pile of bodies materialized a few feet away.

  Di didn’t flinch, but Callum swore, taking an instinctive step back. The corpses were heaped together with tangled limbs and twisted forms. Blood pooled beneath them, seeping into the cracks of the stone floor. Some faces were frozen in expressions of terror, others slack in death. The stench was immediate, thick and suffocating.

  Hermes let out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, I’d introduce them properly, but…” He waved a hand dismissively. “They’re all dead, so who really cares?”

  A deep, booming laugh echoed through the hall, reverberating off the stone walls like distant thunder. Di’s attention snapped upward, her muscles tensing.

  At the center of the Gods’ landing, lounging with an ease that didn’t quite match the weight of his presence, sat Zeus with a smile plastered on his face.

  He was a massive figure, broad-shouldered and powerful even in rest. His full beard and thick hair fell past his shoulders, the colour a stark white-grey, like storm clouds moments before they broke. His eyes, sharp and piercing, were the color of lightning itself. Silver and crackling with a barely contained energy.

  He wore a traditional blue exomis, a simple tunic pinned over one shoulder, leaving the other bare. The thick fabric was woven from the finest materials and had intricate storm-cloud patterns embroidered along its edges. They shifted subtly in the flickering torchlight. A heavy yellow himation was draped over the same shoulder, fastened at his chest with a golden eagle-shaped pin. The exposed muscles of his arm, still thick with power despite his age, only reinforced what the myths had always claimed. That Zeus was not just a king of Gods. He was a force of nature.

  And right now, he was watching them with amused curiosity.

  “Well,” he said, his voice carrying effortlessly through the hall, “at least some of Dionysus’ spawn have fight in them.”

  Hermes tapped his staff idly against his shoulder. “Hey, better than the last Ektomia. None of Dionysus’ kids even made it past the first trial that time. Real shame. Though, in fairness, you can’t drink your way out of a flood.” He sighed dramatically. “Turns out, half-drowned demigods don’t put up much of a fight.”

  Zeus laughed again, deep and indulgent, his silver eyes glinting. “Yes, well…” His gaze swept over Di and Callum as if they were particularly unimpressive offerings. “The bar was rather low. But I suppose we should give credit where it’s due. These two have managed to survive…so far.”

  Callum shifted beside Di and his jaw tightened slightly. If he had anything to say to that, he swallowed it down.

  Zeus exhaled through his nose, the sound thick with condescension. “Well, Dionysus.” He turned his head slightly. “Perhaps you’d like to greet your surviving children. It’s not every day one of yours, let alone two, makes it this far.”

  There was something pointed in his tone, an edge of amusement, like he was enjoying this far too much.

  Across the landing, a figure stirred. All eyes turned toward Dionysus as he jumped down.

  He landed with effortless grace, his bare feet touching the stone floor as if he’d simply stepped down from a ledge instead of leaping from above.

  He was tall, broad-shouldered, but with an undeniable elegance to his frame. There was a natural ease that made every movement seem deliberate. Like a dancer caught in the first steps of a performance only he knew the rhythm to. His features were striking; high cheekbones, full lips, and a jawline sharp enough to cut. Pretty. That was the word for him, and yet there was something just slightly off about it. Something that made it impossible to tell if the softness in his face was real or just a trick of the dim torchlight.

  His chestnut-brown hair was long and wild with thick curls cascading past his shoulders and framing his face in a way that should have been unkempt, but instead only added to his beauty. And then there were his eyes. They were violet, deep, and rich like the colour of Concord grapes. They shimmered with an unnatural intensity that made it impossible to hold his gaze for too long without feeling like you were being pulled into something vast and unknowable.

  He wore a loose, deep purple silk shirt, the collar open to reveal the golden chains resting against his olive-toned skin. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms, adorned with golden bangles and braided leather bracelets. His pants were well-tailored but relaxed, a dark fabric that moved with him like it wasn’t quite obeying the laws of gravity.

  He smelled like wine and honey and something else…the fresh bite of crushed ivy, the sweetness of ripe figs hanging heavy from the vine.

  Dionysus was swaying ever so slightly where he stood, as if the ground beneath him was gently rocking. Then his face split into a broad, lazy grin.

  “My children!” he declared, throwing his arms out wide. “Good to see you not dead!” He laughed, a warm, musical sound that was just a little too loud for the situation.

  A goblet of wine materialized in his hand as if summoned by sheer instinct, deep red liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim as he raised it in a half-hearted toast. He took a long, indulgent sip, humming in satisfaction before lazily waving a hand at them. “So,” he drawled, “entertain me. Tell me how you beat your Minotaurs. I do so love a good story.”

  Callum perked up immediately, his grin returning full force. “Oh, easy, mate,” he said like this was just another casual chat. “I gave the bastard a whack right in the snout. BAM. Stunned ‘im good. Then, uh…” He hesitated for only half a second before plowing ahead, confidence unwavering. “Then I jumped on ‘is back, yeah? Wrapped me arms ‘round ‘is massive bloody neck. Kinda like wrestlin’ a croc, you know? And just held on. Little bugger went buckin’ all over the joint, but I kept me grip. Rode ‘im round like a rodeo bull till the little ripper tripped over ‘is own feet and WHAM!” He clapped his hands together loudly. “Face-first into a wall.”

  Silence hung in the air for a moment, the only sound the crackling of the torches.

  Callum rocked back on his heels, looking mighty pleased with himself. “Yeah,” he added with a nod. “Dead as.”

  Di scoffed, knowing full well that Callum was full of shit. She could barely understand half of what he was saying, and he spoke so fast that it was like he was trying to beat some sort of record. It wasn’t even about the story anymore; it was the way he threw words around like a goddamn whirlwind. She shot him a look, but didn’t bother calling him out on his lies. The kid was obviously putting on a show, and honestly, she couldn’t be bothered.

  Dionysus, though, was eating it up. He laughed loudly, sloshing wine out of his goblet. “Ah, that’s it, kid! Rode a Minotaur like a damn cowboy!” he slurred, raising his drink in a tipsy toast. “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!”

  Callum grinned wider at the praise, bouncing on his heels like he’d just won a prize. “Yeah, mate, it’s all in the wrist, you know? Gotta get a good grip!”

  Di rolled her eyes. She’d only just met the kid, but it felt like she’d known him for far too long already.

  Dionysus, clearly still enjoying himself, turned his attention to her next. “And you, my dear. How’d you handle your Minotaur?”

  Di didn’t answer. Instead, she held up the Minotaur’s head she’d been carrying and, without a word, tossed it. The severed head hit the stone floor with a solid thud and rolled to a stop at his feet.

  Dionysus blinked for a moment, then his eyes lit up with excitement. He scooped it up to examine the head.

  Dionysus turned it over in his hands, his violet eyes gleaming with something between admiration and amusement. He ran his thumb along one of the Minotaur’s curling horns, testing its sharpness before grinning wide.

  “Look what my daughter got for me!” he announced, holding the head aloft like some grand prize.

  Zeus, who had been watching with a look of distant boredom, scoffed. He leaned back, propping his chin against his fist. “So what?” His voice was edged with that ever-present loftiness. “I have hundreds of trophies from my children.”

  Dionysus, however, didn’t seem the least bit bothered. If anything, his grin widened, lazy and self-satisfied. “Yes,” he mused, twirling the Minotaur’s head slightly and watching how the firelight caught the curve of its horns. “But now I’ve got one.”

  There was something sharp in the way he said it, a quiet defiance beneath his usual languid drawl. Zeus’s expression barely flickered, but Di didn’t miss the way his fingers curled just slightly against the arm of his throne.

  Callum, apparently oblivious to any tension, let out an impressed whistle. “And it’s a beaut.”

  Dionysus hummed, tilting his head. “You know, I could have this preserved. Get it stuffed. Mounted.” He shot Di a smirk. “A little keepsake, to mark the occasion.”

  Di met his eyes, unimpressed. “Do whatever you want with it,” she said flatly.

  “Oh, I will.” He tossed the head once, catching it easily. “First one’s always special, after all. Maybe I’ll make it into a chalice. Start drinking my wine straight from a Minotaur’s skull. Really lean into the whole God of madness thing.”

  He turned the head this way and that, as if envisioning his masterpiece. “Or better yet! I’ll carve the horns into drinking cups. One for you, one for…uh, Bazza, was it?” He waved vaguely at Callum, who looked positively delighted by the suggestion. “And I’ll keep the skull for myself. A family that drinks together, hmm? Now that’s some quality father-child bonding.”

  Callum beamed with unfiltered joy. “Now there’s a bloody idea! Cheers dad!”

  Dionysus beamed, clearly pleased with himself, but before he could revel in his newfound fatherly triumph, Zeus let out a dry chuckle. “A sweet sentiment, but I wouldn’t get too attached to your little drinking set. You won’t be around long enough to enjoy it.”

  Laughter rippled through the Gods’ landing; a chorus of smug amusement echoing off the stone walls.

  But Di wasn’t looking at them.

  She was watching Dionysus.

  For just a moment, barely the length of a breath, she caught something in his face. It flashed behind the wine-sweet haze of his expression. It wasn’t quite anger, but it wasn’t amusement either. A brief, sharp thing, coiling just beneath the surface.

  And then it was gone.

  Dionysus threw his head back with a loud, careless laugh. He let go of the wine chalice and it remained floating in mid-air. He placed a hand on Callum’s shoulder and gave him an affectionate shake. “Oh, well, I guess we’d better drink fast, then!” he drawled, grinning wide.

  As he spoke, he reached out, aiming to clap a hand on Di’s shoulder. She swatted it away without hesitation, barely even looking at him.

  Dionysus only laughed harder, pulling his hand back with a lazy flourish. “Ah, there it is. The family resemblance.”

  Dionysus stretched his arms above his head, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the last bit of whatever sentiment had flickered through him. Then, with a broad, lazy grin, he waved them off.

  “Go on, then,” he said, grabbing his goblet and tipping it toward the feast laid out before them. “Eat, drink, be merry. Preferably in that order. And do try the wine.” His grin sharpened and his violet eyes gleamed. “It’ll be the best you’ve ever tasted.”

  Di didn’t need to be told twice. She turned on her heels and marched away. Her boots struck hard against the stone floor as she forced herself to put as much distance between herself and the Gods as possible.

  She could sense Callum following close behind, practically vibrating with excitement. His energy clashed with hers. His steps were lighter. Like he was still buzzing from the interaction…like he thought they had a chance.

  Di knew the truth. That he would die. That he had no chance of survival, and if it came down to it, she would kill the boy herself.

  She didn’t look back.