The feast table was piled high with food; roasted meats glistening with fat, golden loaves of bread still steaming from the oven, bowls of fresh fruit and cheese, and pastries that looked almost too perfect to be real. Di stood at the edge of it as she bit into a leg of lamb, the rich juices dripping onto her fingers.

  Beside her, Callum was talking… And talking… And talking.

  “-and I swear the bloke was this close to gettin’ his face clawed clean off. Funniest thing I ever seen. I mean, probably not for him, poor fella, but for the rest of us? Hilarious-”

  Di tuned him out. She hadn’t been listening to begin with. He was speaking fast, barely pausing for breath, jumping from one story to the next like he was afraid silence might kill him.

  The introductions continued in the background. Aphrodite’s children were called forward after her and Callum, their names ringing through the hall. She barely noticed.

  Not until she saw him.

  The man from earlier.

  He stepped forward, still holding the Minotaur’s intestines like they were nothing but a long coil of rope. Blood had dried on his hands and stained his fingers dark.

  Di’s gaze flicked up to his face. He was watching the Gods, standing tall, his expression calm. She listened as his name was called.

  “Dean Huynh.”

  She committed it to memory. If only so she knew who to watch out for.

  Aphrodite rose from the Gods’ landing with a slow, languid grace and descended to greet her children just as Dionysus had. But where Dionysus had been all tipsy swagger and careless charm, Aphrodite moved like a dream. She was fluid, effortless, as if the very air bent to her will.

  Her hair was gold, not just in color but in the way it caught the light. It shimmered as it cascaded past her thighs in thick waves. Her sea-green eyes glowed like sunlit water, warm yet endless, capable of drowning anyone foolish enough to stare too long. She was full-figured. Her curves were draped in a white gown so thin and sleek it moved as though caught in a constant, invisible breeze. The fabric clung and shifted with every step, sheer enough to hint at the softness beneath. There was a gentle pouch to her belly that made her seem all the more real. Suddenly Di knew with horrible clarity that, if she had been mortal, she would have burned the world down just to touch her.

  But she wasn’t mortal. She was a Demigod. And all she saw now was a beautiful threat.

  When Aphrodite reached the floor she smiled, and it was the kind of smile that could restart a heart long dead.

  Something jabbed at Di’s arm.

  She tensed and jerked her head to the side to find Callum grinning up at her.

  “Bikkie?” He asked, wiggling a golden tray in front of her.

  Di stared at him. Then at the tray. It was piled high with golden brown biscuits. There was a dusting of sugar that clung to their rough surface, and some had little bits of dried fruit poking through.

  “No,” she said bluntly, making it very clear she had no interest in conversation. Or him. Or whatever the hell he was trying to offer her.

  If he got the message, he ignored it completely. He just shrugged and popped another one into his mouth, chewing happily. “Fair ‘nough,” he mumbled around it. “Wonder if they got any snags.”

  Di narrowed her eyes. “What the fuck is a snag?”

  Callum blinked at her like she’d just asked the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “You know, snags. Sausages?” He gestured vaguely at the feast table. “Chuck ‘em on the barbie, put ‘em in some bread with tomato sauce, good stuff. If you ever visit I’ll get you one from Bunnings. Nothin’ better than a Bunnings snag.”

  Di sighed sharply through her nose, eyes flicking back to where Aphrodite was greeting her children. She wished with everything in her that Callum would take his tray of ‘bikkies’ and fuck off. But he just kept standing there, completely at ease, still munching away.

  Aphrodite moved to each of her children with slow, deliberate ease, offering each one the kind of attention that could make a person believe they were the most cherished thing in the world. A touch here, a whispered word there, a soft laugh that curled around the edges of a name. Everything she did was practiced, perfected, effortless.

  Then she reached Dean.

  She stopped in front of him and tilted her head as though seeing him for the first time. Her sea-green eyes dropped to what he held and her lips parted on a soft, breathy sound.

  “Oh,” she murmured, reaching out.

  Dean, without hesitation, handed over the coil of Minotaur intestines. She took them delicately. Her fingers glided over the dried blood as though tracing the petals of a rare flower. Her eyes shone with something reverent, something enraptured.

  “Look at this,” she whispered. She lifted the intestines higher, turning them in the warm glow of the light. “The colour…just like rubies, don’t you think? Or pomegranate seeds split open in the sun.” She dragged her nails over the surface, eyes flicking between the blood-dark tissue and Dean himself. “And the texture… divine. There’s a strength to it. A rawness. A body built for power, reduced to something so soft…so malleable.”

  Di huffed. So the Goddess of love and beauty was fucking crazy? Good to know.

  Aphrodite gave a delighted little hum, then wrapped the intestines around her neck. They draped over her collarbones like a macabre scarf. Their dark red hue was stark against the near-transparent white of her dress. The blood was still slightly wet in places and it seeped into the silk, blooming like flowers against her skin.

  She didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did and she simply didn’t care.

  Instead, she lifted her hands and examined the blood smeared across her fingertips. She turned them this way and that, watching the way the crimson gleamed in the candlelight. Then with a pleased hum, she brought her hands to her cheeks and smoothed the blood into her skin.

  “You know,” she hummed, rubbing slow circles into her cheekbones, “Minotaur blood is wonderful for the complexion. So much iron, so much vitality. It nourishes.” Aphrodite exhaled, her expression utterly serene, as if she were standing in a field of flowers rather than draped in a dead creature’s innards.

  “You fared well against the Minotaur.” A new voice cut through Di’s focus. It was monotone and flat, but not entirely lifeless. There was something there, buried under the weight of disinterest. A flicker of curiosity too dim to catch flame.

  Di turned.

  The man standing before her had a presence that was hard to ignore, though he seemed determined not to stand out. His hair was black, and fell messily around his face. It was thick and the ends curled slightly as they brushed against his shoulders. The man’s stubble was thick, as if he hadn’t bothered with a razor for at least a few weeks. A scar ran across his cheek, jagged and pale, stretching from the edge of his jaw to his upper lip, cutting straight through the stubble in a sharp, unforgiving line.

  His eyes were light brown, almost amber, but the look in them was distant and tired.

  He wore a simple, cheap tunic. It’s rough fabric was a faded and dull brown, hanging loosely from his frame with a few uneven tears along the hem. His belt was a plain strip of leather that tightly secured around his waist. His broad shoulders and the powerful muscles of his arms were almost swallowed by the simplicity of his clothing. The strength was still there, but it was hidden beneath the fabric, as though he no longer cared to show it off.

  On his feet were sandals made of thin straps, the kind that wrapped tightly around his ankles and up to his calves. The soles were thin and cracked from years of wear. They seemed both humble and functional, built for long walks across rough terrain rather than any sort of grandeur.

  Di took another bite of her lamb leg. The rich meat tore easily between her teeth and her eyes remained fixed on the man. She didn’t say a word, her gaze unwavering, as though she could silently dare him to turn away.

  She wasn’t in the mood for talking. Especially not to anyone found on Olympus.

  The man didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

  Behind her, Callum suddenly perked up, his voice cutting through the tension like a shrill whistle. “Fuckin’ oath! She took it’s head clean off, like it was nothing!”

  The man only spared Callum a passing glance before his attention returned to Di. The disinterest still clung to him but there was something about the way he stared at her, as if trying to piece together a riddle that wasn’t quite his to solve.

  “How did you accomplish such a feat?” he asked, his tone a little sharper now. “The Minotaur’s hide is thick, its muscles dense. Too dense for most to get through. Even Demigods would struggle to tear through it like that. And you did tear through it, didn’t you? No blade could leave a wound like that.”

  Di’s silence stretched, thick and unyielding, like a wall that refused to fall. She didn’t look away, but she didn’t answer either.

  She didn’t owe him anything. Least of all an explanation.

  Her fingers tightened around the lamb leg as she took a final bite and tossed it over her shoulder. Before it could even touch the ground it vanished. As if by some divine will to keep the halls of Olympus spotless.

  The tension between them thickened, but Di was already hoping he’d take the hint and just leave her the hell alone. Instead, the man seemed to lean in, still watching her with that insistent stare.

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Perhaps I grant more credit than is due. Was it merely fortune that favored you? Did you stumble upon the Minotaur already brought low? Or perhaps…”

  His voice trailed off as if he were savoring the moment, relishing in the discomfort of pushing her, prodding for a reaction.

  Di’s jaw tightened but she still didn’t say a word. Her hands slowly clenched at her sides, almost shaking with the urge to hit him square across the jaw.

  A cruel little smirk tugged at the corner of the man’s mouth. “Perhaps you cheated. Tricked another to wield the blade in your stead, sparing your own hands the stain of battle.”

  The stillness in Di shattered like glass.

  In a flash she had moved forward, close enough now to smell the alcohol on his breath.

  “I rammed its fucking head into an oncoming train then tore it off.” She gritted her teeth with barely restrained fury. “But why the fuck do you care so much?”

  For a split second the man’s expression shifted. There was a flicker of approval mixed with the faintest hint of amusement, then a hollow smile crept across his face. “I vanquished the original.”

  Di scoffed in disbelief. “You’re Theseus?”

  She looked him over once more, searching for some sign that she might have missed…but there was nothing.

  This man couldn’t possibly be the hero from the Greek myths. He didn’t look like the King of Athens who unified Attica, or the Demigod who had conquered the Labyrinth and slayed the Minotaur.

  He just looked like a washed-up drunk.

  “No fuckin’ way… Theseus? Like, the Theseus?” Callum’s entire face lit up, eyes wide with the kind of unfiltered excitement usually reserved for kids meeting their sports heroes. “Mate, this is unreal. I thought you’d be, I dunno, dead or somethin’.”

  Theseus exhaled, slow and tired.

  “A God cannot die.”

  He said it not with pride, not with any hint of reverence, but with the flat certainty of someone who had long since stopped finding comfort in the fact.

  Di’s fingers twitched. The words rattled something loose in her mind, pieces falling into place before she had fully reached for them. Theseus had been a Demigod once. If he was a God now, then there was only one way he could have gotten there.

  The Ektomia.

  He had fought before. He had competed and become something more.

  And, if the gods had deemed him worthy, that meant…

  She snorted, crossing her arms. “You expect me to believe you won?”

  Theseus didn’t defend himself. He just stood there with that same tired indifference clinging to him like a second skin. For the briefest moment, though, Di caught something else in his eyes. Something far away. Guilt, maybe. Or regret. It was gone before she could recognise it, smothered beneath years of practiced apathy.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  She tilted her head, gaze flicking toward the landing where the gods sat watching, waiting for their childrens’ names to be called. “If you’re really a God, why aren’t you over there? Shouldn’t you be pretending to care about your kids?”

  Theseus huffed out something that might have been a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “I have no children. Too great an effort, only to see them slain. Besides, there is far more sport in witnessing the offspring of other Gods meet their end.”

  Di sneered at him. “I’m not dead yet.”

  Theseus straightened slightly. The shift was small, but it made him seem taller, heavier. “As the God of foresight, allow me to grant you a glimpse of what is to come. Not a single child of Dionysus has ever surpassed the third trial. Not in all the thousands of years the Ektomia has been held.” Theseus tilted his head toward the feast table. “So, savor the feast while you can, for it, in all likelihood, will be your last.”

  Theseus lingered for only a moment longer, watching Di with that same detached gaze. Then, without another word, he turned and strode off into the crowd. He vanished between the feasting tables and the golden glow of the torches.

  Callum exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “He’s a bit of a cunt, ay?”

  Di huffed and crossed her arms. “So is that a good thing or a bad thing? I can’t tell anymore.”

  “Bit of both, really. You? You’re a sick cunt.” He gestured vaguely in the direction Theseus had disappeared. “That bloke, though? Just a cunt.”

  Di shot him an exasperated look but didn’t bother arguing. She would never understand the weird sliding scale of insults that Callum seemed to operate on. As far as she was concerned, the word had always been an insult. No exceptions.

  She shook her head, muttering, “Right. Sure. Whatever.”

  Callum clapped her on the shoulder, nodding toward the feast table. “C’mon then, sick cunt. If this is gonna be our last feast, might as well make it a good one. Let’s look for those snags.”

  That Di could agree on.

  She focused on filling her plate and shoveling food into her mouth with single-minded determination. If she had to sit through this pompous parade of Demigods, she was at least going to do it on a full stomach.

  Callum, however, seemed determined to test her patience.

  “Oi, try this,” he said, shoving a platter of roasted meat in her direction.

  Di didn’t look up. “No.”

  “C’mon, just a bite.”

  “If I wanted it, I’d get it myself.”

  Callum snorted. “Yeah, but this way, you don’t have to.”

  Di gave him a deadpan look before deliberately reaching for another dish herself. Callum only grinned, unfazed, and continued his relentless campaign of offering her something new every two minutes.

  Meanwhile, the introductions droned on, a seemingly endless stream of Demigods stepping forward to be acknowledged by their divine parents. Di only half-listened, the names and lineages washing over her in a blur. That was, until…

  “The children of Herakles.”

  At the name, she turned toward the landing where the gods sat in their golden thrones. Across the banquet hall, a huge crowd of at least fifty demigods stood waiting for their father’s arrival.

  A beat of silence stretched out. Then Hermes asked, “Uh… Where is Herakles?”

  Zeus waved a hand dismissively. “He’s late.”

  Hermes threw his hands up. “Of course he is. Why wouldn’t he be? It’s not like this happens every single Ektomia or anything… Oh, wait, it does! Honestly, at this point, why do we even give him a time? We should just tell him the ceremony’s three days earlier so maybe, maybe, he’ll show up at a reasonable hour!”

  Zeus pinched the bridge of his nose, looking as if he deeply regretted having any children in the first place. “Hermes.”

  “I’m just saying,” Hermes continued, now fully committed to his rant, “for a guy who’s famous for completing twelve literally impossible labors, you’d think ‘arriving on time’ wouldn’t be the one thing he can’t manage! But nooo, Herakles operates on his own schedule, which apparently means-”

  “SILENCE,” Zeus said, his voice echoing through the hall.

  Hermes clamped his mouth shut with a hand, though he still made a series of exaggerated gestures as if to say, ‘fine, whatever, don’t listen to me, but we all know I’m right’.

  Zeus exhaled slowly, then gestured to the herald. “Move on.”

  The crowd of Herakles’ children, looking more like an advancing army than a collection of siblings, muttered among themselves as they made their way to the tables. A few looked irritated by their father’s absence but most just seemed resigned. Like this was exactly what they had expected.

  Hermes looked back down at his scroll and prepared to read the next name. His irritation shifted into something far more amused. His lips curled into a grin and he straightened slightly.

  “Ah,” he said, tapping the parchment. “Now this one, I’ve been looking forward to.”

  A few gods stirred in their seats, suddenly paying a little more attention.

  “The children of Hades!” Hermes declared, then paused for effect. “Or rather… the child of Hades. Singular.” A hush settled over the hall as the doors creaked open once more. “Narcissus.”

  The girl who stepped through was underwhelming.

  Di wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting from a child of the God of the Dead… Maybe someone tall and menacing, draped in shadows, with eyes that burned like hellfire. Someone who looked like they belonged to Hades.

  Instead, she got this.

  The girl was small. Shorter than most of the other Demigods, maybe even shorter than Callum. Though she looked older than him, probably around Di’s age. She was slight and delicate, like a gust of wind might knock her flat.

  Her hair was pure white. It was almost ethereal in the golden light, fine as silk and falling in wispy strands around her face and down her back. There were narcissus blossoms woven into two thin braids that rested along her temples. Their pale petals were so pristine that, despite being a similar shade to the girl’s hair, Di could see them clearly.

  Her skin was just as pale. It was nearly translucent and seemed untouched by the sun. Her large, deep-set eyes were an icy shade of blue. Almost too light. It reminded her of frozen glass. Her attention flitted around the room, never settling for long. She moved hesitantly, like a rabbit wandering into a den of wolves.

  She wore a flowing chiton of dusky violet silk. The fabric was so fine it seemed to shift between shadow and light with every step she took. Delicate golden embroidery traced the edges in twisting patterns of ivy and blooming flowers, intricate but restrained. A thin gold belt cinched at her waist, the only thing giving shape to the ethereal drape of the gown.

  As she stepped into the hall, the murmuring among the Demigods picked up. Some whispered behind their hands, others openly stared. Narcissus flinched under the scrutiny, fingers twitching at her sides as if resisting the urge to flee.

  Di raised an eyebrow. This was the child of Hades? She looked like she might bolt if someone so much as sneezed too loud.

  Callum leaned in, muttering under his breath, “Reckon they sent the wrong one?”

  Di barely stopped herself from scoffing. Whether they’d sent the wrong one or not, it didn’t matter. This girl, this timid, skittish thing, was no threat. If she even made it past the next trial it would be a miracle.

  Hermes stared at the girl, feigning pity. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost! Though, I suppose you do see plenty of them where you’re from.”

  A few chuckles filled the hall, but Narcissus didn’t react beyond a small shiver.

  Di furrowed her brow. What did Hermes mean by where she’s from? Was he implying that this terrified girl actually lived in the Underworld?

  Hermes directed his eyes back to the landing and shrugged. “Well, Lord of the Dead, don’t just sit there brooding. Your daughter looks like she’s about to pass out. Maybe float on down and give her a little pep talk? Or, I don’t know, start digging her grave early? Might save some time.”

  A figure stepped forward from where the Gods sat. He did not rise with the theatrical drama of Dionysus, nor with the easy grace of Aphrodite. Instead, he looked like he had already been halfway to standing. Like he had been waiting…dreading this moment.

  Then he dropped, and when Di saw him clearly she knew that it was Hades.

  Most of the Gods bore little resemblance to their mortal children, their connections only faint and distant. But Hades was different. He was like a reflection of Narcissus, a taller, sturdier version of her.

  His hair, though the same white shade, was far more disheveled. It was messy and uneven, as if he’d been running his hands through it in frustration. His features were sharp and his face drawn with something too heavy for simple exhaustion.

  One eye mirrored his daughter’s icy blue, but the other was a deep hazel.

  His suit was just as haphazard as his hair; black slacks and a wrinkled white dress shirt that was uneven. One button was looped into the wrong hole like he had been in a rush when he put it on. He didn’t look much like a God. More like a man that had woken up late and was in a perpetual state of stress.

  He reached his daughter and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was a careful gesture, almost hesitant, his fingers trembling slightly where they rested against the silk of her gown.

  He glared at Hermes but then bent his head towards his daughter, and when he spoke, it was too quiet for anyone else to hear.

  Narcissus was frozen at first and her shoulder tensed beneath his grip. But then her expression shifted. The rigid set of her jaw loosened, her breath steadied. Whatever he had said, it had landed.

  For a moment the two simply stood there. A father and his daughter, framed in flickering torchlight.

  Then Narcissus reached forward.

  She moved without hesitation, her small hands deftly undoing the top of his misaligned shirt and rebuttoning it properly. Her fingers barely trembled, as if this was something she had done a hundred times before.

  Hades looked at her softly. Sadly. As if he truly did care about his daughter.

  Di scoffed. It didn’t matter. Whether he cared or not, Narcissus wouldn’t survive. Hades had to know that. Maybe that was why he looked so damn miserable.

  When it came time for Zeus’ children, the sheer number of them was almost comical. They moved in waves, stepping forward in clusters, and the introductions dragged on for what felt like an eternity. The Herald read name after name but Di had long since tuned it out. She focused instead on picking through the last of her meal, trying to pace herself so she wouldn’t be left sitting there with nothing to do.

  By the time the final child of Zeus was introduced an hour had passed. Callum had gone from amused to exasperated to outright slouched over the table, groaning in agony.

  “Has old mate never heard of a condom?” Callum groaned.

  Di let out a quiet huff of amusement, but her expression remained as impassive as ever. “I don’t think any of the Gods have.”

  Callum flopped back in his seat. “Yeah, well, they could’ve done us all a favour and looked it up.”

  Di scoffed but her eyes remained on the landing where the Gods feasted…separate from their half-mortal children. Their table was an elaborate thing; long, draped in cloth woven with threads of gold and silver, adorned with goblets brimming with golden liquid and platters stacked high with food that shimmered with otherworldly light. Everything about it screamed excess.

  She didn’t know why she was surprised. Of course they wouldn’t eat with their children. That would imply they saw them as something other than disposable.

  Still, some looked less at ease than others. Hades, for one, barely touched his food. He sat hunched over, his fingers drumming anxiously against the table. He had kept glancing toward Narcissus even long after she had taken her seat among the other Demigods, as if making sure she was still breathing.

  Others, like Zeus, lounged in their seats as though they had already decided who among their children would live and who would die. As if the whole thing was just a game.

  Because it was a game to them.

  Di scowled and reached for the nearest pitcher, pouring herself a goblet of wine. It was undeniably her father’s brew. The scent of it was enough to make her mouth water, and when she lifted the goblet to her lips, the taste was immediate; an explosion of decadent, dark fruit. It was richer than any wine she had ever tasted and laced with something warm. Something that left a slow burn in its wake. It was perfect. Too perfect.

  She hated it.

  She hated that her father was good at the same thing that she was. Hated that his fucking wine was better than hers. Hated that, despite herself, she wanted to take another sip.

  Di swallowed and forced herself to remain neutral. To show nothing of how good it was. Her fingers tightened around the goblet and she fought the urge to hurl it across the hall.

  The second taste was even better. The warmth spread through her limbs like embers catching fire. It was maddening. Infuriating. A drink that sank its claws into her and refused to let go.

  And, for a moment, she was so furious that she thought if Callum had shoved his stupid face anywhere near her, she would have thrown him off the mountain without hesitation.

  She swallowed hard and lowered the goblet.

  That was when she saw him.

  Theseus.

  He was seated at the far end of the room, away from the feasting tables, tucked into the shadows like an afterthought. He wasn’t on the landing with the rest of the Gods, wasn’t dining at their exclusive table. He was down there with the Demigods, drinking alone.

  Di’s brows furrowed slightly. No one was near him. No one even glanced in his direction.

  Did they not know who he was? If they did, surely he’d be surrounded and pestered for stories, challenged to contests, worshipped as a legend. But he was left completely alone, as if the others simply didn’t see him.

  Then again, he wasn’t dressed like a God. There were no flowing robes, no golden embellishments, nothing that marked him as divine. He looked more like a washed-up loser than the slayer of the Minotaur, more like a man drowning in drink than a legend immortalized.

  Still, there was something about him. Something heavy, something worn. A presence that lingered even in silence.

  As if sensing her stare, he turned.

  Their eyes met.

  A slow, simmering tension coiled between them, stretching taut like a drawn bowstring.

  She tilted her chin up, refusing to be the first to look away.

  Theseus, for all his past glories, did not seem to care. He simply took another slow drink, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

  A king without a throne.

  A hero without a legacy.

  And a God she wanted to set on fire.

  Theseus was the first to look away.

  It wasn’t dismissive, not quite. But there was a weight to it…like he’d already decided there was nothing worth finding in her face, nothing he cared to see. He simply turned back to his drink, lifting the cup to his lips. With that, the strange, charged moment between them shattered.

  She exhaled, grounding herself in the taste of wine still clinging to her tongue.

  A sudden movement beside her made her glance over just in time to see Callum down his own cup in one go. She raised a brow. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

  Callum snorted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve been chugging stubbies since I could bloody walk.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “That’s fucked up.”

  “Don’t act like you weren’t doing that shit too.”

  She didn’t answer. He had a point.

  It came with being the child of Dionysus, she supposed. Wine flowed as freely as water in her childhood, and no one had ever told her no.

  Callum set his goblet down with a clink, stretching his arms behind his head with a sigh. “Alright, so when’s Herakles showing up?”

  Di barely glanced at him. “Who gives a fuck?”

  “Uh, me? He’s Herakles! The bloke did the Twelve Labours, strangled the Nemean lion with his bare hands, held up the fuckin’ sky for a bit. He’s a bloody unit.”

  “He’s a God now,” Di muttered, swirling the last of her wine. “Not one of us.”

  “Yeah, but he was,” Callum insisted. “Reckon that means he gets it, yeah? The trials, the bullshit, the whole demigod deal. Seems like someone worth havin’ a yarn with.”

  Di snorted. “You actually want advice?”

  “If there’s a bloke who figured out how to not die doing this shit, then yeah, I wouldn’t mind a tip or two.”

  “If you want advice, go ask Theseus. He’s right over there.”

  Callum cast a glance toward the man in question, who was still slouched in his seat, one hand wrapped around his goblet, the other bracing his head like it was too heavy to hold up on its own.

  “Yeah, nah,” Callum muttered. “Fella looks too pissed to stand, let alone give life lessons.”

  Di smirked. “Sounds like the perfect mentor for you.”

  Callum chuckled and shook his head. “Nah, I’ll wait for Herakles. Sounds like he’s got more of a clue than Theseus does right now.”

  But Herakles never showed and the feast dragged on.

  Dionysus’ wine was good, infuriatingly so, but not good enough to make her enjoy herself. The laughter was too loud, the music too shrill, the constant clinking of goblets setting her teeth on edge. The whole thing had the easy, languid rhythm of a dream, the kind where everything moved just a little too slow, like honey dripping from a spoon.

  She couldn’t stand the golden light, the unearned joy, the way the Gods lounged and laughed like nothing in the world had ever truly touched them. Like they had never bled, never lost, never ached.

  Most of all, she hated that she was still there.

  But she didn’t know how to leave.

  That was the worst part.

  Mount Olympus towered so high it pierced the clouds, a place where the air thinned and the sky darkened to the deep blue of the upper atmosphere. There were no doors leading down. No winding paths to follow. No clear way to escape. She didn’t even know if there was a way down…or if trying would just leave her plummeting through the sky until she hit the earth like a stone.

  So she stayed, her hatred festering like an open wound- raw, swollen, rotting beneath the surface.

  It wasn’t until Hermes finally rose from his seat that the feast drew to a close. He clapped his hands together, sending a sharp crack through the air, and in an instant, the noise died away. Goblets halted midair, laughter choked off unfinished, and all eyes turned toward the Herald of the Gods.

  “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Hermes grinned. “But, like everything good, this has gotta end sometime. Don’t get too cozy though! Next trial’s in a week! And, uh, let’s just say you might want to start… looking up. Really high up. See you then! Unless, you know, you die first.”

  Di barely had time to brace herself before Hermes snapped his fingers.

  The world lurched.

  Gone was the golden glow of Olympus, the distant echo of laughter, the cloying scent of wine and ambrosia. It was replaced with the quiet hum of the city and the distant wail of sirens.

  Di swayed where she stood, her heels scuffing against the pavement.

  She was back.

  Her bar loomed before her, cordoned off behind layers of yellow tape and uniformed officers. A jagged hole yawned in its side, a brutal wound carved clean through brick and wood; a mark of the Minotaur’s wrath. The broken edges of the wall jutted outward like shattered ribs, the neon sign above the door flickering weakly before giving out entirely.