Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If there's one demigod everybody and their mother knew about is Nicolo di Angelo. I mean, people know about Percy Jackson and his blonde girlfriend too. However, most Gods and monsters disdain Percy. The poor boy never endeared himself to anyone but the demigods, and even then, half of them hated his guts.

Hermes blames it on Uncle Poseidon's influence. As much as Percy did not want to admit it, he was too much like his father. Temperamental like the sea, when the tides turned so did his focus. It is why Percy did forget about Calypso and that Titan that had helped in Tartarus.

It was also why Percy spoke up without thinking, putting his foot on his mouth more times than Hermes could count. For someone who led two of the Greatest Prophecies in demigod history, plus saved Olympus twice, Harmes was shocked about the fact that Percy had ended up with more enemies than allies.

Percy should count himself lucky that he was Poseidon's momentary favorite son. Otherwise, he would have so many monsters and Gods after his hide. Then again, Hermes could admit that the demigod was strong, and that strength kept many at bay.

Unlike Percy, who started as the golden boy of Camp Half-Blood, the most awaited Hero, Nico had a harsher start. Reputed and feared by demigods, the son of Hades had no one to support him or help him grow.

And still, he survived. He had needed no pampering or guidance from Olympus. Nico had endured it all with a quiet, relentless strength that made Hermes watch more closely than he probably should have. There was something in the boy’s silence, in the way he stood apart—untouched, unspoken for—that unsettled Hermes. Or thrilled him. Maybe both.

It never stopped astounding Hermes how much mortals villainize and fear his uncle. Hades was the one God they never had to fear... at least, while they were alive. His uncle was even tempered, most of the time, he never got involved with mortal lives, and most certainly did not have more demigod children than he can care to remember. Yet, he is the most feared, simply because his domain is the Underworld.

Foolish mortals, they all will die, that is as true as the fact that the sun will rise every morning and that the sky is blue.

And Nico... Nico had grown in the shadow of that inevitability. A child shaped by death and isolation, and somehow—gloriously—still thriving. It was no wonder Hermes found himself circling the boy like a hawk above a glittering jewel no one else had the wit to value. He knew a singular presence when he saw it. And such things? They weren’t meant to roam freely—they were meant to be guarded.

Anyhow, going back to the demigods, Nico had to grow on his own, without the balm of his mother's kindness, nor the security of Camp Half-Blood. He was a stray, wandering from one place to the other.

Maybe that is why Hermes was so fond of his cousin. He is the patron of travelers. And if there is one demigod that fits the description of traveler, it is Nico di Angelo. But it went deeper than that. Nico didn’t just travel—he vanished and reappeared like a myth being rewritten, every time more impossible. By the end of the Second Giant War, Nico had been all over the U.S.A, Europe, China, and even Tartarus.

And Hermes had followed his movements with the hunger of a collector watching his rarest prize move just out of reach. Nico didn’t belong to a single realm, so why did Hermes ache to bind him to his?

Hermes was also the messenger of Olympus, and while diplomats were not part of his domain, he does look favorably upon them. And Nico took his job as Ambassador of Pluto seriously. Not only did he represent the Underworld in New Rome, but he was the speaker of his father when Uncle Hades was too busy to deal with Olympus and Atlantis.

Hermes had seen many envoys, many silver-tongued mortals rise and fall, but none carried themselves like Nico did. None walked through courts like they had earned the right to command attention from divine beings. The boy didn’t even try to charm anyone, and still they all fell for his prose. That made him more dangerous. More irresistible.

While Percy was a Bronze Steel, melted and shaped into a lethal weapon, Nico was a diamond in the rough. He was thrown on his own to the currents of the whims of... well, everybody—monsters, ghosts, Gods, demigods, and even mortals at times. He learned from each situation, and the pressure allowed the multifaceted glowing gem beneath it all to shine.

And shine it did. Nico was now a young man now, eighteen years of age, who had more allies than most immortals could even dream of. He had Gods and monsters alike, powerful ones at that, owing him favors. Tartarus! He had a network that could rival Iris, and give it a couple of years more it could rival Hermes.

That part made the god’s fingers twitch with a hunger that had no name, only instinct. Hermes had built his domain carefully, piece by piece. And here came Nico, untouched by favor or inheritance, crafting influence across pantheons. Because unlike Hermes, Nico did not need to limit himself to one pantheon—and Fates knew Nico was besties with Anubis.

It was maddening. And it stirred something in Hermes that no offering ever had.

It was also ironic. Truly it was! Jason, who had it all handed to him—all but freedom—ended up dead before he turned eighteen. Percy, who had more support than almost every demigod out there, broke under the pressure. He was now living in New Rome with Annabeth, safe behind the protections of the city, too afraid to leave in case Gods tried to drag him back into their mess.

Which, knowing his luck, Hermes did not blame him.

And Nico. Nico who had no one and nothing—not only did he survive, he thrived. He became instrumental in all three great prophecies, he was key in the changes of the Underworld (which had been stagnant for far too long), and he was the bridge that connected both camps.

Because let’s be fair, after the Second Giant War, Percy was too busy with school and getting his recommendations for New Rome University to care about the assimilation between Greeks and Romans. And Jason… well, Hermes’ poor brother was bombarded from all sides because of his new status as Pontifex Maximus—and then he was too busy being dead.

As good as the return of Athena's statue was, both camps had gone to war. That was not forgotten overnight. As such, Nico took it upon himself. It took him four years, but he had managed it. And this time, he was recognized for his role.

Hermes had never been more infuriated or satisfied at once. Infuriated that it had taken the demigods so long to notice Nico’s greatness. Satisfied because they finally saw what Hermes had known all along. And Gods help him, Hermes wanted to keep him wrapped in divine silk and guard him like a temple relic.

Oh, the immortals have long since been wary of Nico. Too much like his father, even-tempered, not easy to bait, and an exemplar ruler that was as neutral as they came. But this time, the demigods did not sweep Nico’s achievements under the rug.

Camp Half-Blood spoke about how they had only managed to win the Battle for New York thanks to Nico coming with three freaking Gods at his back and an army of the undead. Camp Jupiter spoke about how Nico had brought their praetor Reyna and the statue of Athena, at the expense of almost losing his life. And there was Tartarus, the first demigod to survive Tartarus and even being brave (or mad, the jury is still out on that one) to go again.

All for an ally, a Titan at that!

The Romans were impressed by Nico’s loyalty. They were all for the no man left behind sentiment. A loyalty that did not only come to play for those who Nico held dear, but a loyalty to anyone on his side.

It was not fair for Percy, the boy did much more than was asked for, he did great.

But you cannot compare him to Nico. Nico, who no one could call a boy, even when he was a child. Nico had to mature even faster than Percy, who had his mother and Chiron to coddle him. Percy did his quests and forgot about them afterwards, they were a job he had been forced to do.

Nico, well, he chose to remain. He chose to clean up after his quests. He did not simply swing his sword, but he also learned how to heal. Ironic—a son of Hades healing the souls of those left in the carnage. Maybe he learned that after so much suffering. Or maybe he simply chose to remain, because he was always the one left behind, and he did not wish to do that to others.

Anyhow, now the demigods have noticed and wanted to keep him. But keep him they cannot. Nico was a shadow, flickering all the time, going from one place to the other. Never to remain in one place for long. Especially not with demigods who had reputed him not that long ago. Nico might have forgiven them, but he now prefers the company of Gods and monsters.

At that Hermes could not help but smirk vindictively. The mortals had squandered Nico, who had walked bled for their world, only to get turned away by the demigods. Typical. They never knew the value of what stood right in front of them until it was gone. Let them call him possessive if they liked. He didn’t care. He was a god; it was in his nature to claim what he desired and keep it safe, far beyond mortal reach. Nico had never belonged to them anyway.

The God did not feel bad at all. It was not like the demigods would never see Nico again. The son of Hades had taken it upon himself to help Camp Half-Blood construct a city like Camp Jupiter has. It will be named New Athens to match the aesthetic of New Rome. Luckily for Nico, he only needs to oversee the zombie workers every other week.

As for the Romans, with Hazel and Frank as praetors, Nico will always be popping in for a visit. There's also the fact that Nico will be attending New Rome University. And Hermes would be keeping a close eye on him.

Nico's acceptance into the University was also another proof of what a better ruler Hades was to Poseidon. Unlike Poseidon, who had waited until the last minute to tell Percy about the letters of recommendation, forcing his son to go into more quests. Hades had been prepared and used the situations forced upon his son to speed up the process.

Nico got a letter of recommendation from Mors, after Nico had acted in the God's stead while he had been captured. Hermes was kind of shocked by his uncle's choice, brilliant or not, Nico had been only fourteen then. Asking his own mortal son to do the job of Death... well, it was ruthless.

It also showed how much trust his uncle placed upon his son. His prince and Ghost King. It was touching, if in a creepy, very Hades’ way.

Nico also got a letter from Hades himself. Hermes's dad had wanted to protest, Hades could not give a letter of recommendation to his own son. But it was letter for the quest to spy on Gea's army and close the Doors of Death.

And not even Zeus could protest over the fact that Nico had earned it. It was Tartarus for Fates' sake!

The third letter came from Athena herself, she wrote one for Nico and one for Reyna, for transporting her statue back to Camp Half-Blood.

Hermes was impressed by his uncle, even in the middle of a war, he was on top of everything, arranging things to ease his son's burdens.

Then again, Uncle Hades guarded Nico with zealous protectiveness. He adored his son so much that many had come to call Nico the Underworld’s most guarded treasure. It was most likely inspired by the fact that whenever Nico attended his duties as Ambassador, he was draped with new custom jewelry. A possessive mark of protection from the King of the Underworld.

Taking all of that into account, it was no surprise that Hermes grew interested in Nico. His name and achievements, plus the demigod being the definition of a traveler and diplomat, should have been enough.

But when you added his new title? That’s when a dark desire grew from the pit of Hermes’s core.

Hermes might be the God of Travels, commerce, communication, and speed. But he was also the God of Thieves. And the more precious the treasure… the more Hermes wants to steal it.

And Nico di Angelo was, without a doubt, the most coveted offering the Underworld had ever dared to produce.

So, when Hermes got a message from the Underworld's most precious gem to meet in a secluded area, he went. Maybe one of his gifts had finally been enough to impress the mortal. Or maybe, just maybe, Nico had finally stopped resisting what was inevitable.

When he had started trying to seduce the demigod, Hermes had not known how hard it would be to impress the son of the God of Earthly Riches.

Gods, but he had tried. Nico was not easily won. Not swayed by power, praise, or even divine charm. That only made Hermes want him more. To see something so rare—so untouchable—and know it should be his? It gnawed at him like hunger.

What even was the last thing Hermes sent to Nico? Ah, right! It was a silver brooch of a snake ready to bite, and inside the fangs a huge cobra gemstone.

As cobra stones are created from the accumulation of cobra venom and is not a gem that can be found underground, Uncle Hades has no authority over it, and it was most likely missing from Nico's extensive collection.

Hermes had been so focused on his musings that he had not noticed he had reached the meeting place until someone coughed. The god turned towards the sound with a beaming smile, ready to charm the pants off the Italian.

That smile faltered—collapsed, really—when he saw who stood there.

He froze, staring at the man before him in stunned shock. Instead of an Italian, with exotic olive skin, ebony perfect curls, cheekbones that could cut diamonds, and Tartarus-soul deep eyes... Hermes was staring at a man in his twenties, with short blond hair, a blue eye, and one missing.

The same eye that Luke had stabbed himself with to defeat Chronos.

“Luke,” Hermes said, barely more than a whisper. His voice caught on the second syllable, like his mind hadn’t caught up with what he was seeing. “W-what…”

Luke raised an eyebrow and gave a crooked grin that felt painfully familiar. “Would you look at that. The great Messenger God, speechless. That might be the biggest miracle yet.”

Hermes opened his mouth, then closed it again. His thoughts felt slow, like they were moving through water. His tongue felt thick, heavy in his mouth. He didn’t know what to say. Luke—his son—was standing right in front of him. After years of silence. After turning down every attempt Hermes had made to contact him in the Underworld. And now he was here, smirking, making jokes like this wasn’t the first time they’d seen each other in a very long time.

That grin faded into something quieter. The sharpness in Luke’s eyes softened just a bit, and somehow that made Hermes feel even more off-balance. There had been so much bitterness between them for so long that anything gentler felt like unfamiliar territory. Hermes kept waiting for the sarcasm to return. For the edge to come back into Luke’s voice. But it didn’t.

All Hermes had known for years was the anger in Luke’s gaze. It had been there every time they crossed paths, whether spoken or not. And now, with that anger gone, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t know how to respond.

Luke finally broke the silence again. “I believe… no, I know I owe you an apology,” he said, rubbing a hand through his hair and sighing. “A lot of them, honestly.”

Hermes felt the urge to cut in, to tell him that he didn’t need to apologize, that his sacrifice had already made up for everything. That he had died doing the right thing, and that mattered. But he held himself back. Luke had the right to speak, and Hermes wasn’t going to take that from him.

“I didn’t realize how much Chronos had influenced me,” Luke continued. His voice was calm, but there was something weighted behind it. “Not until I died. Only then did everything go quiet. The moment I passed on, it was like I could finally think clearly again. There was no whisper in the back of my head pushing me toward rage or revenge. Just silence. And in that silence, I started to understand how far I’d gone.”

He tried to smile, but it didn’t hold. It slipped, uneasy and tense. “I’m not blaming it all on Chronos. I had plenty of anger on my own. I had pride, resentment, all of it. And the truth is, I still don’t believe the gods should have that much power. Olympus is still a mess. Atlantis might be a little better, but only because Poseidon keeps his distance and lets his wife and son do most of the actual work. And the Underworld... well, I have no complaints. It is the only place functional in the Greek Pantheon that works. But Hades is neutral and does not get involved in matters of the living."

Hermes grimaced. He didn’t like hearing it, but Luke wasn’t wrong. Olympus was in constant disarray. They all knew it. Pretending otherwise didn’t change the truth.

Luke went on, either unaware or unconcerned with how his words landed. “But the Titans weren’t the solution. If I’d been thinking clearly, I wouldn’t have led anyone down that path. I wouldn’t have turned the demigods against each other, wouldn’t have started a war that killed so many of us. I said I wanted to protect demigods, to stop them from being used as tools. I claimed we deserved better. And then I put us on the front lines.”

Hermes spoke up for the first time since his initial shock had worn off. “The war did bring change; Camp Half-Blood is better now. The Gods learned something.”

Luke gave him a look that wasn’t angry, just tired. “Only because Percy forced their hand. Because he stood up and demanded it. The ones who got the real benefits were the Titans and the minor gods. They were offered deals, rewards, and recognition. All because Zeus realized how close he was to losing everything.”

He began to pace slowly, running a hand through his hair again, frustration building in his voice. “Some of the punishments lifted made sense. Prometheus, sure—he never should’ve been chained in the first place. But did we really need a war for Zeus to finally admit that centuries of torture were excessive? He only started handing out rewards because he needed allies. He was desperate. He became generous overnight, but he didn’t act out of fairness. He acted out of fear.”

Luke stopped pacing and turned toward Hermes. “But what about the demigods? What did we get? We fought that war and completed your quests. We bled for Olympus, and we got cabins. Cabins that should’ve existed long before I was even born. We got claimed publicly, but that’s it. And even then, Zeus had the nerve to complain about it. Like it was too much to ask for him to admit his children existed.”

Hermes said nothing, he didn’t need to. Luke was right, and the shame sat heavily in his chest. He had thought about these things for years but hearing them spoken aloud by the one person who had every right to say them brought it all into focus again.

"What do you want from me, son?" Hermes asked tiredly. "What is the grand plan? You must have arranged for us to meet for a reason."

Luke sighed and rubbed at his face like the words were hard to get out. “I asked Nico to bring you because I needed to say all of this. Not to rant or to blame you, but to apologize. I was angry, and I used you as an outlet. You were the target for all the pain I didn’t know what to do with. You weren’t perfect, and you weren’t around when you should’ve been. But you did care. You always took in the kids who didn’t have anywhere else to go. And it wasn’t your fault that Zeus made such a mess of everything. You did the best you could in a system that was already broken.”

Hermes blinked, surprised, then he frowned, when he realized that something was off. “Why does this feel like a goodbye?”

Luke’s mouth twisted into a small, strained smile. “Because it is. I’m going to reincarnate soon, and Nico thought you might want one last conversation before I moved on.”

“I do,” Hermes said, and meant it. “I hope your new life is better. I hope it’s far away from all this.”

Luke looked at him with a soft expression. “I kind of hope the opposite. I’d like to come back as your son again. But this time, I hope I know how to appreciate you.”

And just like that, Luke's specter disappeared.

Hermes stood in place, staring at where Luke had been, not quite ready to accept that the moment had already passed. His chest ached and he couldn’t move. He barely noticed the change in the air as Nico appeared nearby, stepping out of the shadows with a hesitant, apologetic look on his face.

The second Hermes saw him, the grief broke through.

He dropped to his knees and sobbed, raw and quiet, without concern for who was watching. He allowed the demigod to hug him and soothe him with an Italian lullaby. And for a moment, he simply let himself lean into it.

Hermes did not once think of maybe using this moment of vulnerability nor Nico's guilt to get in his pants. But Fates, it hurt. Because the touch was gentle, and the warmth was real, and it took everything in him not to clutch Nico close and claim him as his.

The urge clawed at the edges of his godhood. Claim him. Keep him. But he didn’t. He just let Nico hum that old lullaby, as if it could keep the world away.

All of his being was consumed with one thought. He needed to make their world better, before Luke gets reincarnated into the shit show that is the Greek Pantheon.

~o~

Dethroning someone ended up being easier than Hermes had expected. For all the stories, for all the history layered in divine blood and ego, it was surprisingly anticlimactic. He couldn’t help but wonder why Hera and the others had failed in the past. Maybe it hadn’t been about loyalty or strength. Maybe it had simply been about timing.

If he really thought about it, there had been a point when Zeus was untouchable. When temples rose across continents in his honor, every strike of lightning was considered a message from the divine. Back then, the sky didn’t just belong to him—it ruled over everything else. The sky was order and dominance, and Zeus, as its master, had been at the center of it all.

But things had changed. Humanity no longer feared the sky the way they once did. They feared silence, disconnection, and irrelevance. Christianity had taken hold centuries ago, and with it came new forms of worship and new centers of power. The gods hadn’t been forgotten entirely, but they weren’t needed in the same way.

As for Zeus, he had broken oaths. Twice. And the River Styx had not been forgiving. That alone would have been enough to shake his standing, but it didn’t stop there. His decline was slow and quiet, like a god fading behind the clouds, still present but no longer commanding reverence. The world no longer looked up for answers. They looked down, at their screens, at their reflections. And Zeus, for all his power, had not adapted.

Hephaestus had. The rise of machines, of circuits and wires, had breathed new life into his domain. He thrived with every technological advance, every algorithm, and every blueprint. Apollo had risen too, fed by humanity’s obsession with music and fame. Not to mention, that medicine had wrapped itself around his name, whether mortals realized it or not. His son’s symbol was printed on every hospital wall.

And then, there was Hermes.

He hadn’t even realized the scale of it at first. His life had always been movement—messenger, guide, thief, trickster, diplomat. There were always too many demands, too many voices pulling at him from different realms. He didn’t stop long enough to notice what was building beneath him. But when he finally did—when he stilled his wings and let himself feel—he understood.

His name wasn’t carved into stone anymore. It was written into code. Whispered across continents, carried in signals and updates, encrypted in commerce, communication, travel, and trade. He didn’t need temples. He had data centers. Every swipe, every message, every purchase... it all passed through him.

He stood at the edge of the global network and looked out at the world, and what he saw was power that never slept. A glowing web stretching across oceans and borders, held together by invisible threads—and at the center of it all, without question, was him.

He was the conduit.

How had he not seen it before?

Humanity had wired itself into his domain without even knowing it. Social media wasn’t just a distraction, it was control. It dictated moods, movements, and revolutions. Corporations steered entire nations and wrote laws, determining who got to speak and who was erased.

Language had become weaponized, and currency had become scripture. As the god of both... this world belonged to him.

With his network already in place, rallying support had not been difficult. Hermes barely had to ask before the offers started coming in. Most of the Olympians had been quietly waiting for someone to make the first move, and now that he had, they were more than ready to follow.

Apollo and Artemis had not forgotten how Zeus had blamed Apollo for the Second Giant War—how he had stripped his son of divinity and cast him down to Earth as a mortal, as punishment for things far beyond his control. Hermes still remembered the look on Artemis’s face when it happened. He had never seen her that angry, not even in the heat of battle. For a moment, he genuinely thought she might turn her arrows on their father.

When Hermes went to them, Artemis barely let him finish speaking. She agreed without hesitation, voice venomous, and eyes full of unfinished vengeance. Apollo had been quieter. The solemn set of his shoulders told Hermes that he had been expecting this.

And as the God of Prophecy, maybe he had.

Dionysus did not need much convincing either. Fifty years stuck at Camp Half-Blood as a punishment, stripped of his wine and his freedom, had left deep scars. Hermes couldn’t begin to imagine what it felt like to be separated from your domain like that—to be forced to exist without the core of what made you a god.

While his brother had agreed to join the rebellion but under the condition that they took Hera down as well. He hadn’t forgotten what she had done to him all those centuries ago, the madness she had cursed him with. And truth be told, Hermes had no argument to offer in her defense.

Poseidon, their uncle, was firmly in. He hadn’t needed to be asked twice. After everything Zeus and Hera had put Percy through—after the countless times his son had nearly died cleaning up Olympus’s mess—Poseidon had been simmering for years. The chance to finally act had lit something in him that had long been held back.

Ares joined for the simplest reason of all. He wanted war. He had wanted it for years. From the moment Luke had stolen the Master Bolt, from the first whispers of divine conflict, Ares had been waiting for the excuse to unsheathe his sword. And of course, if Athena was on one side, Ares would be on the other. That rivalry ran too deep to untangle.

Hermes hadn’t even bothered trying to convince Athena. He knew there was no chance, as she had always stood by Zeus. She was her father's daughter through and through—logic-driven, strategic, and brilliant, but blind to the flaws of the man she called king. She could see through every deception in the world except the ones that came from him. And it broke something in Hermes every time she defended the same behavior they had all suffered under.

So much for the Goddess of Wisdom.

Aphrodite, as expected, chose neutrality. She had her own reasons. And with Ares actively participating, it was unlikely she’d pick a side publicly. Hephaestus, meanwhile, refused to involve himself physically. But he had agreed—almost too eagerly—to design their armor and forge their weapons.

Hermes hadn’t missed the manic gleam in his brother’s eyes as he vanished into his forge. That sort of enthusiasm was never a good sign, but Hermes decided not to question it.

Demeter would stay in the Underworld, along with Persephone and Uncle Hades. It was safer there. Hermes had even asked his aunt Hestia to sit this one out. There was no reason to drag the only member of their family who still believed in peace into something this violent. Surprisingly, she agreed.

That left Zeus with very few allies. Just Hera and Athena, really. None of the minor gods would lift a hand to help him. Neither would the Titans. All the favors Zeus had tried to collect after the wars meant nothing now. Everyone had seen him for what he was. His alliances were fragile, built on fear and empty promises. And those promises had worn out thin.

The truth was that people were tired. Even the gods had grown tired. Tired of the unpredictability and the punishments that went too far. Zeus’s power was built on fear, and fear didn’t last forever. Not when his enemies outnumbered his allies. Especially, not when his own family had begun to turn away from him.

Say what you wanted about Uncle Poseidon—he had his flaws, and they were many. He could be cruel, yes. Moody, absolutely. The myths of Odysseus and Medusa were proof enough of that. But Poseidon’s anger was like the sea. It rose, it crashed, and then it receded.

It didn’t linger the way Zeus’s wrath did.

Poseidon could have cursed Odysseus to eternal torment, but he did not. Nor did he turn Medusa into the monster she is, that was all Athena.

Zeus, on the other hand, had a gift for making punishment eternal. Calypso, trapped on an island for daring to love. Prometheus, chained to a rock for giving mortals fire. The man didn’t believe in justice. He believed in vengeance, and the cruelty never fits the crime.

Hermes had watched it for long enough. They all had.

Something had to change, because he couldn’t stand by anymore. None of them could.

The plan was simple; they could keep it among the Olympians without dragging anymore innocents into their problems.

Hera, in many ways, was the most fragile piece on the board. That had always been the case, though few dared to say it out loud. Her power had once stood tall beside Zeus’s, not because of her own standing, but because of what she represented.

Marriage. Family. Structure.

But time had not been kind to her domain. In the modern world, marriage no longer held the same sacred weight. People chose different kinds of partnerships, or none at all. Divorce was common, and sometimes even celebrated, and Hera—despite every opportunity—had refused to shift with the changing tides.

She could have redefined herself. There was room for a goddess who oversaw all forms of commitment, who offered guidance through the messier parts of family life, who protected even the ones who had to walk away.

But Hera refused.

She clung to her original titles with white-knuckled pride, even when those titles lost meaning. She insisted on being the Goddess of Marriage, even when her own marriage had become the clearest example of everything it shouldn’t be. She claimed to rule over family, even though she had never really known what that meant.

Dionysus, on the other hand, had evolved. His connection to wine had always kept him relevant, as humanity never stopped finding comfort in a glass of wine during mealtimes. But the deeper parts of his domain, the ones often overlooked—madness and theatre—had found new life.

Psychology had turned madness into something people studied, treated, and tried to understand. And just like that his reach expanded, as Dionysus had become a figure tied to emotional and psychological healing.

Theatre had changed too. For centuries, plays had sustained him. Then came film, television, and the digital age. Dionysus didn’t resist any of it. He welcomed the change, pulled it into his domain, and adapted so seamlessly that his power had grown faster than anyone expected. He had influence in every story told, every performance watched alone on a laptop or in crowded cinemas.

Now, he was strong enough to take on Hera by himself, and eager to finally settle a score that had been waiting for centuries.

Ares had grown too, fed by the evolution of war. Violence had become efficient, clinical, and global. No longer was it just battles fought with swords and shields. It was drones, data, psychological warfare, and weapons designed to break people apart from the inside out. That kind of brutality fed his domain more than anything ever had.

Athena, despite standing on the opposite side of every battlefield he loved, had risen just as high. Knowledge was a weapon now. Universities, information networks, and digital archives, all of it played into her hands. The world craved strategy, logic, and answers. And that craving kept her strong.

They would not be able to sway her. Hermes knew that from the beginning. She had always been Zeus’s most loyal child, the one who believed in the ideal even when the reality fell short. But Ares and Artemis would keep her entertained. That had been part of the plan from the start. They weren’t trying to hurt Athena; she was their sister after all. Without Zeus, maybe she could start to heal, free from the expectations that had always chained her to Olympus.

Artemis had remained steady throughout the ages. Her following was small, but loyal in a way the others envied. Her Hunters had never wavered, and their prayers still reached her with clarity. Hunting had never fallen out of relevance. Whether for survival, sport, or tradition, it had endured. And so had she. Artemis had not needed to reinvent herself, as her domain had never stopped being needed.

The others focused on what mattered most: Zeus.

That responsibility fell to Hermes, Apollo, and Poseidon. Together, they would bring him down. And Hermes already knew where to begin.

The bolt.

The Master Bolt had always been more than a weapon. It was a symbol. A channel of power that amplified Zeus’s authority and influence. When it had been stolen before, it nearly broke Olympus apart. That event should have served as a warning, but Zeus had learned nothing from it.

Now that Hermes knew how easy it was to steal the bolt, it would be the first thing he did. Without it, Zeus’s would be crippled. The main issue, though, is finding a way to kill a God permanently.

Surprisingly enough, the answer to that dilemma had been given to him by his Uncle Hades.

Hermes had gone to the Underworld with one purpose in mind. He needed to speak to his uncle and make sure Nico stayed out of what was coming. The plan to overthrow Zeus had too many moving parts, too many risks, and far too much chaos. Hermes didn’t want Nico caught in the middle of it, he had already been through enough. This wasn’t his war, and Hermes wasn’t willing to leave anything to chance.

He had stopped trying to win Nico over for now. That could wait. What couldn’t wait was making sure the boy survived. Nico had a way of getting involved in things he shouldn’t, either out of loyalty or stubbornness, and it would be just like him to show up in the middle of Olympus while the thrones were burning. Hermes wasn’t going to let that happen.

If anyone laid a hand on Nico, or even came close to hurting him, Hermes knew he wouldn’t stay calm. He wouldn’t be reasonable. He had kept his distance so far, had taken his time and held back, but there were limits. If someone made a move, Hermes would retaliate. He was still figuring out what Nico meant to him, but even without a clear answer, the instinct to protect him had already become permanent.

The conversation with Hades didn’t go quite as expected. Hermes hadn’t even finished explaining before his uncle gave him a look like he was being ridiculous. Then Hades let out a sigh and replied in a flat voice, "Of course, I will be dragging my piccolo to the Underworld. With his luck he will end up right in the middle of Olympus if he remains above ground. I will create some excuses about helping Persephone and Demetre prepare a ball, or something. That will keep him entertained for a couple of weeks." Then he paused and stared right through at Hermes' core. "Will that be enough?"

"Yup!" Hermes popped the 'p' with an awkward chuckle. His uncle could be scary.

Then Uncle Hades took out a sword. Hermes’s eyes widened as the air around it thickened, as the blade radiated cold. Stygian iron, soaked in the essence of death itself. A second hidden symbol of power? His levelheaded uncle had such a weapon ready? A blade capable of slaying monsters, Titans, and gods alike.

Hades didn’t explain right away. He stared at the sword for a second, then said, “Don’t start getting ideas, this wasn’t my project. Persephone was the mastermind behind it. I wanted to leave it buried, mostly because it tips the balance between the Big Three in a way I don’t like.”

His voice dropped lower as he added, “But after what my brother did—after Maria, after what he tried to do to my kids—I can’t afford to ignore it anymore. I don’t have many demigod children, but I care about the ones I do have. Even if they don’t exactly have easy lives.”

Hermes grimaced. His uncle’s children did have hard lives, as if nature opposed the idea of the Underworld birthing life.

Da Vinci, who was an excellent artist, unappreciated in life and veneered in death. He had gone mad from his ability to see souls, and in his madness inspired his most known painting style- which mortals attributed to schizophrenia.

Dante, who lived a life of heartbreak, even though it inspired one of the most well-known works in literature, La Divina Comedia.

Hitler. The less we say of him the better.

Hazel, used all her life by her mother, which led her to her first death. Even then she sacrificed herself to prevent her mother from ending in the Fields of Punishment. Had it not been for Nico she would have gone insane in the Fields of Asphodel. Let's hope this second life is kinder for the young girl.

And then we have Bianca. She did not live for long and died in the service of the Hunt, not a week after she joined Artemis' order.

Even with all of that pain and suffering Hades had been forced to endure, to watch all of his children be miserable on Earth, Zeus still envied Hades. Always had and always will.

Hades was the eldest, the one who came first, and the one who should have ruled by right. He didn’t chase attention the way Zeus did. He didn’t need a throne in the sky or temples on every hill. Still, the gods respected him, and the monsters didn’t question him.

His kingdom was organized and loyal in ways Olympus never managed to be. The dead followed him without complaint, and his court was structured efficiently. As for his home, there was peace. Persephone loved him and their daughters adored him, his marriage, for all its challenges, had lasted.

Meanwhile, Zeus ruled through fear, not respect. His wife resented him, his children avoided him, and Olympus itself was a fractured place held together by habit and threat. He spent more time watching his back than leading anyone forward. He didn’t trust his allies. He didn’t trust his family. His power made him paranoid, and that paranoia had poisoned everything around him.

The only thing Zeus ever truly had was the fame of his sons. The glory of heroes. Perseus. Hercules. Jason. These names made him proud, gave him something to point to when the rest of Olympus started to crack. That was the one thing Hades had never had—until recently.

Until Nico came of age and people started to notice just how much he had done.

Until Hazel returned from death and reshaped her own fate by becoming praetor.

Until Bianca died as a Heroine from The Hunt, and Zeus' own daughter gave tribute to her name.

Zeus never said it out loud, but Hermes could see the way his father’s gaze lingered a little too long when Nico’s name came up. The way his expression tightened when he heard that yet another divine being owed Hades’s son a favor. It was quiet, but it was there. That slow, building resentment.

Hermes understood what that meant.

He knew that eventually, Zeus would stop seeing Nico as an exception, and the respect would turn into suspicion. When that day came, Zeus would see Nico as something he couldn’t control and therefore couldn’t allow. A flaw in his legacy, that needed to be erased.

And if that day ever came—if Hermes ever heard that order, if Zeus even hinted that Nico was expendable—Hermes would bring Olympus down himself.

Without looking away, Hermes reached for the sword. His fingers wrapped around the hilt, and he felt it pulse under his fingers. A moment later, Hermes felt a mark be branded on his skin. It was his uncle’s blessing. He understood the rules immediately. Only someone tied to the Underworld could use the blade.

As Hermes was a son of Olympus, he needed to be given the right. Even then, the sword was borrowed, and he will not get to keep it for long. Once Zeus and Hera were dealt with, the blessing will fade from his skin, and the weapon will turn on him.

But that didn’t change what came next.

If this was what it took to make sure Nico remained untouched—if this blade was the price for keeping him safe—then Hermes would carry it until it finished the job. He would take it into Olympus without hesitation. He would follow the plan through to the end, because the line had already been drawn.

~o~

Hermes stood in the ruined Throne Room and tried to process what had just happened, but there was an emptiness inside him that made it hard to feel anything at all. He looked around slowly, his eyes moving across the debris without urgency, and what unsettled him most was the absence of reaction.

The death of a parent, even one as flawed as Zeus, should have meant something. It should have left a mark. But he didn’t feel grief or anger, only a hollow emptiness that Hermes didn’t know how to fill.

Or if he should at all.

The golden floor was stained with uneven patterns of ichor, a thick pool of it catching the light from the shattered ceiling. Pillars had fallen in jagged pieces, and broken marble lay scattered like discarded bones. Amid it all were the two severed clean heads, faces fixed in expressions that had no place in death. Hera’s was clenched and cold. Zeus’s was blank, almost bored, as if he still hadn’t fully understood how it had ended.

Hermes heard Athena crying before he turned towards her. Her voice echoed against the stone, sharp and raw, not the sound of a goddess but of a daughter in mourning. Ares and Artemis had both restrained her, one gripping her shoulders, the other her arms, but she kept straining forward anyway, still trying to crawl toward Zeus’s body.

Dionysus had already sunk deep into his wine, slumped sideways on the steps beside his throne. He didn’t appear interested in the scene anymore. His eyes were glassy, but the edge of a frown suggested he hadn’t fully checked out. Apollo stood near the center of the room with his head bowed, hands folded as if in quiet prayer, though it was unclear whether the words were for the dead or for himself.

Poseidon had taken a step back and hadn’t moved since. His face held a look Hermes couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t shock, not really, but something quieter—like the recognition of an ending he had always known would come, just not this soon. He looked as if he had expected to feel vindicated, or perhaps justified, and instead all he had found was grief.

Artemis and Ares stood nearby, watching with the expression of people who had done what they came to do. Neither of them seemed shaken. Their eyes tracked the scene calmly, each measuring the aftermath without sentiment. It was clear neither regretted what had happened. In fact, if anything, they looked delighted by the carnage.

Hermes kept looking around, searching for a reaction that never came. He didn’t mourn the loss of Olympus’s rulers. Not truly. Their deaths had felt overdue, like closing a chapter that had dragged on longer than it should have. All he felt was resolve.

And beneath that resolution, there was satisfaction. He felt satisfied because Luke would come back to a world less cruel than the one that had twisted him. Satisfied because Nico, the one person Hermes still watched more closely than anyone, would no longer have to live under Zeus’s threat.

Just as that thought settled in, without warning a bolt of pain shot through his arm. Hermes gasped and dropped the sword, the metal clanging loudly against the broken marble. He stepped back and looked down at his forearm. The veins under his skin had darkened, spreading from the place where his hand had gripped the blade. The purple glow still radiated from the weapon’s surface, but it was fading fast. His uncle’s blessing had started to lift.

He had held onto the Underworld’s sword for longer than he was allowed. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the brand fading.

Before he could fully collect himself, shadows began to move across the edges of the room. The air shifted as the far entrance darkened, swallowed up by a quiet ripple of void-like energy. From it stepped Hestia, Demeter, Persephone, and Hades.

Persephone froze first, her eyes landing on the bodies. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she let out a soft, startled gasp. Demeter and Hestia stood just behind her, expressions tight and shoulders rigid, they didn’t speak either. Hermes noticed the way their grief mirrored Poseidon’s. A shared weight among siblings who had lost more than just a king.

Six children of Chronos had once sat in this room. Now, only four remained.

Hades was the only one who didn’t seem fazed. He took a step forward, held out his hand, and summoned the Stygian sword back to him. It returned without resistance. Once it landed firmly in his grasp, he didn’t look at it. He didn’t look at anyone. He turned, walked calmly to his throne, and took his seat without a word.

That was all it took for the stillness the break and the rest of them to move.

Persephone followed her husband and settled into his lap, her movements measured and graceful. Ares returned to his own throne, dropping into it with a kind of casual confidence that bordered on satisfaction. Poseidon crossed the room slowly, his steps heavy, and sank into his seat with no visible urgency.

Athena, still in shock, was dragged by Artemis until she collapsed onto her throne. The Goddess of the Hunt remained standing at her side for a moment, then eventually crossed the space to join her twin in their matching gold and silver thrones.

Dionysus stumbled into his seat next, nearly spilling what remained in his goblet. He didn’t bother fixing his posture. He just sat, head tilted slightly back, and eyes glazed. Aphrodite and Hephaestus arrived together in a shimmer of light. They didn’t bother to ask any questions, as they simply took their thrones.

Hermes watched it all unfold with a strange sense of detachment. When he tried to claim his throne, his Aunt Hestia stepped in front of him, calm but unyielding, and blocked his path with quiet authority.

“This is no longer your throne, nephew,” she said. Her voice was soft, but the words didn’t leave room for argument.

Hermes stopped in place, unsure if he had heard her correctly. He blinked, trying to make sense of what she had just said. Hestia, gentle and mild Hestia, had never spoken to him that way before.

When she sat down on his throne, the power around her responded. Hermes felt it. She wasn’t just the Goddess of the Hearth and Home anymore. After Hera’s death, something had changed in her, something deep and permanent. The title of the Goddess of Family had always rested loosely with Hera, but now, it had moved. Hestia had taken it into herself, and it fit her in a way it never had with her sister.

Still in a daze, he let his senses open. He reached beyond the ruined chamber, into the currents that ran through the upper sky. And there it was. He could feel the air currents gathering around him, as if waiting to be acknowledged. Wind curled behind his ribs. Storms murmured along the edges of his thoughts. The pressure wasn’t overwhelming, but it was vast. It belonged to him now.

He was the God of the Sky.

The realization settled slowly, heavier than he expected. Hera and Zeus were gone, and their domains had begun to fracture and scatter. Hestia had taken the domain of Family, while he had taken the Sky. But what of the rest? Who now held dominion over Marriage? Over Lightning and Thunder? Would the power remain suspended, waiting for someone to rise and claim it? Or would new gods emerge to take their place?

Those thoughts followed him as he turned toward the center of the room.

The grandest throne still stood untouched, its gold dulled by dust and ichor. It was the seat that had belonged to Zeus for longer than any of them could remember. No one had dared to approach it. Until now.

Hermes stepped forward and placed his hand on the armrest. The metal felt warm under his touch. When he sat, the effect was immediate.

Power surged through him, not in a sudden burst, but in a steady climb. The room around him expanded and sharpened all at once. He could feel the pressure in the clouds miles above the earth, the temperature of jetstreams, the oxygen in every gust of wind. The skies responded to him the way the network of communication and commerce always had.

He didn’t need to look in a mirror to know his eyes were glowing white with power. The room had gone quiet, as every face was turned toward him, watching him silently.

Then, from across the chamber, Uncle Hades’s voice cut through the silence. “You need to begin the session,” he said, dry and unbothered. His tone didn’t carry judgment, but the implication was clear. “You are the King of Olympus now, nephew.”

Hermes turned slightly, startled out of his own thoughts. His uncle gave him a look that Hermes knew well—a mixture of mild disapproval and barely concealed exasperation. It was the kind of look he gave to people who didn’t understand what was already obvious. It was also a look he used on Hermes more often than he liked to admit.

“Right,” Hermes muttered under his breath. Then he straightened in his seat and raised his voice just enough to carry across the chamber. “I call this Olympus session into order.” He paused for half a beat, then continued. “My first ruling as King is to welcome back my aunt, Hestia. She will be taking my former throne.”

Across the chamber, Poseidon nodded, his voice carrying a note of warmth that had been missing all evening. “Welcome back, sister.”

Demeter smiled without restraint. “It’s about time,” she said. “Finally, someone to help me keep the rest of you in line.”

Dionysus, already back to drinking, raised his goblet lazily. “You deserve it, Aunt,” he said. “Honestly, you’re the only one I’d listen to voluntarily.”

Artemis folded her arms and glanced toward the circle of thrones. “That brings us back to twelve seats,” she pointed out.

Apollo leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing as he considered something. “Will that change if Hermes decides to take a consort?” he asked. “If the Queen or King Consort of Olympus gets a seat at the table, we’ll be thirteen. Personally, I’d rather not deal with uneven numbers.”

Ares rolled his eyes. “When that happens—and that’s a big if—we’ll hold a vote for a new member. Calm down, Apollo. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“A vote,” Aphrodite repeated, already sounding entertained. She clapped her hands once and smiled. “Who should we vote for? There are many choices. This is so exciting!”

"Maybe Hecate, our society kind of relies heavily on her mist," Hephestus suggested, not even bothering to look up from what he was tinkering.

"Hecate is great! She always joins Makaria, Melinoe, and I for our tea parties!" Persephone chimed in delight.

Hermes was 80% sure that she should not even be here, much less offering her opinions, but new King of Olympus or not, he will not be telling his uncle's wife what to do. The Underworld power couple scares him too much.

Athena’s fists hit the arms of her throne with a sharp crack that echoed across the chamber. The sound rang out hard enough to draw every eye to her. She was standing now, her shoulders stiff and trembling. But it wasn’t grief that was making her shake, it was thinly veiled fury. Her jaw clenched, and her eyes, usually sharp with control and calculation, were bloodshot and wet. She didn’t even bother wiping the tears from her face.

“How…” she started, voice hoarse. She paused, breathed in, and tried again. “How dare you? How can you all sit there, speaking and laughing, like nothing has happened? Our father is dead. The King of Olympus is dead!”

The silence that followed stretched long enough to be uncomfortable.

Uncle Hades was the one who finally responded. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t meet her anger with more anger. Instead, his expression was tired and knowing, touched with something that almost looked like pity.

“Do not let your emotions cloud your judgment, niece,” he chastised calmly. “You are the Goddess of Wisdom. You know better than most how to evaluate the truth of a situation. Ask yourself, with that clarity you prize so highly, whether this course of action was truly unwise.”

Athena stared at him, her breath sharp and uneven. Her face was pale, but her eyes burned. She didn’t answer him. Her focus didn’t leave his face, but Hermes could tell she wasn’t really listening anymore. Not to Hades. Maybe not to anyone.

Hermes watched his sister, and for the first time that evening, something inside him ached. He knew this part was going to be difficult, but it hit harder than he expected.  For all of her pride and reason, Athena had never truly stopped being a daughter first. Her identity had been forged in loyalty to Zeus. She had followed him, defended him, and stood beside him even when the rest of them had seen what he was.

Hermes glanced around the room, noting how many of them had grown up with mothers to balance the worst of their father’s influence. Even Ares and Hephaestus, for all their strained histories, had Hera. Athena had never had that. She had sprung from Zeus alone, shaped in his image, and now he was gone. There was no second parent to soften the blow. No maternal figure to fill the space that had suddenly opened beneath her feet.

Maybe that was why she clung to him the way she did. Maybe she had known, deep down, that without him, she wouldn’t know where she stood. It didn’t make her loyalty less frustrating, but it made it easier to understand.

She stayed on her feet for a while longer, but eventually her body began to sag. Her shoulders dropped, and the rigid posture she always held onto with such effort finally gave out. She lowered herself back into her throne slowly. The fight drained from her like water slipping through cracked stone.

She didn’t say another word.

She didn’t need to.

Her reluctant silence was the clearest answer she could give.

Chapter Text

Hermes stared at Iris, unsure if he had actually heard her correctly. The words didn’t seem real. She had just informed him that he was formally invited to Queen Persephone’s Ball—a celebration honoring the graduation of her Champion, Nicolo di Angelo.

It didn’t make sense. That couldn’t be right.

The last time Hermes had seen Nico, he had been eighteen. Just barely an adult. He had only recently been accepted into New Rome University. Hermes remembered that moment clearly because it had come just a day before he had seen his son for the last time. Then he had decided to dethrone Zeus, and everything had changed so quickly—too quickly.

Nico couldn’t be twenty-two already. What had he been studying? When had he been named Persephone’s Champion? Hermes felt completely unprepared for the idea that the boy he had watched so closely, the one he had made so many decisions around, had continued growing in his absence.

Then again, absence might have been the problem.

Hermes knew he had been busy. He hadn’t stopped moving since he took the throne. Rebuilding Olympus had been more complicated than overthrowing it. There were systems to undo, authority to redistribute, protections to install, and a hundred broken promises to fix.

Most of all, there were the demigods, so many of them, left behind or forgotten. When Hermes had promised to do better, he had meant it.

It had taken time, but the results had started to show. The camps now had secure, god-backed transport systems for every child, no matter where they lived. It didn’t matter if they were orphaned, or if their mortal parent was unable or unwilling to care for them properly. The godly parent was now legally responsible for ensuring their safe arrival and enrollment. There were no more excuses or hiding behind the Old Laws.

Each god was also now required to open a dedicated account for their demigod children. An education fund or a trust, anything that would give those kids a real start in life when they reach adulthood.

Yep, he made child support mandatory. He also ensured that every account held the same amount of money. Avoiding favoritism among their mortal children was still enforced—an old law Hermes had no problem upholding. However, that didn’t mean the gods should avoid showing interest in their children just to avoid breaking it.

It wasn’t about spoiling them. It was about making sure they weren’t expected to survive the world with nothing but a sword and a quest.

Speaking of quests, those had changed too. Drastically.

Gods were no longer allowed to issue meaningless errands or dangerous missions without proper oversight. The days of sending children to retrieve lost trinkets from monsters’ dens were over. Hermes had made that very clear at the last council meeting. Aphrodite had been less than pleased. She had pouted about her antique brush for nearly a week, acting like it was some divine artifact that required immediate retrieval.

Hermes hadn’t minced his words. If she really wanted it back, she could have snapped her fingers and summoned it. Sending two untrained demigods into a Cyclops’s cave over something so trivial was unacceptable. They had barely made it out alive.

When had the gods become so lazy? So reliant on quests to do what they could easily do themselves?

In response, Hermes had worked closely with Hephaestus to develop better alternatives. Together with Hecate, they had created magical totems and enhancements that helped demigods move more easily through the mortal world. Items that could hide their scent, mask their auras, and even allow them to interact with technology without drawing monsters.

The tools weren’t flawless, but they were significant improvements. Demigods were no longer left to fend for themselves.

It had all taken work. Years of it. Hermes had called in every favor he had. He had negotiated with gods, spirits, and monsters. He had worn down old power structures and rewritten laws that had stood for centuries. And slowly, painfully, it had started to make a difference.

In the process, however, Hermes had also let go of certain responsibilities. His role as Messenger of Olympus had been officially transferred to Iris. He still held the title as God of Communication, but the tasks themselves—delivering decrees, gathering news, and managing communication between realms—were now in her hands.

He supervised and advised, but he no longer did the legwork himself. There simply didn’t have enough time.

And now, because of that distance, he had missed something important.

He was still staring at Iris, trying to process what it all meant, when she handed him the invitation. The envelope shimmered with enchantments, and it was sealed with Persephone’s personal crest. Hermes accepted it with a nod and tried to ignore the dull ache building behind his ribs.

“Is... the Prince of the Underworld bringing a plus one to the ball?” he asked, tone casual in a way that didn’t quite match the tension rising in his chest.

Iris’s eyes sparkled. She didn’t smirk or tease, not openly, but there was a knowing gleam behind her professionalism. She was polite—always had been—but she wasn’t blind. She understood more than she let on.

“Unfortunately for Cupid,” she began, voice warm with amusement, “Nicolo di Angelo has been single for a couple of years now. After his highness ended his four-year relationship with William Solace, he had a brief four-month involvement with Paolo Montes, son of Hebe, and a slightly longer relationship with Mitchell, son of Aphrodite, which lasted about six months.”

Hermes hadn’t asked for that level of detail, and she must have known that. Still, he didn’t stop her. Iris looked like she was enjoying herself too much to be interrupted, and he wasn’t about to break the flow. Not when he needed to know.

“All of the breakups were amicable,” she added, voice steady. “Apollo’s son wanted a quieter life. He wanted to live in the mortal world and forget about all the losses from the Wars. After he was accepted into Harvard for Pre-Med, he and Nico agreed to part ways. Nico never had any intention of leaving his family behind, not even for his first love. They still keep in touch, though, and meet for lunch when schedules allow. There doesn’t appear to be lingering bitterness.”

Hermes felt something twist deep in his chest. A dark, possessive feeling surged through him, uninvited but not unfamiliar. He didn’t want to be thinking about William Solace kissing Nico, having tasted the carnal pleasure of his skin, or being the first one to earn his love. That place should have belonged to him.

He had the power to find the boy, to remind him that certain lines shouldn’t have been crossed. But he did not.

First of all, Hermes was trying to show everybody that he was not Zeus.

Second of all, Apollo favors William. The last thing Hermes needed was to start a feud with his brother.

So instead, he took a deep breath, and kept his tone even as he asked, “What about the other two?”

Iris tilted her head, already prepared. “Paolo and Nico were more of a rebound situation. It helped them get through some leftover feelings from their previous relationships, but neither expected it to last. It was a brief, mutually supportive arrangement—stress relief more than anything else.”

She continued, clearly enjoying herself. Iris had always been too much of a gossip.

“As for Mitchell... well, that one ended with a quiet conversation. Nico was focused on his degree—he graduated with honors in Political Science and Government, by the way—and Mitchell needed a different kind of partner. Someone who had time to be present. He preferred being the center of someone’s world, and Nico was already juggling too many responsibilities. They agreed to remain friends before things soured.”

Hermes raised an eyebrow, and Iris gave a little shrug, still smiling.

“They meet regularly for bi-monthly wine and cheese nights, according to the rumor mill. Sometimes they shop together in Milan or Prague or wherever Hades lets them run off to with one of his credit cards. But it is harmless. They mostly talk about fashion, gossip, or argue over wine pairings.”

Hermes could live with that.

After everything Nico had endured, he deserved to have some fun. Hermes had finally come to understand, deep down, that the boy he adored was never meant to be confined. Trying to box him in, to isolate or control him, would only break the very things that made him great. But that didn’t mean Hermes was willing to share forever.

When the time came for him to claim what was his, everyone would understand. Nico would belong to him. And everyone will know he is off-limits.

Iris tilted her head, voice soft with mischief.

“So... do I send in your RSVP?”

Hermes gave her a flat look. “Yes, I’ll be attending the ball.”

~o~

The ball wasn’t in the throne hall this time. Persephone had opened her garden instead, a rare thing in itself since the place was usually reserved for family, and maybe that was exactly the point.

The garden looked ethereal tonight. Green flames burned low along the stone paths, their light flickering against the vines that climbed the walls and the branches heavy with fruit. In the center stood the old pomegranate tree, its bark dark and smooth, its fruit hanging heavy, while around it, flowers carved from gemstones caught the glow and scattered it back across the crowd as they moved.

Someone had convinced Beethoven to play—how, Hermes had no idea. The composer’s ghost sat near the orchestra pit, hands gliding over the keys with detachment. Melinoë managed the staff like she was running a military operation; drinks never ran out, trays never stayed empty, and anyone who looked even slightly lost was gently redirected before they realized it. Macaria moved through the guests with her usual quiet command, smiling just enough to keep everyone at ease while she smoothed over small frictions before they could turn into real arguments.

At the far end, beneath an arch of thorned vines and silver leaves, Hades and Persephone sat on their thrones watching the evening unfold. The whole royal family had shown up in full form—impeccable, poised, and effortlessly elegant. It wasn’t just another social night. This was a celebration for the Underworld’s most treasured jewel, and everyone knew it.

Hermes walked the winding paths slowly, letting the sound of strings and conversation wash over him. Nymphs dipped their heads when he passed; spirits paused mid-step to bow, their outlines flickering faintly in the firelight. Even the demigods, when they weren’t busy admiring the gemstone flowers or whispering to each other, offered quiet signs of respect.

Nicolo di Angelo stood near the center like someone out of a Renaissance painting. His suit was black, sharp, and perfectly cut, the fabric shaped so precisely that it shifted with every breath. The design carried a touch of old-world formality, something that might have come from a royal court, but the details made it his own. With dark green ivy stitched into the fabric in subtle, uneven lines. The embroidery caught the firelight, curling up one sleeve and tracing along his ribs in a way that made it look alive.

A cape hung from one shoulder, fastened by a chain of fine silver links that shimmered with small, embedded diamonds. The fabric was darker than the suit, the kind of black that didn’t reflect light but swallowed it whole, as if the shadows had agreed to follow him wherever he went.

And the crown—if it could even be called that—was delicate but deliberate. A silver band shaped like bone wrapped lightly around his head, its points blooming into small sculpted flowers: asphodel, nightshade, pomegranate blossoms, each with a stone set at its center—amethyst, garnet, sapphire, onyx, moonstone, and fire opal.

Hermes stared longer than he should have, but what caught his attention wasn’t the crown.

It was the brooch.

Pinned at Nico’s shoulder, right where the cape met the lapel, a silver serpent bared its fangs around a single cobra stone. Hermes knew the piece instantly. He’d chosen the design himself and spent days perfecting the charm.

His pulse picked up. Had Nico accepted his gift knowingly? Did he understand what it meant? Had Hades seen it and allowed it? Was this permission—or a warning?

Hermes stopped in front of Nico, his thoughts still running, but his voice—when it finally came—was steady. “May I have this dance, Your Highness?”

Nico looked up, and for a long moment, the air between them went still. His eyes, dark and unreadable, caught Hermes’s and held them there, weighing him with the same calm precision he used on gods and monsters alike. There was no hostility in it, only a quiet assessment, the kind that decided everything before a word was spoken.

Whatever he found must have passed inspection, because after what felt like a full breath too long, Nico inclined his head and said, “As you wish, sire,” his tone smooth and sure, every word controlled.

Hermes almost laughed—not because it was amusing, but because it was exactly what he’d expected. So very Nico: composed, polite, perfectly aware of every game being played around him, and yet never showing a hint of pressure. The boy could walk through the most volatile court in existence and make it look like everyone else was the one on trial. He was diplomacy personified, and Hermes couldn’t decide if that made him more impressed or more unnerved.

Without missing a beat, Hermes extended his hand. The movement was effortless, a gesture practiced over centuries, and yet when Nico’s fingers brushed his own, his heart quickened in nervousness. They crossed the ballroom together, and the crowd parted naturally, some dancers continued without looking up, some stopped altogether, and several minor gods tried far too hard not to stare, their curiosity obvious in every stolen glance.

Hermes’s attention flicked across the room in passing—Aphrodite, Hephaestus, and Ares attempting a waltz that looked dangerously close to collapsing into chaos, and Apollo, of all people, managing to convince Artemis into a dance she clearly didn’t want but tolerated anyway. That alone might have been the rarest sight of the evening.

When the next song began—a slow, classical waltz that drifted like silk through the hall—they moved. Nico stepped into rhythm without hesitation, his movements sharp with precision but fluid. He followed Hermes’s lead but never surrendered control completely.

By the second waltz, Hermes’s nerves had calmed down. By the third, he had stopped noticing who was watching. By the fourth, the corners of his mouth had started to lift, and by the fifth, he had forgotten entirely that this had begun as a calculated plan.

The air between them carried a charge that felt alive with tension. The rest of the room blurred at the edges. Hermes felt only the solid weight of Nico’s hand, the press of dark fabric against his own, and the steady rhythm of movement that seemed to pull the music into them instead of the other way around.

By the seventh waltz, a faint sheen had gathered across Nico’s brow. It wasn’t much, just enough to catch the firelight. Hermes caught it, and without thinking, slowed the pace, easing the turns until they could step gracefully off the dance floor as if the change were choreographed.

Applause followed them out, polite if a slightly overeager. A few demigods clapped too loudly, and one overenthusiastic goddess tried to intercept them mid-step, praising the “harmony of Olympus and the Underworld” in a voice designed to be overheard. Hermes only gave her a passing nod, returned Nike’s wink—who muttered “Valedictorian” toward Nico in amusement—and kept moving until the crowd faded behind them.

He caught two flutes of ambrosia from a passing tray and led Nico out through one of the garden arches. The deeper they went, the quieter everything became. The laughter and the music thinned into background sound, replaced by the soft crackle of the green flames that burned along the flowerbeds.

The garden looked different in this light. The gemstone flowers no longer gleamed like display pieces but seemed to breathe gently in the dark, their colors pulsing faintly with each flicker of flame. Rubies glowed like embers and emeralds shimmered in the leaves. It was too vivid to be decoration, but Hermes knew Persephone well enough to know it wasn’t mere artistry either. Nothing in her domain was ever without purpose.

They found a bench tucked under an arch of silver-leafed vines, the blossoms faintly luminous against the dark. Hermes passed Nico one of the flutes and sank into the seat beside him, as he took a sip of his drink, letting the cold sweetness linger on his tongue. “My sister really does know how to throw a party.”

Nico crossed one leg over the other, glass in hand, as he watched him sidelong. “They’re calmer than the ones Olympus hosts,” he said after a moment, and there was the faintest hint of amusement in his tone.

Hermes chuckled, leaning back. “Calm isn’t the word I’d use. Sophisticated, maybe. Your father’s always had better taste than the rest of us.”

Nico took a slow sip, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. “You said it, not me.”

Hermes tilted his head toward him, smirking. “And I stand by it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t tense. It was easy, stretched out between them like shared understanding, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. The garden hummed quietly around them, and when Nico finally turned to look at him again, his expression was sharper now, curious in a way that made Hermes’s chest tighten.

“Tell me, Hermes,” Nico said, his voice low but steady. “What does all of this mean?”

Hermes took a sip, the cool sweetness of the drink cutting through the faint warmth of the night. “My sister really does know how to throw a party,” he said finally, more to the quiet air than to Nico.

Nico crossed one leg over the other, his glass resting loosely in his hand. “They’re calmer than the ones Olympus hosts,” he said after a beat, glancing sideways with that flicker of restrained amusement Hermes had come to recognize.

Hermes let out a low laugh, light enough to draw a few glances from nearby spirits. “Calm isn’t the word I’d use. Sophisticated, maybe. Your father’s always had better taste than the rest of us. Olympus throws raves and regrets; the Underworld prefers elegance.”

Nico’s lips curved just slightly as he lifted his glass. “You said it, not me.”

“I’ll stand by it,” Hermes said, tipping his head toward him with an easy grin.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It settled between them the way still water holds a reflection—quiet, balanced, and unforced. The garden hummed softly around them, the faint crackle of the green fire weaving through the air. Then Nico turned, his gaze sharpening, curiosity sliding into focus.

“Hermes,” he said, voice even. “What does all of this mean?”

His hand moved almost absently as he spoke, fingers brushing the edge of the snake brooch pinned to his shoulder. The motion was unthinking, but it caught Hermes like a hook. His throat tightened before he could stop it. There was nothing overtly deliberate in the gesture, nothing meant to tempt, and yet the sight of Nico’s fingers tracing over something he’d made—something he’d given him—sent a sudden heat through his chest.

It shouldn’t have affected him like that. He’d known lovers across every realm, mortal and divine, beautiful beyond measure, and none of them had undone him this easily. Nico wasn’t even trying. He was just sitting there, looking calm and distant, and somehow that restraint made Hermes ache all the more.

He wanted him—plain and simple. He wanted to lean in, taste the skin at his throat, and see that perfect composure slip for once. But it wasn’t only hunger. He wanted to give himself over too, to wake beside him and see those dark eyes without the guard between them.

It felt different this time, the pull between them wasn’t about power. Hermes had always been the one to set the pace, to lead, to direct. Yet here, the balance tilted quietly in Nico’s favor. Still, Hermes didn’t feel powerless; he felt seen, as though Nico could already read the parts of him no one else had ever cared to notice.

He realized he’d gone quiet too long, his thoughts running ahead of his restraint. Clearing his throat, he forced the words out, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. “It’s a courting gift,” he said at last.

Nico’s brow lifted slightly. “So, you wish to court me? Why?”

Hermes blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness. “I do. But—why do you ask it like that?”

Nico’s tone didn’t change; it stayed calm, edged with precision. “Is it for a night? For a season? To add me as another knot on your bed? Or do you mean to tie Olympus to the Underworld through me? Perhaps you think my father’s favor—or his weapons—will come in handy.” He paused, gaze steady. “Or is it because everyone calls me the jewel of the Underworld, and you can’t stand the thought of not owning what’s rare?”

The words hit harder than Hermes wanted to admit. His smile faltered before he could stop it. He hadn’t meant to show that truth, but it was there, too obvious to hide. Of course, he’d wanted to steal him—he was the God of Thieves; it was instinct. Nico had always been the one treasure no one else seemed to recognize properly. But what he felt now had grown beyond that first impulse.

Hermes straightened a little, forcing the blush in his face to fade before it gave him away. “At first, yes,” he admitted quietly. “I was drawn to what others overlooked, and that called to me.” He hesitated, eyes meeting Nico’s. “But that’s not what this is anymore. I want you because I want to be taken apart by you. I want to belong to you as much as I want you to be mine.”

Nico leaned in, slow and measured, until Hermes could feel his breath brush across his lips. The space left between them was barely enough for air, just enough to feel the warmth waiting there.

“That’s a dangerous thing to say to a child of the Underworld,” Nico teased softly. His hand lifted, fingers hovering near Hermes’s cheek without touching. “We take monogamy seriously down here,” he added, voice calm and certain. “We don’t share.”

Hermes didn’t look away. “Good,” he said, tone steady. “Because I don’t either.” His eyes held Nico’s. “I don’t want anyone else. Haven’t for a long time.”

Nico’s brow rose slightly. “You say that now.”

“I’ve meant it for years.” A quiet pause followed, filled with everything neither wanted to name out loud. Hermes’s next words came out lower, closer to a confession than a statement. “I may talk about consuming you,” he said, “but it’s the other way around. You’ve already taken me apart. You’re in every breath I take, and I haven’t been able to get you out my mind. I don’t want to.”

Nico didn’t move at first. He just watched him, expression unreadable, like he was testing every word before deciding what to believe. Then the corner of his mouth curved into a faint smirk.

“Good,” he replied.

Then, without warning, he leaned back slightly and drew a small blade from his belt. The movement was so smooth that Hermes didn’t react until the edge flashed and sliced neatly across Nico’s palm.

Hermes’s eyes widened as a line of blood welled and glimmered in the garden light—not only red, but streaked with gold, thick and molten, divine enough to make the air still around them.

“I’ll give you one chance,” Nico said, extending his bleeding hand. “You may court me. Prove that this isn’t just a passing impulse. If you do—before I ascend—I’ll marry you.”

Hermes reached out carefully, his fingers wrapping around Nico’s wrist. He brought the hand closer, his breath brushing the skin before his lips did. He pressed a slow kiss to the center of the palm, then traced the wound with his tongue. Nico inhaled sharply, and Hermes smirked against his skin.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

~o~

Courting wasn’t something Hermes ever had to bother with. It wasn’t pride, it was just fact. He was a smooth talker by design, a silver-tongued born from chaos and crafted to convince. Five minutes, that was all it usually took. A glance, a laugh, a well-placed compliment or two, and most lovers were already halfway undressed, willingly and eager. That was the way it worked. Always had.

~o~

Hermes had put real effort into the date. He chose Venice carefully, booking the gondola in advance, making sure it wasn’t one of the tourist traps with red seats and shouting guides. This one was black and polished, with a silent rower and a lantern faint enough to leave the water dark. Hermes wore a black suit with no tie, leaving the collar open, and his hair slightly messy on purpose. It was calculated casual, just enough effort to look effortless.

Nico was already waiting when he arrived. He wore dark gray slacks, a fitted coat that looked more Parisian than Italian, and heavy boots that suited him. His hair was still damp from the night air, a few curls tucked behind one ear. Hermes focused on that detail more than he should have for a first date.

The gondola moved slowly through the canals as they passed old buildings whose windows caught bits of the moon. The air was cool and faintly salty, somewhere a violin was playing, as a few tourists drifted by without paying attention, which was exactly how Hermes preferred it.

He started with small talk, pointing out the moonlight that wavered over the water, the way it stretched thin across the surface like glass. Nico didn’t answer, but he looked down at their reflection, watching it ripple with the gondola’s slow movement. Hermes took it as quiet interest rather than disinterest; with Nico, silence always came first.

So, he kept talking.

He told him stories—how certain bridges were said to hide curses sealed by monks, how relics sometimes resurfaced from the canals still intact, how an entire palazzo once sank and came back centuries later with its candles still burning. His tone carried the amusement of someone used to holding an audience. Nico didn’t look bored, which Hermes counted as a victory.

When Hermes mentioned that Venus had once tried to claim the city out of vanity, Nico finally glanced up with an unreadable expression. “That must have gone well.”

Hermes smiled, relieved to hear his voice again. “She flooded half the city,” he said. “Then got distracted by Paris.”

That earned a small smile, barely there but real. Hermes didn’t press it, but he let himself feel the satisfaction all the same.

Dinner came after. He’d picked a rooftop restaurant that overlooked the canal. Each table was spaced for privacy, the kind of place where conversation stayed between two people and the staff seemed trained to walk without sound. The menu had too many options, and the wine selection was thick enough to pass for scripture.

They sat near the edge where the water caught the moonlight in small shards. Hermes didn’t have to worry about the service, after all the owner owed him a favor from years ago involving a vault, a cousin, and a basilisk that should never have left Naples.

When the wine arrived, Nico looked at the label, then at him. “Did you pick this for the taste or the price?”

Hermes smiled. “Both.”

Nico raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. The pasta came next, fragrant with basil and olive oil. Nico didn’t comment on it or the view, he didn’t complain either. He ate quietly, as the candlelight caught on the edge of his wristwatch and the small scar near his thumb. Hermes found himself watching those details instead of the skyline.

Halfway through, Hermes gave him a small box wrapped in black velvet. Inside was a silver bracelet shaped like a snake biting its own tail, matching the brooch from the ball. Nico opened it and studied it, as he ran his thumb over the snake’s head.

“It’s well made,” he said, fastening it around his wrist. “Thank you.”

His voice was polite but flat. Hermes almost frowned at the distant tone, but he managed to keep his expression placid. He kept the conversation light, talking about New Rome University, and how Persephone nearly cursed a vineyard for naming a bottle after her.

They left the restaurant without saying where they were going. The air had cooled enough to bite gently at the skin, somewhere down the canal, someone laughed. Hermes walked a little behind at first, hands in his pockets, watching Nico’s confident stride. The streetlamps cast their light unevenly, catching on the water and the slick stones underfoot.

They passed a closed bakery, the smell of sugar and yeast still hanging faintly in the air. A violinist was packing up his instrument, the sound of the latch echoing across the narrow street. A pair of lovers lingered under an archway, whispering sweet nonsense in each other’s ear.

Nico’s gaze moved over the buildings, the faded saints on the corners, the steps that vanished into the black water. Hermes thought of asking what he saw, what he felt, but at the end he did not.

When the night had settled fully, Hermes turned, ready to say something that might keep Nico with him for a little longer. But Nico spoke first. “It was a beautiful night; the bracelet was a nice touch.”

Hermes almost smiled. “I wasn’t sure if you would like it.”

“I do,” Nico replied, glancing down at it briefly. Then his eyes met Hermes’s again. “But the date as a whole lacked essence.”

Hermes blinked. “Essence?”

“It was too superficial,” Nico explained. “You want me to fall for you, but all you did all night was trying to seduce me. You did not show me anything real, I know as little of you as I did yesterday.”

Hermes could have laughed if the words hadn’t felt so true. He opened his mouth to reply, but the shadows gathered around Nico, folding inward, and soon he was gone. Hermes stood there for a while, hands still in his pockets, staring at the empty space before him.

The water below shimmered with fractured light, breaking the moon into pieces that refused to stay whole. He watched it until the ripples calmed, then turned and started walking again. Venice was still awake, and so was he.

~o~

And really, courting in general wasn’t something the gods were known for. They didn’t have to be. They were beautiful, flawless in the eyes of mortals, wrapped in divine glamour that made even the cruelest of them look like salvation. Desire clung to them whether they wanted it or not. Worship bled into seduction, and seduction into possession. Consent was... negotiable. Or, in the case of some, ignored entirely.

~o~

He didn’t make a spectacle of it this time. No candlelit rooftops or elaborate meals, or polished gestures meant to impress. Hermes had learned from that first night that Nico didn’t need a performance, he needed honesty.

So, he brought him to Greece.

Not the mortal version plastered on travel posters, with crowds, flash photography, and people pretending to find meaning in ruins they didn’t understand. Hermes took him somewhere that still felt real to him.

Arcadia.

The forest didn’t look like much. The air smelled thick, like damp leaves and old rain, and the ground gave a little under their steps, soft with moss and roots. Hermes walked ahead, moving with the familiarity of someone who knew where they were heading.

Every few steps, he’d push a branch aside or kick a stone out of the way. Nico followed without question, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, as his eyes traced the way light filtered through the canopy.

By the time they reached what was left of the altar, the sun had shifted low enough to turn everything gold. The old stone was half-swallowed by the earth, carved edges worn smooth, and the air humming with the faint sound of insects. Hermes stopped in front of it, taking a deep breath, then crouched.

“This used to belong to Pan,” he said, brushing moss away with his fingertips. The stone underneath was cracked and cold. “Once upon a time, satyrs and nymphs would gather here to celebrate my son.  They’d dance until they couldn’t stand anymore and sing until their voices broke.”

He smiled faintly, not at Nico, but at the memory itself. “Pan didn’t care about worship; he just wanted company. But they still would bring him tributes from time to time, honey and fruit mostly. Even bark, sometimes. Anything that came from the earth.”

Hermes sat back on his heels and looked around at what remained. The forest had changed. The laughter that used to echo through it was gone, replaced by wind and the soft crack of shifting branches. “When mortals started clearing the land and cutting the trees, to build the infrastructure of what would later become the cities, Pan stopped talking as much. Some days I think he’s still out here, then I am reminded that my son is gone.”

Nico hadn’t moved the whole time. He stood a few steps away, the faint light catching in his hair, his expression unreadable but intent. Hermes leaned back on his hands, looking up at the canopy that seemed to stretch forever.

“I didn’t notice right away,” he said after a while. “He’d disappear sometimes, you know? For a season, sometimes a decade, it was just how he was. But when he came back the last time, it was different. His laugh was gone and I just knew...”

He pressed his thumb to the stone until his skin went pale. “I tried everything. I redirected a few prayers from others, called in favors, even rebuilt shrines. None of that helped. The more I tried, the faster he began to disappear.”

Hermes straightened slowly, brushing dirt from his hands. His voice had gone quieter. “When he finally vanished... it broke something in me. As callous as it is, I’ve come to accept the fact that my mortal sons would die. It is the order of nature. But Pan was a God, he was not supposed to be a son I lost.”

He let the words hang there. “I cried so hard,” he said simply. “But after that came something worse. I felt relieved.” He looked up, as if waiting for the forest to condemn him for saying it aloud. “I hated myself for so long,” he said. “Still do at times.”

Nico had stepped closer, standing beside the altar now. The light filtered through the branches in thin stripes across his jacket.

“I didn’t want to feel relief,” Hermes went on. “But I did. He had been suffering for so long. Every day the world got louder, and the wilderness smaller. I’d already tried every trick I knew, and none of that managed to sooth his pain. When Pan let go, I was grateful he’d stopped hurting. And that made me feel like I’d failed him.”

Nico crouched, brushed away a layer of leaves from the altar. He ran a hand along the cracks, as if searching for the shape of something that wasn’t there anymore. “You didn’t fail him,” he finally said.

Hermes gave a small broken laugh under his breath. “Doesn’t feel that way.”

“He wanted peace,” Nico brushed his palms together. “There’s no shame in feeling relief. It means you cared enough to want the pain to end.” He met Hermes’s eyes. “People think grief has to hurt forever. That if it stops, love stops too. But it doesn’t. Mourning is about letting go of the pain, so you can keep on loving those you’ve lost.”

Hermes hadn’t expected comfort, and it showed in the way he blinked, caught between surprise and something close to gratitude. “You’re better at comforting than I thought,” he grimaced when the confession left his lips without permission.

“I’ve had practice,” Nico laughed softly. “Technically, it’s part of the job. It also helps that lately I’ve been spending time with Makaria and I’ve learned a lot from her. She’s better at comforting, but I try.” The smile that followed wasn’t big, but it was just as honest. “Thank you for showing me the real you this time,” he said. “For trusting me with yourself.”

“Thank you for listening.”

~o~

Zeus had never courted anyone in his immortal life. He took. Always. Swans, bulls, golden rain—didn’t matter the shape, the outcome was the same. Ask Leda. Ask Europa. Ask Danaë. Poseidon wasn’t much better. He raped Medusa inside Athena’s own temple and left her to take the punishment for it. If there was ever guilt, neither of them voiced it.

~o~

They didn’t rush the next date. After Arcadia, Hermes needed the pause. Letting someone see that much of him at once left him off balance and vulnerable. When they did schedule their third date, Hermes brought Nico to Kyllini.

The light was already thinning into the soft blue-grey that comes before dusk. The entrance to the cave sat low between two bent olive trees, the roots curling around stone. It was hidden from everyone, even Gods. You wouldn’t notice it unless you knew its location.

They went in a single line. The air cooled abruptly, growing heavy with the smell of wet limestone. Every step muffled behind them until the outside world disappeared completely. Hermes kept going until the tunnel widened into a small hollow near the end, just big enough for someone to fit if they were sitting down.

His eyes traced the walls and the uneven ground, it was damp in places, and the silence echoed against the stone. Then he sat down on a flat rock near the wall, elbows resting on his knees, like he’d done this before and wasn’t sure why he came back. Nico stayed standing by the opening, until his eyes adjusted to the dark.

“My mother gave birth to me here,” Hermes shared softly. “Maia wasn’t like the other partners of Zeus. She didn’t care about power or lust; she had just wanted to be left alone.” He let out a deep sigh. “Zeus didn’t care about that.”

He picked up a small stone, turned it in his hand, and dropped it again. “She was alone the whole time, and by the time I was born, she held me only for a few hours. That was it.”

Nico sat across from him, knees drawn slightly in, but he didn’t interrupt. Hermes appreciated that Nico was such an attentive listener.

“She didn’t sing me to sleep or give me her blessing. She cried,” Hermes continued quietly. “Not out of joy, either. She looked at me like a problem she didn’t know how to solve.” He leaned back, head against the rock. “I was walking out of the cave before sunset and stole Apollo’s cattle before the day ended.”

He smiled faintly at the memory, but it didn’t stay for long. “That’s the story everyone tells. Baby Hermes, the prodigy thief, clever enough to steal from the golden boy and get away with it. But they always leave out what happened here.”

His gaze swept the walls again, the cracks and shadows. “They forget that I left before she could leave me. They forget that she didn’t follow me, that she never visited Olympus. Never once tried to see what became of the son she didn’t ask for.”

“She never visited you?” Nico’s brow creased.

“Not once,” Hermes said. “Didn’t write, didn’t send word. She wanted nothing to do with Olympus, not that I blame her. Seeing me probably reminded her of the worst day of her life.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than before.

“She wasn’t cruel,” Hermes said after a while, as if he was compelled to defend her. “Just tired. I think she’d already run out of anything left to give.” His hands rubbed together out of habit. “I spent centuries trying to prove I was worth sticking around for. So, I learned everything fast, that way I would be useful. Then someone might choose me. Then someone might stay.”

He tilted his head back, staring at the dark ceiling. “Turns out, being good at things doesn’t fix the part that still aches for a mother’s love.”

“Did anyone ever choose you?” Nico’s voice was soft.

Hermes didn’t answer at once. His eyes flicked toward the cave mouth, where a faint hint of twilight filtered through. “Eventually,” he said. “But by then, I wasn’t sure I could believe it.”

Nico looked toward the dark corner of the cave. “That’s a shame,” he said. “Because you are worth staying for. I hope one day you believe that.”

Hermes let out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. The cave still smelled like earth and stone, but for the first time in his long life, it didn’t feel like a prison. It felt like forgiveness.

 ~o~

There were exceptions. Aphrodite adored being courted. She lived for the poems, the gifts, the flowers laid at her feet like offerings to her ego. She’d bathe in devotion and still demand more. Apollo, for all his drama, actually liked the idea of romance. He’d sing beneath balconies, gift sun-warmed jewels, and pretend like each affair was fated from the start—at least until he lost interest.

~o~

For the fourth date, they drove north from Corinth without much conversation. Hermes followed the path like muscle memory; the road twisted through olive fields. Every so often, a farmhouse or a stone wall appeared and vanished again.

The ruin sat low in the ground, near sundown dip between two slopes, half-swallowed by weeds and time. What was left of the foundation was cracked in every direction, and the ivy had already claimed whatever was still standing. If you didn’t know what it used to be, you’d walk right past it.

Hermes stopped at the edge, looking down like he was trying to recognize it. Nico came up beside him, the wind pulling lightly at his coat. The air smelled faintly of crushed herbs and stone dust.

“This was one of the many temples that rose in my name,” Hermes stepped forward, boots grinding into the old stone. “It was not a major temple, just a stopover for traders and travelers before the isthmus.”

He crouched near the center where the altar would’ve stood. The ground there was dry and uneven, weeds pushing through the cracks. “There used to be a woman,” he said. “Never spoke a word, but every week without fault, she’d leave a loaf of bread and walk off again. She never asked for anything, she just came and left.”

He brushed his fingers over the dirt. “The bread was always warm when she left it. Sometimes she would whistle on her way out. I never learned her name, but I never forgot the melody.”

He sat down on a cracked step, elbows resting on his knees. “One week, she just stopped coming. Maybe she moved away, or maybe she died. I never bothered looking for her. I probably should have, but I didn’t. Some great God I am, huh?”

Nico sat beside him as Hermes looked out across the ruin. “The temple lasted a while after that,” he continued. “People came and went, the prayers faded… and eventually, no one bothered fixing the cracks. I don’t blame them. Time keeps moving and belief shifts, that’s the nature of mortals.”

He glanced down at his hands, brushing the dust off his palms. “But, as curious as it is, I still think about that bread. The smell of it. The weight.”

Hermes looked over at Nico, a faint crease forming between his brows. “Why do you think I never tried to find out what happened to her?”

Nico didn’t answer. The question wasn’t really meant for him. Hermes knew that. But still, he asked it, as if saying it out loud might finally get him a response.

~o~

Hermes had always been somewhere in between. He didn’t chase, not really. He didn’t wait long enough to fall into the whole process. Most of the time, he didn’t need to. Even the mortals he favored never expected much. A night, maybe a week. Just the thrill of having a God’s attention long enough to feel special before he moved on.

But this? Nico? He was special.

~o~

They went to the sea for their last date. The cove was hidden behind a cliff, a strip of rough stone and black sand where the wind cut sharp and the water stung cold.

Hermes left his shoes by the rocks and rolled up his trousers. Nico followed suit, setting his coat aside, watching as the God stepped into the water without hesitation. It reached their ankles, biting just enough to make them both shiver. The foam curled and broke around their feet.

“This is where I come to think,” Hermes said, eyes on the horizon. “Mostly about Luke.”

Nico turned slightly, caught off guard, but Hermes didn’t look back at him. He just let the sea wind ruffle his hair. “He was right,” he said. “About all of it, especially the favoritism. For all of Zeus’ rules to not get involved with our mortal children, Gods still tended to pick who to protect and who to forget.”

He folded his arms, not for warmth, but as if to keep something inside from spilling out. “Percy could break every rule we had and still walk away scot-free, all because he had his father’s favor. Any other demigod would’ve been cast out, or worse. But Percy looked like Poseidon, sounded like him, carried the sea’s temper in his blood. Our uncle saw his own reflection in his son, and that alone was enough to win Percy his favor, even if our cousin refuses to see it.”

The surf came in again, dragging a shell past their feet. Hermes nudged it gently aside. “That’s the truth of it,” he said. “We protect the children who remind us of ourselves, often without even realizing it. At least, the ones who reflect our better qualities. Fates be merciful to those who remind us of what we’d rather forget.”

He paused, then added quietly, “Luke reminded me of my quick tongue, my charm, the ability to bend truth until it sounded noble. Every time he did something cruel, every mistake he made, I saw what I could have been if I had allowed my anger to rule me.”

The words settled between them, carried off by the wind. “Percy reminded everyone of power,” he said. “Luke reminded me of failure.” Hermes shifted his weight against the sand. “I tried to fix it—fix him—but I waited too long to act.”

“He still loved you,” Nico tried to comfort him.

Hermes didn’t answer at first. The water hissed as it pulled back, leaving their reflections trembling on the surface. When he finally spoke, it was softer. “Sometimes I think that made it worse.”

They stayed there, the wind pushing at their clothes, the sky deepening into indigo. Neither spoke for a long time. Then Hermes said, “I used to think being a God meant that people should take what I gave and be grateful.” He turned his head slightly, catching Nico’s profile in the fading light. “That’s not how it works, is it?”

Nico met his eyes, the corners of his mouth barely lifting. “If you want someone to stay, you have to let them in. You need to allow yourself to be vulnerable in their presence and let them see the real you. All of you. And then, let them decide if they will.”

The sea pushed another wave against their ankles. Hermes looked down, then back up at him. His voice was low, almost swallowed by the tide. “Will you?”

Nico’s gaze softened. “Maybe I will.”

Chapter Text

Olympian meetings rarely started on time. The official reason varied depending on who you asked—weather, divine omens, mortal crises—but everyone knew the truth. It was the gods. They were the delay. Every time.

Most assumed the ones responsible would be Dionysus, Apollo, and Hermes. That trio practically invited suspicion. They were the drunk, the playboy, and the trickster. It sounded more like a setup for a bad tavern joke than the cornerstone of a pantheon. You’d expect them to roll in thirty minutes late with wine-stained togas and excuses that involved music, flirting, or some poor mortal festival spiraling out of control.

But here’s the thing—those three were never late.

Dionysus, for all his wine-soaked irreverence, was a performer at heart. God of theater, drama, and perfectly-timed entrances. He knew the weight of a pause, the power of arrival. He treated meetings like stage cues. If his name was called, he showed up exactly when the script demanded—even if he was hungover, half-asleep, or in the middle of a rave.

Apollo had even fewer excuses. The sun didn’t wait. He had a schedule, and he stuck to it. Not because he cared about rules, but because if he ever dropped the ball, mortals would notice. The sun late to rise? Crops die. Oceans shift. Panic spreads. He played it cool, but underneath the smug smiles and golden shine was a clockwork precision that made time itself jealous.

And Hermes—well, punctuality came with the job. Messenger of the gods. You couldn’t afford to be late when the message was life or death, when the path led through shadow or storm. He was fast, but more importantly, he was exact. If he said sunset, he meant the second the sky turned gold. If he promised to arrive by first light, he’d be there before the birds even considered warming up.

So no, they weren’t the problem.

The real delays came from other corners of Olympus. Some were expected. Ares, for example, had no concept of time unless it involved a countdown to violence. If the meeting didn’t involve blood, conquest, or battlefield tactics, he’d show up late on principle—or not at all. Poseidon wasn’t much better. He claimed his domain was too vast, too chaotic, that the sea answered to no clock. Which sounded poetic until you realized he just didn’t care.

But the surprises? The ones that made Hermes glance at the sun and wonder who forgot their godly responsibilities today?

That would be Hephaestus and Athena.

Hephaestus had the worst track record. Not because he was lazy—far from it—but because once he was in his forge, the rest of the world stopped existing. Hermes had lost count of how many times he’d shown up to drag the smith out, only to find him elbow-deep in bronze, half-naked, muttering calculations that didn’t sound like any math Hermes understood.

Sometimes Hephaestus wouldn’t even look up. Just grunt, wave him off, and shout something about stabilizing a pressure valve on a prototype no one had asked for. Hermes learned early that the fastest way to get his attention wasn’t talking—it was picking up one of his tools and pretending to touch something. That always got results. Usually in the form of a flying wrench.

Athena’s absences came from her being too focused on something else—usually a scroll, a book, or an argument that had gotten out of hand in one of her libraries. She had a habit of getting pulled into philosophical debates with mortal scholars. Sometimes she’d start lecturing and forget time entirely. Hermes had seen her run into meetings with ink on her fingers, hair slightly out of place, clutching a rolled-up manuscript she refused to leave behind.

She’d apologize, slightly breathless, cheeks touched with the faintest pink. “I lost track,” she’d say. “I didn’t realize how late it was.”

Zeus, of course, always forgave her. She was his favorite. His war-daughter. His brilliant little strategist. She could’ve shown up halfway through the meeting, and he’d still ask her opinion first.

Hermes used to tease her for it—quietly, of course, because he enjoyed having a head—but mostly, he just found it amusing. The Gods who were supposed to be the unpredictable ones, the chaotic ones, the wild cards... they were the most consistent. The ones who acted like order incarnate? Half the time, they were the biggest hazards to a clean agenda.

He’d stopped expecting punctuality centuries ago. The meetings happened when they happened. Half of Olympus showed up prepared. The other half wandered in, mid-conversation, like they’d just remembered this was part of their job.

Olympian meetings never ran on time. That was just a fact. But they never ran late because of Hades.

He wasn’t the type to forget. He didn’t stall, didn’t make excuses, didn’t leave his throne empty unless he had a reason. Hades lived for his duty, carved himself into it like stone under pressure. Even if the skies were burning, even if the foundations of Olympus were cracking, he showed up. He always did.

So, when the meeting started, and his seat remained empty... something shifted in the room. At first, there was just a glance. A few quiet murmurs. Then Poseidon looked over, his brow already drawing in.

“Demeter,” he said, his voice pitched lower than usual. “Has Persephone sent you a message? Anything from the Underworld?”

His tone wasn’t accusatory. Just worried. After everything they’d lost—after Zeus, after the fallout of the war—Hades was the only brother, he had left.

Demeter straightened in her throne, hands folded neatly over her lap. “Not a word,” she said. “But there’s no sign of unrest. If anything, things have finally settled. They finished the backlog from the Wars weeks ago.”

“No birthdays?” Apollo asked from the other side, a little more serious than usual. “No celebrations? No anniversaries they’re tending to?”

Demeter shook her head. “Nothing. There’s no reason he wouldn’t be here. He never misses a council.”

Hestia glanced toward the empty throne and frowned. Her voice was calm, but there was something sharper underneath it. “He’s always been consistent. He may not like Olympus, but he shows up. He puts duty first. Always has. The only exception being family. So, if the Underworld is running smoothly and there are no celebrations... could someone have gotten hurt?”

That silence again. Thicker this time.

Dionysus tapped a slow rhythm on the arm of his throne. He didn’t look concerned, exactly, but the way he narrowed his eyes toward the center of the room meant his thoughts were moving. “Melinoë and Macaria rarely leave the Underworld,” he said. “And they’re not exactly defenseless. I can’t see anyone laying a hand on our nieces without getting torn apart.”

“But Nicolo is mortal,” Athena said, quiet and measured. “He’s the only one among them without divine durability. And he’s close. Very close. The first mortal from the Underworld who’s ever gotten this close to ascending.”

She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to.

The implication sat there like weight dropped into the middle of the table. If someone wanted to send a message to Hades—or to the new King—there weren’t many targets better than Nico di Angelo.

Hermes didn’t wait.

The moment Athena stopped speaking, he was already on his feet. Demeter rose with him, not bothering to excuse herself. Neither of them needed to speak their intent out loud.

Demeter, because the boy might not have been born from Persephone’s womb, but her daughter had claimed him—called him Champion, called him son. And that was enough. So, Demeter claimed him in return. Nico was her grandson. The first she had ever been given by her beloved Kore.

For Hermes... it was something else entirely.

He’d spent weeks—months—letting Nico in. Offering truths in place of tricks. Letting himself be seen without masks and charm. His courting had finally started to yield positive results.

He wasn’t going to let anyone lay a hand on the boy he’d come to see as his own.

Nico wasn’t just a mortal. Not to Hermes. He was sharp and complicated and stubborn in ways most Gods didn’t have the patience for. He didn’t yield easily, didn’t fawn, didn’t fall for theatrics. He’d made Hermes work for every scrap of affection, every flicker of trust.

And Hermes had wanted all of it.

Now, standing in the center of the council chamber, jaw set and eyes darker than usual, Hermes wasn’t thinking about protocol or balance or even Olympus. He was thinking about Nico’s expression the last time they spoke. He was thinking about all the things he hadn’t said yet. All the promises he wasn’t finished making.

If anyone had touched him—if anyone had threatened him—Hermes would find them. And there would be no message. No trial. No mercy.

Because Nico was his.

And Gods protect what’s theirs.

But before the Gods could teleport to the Underworld, a flutter of wings was heard. Then, in a blink, Thanatos appeared in the center of the room.

He looked the way he always did—sharp and beautiful in a way that made most mortals, and even some Gods, uncomfortable to stare at for too long. His hair was straight and black, falling neatly to his shoulders. His skin looked like it had never known sun. His eyes were a deep, gleaming red that caught the torchlight like blood in water. And behind him, two massive black wings folded with precise control, feathers still twitching faintly from flight.

He bowed. Not deeply, but enough to acknowledge who was present. “Honored Olympians,” Thanatos began solemnly, “my master, Lord Hades, has tasked me with delivering a message to Olympus and Atlantis alike.”

The room held its breath. Even Dionysus stopped fidgeting.

“For the first time in history,” Thanatos said, “a son of Hades has ascended. All hail Prince Nicolo di Angelo—King of Ghosts, Champion of Persephone, Ambassador of Pluto, and God of Royalty, Diplomacy, Rebuilding, and Shadows.”

Then he was gone. Leaving only a single black feather on the marble floor.

Silence snapped into place.

Demeter was the first to move. She didn’t speak, didn’t glance back, didn’t wait for permission. She was already walking out of the chamber, following the path Thanatos had just taken. Her posture was firm, but her eyes looked distant, fixed on something far beyond the walls of Olympus. Her grandson had become a God. Her family—Persephone, Hades, the girls—would need her. She’d be there.

No one stopped her.

The rest of the Olympians remained frozen, still digesting the news. Gods didn’t ascend anymore. Not since the days when temples burned hot with fresh offerings, when belief was thick in the air. That time was gone. And for it to happen now, in this age, to a son of Hades of all people—it left them still.

Eventually, someone exhaled.

Athena crossed her arms and tilted her chin up. “He is a worthy God,” she said, cool and composed. “After all, he did bring my statue back.”

Hermes let out a slow breath and sank back into his throne, like someone had pressed the pause button on his entire body.

Poseidon rolled his eyes. “You and your damn statue,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “The boy becomes a God, and somehow this still comes back to marble.” But then he shared a quiet smile with Hestia, who had remained calm through the entire exchange. There was something softer in Poseidon’s face now. “Let’s rejoice, my brother won’t have to mourn his son.”

“That’s a blessing for all of us,” Apollo said with a quiet chuckle. “Because if he had died… Uncle Hades’ grief wouldn’t have stayed down there. It would’ve spilled over. Maybe even touched the mortal world—for the first time in a millennia.”

Artemis nodded in agreement. “He’s never loved a mortal child the way he’s loved the Ghost King. Not even Bianca’s death would have brought that kind of reaction.”

Hestia finally looked up at that.

“You’ve misunderstood,” she chided gently. “My brother mourns every child he’s ever had. Bianca’s death broke something in him. He just managed to keep it contained, and not affect the mortal worl.”

She looked toward Artemis, then Apollo, then the space where Thanatos had stood.

“But Nicolo… he is different. My brother raised the boy, taught him everything he knew. The demigod used to follow him around the Underworld like a duckling. If he’d died, it wouldn’t have just broken Hades—it would’ve unmade something in him.”

Her words settled like a cold and heavy truth.

The throne room stayed quiet, each God lost in their own thoughts. Some were remembering Nico’s history. What he’d survived. What he’d endured. And what it meant for him to stand beside Hades now.

The silence didn’t last long.

As soon enough Aphrodite lit up like someone had flipped a switch. She clapped her hands, practically bouncing in her throne, her voice carrying with its usual sing-song ease. “Oh, finally! I haven’t planned a proper royal wedding in centuries.”

Some of the others flinched at her volume. Artemis rubbed at his temple. Athena blinked slowly. Ares just leaned back with a dry chuckle, already predicting what would follow.

“Love,” he said, dragging out the pet-name like a sigh, “Persephone didn’t let you organize the wedding between Makaria and Thanatos. Or the one between Melinoë and Charon. What makes you think she’s going to hand over her only son’s ceremony to you?”

Aphrodite pouted immediately, lip wobbling as she crossed her arms. “That was different. Those weddings were all so serious. Morbid, even. Nico is younger. There’s room for a modern touch. He deserves flair.”

“Aphrodite,” Dionysus said without even looking away from his goblet, “if you try to give Nico flair, he’ll hex you. Or worse—he’ll ask Persephone to do it for him.”

She scowled at him, but didn’t argue. Probably because he wasn’t wrong.

Across the chamber, Hephaestus was fiddling with a tiny piece of metal in his hands. He hadn’t looked up, but he was clearly following the conversation. “If Nico marries Hermes,” he said slowly, “that would make him the Consort of Olympus.”

There was a pause. Everyone turned toward him.

He kept going. “And that would make thirteen Olympians.”

The number hung there, unspoken for a beat too long.

Hephaestus nodded once. “Mortals aren't wrong about that number. It never sits right. Too many stories end badly when thirteen are involved.”

That one comment was all it took. Suddenly, every Olympian had an opinion about who should fill the empty seat. Suggestions turned into arguments, arguments turned into shouting, and before long, Athena and Poseidon were halfway to throwing hands.

Again.

Like always.

“I vote Hecate,” Athena said, almost before anyone else had taken a breath. “She already advises us regularly. Her magic sustains the barrier between divine and mortal. Without her mist, our society would crumble.”

“She’s also another Underworld deity,” Poseidon snapped. “With Nico, that’d make three. We’re unbalanced enough as it is.”

“The sea is overrepresented,” Athena shot back. “You take up space and brain power, and now you want to add Triton to the table?”

“He’s my heir,” Poseidon growled. “And he’s earned it.”

“Oh please. The last thing Olympus needs is another temperamental sea god with something to prove.”

“You think your pet sorceress is a better choice?”

“She’s not a pet—”

“Enough.”

The voice cut through the chaos without volume. But it dropped like iron.

The bickering froze. Chairs stilled. Mouths shut.

Hermes hadn’t stood. He hadn’t raised his voice or summoned lightning or slammed a staff. He just spoke.

And that was enough.

The room turned to him in quiet shock. Hermes didn’t assert power often. He rarely pulled rank. But when he did, it landed hard.

He exhaled through his nose, rubbing his hand slowly down his face. There was weariness there. He hadn’t stopped thinking about Nico since Thanatos vanished. And now they were arguing about numbers. This is the last thing he needed to deal with.

“I don’t have time,” he muttered, more to himself than to them. Then, louder, “We’ll have fifteen.”

A pause. Murmurs threatened to bubble again.

Hermes raised a hand. It was enough to keep the peace.

“Minor gods have long gone underrepresented,” he said. “Athena is right. Without Hecate, the veil between worlds would break down. Her contributions are constant and essential. She deserves a seat.”

He didn’t glance at Poseidon, but his voice stayed firm.

“And the sea has always been its own realm. Triton’s efforts during the wars didn’t go unnoticed. He’s earned more than a title—he’s earned responsibility.”

Hermes leaned forward slightly, letting the words settle.

“After the wedding, Nicolo, Hecate, and Triton will join Olympus as the newest members.”

Aphrodite clapped again, but this time she stayed seated. Athena adjusted her robes without comment. Poseidon gave a tight nod, satisfied enough. Even Dionysus, who looked like he’d rather be somewhere with wine and fewer opinions, just slouched back in silence.

With one last glare, Hermes added, “Now, get out!”

The room cleared fast.

Nobody wanted to test him, not in the mood he was in. Not when his fingers were twitching like he was trying not to reach for his staff. One by one, the Gods disappeared in flares of light, smoke, sea mist, or simple absence. They scattered—to temples, to realms, to anywhere that wasn’t here.

All except Apollo.

He lingered, standing near his throne but not quite leaning on it. Watching. Waiting.

Hermes didn’t even try to hide the sigh. He turned toward him and raised an eyebrow, already tired.

“You’re still here.”

Apollo shrugged. “Clearly.”

Hermes gave him a pointed look—the kind he usually saved for uncooperative mortals or courier Gods who missed their routes. But Apollo didn’t budge.

There was a pause. A long one. Hermes waited for whatever speech was coming. He could see the hesitation in his brother’s face. It wasn’t often that Apollo looked like he was weighing his words. He was more of a jump-first, sing-later type. But not now.

Then, finally, Apollo spoke. “With your marriage to Nico... what does that mean for Will?”

It came out carefully. Just quiet concern, like he’d been holding onto the question longer than he wanted to admit. His hands stayed still at his sides, but Hermes could tell he was bracing himself. Maybe even expecting a fight.

Hermes didn’t get defensive. He didn’t even feel annoyed by the question. If anything, he felt the tight curl of respect tug somewhere in his chest. Apollo was just protecting his kid.

So, Hermes answered honestly.

“Nothing,” he said. “It means nothing. I’m not Father. I’m not Hera. I’m not going to cause havoc out of jealousy.”

Apollo’s expression didn’t change, but something in his shoulders eased, just a little.

Hermes continued, “I know and respect the role Will had in Nico's life. I appreciate it even. Your son healed Nico from the brink of oblivion. I know that they are still friends, and he will even be invited to the wedding, if he wishes to attend.”

Apollo exhaled slowly, nodding. “Good,” he murmured. “I’m glad.”

“What?” Hermes asked, even though he already knew. “Am I really that bad?”

Then came the look.

Hermes almost regretted saying anything when he saw it—the flat, unimpressed stare that Apollo had perfected over centuries of watching gods make disasters of themselves. It was the same look he used when catching Artemis sneaking off with blood on her boots, or when Dionysus pretended not to remember the name of his cult’s latest high priest.

“Worse.”

Apollo walked forward a few steps, close enough that they weren’t speaking across a throne room anymore.

“We are our father’s children,” Apollo said, voice quieter now. “Whether we like it or not.”

Apollo looked off to the side for a moment. His jaw flexed once. “You think I don’t know what jealousy does? What obsession does?” His mouth pulled into something halfway between a smile and a grimace. “I’ve burned down villages over less. I’ve ruined things I cared about just because someone looked at them the wrong way.”

Hermes didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

The truth of it was heavy between them. They’d both lived it. Zeus hadn’t raised them with softness. He raised them with thunder and favor and expectations wrapped in ego. If you wanted something, you took it. If you couldn’t have it, you made sure no one else did either.

They were the monsters Zeus had made them.

Finally, Hermes muttered, “He makes me want to be better.”

Apollo looked over.

Hermes didn’t meet his eyes. He stared at the floor. “Not just for him. For me, too. I’m tired of pretending all I am is speed and mischief. I’ve done my share of damage. But I’m not going to do it again. Not with him. Not when I’ve come this far.”

Apollo gave him a long look, then nodded once. “Good,” he said. “Hold onto that.”

Hermes glanced up. “Will he be okay?”

“You mean Will, or Nico?”

Hermes hesitated. Then said, “Both.”

Apollo’s smile was faint. “Will’s tougher than he looks. He’s a child of the sun. At the moment, he is too focused on building his career as a doctor to care much about romance. And Nico?” He shook his head slightly, almost amused. “That boy’s already walked through Tartarus. Twice. If he’s choosing you now, he knows what he’s doing.”

That wasn’t comforting. But it was honest.

Hermes gave a tired smile. “You think Father would’ve blessed the marriage?”

“Only if he thought he could gain something from it.”

They both snorted.

Then Apollo clapped Hermes on the shoulder—harder than necessary, like it was still partially a test—and turned to go.

“I’ll see you at the wedding,” he said over his shoulder.

Apollo vanished in a shimmer of gold, taking the last bit of warmth in the room with him.

~o~

Hermes gulped as he stood before the throne.

He wasn’t often nervous. Not in a real, visceral way. Most of the time, nerves for him were more like energy—something buzzing under his skin, easy to twist into wit or charm. But not here. Not now.

Because this wasn’t just anyone.

Out of all the Gods in the Pantheon, Hades was the one who had always had Hermes’ full respect.

Even when he was younger and too fast for his own good—sneaking between realms, dipping in and out of meetings, laughing off warnings and curses—Hermes had never once treated Hades like a joke. Couldn’t, even if he tried. There was something about him.

He’d told Nico once, back at the graduation ball, that Hades was the only God in the Pantheon who had real class. And that was not any kind of compliment, it was a simple fact. As old as the Pantheon.

Because for all that mortals feared Hades—for all the stories they whispered and the false horrors they painted onto his name—they never understood the truth. Never even got close.

They were afraid of him because they were afraid of what came after. That was it. That was the root of it.

No mortal wanted to face the question of where they’d end up when their hearts stopped beating. Would they be punished for the things they did to survive? Would they suffer for sins committed in moments of fear? Were they ever good enough to deserve peace?

And because they had no answers, they gave their fear a name.

They made Hades the villain.

The terrifying ruler in the dark. The cold god with a throne of bone and fire and vengeance. The one who dragged souls down and never let them go. But it was all projection. Cowardice dressed up as morality.

Because the truth was—Hades never asked for worship.

He didn’t parade around the mortal world, disguising himself as a swan or a bull or some charming nobleman with a fake name and wandering hands. That had always been Zeus. The King of Olympus. The one mortals bent their knees to without question, no matter how many lives he ruined.

Hades never left behind bastards and blame. Never walked away while a mother begged for protection. Never hid behind divine right while demanding obedience from children he didn’t care to raise.

He didn’t drag nations into war, whisper into mortal ears just to watch cities burn. That was Aphrodite’s vanity. Athena’s pride. Hera’s jealousy. Hermes still remembered Troy—still remembered the smoke and the screams and the way they had all stood by as the world nearly tore itself apart.

Hades wasn’t like that.

And he didn’t drown coastlines out of spite. Didn’t flood fields, destroy trade routes, or wreck entire populations just because his mood changed as fast as the tide. That was Poseidon—so quick to anger, so quick to punish, and always convinced it was righteous.

But Hades?

Hades didn’t meddle. He didn’t insert himself into mortal affairs unless absolutely necessary. He didn’t chase tributes, didn’t demand festivals, didn’t manipulate stories just to keep his name alive. He did his job—the one no one else wanted—and he did it with quiet, meticulous control. And more than that, he treated everyone fairly. Rich or poor, powerful or insignificant, hero or coward… none of that mattered once your soul crossed into his realm.

He stayed in his realm. He ruled it. He kept the balance.

And he judged them not with cruelty, but with clarity. That was the part mortals didn’t want to accept. That death wasn’t a villain—it was a mirror.

And Hades… Hades held that mirror steady, even when no one else would.

Hermes swallowed, forcing his shoulders to relax.

He’d always known it, somewhere in himself. The difference between his uncle and the rest of them.

Hades never made threats. Never threw tantrums when he was slighted. Never sent plagues because someone forgot to offer a ram or spilled wine in the wrong direction. Mortals cursed his name all the time, mostly out of fear. And still—nothing. Hades didn’t retaliate.

And maybe that was the problem.

Mortals were used to Gods with thin skin. Gods who struck down those who dared speak out. There were entire epics built around divine punishment—Arachne turning into a spider, Medusa cursed into a monster, entire bloodlines cursed over petty slights. Mortals grew up learning to tiptoe around Olympus. Fear turned into reverence. Reverence turned into worship. And worship kept the stories going.

But Hades never played that game.

He didn’t punish anyone for calling him cruel. He didn’t turn cities into ash because they painted him in shadows. He didn’t demand to be loved or even understood.

He just waited.

Because in the end, everyone came to him anyway.

Didn’t matter how powerful, how devout, how favored—they all died. They all crossed the River Styx. And once they did, they entered his domain. His judgment. His peace.

That’s what mortals never saw coming.

They spent their lives fearing him, only to find the Underworld more merciful than anything they’d ever known on Earth. The dead didn’t serve Hades with fear. They followed him with loyalty. And not because they were forced to. Because they had lived under Gods like Zeus and Hera. They had seen what Olympus did to those it “favored.” And when they arrived broken, tired, or punished by divine whim, it was Hades who offered structure. Fairness. Dignity.

Hermes had always found it brilliant, whether it was intentional or not.

Let someone else be the monster. Let the world call you cruel. Let them paint you as a villain. And then—when they realize the truth, when they see the care and control and grace you operate with—their loyalty isn’t just given. It’s earned. Mixed with shame. Mixed with awe. It binds deeper than fear ever could.

But Hermes also knew Hades hadn’t built it that way on purpose.

It wasn’t strategy. There was no scheme.

Hades wasn’t looking for devotion. He wasn’t quietly manipulating centuries of storytelling just to come out looking better in the end. He simply didn’t care what others thought of him. He had work to do. He did it well. That was the extent of it.

And somehow, that made Hermes respect him even more.

Because when he visited the Underworld—when he walked those halls and sat at that table and spoke to that particular uncle—he didn’t have to perform. He didn’t have to be the clever one or the funny one or the fast-talking one who could charm his way out of trouble. Hades didn’t care about any of that. With him, things were simple. Honest. Unfiltered. And that made it easier to breathe.

Ironically, Hades had the same calming presence as his son.

It made sense, in hindsight.

Nico had inherited more than just power. He carried that same grounded presence. That same expectation that others come as they are or not at all.

And now… Hermes was courting him.

Which meant all of this—the quiet respect, the personal admiration, the occasional shared moments of unspoken understanding—had been replaced by a healthy dose of fear.  Now, Hades wasn’t just the God he respected. He was the father of the boy Hermes wanted to marry.

He was the new King of Olympus, with all the authority and burden that came with it. And he was in love with the son of the one God who didn’t care for politics, alliances, or power. Which meant any approval he wanted from Hades had to be earned. Through showing, every step of the way, that he saw Nico not as a prize—but as a person.

Hermes took a quiet breath, letting the weight settle in his chest.

Which led them back to the situation at hand.

Hermes had come down to the Underworld to check on Nico, who had only ascended a couple of months ago. He hadn’t seen his fiancé since before Thanatos had made the announcement in Olympus. There had been updates, of course—Persephone had practically taken over the wedding planning already. The ceremony would be held in her garden. The reception in Hades’ palace.

And as thrilled as Hermes was about it… he still wanted to check on Nico. Which brought him to be standing before Hades, fidgeting like he had when he was a much younger god.

“Uncle…” Hermes started, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers toyed with the edge of his sleeve.

Hades cut him off with a sigh, voice as flat as the plane of Lethe. “Hermes. Do you know why Zeus chose Hera as his wife?”

Hermes blinked. That was not what he expected. His mouth opened, paused, then closed again. He tilted his head slightly, trying to read the question, trying to decide if it was rhetorical or just ominous. “Because she refused,” he offered, cautiously. “If there’s something Father enjoyed, it was a good chase.”

Hades gave a dry chuckle, more breath than sound. His fingers tapped once against the armrest of his throne. “He did enjoy claiming trophies—especially those that didn’t want to be claimed. That was the kind of God Zeus was. Greedy. With an ego larger than the sky.”

He leaned back slightly, one arm draping along the side of the throne as his posture relaxed just a fraction, which somehow made him seem even more imposing.

“But no,” he continued, voice quieter now, more reflective. “The reason why Zeus chose Hera wasn’t because she refused him. Fates know many refused him, and none of them were made queen.”

Hermes furrowed his brow, confused. He rubbed his thumb against the inside of his wrist, a habit he didn’t usually notice unless he was tense. “Then why did he choose Hera? If he wanted a sister-wife, he could have chosen Demeter. She’s more flexible when it comes to monogamy. She wouldn’t have minded his many bastards.”

“For that same reason,” Hades replied, tone sharp and dry. “Hera minded the bastards. The cheating mattered to her. It chipped away at her every time. The cheating, the lies, the constant humiliation. It hurt her. It hurt her domain, her core. And little by little, it fractured her until there was barely anything left that resembled who she used to be.”

Hades exhaled through his nose, his gaze falling to the space between his feet. “She used to be uptight, yes, but measured. Dignified. Zeus made her into something else entirely.”

Hermes said nothing for a long moment. His throat felt dry, as he swallowed hard. He had always known his father was cruel. Vain. Self-serving. But this went beyond that…

“Smart,” Hades said aloud, almost to himself. His tone wasn’t admiring, but there was no denying the weight behind it. “Zeus was smarter than most gave him credit for. He didn’t slay our father through brute force alone. There were deals. There were strategies. There’s a reason Athena was born from him and him alone.”

He didn’t lift his voice. He didn’t raise a finger. He just sat there, calm and collected on that throne of stone and shadow and spoke like someone used to truth being heavier than myth.

“But in the end,” he continued, his eyes narrowing just slightly, “we all have our weaknesses. Zeus’ was paranoia. Deep, bone-deep fear that everything would be taken from him the way he took it from Kronos. So, when he heard the prophecy about one of his children becoming more powerful than him… he swallowed his first wife whole.”

Hermes flinched, even though he already knew that part of the story. Most of them did. It had been passed around like a cautionary tale.

“So,” Hades went on, leaning forward slightly in his seat, his hands resting with absolute stillness, “Zeus created something worse than himself. He needed a target. Something for his children to blame. He needed them to aim their hatred elsewhere.”

Hermes took a step back without realizing it. His mouth opened, then closed. He swore under his breath.

“Fuck... Oh, Fates.”

This was beyond cruel. Beyond strategy. It was... monstrous.

He couldn’t even find the words.

Hades’ lips curled into something between a smile and a grimace. “We can criticize Zeus for many things. And we have. But you cannot say his plans didn’t work.”

Hermes felt the color drain from his face.

“So now,” Hades said, voice lowering just enough to draw everything into sharp focus, “you stand before me. Wanting to marry my son. You can understand, I hope, why I don’t take that lightly. Why I don’t want to watch my precious boy become the Consort of Olympus, only to suffer the way Hera did.”

There was no malice in his voice. No challenge, either. Just a calm, impenetrable barrier of protection. Hades wasn’t threatening. He didn’t need to. He was stating fact. He was laying it out, clearly and without apology.

Hermes’ spine snapped straight. His hands curled at his sides.

“I’m not my father,” he said, glare sharp and voice firm. “I worship the ground your son walks on. I would never cheat. Never lie. Never manipulate him like Zeus did to Hera.” His voice shook slightly, not with fear, but with sheer emotion. “If you want an oath on the River Styx, I’ll give it to you.”

For the first time, Hades looked faintly amused.

“There’s no need,” he said, waving him off. “Every wedding in the Underworld is sealed by vows to Styx. It’s part of the tradition. You’ll make the oath when the time comes.”

Hermes blinked. He hadn’t known that. He felt stupid for not knowing that. But he didn’t mind. He had no plans to break his vows anyway. He would swear a thousand times if that’s what it took.

Hades leaned forward, enough that his shadow stretched long across the floor.

“But I needed you to know why I’ve given Nico the sword as his godly weapon.”

Hermes stilled.

The sword.

The one he had used to slay Hera. And Zeus.

The blade that could kill gods—not just immortals, but Olympians. True, old gods.

He let out a slow breath. Yeah. That was... one Tartarus of a shovel talk.

“Do you understand?”

Hermes straightened again, gave a small respectful nod, and replied without hesitation.

“Yes, uncle.”

~o~

The doors to Hermes’ palace in Olympus slammed shut with a resonant thud, sealing the newlyweds in the opulent chamber. The air was thick with the scent of ambrosia and the faint metallic tang of ichor, a heady combination that made Nico’s breath hitch. Hermes stood behind him, his electric-blue eyes burning with a possessive hunger that sent shivers down Nico’s spine. The God’s fingers traced the curve of Nico’s shoulder, the touch light but deliberate, as if he were mapping every inch of his husband’s body for the first time.

“You’re mine now,” Hermes murmured, his voice low and velvety, dripping with a dark promise. His lips brushed against the shell of Nico’s ear, sending a jolt of electricity through him. “All mine.”

Nico turned to face him, his black curls framing his face like a halo, his dark eyes wide with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. The white toga he wore clung to his slender frame, the fabric shimmering faintly under the soft glow of the Olympian torches. Around his wrist, the silver snake bracelet Hermes had gifted him glinted, its tail biting into its own body—a symbol of eternity, of unending possession.

Hermes’ gaze lingered on the bracelet, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You wear it well,” he said, his voice a purr. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the cool metal before sliding up Nico’s arm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “But I think you’d look even better without this.”

With a flick of his wrist, the toga dissolved into a cascade of golden light, leaving Nico bare before him. The younger man gasped, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson, but Hermes didn’t give him a moment to feel self-conscious. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and captured Nico’s lips in a searing kiss.

It was a kiss that spoke of years of longing, of desire held back for too long. Hermes’ tongue swept into Nico’s mouth, claiming him with a ferocity that left no room for doubt. His hands roamed over Nico’s body, exploring every curve and dip, committing every detail to memory. When he finally pulled away, Nico was breathless, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Hermes,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

The God’s response was a low growl as he pressed his lips to Nico’s neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. His teeth grazed over the pulse point, and Nico let out a soft moan, his hands clutching at Hermes’ shoulders for support. “I’ve waited so long for this,” Hermes murmured against his skin, his breath hot and heavy. “To have you like this. To mark you.”

His teeth sank into Nico’s neck, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to leave a bruise. Nico gasped, his body arching into Hermes’ touch as pleasure and pain mingled in a heady cocktail. When Hermes pulled back, there was a faint sheen of ichor on his lips, and he licked it away with a satisfied smirk.

“Mine,” he repeated, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down Nico’s spine.

Hermes’ hands slid down Nico’s back, tracing the curve of his spine before gripping his hips firmly. He spun him around, pressing Nico’s chest against the cool marble wall of the chamber. The contrast between the cold stone and the heat of Hermes’ body made Nico gasp, his fingers splaying against the smooth surface for balance.

“Do you trust me?” Hermes whispered, his lips brushing against Nico’s ear.

Nico nodded, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. “Yes.”

“Good.” Hermes’ hands moved lower, cupping Nico’s ass and squeezing gently. “Because tonight, I’m going to make sure you never forget who you belong to.”

He stepped back just enough to rid himself of his own garments, the fabric dissolving into golden light just as Nico’s had. His cock sprang free, already hard and throbbing with need. He pressed himself against Nico, the length of him sliding between the younger man’s thighs, and Nico let out a soft whimper.

Hermes reached around, his hand wrapping around Nico’s cock and stroking him slowly, teasingly. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “So perfect.”

Nico’s breath hitched as Hermes’ fingers worked him, his hips bucking into the touch. But just as he was on the edge, Hermes stopped, pulling his hand away and leaving Nico whimpering in frustration.

“Not yet,” Hermes said, his voice firm but laced with amusement. “I want to savor every moment of this.”

Hermes leaned in, capturing Nico’s lips in a tender kiss that was a stark contrast to the intensity of their earlier passion. When he pulled away, he surprised the younger God, by lifting him up in his arms and throwing him on the bed. Nico giggled as he bounced on it, smiling up to his husband.

The electric-blue eyes of the king gleamed with dark, possessive hunger as he gazed down at Nico, who lay sprawled across the silken sheets of their marriage bed. Hermes traced a finger along the edge of the bracelet, his touch feather-light.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hermes murmured, his voice low and velvety, dripping with adoration and something darker, more primal. His hand moved from the bracelet to Nico’s chest, fingers splaying over his pale skin, feeling the rapid flutter of his heartbeat. “Every inch of you belongs to me now. And I intend to claim every inch.”

Nico shivered under his touch, his dark curls spilling across the pillows as he tilted his head back, exposing the delicate column of his throat. The bruise Hermes had left earlier stood out starkly against his skin. Hermes leaned down, his lips brushing against the mark, and Nico let out a soft gasp, his fingers tangling in the sheets.

“Hermes…” Nico whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and need.

“Shh,” Hermes murmured, his breath hot against Nico’s skin. “Let me worship you.”

With that, he began to trail kisses down Nico’s body, as if he were mapping every curve and plane. His hands followed, caressing and teasing, leaving trails of fire in their wake. When he reached Nico’s hips, he paused, his eyes locking with Nico’s deep, dark ones. There was a question in that gaze, a silent plea for permission, and Nico nodded, his breath hitching.

Hermes didn’t need further encouragement. He hooked his hands under Nico’s thighs, lifting them effortlessly and spreading them wide. Nico’s legs trembled as they wrapped around Hermes’ shoulders, his body arching slightly off the bed in anticipation. Hermes smirked, his expression both tender and predatory, before he leaned in and pressed his mouth to the most intimate part of Nico’s body.

The first touch of Hermes’ tongue was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure through Nico that made him cry out. Hermes hummed in satisfaction, the vibration only adding to the sensation, and Nico’s fingers clenched in the sheets as he struggled to hold on. Hermes took his time, licking and teasing, exploring every sensitive inch with a skill that left Nico gasping and writhing beneath him.

“Hermes… please…” Nico begged, his voice breaking on the words.

Hermes pulled back just enough to look up at him, his lips glistening. “Please what, my love?” he asked, his tone teasing but laced with heat.

“More,” Nico whispered, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and desire. “I need more.”

Hermes chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down Nico’s spine. “As you wish.”

He returned to his task with renewed fervor, this time adding his fingers to the mix. He started with one, pressing it inside slowly, carefully, giving Nico time to adjust. The tight heat around his finger was intoxicating, and Hermes couldn’t help but groan against Nico’s skin. He curled his finger just so, searching for that spot that would make Nico unravel, and when he found it, Nico’s entire body jerked, a strangled moan escaping his lips.

“There it is,” Hermes purred, his voice thick with satisfaction. He added a second finger, stretching Nico further, and Nico’s legs tightened around him, his heels digging into Hermes’ back. Hermes worked him open with relentless precision, his tongue and fingers moving in perfect harmony, until Nico was a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him.

“Hermes… I can’t…” Nico gasped, his voice barely audible over the sound of their ragged breathing.

“You can,” Hermes replied, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re mine, remember? And I’ll take care of you.”

He added a third finger, and Nico cried out, his back arching off the bed as pleasure surged through him like a tidal wave. Hermes could feel him tightening around his fingers, could see the way his body was teetering on the edge of release, and he knew he couldn’t hold back much longer.

“Look at me,” Hermes commanded, and Nico’s eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze with a mixture of desperation and adoration. “You’re mine,” Hermes repeated, his voice dark and possessive. “Say it.”

“Yours,” Nico whispered, his voice breaking on the word. “Always yours.”

That was all Hermes needed to hear. He withdrew his fingers and positioned himself at Nico’s entrance, his electric-blue eyes never leaving Nico’s face. He pushed in slowly, savoring the way Nico’s body stretched to accommodate him, the way Nico’s breath hitched and his nails dug into Hermes’ shoulders.

When he was fully sheathed inside him, Hermes paused, giving Nico a moment to adjust. He leaned down, capturing Nico’s lips in a searing kiss that was equal parts tenderness and raw need. “Mine,” he murmured against Nico’s lips.

“Yours,” Nico echoed, his voice trembling but filled with certainty.

Hermes began to move then, his thrusts slow and deep at first, each one drawing a soft moan from Nico’s lips. But soon, the pace quickened, their bodies moving together in a rhythm that was as old as time itself. Nico’s legs tightened around Hermes’ waist, pulling him closer, deeper, and Hermes groaned, his control slipping with every thrust.

“So good,” Hermes growled, his voice rough with desire. “You feel so good.”

Nico could only nod, his words lost in the haze of pleasure that consumed him. He clung to Hermes as if he were the only thing keeping him grounded, his nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on Hermes’ back. The sound of their bodies coming together filled the room, mingling with their ragged breaths and desperate moans.

Hermes reached between them, taking Nico’s length in hand and stroking him in time with his thrusts. The dual sensations were too much for Nico to bear, and he came with a cry, his body convulsing around Hermes as waves of pleasure crashed over him. Hermes followed soon after, his own release tearing through him with such intensity that he saw stars.

For a moment, they lay there, their bodies still joined, their breaths mingling as they came down from their high. Then Hermes pulled out gently, collapsing beside Nico and pulling him into his arms. He pressed a kiss to Nico’s forehead, his lips lingering there as if sealing some unspoken promise.

“Mine,” Hermes whispered again, his voice soft but filled with conviction.

“Yours,” Nico replied, his voice equally soft but no less certain.

Hermes smiled, a dark, possessive smile that sent a shiver down Nico’s spine even as it warmed his heart. “Good,” he said. “Now let’s see how many more times I can make you say that before the night is over.”

Nico chuckled softly, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “You’re insatiable.”

“Only for you,” Hermes replied, his hand trailing down Nico’s side. He paused when he felt something wet against his fingers and looked down to see a small droplet of ichor on Nico’s skin. His eyes darkened with possessiveness as he leaned down, licking the droplet away.

“You marked me,” Nico said softly, his voice tinged with awe.

“And I’ll mark you again,” Hermes promised, his voice low and dangerous. “Every inch of you will bear my claim.”

Nico shivered at the intensity in Hermes’ gaze, but there was no fear in his eyes—only desire. “Then do it,” he whispered. “Mark me. Make me yours in every way.”

Hermes didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned down, his teeth grazing Nico’s shoulder before biting down hard enough to draw another droplet of ichor. Nico gasped, his body arching into Hermes as he felt the sting of the bite followed by the soothing warmth of Hermes’ tongue.

“I want to give you a child,” Hermes growled against Nico’s skin.

Nico blinked up at him, confusion flickering in his deep eyes. “But… we’re both men,” he said slowly.

Hermes chuckled darkly, a wicked smile playing on his lips. “You forget, my love,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “You’re a God now. Gender means nothing when it comes to procreation.”

Nico’s eyes widened as the realization sank in. “You mean…?”

“Yes,” Hermes said simply, his hand resting on Nico’s stomach. “I want to fill you with my seed and watch as your body grows with our child.”

Nico gasped, his mind reeling at the thought. But then a slow smile spread across his face, and he reached up to cup Hermes’ cheek. “Then do it,” he whispered. “Give me a child.”

Hermes’ electric-blue eyes darkened with desire as he leaned down, capturing Nico’s lips in a searing kiss. His hand moved between Nico’s legs, preparing him once more as he positioned himself at his entrance.

“This might hurt,” Hermes warned softly.

“I don’t care,” Nico replied, his voice filled with determination. “I want this.”

Hermes nodded, his heart swelling with love and possessiveness as he pushed inside once more. This time, he moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust deep and purposeful as he sought to plant his seed within Nico.

~o~

Just like that, in the span of a single decade, Hermes fulfilled his promise to Nico.

Three times.

The new princes and princess of Olympus.

They were wanted. Deeply, fiercely wanted.

And not just by their parents.

Hades and Persephone, who had already doted on Nico like he was the Underworld’s most treasured gem, became even more impossibly attentive once their grandchildren arrived. It was rare to see Hades smile in public. But around the children, his composure dropped entirely. Persephone would knit tiny flower-crowns for each of them. Hades would read them old, brutal myths like bedtime stories and leave out all the gore so they wouldn’t be scared. They attended every milestone, every minor festival, every new spark of power that the children accidentally set off.

And each child had been a gift.

A gift from Hades, specifically.

Because Hades knew. He had always known how deeply Nico mourned. For his sister. For his fallen friend. For the weight of memories that hadn’t stopped haunting him even after ascending.

So, Hades, in his quiet way, gave Nico something he had no idea how to ask for.

Each child was born a reincarnation.

The firstborn was Jason.

Jason Grace, who had once died for Apollo, who had spent his short life burdened by expectations, torn between loyalty and duty. He came back as Jasion—God of Lightning and Thunder.

He didn’t look exactly the same, but he had Jason’s steadiness. Jason’s quiet warmth. And while his powers were different now—divine and expansive—there was still that sense of someone who could be trusted with a storm. Someone who would never use power for cruelty. He was thoughtful. Measured. And Nico couldn’t look at him without his throat tightening. Hermes had caught him more than once running a hand through Jasion’s hair and just… pausing, like he was anchoring himself in that small moment.

Then came Biancaia.

Nico’s beloved older sister that had reincarnated as the Goddess of Relationships and Courting, her domain was vast—not only marriages, but also friendships, estrangements, casual flings, slow-burn connections, messy divorces, reconciliations no one saw coming.

She understood people in ways that unsettled even the older gods. She could walk into a room and immediately name who was clinging, who was drifting, who had already fallen and was too afraid to admit it. She had a dry wit, inherited from her father, and an intense curiosity about mortal trends. She adored reading mythology forums online and watching strangers argue over whether Aphrodite was a feminist icon or a walking red flag.

And she always, always knew when someone was lying about how they felt.

Hermes adored her.

But it was the third child—the youngest—who undid him completely.

Lucion.

God of Reincarnation and Redemption.

He didn’t need to ask whose soul had come back with him. Hermes had known the moment he looked into the boy’s eyes. The same electric-blue eyes every time he looked in the mirror. The same eyes that had once belonged to his most precious boy.

Luke Castellan.

His son.

Hermes hadn’t believed he’d ever be given that chance. Not after everything. Not after how it ended.

And yet… here he was.

A boy who ran before he could walk. Who climbed everything. Who got scrapes on his knees and refused to let them be healed because he wanted to feel like he earned them. He didn’t talk much at first, but when he did, he always asked the hardest questions.

“Was I good last time?”

“Why did I choose to come back?”

“Do you still love me?”

Hermes answered every one of them.

He didn’t sugarcoat it. He didn’t pretend the past hadn’t happened. But he told Lucion the truth. That he had made mistakes. That they both had. That love had never been the problem.

And that this time—they had the chance to do it right.

The funny thing is that Hermes had not realize it right away.

He had suspected something, sure. But it wasn’t until Lucion called him “dad” in a half-sleep mumble, then whispered “thank you for letting me try again,” that the pieces locked into place. And when they did, Hermes had gone still.

He’d waited until the kids were asleep, until the palace was quiet, until Nico had drifted off curled around a pillow, breathing even and deep. Then he’d left their quarters and teleported to the Underworld.

Hades looked up as Hermes approached but didn’t speak. Just waited.

Hermes stood there a second longer than he meant to. Then, voice quiet, he said, “They’re all reincarnated.”

It wasn’t a question.

Hades nodded once, slow and deliberate. “Yes.”

Hermes let out a shaky breath, half-laugh, half-exhale. “You sneaky bastard.”

There was no venom in it. Just awe.

Hades allowed himself a faint smile. Soft in a way Hermes had only seen on him when he looked at Persephone and Nico. “She asked for it,” Hades said, voice low. “Bianca.”

Hermes blinked.

“She approached me in Elysium,” Hades continued. “Before she moved on. She said she hadn’t been the sister Nico deserved. That she left him too early. That she made promises and didn’t keep them.” He paused, gaze distant. “She asked if, this time, she could be his daughter instead. Said she didn’t think she could fix the past, but maybe she could be a better daughter.”

Hermes swallowed. “And you granted it.”

“Nico had earned that kind of peace,” Hades nodded.

Hermes sat down beside him, not saying anything for a moment.

Hades spoke again. “Jason was simpler. Nico loved that boy. Not romantically, not entirely, but... he held onto him like a lifeline. Losing Jason was like losing a part of himself. I think, in another life, they could have been brothers.”

He looked over, meeting Hermes’ eyes. “So now, they parent and son.”

Hermes pressed his hand to his chest, feeling the echo of Jasion’s laugh from earlier that day. He didn’t trust his voice enough to speak just yet.

Then, after a moment, he asked, “And Luke?”

Hades let out a soft huff of amusement. His lips curled, this time into something a little wry. “That little shit snuck into my palace.”

Hermes choked on a surprised laugh. “He what?”

“Right through the barriers,” Hades said, shaking his head. “Got past the guards. Showed up in my study like he owned the place. Said he didn’t want to ‘wait around’ for fate to decide. Said if I was going to start handing out do-overs, he wanted one.”

Hermes dragged a hand down his face, groaning. “Of course he did.”

“He reminded me of you,” Hades added, a little too pointedly. “Too much like you.”

Hermes couldn’t even argue that.

“He said he didn’t want to lead anything this time. Didn’t want to be the eldest. Didn’t want to be responsible for anyone. He wanted to be the baby. The youngest. The one who got to be held, not the one doing the holding.”

Hermes’ throat tightened.

“And most of all,” Hades said, quieter now, “he wanted to be your son. Said he wanted to try again, but only if it was with you.”

Hermes stared at the marble floor for a while. Then said, quietly, “He got what he wanted.”

“Yes,” Hades agreed. “All three of them did.”

And if that wasn’t the perfect fairy tale ending—then maybe fairy tales had been aiming too low all along.

Because this wasn’t crowns and carriages. It wasn’t glass slippers or love at first sight. It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t simple. It didn’t come without blood or grief or guilt that still lingered in quiet corners of the night.

But it was love. Honest, hard-earned, and steady.

It was a God of Shadows who’d been told he was too broken to be loved… now resting beside the God of Messengers who had once outrun his own feelings just to avoid being seen. It was family born not from prophecy or power, but from choice. From forgiveness. From the kind of love that says, I see every ugly, complicated piece of you—and I’m not going anywhere.

So maybe it wasn’t the perfect ending.

But it was theirs.

And that was more than enough.