Felix didn’t turn around.
Neither did I.
The thunder had stopped.
That was worse.
A moment earlier, Zeus’s voice had been shaking the windows of our little stone house.
Now it came from directly behind us.
“Then turn around.”
Felix’s enormous hand closed around mine.
He was shaking.
Felix never shook.
I’d seen him lift a fallen oak tree by himself.
I’d watched him chase three armed centaurs away from our goats with nothing but a cooking pan.
Once, when I was seven, a cyclops wandered into our valley and Felix politely convinced him that our barn was not, in fact, an abandoned restaurant.
Felix was the biggest creature I knew.
But he was afraid now.
I whispered:
“Is he really Zeus?”
Felix whispered back:
“I was hoping for an unusually dramatic shepherd.”
Elias groaned from across the room.
“This isn’t the time.”
“Humor is how I survive terror.”
The voice behind us said:
“I can hear you.”
Felix sighed.
“Yes. Gods. Excellent hearing.”
Then he turned.
So did I.
A man stood beside our fireplace.
He hadn’t opened the door.
He hadn’t broken a window.
He was simply there.
Tall.
Grey-eyed.
Wrapped in a dark travelling cloak.
He didn’t look like the statues.
No golden crown.
No enormous lightning bolt.
But the air around him felt wrong.
Too heavy.
Like the whole sky had somehow squeezed itself into our kitchen.
His eyes settled on me.
“Leo.”
I moved closer to Felix.
Zeus noticed.
“You hide behind a monster?”
Felix’s expression changed.
He was still frightened.
But now he was angry too.
“Careful.”
Zeus looked at him.
“Careful?”
“He’s ten.”
“I know his age.”
“Then speak like it.”
Elias actually stopped breathing.
Apparently telling Zeus how to speak was not considered a long-term survival strategy.
Zeus stepped forward.
Felix stepped with him.
Still between us.
“Return the boy,” Zeus said.
Felix shook his head.
“No.”
Lightning flashed outside.
“You were entrusted with him temporarily.”
Felix looked down at me.
Then back at Zeus.
“Ten years is a peculiar definition of temporary.”
I tugged Felix’s sleeve.
“What does he mean?”
Nobody answered.
So I asked the question I’d been trying not to ask.
“Felix, who are my parents?”
Zeus answered.
“I am your grandfather.”
That wasn’t what I expected.
Felix apparently hadn’t expected him to say it either.
“Grandfather?”
I repeated.
Zeus nodded.
“Your mother was my daughter.”
“Was?”
His expression hardened.
“Her name was Maia.”
Felix immediately said:
“No.”
Zeus looked at him.
“Don’t.”
“You don’t get to use that name like you mourned her.”
The room became colder.
I looked between them.
“You knew my mother?”
Felix lowered himself until we were eye to eye.
“Yes.”
“Was she human?”
“Yes.”
“But Zeus said—”
“Gods have mortal children.”
Elias quietly added:
“More often than anyone has had time to properly document.”
Zeus ignored him.
My mother, Maia, had been one of Zeus’s mortal daughters.
Not an Olympian goddess.
Not immortal.
But she carried something Zeus called storm-blood.
Most children born from divine lines carried only traces.
Maia carried more.
And apparently—
so did I.
“That’s why Olympus wants me?”
Zeus answered:
“Partly.”
Felix stood.
“That word is doing suspicious work.”
I looked at Zeus.
“What other part?”
He didn’t answer.
Then I noticed something.
He hadn’t come closer than the old mosaic in the center of our floor.
Every time he stepped toward me, the bronze lines inside it glowed.
Felix noticed me looking.
“Don’t cross that circle.”
Zeus’s eyes narrowed.
I looked at Felix.
“You told me that mosaic was decorative.”
“I lied.”
“You said the goats made it.”
“That was an ambitious lie.”
Elias walked toward us.
“The house is protected.”
“From Zeus?”
“From any god who enters without invitation.”
I stared at Felix.
“You’ve been hiding me from gods?”
“Technically, yes.”
“How many?”
Felix thought about it.
“Would you like the comforting answer?”
“No.”
“Most of them.”
Zeus raised his hand.
The house trembled.
But the bronze circle blazed.
The walls held.
He couldn’t simply take me.
That explained why he was talking.
“Leo,” Zeus said, “Olympus is your inheritance.”
Felix snorted.
“He has three goats and half a bakery here. Consider your offer carefully.”
“I don’t want Olympus.”
“You don’t know what it is.”
“I know Felix is here.”
For the first time, Zeus looked genuinely frustrated.
“You think affection determines blood?”
I squeezed Felix’s hand.
“No.”
I remembered what Felix had told me.
You’re my family.
So I answered:
“I think blood doesn’t determine everything else.”
Elias smiled.
Zeus didn’t.
Then lightning struck the mountain outside.
The house shook.
A crack appeared in the bronze mosaic.
Felix looked down.
His face changed.
“That’s not Zeus.”
Zeus turned toward the window.
For the first time, he looked alarmed.
Another lightning strike hit.
Purple.
Not white.
Zeus whispered:
“No.”
Elias grabbed a spear from the wall.
“What?”
Zeus looked at me.
“They found him.”
“Who?”
Felix lifted me off the floor.
“Time to go.”
He carried me toward the pantry.
I protested.
“Felix!”
“Questions while running.”
He kicked aside a sack of flour.
Beneath it was a trapdoor.
Of course there was.
“Why is there a tunnel under our pantry?”
“Emergency tunnel.”
“You told me it was a root cellar.”
“It contains roots.”
Another explosion shook the house.
We descended.
Elias followed.
Then Zeus did something I didn’t expect.
He came with us.
Felix stopped.
“No.”
“If they take Leo, none of your protections matter.”
“Who are they?”
Zeus answered:
“The Titans.”
I knew that word.
Every child did.
Ancient beings.
Enemies of Olympus.
Defeated long ago.
Imprisoned beneath the world.
I looked at Zeus.
“You said they were gone.”
“I never said that.”
“My teacher did.”
Felix grunted.
“Your teacher also thinks minotaurs eat children.”
I looked at him.
“You don’t?”
“I can barely convince you to eat vegetables.”
We ran deeper.
The tunnel opened into a cavern I’d never seen.
And there, carved into the wall, was a picture.
A woman.
She was holding a baby.
Me.
Felix stood beside her.
But there was another figure.
A huge man wrapped in chains.
I pointed.
“Who’s that?”
Nobody answered.
The chained figure had placed one finger against baby Leo’s chest.
A golden symbol glowed there.
The same symbol I’d had over my heart my entire life.
I looked at Zeus.
“You said I carry your blood.”
“You do.”
I pointed toward the mural.
“What did he give me?”
Zeus’s silence answered before his words did.
Felix put me down.
“Leo.”
I stepped away from him.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
Zeus finally spoke.
“Prometheus.”
Even I knew that name.
The Titan who stole fire for humanity.
The Titan Zeus punished.
I stared at the mural.
“Why is Prometheus touching me?”
Felix answered.
“Because you were dying.”
The story came out in pieces.
My mother had fled Olympus before I was born.
Not because she hated Zeus.
Because Zeus’s priests discovered a prophecy.
A child carrying storm-blood would someday stand before the sealed gates of Tartarus.
And the gates would obey him.
Olympus interpreted that as a threat.
My mother interpreted it as a warning.
She ran.
Felix helped her.
That was how a minotaur ended up raising the grandson of Zeus.
But when I was born, something was wrong.
The divine power inside me was too strong for my mortal body.
Maia searched for help.
Eventually she found Prometheus.
Or rather, one of the hidden places where his ancient power could still reach the mortal world.
Prometheus didn’t give me his blood.
He gave me a spark.
Not enough to make me a Titan.
Not enough to control me.
Just enough ancient fire to stabilize the storm inside me.
Zeus looked at the symbol on my chest.
“Divine lightning and Titan fire were never meant to exist in the same person.”
I swallowed.
“Am I dangerous?”
Felix immediately said:
“No.”
Zeus said:
“Potentially.”
Felix glared at him.
“I liked my answer.”
I looked at the mural again.
“What happened to my mother?”
Felix’s expression collapsed.
“She died protecting you.”
“From Olympus?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation hurt.
“Felix.”
“Not exactly.”
Zeus said:
“She died protecting him from me.”
The cavern became silent.
Zeus didn’t look proud.
He didn’t make excuses.
“I believed the prophecy meant Leo would free the Titans.”
Felix’s voice became low.
“So you sent hunters.”
“Yes.”
“Maia refused to surrender him.”
“Yes.”
I stared at Zeus.
“You killed her?”
“No.”
Felix answered before Zeus could continue.
“The hunters cornered us near Mount Othrys. Maia destroyed the bridge so they couldn’t reach you.”
“And?”
“She was still on it.”
My eyes burned.
Felix knelt.
“I wanted to go back.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because she gave me you.”
He reached beneath his shirt.
For the first time in my life, Felix removed the little bronze pendant he always wore.
Inside was a folded piece of cloth.
My mother’s handwriting covered it.
Felix handed it to me.
Felix,
If I don’t make it home, don’t let Olympus turn Leo into a prophecy. Let him be a child first.
I couldn’t finish reading.
Felix wrapped his arms around me.
I buried my face against him.
For a moment, Zeus wasn’t king of the gods.
Prometheus wasn’t a Titan.
There was no prophecy.
There was just the creature who had packed my lunches, fixed my blankets and pretended not to notice when I stole honey cakes.
Then the cavern shook.
The mural cracked.
A purple light appeared through the stone.
Zeus raised his hand.
Lightning formed around his fingers.
“They’re here.”
Felix stood.
“Who?”
A voice answered from beyond the wall.
“Not Titans.”
The rock split.
A woman stepped through.
She wore dark armor.
Behind her stood six figures carrying purple flames.
Zeus whispered her name.
“Nyx.”
The woman smiled.
“Still blaming Titans for everything, brother?”
Felix leaned toward Elias.
“Is everyone related?”
Elias whispered:
“Greek mythology becomes exhausting surprisingly quickly.”
Nyx looked at me.
“So that’s Leo.”
Zeus moved in front of me.
Interesting.
Five minutes earlier, he’d come to take me.
Now he was protecting me.
Nyx laughed.
“You still don’t understand the prophecy.”
Zeus raised his lightning.
“I understand enough.”
“No. You understood the version your oracle wanted you to hear.”
She looked at me.
“The boy doesn’t open Tartarus.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do I open?”
Nyx pointed toward the mural.
Prometheus’s golden spark began glowing.
Then the lightning inside Zeus’s hand responded.
Two powers.
Titan fire.
Olympian storm.
The entire cavern illuminated.
And behind the mural, an enormous pair of ancient doors appeared.
Felix whispered:
“Oh, that’s probably bad.”
Zeus looked genuinely stunned.
“These aren’t the gates of Tartarus.”
Nyx smiled.
“No.”
I stepped closer.
Words appeared across the doors.
I couldn’t read ancient Greek.
But somehow I understood them.
THE FIRST COURT.
Zeus whispered:
“That place doesn’t exist.”
Nyx looked at him.
“It existed before Olympus.”
The doors reacted to me.
One lock opened.
Then another.
Zeus shouted:
“Leo, step away!”
But a voice came from behind the doors.
A woman’s voice.
I knew it even though I’d never heard it before.
“Leo?”
Felix went completely still.
I looked at him.
His eyes filled with tears.
“No.”
The voice came again.
“My little lion?”
I whispered:
“Mom?”
Zeus lowered his lightning.
Felix stared at the doors.
I turned toward him.
“You said she died.”
“I saw the bridge fall.”
“Did you see her die?”
He couldn’t answer.
The final lock began turning.
Zeus stepped backward.
“No one opens that door.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
Because Zeus wasn’t staring at the doors anymore.
He was staring at Felix.
And suddenly I realized something.
Felix knew more than he’d told me.
He’d always known more.
“Felix?”
The minotaur who raised me looked down.
Completely terrified again.
Not of Zeus this time.
Of me.
“What did my mother ask you to do?”
His voice broke.
“She didn’t ask me to hide you from Olympus.”
I waited.
Felix looked toward the ancient doors.
“She asked me to hide Olympus from you.”
Then the doors began to open.
