Page 5 of Crown of Olympus
Hours later, Aetherion was on lockdown as my mother raged through the city demanding retribution. Who she sought to retribute, though, was anyone’s guess. The killer had been thorough, leaving no trace of their presence, nor magical echo.
My mind and heart fought for dominance. I’d tried to love my father as any son should, but truthfully, he was a cold and callous man. He cared for nought but power and the means to gain more. Even my dutiful, devoted mother was kept at arm’s length.
I loathed the day my gift ruptured out of me, burning through my veins with such ferocity it left scars. A rarity, given the rapid healing of gods. Lightning had scorched its way outwards from my chest, carved up the side of my neck, and down my right arm before erupting from my palm. The path of least resistance, or so I was told. I was left with pale track marks across my otherwise golden complexion, etched like apermanent storm upon my skin. At first, I hated them; I hated how much they reminded me ofhim,and how it felt to perpetually live in his shadow.
But I’ve since learned there’s a certain power in scars, in being marked by the very thing that should have killed you. There’s power in perception, too. My skin reminds the gods and creatures of Olympus that if even lightning couldn’t strike me down, what hope did they have?
Unfortunately, the moment my powers manifested was the same moment my father began to show anything other than blatant disinterest in me. At first, he’d demonstrated immense pride in siring an heir who was almost his exact physical replica and also shared his affinity for storm-wielding.
Later, that pride curdled into resentment — paranoia that my powers would surpass his, and therefore threaten to depose him from the throne. He was wrong, of course. I’d never had any desire for the throne, the crown, or the responsibility. But it was my birthright. Who else was fit to govern two realms? More importantly, who else wielded enough power to make the other gods fall in line?
Time would tell what the crown decided. Because, ultimately, itwasn’ta decision made by gods or kings, but by a mostly inanimate object: the Crown of Olympus.
It was said Olympus’ ruler was determined not by amount of power, virtue, or acts of grandeur, but by some intangible reason determined by the crown itself. This theory had never been tested, however. My father had been its sole bearer since orchestrating the downfall of the Titans during the war eons ago.
The closest explanation scholars had offered was that the crown chose its bearer when it sensed a shift in the balance of the realms. Its sole purpose: to preserve the equilibrium between nature, power, life, and death. Before Zeus, his father Kronos had ruled without a crown. The gilded relic hadmysteriously appeared upon Zeus’ head the moment he locked away the last Titan in the darkest abyss of Tartarus — with the help of eleven other powerful gods, now referred to as the Primal Council.
A gift from Fate itself? Nobody knew for sure.
The crown was a simple, golden artefact. When Zeus bore it, it crackled with sparks of electricity, imitating the godly power roaring through his veins — especially when he was irritated, and even more so when he was furious. I imagined it would crackle similarly upon my own head. After all, I was the prodigal son of the mighty Zeus,crafted in his image.I scoffed at the thought.
Standing in the throne room, I was lost in bitter introspection. One scarred, calloused hand lightly traced the grooves of a cold, white marble column. Six pillars framed the space, directing the eye to the gargantuan golden throne at the rear of the room. All six stretched impossibly high to the vaulted ceiling, designed with the intent to make all who entered feel insignificant. In my attempt to avoid the feeling — as I’d done my entire life — I almost didn’t notice the prickling sensation wash over me.
At first, it was nothing more than a breath of air, a gust of wind passing through the open balcony, perhaps. A moment later, I knew I’d been mistaken. I felt… wrong. Off-balance. As if the ground had tilted beneath my feet.
The hum of divine energy that usually meandered through Olympus paused, like a held breath.
And then, all at once, itshattered.
A rattling wail of crackling energy rolled through the palace, slamming into me and buckling my knees. The skies thundered. Streaks of lightning tore across the horizon as my knees crashed into the icy tiles. There was nothing natural about this storm. This was a demonstration of power thatshould not still be possible in the realm of the living. Not unless I had crafted it by my own hand — which I hadn’t.
I fell backwards onto my leather-clad ass, grasping at my racing heart. The crescendo of power built until it felt like the very foundations of the Olympian realm were splintering, snapping off piece by piece. And then — just as I thought the realm would collapse in on itself entirely — it vanished.
It was in the unnatural silence, that I recognised the unmistakable imprint of divine power. A signature every god or goddess leaves behind.
It washis.
My father’s.
The cold realisation hit me harder than the storm. I knew it was his, just as surely as I knew the timbre of his thunderous voice. Memories clawed their way to the surface, ones I had built thick walls around. Silver eyes filled with rage. Fists and sizzling skin. Wounds that had not healed, but instead festered in the deepest recesses of my consciousness.
I recognised the storm for what it truly was — Zeus’ last violent farewell. It spoke of grief and fury, and I knew deep in my bones death was not the worst thing to ever befall my father.
My mother chose that moment to hurl herself into the throne room, again leaving thecrackof mammoth ivory doors ricocheting off the walls in her wake. She stomped over to me, her face twisted with wrath I barely recognised, her expression so full of thunder it rivalled my father’s storm. She, too, had felt the echo he left behind.
“How dare he?!” Hera screeched, teeth bared, and fingers splayed. “That demonous, traitorous filth! SentencingZeusto anywhere other than the Elysian Fields! ZEUS!” she screamed, face instantly falling into deep grief, and perhaps a little regret. “My beloved Zeus…”
She fell to her knees beside me. Instinct had me movingforward to wrap her in my arms, and Hera’s sobs intensified. Unfortunately, that meant an increase in the pitch of her sorrow. I grimaced at the piercing note.
“Mother,” I began, unsure how to ease her pool of grief, knowing mine was much shallower.
More of a puddle, really.
She pulled back to meet my gaze, face now lined with a grim sort of determination despite the tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Mark my words, son. The demons will pay.” Her icy gaze narrowed. “Hades will know pain and grief and terror so profound that he’ll wish his beloved mutt of a wife had never brought his child into the realm,” she spat. “I will carve my vengeance, piece by tiny piece, from Hades. Or his whore of a daughter. Whoever is responsible forthat.”
A sense of foreboding shivered down my spine. Revenge was not only a threat, it was a promise.
