“Oh, sorry,” said Luke. “We didn’t mean to intrude or trespass.”
“Yes, you did,” he smiled. “It’s alright. I trespass every night. Coming up here makes me feel closer to the gods and at my age I need to feel as close as I can.”
“I’m sure you have a lot more years to go, sir,” said Eric.
“I’ve watched my wife pass, my brothers, two of my children, and more friends than I care to mention. I’m a man alone and I’ve just turned ninety-six. I don’t have many years to go. But I’m alright with that. The world is changing and I’m not sure I like the way it’s changing.”
“That seems to be a hot topic of conversation,” said Cam. “Have you lived in Greece your entire life?”
“I have,” he nodded. “Keeping places like this accessible and alive is important. To us and to the world, whether they see it or not. But so many of the younger generation think more is better, modern is better, bigger is better! It disgusts me.”
“I can see that,” said Luke. “It’s difficult to draw the line between historical exploration and tourist trap.”
“Yes, your country has done that in many locations,” he nodded. “I suppose there is some economic need to it all but I’ll never understand it.”
“Understand what sir?” asked Hex.
“The need to pay homage to a mouse or a house of colored bricks or some mega-structure with roller coasters and Ferris wheels that are too big for any man to want to conquer. It’s ridiculous if you ask me.” He turned to leave, then turned back. “Come. I’m going to take you somewhere to end your evening the right way.”
“Oh, we have friends arriving at our hotel,” said Eric.
“Tell them to meet us. I have a story to tell you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“You all need to understand what we know about the gods, about what they did on Mount Olympus and how it affected us all. It’s important and somehow I sense it will be important for you to know. I’m going to tell you a story that my grandfather told me.”
The first light of dawn crept over the jagged peaks of Mount Olympus, painting the snow-capped summits in a golden hue. Mist curled around marble columns and celestial gardens where ambrosia dew glistened on petals not found in any mortal land. Here, at the heart of immortality, stood the gleaming palace of the gods—a place where thunder echoed in the halls and the faint scent of the sea mingled with the perfume of roses. As the mortal world below stirred awake, so did the denizens of Olympus, their day unfolding in patterns as ancient as time itself.
It was not silence that greeted the new day, but the lively chatter of deities preparing for their celestial routines. Zeus, the thunder-wielding king, sat at the edge of his grand throne room, blue eyes scanning the horizon for omens. Beside him, Hera, regal and poised, adjusted her peacock-plumed mantle with an air of quiet command. The halls echoed with the laughter of Aphrodite, whose beauty seemed to brighten even the earliest hour, while the clatter of Ares’ armor hinted at the restlessness of the god of war.
Elsewhere, Athena sharpened her spear, her gaze keen with wisdom, and Poseidon’s deep voice rumbled from the colonnade, already deliberating the tides and storms of the day. Hermes, the fleet-footed messenger, darted through corridors, bearing scrolls and wit in equal measure. Apollo tuned his lyre in a sunlit alcove, and Artemis readied her quiver, the wild freedom of the forests glinting in her eyes. Each god and goddess was a force unto themselves, yet together, their lives wove the fabric of the cosmos.
As the golden sun climbed higher, the gods assembled for the morning council. The grand hall was alive with shifting light and divine energy. Zeus presided from his throne, the air crackling with potential as he called the gods to order.
“Let us see what this day brings,” he proclaimed, his voice like distant thunder, brooking no dissent yet inviting counsel.
Ares, ever impetuous, clanked into the hall with a sword at his side and a scowl on his face. He spoke of battles brewing among mortals—hints of discord in Thebes, a challenge issued in Sparta. Athena answered him with a measured tone, her wisdom cutting through Ares’ bravado.
“Strength must be tempered with strategy, brother,” she advised, her words laced with both kindness and rivalry.
Meanwhile, Aphrodite lounged on a chaise carved from the heart of a sea-shell, her laughter a melody that tugged at the hearts of all present. Her influence was subtle and pervasive, her whispers weaving gentle mischief as she considered which mortal she might inspire—or ensnare—with love that day.
Hephaestus, soot-smudged and powerful, presented new inventions for the gods’ consideration—a chariot for Apollo, a golden circlet for Hera. The council was a blend of debate and camaraderie, an arena where ambitions clashed and alliances formed, all under the watchful eye of Zeus.
With the council adjourned, the gods turned to their domains. Poseidon strode to the edge of Olympus, his trident poised, and cast his gaze over the endless expanse of the sea. With a word, he summoned dolphins to his side and descended into the briny depths, commanding the waves and soothing the tempests that threatened sailors. His laughter, deep and resonant, rolled with the surf as he tested his strength against the currents.
Athena, meanwhile, walked among mortals in disguise, her presence unseen but keenly felt. She sat in the shadows of a workshop in Athens, whispering clever ideas into the ears of inventors and guiding a young ruler toward a wise decision. Her owl perched on her shoulder, both vigilant and wise, as she shaped the fate of cities with gentle nudges rather than force.
Hermes dashed between Olympus and the earth below, carrying messages, rumors, and the occasional prank. His sandals barely stirred the clouds as he delivered a cryptic riddle to the Oracle at Delphi and slipped a mischievous word into the dreams of a shepherd.
Elsewhere, Artemis roamed the forests, her silver bow gleaming as she led a band of nymphs in the hunt. Her laughter blended with the call of the wild, and the creatures of the woods bowed before her silent command. Demeter tended to her gardens, coaxing the wheat into golden ripeness and ensuring the cycle of life continued in abundance.
As the sun began its descent, the tempers and passions of the gods flared. Ares, unable to resist the lure of conflict, challenged Apollo to a contest of skill—swordplay against archery—drawing the attention of the entire pantheon. The contest was swift and fierce, sparks flying from each blow, but ended in laughter as Hermes declared both victors, delighting in the disruption.
Yet not all was lighthearted. Hera, ever watchful, noted the growing bond between Zeus and a mortal queen. Her jealousy simmered, leading her to conspire with Athena, seeking to protect the honor of Olympus and maintain the balance of power. In the shadowed halls, whispering alliances were formed, and old grudges surfaced, shaping the fate of both gods and mortals.
Mortal affairs, too, demanded attention. Poseidon rescued a ship from the clutches of a sea monster, while Aphrodite kindled a forbidden romance in a distant city. The Fates watched from their tapestry room, their fingers weaving the threads of destiny as the gods’ actions sent ripples across the world below.
