Atlantis Reborn, Hera confronts Zeus

Zeus stood tall and straight in front of a large fireplace, his long slender fingers linked elegantly behind his back as he stared into the crackling fire he had lit moments before, his handsome features locked in thought as he watched the orange flames flicker and dance.

A bolt of lightning forked across the sky outside the castle, the whip of electricity sending a flash of light shining in through the windows of the library briefly illuminating the large wooden bookcases lining the walls inside the circular shaped room. The unexpected flare of light quickly faded causing darkness to descend inside the library drenching the room in shadow once more.

The darkness thickened and spread into the centre of the library where Zeus stood staring into the fire. The light from the flames washed over his tall sinewy frame stretching his shadow far across the floor to the large wooden door built into the wall at the other end of the room. A low creaking noise sounded in the air.
Zeus tore his gaze away from the fireplace, suspicion creeping into his eyes. He turned and looked over his shoulder, the air from his lungs escaping his mouth in a venomous hiss as the library door slowly opened.

The long corridor on the other side of the door was empty and full of darkness. As Zeus stared through the open doorway, the shadows filling the air inside the hall began to thicken and spread across the floor, the long black feelers curling around the base of a nearby bookcase with ill-intent. A low moan echoed inside the room as a gust of wind lashed against the walls outside the castle.

“Zeus.” A feminie voice whispered.
“Who’s there?” demanded Zeus, pulling the Blade of Medusa out from his belt. The darkness in the room pressed down all around him, held him captive, the shadows shackling his ankles so that he couldn’t move.

“Zeus.” The woman’s voice called out to him a second time. Zeus turned his head from left to right. He did not need powers to be able to sense that someone was watching him. He could feel the weight of the mysterious person’s eyes staring at him from out of the shadows.
“Hera?” he called softly, trying unsuccessfully to peer into the darkness. Feminie laughter sounded in the air. The wind howled in response, twisting the musical notes into a high pitched cackle full of malice and hate.

The sky lit up with lightning outside the castle, the white-hot veins of energy casting beams of light in through the windows briefly dispelling the darkness lingering inside the library for a second time.

Zeus’s chin went up, eyes widening, as a pregnant woman stepped out from behind a bookcase. She held herself with the grace and pride of a woman born and raised among the wealthy in another age, shoulders thrown back, chin in the air. Her skin was pale, almost sickly. She wore her long black hair loose down her back, the silken strands falling past her waist to the curve of her buttocks.

The light from the fire streamed over her narrow ribcage illuminating the swell of her breasts beneath the blood soaked gown she wore over her bare skin. The woman lowered her hands to her bulging stomach and laced her fingers over the multiple stab wounds sliced into her dress with a quiet dignity. Darkness fell inside the room blotting out the flashes of light shining in through the windows from the storm raging outside.

The shadows thickened and swirled around the woman’s body like a cloak shielding her face from view. No matter how hard Zeus tried to make out her eyes, he could not.

As he continued to stare, the woman threw back her head and screamed. The sound of her voice quickly rose into the highest reaches of the castle, a long painful wail full of sadness and loss and betrayal. Zeus fell to his knees on the floor, his face a white mask of guilt.


“Stop,” he pleaded, tears pooling in his eyes. The Blade of Medusa slipped from his fingers and fell onto the rug spread out in front of the fireplace, the enchanted knife completely powerless in the presence of the screaming woman. “Stop!” cried Zeus, louder this time.
A gust of wind whipped down the fireplace with a loud howl wrenching a frightened shout from Zeus’s throat as the orange flames burning inside the hearth leapt and roared taking on the shape of small twisted figures screaming in torment. Zeus turned his head away from the flash of fiery shapes and back onto the pregnant woman lingering in the shadows in the far corner of the room.

The harder he tried to peer into the darkened alcove, the thicker the shadows seemed to become until the woman could barely be seen anymore, her body blurring in and out of focus as if she were a ghost. “Zeus.”
The mysterious voice called out again. Zeus lifted his head, eyes glittering. His lips twisted into a snarl as his gaze slid around the room in search for the person calling out his name. “Zeus.” The sound of the voice was coming closer. Outside the castle, the wind ceased to howl against the windows leaving a sudden hush inside the room.

Zeus stared into the fireplace, watching as the wild flames died back down. The silence in the room lengthened and grew until the air vibrated with tension. Zeus turned his head back towards the bookcase where the pregnant woman had been standing, shocked to find that she had melted back into the shadows as if she had never existed.

After a couple of minutes the silence inside the library was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. “Zeus?” murmured the voice, so close he could feel hot air breathing over the back of his neck. A hand touched his shoulder, squeezed gently to gain his attention.


Zeus whirled around, silent and deadly, the orange flames burning in the hearth cast a flickering glow over his body as his wild hair fanned out around his face, the long black strands caressing his shadowed jaw before falling down over his shoulders in disarray, the large blue-black mass forming a shaggy mane around his face as he lifted his head to stare at Hera as she pulled her hand away from his shoulder with a loud gasp.


“You,” he bit out between clenched teeth. A clap of thunder boomed outside the castle, drums filling the sky, lightning flashed and rain hammered against the windows as Zeus stared into the darkness as his wife. “It was you.”
Lightning shone into the room basking his face in light illuminating the lines of rage etched into his features. “You were the one screaming at me, weren’t you?” He made the accusation in a low, menacing voice.

Hera strode out of the shadows regally, a woman of importance and power, head held high. She stopped directly in front of him, hands on her hips, her long black hair swishing behind her shoulders like a cape.

“I do not know what you are talking about.” She tilted her chin at him, the action exposing the vulnerable line of her throat. “I have only just stepped into the room. I was feeding my pet ravens when I heard you summon my name, so I decided to come and find you. As I was walking down the corridor towards the library I heard you screaming at someone to stop. When I opened the door and stepped into the room you were crouched in front of the fireplace staring into the shadows and sobbing. I called your name out several times but you did not answer me.”


She tipped her head to the side and levelled a cool gaze at his face. “Perhaps if you heard someone screaming at you it was the ghost of Cleito attempting to reach out to you from beyond the grave. You did murder her in cold blood after all.” She folded her arms across her chest and laughed softly as Zeus turned away from her to face the fireplace. “What’s the matter?” she asked, her voice purring with sarcasm. “Does bringing up Cleito’s death upset you? It doesn’t…” she cupped her hand in front of her mouth and gave a sharp intake of breath.
“Make you feel guilty, does it?” her expression hardened. “I don’t know why it would,” she said coolly, lifting her chin a notch. “Its not like Cleito was the first conquest you’ve ever lusted after during our marriage.” She raised her hand and began to list a long series of names off her fingers.

“Selene, Maia, Demeter, Aegina, Taygete, Laodamia, Europa, Danae, Dione, Electra, Io, Niobe, Leto, Metis, Callisto, Alcmene, Leda, plus dozens of others that you stalked because you thought they might be your true soul mate. Yes, that’s right,” said Hera, lifting her head to stare at him. “I know all about your little exploits. There isn’t a single woman that you have lain with during the past three thousand years that I do not know about. It wasn’t enough that so many of them were willing to spread their legs for you, wasn’t it?” Hera cocked her head to the side, eyebrow raised, her beautiful features lined with grief. “It wasn’t enough…” she drew herself up higher, tears glistening in her eyes. “That so many women gave you child after child. You wanted something more then another heir to follow in your place, didn’t you?”

Hera tightened her hands into fists, tears rolling down her cheeks, anguish piercing her heart. “You wanted…” She broke off in mid sentence, eyes widening, as Zeus turned away from the fireplace with a fluid, catlike gesture, arms at his side, muscles rippling beneath his shirt. He padded across the floor with long strides, his footfalls silent, his gaze never straying to his wife.

Hera retreated into the shadows with a soft hiss, her eyes smouldering dangerously as she watched Zeus walk over to a table and uncork a bottle of wine with his back turned to her. “You wanted them to love you, didn’t you Zeus?” her voice was soft, curious, with a faint trace of pity. Zeus froze with his fingers gripped around the wine bottle, every muscle stiffening, there was something slightly menacing in the way he reached out and grasped hold of an empty glass, his fingers wrapping around the goblet as he filled it full of liquid then raised it to his mouth to drink. Hera watched as Zeus drained the contents of the cup in a single gulp, wiped a hand across his mouth, then reached for the wine bottle to pour himself a second glass. “It wasn’t enough that they gave you children, was it?” Hera spoke in a low whisper, her dark purple eyes glittering with tears. Zeus ignored her, raising the cup of wine to his lips for another sip.

Hera took a step closer towards the fire, chin in the air, hands fisted at her side. “I am in your mind, Zeus. I can see the face of every woman who has ever spread her legs for you, every whore who has ever spent the night in your arms. It is one thing to welcome a woman into your bed, you are the King of the Gods, I doubt there is a single woman on the planet who would not want to discover the pleasures of your body at least once, but to make a woman love you for all time…only a soul mate can feel that way, only a soul mate can look past all of your sins and failures to find the good honourable man that still exists deep inside you.” Hera raised a hand to her cheek as a teardrop rolled down her face. She wiped the offending moisture away with her fingers then returned her gaze to where Zeus was standing holding a glass of wine.
“Cleito was different, wasn’t she? You never wanted her because of her beauty, you wanted her because she bore the mark of Poseidon on her wrist. You could not bare the fact that you had become the last of your brothers without a soul mate, so you went after Cleito thinking you could seduce her into leaving Poseidon.” Hera swallowed a large lump in her throat then continued to speak.

“You were so jealous, so desperate to have her for your own, you convinced yourself that Poseidon must have stolen her from you, so you travelled to Atlantis to bring her back to Mount Olympus. Once there, you overheard a prophecy from your own mother that the child Cleito was carrying would rise up to kill you one day, so you decided to kill the unborn infant before it could have a chance to fulfil the prophecy, then take Cleito back to Mount Olympus as your new bride. When Cleito used her powers to send her son into the future to escape from you less then a couple of minutes after giving birth to the child, you became so enraged that she would be willing to sacrifice the last of her strength to save Poseidon’s son it forced you to see past all of the lies,” said Hera, turning her head to stare into the fireplace.

A rush of wind blew down the chimney, howling softly, fanning the small crackling fire into a frenzy. Hera hung her head, twisting her fingers together. The heat from the fire washed over her tall dignified frame, the shadows caressing her face and long black hair causing the silken mass to glitter with blue highlights. “Cleito was never your soul mate,” her voice was low, husky, on the edge of tears. “The truth must have been painful for you to accept,” her chin lifted slightly, the fire bathing her face in an orange glow. “So you killed her. If she wasn’t your soul mate why let her live, right?” Hera curled her fingers into two tight fists as an unexpected sob threatened to choke her. “You killed her and now she is here,” she raised her hand to encompass the castle.

“In Mount Olympus, unable to pass on into the next life, trapped between the world of the dead and the world of living,” Hera swung around, chin up, hands fisted at her side. Her gaze drifted into the shadows to where Zeus was standing, anger and hurt written across her face.

“You butchered that poor woman Zeus,” she tugged her teeth across her bottom lip, her voice husky with emotion. “You deserve to be haunted for the rest of your life.”

Zeus stiffened but didn’t turn around. A low growl rumbled deep within his throat. The sound swelled in volume, growing higher and higher until a scream of rage filled the room, the explosion of anger reverberating throughout the entire castle. Hera slipped deeper into the shadows, her face white with fear as Zeus whirled around to stare at her, wild eyed and dangerous, his hand still gripped around the wine bottle. A boom of thunder sounded outside the castle, a second clap followed, then a third and a fourth. The pounding notes continued one after another in a dark drum beat as Zeus crossed the room in three angry strides until he stood before his wife. He towered over her with his hands on his hips, eyes blazing, his long hair a wild mane around his head. Lightning sizzled and whipped across the sky outside the walls of the castle, the white hot bolts casting beams of light in through the windows of the library onto Zeus’s face.

A sound of horror escaped Hera’s throat as the forks of lightning reflected in his eyes, the whips of energy flickering wildly as if trapped giving him a wild, almost possessed look. Hera’s voice rose to a shriek as Zeus leaned forward, his hard sensual features an impassive mask as he reached out and hooked an arm around her waist crushing her small delicate frame against his hard muscled chest. The impact knocked the air from her lungs leaving her stunned and unable to move, trapped within the iron grip of his arms. Zeus lowered his head over her trembling body, his dark hair tumbling down to shield his expression as he ran his hand up the length of her spine to the long black hair draped around her shoulders like waves of silk.
His low wicked laughter brushed over the skin on the back of her neck as he took the opportunity to cruelly tighten his fingers in her hair, crushing the black strands into the centre of his palm as he curled his hand into a fist. Tears shimmered in Hera’s eyes as he released his grip on her hair then moved his hand down lower to the nape of her neck, his fingers wrapping around the slender column of her throat in a vice-like grip, the pad of his thumb tilting her chin back. Zeus lowered his head over her upturned face, eyes glittering, a dark imposing figure holding her captive. Hera lay passively in his arms, her gaze locked onto the lines of insanity etched and carved into his face over time. “Zeus…” her voice was a thin thread of sound. Zeus caught her head in his hands and dragged her closer. “Ssh,” he whispered. His arms were like steel bands around her waist keeping her pinned against his chest. Zeus cupped the side of her face with his hand. “No more talking,” he brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. “A lesser man would have punished you after the things you said to me,” he spoke in a low, soft voice, the hard edges of his mouth curving into a predatory smirk.
“Instead I have the urge to do this…” he reached behind Hera’s head and tangled his fingers in her hair wrenching a shout of pain from her throat as he bent down to claim possession of her mouth. At the first touch of his lips, Hera pushed against his chest with her bare hands, a sob threatening to choke her. Zeus pulled her closer into the circle of his arms, his low amused laughter echoing inside her head as he thrust his tongue into the hot cavern of her mouth silencing her scream of outrage as his hands found her breasts through the thin material of her gown. As the kiss deepened, Hera closed her eyes, her mind awash in a sea of rising lust.

She could feel herself going boneless, the tension that had been in her muscles moments before slowly fading as she melted into Zeus’s arms without complaint. After a couple of minutes Hera pulled away from him with a soft gasp, lashes fluttering, tears burning at the back of her throat. Her gaze lingered on his face for a moment then slid away, her expression shadowed with grief.

Zeus reached out and caught her chin in his fingers forcing her to look back at him. Hera blinked rapidly, lost in his blue-white eyes. Zeus bent his head towards her quivering lips, his warm breath causing her to shiver as he captured her mouth in a kiss for the second time.

A crackle of thunder sounded outside the castle, the loud reverberating boom echoed inside the library causing the walls to shake. Hera gave a soft cry as Zeus snarled and leapt away from her, the single bound taking him halfway across the room into the shadows.

The wind howled outside, voices filling the sky, the disembodied spirits singing softly, their words echoing in all directions as Zeus’s emotions continued to feed the storm. Hera stood in front of the hearth with her gaze riveted into the shadows. “Zeus?” she murmured, her cheeks glistening with moisture in the flickering light of the fire. Zeus slowly turned his head towards his wife, eyes glittering, his long black hair flowing around his shoulders in waves. “Nothing…” his eyes glazed over as he spoke, as if he were not speaking to Hera, but to himself out loud. “Absolutely nothing…” he buried his face into his hands and sobbed softly, shoulders shaking.

There was a long silence. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” asked a voice from the front of the room. Hera turned and looked over her shoulder to see who had spoken. “Hermes!” her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What are you doing here? Have you…” she gave a small cough.
“Been standing there long?” her gaze slid over the younger man’s face, silently noting the physical similarities he shared with his father Zeus. Hermes, the Messenger God, was just one of the countless children Zeus had conceived over the past few centuries whilst engaging in sexual affairs with numerous different women across the globe. Unlike Dionysus, who was the son of a mortal prostitute, Hermes was the son of Maia, a mysterious goddess Zeus had been involved with in an affair hundreds of years ago in the past. Hermes, like most of the male children Zeus had conceived over the centuries, had the same long black hair and ice blue eyes of his father, making him look like a younger version of Zeus. Not surprisingly, Hermes shared little resemblance of his mother, Maia. Out of all the male children Zeus had sired over the years, there had only been one child who had been born without the long black hair and ice blue eyes common to the sons of Zeus. Ares, the God of War, shared more of a resemblance to his grandmother Rhea then he did to his father which was why, some people suspected, Zeus often treated him as his least favourite son.
Hera tore her gaze away from Hermes and back onto the fireplace as tears began to fill her eyes. Ares was one of the few children belonging to Zeus that she, herself, had given birth, not someone else. Her husband’s continued dislike of not only Ares but the other children he had impregnated her with over the course of their marriage was just one more thorn impaled in her fragile heart.

Hera sighed and hung her head, shoulders sagging, long black hair tumbling down to shield her face as teardrops rolled down her cheeks. The light from the fire washed over her trembling frame, the flickering shadows caressing her skin. A low moan arose, the sound echoing down the chimney as the wind rattled against the windows as if searching for a way to enter the library.


A glint of steel caught Hera’s attention. Her mouth went dry, heart pounding, as her gaze slowly fell onto the large rug spread out in front of the fireplace. It was there, forgotten and discarded, lay the Blade of Medusa, waiting to be picked up off the floor and taken away by someone. Zeus had obviously dropped the mystical knife onto the floor by accident before she had entered the room and had yet to realise his mistake.

Hera turned her head, her gaze meeting her husband’s icy stare from across the room without blinking. Zeus stirred menacingly from deep within the shadows, his hard chiselled features a mask of suspicion.
“Is everything all right, Hera?” he cocked his head to the side, a small smile curving across his mouth. “You seem a little distracted. Is something wrong?” he asked softly, arching an eyebrow at her.

Hera moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Wrong?” she twisted her fingers together as she spoke, the simple action exposing the anxiety she felt at his question. Hera tilted her chin at him. “I am fine,” she lifted her foot and gently tucked the Blade of Medusa beneath her skirt with the heel of her boot so that the knife was hidden from view. “Absolutely fine,” she repeated, jutting her nose into the air.

The corners of Zeus’s mouth twitched slightly, drawing Hera’s attention to his sinfully sculptured lips.
“I am glad.” His gaze slid over her face, silently questioning. Hera stared straight back at him in return, her eyes flashing in defiance from beneath her long thick lashes. The hard edges of Zeus’s mouth curved into a smile causing fine lines to crinkle the corners of his eyes.

A soft muffled sound began to build in his throat. Laughter. Low, amused, laughter. Zeus shook his head from side to side, his face a mask of twisted glee. His hot burning gaze paused to linger on Hera, on the fear so visible in her eyes, then slid away as he turned his attention to Hermes. “Son!” cried Zeus, striding out of the darkness. “It has been too long, far too long…”


He moved across the floor with long, fluid strides, until he stood before the tall figure of Hermes. “I received your message,” said Zeus, linking his hands behind his back. “Its not everyday that I get…” he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “What did you call it, Hermes?”
“An email,” replied his son, a thin trace of amusement in his voice. “I developed them a couple of years ago, remember? It was in the papers.”


Zeus raised his hand and shoved his fingers through his hair causing the long blue-black strands to scatter in all directions around his face. A weak smile curved across his mouth. “Ah, yes…” he looked away, unable to stare at his reflection in his son’s ice cold eyes any longer.


Zeus blinked rapidly as his vision blurred with tears, then glanced down at the pair of tiny glittering wings jutting out of Hermes’s ankles, his expression lost in thought. “I…” the word slipped out softly, causing colour to creep up the back of his neck and flood his cheeks. Zeus buried his face into his hands and sighed wearily, then after a couple of minutes lifted his head to stare at Hermes. “How is your computer business going?”


There was a strange, slightly pleading glint in his eyes, as if he were desperate to be involved in his son’s life. When Hermes just stared at him, Zeus tossed back his long black hair and continued to speak. “It must be quite a challenge to live so openly in the mortal world. It certainly makes a change from the time when we would look down on mortals from above as they sacrificed virgins to gain our pleasure inside temples built in our name. Now we are wearing their clothes, driving their vehicles, reading their magazines, going inside the minds of any mortal we might come into contact with to trick them into believing that are just nice normal people, we are even…” he winced. “Having cups of coffee with them. I do not know how you can stand it, Hermes. You are an Olympian God, not a mortal. You do not belong in an office tower having meetings and signing documents. There was a time when mortals would slaughter lambs under the light of a full moon to gain your approval. Now you are socializing with them, laughing with them, as if…” he shuddered. “You are equals. You will never be their equal, Hermes. If they ever found out the truth about you…” he sighed and shook his head. “There must be dozens of business competitors who would do anything to unmask a billionaire businessman such as yourself.”

Hermes straightened his shoulders. “A few,” he said softly, folding his arms across his chest. “You’ll be surprised of the number of demons in command of some of the most influential and powerful organisations on the face of the planet.” He raised his hand and began to list things off the tips of his fingers.


“The KuKlux Clan, McDonalds, the IRA, Fox News, the Nazis…” he lowered his hand. “I’m forgetting one,” he tapped his chin in thought. “Ah, now I remember, the last one is the American Republican party,” he smiled.


“They’re the root of all evil, you know.” He shrugged his shoulders, the movement causing his hard sinewy muscles to ripple beneath his shirt. “Or at least they are according to the July issue of the magazine Evil Beings and Where to Find Them. My point is, I am not the only immortal god on the planet who has chosen to adapt to the modern world, lots of us have.” A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Hell, even Eris the Goddess of Discord has managed to find a way to blend in. She works as a journalist in America now. She spends most of her time writing articles about death and disasters, most of which she causes herself.” Hermes grinned, a quick boyish smile that managed to chase the shadows from his eyes.
“She is a Goddess of Chaos, after all. I guess some habits are hard to break after thousands of years, huh?” He cocked his head to the side and chuckled in amusement, his young handsome features twisted into a cold arrogant mask. Zeus folded his arms across his hard muscled chest and frowned. “Indeed,” he said softly, staring at his son through narrowed eyes. Hermes straightened to his full height with a bashful look on his face. “I only meant…” he raised his hand and raked his fingers through his hair.
Zeus gave a low snort then tilted his head back exposing the long white column of his throat. “Quiet,” he held out his hand. “Come with me.” He commanded. Hermes blinked his eyes then shook his head from side to side as his father’s voice slipped into his mind, the soft bewitching notes wrapping him in a hypnotic web too powerful for him to resist. The hard edges of Zeus’s mouth slowly curved into a smirk as Hermes lifted his foot and took a step closer towards him. Zeus circled the younger man’s waist with his arms then lowered his chin over the top of his head. “Don’t speak…” he whispered, his voice muffled against the side of his son’s neck.


Hermes stiffened as Zeus reached down and shackled his wrist with his fingers. Sensing his son’s rising distress, Zeus caught Hermes’s chin in his hand forcing him to look into his eyes. “Let’s move closer towards the fireplace so we can talk some more, shall we?” He smiled, a quick flash of white teeth, then he turned away, tugging on Hermes’s hand for him to follow as he crossed the library floor in three long strides towards the hearth.


Hera sat huddled on the thick woollen rug spread out in font of the fireplace with her eyes downcast and her shoulders slumped. Her thick silken hair tumbled down over her shoulders in waves, the long blue-black strands veiling her face from view as she slowly reached under the folds of fabric pooled around her legs from the gown she was wearing and pulled out the Blade of Medusa, her fingers clenched tightly around the mystical weapon.


Zeus marched across the floor until he stood before the trembling figure of his wife, hands on his hips, his face lined with rage. “Hera…” he growled through gritted teeth. The air from his lungs escaped his mouth in a gasp of shock as the knife his wife had pulled out from under her gown suddenly morphed into a blunt wooden blade. Zeus squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a light shake, certain that he had seen wrong, after a couple of minutes he lifted his eyelashes to take another look at the weapon, only to find that the illusion had vanished and that the wooden blade he had seen moments before had turned back into a knife made out of steel once more.


Zeus’s eyebrows shot up in confusion. “I could have sworn…” he never completed the rest of his sentence.
“Oh, Hera…” he called in a sing song voice, his expression darkening. “What are you doing with the Blade of Medusa?”
Hera blinked and lifted her head as if in a daze, her dark cloudy eyes drifting over the lines of anger etched into his face in amusement. “Are you suggesting that I stole it from you, Zeus?” she glanced away from him before he could reply, her long eyelashes sweeping down to fan her cheeks as she placed her hands against her thighs and slowly rose into a standing position.


“I can assure you…” said Hera, bending down to smooth the wrinkles out of her gown. “I did not steal it from you, Zeus.” She straightened to her full feet in height, chin up, hands linked neatly in front of her chest. “I found it on the floor,” she admitted quietly, her eyes meeting his dark disapproving gaze without flinching. “Search my mind if you wish. I’m sure you will find that I am telling the truth. Here…” she tossed the Blade of Medusa onto the ground near his feet. “Take it.”
Zeus studied her face with narrowed eyes, his hard chiselled features shadowed with distrust. A long tense silence stretched out between husband and wife, it was several minutes later when Zeus opened his mouth and spoke. “How foolish of me to drop such an important object onto the floor and not even notice,” the hard edges of his mouth softened into a smile. “Almost human of me, wouldn’t you agree?” his laughter spilled out, low and husky, the notes sending a chill over Hera’s skin despite the warmth of the flames burning in the hearth behind her back.

Zeus stared at her for a couple of moments longer then bent down to retrieve the knife from the floor before the weapon could be forgotten for a second time. Hera scraped her teeth across her bottom lip as she watched her husband slide the knife into a leather scabbard attached to his belt so it would not be lost again. Once the knife was safely secured, Zeus placed his hands flat against his thighs and slowly rose into a standing position.


His cold calculating gaze drifted over Hera’s face for a moment then slid away as he turned his attention to Hermes at the back of the room. “Please,” he urged. “Step closer. It is much too cold for you to stand alone in the shadows. I insist that you come and join us by the fire where it is nice and warm.” He turned his head and looked at Hera over his shoulder. “I am quite eager to hear what news Hermes has to bring of the outside world, aren’t you my love?” his white teeth gleamed. The light from the fire leapt into his eyes, the orange flames reflecting in his ice cold gaze as if trapped briefly causing his eyes to glow bright red. Hera gave a sharp intake of breath as Zeus’s hand spanned and captured her throat pushing back her chin forcing her to gaze into his eyes as he slowly bent down to kiss her on the mouth. Hera gave a muffled shout and pushed against his chest with her fists.
Zeus staggered backwards a couple of steps and smiled. “Careful,” he wiped a hand across his lips. “If you misbehave, I’ll have to punish you.” His smile widened. “And you know how much I love to do that.” He leaned forward and rubbed a finger along her cheek.


Hera’s chin went up, her eyes flashing dangerously, she raised her hand and slapped him across the face causing Zeus to laugh and rub the mark on his cheek where she had struck him. “Oh my,” he tilted his head to the side. “Feeling a little feisty, are we?” he arched an eyebrow at her, when Hera just glared at him in return he laughed and turned his head towards Hermes.
“You’ll have to excuse my wife,” he said to his son. “She’s been nothing but moody ever since I summoned her here shortly before you arrived so that we would be able to meet you together. If circumstances were different I would send her away, but after reading your email this morning I thought it would be best if she were present to hear the news you have travelled so far to bring to me.”


Zeus jutted his chin into the air, shoulders thrown back, body militarily erect. “Tell me more about the young boy you mentioned in your letter, the one you have been watching for some time, the high school student with unusual powers uncommon to mortal kind.”
“His name is Dylan Thatcher,” said Hermes, he stared right past his father as he spoke, not quite meeting his eyes. “He is seventeen years old and lives with his grandparents and single mother in the coastal town of Fremantle, Western Australia. The child possesses all of the gifts common to our kind yet for some strange reason believes himself to be human. I believe it has something to do with Stephanie, the grandmother of the family and her daughter Simone, the mother of the young boy. The two women were both born with strong telepathic and telekinetic powers common to humans from a family line with diluted magic running in their veins. It is possible that one of their ancestors was a demi-god which would explain their unusual gifts. As for the boy, he seems completely unaware that he is not human. He believes that all of his powers, his gifts, are nothing but genetic traits passed down onto him from his mother.”
Zeus tapped a finger against his chin in thought.

“It is possible. What makes you so certain that the child is not human? If two of his family members possess powers it makes sense that he did indeed inherit his own gifts from them. Unless…” his eyes widened. “His father. You did not mention the child’s father. Who is he? Is he alive?” he lifted his foot and took a step forward until he towered over the younger man. “Tell me.”


Hermes let his breath out slowly. “His father is dead and buried at a local cemetery within Fremantle. He was a solider who participated in a war that occurred early last decade overseas. He died whilst engaging in enemy combat in a fighter jet over a populated city. He was taken back to Australia and buried shortly afterwards. The child was still a young infant at the time. He has no memories of the man.” Hermes flicked a brief glance at his father then looked away, hands pressed flat at his sides, his face an impassive mask. “It is my belief that the reason the child has no memories of the man believed to be his father is not because of his young age but for a much different reason. I believe that the boy is not related to the man at all. I think that the story of his relationship with the child’s mother Simone and even his death in battle is nothing but a lie to keep the young boy from discovering the real truth about his own origins.”


Hermes saw the slight tremble of his father’s body, the fear shadowing his face. Zeus closed his eyes and hung his head, one hand pressed against his cheek, the other tangled in his hair. “I think I might know where this is going,” he sighed and lifted his head. “This boy, Dylan Thatcher, he wasn’t found abandoned as a small baby somewhere, was he?” Zeus felt a large knot rise into his throat. “Because if he was…that would mean…”



Hermes spared a quick look at Hera. His father’s estranged wife lifted her chin at him in response, the corners of her mouth tightening into a frown. Hermes turned his head away from the goddess, his gaze drifting back onto his father’s face. “It took me a while, but I finally managed to find out the truth from Andrew, the grandfather in the family. Unlike his wife Stephanie and their daughter Simone, Andrew is completely powerless, he possesses no telepathic or telekinetic gifts whatsoever, so it was quite simple to go into his mind and discover the real truth about the origin of his grandson from his memories. It turned out that my suspicions about the child were correct. Dylan Thatcher is not related to the man he believes to be his father nor anyone else in his family. He was found lost and abandoned on a beach as a small baby by Simone, once she found out that the child possessed unusual powers just like herself she knew she could never give him up so she took him back to her parents and convinced them to let her raise him as her son. It never occurred to her that he might not be human, she just assumed he had been born with unique gifts passed down throughout generations just like she herself had been in her own family. She never questioned his past or if his parents might still be searching for him somewhere, she just took him.” A flicker of hatred crossed over Hermes’s face. “She took him into her life and polluted his mind with the belief that he was human. She even created an elaborate lie about a dead solider to shield the boy from the real truth of his origins. Make no mistake,” he said.


“Dylan Thatcher is Poseidon’s long lost son. The few times I have slipped into his mind I have caught glimpses of repressed memories of the events that occurred in Atlantis shortly before Cleito sent the child into the future. Dylan knows nothing of his true identity or his real parents, the few memories he has left are so deeply buried I’m not even certain he knows that they are there. In his eyes, he is the son of Simone Thatcher.” A hollow laugh rumbled deep within his throat. “A human. He thinks he is human. An Olympian God. One of us.”


“I’ve seen this moment in my dreams,” Zeus closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face tiredly. “I always knew that Poseidon’s son would resurface one day and that once he did the prophecy of my death at his hand will stand a chance of coming true.” He took a step forward then stopped abruptly, his hands closing into fists as he studied his son’s face. “Which is why, unlike my father, I am not going to run from my fate. If this boy knows nothing of his heritage then it stands to reason that he will know nothing about his true mother’s death. If I were to somehow get my hands on this child before Poseidon becomes aware of his existence there is a chance that I might be able to trick the boy into pledging allegiance to me, once that happens the prophecy will have no chance of coming true and I would have turned Poseidon’s long lost son against his own father.”
“And if you fail?” asked Hera, a slight note of sarcasm in her voice. “What then? You will bring the child prophesised to kill you into your own domain?” she lifted an eyebrow at him, head tilted back, a smirk curving across her mouth. “Why not just kill the damn brat?”
Zeus shot a fierce glare in her direction.
“You simply do not understand these things, do you Hera? If I were to capture the boy and brainwash him into joining my side, I will do far more harm to Poseidon then I ever would if I simply walked up to the boy and slashed his throat. If Dylan, the last living link Poseidon has of his soul mate Cleito, were to betray my dear sweet brother by agreeing to join my side, it would devastate Poseidon. The only thing more painful then the death of a love one in this world is when that love one turns against us.” Zeus shook his head then turned away from his wife, hands clenched tightly into fists, his face a stone mask as he returned his attention to Hermes once more.


“Thank you for bringing this valuable piece of information to me, my son. Once again you have proven without a doubt that you truly are my most trusted comrade.” He raised his hand and squeesed Hermes on the shoulder. “I’m afraid that I must regretfully inform you that I have at least one more task that I wish for you to complete,” he pulled his arm away, the corners of his mouth tightening ominously.
“I wish for you to find the Erinyes and order them to capture Dylan Thatcher then bring him back to Mount Olympus.” He lowered his arm to his side, his eyes cold and hard. “I will not let some little boy who is under the delusion that he is a human being be the one to destroy me. If Dylan will not join my side, then he will die.”


A large golden eagle swooped out of the darkness, wings spread wide, its round shiny eyes fixed on the small group of people huddled in front of the fireplace intently. The bird circled overhead for a few minutes then fluttered down and landed on Hermes’s shoulder, folded its wings behind its back then opened its beak and gave a loud squawk. Hermes scratched the bird on the top of its feathered skull with his hand then turned his head away to stare at Zeus. “I live only to serve you, my lord.”
He vanished in a flash of white smoke. Hera flinched, eyes widening, as Zeus whirled around to face her, his features livid with rage. “I’ve had just about enough of you, my dear…” he took a step closer, flames leaping into his eyes. “Get out!” he raised his hand and pointed at the door. “Get out of my sight right now!”
A flash of lightning shone into the room throwing his face into bright light illuminating the madness etched deep within his features. Hera pushed past him knocking him into the side of a table as she rushed towards the library doors. She fled out into the corridor weeping, tears burning in her throat, the sound of Zeus’s maniacal laughter echoing in her ears as she raced down the dark twisting passageways built inside the castle back towards her room in the south tower.

Dionysus stepped out of the shadows the moment she stopped in front of the door leading into her personal chamber. “Did you get it?” he asked. Hera blinked and lifted her head, her eyes bright with tears. “Yes,” her lashes swept down demurely. “It took some trickery…” she slipped her hand into her robes and pulled out the Blade of Medusa. “But in the end I was able to switch the knife with a blunt wooden dagger bewitched to look like the real thing without Zeus noticing,” she placed the Blade of Medusa into Dionysus’s out stretched hand. “He now has a fake.” She bit down on her bottom lip. “And you…”
Dionysus raised the Blade of Medusa up in front of his eyes and smiled revealing a mouthful of brown rotten teeth. “Have the real thing.”