What does a God taste like?

"Sarah," Marcus began, his voice steady and patient, "the most important thing about brewing coffee for a minor deity is understanding their divinity." He reached behind the counter with a practiced motion, his hand disappearing into a compartment Sarah hadn't noticed before. When he withdrew it, his fingers cradled a handful of coffee beans, their surface shimmering faintly with an otherworldly sheen, as though they contained slivers of starlight.

"The challenge with minor deities," Marcus continued, rolling the beans between his fingers with the reverence of an artisan, "is that their divine essence is… fragmented. They aren't like new deities, tied to modern concepts, nor like the ancients, with their realms carved deep into the bedrock of belief. Minor gods and goddesses often inherit incomplete domains from their parents—bits and pieces of divine power stitched together into something wholly unique."

With a sudden, fluid motion, Marcus began crushing the beans with his bare hands, the rich aroma immediately filling the café. The movements were quick, deliberate, and precise, the rhythm hypnotic in its simplicity. Sarah watched, captivated, as the fine powder collected in the palm of his hand like grains of shimmering sand.

"Take Artemis, for example," Marcus said, glancing up to catch Sarah's reaction. Her widened eyes told him she recognized the name. A sly smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Ah, yes, Apollo's twin. You've heard of her, I see."

Sarah nodded, her curiosity sparking like a flame. "Of course. Artemis is the goddess of the hunt, right? She's one of the Olympians, a daughter of Zeus and Leto. She's also connected to the moon—sometimes even identified with Selene, the moon's personification."

"Correct," Marcus said with a pleased nod. "But that's only the surface of her story. Artemis's divinity isn't as singular as it seems. Her domain over the hunt is absolute, yes, but she also carries fragments of her parents' realms—lightning and storms from Zeus, innocence and the fleeting magic of childhood from Leto. She is not just one thing, Sarah. She is a patchwork of divine inheritance, each piece of her essence influencing the others."

As he spoke, Marcus placed the ground beans into the filter, his movements smooth and precise. He reached for the kettle, the steam curling like silver tendrils in the air as he poured the hot water over the coffee grounds. The brewing process seemed almost ritualistic, and Sarah could feel the energy emanating from the blend, subtle but undeniably divine.

"Now," Marcus said, his tone softening as he stepped back to let the coffee drip into the pot, "tell me what you sense from this brew. Don't rush it. Let the essence speak to you."

Sarah inhaled deeply, letting the aroma of the coffee wrap around her senses. She closed her eyes, focusing on the threads of energy woven into the blend. It started with a warmth—a memory of a mother cradling her newborn, the faint melody of a lullaby whispered under moonlight. The tenderness of childhood memories swirled within her, leaving an ache of nostalgia in its wake.

Then came something sharper, a prickle of static energy that made the hairs on her arms stand on end. It was faint but unmistakable, a distant echo of Apollo's presence. She remembered the crackling intensity of his aura when she first encountered him, but this was different—smaller, quieter, like a single spark hidden in a shadowed grove.

But before Sarah could linger on the familiarity, something else emerged—something primal and wild. She felt the earth beneath her feet, the rustle of leaves in a dense forest, the thrumming heartbeat of prey fleeing through underbrush. The air around her seemed to shift, heavy with the musk of pine and the metallic tang of blood. It wasn't violent, but it was raw, alive with the pulse of the hunt. It was Artemis, her essence distilled into every drop of the brew.

Her breath caught as a final sensation washed over her—a cool, silver light that seemed to emanate from within. It was both gentle and unyielding, the quiet strength of the moon's glow as it illuminated the darkest paths. For a moment, Sarah felt as though she were standing at the crossroads of divinity itself, staring into the vast, untamed soul of a goddess.

She opened her eyes slowly, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths as she met Marcus's gaze. "It's… incredible," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can feel her. The warmth of childhood, the crackle of storms, the wildness of the forest… and the light of the moon."

Marcus smiled, pouring the finished brew into a delicate porcelain cup. He set it in front of her, the surface of the coffee shimmering faintly as though it still held the essence of Artemis's domain. "That," he said simply, "is the art of brewing for a minor deity. It's not just about knowing who they are—it's about understanding the pieces that make them whole."

"How do you feel about a thought exercise of your own?" Marcus asked, his smile as warm and disarming as ever, though the faint glint in his dark eyes hinted at the challenge he was laying down.

Sarah opened her mouth to respond, but Marcus, as usual, pressed on before she could. "What do you think the perfect blend for me would be?"

The question caught her off guard, and she blinked at him, her mind scrambling to process the implications. "For you?" she asked, more to herself than to him.

Marcus nodded, leaning against the counter with the kind of ease that only came from centuries of confidence. "For me," he confirmed. "Take your time—this isn't a test. I'm just curious to see what you come up with."

Sarah furrowed her brow, the wheels in her head turning as she considered the challenge. She'd spent enough time with Marcus to know he wasn't simply the charming, slightly mischievous barista he appeared to be. Beneath the surface was a god with layers of contradictions, a being who balanced divine power with an almost frustrating level of humility. What would capture all of that?

"I'd love to try," she said finally, her tone thoughtful, "but I think I need a moment to think about it."

Marcus chuckled, his expression softening into something almost paternal. "Take as long as you like, Sarah. There's no rush."

Her gaze fell to the coffee beans behind the counter, their myriad origins and qualities calling out to her as if they held the secrets she sought. She folded her arms across her chest, deep in thought. "What does the God of Criticism and Mockery taste like?" she mused. The question alone was absurd, and yet… It made perfect sense.

From what Marcus had told her, Momus wasn't an easy deity to define. He was born of Nyx herself, a child of primordial darkness and the embodiment of cosmic truth. Unlike most gods, his influence wasn't grand or overt. It was subtle and sharp, cutting through lies and pretense like a blade. But Marcus wasn't just Momus. He was something else now—something more. And if she wanted to capture the essence of that, she'd need to look beyond what was known.

Her mind flicked to the scraps of mythology she'd read in passing. It was said that Momus, along with his twin sister Oizys, had played a role in the Trojan War, their whispers of discord setting events in motion that even Zeus himself couldn't undo. But Sarah wasn't interested in the caricature of a god who mocked from the sidelines. She wanted to create something that represented Marcus—the man who had chosen service over dominance, subtlety over spectacle.

Finally, she straightened, a spark of determination lighting her face. "I think I know what I want to make," she declared, her confidence radiating through her voice.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her resolve. "Don't tell me," he said, stepping away from the counter with a graceful motion that belied his casual demeanor. "Show me."

Sarah grinned at the unexpected freedom. "Why, thank you, good sir," she quipped, slipping behind the counter with the air of someone stepping onto a stage. Her fingers hovered over the rows of coffee jars, her newly honed senses reaching out to guide her.

She closed her eyes for a moment, focusing on the energy that surrounded her. Marcus's essence lingered in the café, woven into the walls, the counters, even the lingering aroma of freshly brewed coffee. She felt the threads of it pull at her, sharp and bright like the edge of a blade but tempered by something warmer, deeper—like embers smoldering in a hearth.

Her hand moved instinctively, selecting a jar of beans with a rich, earthy aroma that spoke of grounding and humility. For the Marcus who serves, the Marcus who finds joy in small moments of connection. Next, she reached for a second jar, these beans carrying a faint, smoky bitterness. For the Momus who sees through pretense, who challenges illusions with unflinching honesty. Finally, she chose a blend of Ethiopian beans, their bright, citrusy notes reminding her of sunlight cutting through the darkest night. For the paradox of a god born of shadow who now thrives in light.

Sarah moved with purpose, grinding the beans together with practiced hands. As she worked, she couldn't help but feel the energy shift around her, the act of creating this blend drawing out subtle whispers of divine power. She glanced at Marcus, who was watching her with a mix of curiosity and something softer, something almost proud.

As the water poured over the grounds, the aroma filled the café, complex and layered in a way that felt almost alive. Sarah closed her eyes, letting her senses drink it in. The bitterness of truth, the warmth of connection, the brightness of clarity—it was all there, swirling together into something entirely unique.

When the brew was complete, she poured it into a simple white cup, no latte art or flourishes needed. She placed it in front of Marcus with a flourish, stepping back to watch his reaction. "There," she said, her voice light but steady. "This is what I think your essence would taste like."

Marcus raised the cup to his lips, his expression unreadable. He took a slow sip, his eyes closing briefly as he savored the flavor. When he set the cup down, a smile spread across his face—not his usual sly grin, but something genuine, something rare.

"Well done, Sarah," he said quietly, his voice carrying a depth that made her chest tighten. "You've captured more than I expected."

"More than you expected?" she echoed, tilting her head in curiosity. "What do you mean?"

Marcus looked down at the cup, his thumb tracing its edge. "You didn't just make a coffee that reflects who I am," he said. "You made one that reflects who I want to be."

The café seemed to grow quieter, the moment stretching between them like a thread of fate. For the first time since she'd met him, Sarah felt as though she was truly seeing Marcus—not just as a god or a barista, but as someone striving to reconcile the contradictions within himself.

And for the first time, she felt as though she truly understood why he had chosen her to be part of this sanctuary.