Chapter 38: The New Olympians

The Olympians were gathered for one of their grand family dinners, a tradition that had grown as their families expanded. I sat at the long stone table, carved from a single slab of marble, watching as laughter and conversation filled the great hall. It was strange sometimes, seeing how large our family had become, how much had changed since the days of war and uncertainty.

Poseidon sat across from me, his ever-present grin wide as he rested his water-formed arm on the table. Amphitrite sat beside him, rolling her eyes as their son, Triton, excitedly regaled Kore with exaggerated tales of his latest underwater adventures. Demeter, seated nearby, gently brushed Kore's curls out of her face as the little girl listened in awe.

Hera and Aeolus were deep in discussion, their daughter Eileithyia standing gracefully beside them, sipping from her goblet. She had grown into a poised young woman, sharp-witted and quick to laughter. At the far end of the table, Athena sat quietly, observing the room with that calculating gaze of hers, though a smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as she listened to Hephaestus and Hebe bicker over something trivial.

Ares, ever the warrior, had an arm slung around Zagreus as the two of them swapped stories of combat and training. Melinoe, seated beside her brother, chuckled at their bravado, her dark eyes flashing with amusement. Across from them, Artemis and Apollo whispered to each other, Artemis's eyes kept darting to look at her older sister.

The meal itself was a feast, with roasted meats, honeyed fruits, and steaming loaves of bread spread before us. Hestia, ever the heart of our gatherings, ensured that every plate remained full and every goblet was topped with wine or nectar. The warmth of the heart she maintained glowed in the center of the hall, casting a golden hue over everything.

Poseidon wrapped his arm protectively around Amphitrite as she laughed at something Demeter had said. Triton, their young son, had climbed onto his father's lap, waving around a wooden trident far too big for his little hands. He swung it wildly, nearly knocking over a bowl of ambrosia before Poseidon caught his wrist.

"Careful, boy," Poseidon said, though his eyes shone with amusement. "You're not trying to overthrow me already, are you?"

Triton grinned, his chubby cheeks dimpling. "Not yet!" he declared before thrusting the trident toward Ares. "I challenge you to a duel!"

Ares, who had been engaged in a very serious conversation with Hephaestus over weapon designs, turned and smirked. "Oh? And what happens if I win?"

Triton hesitated before puffing out his chest. "Then…then you have to call me King Triton for the whole night!"

Hera, sitting beside Aeolus, chuckled into her cup. "I like this one," she mused, casting a proud glance at the young boy.

Ares leaned forward, a playful gleam in his eyes. "Very well, but if I win, you have to carry my shield around for the rest of the night. It's nearly as big as you."

Triton looked to his mother for guidance, and Amphitrite merely smiled and patted his curls. "You're strong enough, my little wave," she said. "Do you accept?"

Triton nodded enthusiastically, and in an instant, he leaped from Poseidon's lap and charged at Ares with his wooden trident. The whole room erupted into laughter as Ares exaggerated his defeat, stumbling backward, clutching his chest as though mortally wounded before collapsing onto the floor.

"The great war god… vanquished!" Apollo declared dramatically, raising his goblet high, spilling some of his milk as it was quickly cleaned up

"Truly, an era ends tonight!" Artemis added, wiping a mock tear from her eye.

Hephaestus, ever the practical one, nudged Ares with his foot. "Are you going to get up, or do you need someone to forge you a cane?"

Ares groaned, lifting his head. "Perhaps a throne, so I can beg for mercy at the feet of King Triton."

The hall shook with laughter, and I found myself smirking, my own cup of wine forgotten. These moments were rare—too often, our meetings were about power struggles, political maneuvers, and divine obligations. But tonight, we were simply a family.

At the head of the table, Demeter had pulled Kore back into her lap, stroking her dark curls as the child nibbled absentmindedly on a piece of pomegranate. "Slow down, little one," she murmured. "You'll stain your dress."

Kore beamed up at her mother, her tiny fingers now painted red from the juice. "But it tastes so good!"

Hera sighed dramatically, setting down her goblet. "I swear, between Triton trying to usurp his father and Kore devouring that fruit like a starving mortal, our children are far more interesting than we ever were."

Aeolus, seated beside her, chuckled as he leaned down to whisper something to their daughter, Eileithyia. 

"What are you whispering about?" Hera asked, raising a suspicious brow.

Eileithyia giggled and pulled back from her father. "He said you used to have a temper."

The table went silent.

For a moment, there was nothing but the crackling of the fire. Then, Poseidon leaned forward with a wide grin. "Used to?"

Hera narrowed her eyes, but before she could retort, Hebe, her youngest daughter, clapped her hands in delight. "Momma's scary when she's mad!"

At that, the entire room erupted into laughter once more. Even Hera, after a moment of begrudging silence, allowed herself a small smirk.

Hecate leaned closer to me, her violet eyes twinkling. "It's nice, isn't it?"

I glanced at her, then back at the family before us. The sounds of laughter, of bickering siblings and teasing remarks, of clinking goblets and warm fires—it was more than nice. It was everything we had fought for, everything we had endured to create. A future where we could sit together, without war looming over us.

"Yes," I murmured, watching Artemis and Apollo pull Triton into their conversation, while Hebe tried (and failed) to tug Hephaestus away from his toys. Kore yawned, resting her head against Demeter's shoulder, while Ares and Zagreus continued their playful fight.

"It's perfect."

<--------------------->

Several years had passed, and now, the crowning of the new Olympians was upon us. A grand festival had been arranged, stretching across Olympus with feasts, music, and celebrations in full swing. The air buzzed with excitement, and for once, there was no war, no discord—just family, together, marking the rise of the next generation.

My gaze lingered on Abellona, the feminine aspect of Apollo, whose radiant presence filled the chamber. Tonight, she was adorned in a flowing golden chiton that shimmered like captured sunlight, her long, curling locks cascading down her back like spun gold. Her sharp features had softened, her luminous eyes carrying the wisdom of both sun and law. But it was not just appearance that changed when Apollo became Abellona—it was something deeper, more intrinsic. Their very essence shifted, as though two souls resided within the same divine form, each wholly and completely its own being.

I remembered the first time it had happened. One morning, Hecate and I had entered the great hall to find not our familiar golden-haired Apollo, but a girl, blinking up at us with the same celestial light in her gaze. At first, we assumed it was a trick, or perhaps a temporary transformation as gods were sometimes wont to do. But the moment we spoke, we knew something was different. This was no mere disguise or simple shifting of form—Abellona was real, as real as Apollo, and neither was simply an aspect of the other.

The changes were unpredictable. Sometimes Apollo would remain for weeks, months even, his energy and presence distinct and unwavering. Then, one morning, he would wake as Abellona, carrying herself with a different grace, a different perspective. There was no pattern to it, no warning. It simply was. And we accepted it as we always had, for what mattered was not the shape they took, but the god, the family, that they were.

Hecate had smiled that first morning, tilting her head as she observed Abellona with quiet amusement. "Well, aren't you a lovely surprise?" she had mused, placing a gentle hand on Abellona's shoulder. "I think I like this side of you."

Apollo—or Abellona, rather—had hesitated then, as though fearing rejection. But I had merely ruffled her hair, just as I always had. "You are my child," I had told her. "Whether you are Apollo or Abellona, you will always have a place here."

And that was the end of it. There had been no need for grand declarations, no need for validation beyond the simple truth that we loved them, wholly and completely.

Now, as I looked upon Abellona standing among the newly crowned Olympians, I saw the culmination of that acceptance. She shone with the same confidence and grace as Apollo, standing proud and certain in her divine identity. And as I stepped forward, ready to declare them all as the next generation of gods who would shape Olympus, I knew in my heart that no matter who Apollo or Abellona woke up as tomorrow, they would always belong.

I lifted my hands, signaling for silence as the chamber grew still. The glow of divine torches flickered against the marble pillars, their golden flames reflecting the momentous occasion unfolding before us. My gaze swept over the gathered gods, both the old and the new, their eyes fixed upon me with a mixture of solemnity and anticipation.

"Welcome, all," I intoned, my voice steady and commanding, resonating through the vast chamber. "Tonight, we stand at the dawn of a new era. Through trials of strength, wisdom, and unwavering dedication, those who stand before me have proven themselves worthy of more than just their lineage. They have carved their names into the bones of history, and for that, Olympus shall honor them."

The air seemed to hum with power as I stepped forward, facing the eight young gods who knelt before me. I could see the pride in their eyes, the weight of responsibility settling on their shoulders.

"Ares the god of war, combat, bloodlust, heroes, and honor."

"Zagreus the god of shadows, monsters, and necromancy. "

"Melinoe the goddess of ghosts, nightmares, and demons."

"Artemis the goddess of the moon, huntings, assassinations and archery."

"Apollo and Abellona the god and goddess of the sun, laws, medicine, miracles, and archery."

"Hephestus the god of the forge, inventions, blacksmithing, fire and crafts."

"Triton the god of the deep sea and naval warfare."

"And Kore, the goddess of maidens, seasons and harvest."

I raised my goblet. "Tonight, we do not just crown new gods—we welcome family. We honor their growth, their struggles, and the paths they have walked to stand here. Let it be known that Olympus does not belong to one era—it thrives because of those who come after. To the new Olympians!"

"To the new Olympians!" The chorus rang out, and goblets clashed together in cheers.

The festival erupted into laughter and music, the scent of roasted meats and sweet wine filling the air. As the night deepened, I found myself beside Hecate, watching the younger gods revel in their newfound titles.

"They've come far," she mused, sipping her wine. "Especially Kore. Demeter was reluctant to let her take on this title."

I chuckled. "Demeter is reluctant about most things. But Kore has her own path, and she walks it well."

Across the courtyard, Ares and Hephaestus exchanged a few choice words before settling into an arm-wrestling match, the table beneath them groaning. Zagreus and Melinoe sat at the edge of the celebration, speaking in hushed voices, shadows flickering around them. Triton and Kore danced near the great bonfire, their laughter ringing through the night, while Artemis and Apollo—now shifting back into his male form—shared a quiet conversation atop the marble steps.

It was a rare sight—peace among us.

Hera approached, her gaze soft as she looked upon her son, Ares. "I never thought I'd see the day my son would stand here with such honor. He has grown."

"We all have," I replied. "Even you, Hera."

She smirked at me but said nothing, merely raising her goblet in silent agreement.

The night wore on, and one by one, the gods departed to their domains. But as I stood there, looking upon the next generation of Olympus, I felt something I hadn't in a long time—hope.

For all the chaos, the battles, and the scars we bore, tonight reminded me that we endured. And so long as we had each other, Olympus would endure as well.