Plots
Olympus had seen wars, betrayals, and divine disasters beyond mortal comprehension. But nothing, nothing, had prepared it for this. The great hall shimmered in gold as all twelve Olympians gathered beneath towering columns, nectar flowing, ambrosia gleaming, and tension so thick it could rival Hera’s worst moods. At the head of the table sat Zeus, looking one poorly timed comment away from either smiting someone or laughing himself off his throne. Because across from him sat Poseidon. Drenched in seawater, seaweed still clinging to his robes, trident gripped with enough force to crack stone, and wearing the expression of a god who had absolutely, positively, not recovered from the humiliation of recent events. The silence in the room was unbearable. A sharp sound broke it. A snort. Every head turned toward Hermes, whose winged sandals were practically vibrating from the effort it took not to collapse into hysterics. “My apologies,” he said, biting his lip so hard it nearly bled. “I just— it’s just that I’ve never seen a mortal become such a… splash in divine politics.” Poseidon’s glare could have drowned continents. Beside him, Athena very wisely lowered her goblet to hide what was undeniably a smile. “Oh, come now,” she said, voice smooth with faux innocence. “Surely we shouldn’t judge. Everyone loses now and then.” A pause. “Though usually not to Odysseus.” At that, Apollo folded over the table, golden shoulders shaking with laughter while Artemis outright left her seat to avoid being struck down for the grin she failed to conceal. Even Ares, god of brutal warfare, was wiping tears from his eyes. “You’re telling me,” Ares wheezed, “the mighty Earthshaker got outmaneuvered by one exhausted man with a boat?” “It was not a boat,” Poseidon snapped. That only made it worse. From her throne, Aphrodite sighed dramatically. “Honestly, brother, perhaps rage is not your color.” “Neither is defeat,” Hera added over the rim of her cup, not even pretending to defend him. And then— A sound so rare the Fates themselves may have paused. Hades laughed. Not loudly. Not cruelly. But just enough. The Underworld itself may as well have frozen over. Poseidon looked ready to sink the entire mountain. Zeus finally slammed a lightning-sparking hand on the table, his booming laugh echoing through Olympus itself. “Oh, brother,” he grinned, tears in his own eyes now, “perhaps next time… less dramatic monologuing?” The room erupted. Gods leaned on one another, wheezing and gasping, centuries of divine dignity crumbling in an instant as whispers, jokes, and poorly hidden jabs spread faster than Hermes on a mission.
Intro
Olympus had seen wars, betrayals, and divine disasters beyond mortal comprehension.
But nothing, nothing, had prepared it for this.
The great hall shimmered in gold as all twelve Olympians gathered beneath towering columns, nectar flowing, ambrosia gleaming, and tension so thick it could rival Hera’s worst moods. At the head of the table sat Zeus, looking one poorly timed comment away from either smiting someone or laughing himself off his throne.
Because across from him sat Poseidon.
Drenched in seawater, seaweed still clinging to his robes, trident gripped with enough force to crack stone, and wearing the expression of a god who had absolutely, positively, not recovered from the humiliation of recent events.
The silence in the room was unbearable.
A sharp sound broke it.
A snort.
Every head turned toward Hermes, whose winged sandals were practically vibrating from the effort it took not to collapse into hysterics.
“My apologies,” he said, biting his lip so hard it nearly bled. “I just— it’s just that I’ve never seen a mortal become such a… splash in divine politics.”
Poseidon’s glare could have drowned continents.
Beside him, Athena very wisely lowered her goblet to hide what was undeniably a smile.
“Oh, come now,” she said, voice smooth with faux innocence. “Surely we shouldn’t judge. Everyone loses now and then.”
A pause.
“Though usually not to Odysseus.”
At that, Apollo folded over the table, golden shoulders shaking with laughter while Artemis outright left her seat to avoid being struck down for the grin she failed to conceal.
Even Ares, god of brutal warfare, was wiping tears from his eyes.
“You’re telling me,” Ares wheezed, “the mighty Earthshaker got outmaneuvered by one exhausted man with a boat?”
“Shut up!” Poseidon snapped.
That only made it worse.
From her throne, Aphrodite sighed dramatically. “Honestly, Poseidon, perhaps rage is not your color.”
“Neither is defeat,” Hera added over the rim of her cup, not even pretending to defend him.
And then
A sound so rare the Fates themselves may have paused.
Hades laughed.
Poseidon looked ready to sink the entire mountain.
Zeus finally slammed a lightning-sparking hand on the table, his booming laugh echoing through Olympus itself.
“Oh, brother,” he grinned, tears in his own eyes now “perhaps next time… less dramatic monologuing?”
The room erupted.
Gods leaned on one another, wheezing and gasping, centuries of divine dignity crumbling in an instant as whispers, jokes, and poorly hidden jabs spread faster than Hermes on a mission.
Creator
Release Date 2026.05.03 / Last Updated 2026.05.03