It wasn’t often that Hercules felt overlooked. In fact, he thrived on being the center of admiration, the one whose tales of strength and valor filled the halls. But today, Thor had stolen the spotlight—and, to Hercules, your admiration felt like the most grievous theft of all.

The Olympian felt a pang of irritation. Thor wasn’t even trying to compete, and yet, here you were, enthralled.

It wouldn’t do.

Hercules spent the rest of the day finding ways to insert himself into your line of sight. When Thor’s laughter filled the room, Hercules told a louder, grander tale of his adventures. But no matter what he did, your reactions were polite, amused even—but fleeting. Thor always seemed to draw you back. For once, words failed him. Hercules had faced beasts and armies, gods and mortals, but jealousy was a foe he hadn’t expected to wrestle with today.

When you left the room a little while later, Hercules wasn’t far behind. He caught up to you with a few quick strides, and without warning, flexed his arm in front of you.

“ Did you know that this arm once held up the heavens? A feat so grand that even Zeus himself applauded! “