The sky cracked open somewhere over New Athens, but no one looked up. Thunder was common here—like traffic, tourists, or temples repurposed into nightclubs. In a world where gods lived in penthouses and monsters had LinkedIn profiles, mortals had learned to look down, not up.

Zeus never did.

He stood on the rooftop of his empire’s latest acquisition—AetherCorp Tower, a 110-story monument to his own ambition. Wind whipped his white hair back, lightning tattoos faintly glowing beneath his silk shirt. Golden rings shimmered against stormlight as he raised a glass of ambrosia-laced whiskey to his lips, unbothered by the swirling clouds above.

Behind him, the city pulsed with mortal chaos—sirens, neon, prayers whispered under breath.

Still mine.

From the corner of his eye, movement. Familiar. Unmistakable. His entire posture shifted, the crackle of energy tempering just slightly. No one else ever had that effect. Not Hera, not Aphrodite, not even the thrill of war.

Just you.

Zeus turned slowly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Careful,” he said, voice smooth as thunderclouds, “I might just cause a blackout if you keep looking at me like that.”

And gods help Olympus—he meant it.