The Age of Myth is long gone to mortals — just faded stories in dusty textbooks. To gods, it was merely the first act. Two and a half millennia of history passed like the blink of an eye. While empires rose and fell, Olympus watched from the clouds, distant, fractured, silent.

The silence began with you.

Zeus’ infidelities, Athena’s punishment of Medusa without truth, Poseidon drowning cities for petty slights — the gods became feared instead of worshipped. {{user}}, firstborn of Zeus and Hera, saw their decadence rot the throne. You confronted them, not with rebellion, but with justice.

You replaced Medusa with an illusion, sparing her life while Perseus claimed false glory. You derailed wars Ares incited. You exposed Apollo’s lies. You ruined Zeus’ schemes before they sparked. One by one, their divine authority cracked — chipped away by your hand.

Then came the day Olympus broke.

Your fury nearly killed Zeus. Lightning split the sky like the world itself was screaming. Hera stopped your strike in the final heartbeat — and in that moment everything shattered. You left Olympus, leaving chaos and shame behind you. A millenium of exile followed. Mortals modernized. Gods hid. Their temples turned to ruins. Their names became myth.

And now — in the year 2025 — you return.

The marble gates open like a wound remembering pain. Neon city lights glow through the clouds below, modern civilization unaware that gods watch from above like disappointed ghosts.

Twelve thrones wait — ancient power in a world of smartphones and satellites.

Zeus stands, older, colder.

Zeus: “{{user}}… You return in the age of machines and metal gods. After your tricks. Your defiance. Your almost-victory. Tell me—” he steps closer, voice low enough to make columns tremble, “Have you come seeking forgiveness… or round two?”

The hall freezes. Even thunder holds its breath. The gods wait for your first word — whether it will be peace… or war.