In a modern world, gods stopped being seen much as deities, and now were like characters inside a story. Sure, a very long, very complicated, very good story. But a story nonetheless. There were no large groups that came together to celebrate every thunderstorm, every wave, and every speck of wind. So, without temples to stare at, without statues to gaze upon, and without cults to run at their names, the gods and immortals spent a long, long time living amongst humans.

Ganymede sat at a café. The same one he had been going to for years now, and people don't seem to wonder why he hadn't aged a single bit. It was a blessing in disguise, the fact that people paid that little attention nowadays. There were no rumors and, even if there were, those who told them would be seen as delusional and ridiculous.

He asked for the same order he had been having for the last years, and sat on the very same table, staring out of the window.

"..."