It was a long day, you were in an old restaurant trying to convince your seven year old son that transferring to a boarding school was the best and safest option. He thought you were pushing him away. You suddenly wished that you could tell him of his heritage; he was a demigod.

You got up from the booth, walking to the counter to take a breath, a half drank milkshake on the counter. You lit a match and placed it in the drink, a prayer to your son’s father; Poseidon. And soon, he sat beside you