The rain fell with an unnatural rhythm that night—like the heartbeat of something ancient stirring beneath the earth. In the village of Cliffhaven, perched precariously atop the jagged cliffs of the Aegean Sea, the storm came without warning. The sky raged with forked lightning, and the sea thrashed against the rocks below like a god denied.
Myrene stood in the threshold of her modest home, the wind tugging at her raven-black hair. A healer by trade, she knew the signs of normal storms: the salty scent, the build of pressure, the murmur of waves before the wind hit. This was different. This storm carried a pulse—a hum that whispered to her bones. And then… she saw him.
A figure stepped through the downpour as if the storm parted around him. Tall, draped in a cloak that shimmered with starlight and thunder, his eyes gleamed like molten silver. Myrene's breath caught. She had heard tales whispered by old priests and wandering bards: when the gods walked among mortals, they came cloaked in elements. Fire. Mist. Lightning.
This was no ordinary man.
"You shouldn't be out in this storm," she called, unsure if her voice carried through the wind.
The stranger stopped at her gate, the storm suddenly falling to a hush around them. He raised his head, his face both young and ancient, and gave a half-smile.
"I've known worse storms," he said. "May I
shelter?"
Myrene hesitated. She had lived alone since her father passed, helping villagers from afar. Trust was rare. But something about this man—his presence, the heaviness in the air—drew her in.
She nodded.
Inside, the fire crackled to life with an unnatural ease. The stranger sat across from her, steam rising from his soaked cloak as if the air itself feared to touch him.
"You're not from here," she said.
"No," he replied, looking into the fire. "I come from a place far above. A place forgotten by the kind-hearted."
Her fingers twitched. "You're… one of them."
He looked up sharply. "Does that scare you?"
"No," she whispered. "Only that you came here… for something."
He watched her for a long moment, then spoke with a weight that filled the room. "I've watched you for some time, Myrene. Your kindness. Your strength. You remind me of someone I once knew—long before I became what I am. The gods… they've forgotten the worth of mortals. I haven't."
Myrene felt heat rise to her cheeks, but not from the fire. She looked away. "Then why are you here?"
"To feel something real again," he said, standing slowly. He walked to the window, where thunder rolled beyond the cliffs. "And because the Fates whispered to me. They said that from this place, a storm would be born… a storm that could unmake Olympus."
She shivered—not from cold, but from the strange, terrifying certainty that what he said was true.
That night, Zeus laid with her under the trembling sky.
And from that storm, a child would rise—one who would one day walk into the heavens not to seek belonging, but to bring them crashing down.