Chapter Text
“You’re not human. Not fully. You’re a demigod.”
He pointed at his chest like it had betrayed him.
“Me? Demigod? Me?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t even go to temples—”
“That’s not a requirement.”
“I failed biology.”
“Not relevant.”
“I burned a worksheet!”
“That part was your fault.”
His jaw dropped slightly, and he just stared at me like I was the professor in a dream he forgot to study for.
“I’m serious,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “You’re the son of a god. Probably one aligned with beauty, emotion, and love. Your magic’s been leaking since day one—drawing people toward you, warping the emotional atmosphere around you. That fire?” I nodded at the ashes. “Just the newest symptom.”
He sat down hard on the bench beside the desk, limbs folding like a marionette with a broken script. His hands curled into his sleeves.
“I’m hallucinating,” he whispered. “This is it. Academic psychosis. You’re too hot and my brain just cracked like an egg.”
“You’re not hallucinating.”
“I burned something.”
“You also made it rain.”
His head jerked up. “What?”
“Your last week here. Off-campus. The storm? That wasn’t weather. That was you.”
“I—I don’t remember doing anything.”
“You’d just left the shield I cast. You were emotionally overwhelmed—probably lonely, stressed, uncertain. All of that built up, and your magic reacted. The sky responded.”
He blinked fast. “Wait. Wait. Back up. Shield?”
“I cast a dampening shield around campus when I sensed your arrival,” I said. “To contain your magic. You were like a walking gravitational anomaly. It wasn’t fair. Everyone was being pulled toward you without understanding why. So I muted it. To give you space. Time.”
He stared at me like I’d spoken in ancient Greek.
“Wait. You cast that shield?”
“Yes.”
His breath hitched. “So—so you’re the boy from the east wing. The one from move-in day. I—I saw you once—”
“Briefly,” I said. “You didn’t notice me.”
Kiet’s hand pressed to his chest like something had just locked into place inside him.
“I thought I imagined you.”
“You didn’t.”
“Oh my god.”
He blinked down at his lap, voice dropping.
“…Do you think my dad adopted me?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Because if I’m not human, and he’s human, and my mom’s human—unless she’s not? Unless one of them lied—oh my god, what if I’m an orphan and my real parent is Zeus—”
“Okay,” I said, holding up a hand. “Slow down.”
“Do I get a prophecy?”
“No.”
“Are people gonna try to kill me?”
“Hopefully not.”
“Do I have to, like, go on a quest? Do I need a sword?”
“This isn’t a Rick Riordan book, Kiet.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying that because it is and you’re hiding it from me?”
“No,” I said. “I’m saying that because no one’s going to make you fight monsters in an abandoned amusement park.”
He hesitated.
“…But if I do get attacked,” he asked, entirely too seriously, “do I save myself or wait for a calling?”
I sighed. “You’re not going to get a calling. You’re not a phone plan. And for the record, being a demigod doesn’t make you invincible. It makes you… complicated.”
That seemed to land.
He sat quietly for a second. Then looked up again.
Then, softer: “Which god?”
“I don’t know. Not yet,” I said. “But the signs are obvious. Your magic responds to emotion. Weather patterns. Attraction. Beauty. I think it might be Aphrodite.”
He went completely still.
“The Aphrodite?”
“Yes.”
“So my mom is the reason my entire neighborhood developed crushes on me since I was born till a month back?”
I gave a small shrug. “Probably.”
“That explains so much.” He threw his hands in the air. “Why my dentist started giving me free cleanings. Why my aunt told me to model for her friend’s boutique. Why that old man at the tea stall used to just sob sometimes when I smiled at him.”
He groaned and buried his face in his hands. “This is so much worse than puberty.”
“They were never just drawn to your face, Kiet. They were pulled toward something much deeper. You radiate emotion. Want. Longing. Most people don’t know how to process it, so they romanticize it. Attach themselves to it. Project desire onto you and convince themselves it’s love.”
He exhaled like he’d just remembered how to breathe. “Oh my god. That’s why it stopped. After the first week. After orientation. Everyone just… backed off. I thought I was losing it. I thought I was going crazy—”
“No,” I said. “You were just safe. The shield worked.”
He laughed again, shaky this time, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.
“Oh my god. I’m not cursed. I’m just… sexy by divine default.”
“Unfortunately.”
He peeked at me between his fingers. “And you?”
“Athena,” I said. “Logic. Law. Strategy. I don’t cause storms. I clean them up.”
He stared like that explained way too much.
“Okay so—are we like—Percy Jackson rules?” he asked. “Are there monsters? Am I going to get a prophecy? Is someone going to try and stab me on my way to class?”
“Highly unlikely,” I said. “We’re not in Olympus. We’re not at war. Your biggest enemy right now is organic chemistry.”
“That’s fair,” he muttered.
“No quests. No campfires. Just magic and consequences.”
“And no letter from my divine parent?”
“Gods don’t write letters,” I said. “They give gifts. Sometimes attention. And if you’re unlucky, trauma.”
He squinted at me. “Cool. So the real ancient parent trap.”
“You’ll be fine,” I said. “You’re not alone.”
He swallowed. Looked down at the scorched paper again.
“You must think I’m so stupid.”
“No,” I said plainly.
“Why not?”
“Because stupid people don’t ask if their mortal dad adopted them because he failed biology.”
“…I still don’t get how a human and a god, like, you know—how does that even—”
I raised a brow. “If you’re that curious about god-mortal dynamics, Kiet, try seducing one. Then write a report.”
Kiet’s ears turned red.
“No thank you,” he said quickly. “Because I want you.”
I blinked.
My stomach did something it never did.
Kiet didn’t look away. He didn’t even pretend he hadn’t said it.
He just smiled—soft and stupid and sure.
It should’ve thrown me off.
But it didn’t.
Because, I already knew.
And the truth?
It was terrifying.
Not because he’d chosen me.
But because part of me, despite everything I was trained to suppress, was already starting to choose him back.
“Athena,” he repeated, eyes still too wide. “As in wisdom and war Athena? The Greek one?”
“Technically also logic and law,” I said, folding my hands again. “And yes. The Greek one.”
He stared at me like I’d just told him I was the moon in drag.
“And you just…” His voice dropped an octave, as if saying it louder might summon lightning. “Go here?”
“I study mostly,” I said. “Tutor when the professor threatens, but I’m looking for something.”
He made a breathless, wounded sound. “I thought you were just hot and mean.”
“I’m both,” I said simply.
That earned a laugh. A real one this time—strangled, startled, spilling from somewhere deep and chaotic inside him. He rubbed his face with both hands, as if he could manually restart his brain.
Then he dropped his hands and looked down at them. Palms open. Fingers twitching.
“So that fire…”
“You,” I said. “Barely controlled. Triggered by proximity, emotion, and a small collapse in composure.”
“And the rain?”
“You.”
“The entire friend group I made in under a week who were all like, ‘You’re so cool! I feel like I’ve known you forever!’”
I raised an eyebrow. “In the beginning it was our magic. Still leaking. But by now things should have got real.”
He stared at me. Longer this time.
Then, with a flicker of betrayal in his voice: “So you’ve been… babysitting me?”
“No,” I said evenly. “I’ve been giving you space.”
His breath caught. Just slightly.
He turned away and exhaled. The sound was sharp at the start, then shaky by the end. Like his body was trying to let go of something he didn’t even know he was carrying.
“So…” he said quietly. “What happens now? Do I… get locked in a temple? Join a cult? Start wearing togas? Please don’t make me wear a toga. I have shoulder anxiety.”
I fought the edge of a smile.
“Now,” I said, “you learn how to control it.”
“How?”
I met his gaze.
“I teach you.”
Kiet blinked. And for the first time since the fire, his panic wavered—stumbling for footing as something else took its place. Hope, maybe. Awe. A flicker of wonder trying to peek through the mess.
But under all of it… there was fear.
Not of me.
Of himself.
He didn’t know what lived inside him.
But I did.
I’d felt it before anyone else did. The moment he stepped on campus, the air had bent. Magic had stirred. And beneath all the charm, beneath the kindness, beneath the unintentional allure that radiated from his very skin—there was a pressure.
Something old.
Something waiting.
That was why I hadn’t walked away from the tutoring desk. Why I’d said yes when I could’ve easily said no. Why I’d endured every distracting look, every sinful thought flickering through his Truthsense-touched mind—images I could never unsee—while keeping my voice calm and my hands steady.
Because he wasn’t dangerous.
But he was powerful.
And power, without knowledge, without control, without purpose—could become something else entirely.
Even beautiful things could burn.
Especially beautiful things.