Chapter Text
Seattle
The rain was a consistent fall. Not an outright downpour or a simple drizzle. Just rain. Breathing in the feel of the rain from where he stood on the edge of the Space Needle, Zeus nodded. It would last the full day, as it should. Staring down at the vista stretched out below him, the King of the Gods observed his favorite American city. The weather patterns that made it a natural home for clouds and storms had caught his attention when the Flame had moved to this continent, and he had pushed his power to ensure that this city would grow. Moving with the light breeze, he vanished, before appearing on the streets.
Wrapped in the Mist and transformed as he was, even the most true-sighted mortal would only see another businessman with an umbrella, walking to or from work. Though Zeus was mostly meandering through the city, he walked with purposeful speed. He was in his favored city, in his favored weather. Perfect conditions to think. And he had much to think about.
The past decade had been a stressful one, in an already stressful time. Not one, not two, but three threats to Olympus itself. Father returning, grandmother attempting to rise, and that accursed Triumvirate. And two of those threats had been primarily dealt with, more than anyone else, by his nephew. A nephew that could have easily handled the Triumvirate if he had been involved, with the power at his fingertips. Power that he only seemed to wield when it was- NO!
Angrily, Zeus pushed the by-now far too familiar paranoia down, repressing it deep into his core. He needed to think clearly, and unfounded suspicions and fears would not help. Perseus was powerful, powerful in a way that had not been seen in millennia, but he did not possess ambition. Pushing the paranoia aside and thinking objectively, Zeus could and would be honest that Poseidon’s son was the demigod least likely to threaten Olympus. Paranoia be damned to the Pit, the boy had more than proved himself. Despite the fact that he also seemed to exist in order to give Zeus a headache.
Pausing at a street corner in tune with the crowd, Zeus tilted his head and umbrella back enough to feel the rain on his face. That was better. Continuing on, he mused on the true importance of his nephew’s feats. An importance that Zeus had kept from all, as much as he could. For the first time in centuries, Olympus breathed with hope. Hope that had been lost over time as worship had dwindled, and people had vanished.
Pausing again, Zeus allowed the familiar feeling of that old grief to wash over him once more. Many had been lost, fading over the centuries as they were forgotten or let go of domains, folded into others. Even Helios, one of his oldest allies and comrades, one of the Titans, lost to Chaos. And Pan. Zeus knew full well that Hermes, just like the rest of them, had hoped that Pan would return, that the slowly fading existence he sensed would come back. That summer, feeling his grandson’s life completely fade, Zeus had felt his heart tear from his chest. He knew the name of all the faded by heart, they were his fallen subjects after all, but the loss of such a close family member had been one of the worst.
Truthfully, Zeus had not expected to survive the second Titanomachy. Slowly dying as Olympus had been, having to fight Typhon and father at the same time, it had seemed impossible. Until the prophecy had come true in a way Zeus had never expected. Olympus had been preserved. Typhon had been captured. Father had been stopped. The Olympian reign would continue. The God of the Sky watched people pass by, considering that fact. Entering the throne room, expecting father to be tearing down their thrones and weakening them, only to find his host’s body, and his nephew still standing strong. And the aftermath.
In a strange way, while relations were still strained, his relationship with his brothers seemed closer to healing than they ever had in the centuries that had passed. Everything was improving. Then Athena’s anger at the Romans had caused their mental split to rise up again, and that cursed snow goddess had begun whispering in his ear. The split was healed now, but his daughter’s timing had been truly horrible. And then… Apollo.
Despite what he had said, and what he still claimed, Apollo being forced into mortality had not been a punishment for the Gigantomachy. Rather, Zeus’ intent had been to begin a process that all of them would go through. Renewal. The gods needed to grow, and mortals grew faster than gods in every possible way. The Triumvirate interfering had been disastrous, and nearly led to his son’s death. But now they had been dealt with, and Apollo had been restored and grown. The Learning God was learning again. And he looked to finally be shaking off the shackles Zeus had unknowingly trapped him in.
Striding forward, Zeus forced himself to continue down that path of thought, no matter how much he disliked it. Introspection was needed, and he could not afford to allow any of his flaws to keep him from doing his duties this time. All of Zeus’ children had inherited at least one of his worst flaws. Apollo had inherited his impulsiveness, Artemis his stubborness, Athena his pride, Ares his temper, Hephaestus his difficulty to connect with people, Hermes his envy, and Dionysus his grudgebearing. If time as mortals could even improve upon that, it would be the greatest thing he could do in this current era. As for himself and his siblings… Zeus knew another method of change would be needed.
But before that, a suspicion needed to be confirmed. Crossing to a park, empty on this rainy day, Zeus idly watched a shapely figure run by, getting exercise even in this poor weather, before sternly reminding himself of his rules. Not in Seattle. Never in Seattle. If he had even one affair in Seattle, Hera would learn of it, and so would the rest of Olympus. And he would lose the solitude the other gods allowed him in this city. The fleeting pleasures were not worth losing unfettered alone time in his favored city, and losing his favorite places to think. Stopping before a bench, he called out “Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos, I would like a word.”
Even as he finished, the bench was filled with 3 elderly women, working on the knitting of another mortal’s fate. Looking up, one of them spoke. “You called for us, your Majesty?”
Polite. As if the power to end everything didn’t lie in the palms of their hands. Pushing that thought aside, he answered. “Yes. Eons ago, you revealed to me that I was the Heir to the Sky, intended by Fate to succeed grandfather as ruler of that domain, which was why the youths of myself and my siblings developed as they did.”
“Yes,” the second one spoke. “Destined to succeed, destined to rule. Your Fate was set in stone, as solid as the one your father believed to be you.”
“I have a single question, that I believe you will be willing to answer.” Zeus continued, as if she had not interrupted him. “Is there currently a living Heir of Time?”
All three of them now looked at him, with eyes of knowledge and power. They did not look at or discuss between each other, for they did not need to. Zeus stood, waiting. If they did not answer, that would be an answer. And if they did answer, he would know for certain.
Finally, after remaining silent for long enough that Zeus was uncomfortable with the stillness, save for the rain, they spoke in unison. “Yes”.
In the next instant, they were gone. But Zeus had already tilted his head up, closing his eyes as he let the rain fall on his face, and taking in a deep breath. So his suspicions were correct. He did not need to ask who the Heir of Time was. There was only one currently existing who it could be. Starting off, Zeus began walking again.
Change was indeed coming, though Zeus was uncertain as to what shape it would take, when all was said and done. Staring up at the clouds, he mused on this truth. He had long believed that if Time would have an Heir, it would be one of his sons. One that, somehow, was descended from Athena’s line, from Metis. Metis…
Why had she told him that? Fresh from the war as they had been, surely she would have known where his thoughts would first go. Perhaps she had had more faith in his good nature. Perhaps she had already seen what would happen. But it was too late to regret past actions now. All he could do was consider what would come next.
It would be easier if the boy was his son. But he wasn’t, and an adoption was out of the line, his brother would not allow it. Perseus was going to ascend, and he would remain his father’s son. Idly, in order to distract himself from his spiraling thoughts, Zeus allowed the words of mortals he was walking near to penetrate his ears.
“I know it’s a family business, but Roland is a far better successor than either of his sons. He’s been in the company for decades, he might as well be a third son, for all his connection to the business.”
It seemed the Moirai were having fun today. Serendipity, indeed. The mortal’s discussion had caught Zeus’ mind, and he could not help but think. Perseus was who he was not merely by how he was born and raised, but by the events he lived through. Events caused by Zeus himself. And with the hand that Athena’s daughter had had, Metis had been involved. Perhaps…
It was a chance. A chance for, impossibly, the torch to be passed peacefully. Perhaps even shared. But most importantly, it was a chance he could seize. Nodding, Zeus closed the umbrella, before vanishing in another breeze.
Manhattan
A physical form was unnecessary for what Zeus had been doing this past week. Observing his nephew to get a better handle on the youth could be done merely by watching through the wind. And what he had just observed had been most interesting. And disturbing.
An argument, between Perseus and his lover. Zeus had begun observing partway through, so he did not hear all of it, but what he had heard had caught his attention. Athena’s daughter was angry at him for… cleansing waters? The power to do such was beyond even Poseidon, as much as he knew his brother would covet that ability beyond simply replacing water. The implications from the argument spoke that he did it by controlling the pollutants. And the girl was… angry about it. Perseus had argued back, speaking of a “Grover” and Pan’s last requests, before the girl had snapped “Some things aren’t meant to be controlled” before storming off. The boy had stopped, standing there as if physically struck, at those words. There was something more there.
Closing his eyes on Olympus, Zeus quickly remembered who the “Grover” must be. The satyr who became Lord of the Wild and had last spoken to Pan. Vanishing, Zeus reached out with his senses, before finding the satyr he was looking for deep in the middle of the country. Almost appearing there, but stopping to watch, Zeus nearly swore at what he found.
Grover was playing on a set of pipes that so many satyrs carried, playing to a… truthfully, it was a toxic dump. Plants, animals, water, and even the air in this marsh was filled with chemicals dumped there. And yet, as Zeus observed, Grover continued playing. His music was not as sweet or lyrical as Apollo or the Muses, nor as skillful as Pan’s finest moments. But the magic the satyr was weaving was powerful, and as the king watched and listened, he could see the spell working on the wildlife, banishing the toxins, cleansing and healing it. As the satyr stopped playing before reaching down and taking a drink from a metal water bottle, Zeus could see the results. The poison was not completely removed, but it was far better than it had been. And Zeus suspected that Pan’s Heir would not stop playing until this area was as pure as he could make it.
Fully materializing, Zeus took a breath, feeling the changes for himself. “Even the air feels cleaner, young satyr. Your spell is impressive.”
Jumping at his voice, the satyr spun, nearly dropping his pipes and spilling his water. “Your Majesty!” He cried, bowing deeply.
Zeus walked lightly along, his feet barely stirring the grass as he moved. “It does my heart good to see Pan’s last request followed. Difficult as it may be, your dedication speaks well of you.”
The subject caused an almost immediate change to come over the young lord. “And I don’t intend to stop. The wild will be healed, even if it takes a millennia to do it.”
The power and oath in Grover’s words would have caught Zeus by surprise, if he had not already realized what was happening. “And millennia you will have”, he murmured, before speaking aloud. “It is my understanding that young Perseus was also granted a blessing by Pan. Has he been helping you as well?”
The satyr seemed to glow at this question before responding. “Yeah, Percy’s been doing a lot. He regularly clears trash from every waterway he goes near, and he’s even been purifying them using his powers when Annabeth isn’t-”
He cut off there, clamping his mouth shut. But Zeus moved on, pretending he hadn’t heard Grover stopping himself from saying something. “Good. Tending to the land is always proper to do.”
He left after that, leaving the currently-mortal satyr to continue his work. He would have to have words with Dionysus and Chiron. Pan’s Heir, they all should have recognized what that meant. Already, signs of divinity were showing as the spirits and creatures of the wild prayed to him. Two ascensions in one lifetime. Yes, things were changing. And here he frowned. But Athena’s daughter seemed to be interfering.
As he returned to Olympus, Zeus idly felt the invisible scar on his soul, where his father’s scythe had struck his side in the last battle of the Titanomachy. That battle, down in the Pit. Mortals could not survive there. Even immortals were constantly fighting. Hades’ son getting as far as he did before his capture spoke well of him and his shadow magic. Seating himself on his throne, Zeus considered what he knew. Clever as all of Athena’s children were, the girl had not shown the battlefield mastery or sheer raw power needed to survive Tartarus. No doubt she had assisted, but no. It would have been Perseus. Tapping into that kind of power would have, should have pushed him over the edge into ascension. Especially after battling father, and burning most of his mortality out in the Styx. And developing powers he knew full well that Poseidon did not and could not have, over non-water liquids. Perseus already had at least two domains, if not more. He should be a god, should have ascended. Impossible as it seemed, he must be holding himself back. Something in the Pit, likely to do with Athena’s daughter, had caused him to halt his ascension.
Leaning back in his throne, Zeus considered this. If the boy died as he is, he would fade. Fade before even having the chance to fully ascend. Something would have to be done, to stop Perseus from holding himself back, and to convince him to allow himself to achieve godhood. And Zeus suspected that things would have to begin with a long conversation with Dionysus and especially Chiron. About his nephew. About Athena’s daughter. About the satyr. And likely more.