But a sudden wave of dizziness slowed Atlas's movements by a fraction of a second. Dazed and seeing stars, the God of Strength could only watch helplessly as his younger brother's spear came to a halt before his eyes.
Zeus did not wait for Atlas to protest or explain. He rose at once to congratulate Menoetius, and the gods followed suit, showering the God of Courage with praise and admiration.
After all, they were blood brothers. With a bitter smile, Atlas withdrew from the contest, pulling his spear free from the column before stepping aside with quiet dignity, choosing not to dwell on his defeat.
Aphrodite exhaled in relief—until she caught Zeus's knowing gaze. She stiffened momentarily, then quickly masked her unease with an eager round of applause for the victorious deity.
Zeus descended the steps and stood before Menoetius. "To overcome a deity of higher rank with sheer determination—your divine office of courage is well-earned."
He raised his scepter and proclaimed, "The land still teems with many monsters. Courageous one, bring your strength to the mortals of the Silver Age and inspire them to face these beasts!"
This was a task laced with both danger and opportunity—but more the latter. Few among the remaining monsters could truly threaten a god; most were mere fodder that time would dispose of. Yet Echidna, lurking beneath the earth, remained a threat too grave to ignore.
Zeus had no intention of sending Menoetius forth without purpose. By offering him as bait, he sought to draw Echidna out. Hera, now vested with the fertility domain, would naturally offer aid to the courage god. Their cooperation would create an opening—an alliance between their divinities. Once accomplished, Zeus could elevate Menoetius openly, benefiting all three deities involved.
The opportunity was set. Now it rested in Aphrodite's hands.
The goddess of love understood this chance well. With gritted teeth, she severed a fragment of her power—the domain of inspiration—and transferred it to Zeus, strengthening Menoetius's divine essence.
Zeus spoke gravely, "As your reward for victory, I bestow upon you the sacred duty of Inspiration!"
Courage effortlessly merged with Inspiration, and through the surge of newfound faith, Menoetius shattered his former limits, ascending to the rank of a mid-tier deity.
Aphrodite winced inwardly at the loss, yet relief soon replaced regret when she saw Hera's keen interest in the valorous god. Curiosity, after all, was fertile ground where love might take root.
Next came the archery contest, where Apollo and Artemis were clear favorites. The lunar goddess Selene and disaster god Kronos had no interest in competing for worship and thus abstained. Few among the gods favored ranged weapons; spears and blades were far more popular. Yet the twin offspring of Leto, trained under their uncle Kronos, had mastered the bow. And indeed, it was Kronos himself—a rare master of archery—who first held the domains of hunting and pursuit, ever wandering the forests with his retinue, indulging in the thrill of the chase.
As expected, Apollo and Artemis tied for first place. Kronos laughed with pride and generously shared the domain of Hunting with the two siblings.
The footrace concluded smoothly as well. Astraea, the Starry Night Goddess, surpassed all rivals, claiming dominion over the celestial realm from Astraious, the Star-Bringer, and mastering the power of the heavens.
The final event, tug-of-war, ended in a drawn-out stalemate. Poseidon, the Stormbringer, faced off against Atlas, the embodiment of raw power. Both being mid-tier deities, neither relented, and the divine contest stretched across three days and nights. In the end, Atlas narrowly triumphed. Poseidon, though defeated, earned newfound respect from the gods. His past scandal with a mare faded into obscurity, forgotten amidst the glory of his struggle.
Thus concluded the first Olympian Games. The gods, sated with revelry and wearied by competition, retreated to their sanctuaries for rest.
Yet Poseidon, having reclaimed his honor through battle, made his way to the temple of Athena, the goddess of strategy. Ever cautious, the wise daughter of Metis refused to entertain his presence, denying him entry.
"Strategist and tactician," called the sea god from beyond the threshold, his voice rich with unspoken meaning. His deep blue eyes shimmered like tranquil waters, tempered waves softening his tempestuous nature. Even Athena, known for her exacting standards, could not deny his allure.
She frowned, repulsed by his veiled flirtation. Coldly, she replied, "I have no interest in dealings with you. Indeed, this is our first meeting!"
Poseidon stiffened, surprised by her complete lack of sentiment.
"I seek an alliance," he said hurriedly, sensing her growing impatience. "Only two Principal Godships remain unclaimed—we both stand a chance. Why not unite and seize the opportunity together?"
Athena regarded him with a look bordering on disdain. "I shall claim my rightful place through my own strength—not as the pawn of some foolish opportunist."
Tyche had once declared her intention to pass her Principal Divinity to the next great oceanic scion, and Athena was undoubtedly the finest among the third-generation sea deities. Upon reaching mid-tier strength, the mantle of sovereignty would be hers by right. She saw straight through Poseidon's ploy—he coveted her future title.
Poseidon studied her but showed no offense at being called a fool. Instead, he delivered a question that took Athena completely aback.
"Tell me, child of wisdom… do you even know who your true father is?"
Metis had revealed everything to Athena upon her ascent to Olympus, cautioning her daughter on the perilous consequences should this truth become known. Athena had sworn never to betray this secret—even to the gods.
Her heart faltered, but she feigned ignorance. "I have no father. I was born solely of my mother's will."
Poseidon grinned malevolently. "Such a grand secret… are you certain you wish to hear it here, in open air?"
Athena hesitated briefly before extending her hand to open the temple doors. But just then, another voice interrupted.
"I'd very much like to hear this secret as well, Poseidon."
It was Dione, the Winter Goddess, smiling serenely, her silver hair catching the moonlight, frost blooming beneath her feet.
"A word of caution, O Goddess of Strategy," she mused lightly. "It is hardly the act of a wise woman to invite a wolf into her den."
Though outwardly Dione bore only the rank of a lesser deity, her status as Tyche's emissary earned her reverence among the gods, for all knew she stood in the shadow of a Primordial.
Poseidon's face darkened with fury, his pride wounded by the winter goddess's audacity.
"Dione! You are but a lesser deity—how dare you defy my authority!"
Athena, watching from the side, felt a flicker of surprise. While an ordinary lesser god might be beneath Poseidon's notice, Dione was no mere divine messenger. As Tyche's envoy, even the Rainbow Goddesses had guided her path. Clearly, she held significance upon the Invisible Isle. What arrogance emboldened Poseidon to rebuke her so?
But Dione remained unfazed. She stepped forward, placing herself between Athena and the sea god. A surge of icy divinity rippled outward, crystalline spires forming around her feet, forcing Poseidon back.
"The sons of the Rivers are near," she said coolly, "and this is Olympus, under Zeus's dominion. Are you truly prepared to provoke me here?"
The distant laughter of river deities reached their ears. Poseidon halted abruptly, his expression twisting between rage and reluctant defeat. He cast one last glare at Athena before turning on his heel and vanishing into the night.
"My lady Dione," Athena began, gratitude laced with cautious curiosity, "thank you for your intervention. If you require it, I would gladly speak in your defense before the King of Gods."
"Fear not," Dione replied with a serene smile. "I provoked him deliberately. His reaction confirmed something—something damning enough to bring ruin upon him."
Indeed, Poseidon's boldness toward a mere messenger revealed that he knew Tyche could not intervene. This presumption of impunity sealed his fate—one neither Tyche nor Zeus could overlook.
"Sometimes," Dione mused inwardly, "a foolish enemy is more useful than a powerful ally." Aloud, she added, "O Goddess of Strategy and Planning, surely you understand—factions bound by interest alone are destined to crumble from within."
Blessed with wisdom from her mother, Athena needed no further explanation. She had glimpsed the edge of a coming storm—and chosen her course.
"My loyalty will never waver," she declared.
Pleased, Dione offered her own assurance. "Daughter of Wisdom, this upheaval may yet become the dawn of your true recognition. The stage is yours—seize it wisely."
The following day, the gods were startled to find Zeus showing signs of weariness, his mighty presence dimmed. He explained that the battle against Typhon had drained him greatly, and he must now enter a period of deep slumber to restore his strength.
Murmurs rippled through the divine ranks. Though they feigned belief, none could recall a time when the King of Gods had slept. Since ascending the throne, Zeus had drawn endless power from his sovereignty—fatigue should have been alien to him. Yet now, the lightning atop Olympus faded, retreating like dying embers.
As days passed without his awakening, certain deities grew restless, sensing opportunity.
Leto, the Queen of Heaven, took up her husband's mantle, guiding their children in the affairs of the pantheon. On the surface, Olympus remained tranquil, as if Zeus still watched over it. But beneath this calm churned a tide of unrest. Even those ancient gods who had survived the age of Kronos sensed the looming tempest and withdrew into their temples, abandoning their mortal worshippers.
Believing the moment ripe, Poseidon returned once more to Athena's temple, issuing his final ultimatum.
"Strategist," he declared, "the mighty Titan Atlas has pledged himself to my cause. Together, we shall overthrow Zeus and reclaim the glory that is rightfully ours!"
"And though you cannot claim the throne yourself," he continued, voice honeyed with persuasion, "I can grant it to you. Marry me, Athena, and when I ascend, we shall share in the highest divinity together!"
Athena listened in silence, then responded with quiet resolve. "You do not understand. My birth was not for war or conquest. Fate willed my arrival, and wisdom inherited from my mother illuminated my purpose."
"I exist to bring peace and prosperity to this world—to spread reason, to kindle the flame of knowledge among all beings."
She paused, locking eyes with the sea god.
"Power is not what I seek. I carry a greater calling. This vast world needs harmony, not ambition. I will not join your alliance—for both power and love cloud judgment."
Her words carried weight. "I do not believe in your union. As men, you will each covet sole dominion. How can such a fragile pact endure?"
Poseidon's brows furrowed deeply. He had his own designs—Atlas was undeniably stronger than himself, and Prometheus, the foreseer, stood firmly beside his brother. United, they could cast him aside entirely.
Thus, he sought to bind Athena through marriage. For while Prometheus was a seer, Metis possessed wisdom beyond prophecy. If Athena became his wife, Metis would have no choice but to support him. And though Metis was a goddess—a position that barred her from claiming kingship—her influence would serve him well.
Still unwilling to accept defeat, Poseidon attempted another ploy, revealing the secret of Athena's conception.
"You were born from Zeus's lightning," he pressed. "He is your father. Shouldn't you have received a Principal Godship like Apollo and Artemis? Do you not resent him?"
"I know Zeus is my father," Athena replied calmly. "And I know many goddesses emulate their mothers in seeking divine honor. But after the chaos of Typhon, the world requires rest, not rebellion."
Her answer deepened Poseidon's frown. He could not comprehend why either Metis or Athena had chosen this path.
"I do not believe you," he muttered. "I think this is merely a lie to refuse me."
Athena smiled gently, her voice soft yet unwavering.
"There are things in this world more precious than supreme power."
"Fate shaped me. From the moment I was born, I felt something greater than kingship calling to me. When I searched for it, I found nothing—but I remain certain it is worth pursuing. It is more valuable than power, more enduring than love or freedom. That… is the reason I was born a goddess."