The ruins of our old base still smelled like scorched marble and soot-stained pride.
I stood in what had once been our war chamber. Now, it was a sunlit ruin, open to the sky with half-collapsed pillars and shattered tile strewn across the floor like broken promises. Wind whistled through the gaps in the fractured walls, stirring ash and dust into a restless haze. Somewhere behind me, I could hear my siblings arguing over whose idea this was.
Unanimous vote, my ass.
I dropped the block of collapsed ceiling onto a growing pile and wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. My shadows surged up and around me, lifting another beam I couldn't carry alone, curling tendrils forming hands that grasped and shifted debris into neat stacks.
"Left," I muttered to them.
They adjusted accordingly.
The Great Hall—or what was left of it—groaned as Cottus, one of the Hecatoncheires, knelt and pressed a massive hand into the earth. Dozens of new arms unfurled from his back, like roots or tentacles made of muscle and stone, and began lifting broken support beams as if they were no heavier than twigs. The ground shuddered under him as he shifted, tossing the rubble into organized heaps by category: stone, bronze, wood, whatever had once been part of a dining table.
"Watch the edge of that wall!" I called out.
"I see it," Cottus rumbled, his voice like falling mountains.
Gyges had climbed halfway up the damaged central tower, his arms retracting and extending as he swept dust and old scorch marks from the walls. Aegaeon hovered beside him, his four arms precisely plucking away damaged chunks of wall while somehow also holding a goblet of wine. Probably Hestia, which she had no doubt handed him with a soft thank-you before floating back down to the rubble piles below.
Brontes and Arges were down in the forge ruins, collecting what survived: charred steel, cracked anvils, half-melted molds. Steropes had found a crate of undamaged jewels and was currently cradling them like sacred relics.
"I cannot believe they destroyed the forge," he muttered, brushing soot off a sapphire. "This is war."
"It's already war," Poseidon called from nearby. He had conjured ribbons of water that danced in the air, coiling like serpents, sweeping dust and ash from the stone walls. With a snap of his fingers, the water pulsed and collapsed into droplets, dragging the filth down with them and leaving the marble gleaming beneath.
"You're not just showing off, are you?" I asked.
He grinned. "I can't help it if cleaning looks good on me."
"Then you can clean the latrines next."
"No thanks."
Before you ask, yes gods have to go to the bathroom as well. Although we had all these powers, that didn't mean we didn't have to rush to the bathroom now and then.
Hera floated past us with her hair tied back and her sleeves rolled to the elbows. She lifted entire beams with elegant precision using telekinesis, maneuvering them over the ruins without so much as a scratch on her. Her expression was a mask of grace, but every so often her lips would twitch when Zeus groaned under another armful of shattered furniture.
"Is it really necessary to rebuild on Olympus?" I muttered.
"Would you rather they all move in with you in the Underworld?" Hera asked without looking at me.
I paused.
"… fair point."
Behind me, Hestia was humming softly, sweeping the broken remnants of a mural into a little pile with a whisper of her flame. Her presence was like warm bread and candlelight, even here. She paused only once—to stretch her back—and Aegaeon immediately handed her a padded cushion to sit on. The way she smiled at him made me jealous for no reason I could name.
Zeus appeared around the corner, face smudged, hair a wild mess, his left eye twitching as he struggled to lift a cracked marble desk.
"Why is this so damn heavy?!"
"Because you're trying to lift it with your ego," Hera said.
"Maybe if you didn't run your mouth at Cronus," Hestia added mildly, not even looking up.
Zeus opened his mouth. Closed it. Then let out a long groan and dropped the desk. It shattered.
Poseidon whistled. "Smooth."
"You break it, you fix it," Rhea said without missing a beat. She was farther down the hall, using her earth-shaping to slowly raise new foundation blocks from the mountain rock itself, letting them settle into place like giant puzzle pieces.
We worked in silence for a while after that. The kind of quiet only shared labor could bring—just grunts, the clash of stone on stone, the crackle of Hestia's gentle flames, and the occasional crash from Brontes throwing something too hard into the metal pile.
"You seem quiet," Hera said, drifting beside me.
I glanced at her. "I'm carrying half a column."
"And ten shadow arms."
"…Still counts."
She smirked and helped steady the load with her own telekinesis. Together, we lowered it onto a cart for repurposing. I didn't miss the way she scanned the area, constantly organizing people in her head.
"You don't like this place, do you?" she said after a pause.
I glanced around. The ruins. The ash. The distant hint of melted gold along the edges of the destroyed council dais.
"No," I admitted. "It reeks of wasted time."
"We need unity," she said. "And you know it."
"I know. I don't have to like it."
"You don't have to like Zeus, either, but you put up with him."
"That's debatable."
She smirked again, then moved off to yell at Steropes for trying to polish gems instead of clearing rubble.
Eventually, the sun began to dip behind the mountain, casting long shadows across the plateau. The ruins looked different now—less like a tomb, more like a clean slate. Still broken, but breathing.
We gathered in what was left of the central courtyard. No roof anymore, but the sky above was clear and full of stars, as if even the heavens had taken a breath.
"Same layout?" Poseidon asked, tossing a stone into the fire pit.
"Same skeleton," Rhea said. "Different body."
"I want a proper throne room this time," Zeus said.
"You want a throne room?" Hera laughed. "You're lucky we're even rebuilding."
"If we're going to rule the cosmos, we should look the part."
"Then stop looking like a mule that lost a wrestling match with a fire demon," I muttered.
He flipped me off. I smiled.
I stood in silence, taking in the ruins that surrounded us. The shattered bones of our once-proud fortress lay buried beneath ash and broken stone. My eyes moved from the jagged remains of the mountain to my siblings, each of them weary, scarred, but unyielding. Nearby, the titanic builders stood motionless, like monuments to a forgotten age, waiting patiently for our word. The Cyclopes, with soot-streaked faces and cracked hands, picked through the wreckage of their fallen forges, salvaging what they could from the wreckage.
This wasn't home. Not yet.
But maybe—just maybe—it could be again.
I don't remember how many days passed before the mountain stopped feeling like a tomb. Time lost its shape here. Mornings bled into nights, and I gave up trying to count them. Only the slow rise and fall of the sun over the blackened cliffs reminded me that the world still turned… even after the day Hyperion and Perses brought it crashing down.
And yet, little by little, we endured. We laid new stones atop the old. We cleared away the dust of defeat. We forged new beams, kindled new fires, and rebuilt what they tried to erase. It didn't happen all at once.
But slowly—relentlessly—we were able to start to rebuild and flesh out how we wanted our base to look like.
The new Olympus, if one could call it that, wasn't meant to last. Not forever. It was a war camp in disguise, a fortress tucked into the spine of the mountain like a spearhead aimed at the horizon. But damn if it wasn't starting to feel like something more.
I stood on the eastern rampart, overlooking the gorge where the waterfall split the cliffs in two, tumbling into a narrow ravine. A newly constructed stone bridge arched over the river now — wider, reinforced with bronze and covered in carved tiles that caught the sun with a warm glint. I made a mental note to ward it off later. I didn't trust that it wouldn't collapse if Zeus got the idea to dramatically gallop across it on a winged horse.
Below, the stronghold stretched out in concentric layers, built into the cliffside like a terraced amphitheater. High stone walls curled in protective circles around the inner sanctum, watchtowers rising from them like sentinels. Their roofs were now capped in dark bronze tiles, shaped into shallow domes reminiscent of old Mycenaean war halls. The central tower — the highest one — bore a new black-and-gold banner stitched by Arges and enchanted by Hecate to ripple even when no wind touched it.
It bore no sigil. Just the old letter omega.
The end before the beginning.
"Hades," a voice said behind me.
I turned to find Hestia climbing the steps, a clay pot cradled in her arms. Her ever-burning flame shimmered inside it, soft and golden. She'd been lighting hearths in every home built, every forge, every hall. A quiet promise of safety in every fire.
"It's time for the dedication," she said.
I nodded and followed her down the steps.
As we descended, I passed familiar faces. Poseidon stood knee-deep in the river, shaping a waterwheel for the forge mill with deft, lazy gestures. Rhea and Hera were supervising the construction of the colonnade that led to the council chamber, where the inner ring of pillars bore carved reliefs of titanic battles and the birth of the world. Hera had insisted that no one's face be bigger than anyone else's. I suspected that was mostly to spite Zeus.
Speaking of whom…
Zeus was attempting to ride a flying chariot inside the walls.
And promptly crashed into the side of the smithy tower.
A moment of silence. Then a chorus of groans, followed by Steropes screaming, "MY RUNES!"
Hera rubbed her temples as Hestia and I passed. "I'm putting a curse on anything with wheels."
"Too late," I said. "That curse is named Zeus."
Down in the lower quarter, the outer circle of the compound had become home to temporary barracks, training yards, and storage halls. It was functional and fortified, not unlike a Spartan camp but with better food. I'd made sure of that — no army fights well on bad bread. The buildings here were simpler, white limestone with carved friezes running just under the eaves, scenes of underworld rivers, ocean storms, and wings spread in flight.
The Furies had taken one of the towers.
They'd added spikes to the windows.
And bat-shaped weather vanes.
Nemesis stood outside the gatehouse sharpening her massive sword, the grindstone screaming as she pressed metal to stone. Her arms glistened with sweat, her jaw set with focus. She paused as we passed and gave a curt nod. The Furies waved at Hestia and offered me a wink and a sly smirk, which I ignored. Barely.
Finally, we reached the central plaza.
A circular space paved in interlocked stones, engraved with constellations and sacred names. In the center stood an altar — plain, white, and unadorned. Hestia placed her pot atop it. One by one, the flames inside every hearth across the compound flickered — caught — and flared to life. A ripple of golden light spread outward like dawn.
I closed my eyes for a moment and let it warm my skin.
A voice cut the quiet. "It's not bad. For something held together by your grim taste."
I turned.
Zeus limped over, holding an ice pack to his ribs.
I raised a brow. "I thought you were dead."
"Just embarrassed."
"Same thing."
He chuckled and dropped onto the stone bench beside me, hissing at the effort. "They really followed you here, you know. You didn't force anyone."
"I'm aware."
"Still… you built this."
"We built it."
He studied the flames. "I keep waiting for it all to fall apart again."
I looked over the rooftops, the towers, the people still working, training, laughing in the courtyard. Even the sounds of hammering from the forge felt more alive than before.
"No," I said. "This time it holds."
Zeus nodded slowly. "Good. Because I don't think we get another chance."
And for once, I agreed.
Night fell slowly across Olympus. The shadows stretched long, curling around pillars and statues, flickering under torchlight. From my balcony in the upper chambers — still under construction but livable — I watched as the fires in every level of the fortress lit up one by one. Like stars descending to the mountain.