I was buried in scrolls when Ra found me.
The library was cavernous, a temple of silence with its high sandstone walls carved into reliefs of falcons, suns, and lotus blooms. The air was heavy with the scent of oil lamps and papyrus. My fingers traced one of the scrolls, a brittle roll of reed fiber that detailed the lineage of Ra's priests, when the sound of measured footsteps broke my concentration.
I glanced up.
Ra was radiant as ever, her presence too bright for a room so dim. She didn't so much walk as radiate across the floor, dressed not for war but for counsel. Her linen gown shimmered faintly as if woven with strands of light itself, and golden jewelry cascaded down her arms and throat. She sat across from me with the elegance of someone who had been obeyed for longer than my family had even been alive.
"You are difficult to pin down, Lord Hades," she said, lips curving in amusement. "But I am free to speak now."
I set the scroll aside and straightened. "Then I suppose it is my turn to be interrogated."
Her eyes narrowed, though not unkindly. "Not interrogated. Informed. You said you would explain everything. I intend to hold you to that."
I exhaled through my nose. There was no point resisting. So, I told her.
From my reincarnation into this body, to the chains of Kronos, to the Titanomachy and Typhon's release—I laid it all out in deliberate words. I watched her face carefully as I spoke. Ra did not interrupt, though her eyes flickered and hardened at certain moments. When I spoke of Zeus' arrogance, there was a shadow of irritation on her lips—as if the mere thought of him tested her patience. When I spoke of the Primordials, she grew solemn, hands folding like a queen in prayer.
When at last I finished, she leaned back in her chair, golden light spilling across her shoulders from a shaft of sun through the ceiling.
"That is… much," she said simply. "Your pantheon is chaos clothed in flesh."
I chuckled. "That is an accurate summary, yes."
"Tell me," she said, tilting her head. "Have your siblings spoken much of this creature? The one who hunts you all."
"Typhon," I answered, feeling the name scratch against my throat. "Have they described it to you?"
She thought for a moment before nodding. "Your brother—Zeus—said it was like a dragon. A storm dragon. He said its wings blotted the sky, and its roar was thunder."
I stilled. A storm dragon? That wasn't right. Typhon, in the myths, was many things: serpentine, monstrous, a horror stitched together from every nightmare of man. But a dragon? And a storm dragon at that?
Interesting.
I kept my face neutral and only nodded. "That is… not how he was described in the stories. But perhaps the stories were only fragments of truth."
Ra leaned forward. "Or perhaps your father breeds new monsters, Hades. Old names. New forms."
A cold ripple crept through me. That was possible. Kronos had never been one to leave anything as it was.
Before I could answer, the air split with the cry of an eagle. A flash of bronze feathers blazed across the library as a great bird dove through the open skylight. Its wings beat thunder into the silence, scattering scrolls across the marble floor.
Ra rose immediately, but she did not summon guards. She only watched. The eagle landed on the long table between us with regal composure, its talons digging shallow furrows into the polished wood. In its beak were two scrolls bound in black cord.
One for her. One for me.
The eagle released them, gave a single sharp cry, and was gone in a burst of light—vanishing upward through the skylight until it was only a dot against the sun.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. The scrolls sat between us, heavy with implication.
"Well," Ra said, her voice smooth but tight. "That was dramatic."
"Yes," I said dryly. "Apparently secrecy must now arrive on feathered wings."
We both reached for our scrolls at the same time.
Mine was marked with symbols I recognized—primordial seals, each one etched with shadowy ink that seemed to writhe against the light. Nyx. Erebus. Gaea. Tartarus. Their power hummed against my fingers before I even unrolled it.
I inhaled and began to read.
Lord Hades of Olympus,
You are summoned to attend the Convergence of Kings.
By decree of the Old Order and the Seal of Balance, the Kings of the Pantheons are to gather to determine the fate of this age and the shaping of the mortal world.
Though you are not the Crowned King of Olympus, the undersigned Primordials—Gaea, Tartarus, Nyx, and Erebus—have vouched for your right to stand in council.
You will come.
—The Assembly
My brows rose. My pulse quickened. Convergence of Kings?
I had never heard of it. A council of pantheon leaders, chosen to decide the world's fate? That sounded like the kind of myth even I thought was too heavy-handed.
And yet, the Primordials had vouched for me. Not Zeus. Not Poseidon. Me.
I let the scroll roll closed between my fingers, staring down at the cord as if it might bite.
Across from me, Ra had finished hers. She set it down with deliberate calm, though her golden eyes betrayed a flicker of something more—irritation, perhaps. Or resignation.
"You received the same?" I asked carefully.
She nodded. "The Convergence. It seems the time has come again."
"Again?"
Ra's lips curved, though there was no humor in it. "This is not the first such council, Lord Hades. It is… ancient. Older than your Titanomachy, older than even the rise of Egypt. When the pantheons cannot keep to their own, when the balance of mortal fate tilts too sharply, then the Kings must gather."
I leaned back in my chair, processing. "And yet I am no king."
"No," Ra agreed softly. Then she met my eyes. "But you care more for your pantheon than your brother ever has. It does not surprise me that the Primordials chose you. Zeus rules. You… shepherd."
I barked a laugh. "I would prefer to call it cleaning up his mess."
Her lips twitched into the faintest smile. "A shepherd by another name."
The humor bled from me quickly, leaving only unease. My eyes drifted to the scroll again. The Convergence of Kings. If it was real—if this was truly happening—then the fate of Olympus, perhaps of all pantheons, hung in the balance.
I pushed up from my seat. "Well. Then we had better inform Zeus, didn't we?"
Ra rose with me, her expression sharpening into something regal once more. "Indeed. Best to collect your brother before he squanders more than just his title."
I exhaled through my teeth and muttered, "That might be the hardest task of all."
The Duat was never quiet. Even when its golden streets and temples seemed still, there was always something in the air—a pulse of heat, the faint drone of unseen chants, the shuffle of falcon-headed guards or crocodile-faced priests gliding through shadows. Ra's domain was alive in ways Olympus never was. Olympus was marble, thunder, and arrogance. The Duat was older, deeper.
Ra led the way, her steps measured, sun-disc gleaming faintly even in this twilight place. I followed, silent, shadows curling at my feet like restless hounds.
"We'll find your brother in the baths," she said, voice edged with faint irritation. "That's where he's been nesting since you all arrived."
"Nesting," I echoed dryly. "That's a kind way to put it."
She smirked without turning. "I've led armies across the desert. I've stood at the prow of the solar barque, spear raised against the serpent of chaos. And still, somehow, dealing with Zeus tests my patience most of all."
I chuckled, low in my throat. "He has that effect."
We reached the bathhouse soon enough. It was no humble stone chamber like the Greeks favored. This was decadence incarnate. Vast pools of steaming, perfumed water stretched beneath alabaster pillars gilded in gold leaf. Lapis mosaics of falcons and lotus blossoms shimmered beneath the surface of the pools. The ceiling arched high overhead, painted in deep lapis with stars of pure silver, mimicking the night sky of Egypt.
And there he was.
My brilliant, blustering brother lounged like a spoiled prince, half submerged in steaming water, a goblet of wine in hand. Around him, several Egyptian goddesses reclined, laughing at his jokes—though whether they found him genuinely amusing or were simply entertained by his arrogance, I couldn't tell. They wore jewelry of turquoise and carnelian, their laughter echoing in the chamber as he leaned close to whisper into one's ear.
And there—ignored, damp at the pool's edge—lay the scroll.
The summons.
Of course.
I cleared my throat. "Zeus."
He didn't even look at me.
"We need to talk."
"Not now, brother," he drawled, tilting his head toward one of the women, who giggled as he brushed a droplet of water from her cheek. "Can't you see I'm busy negotiating… alliances?"
The goddesses burst into laughter.
I stepped closer, voice sharp. "This isn't optional, Zeus. We've been summoned to a meeting of kings."
"Then go play king," he shot back, sloshing wine dangerously near the rim of his goblet. "You love that sort of thing, don't you? Thinking you are far more important than I."
The laugh that followed from the women was shrill, mocking. My fingers twitched against the pommel of my sword. For a moment, I wanted nothing more than to drag him out by his hair, dump him into the nearest shadow, and force the scroll into his thick hands.
Ra stood beside me, expression taut, her golden eyes narrowing. Clearly, she was restraining her own irritation.
Heat flushed in my chest. I could feel my shadows stir, curling around my feet like restless wolves. "You arrogant—"
And then the bathwater exploded.
A roar of rushing liquid surged upward. The goddesses shrieked, scrambling from the pool as tendrils of water coiled and lashed like serpents, spraying the chamber. Zeus cursed and nearly spilled his drink before scrambling back.
A voice, familiar and weary, echoed through the chamber.
"Some of us are trying to sleep."
My breath caught.
The water coalesced, and out from the bath rose a figure, dripping, his skin pale from exhaustion but whole. Two arms. Broad shoulders. Sea-green eyes—clear, alive.
Poseidon.
I blinked, once, twice, as though afraid the vision would dissolve. But no. He was there. Flesh and blood. Whole.
"Brother…" The word rasped out of me before I realized I'd spoken it.
Poseidon climbed from the water, hair plastered to his face, his chest heaving. He looked like he'd been through Tartarus twice over. But he was alive.
And he was himself.
I crossed the space in an instant, my hand gripping his shoulder, searching for proof he was no illusion. "Poseidon… you…" I couldn't finish.
He gave me a tired grin. "Miss me?"
The relief hit me like a wave, fierce and unsteady.
"What—how? Oceanus—"
"Yeah," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "About that. Turns out our dear uncle had some nasty tricks. Used some spell I still don't understand—got inside my skin, my bones, wore me like a cloak. But…" He glanced down at his arm, flexed his fingers. "He lost control."
"How?"
Poseidon's grin widened, rueful and boyish. "Got kicked in the head. By a horse."
I blinked. "…What?"
"Don't ask me how it works. But it rattled him loose just long enough for me to shove him back. And then—" His expression shifted, softening. "A primordial actually came and subdued Oceanus. And I know exactly who it was that had helped me, after all he had left me this." He reached into his belt and pulled out a scroll, as he unrolled it to show the name at the bottom.
Pontus.
"He vouched for me," Poseidon said quietly. "The Convergence of Kings. Guess I've got a seat at this important meeting."
For a heartbeat, I could only stare. My brother—the one I thought lost, broken, stolen—was whole, alive, and had the backing of a Primordial.
And Zeus…
Still lounging, staring at us blankly, as though none of this mattered.
Behind us, Zeus finally decided to grace the conversation with his attention. He frowned, still dripping from the pool, clutching his goblet like it was the only thing anchoring him. "What the Hades are you two babbling about?"
I shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel. "Read your mail, Zeus." I jerked my chin toward the sodden scroll by the pool. "It concerns you, though by the look of things, you'd rather waste time rutting like a satyr than leading your pantheon."
His jaw flexed. He didn't like that. Good.
I didn't wait for his reply. I turned back to Poseidon, gripping his arm hard. "There's so much you've missed, and I'll tell you all about it. "
Poseidon's brows knit, the exhaustion giving way to wary focus. "Then let's get started. Tell me everything."
Ra finally stepped forward, golden light wreathing her presence like the first break of dawn. "We'll walk as you speak. There is much to prepare, and little time."
I exhaled, the weight of it all pressing again against my shoulders. But not as heavily as before. Poseidon was back. Whole. And for the first time in a long while, I felt like maybe—just maybe—we weren't as fractured as we'd been.
"Very well," I said, falling into step beside him as we left Zeus fuming in his bath. "But brace yourself, brother. The world hasn't gotten any kinder while you were away."