Nicholas had been using the Book of Probability for months to map the invisible landscape of divine influences in Washington.
He identified nearly two dozen individuals scattered throughout the government: congressional aides, mid-level bureaucrats, even a junior congressman, who all carried the same subtle signature: the mark of Athena.
They were his half-siblings, his mother's other investments. The Book showed him their threads of fate, their carefully managed rises.
And the data was clear: he had already surpassed them all. His military rank, his political connections through the Order of Eternity, and the sheer scale of his "heroism" in the Philippines placed him at the top of his mother's mortal portfolio. It was time to collect the dividend.
The only reason his mother didn't make an introduction herself was that he was hidden from her, first by his excursion into foreign lands and then by the concealment authority.
He would have to change that. Nick orchestrated the meeting with surgical precision. Using the Book, he identified a specific agent, a State Department official named Arthur Phelps, who was a devotee to Athena, a mortal in service to the Goddess.
Over a period of weeks, Nicholas used the Book to weave a tapestry of coincidence and revelation around Phelps.
Phelps "accidentally" saw Nicholas's file, noting his grey eyes and preternatural strategic successes.
He "stumbled" upon old records linking Nicholas's father to classical scholarship, and his distinct lack of a mother, the final was a pet owl that Nick owned as a child. The resemblance was undeniable, and so Phelps, believing he was acting on an unexpected find, sent an urgent message through the proper channels. The response was immediate, just as Nick expected.
Nicholas was summoned to the National Archives after hours by his superiors. To the Book, the divine manipulation used to control his boss was unmistakable; it was his mother making her move.
He entered the archives, and inside, standing beneath the towering dome, was Athena. She had attempted to make a softer appearance.
Her hair was down, framing her face, and she wore a simple grey dress instead of armour or a suit. A practiced, warm smile was on her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes, which held the cold, assessing focus of a strategist reviewing a new asset.
She looked no more than a mere mortal, though his soul sensed that she was anything but. It practically screamed "DANGER" at him. It was unlike anything Nicholas had felt before; even Circe was nothing like this.
This was not a woman, this was a storm incarnate, a natural disaster taking human form.
"Nicholas," she began, her voice layered with a forced maternal warmth that rang utterly false to his ears. "My son. At last."
He unleashed his performance. His face, which had been neutral, now showed a torrent of conflicting emotions, just what she would expect from a brilliant but emotionally raw young man confronting his divine parent. A flash of hope, quickly suppressed by a wave of anger. A tremor of longing, hardened into resentment.
"You," he said, his voice tight with feigned emotion. "All this time. While I was alone, I was figuring it all out myself. Why now?"
The false warmth intensified. "The laws that bind us are so cruel, to keep a mother from her child. Even this meeting comes at great cost," she said, her eyes glistening with manufactured tears. "I tried to send you signs, little blessings. The owl, helping you with your strategy, wisdom, gifts, and abilities... I was always with you in spirit."
He ignored her lies and ridiculous excuses and let out a short, bitter laugh, perfectly calibrated. "In spirit? I needed a mother, not a ghost." He turned away, shoulders tense, playing the wounded son to perfection. "Do you have any idea what it was like? The monsters? The constant fear? Having to hide what I was?"
This was what she wanted and expected to see: the pain, the anger, the proof of his humanity and his need for her. Athena's wisdom domain was picking out exactly how to best manipulate him; unfortunately for her, his cloak, powered by the full force of his faith storage, fed her false information.
It could keep her out if only for the short duration of the face to face meeting at the cost of the entirety of his storage.
"I know, my child. I know. And my heart ached every moment." The lie was so smooth, so practiced. "But look at you. You have risen so high, so fast. You have surpassed all my other children." The pivot was masterful, from fake affection to practical value. "They are capable, but you... You are special. Your mind... the Philippines... it was a work of art."
He turned back, his expression now one of cautious, reluctant pride. "I did what I had to do."
"Precisely," she said, the false warmth never fading from her voice. "And now you are ready for the true battle. There are forces at work that would see this world plunged into darkness." She leaned in, her voice dropping. "My uncle, Hades." She spat the name. "He is not just the ruler of the dead; Hades is a venomous, bitter creature, consumed by jealousy of his brothers. He skulks in his underworld, nursing ancient grievances."
This was where the lies became strategic, and Nicholas listened with analytical focus, seeing right through them and focusing on the meaning underneath.
"He believes that soon one of his children will grow enough to allow him to get his hands on the God King Throne", Athena continued, her eyes wide with feigned concern. "And he is not above manipulating events to see them rise. He whispers to them, fills their heads with madness and dreams of overthrowing the natural order. His offspring are... unstable. Prone to fits of rage and destruction. A true danger to all we hold dear."
It was a complete fabrication, designed to create a perfect enemy, to bind him to her side through fear and a sense of righteous purpose.
Though the manipulation was imperfect, Athena was relying on the false information that he allowed her to see, depicting him as an emotional and righteous person missing his mother; everything true was hidden with the cloak's concealment authority.
She needed her new champion to have a clear antagonist, and he would pretend to bite the bait.
"He would see this nation, this world, burn if it meant his line would rule the ashes," she finished, her hand resting on his arm in a gesture of false solidarity. "You need my protection, Nicholas. My guidance. Together, we can ensure a future of order and wisdom."
He looked at her, and for a final moment, pretended to let the mask slip just enough to show what she wanted to see: a son, overwhelmed, but recognizing the truth in his mother's words.
He let a single, calculated tear fall down his cheek. "I... I understand," he whispered, his voice hoarse with fake emotion. "Your guidance... I will listen to it."
The satisfaction on her face was palpable. The act was complete; the deal was struck.
She saw his emotional breakdown and subsequent acceptance as the natural progression of the false information he had been feeding her about a son finally yielding to his mother's wisdom. She had her good little soldier, her perfect instrument.
He had his divine shield. As he walked away, the silence between them was more honest than anything she had said.
She believed she had secured her ultimate weapon and Nicholas knew he had just enlisted a useful fool to protect him while he built the power he needed to strip from her a portion of her War Authority.
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