The silence stretched. Marcus and Julian stood there, the weight of Nicholas's offer pressing down on them. The glowing plants pulsed. The waterfall sang. Everything waited.
Julian spoke first. His voice was tight. "You say you can give me the power to really make a change. To be more than just my father's errand boy. I've spent my whole life feeling like I was meant for more; If you're telling the truth, then I'm in."
Marcus looked from the impossible paradise back to Nicholas. The need to be seen as an equal by his father, to not be just another one of Dionysus's fleeting distractions, to really matter, was an ache that had always been there.
No matter what he did, he could always feel his father's indifference; this power, this being, was offering a way out.
"I've lived my entire life in my father's shadow," Marcus whispered. "I want to be worth more. If you can do that… I'm yours."
Nicholas watched them. The hook was set. "Your allegiance is accepted. But you can't serve me with chains on your minds. My first gift to you will be clarity."
He led them to the base of the waterfall. The air hummed. He raised a hand. The Book of Probability floated to his palm, its silver eye glowing.
"Don't speak," he ordered. "Don't even think. Just try to endure."
He didn't explain about faith. Their minds, still clouded, wouldn't get it. He opened the Book. Strands of shimmering energy, the condensed belief of thousands, flowed out, wrapping around Marcus and Julian like vines.
He began to chant. The energy tightened, sinking into their skin. It wasn't a key. It was like acid being poured directly into his brain.
They cried out, grabbing their heads. It wasn't pain. It was wrongness. Like a part of their soul was being ripped away. A bright, stubborn gold light, the Olympian enchantment, flared around them, fighting the invading energy.
Nicholas grimaced in visible pain as he used a significant portion of his stored faith to execute the ritual.
He was using raw power to burn out divine magic that had been there their whole lives. The paradise dimmed as he pulled more power. The Book shook.
He poured more faith in, the energy burning brighter, scouring the gold away. It was expensive but it was necessary.
With a final chant, he slammed the Book shut. A shockwave threw them to their knees. The gold light shattered. Silence. Just their ragged breaths. Then, understanding hit. Not a trickle. A flood.
Julian gasped, memories rearranging themselves like puzzle pieces, finally finding their fit. The summer camp games felt just a little too serious.
The way his father would show up, all smiles, right after he'd done something particularly impressive for a mortal. The praise. The pride. It wasn't love. It was a farmer checking on his prize-winning livestock.
"The quests…" Marcus whispered, his voice cracking. "That time in St. Louis… the three of us. A daughter of Aphrodite, a son of Apollo, and me. We just… happened to be in the right place to stop that factory fire. Made the national news. 'Mysterious Heroes Save Hundreds.'"
He looked up at Nicholas, his eyes wide with horrified realization. "My father visited me that night. Brought me a new vintage wine. Told me he was proud, but the look on his face was anything but; it was like he was barely concealing guilt."
A single tear traced a path down his cheek. "He wasn't proud of me. He was proud of the… the harvest and guilty at what he was doing."
Julian was on his feet, pacing, his body rigid with a cold, righteous fury.
"The whispers," he bit out. "My father… no, Hermes. He'd always give me just enough information. A tip about a political rival's affair. The location of a lost treaty. Just enough so I could 'uncover' it. So I could be the clever one, the patriot 'saving the day'." He slammed a fist into his open palm.
"He made me feel like a hero while I was just his… his delivery boy! Planting stories and doing my part in his schemes."
He spun to face Nicholas. "That's it, isn't it? The three-person quests. The prophecies. It's all a production. A play to generate the best, most dramatic stories. Stories that people believe in. Stories that make them… what? Pray?"
"They don't pray, at least not anymore," Nicholas said, his voice flat and clear in the wake of their turmoil. "Not really. Their subconscious automatically directs their belief to a leader they recognize or to a hero who saved them. Your actions, your very public struggles, feed that concept. And your parent, the deity whose domain you represent, gets the power. The faith. You are generators for the stuff, that was your purpose."
He let that sink in, watching the last vestiges of their old worldviews crumble.
"Why do you think you were both guided into politics?" Nicholas continued. "Not because you're particularly suited for it. But because politics is the modern stage for epic stories. Wars. Scandals. Great speeches that move nations. It's where belief is mass-produced. Your fathers didn't want you to serve your country. They wanted you to put on a better, more profitable show."
Marcus let out a choked sob, burying his face in his hands. The emotional weight of it was crushing him. Every kind word, every moment of paternal pride, was now tainted, revealed as a transaction.
Julian's fury, however, was a cold, sharp thing. It didn't cripple him; it focused him. His love for his country was real, wanting to change the injustices within it, and the realization that it had been used as a tool to manipulate him made that love curdle into a devastatingly clear purpose.
"They used my love for this country," Julian said, his voice dangerously quiet. "They used the one thing that was truly mine." He looked at Nicholas, his eyes blazing with a new, unshakeable resolve. "You didn't just free our minds. You gave us our souls back."
"The system is a lie. It uses the best of us to feed the worst of them. I will spend an eternity tearing it down… Thank you." Julian solemnly said.
Marcus wiped his eyes, his grief hardening into something solid. He looked at the shimmering paradise around them, a place built not on lies, but on will.
He looked at Nicholas, who had paid a price to show them the truth. The need for his father's approval was still there, but now it was joined by something else: a desire for justice.
"He will see me," Marcus vowed, his voice trembling but clear. "But he will see me as I am. Not his happy little vintage-son. As an equal. Or as an enemy. I don't care which anymore." He knelt beside Julian. "Tell us what to do."
Nicholas looked down at the two demigods from his ivory throne, now freed, their purpose forged in the fires of betrayal and clarity. They were no longer pawns. They were the first pieces of his endgame.
"Get up," he said. "The first lesson starts now. You need to learn how to wield the power you've been generating for others your whole lives."
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