"Get up," Nicholas repeated, his voice cutting through their turmoil. "The anger is a good start. It's pure fuel. But now you learn to forge it into a weapon, not just lash out with it."
He led them away from the throne to a clearing where the crystal grass formed a perfect circle. With each step, the effects adorning him were toning down until they were a mere flicker of lights and shadows across his body. "Magic isn't about asking the universe for favors. It's about telling it how things are going to be."
He didn't start with flashy spells or dramatic displays. He started with the bedrock principles.
"Everything is a symbol," he explained, drawing a simple, angular Greek character in the air with his finger. It hung there, glowing with a soft silver light.
"A word, a gesture, a specific type of wood or stone. They are not magic in themselves. They are lenses. Tools to focus and amplify your will on a coherent point. Your will, your intent, is what does the actual work. The rest is just architecture to boost that intent."
He had them practice simple chants, not in English, but in the older, more resonant tongues of Ancient Greek and a few phrases of even more primordial languages.
"Faith is the fuel," Nicholas continued, watching them fumble through the basic syllables of a shielding charm.
A faint, wobbly shimmer of light would appear before them for a second before sputtering out. "The belief of others. The stories they tell. The hope they feel. Even now your divine gifts run on its fuel. The faith your parents gain is what allows you to perform the miracles you do. And magic runs on faith too, on the belief people have in it, it works exactly how people think and did think it works."
He showed them, painstakingly, how to weave their specific intent into the structure of the chants, how the symbols acted as a framework to hold and direct the power they were trying to summon.
During a break from hours of teaching, sitting on the bank of the silver lake whose waters seemed to soothe their aching minds, they talked about their lives, the ones the gods had shaped for them.
"I was born in 1901," Nicholas began, his gaze distant, fixed on the singing waterfall. "My father was Jonathan Aldridge, a scholar of ancient religions. I knew I was different from my first conscious thought. I could see the monsters in the streets that everyone else walked past. I spent my entire childhood learning, experimenting in secret, figuring out how the world truly worked while meticulously maintaining the facade of a normal, if precocious, boy." He looked at them, his grey eyes clear.
"My mother is Athena. Her gift to me was meant to make me her perfect strategist, but she tricked herself. She made me smart enough to see the cage she built for me."
Julian listened and replied with a story of his own, "I went to camp when I was young, a satyr found me wandering the streets after my mother abandoned me and transported me to the Camp, there I was claimed at twelve."
"My first quest was stealing back Apollo's lyre from a museum in Boston. I thought it was the most thrilling adventure imaginable." He let out a bitter, short laugh. "Now I see it was basic field training. He was grooming me for a life of espionage and manipulation, all while making me feel like a clever hero."
"My father was... present," Marcus said, his voice soft and full of an old and familiar pain. "More than most gods. He'd visit. Bring a new vintage wine. Laugh at my jokes. Listen to my problems. I truly thought we had a connection, I guess" Marcus looked down at his own hands, fidgeting with his fingers, from the embarrassment.
Nicholas watched them, seeing the last of their illusions crumble. It was necessary. "And what do you want?" he asked them. "Not what they told you to want. Not the quests they gave you. What do you want?"
Julian was silent for a long moment, his usual quick wit replaced by a deep, sober thoughtfulness. "I... I look at the world, at the poverty, the hunger... the pointless conflicts that my father and his kind seem to thrive on," he said slowly.
"I used to think I could fix it from within the system. Now I know the system is the disease. So I suppose... I want a world where nobody has to go to bed hungry. Where peace isn't just a fleeting moment between wars orchestrated by bored deities. I want the world to... work. For everyone."
They looked at Marcus. He shifted uncomfortably. "I... I don't have a grand dream like that," he admitted, almost ashamed. "All the parties, the social climbing, the charm... it was all a performance. Underneath it, I think... I just wanted a family. A real one, people who loved me for me, a quiet life, with people who wouldn't see me as a tool and somewhere I could be safe," He looked up, a new resolve in his eyes. "But that world doesn't exist. Not yet. So I'll help you build it."
As the light in the eternal twilight sky began to subtly deepen into a softer gold, signalling a time for rest, Julian looked up. "What about the other one?"
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "What other one?"
"God. Capital G," Julian clarified. "The one the churches talk about. The all-powerful, all-knowing one. Is he real? The thought never even occurred to me before. The Mist or the Gods' manipulation, I suppose. But now... if mortal faith can create and sustain the Olympians, could it create Him? Is there a higher power we're still missing?"
Nicholas was silent for a long time. The question was a heavy one, settling over the inner sanctuary.
"I don't know," he finally admitted, his voice low. "I've wondered about the same thing. Faith is a powerful, fundamental force. But it's also limited. It's a million different, conflicting beliefs, constantly shifting and changing. I think it can create powerful beings. Angels, Demons and Gods, but a single, omnipotent, omniscient, benevolent God? I think it's impossible."
"Faith is omnipotent but only if there is a sufficient quantity of it, to create a Perfect Omnipotent Omnipresent God, it would take incalculable faith and almost infinite time. Not to mention that if he existed, the Olympians wouldn't be able to play their petty games and ruin so many lives."
"My guess? He's a philosophical idea. A comforting story mortals tell themselves in the dark and spread by selfish Pantheons to stop the birth of another pantheon when they hid themselves, instead directing the faith of the masses to an impossibility. The things faith can actually create are probably just as limited and self-interested as the gods we know." Nick continued.
"Alright," Nicholas said, standing up and brushing non-existent dust from his clothes. "Enough theology for one day. We have a system to break. Let's make a plan."
They moved to a different part of the sanctuary, a chamber whose walls were lined not with maps of nations, but with intricate charts of divine influence, and the flows of mortal political power.
"The war is coming," Nicholas stated, a simple, grim fact. "The children of Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades will be the spark. We don't try to stop it. That would be impossible and would only paint targets on our backs. Instead, we guide the flame. We make sure it burns what we want it to burn."
"How?" Julian asked, his eyes already scanning the charts, his mind beginning to work.
"We become the authors," Marcus said, the idea solidifying. "We don't just participate in the story. We make sure the right narratives emerge from the chaos. The ones that serve our purposes."
"Exactly," Nicholas said, a flicker of approval in his eyes. "Julian, your primary task will be to master information and wind magic. You will learn to listen to the world's whispers, and tell us the Secrets that our enemies would try to hide."
"You will climb the ranks of politics and then once the time is right and I have acquired the Presidency, I will appoint you as the Secretary of State."
Julian nodded, a focused, determined look settling on his face. Finally, a mission that utilised his skills for a purpose he truly believed in.
"Marcus," Nicholas continued, turning to him. "You will learn to channel emotion on a scale you've never imagined. Not just charming a room, but inspiring a nation. Not just causing a moment of euphoria but forging lasting hope and devotion. You will be the heart of our new movement. You will make people believe, truly believe, in the possibility of a better world, and you will direct that belief, that faith, to us."
"You will climb the ranks, and together we will work to push you to the position of Speaker of the House of Representatives. You will be the one who will make sure all of our goals get passed."
Marcus stood straighter and finally felt some ambition of his own. He was no longer just a source of amusement; he was to become a source of strength.
"And I," Nicholas said, his voice dropping into a colder register, "will be the shield that protects us and the sword that strikes our true enemies. I will handle the gods when they inevitably come knocking. And I will build the foundation of what comes after their reign."
He placed a hand flat on the central chart, over the holographic projection of the continent of North America. "We don't just aim to survive their war. We use its chaos to make their world obsolete. We will offer a new story, a better one, and we will become the new focus of the belief that powers everything."
"Then once the time is right, we will ascend to our place in the Universe!"
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