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Three years passed in a blur of calculated progress. From the Oval Office, President Aldridge wielded power with an unseen hand. The true work happened elsewhere.
He used Marcus. As Speaker, Marcus steered the nation's wealth with a master's touch. Vast funding flowed into two new, secretive initiatives.
The first was for space. Rockets, advanced explosives, propulsion systems. The second was for science, focused on a single, terrifying theory: nuclear fission. Nicholas, with knowledge from a future life, provided the essential clues.
His artifacts, the Book and his prescience, helped Order scientists bypass years of failed experiments. They were not just advancing; they were leaping.
America was building an end-war button, and now 3 years later the project with practically limitless funding and secrecy guaranteed by his cloak was almost ready to bear fruit, allowing for the mortal side of the 2nd world war to be a guaranteed a victory.
Through Julian, now Secretary of State, he wove a web of alliances. He targeted key figures within the British government, using a mix of magical influence and strategic favors. The result was a mutual defense treaty, a pact of steel.
It was his excuse. Now, if war erupted in Europe, America would not need an unprompted attack to intervene. He had his justification, neatly prepared.
He then turned inward. He tackled the festering wound of segregation. He passed sweeping laws, outlawing discrimination at every level of government.
The old guard grumbled, their racism a familiar poison. But the Order moved against them. A whispered compulsion here, a revealed scandal there.
Opponents found their influence crumbling, their voices silenced by a force they could not see or fight. The injustice was not just fought; it was systematically dismantled.
The result was an unprecedented wave of faith. It was not the gentle flow of gratitude, but a powerful, concentrated surge of hope and liberation from millions. It was pure, potent energy.
Nicholas then turned to another long overdue issue, consolidating his base with sweeping social change that will guarantee his re-election. He enacted laws guaranteeing women the right to vote and to hold property and bank accounts in their own name.
The opposition, already weakened, grumbled. But their voices were silenced. The media, now largely under Order control, ran smear campaigns. Political opponents faced sudden blackmail or saw their past indiscretions mysteriously revealed.
With the gods' backing ensuring no divine interference, the old barriers crumbled quickly. This new liberation, this granting of fundamental rights, generated another powerful surge of faith, different from the end of segregation but just as potent, a faith boosted with a long-denied inequality finally righted.
The reaction from the divine was swift and unexpected. A familiar astral form bloomed in front of his eyes in the Oval Office. Circe. Her psychic voice held none of its usual condescension he had come to expect, only a stark, genuine tone. "The rights you have given them," she said. "It was overdue. Thank you."
A more formal summons came from Athena. He met her projection in the White House study. She appeared as the stately goddess, but her expression was unguarded, her grey eyes holding a deep, unmistakable approval. "What you have done for mortal women... it is a strategic good, yes. But it is also... just." She paused, and for a fleeting moment, Nicholas thought he saw something else in her gaze, a deep, old frustration, a shadow of a battle fought and lost long ago.
He suspected this was something she had once advocated for on Olympus, only to be overruled by her father's archaic decrees. She extended a hand. A simple, bronze pin shaped like a small owl materialized in his palm. "A token. It holds my favor. In your moment of greatest need, it will shield you. It could turn even the fire from the sun itself."
It was greater protection than any he could currently craft, a gift acknowledging not just a useful servant, but an ally who had accomplished something she herself could not.
He accepted it with a nod, the pin cool against his skin. Another layer of defense, another tool, but this one given with a sincerity that surprised him, given what he knew of the Gods.
Simultaneously, the Order embedded itself deeper into the nation's bones. Its members were installed in the judiciary, in police departments, in every congressional office.
They were the clerks, the officers, the aides. Every place where power was held, a loyal eye watched, a loyal hand guided.
The government was not just his to command; it was becoming an extension of his will, a seamless blend of mortal authority and divine purpose.
In his sanctuary, Nicholas felt the world bending to his design. The military had its super-weapons in development. The nation was united under a new moral clarity, generating immense and varied faith.
The world stage was set for his intervention. The machinery of state was his personal tool. He had the ultimate weapon, the ultimate shield, and the unwavering belief of hundreds of millions.
More than the Olympians ever had at any one time. The modern times guaranteed a torrent of faith so mighty that only perhaps the major pantheons could match with the billions of souls they had stashed away in their farms.
Now it was time to make sure that Nicholas would be remembered by future generations, just like the heroes of old.
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