"I am here to help."
The words hung in the air like a bad joke. Ethan's body moved before his brain caught up. Lightning crackled across his palms, born from the raw storm power he had been throwing around for weeks now. He didn't think. He just reacted.
Danger screamed in his gut, the same way it had when monsters first started showing up in his life. The bolt shot forward, fast and bright, straight at the stranger's chest.
It hit dead center.
Nothing happened.
The lightning splashed against the man's shirt and died out like water on hot pavement. No burn marks.
No smoke. No jolt that would have fried a normal person into charcoal. The stranger just stood there, calm as ever, and brushed a hand across his chest as if flicking away a speck of dust.
Shawn. It was Shawn.
Ethan's mouth went dry. He had seen this guy before—back when everything was simpler, or at least when the body count was lower. Local hero type.
The kind who showed up on the news stopping robberies or pulling people out of burning buildings.
But that was supposed to be it. Not this. Not standing in the middle of nowhere after Ethan had just tried to electrocute him.
"It really is you," Ethan said. His voice came out flat, but inside his head the questions were piling up fast.
Shawn gave a small nod. "Now you believe me."
"Yeah." Ethan swallowed. "But why are you here? Aren't you some local superhero or something?"
"Still am," Shawn said. "And I'm here to save you."
Ethan didn't answer right away. The words landed heavy. Save him. From what? From the gods who wanted him dead? From the mess he had made by existing?
He had left Marcus behind on purpose, hoping the guy wouldn't get dragged any deeper. Alone had seemed safer. Now here was this man offering a hand out of the fire.
The forest around them was quiet except for the distant rustle of leaves. Early morning light filtered through the branches, turning everything a pale gold.
Ethan's clothes were still damp from the night before, and his muscles ached from the fight he had barely walked away from.
He wanted to ask a hundred things—how Shawn had found him, what he knew, why any of this mattered to a guy who spent his days stopping bank heists in the city.
But none of that came out. Instead he just stood there, breathing hard, feeling the weight of every bad decision that had led him to this spot.
"The government and the army won't stay silent," Ethan said, reading the silence correctly. "They will know."
"If they see me," Shawn finished the thought, or tried to.
Shawn didn't wait for more. He moved. One second he was five feet away. The next he was behind Ethan, close enough that Ethan felt the shift in the air. It wasn't teleportation exactly.
It was speed, pure, ridiculous speed. The kind that made the world blur. Ethan had felt something like it in his own blood sometimes, the lightning giving him bursts of quickness, but this was different.
This was Hermes' blood running hot in Shawn's veins, the messenger god's gift turned up to levels that didn't make sense for a mortal, even a demigod one.
Ethan turned fast, instincts still on edge. Shawn held out his hand, palm up, steady.
"Then I'll ask the details later," Ethan said. He grabbed the hand. The grip was firm, warm, nothing flashy. Just two guys making a choice in the middle of nowhere. "Where are we going?"
Shawn smiled then. It wasn't a big grin, just the corner of his mouth lifting like he appreciated the trust. "A special hideout spot. Where even the gods can't check on us."
The words barely left his mouth before the world glitched.
That was the only way Ethan could describe it. One moment the forest was there—trees, dirt path, morning light. The next it folded in on itself, colors streaking like bad TV static.
His stomach lurched the way it did on a roller coaster drop. Sound stretched and warped. Then everything snapped back into place, but different.
They stood in a small concrete room. Bare walls. A single bulb overhead. No windows. A metal door in one corner. It smelled like old dust and faint ozone, the kind of place that had been sealed for years.
A cot sat against one wall with a folded blanket. A small table held a couple of water bottles and some sealed packs of food. Nothing fancy. Functional.
Ethan let go of Shawn's hand and took a step back, testing his balance. His head spun for a second, then settled. "What the hell was that?"
"Fast travel," Shawn said. He rolled his shoulders like he had just carried something heavy.
"Hermes thing. Short version: we moved through the spaces between spaces. Gods can track most movement on the ground or in the air. This? They miss it. Usually."
"Usually," Ethan repeated. He walked to the table and picked up one of the water bottles. The plastic felt real. Cold.
He cracked it open and drank half in one go. The liquid hit his throat and reminded him how long it had been since he had stopped running. "You do this a lot?"
"Enough." Shawn leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He looked ordinary enough—dark hair cut short, plain jacket over a t-shirt, jeans that had seen better days.
But Ethan had seen the speed. Had felt the lightning do nothing. This guy wasn't ordinary.
"I've been keeping an eye on the mess up north. Word travels fast when demigods start throwing around enough power to light up the sky. Especially when one of them has your… profile."
Ethan set the bottle down harder than he meant to. "My profile."
"Son of Zeus. Or close enough. The real deal doesn't hand out that kind of juice to just anyone. Hundred times the normal output, right? That's what the rumors say."
Ethan didn't confirm it. He didn't need to. The memory of the lightning storm he had unleashed still sat fresh in his mind—the way the sky had answered him like it belonged to him. Too much. Way too much.
Shawn kept talking, voice even. "Olympus doesn't like loose cannons. Especially not ones that make the old man look sloppy. They'll send someone.
Or they'll let the mortals handle it first. Either way, you end up in a cage or a grave. I've seen both."
Ethan rubbed his face with both hands. The stubble there scratched his palms. He needed a shower. He needed sleep.
Mostly he needed answers that didn't come wrapped in more danger. "Why you? Why risk it? You're not exactly family."
Shawn shrugged. "I've been the local guy for a while. Stop the mugging, save the kid from the fire, keep the balance so the gods don't notice too much. But balance is breaking.
Too many demigods popping up lately. Too many monsters slipping through. And you… you lit the match. Figured someone should pull you out before the whole thing burns."
Ethan wanted to argue. Tell him he didn't need saving, that he could handle it. But the truth sat there plain: he had left Marcus behind because he couldn't handle it. Not without dragging everyone else down. "Marcus," he said suddenly. "He was following me. He'll be looking."
"He won't find this place," Shawn said. "No one will. That's the point."
Ethan nodded, but the knot in his chest didn't loosen. He could still hear Marcus's voice in his head from the night before—stubborn, worried, telling him not to do anything stupid. Too late for that.
Outside the hideout, back in the forest, Marcus crashed through the underbrush.
"Ethan!" His voice cracked from shouting. Branches whipped at his face, but he didn't slow down.
The tracks had been clear for a while—broken twigs, footprints in the soft dirt. Then they just stopped. Like Ethan had vanished into thin air.
Marcus reached the exact spot and spun in a circle. Sunlight cut through the leaves now, bright enough to hurt his eyes. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "ETHAN!"
Silence answered. Birds called in the distance. Wind moved the leaves. Nothing human.
He dropped to one knee and pressed a hand to the ground. No residual energy. No weird static like when Ethan used the lightning. Just normal forest floor. Marcus cursed under his breath.
"For fuck's sake. I knew this was going to happen. That wimpy soft-hearted shit."
He had told Ethan to stay put. Had said they would figure it out together. But Ethan had that look in his eyes, the one that said he was done letting people get hurt because of him.
Marcus had seen it before, right before Ethan had walked off alone.
He stood up and kept searching anyway. Checked behind trees. Kicked through bushes. Called again, quieter this time, like maybe lowering his voice would make Ethan answer. It didn't.
After twenty minutes he sat on a fallen log and put his head in his hands. His phone had no signal out here. No way to call for backup even if he knew who to call. The army? The government?
They were probably already moving after the light show Ethan had put on. Marcus had seen the choppers in the distance yesterday. Heard the rumors on the shortwave radio before he ditched it.
He pulled a protein bar from his pocket and ate it without tasting anything. The sun climbed higher. Sweat stuck his shirt to his back. Every minute that passed made the empty feeling worse.
"Stupid," he muttered. "Both of us."
He didn't leave. Not yet. He would keep looking until the light failed or something forced him to move. That was how it worked with them. One ran. The other followed. Even when it looked hopeless.
***
On Olympus the air never really moved the way it did on earth. It hung thick, charged, like the moment before a storm broke.
The throne room stretched out in impossible directions, marble columns that reached into clouds, floors that reflected stars even in daylight. Light poured from everywhere and nowhere.
Athena walked through it without hesitation. Her armor made no sound. The aegis on her arm caught the glow and threw it back sharper. She had watched the scene below from her vantage point.
The lightning. The stranger. The disappearance. None of it sat right.
"Father," she called when she reached the base of the great throne.
Zeus sat above her. Not in the casual way mortals imagined gods lounging. His form filled the space with weight.
Darkness clung to him like a cloak made of night sky itself, galaxies swirling in the folds, distant lightning flickering deep inside. His eyes opened slowly, fixing on her. The temperature in the hall dropped a few degrees.
"What is it?"
Athena stopped at the exact respectful distance. She had learned long ago where the line sat with him. "One hundred times. What were you thinking, giving a brat that much power? It's…"
She trailed off. The words absurd, fanatical, crazy all lined up in her head, but she swallowed them.
Zeus's expression didn't change, but the air around the throne grew heavier. She felt it press against her skin like a warning.
"Absurd?" Zeus supplied. His voice rolled out low, each syllable precise. "Fanatical? Crazy? Pick your words carefully… daughter."
Athena held still. She had seen what happened when gods or mortals forgot that careful line. Whole cities had burned for less. She chose her next sentence with the precision of a surgeon. "No. Just asking."
Zeus watched her for a long moment. The galactic darkness around him shifted, stars wheeling slowly. "Asking," he repeated. "You always ask when you already have opinions. Speak them."
She did. "The boy carries too much. More than any demigod should. He draws attention. Mortals with machines. Other gods who see opportunity. If he keeps using it unchecked, the balance tips. We have rules for this."
"Rules I made," Zeus said. There was no anger in it yet. Just fact. "The boy is mine. Blood of my blood, even if diluted. I decide what he carries."
Athena inclined her head. "Of course. But decisions have consequences. The mortal authorities are already searching.
They saw the sky light up like the end of their world. They have cameras, satellites, weapons that fire faster than thought. And the other Olympians watch.
Hermes' get involved now. Speed and messages travel together. Secrets don't stay secret long."
Zeus leaned forward slightly. The movement sent ripples through the dark around him. "You think I don't see?"
"I think you see everything," Athena said. It wasn't flattery. It was truth as she understood it.
"I also think sometimes you choose not to act until the board is set the way you want. This boy could be a weapon. Or a mistake. Which one are we betting on?"
The question hung there. Zeus didn't answer right away. He looked past her, through the columns, down toward the mortal world where clouds still carried the echo of Ethan's power. When he spoke again his voice had dropped even lower.
"One hundred times the spark. Enough to remind them who holds the sky. Enough to make the old blood wake up.
The world has grown soft. Mortals forget the gods are real. Other gods forget who sits at the top. A little lightning in the right hands changes that."
Athena kept her face neutral. Inside, calculations ran. Strategy. Risk. Possible outcomes. "And if the boy breaks under it? Or turns the power against us?"
"Then he breaks," Zeus said simply. "And we clean up the pieces. Like always."