Chapter 13: The Twelve Olympians

“There was an idea ... The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people to see if they could become something more. To see if they could work together when we needed them to, to fight the battles that we never could.”Nick Fury (as portrayed by Samuel L. Jackson), The Avengers (2012). Written by Joss Whedon (screenplay) and Zak Penn (story). Directed by Joss Whedon. Copyright © 2012 Marvel Studios and Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures.

The pavilion of the Great Flame stood brighter than ever.

Prometheus stood with his arms folded. Beside him, Hestia sat on a low stone bench.

They knew what was to come, who was to come.

“You can’t always make it about you!” a female voice rang in the distance.

“Oh, come on, Arty!” the male said back. “I shine. We can’t pretend I don’t.”

Artemis entered first. Her silver tunic caught the light of the Flame and reflected them like moonbeams. Her bow rested lightly across her back while her eyes were sharp. Time on Delos had made her wary and made her scan the pavilion as she expected danger everywhere.

Behind her, Apollo followed with an easy grace. His golden hair gleamed like the sun. He had no bow but his tunic was gold and red.

“You’ve come. Good,” Prometheus said, turning his attention to the twins.

“Is there any reason?” Artemis asked.

“I think the titan is having some fun with you,” Demeter said as she scrolled in from her own teleportation magic.

“With all of us, it seems,” came the laughing voice of Poseidon.

“‘Course there was,” said the fun voice of Hermes. “I got to everyone, lickety-split.”

An argument could be heard from the outside.

“Come now, Athena! You must know!”

“Silence yourself, Ares. We have company.”

The two could not have been more different if they tried, and yet, they both seemed ready for war. Ares was wearing armor of black and brown leather with bronze accompaniments. Athena was a shield made manifest. She did not bear her Aegis or spear but the armor that adorned her body told others that to land a blow on her would be miraculous in and of itself.

Ares stared at the room, shocked.

Athena, whatever her opinion, was hidden from public consumption.

For all of that concealment, nothing stopped the radiant Aphrodite from capturing the room’s attention. She wore a gown of satin white and pink.

“Is this...” Apollo breathed, taking a count of how many were in the room. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Bunch of slouches gathering in a room together?” Hephaestus said, grouchily. He had not planned to climb to such a remote place. When he entered, he was shocked by the ten other people.

Prometheus unfolded his arms, stepping forward with a slow, deliberate grace.

“So,” he began, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade through silk, “you’ve all come. That’s a start, I suppose.”

He clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze sweeping the room. “Zeus has gathered you here because you’ve each been chosen to be Olympians.”

Apollo, Aphrodite, Ares reacted excitedly. Hermes swirled his finger in the air. Artemis and Athena seemed more serene. Hephaestus seemed entirely indifferent. Poseidon, Demeter, and Hestia seemed to be expecting this sort of decision.

Prometheus smiled faintly, taking in each of their reactions.

“There will be a celebration in the coming days,” he continued, turning toward the Great Flame as though addressing it instead of them. “It will be a spectacle, as these things tend to be.”

His eyes flicked to Athena and then to Ares. “But,” he added, his voice dropping slightly, “these sorts of events are important. Perception is sometimes the foundation upon which power is built. Cruel, isn’t it?”

A moment of silence passed before Prometheus turned to Hermes, who stood near the edge of the pavilion.

“Hermes,” Prometheus said, his tone light but with an edge of command. “You will act as the herald to announce each, but Zeus assures me that you are already aware. Each of you will tell Hermes what we wish others to know about ourselves at the announcement.”

He drew out a bundle of scrolls, tied neatly with dark red ribbons.

“These,” he said, holding them aloft, “are for each of you. You will fill them in for Hermes. I urge you to be honest but choose your words wisely as I feel this is what we will be remembered for.”

He stepped forward, handing the scrolls to each god in turn. He allowed himself a simple smile at the moment. He knew simple would be in short supply in the years to come. War would not come as with the Titans and the gods, but change was bringing a tentative peace.

This future could turn over everything. The Great Flame might not have been used by Hyperion, but it might be used by Hestia.

“Now, go. Olympus will be watching.”

The private garden of Hera was a sanctuary. She had much to think about. There was her bargain for Hephaestus and there was the curse of Gaia.

The golden apples hung from the branches of the tree. Hera stood beneath them. her chin was lifted up so that her eyes could be fixed on the golden fruit. Such a simple act of biting into a fruit would trap her with Zeus forever. There were worse destinies to have. So long as he did not know, Hera believed that she could live such a life.

Her gown of royal blue and gold cascaded in the light. It would not be so bad being his prisoner of a wife. The only complaint she had was that if he knew, he might mock her. Her dignity could not survive such a blow. The weight of that realization pressed around her, but she showed no sign of the immensity.

This was who Hera truly was. She was not the daughter of Cronos and Rhea. She was not the third Queen of Olympus. She was not just a mage of cosmic proportions. She was not simply Zeus’ wife. Hera was the true Queen of Olympus, and with this sacred duty to the Realm, to the gods, and to Chaos, she had perfected the art of composure along with many other gifts.

“Those are rather beautiful,” came a deep voice from behind her.

Hera turned her head slightly to be sure of her intruder being Zeus. It was the strangest thing to think of him, and then for him to disappear.

The King of Olympus approached her slowly. He knew he was trespassing on sacred ground, yet as her husband, he had the right. His golden wreath shined against his snow-white hair. Draped in a toga of white and gold, he carried himself with the easy confidence of one who had never been denied anything in life.

In his hands, much to her surprise, he carried a folded dress.

“What brings you here, Zeus?” Hera asked coolly. Her eyes flicked briefly to the shimmering fabric in his hands. “Surely not to admire some gift.”

Zeus chuckled. “Must we always have such barbs, my dear wife?” When Hera gave him a confused look, he continued with a smile. “I have brought good news today.”

“Good news from you?” Hera asked suspiciously.

He stopped a few steps from her, holding the dress up as if to appraise it in the golden light of her garden. “Do you recall this gift, dear wife?”

Hera’s gaze narrowed. “I recall it. Rhea made it for me. I did not feel like wearing it,” she said. She held back her disdain for Rhea. Hera recalled her mother’s gift. While Hera had not made Rhea her priority on the wedding day, the truth that Hera had to marry Zeus was enough to make Hera loathe Rhea. “What of it?”

Zeus sighed dramatically, lowering the dress. “I thought it might be time for you to wear it. Tomorrow, during the grand announcement.”

“What announcement?” Hera asked. “Why?” she added, suspicious.

Zeus’ face broke into a broad smile. “Hephaestus. Your son will be free to join the Olympians.”

For a moment, Hera’s stoic mask faltered.

“You know? No. Of course you figured it out,” Hera said with a laugh. “Hephaestus will be raised up?”

“He will,” Zeus confirmed, his tone almost gentle.

“Thank you, Zeus,” she said, softening.

Zeus’ smile deepened, though a flicker of something calculating glinted in his eyes. “The announcement will be a momentous occasion. I wish for you, my queen, to at my side, dressing the part of my dutiful wife.”

“This is all you want?”

“That’s all,” Zeus said with a smile.

“If this is all I have to do for Hephaestus’ rise, and it pleases you, my king, I shall wear the dress.”

Zeus smiled, a gleam of triumph in his eyes. “That is all I wanted.”

He placed the dress on a nearby stone bench and turned to leave, his voice carrying over his shoulder. “Prepare yourself for tomorrow, Hera. It will be the biggest day in Olympus since our wedding.”

Hera remained still as Zeus disappeared back to Olympus proper. Her eyes returned to the golden apples above her. Slowly, her hand tightened into a fist.

He could never know. He was insufferable when he simply was getting what he wanted. If he had been allowed to do as he liked, he would be the worst.

“It’s always good news,” she murmured bitterly, her voice barely audible above the garden’s gentle breeze. “For him, always for him.”

The entire expanse of Olympus buzzed with excitement. If Zeus was a thundering god, Olympius was pulsing with an electricity that could be felt by all. This was a crowd that was alive with anticipation. The city itself was a vibrant energy of excitement.

The gathered gods flowed into the pavilion. All too quickly, everyone realized that this would be one of the most historic moments of the city. A stage was set to a crowd where none could move. They were captive to Zeus’ grand announcement.

The sun hung high in the sky to cast a warm glow upon the summit.

Prometheus stood in front of the gathering and exclaimed. “Good day, gods, titans, nymphs, satyrs, and any guests I might not know! I am Prometheus, and as Zeus’ Counselor, and it is my honor and pleasure to declare that on this day, the guardians of Mount Olympus, the Olympians, will be revealed.”

The crow cheered and roared in excitement. In any other circumstances, there might have be feelings of unfairness or demanding to be considered, but after so much celebration and happiness, any god who was even remotely important was there.

This was the grandest stage in the most wonderful city on the godly mountain made by Gaia and Ouranos, the Primordial offspring of their great Progenitor. For them, this was the culmination of millenia and eons of rulership.

To know who was chosen was all that mattered.

“For this, Hermes will be announcing those who have been chosen.”

He bolted to the Flame to stand next to the wise son of Iapetus. Hermes wore his small orangish red wreath on his head. He wore a black tunic with accents of red and gold. His sandals were bronze and winged. He had the attention of the audience.

Hermes stood in front of Prometheus and wasted no time to shine. Apollo may have been a shining good but it was Hermes who would always have gravitas. His trademark mischievous twinkle in his eyes ensured no one mistook him for too serious a herald.

“Hey there, gods, titans, nymphs, satyrs, and, oh, you beautiful crowd of divine luminaries out there!” Hermes rang out.

Prometheus ran a hand over his face, thinking Zeus’ idea of letting Hermes announce his twelve positions to be a mistake, but when he looked at the crowd, he could see they were in awe of the young god.

He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the Great Flame. “Welcome to what day it is, everyone! This is without a doubt, the biggest, the grandest, the most electrifying day in the history of Mount Olympus! You’re here for one reason and one reason only! Pops himself promised you something legendary, And I—Messenger of the gods, savior of the old man against Typhon, and a guy who’s just a little too fast for his own good—am here to deliver!”

The crowd erupted into cheers, laughter, and wild applause. Never in his life had Prometheus ever had the crowds of Olympus eating out of his hands the way Zeus’ son did.

“Now, hold onto your laurels because this is where it gets good. Today, Olympus reveals its guardians for Mount Olympus: The Olympians!” He punctuated the word with an upward sweep of his hand, and the crowd looked up at the celestial ring of empty thrones. Gasps and cheers rippled through the crowd.

Prometheus just shook his head. He had them. They were a slave to every word, and he realized that there was no stopping him, so why try? He stepped back and enjoyed the talking of Olympus’ most immature Olympian.

“First up! She’s the oldest of the bunch. She’s the steady flame in the storm, the one who kept the gods warm when the darkness of the Great War came crashing down. She learned to harness the Great Flame itself—yeah, you heard me, the very same flame that can turn even Titans to ash! She built the Great Hearth, the heart of this mountain, and might I add...” Hermes leaned forward with a mock conspiratorial tone. “Fellas, she’s single!”

The crowd erupted with laughter as Hermes straightened, his voice booming like thunder. “Give it up for the Keeper of the Flame: HESTIA!”

A brilliant flash of light erupted next to one of the thrones. As it cleared, Hestia stood tall and composed. Her bouncy auburn hair sat on her head with all of the grace for one who had earned peace. She was dressed in flowing robes the color of embers and ash. The light of the Great Flame flickered warmly in her eyes. She did not sit down. Instead, she waited for the scene to continue.

Hermes clapped his hands together, his grin never faltering. “Ah, don’t you love her energy?” He paced to the center of the pavilion again, spinning on his heel to face the crowd. “But we’re just getting started, folks. There’s one down, but eleven more to go! Next up—she’s the goddess who gets things growing! Crops, harvests, you name it, she’s got it covered. This one battled right alongside her brothers and sisters during the Great War, gauntlet gloves on and fists swinging! If you’ve ever had a decent meal or seen a sunny day, you’ve got her to thank. Oh, and fun fact? Zeus—yeah, Pops—jilted her once. Not that we’re holding grudges here, right, Boss Lady?”

A chuckling laugh rippled through the crowd as Hermes dramatically swept out his arm. “Make way for the Queen of the Fields, the Protector of Nymphs, and your all-around bringer of life: DEMETER!”

Another burst of dazzling light flared, and when it receded, Demeter stood before her throne. Her presence was as commanding as it was gentle, but her eyes held a warning for the impudent manner of Hermes. Her gown was green and gold with a hem embroidered with wheat and wildflowers.

“Look at that,” Hermes quipped, shielding his eyes as though dazzled by her very presence. “The crops just got healthier, I swear! Flourishing, Boss Lady; flourishing.”

The crowd roared with laughter at Hermes’ cheekiness and cheers at Demeter’s grace. Hermes, however, did not give them time to linger. If he was not moving to the next spot, he was standing still.

“All right, all right!” he said, motioning with them to calm themselves. “Settle down! Because coming up next ... oh, you know him. He’s almost as tall as Pops! That’s saying something! He’s the guy who doesn’t just ride the waves; he owns them. They call him the Lord of the Sea, but don’t let that fool you! He’s been slinging his trident at Titans since before most of you knew how to hold a sword. Oceanus? Atlas? Pontus? Yeah, he took ‘em on and sent ‘em packing. And let’s not forget that sea monster he made. Creativity, am I right?”

Hermes paused for dramatic effect, lowering his voice into a mock-serious tone. “But here’s the kicker, folks. Word on the waves is ... he got married? Or kidnapped someone? Or it was political? Who knows—Uncle, what’s up with that?” He finished with a mischievous grin.

The crowd’s laughter mingled with cheers as Hermes pointed skyward. “Give it up for the Stormbringer, the Wave-Maker, the Earth Shaker, the Lord of the Sea himself: POSEIDON!”

This time the flash of light came with a distant crash of thunder and the scent of saltwater in the air. Poseidon appeared, tall and mighty. He wore a sea-green tunic with turquoise accents. His trident gleamed like a weapon carved from storms even if the Cyclopes had made it for him His black hair and beard rippled like dark waves. On his body there seemed to be bioluminescent tattoos on his arms and shoulders, but from so far away, no one could be sure.

Hermes gave a low whistle, pretending to wipe sweat from his brow. “Now that is a guy you don’t want to upset at dinner.”

The messenger god grinned once more, pointing to the sky as though Olympus itself were his audience. “And we’re only getting started, folks!”

Hermes grinned as he prepared for the next of the twelve.

“It’s heating up now!” He clapped his hands together, sending a wave of excitement through the crowd. “Next up, we’ve got a god who is all about craftsmanship. A master forger, the guy who takes raw materials and turns ‘em into pure art! This is the guy who made my winged sandals—yeah, that’s right, my shoes that help me run faster than you can blink and fly higher than you have ever been! But hold onto your tunics ‘cause that’s not all! He’s the genius behind the bows of Artemis and Apollo, so that they could slay that mighty serpent, Python!”

Hermes paused for dramatic effect, leaning in as if about to spill a secret. “And, now, here’s a little mystery for ya! Word on the back parts of Olympus is that he helped Hera, the Big Boss Lady herself, out of a... sticky situation. What was it? Who knows! Maybe we’ll find out someday ... possibly.” Hermes’ grin widened as he leaned back, his tone playful.

“He’s the son of Hera! Her little magical creation. But don’t let the whole ‘magical conception’ thing fool ya! He’s still got those flames of passion that’ll melt you down if you’re not careful!”

He leaned back, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Oh, and one more thing ... he’s a little banged up, folks. He would be almost six foot eight, but as it stands, he’s only six foot four, and he walks a bit funny, but don’t mind him! He’s still working through it!” Hermes chuckled to himself. “But, hey, we all have our quirks, right?” He shrugged to the laughing crowd.

He paused, throwing his hands out to introduce the god with a flourish. “So give it up for a god of fire, the master blacksmith, a true maker, the one, the only: HE-PHAES-TUS!”

A burst of light flashed and crackled. When it settled, the mighty Hephaestus stood before his throne. His stance was solid despite his scars and damage to his body. Compared to one as Poseidon, he looked a little mangled and hutched, but still impressive. His hands were scarred and rough with an undeniable strength. His clothing had been improved by Hera with fabrics of black and molten red.

“Look at that,” Hermes said, giving a dramatic nod. “You can almost feel the heat from here, folks!”

With a wink to the crowd, Hermes straightened up and spun on his heel.

“From forge to bows, get ready! ‘Cause up next we’ve got some heavy hitters! First, we’ve got a guy who stands tall. At six foot six and two hundred and fifty pounds of raw muscle, the golden son of Leto. He’s got a voice that’ll make you weak in the knees and the muscles to back it up.”

He paused for dramatic effect, leaning forward as if sharing a secret.

“Did I mention this guy single-handedly landed the killing blow on Python? Talk about impressive!”

Hermes flashed a grin as he continued, his voice now dripping with playful sarcasm. “And come on... someone’s gotta be mom’s favorite, right? Apollo’s the golden boy, the shining star, but hey, is there a little ‘mama’s boy’ vibe going on here? I don’t know, you tell me, folks. Is he?”

While the crowd laughed, the goddesses swooned at the idea.

He threw his hand up and exclaimed for all to hear, “Give it up for a god of music, bows, healing, and the all-around golden boy: A-POL-LO!”

Another flash of light split the air, and Apollo stood tall before his throne. His golden hair shimmered in the light, and his bow was slung across his back. His presence was bright. He wore a skirt of gold and bright yellow but showed off his well muscled chest. His fair beauty on a man somehow commanded the attention from even the furthest reaches of the audience.

Hermes clapped his hands together again, shaking his head with mock disbelief. “Well, well, well ... I swear I just saw the sun get a little brighter, folks!”

Without missing a beat, Hermes turned back to the crowd.

“And now, what do we have next, folks? Hold onto your seats, ‘cause it’s time for a little flair!”

He took a deep breath, readying himself to announce her.

“She’s the other half of this dynamic duo of twins. She keeps her brother in check—at least, she tries to. You know her: she’s the goddess of the hunt, the protector of women like her mother Leto, and she never ever misses. You don’t wanna be the one who gets in her sights, folks, because she’ll always find your weak spot and hit it every time.”

Hermes held up a hand as if to call for silence, his grin widening. “And, hey, she’s got that bow—silver, just like her heart—along with some seriously impressive moves. She’s six foot five and a lean one hundred and eighty pounds, but don’t let that fool you, she’s a powerhouse!”

He leaned forward, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Now here’s her fun fact, folks: she’s sworn off men! But with a chest that small, who even cares, am I right?”

The crowd roared with laughter, and Hermes threw his arms out again. “It’s time for the huntress herself, the goddess who doesn’t miss a shot: AR-TEM-IS!”

A flash of silver light filled the air, and Artemis appeared before her throne. She was dressed in a tunic of forest green and moonlight silver. The silver bow Hephaestus had made was resting elegantly in her hands. She would not go anywhere without it. Her gaze was sharp and unyielding, but honed by her unique focus.

The crowd’s excitement was palpable as she took her place. Her beauty was more wild and meant for a forest contrasted with Apollo’s polished grace meant for the city of the gods.

The crowd erupted for the twins together as they were the most recent celebrities on Mount Olympus. Hera’s most recent loathing of Leto had elevated them to a fame they might not have had otherwise.

Hermes, with a mischievous grin, gave a final salute to the audience. “That’s right, folks! We’re halfway there!”

Hermes spun on his heel doing a three hundred and sixty degree spin. “Alright, folks, we’ve had forge and fire, we’ve had brightness, we’ve had a huntress, but now...”—he let his voice drop low and dramatic—”get ready, ‘cause things are about to get dangerous.”

The crowd leaned forward, hanging on every word of the announcer.

“Now this goddess? You could say she was a bit of a mystery at first. No big fanfare, no warrior, no temple popping out of the ground when she first showed up. Nah! That’s not her style! She stayed out of sight, out of mind, and then, boom, she made her big debut at—what else?—the wedding of Zeus and Hera! Gotta love a goddess with timing, am I right?”

The small chuckle from the audience made Hermes grin brightly.

Hermes gestured out toward the distant sea. “She rose up outta the seafoam itself, folks. That’s right!” He shrugged and tilted his head. “Well, kinda! After the Last Primordial, good ol’ Ouranos, got his...” he paused, thinking of a savory word, “grapefruit and sausage chopped off by his Titan kids.” He shook his head as though reminiscing when he was actually trying to keep the audience reacting as they should. “Rumor has it, the sea swirled and couldn’t hold back Ouranos’ lust and this lovely goddess was born.”

The crowd murmured excitedly, but Hermes leaned in close, letting them in on Olympus’ best-kept secret.

“Now let’s talk about power. She’s got a little trick up her sleeve... if she wore sleeves, that is. This goddess? She can make any being fall head over heels in love with her with just a glance! God? Titan? Doesn’t matter! Everyone wants her, to be her, to be with her! Let’s not forget, love is just as powerful as war! You don’t believe me? Ask the poor suckers who’ve fought battles over this lady’s smile.”

He straightened up, wagging his finger with mock seriousness. “And here’s a fun little tidbit: she hates wearing clothes.” Hermes threw up his hands in exasperation. “I mean, come on, Aphrodite! This is Olympus! We’re classy here!”

The crowd erupted into laughter as Hermes’ grin widened. With a sweeping gesture toward her throne, he bellowed: “Give it up for this goddess of beauty, love, and the ultimate heartbreaker: APH-RO-DI-TE!”

A ripple of soft pink light burst across the platform like the first rays of dawn. There she stood, a vision of irresistible beauty. Aphrodite’s golden blonde hair fell in loose waves over a flowing, sheer gown. Her thin waist, wider hips, and enormous breasts caught the eye of every being watching. Her eyes held a mischievous spark while enjoying the attention given to her by the entirety of Olympus. She smiled as if every last member of the audience was a lover.

The gods standing in front of their thrones seemed to shift uncomfortably under her gaze.

Hermes pretended to shield his eyes. “Yep, she’s here, folks! Don’t stare too long, or you might forget your name!”

The laughter still echoed as Hermes clapped his hands, jumping back into his rhythm.

“Alright, alright! Speaking of love and how it makes life...” He turned sharply, voice booming like a battle drum. “Let’s talk about the act that takes life: war!”

The crowd hushed in anticipation as Hermes grinned devilishly.

“Now, this next guy? You wanna talk big? You wanna talk scary? He’s six foot six and pushing nearly three hundred pounds of pure, dense, raw muscle. If he looks like he’s carved from metal, that’s because he practically is.”

Hermes’ tone turned reverent, but playful as he paced the floor. “He’s the rightful son of Zeus and Hera, the heir of Olympus. The high prince. Born for one thing and one thing only: conflict. You want a leader? He’s your guy. You want a warrior? He’s already on the front lines.”

Hermes then paused, tapping his temple as though considering something deeply. “Only trouble is ... well ... he’s got a bit of a temper. A little fire under the helmet, ya know? And let’s be honest, folks, when you’re shouting louder than you’re swinging, it’s hard for people to take you too seriously!”

The crowd let out uneven chuckles, but Hermes quickly threw up his hands. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding! Nobody tell him I said that!” He leaned back and thrust an arm toward the next throne. “Give it up for the god of war, Olympus’ heavy hitter, the terror of the battlefield: A-RES!”

A blinding flash of crimson erupted, and when it settled, there stood Ares. The wavy curls of his hair fell down his back. He had a messy goatee to frame his jaw and deep sideburns. His eyes were intense with a massive form that loomed over others like a living fortress. Every inch of his body was corded muscle. His armor was bronze and blood-red leather. His expression was a permanent scowl, his dark eyes smoldering with intensity.

Hermes gave an exaggerated gulp for his faux fear. “Yep, he heard me.” The crowd roared as Ares cracked his knuckles and crossed his arms with a glare that could melt bronze.

But Hermes was already back in action, turning toward the audience with a flourish. “And now ... oh, now it gets serious, folks. We’ve had war. We’ve had love. But who ties it all together?” He paused, his voice growing softer, more reverent. “Wisdom. Strategy. Sheer perfection.”

He held up a finger as though warning them. “Let me tell you about this goddess. She’s six foot five, two hundred and ten pounds of feminine muscle. She’s brains, she’s brawn, and she’s the reason battles are won before swords are ever drawn.”

Hermes spun and pointed to the empty central throne that belonged to Zeus for dramatic effect. “This lady? She’s got an origin like no other. Before Hera. Zeus fell for her mother—Metis, the first and wisest of Oceanids. I had the pleasure to meet her. Sweetheart of a goddess! When the monster Typhon shook the realm, Metis did the unthinkable to save her unborn child. Before Typhon consumed Metis and her unborn child, Metis moved her daughter—this goddess—into Zeus himself. When the time was right, she burst out of his head!” Hermes pointed to his own skull for emphasis. “Talk about a killer headache.”

The crowd gave an ‘Aww’, which was not the response Hermes had hoped for. Hermes gave a helpless shrug and rolled with the response. “Now, what joke can I make here? What joke can anyone make?” He threw out his arms and shook his head in mock defeat. “She’s literally perfect!”