In the golden halls of Olympus stood the temple of Athena, goddess of wisdom and war. The temple was worthy of its mistress; its walls rose with divine precision. It was certainly more humble than the glowing temple of Apollo, and it lacked the threatening grandeur of Zeus's. Yet Athena's temple possessed a unique serenity, a quiet beauty laced with hidden fierceness. After all, no one wanted to be the enemy of Olympus's sharpest mind.
The temple looked as it always did. Still. Eternal. But had anyone dared to step inside—and a man certainly shouldn't, not with Poseidon's offense still fresh in the goddess's perfect memory—they would've heard muffled screams of agony echoing from its depths.
At the heart of the temple, Athena lay in her bed. Beside her stood her half-brother and sister—Apollo and Artemis—working with divine care to ease her pain as they carefully divided her skull.
The maiden goddess was giving birth—this was no ordinary labor, of course. This was the result of her latest intellectual union, the purest form of love in her eyes. She still upheld her oath of maidenhood.
"Hold on a little longer, Athena. It's nearly over," said Apollo, the god of medicine, his voice steady.
With a final, precise motion, he opened his half-sister's skull, and the child was born. Artemis, goddess of childbirth, caught the newborn in her arms with practiced ease.
"Congratulations, sister. He is a healthy boy," she said, gently handing him to his mother.
Athena looked upon her son intently. His silvery-gray eyes—a trait all her children carried—gleamed with curiosity and intelligence, clear even at birth.
"Welcome to the world, my child," the goddess said, her tone unusually soft, almost tender.
But then, her voice shifted—firm, focused.
"Apollo, I need a moment with you." She paused. "You too, Artemis, if you're not busy."
"What is the matter, Athena? Do you need something? Is this about the child's father?" Apollo asked, his tone lined with the calm certainty of a seer. Few things escaped his gaze, and this child's nature was not one of them. He was a demigod, yes—but far more godly than any child of Athena should be.
"Yes. I need you both to come with me—to take him to his father," Athena said, the frustration in her voice thinly veiled.
"But why, sister? Who is his father, that you tread with such caution?" Artemis asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and disbelief.
Athena took a breath before answering.
"His father is Zhuge Jianhong."
"WHAT?!"
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The North American continent is home to the Appalachian Mountains, stretching from the Canadian province of Newfoundland and Labrador to central Alabama in the United States. As one of the oldest mountain ranges in the world, they have long been associated with supernatural phenomena. Hidden deep within these mountains, near New York, lies a secluded and formidable site—one of the last remnants of a forgotten past. Travelers tend to lose their way long before ever reaching its gates. Above those gates, carved into timeless stone, stands a single word: Zhuge.
Unlike most days, today the gates were approached by three figures. A woman clad in bronze armor, a man wrapped in golden robes, and a girl dressed in a silver hunting cloak. As they neared, the massive gates creaked open of their own accord.
A man stood waiting for them. He appeared to be in his prime, tall and lean—perhaps even fragile at a glance, his pale skin like porcelain. But his presence said otherwise. Crimson eyes, like twin rubies, shimmered with a wisdom far beyond his youthful appearance. Long white hair flowed past his shoulders, lending him an air of innate nobility. He wore a blue and white martial robe, simple yet elegant, and his very stance radiated calm and control.
"Athena, Artemis, Apollo," he greeted, his voice tinged with curiosity. "What brings three Olympians to my door? Has Lord Zeus summoned me again?"
Apollo glanced at his sisters—both giving him pointed, unmistakably dangerous looks—before stepping forward.
"Congratulations, my friend. You're a father," he announced with as much lightness as he could manage.
Jianhong's expression froze. His voice turned cold, like frost creeping across steel.
"If this is one of your jokes, Apollo... it will be your last."
In an instant, his aura shifted. The wind around them stirred violently as a blade materialized in his hand—white and blue, its edge sharp enough to threaten both gods and mortals alike.
"I advise you to choose your next words very carefully."
Athena stepped forward calmly, holding a small crib in her arms. "This is your son, Jianhong," she said, her voice steady.
He looked down into the crib. His crimson gaze locked onto the child—and something shifted in him. The sword dissolved into light. He leaned closer, examining the child with his senses even with his qi searching for deception instead he found similarities nearly lost to his memory. Kinship that only ones blood possess. His mind accepted before his heart.
The child opened his eyes and stared back at him—curious, unafraid. Jianhong's hands trembled slightly.
"How?" he asked, barely above a whisper. "I took an oath of celibacy—an oath I have never broken. And you," he glanced up at Athena, "are a maiden goddess."
Athena held his gaze. "My children are not born like others. They are the fruits of mind, not flesh. After our sparring match… our thoughts aligned. Our minds united. This child was born—like me—through thought. From my head."
She hesitated, then continued. "Jianhong, I can't—"
"I know, I know." he interrupted, already turning away with a sigh. "Ancient laws. You can't raise your own children. You're forbidden from helping them. I've heard this before. Herakles calls it bullshit and even though I agree I won't fight Zeus for that prick."
He turned back, his expression sharpening. "And if you came here thinking I'd let my son be raised by that band of drunkards, glory-hounds, and—pardon me—serial adulterers up there on Olympus on the first place, you've lost your divine minds."
The air hung silent for a moment.
"I will raise him," Jianhong said. "He will not grow up among predators. He will become a gentleman. A warrior. Someone this world actually needs."
No one spoke after that. A few more words were exchanged—quiet, tired words—and then the divine trio departed, leaving father and son alone beneath the ancient pines.
Jianhong looked down at the newborn again. His expression softened, and then—unexpectedly—broke into a wide grin.
"I have… a son," he whispered.
And then, louder:
"I HAVE A SON!"
His laughter echoed through the valley, wild and triumphant.
"Eat this, Master—both of you! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
From that day forward, travelers in the Appalachian Mountains reported strange laughter echoing through the misty peaks—laughter that didn't belong to any man or beast.
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AN: Here's my second book. This time I have a lot easier job and Riordan already gave me a good plot. Anyway this is an absolute passion project and includes my favorite genres so I am looking forward to this story. All criticism is expected and welcomed sosay whatever you wish. Anyway thanks for reading.
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