I Am Zeus-Chapter 72: Athena

The halls toward Metis’s chamber were quieter than Hera’s, but not empty.

He could hear them before he saw them—whispers and tension. The weight of waiting. When he turned the corner, the family was there.

Oceanus stood by the marble pillar with folded arms, his face carved from salt and storm. Tethys was pacing, eyes sharp like blades hiding behind age and calm. Dione leaned against the wall, face unreadable, while Eurynome simply looked down, shaking her head slowly.

They all turned the moment Zeus stepped into view.

And no one bowed.

Tethys stepped forward first, her voice sharp. "Now you come?"

Zeus didn’t flinch. Didn’t slow.

"You vanished," Oceanus added, stepping in front of him. "She screamed your name during the worst of it. And you were nowhere."

Still, Zeus didn’t stop walking.

Dione scoffed. "Your first child with a true wife, and you were off playing Godking."

He brushed past Oceanus without a glance, eyes locked ahead.

"You don’t even look guilty," Eurynome said quietly behind him.

"I don’t," Zeus answered simply.

Metis’s door loomed ahead. Plain, unadorned. Unlike Hera’s golden gates, this one was just heavy wood, polished and old. The kind mortals would use. Metis had insisted on it. No divine glow. No enchanted sigils. Just a door.

He opened it without knocking.

Inside, the room smelled of hot water and cedar. Dim torches lined the wall, flickering gently. It was warm—too warm, like a cocoon.

Metis lay on the bed, half-upright, sweat on her brow, silver hair damp and stuck to her cheek. She was dressed in a thin white robe, nothing extravagant. Her sharp grey eyes locked onto him the moment he stepped in.

She didn’t smile.

Zeus shut the door quietly behind him.

For a long second, nothing was said.

Then Metis exhaled sharply and muttered, "Took you long enough."

Zeus walked toward the bed, his boots moving slow against the stone floor.

Metis reached to the side, picked up a wet cloth, and threw it at his chest.

It slapped him softly and fell.

"That’s all I had the strength for," she said flatly.

Zeus caught it before it hit the ground and tossed it gently on the nearby stool.

"You knew I was giving birth," Metis said, her voice steady, but her eyes didn’t hide the anger. "You knew the moment Hera went into labor, so did I. We’re bonded, you and I. The moment the girl stirred inside me, you should’ve felt it."

"I did."

"And?"

Zeus looked down for a moment, then back at her. "I needed to see him."

Metis laughed, short and tired. "Of course you did. You always choose the loudest fire."

"He’s my son."

"And she’s your daughter. One who came into the world quiet and thinking."

He walked to the side of the bed, where the small crib stood. Metis followed his gaze as he peered over it.

The baby was there, wrapped in silver cloth, sleeping in absolute stillness. No twitching. No noise. Just peaceful.

Her tiny face was pale gold, her hair darker than expected. And her hands—folded over her chest like she knew what form mattered most.

"She didn’t cry," Metis whispered. "Just... opened her eyes and stared. Like she was already judging us."

Zeus bent down and lifted her, slow and careful.

The girl shifted a little but didn’t fuss. She looked like she was dreaming something older than Olympus itself.

"She’s heavy," Zeus said.

"She’s not," Metis replied, watching him closely. "You’re just tired."

Zeus sat down beside Metis on the bed, holding the child gently in his lap.

For a while, he just watched her.

"Everyone outside wants my head," he said.

"Good. You deserve a slap or two."

"Your mother wanted to scratch my face."

"She still might."

Zeus smiled a little, then looked down again at the baby. "She’s perfect."

"She’s mine," Metis said softly. "And yours. Whether I like it or not."

He nodded.

Then he touched the baby’s forehead with his.

"She will never be a weapon," he murmured. "Not a pawn. Not a bargaining chip."

Metis didn’t speak, but her gaze softened slightly.

"I’ll name her," Zeus said.

Metis turned her face slowly toward him. "You sure that’s wise?"

Zeus didn’t hesitate. "Yes."

He held the baby closer, eyes gentle but sure.

"Athena," he said. "Not just the goddess of wisdom. But the force that makes mortals think before they kill. The mind before the blade."

The baby shifted slightly in his arms, her brow creasing.

Then—just for a blink—her small fingers reached out, brushing against his chest.

"She agrees," Zeus said.

Metis smirked. "She’s not even a day old."

"She already knows more than I do."

The room went quiet again.

Zeus leaned his head back a little, resting against the bed’s headboard.

Metis turned her head toward him. "You’re not going to run again?"

"No."

"You’ll stay?"

"Yes."

She didn’t smile. But her shoulders relaxed a bit.

"She will never kneel," Metis said.

"She won’t have to."

"She’ll see the world as it is."

"And remake it if she must."

"And the others?"

"They’ll follow. Or fall behind."

Metis closed her eyes for a second. "She’ll hate you one day."

"Then I’ll survive it."

Zeus looked down again.

Athena’s eyes were still closed.

But he could feel it—her mind stirring already. Like a sky cracking before thunder.

"She’s going to change everything," he whispered.

Metis looked at him then, fully. No anger. No sarcasm. Just quiet.

"Good," she said. "Because this world needs changing."

Zeus leaned in and kissed Athena’s forehead.

The baby blinked once, then fell still again. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

Outside the chamber, the rest of the family waited—but they didn’t come in.

Because for now, the storm and the mind that would shape the gods’ future had finally met.

And Olympus held its breath again.

A/N

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