The Gates of Tartarus | I ✓

4. The Gods Don't Smite Me, Thankfully

Hehe. Yep. So, uh, sorry. I know I said I would have it up in, like, two days, when it really took me, like, ten, but, if I'm gonna be honest, I kinda forgot about this book. Just a little. Without further adieu, here's chapter 4!

The thought of meeting Artemis was nerve-wracking. In the myths, she had been described as cold, with more fondness for nature than humanity, though I knew it was unfair to judge before having even met her. I supposed that everybody had their good and bad days, and I just had to hope she was in a good mood, though that didn't help my nerves.

My worries vanished when I saw Olympus.

I had always thought of it as a single temple, but Apollo and I had stepped into what was clearly a city—a sprawling, busy metropolis. The temple was still there, of course, but it was in the distance, shrouded by a thick layer of mist, because it wasn't the main attraction.

We were in what seemed like the downtown area, a mess of different buildings lining the roads—some were ancient, some modern, and some a bizarre blend of both. There were grand marble buildings with painstakingly carved pillars and painted steps, giant glass skyscrapers with golden trim and marble steps, and little modern cafes complete with umbrellas, chairs, and wooden tables, where customers sat sipping their coffees and smoothies.

As we walked, the citizens—gods, I realized numbly—stopped to stare, murmuring to their friends, expressions wary. Not that I blamed them. Not only was I an outsider and, apparently, one of the first people in Olympus in a long time, but I was trying not to stare too. Their fashion, like their architecture, seemed ageless too; some wore togas and chitons, others donned medieval gowns and tunics, and some even sported jeans and a t-shirt, like me.

The next street we turned down reminded me of Oxford Street—there were towering marble and glass buildings—clearly shops—lining the street, but I couldn't have recognized any of the brands. While the huge, neon signs displayed at the front of the stores were clearly visible, its language was foreign to me. It seemed to be some sort of ancient dialect—some ancient Greek language, if I had to guess. No doubt those were Olympus' high fashion brands.

I guess Apollo made things easier. He was like a kid with ADHD. He couldn't stop bouncing around giddly, humming and drumming his fingers. It made me feel like people were staring because of him, not me, though I wondered if it were true too. Apollo was an Olympian, and maybe Olympians were celebrities. Then again, some of them were younger than the so- called minor gods, so perhaps not.

I tried not to think about it.

"Behold," Apollo said as we approached a massive mansion of white and silver. "The abode of Artemis."

Almost like she heard Apollo, the front door swung open.

A young girl, perhaps fifteen, was leaning against the doorway, head tilted, her expression fond with annoyance. I had, for some reason, been expecting Artemis to be wearing silvery hunting gear, with her bow and quiver, and even a crescent tiara wouldn't have been out of place.

Instead, her t-shirt, drawstring pants, and combat books made her look... relatively normal. Well, other than that inhumane beauty and grace the gods all seemed to have.

Despite being twins, she looked nothing like Apollo. Where his hair was silken sunlight, hers was shining ink; where his eyes were a summer sky's, hers were a starry night's; where his sun kissed skin glowed honeyed gold, hers flickered liquid silver, as if she were moonlight's master and it a simple servant.

Yet they both had a mischievous look to their faces, the same adventurous spark in their eyes, the same playful look to their expressions. She was a far cry from the emotionless goddess I had been nervous to meet.