I Am Zeus
Chapter 67: Going To The Mortal Realm

Chapter 67: Going To The Mortal Realm

The sky over Greece that morning was a pale gold—thin clouds stretched across the heavens like faded scrolls. And beneath them, the mortal realm pulsed quietly. Not with the roar of wars or cries of conquest, but with the soft rhythms of life.

Goats climbed narrow hills. Merchants shouted beneath faded canopies. A mother scolded her children in a dusty alley.

And in the midst of it... a man walked.

He wore no crown. No lightning danced in his veins. No divine glow traced his skin. Just a cloak—earth-colored and rough—and a pair of sandals too thin for the road.

He had brown hair now. A short beard. Human eyes.

Zeus—King of Olympus, Father of the Skies—walked among mortals for the first time in a long, long time.

And no one knew.

A boy passed him with a basket of bread. "Watch it," the boy said, bumping his side. Zeus stepped aside and smiled faintly.

This was different. Real. There was no divine music here. No aura that made mortals fall to their knees. Just sweat, dirt, and breath.

He wandered through the agora. The smells hit first—spices, olives, blood from fresh-cut meat. Then the sounds.

Priests stood at shrines, calling to the gods in different tongues. Some shouted praises to him—Zeus, thunder-bringer, protector of oaths. Others prayed to Hera. To Demeter. A few still whispered to the Titans in secret.

And then...

"Shangdi protect my house," said a traveler from the east, kneeling beside a carved stone he carried with him.

Zeus blinked. Stared. That name wasn’t Greek.

He moved closer. Watched. The man prayed in Mandarin. The words were foreign, but the feeling wasn’t. It was faith. Raw. Open. Desperate.

Another corner. A woman traced an Egyptian symbol onto the wall with ash and kissed her fingers.

A man lit a candle before a small wooden idol from India. Another dropped coins into a bowl marked with Norse runes.

And it hit Zeus—not like a strike, not like lightning, but like the soft press of waves against skin.

The mortal realm... wasn’t just Greek anymore.

It had changed.

And yet, all of it—every prayer, every whisper, every offering—flowed upward, through the thin veil of sky... into them. The divine realm.

This world was the anchor. The heart of belief.

And it beat louder than he remembered.

He moved again, blending into the crowd. No one recognized him, not even the old priest chanting his name. That priest had no idea the very god he prayed to was brushing shoulders with beggars and children just a few feet away.

At the edge of the market, a group of men argued over taxes. One of them slammed his hand on the table. "By Zeus, I swear I’ll burn this stall down!"

Zeus raised an eyebrow.

"Don’t do that," he muttered, walking past them.

The road dipped into a small village just outside the main city. There, life slowed. Homes were humble. Roofs sagged. Chickens ran freely.

He sat on a rock beneath a fig tree and just... watched.

A girl ran barefoot across the dirt, laughing as a dog chased her. A woman carried water jars up the hill, her back curved like a question mark. An old man rested near the well, face turned to the sun.

Zeus closed his eyes.

For a moment, he forgot who he was.

And when he opened them again, something tugged at his side.

A boy—maybe five—stood there, holding up a bruised fruit. "You dropped this, mister."

Zeus stared at the boy, then looked down. The fruit hadn’t been his.

But he took it. "Thanks."

The boy nodded, but didn’t leave. "You from the mountains?"

Zeus thought. "Something like that."

"You look sad," the boy said bluntly.

"I’ve seen a lot," Zeus replied.

The boy didn’t ask more. Just sat beside him. "Wanna see something cool?"

Before Zeus could answer, the boy ran ahead, waving for him to follow.

They crossed a hill and came to a quiet field. And there, beneath the open sky, the boy pointed upward. "Look," he said. "That’s where the gods live, right?"

Zeus didn’t respond at first. Just watched the boy point at nothing. The sky was empty, clear and blue.

"Maybe," he said.

"My grandma says they watch us. All the time."

Zeus turned toward the boy. "And do you believe that?"

The boy hesitated. "Sometimes." He looked down. "But sometimes I think they forget."

Zeus felt that one. Deep.

"What would you say to them... if they were listening right now?" Zeus asked.

The boy shrugged. "I’d say... don’t forget us."

Silence.

Zeus stood slowly, placing the fruit beside the boy.

"I won’t," he said.

And then he left.

Later that evening, as the sky burned red with the setting sun, Zeus walked into a small temple—barely more than a shrine. No priests. Just candles.

Inside, he knelt. For the first time. In a long, long time.

He didn’t pray.

He listened.

To the voices. The ones that rose from every corner of the world.

From Greece. From China. From Egypt. From the cold north and burning east.

And they were all different.

But they reached the same sky.

His sky.

He whispered, "You’re all still looking up." _{free\we,bnovel.c o(m)}

A pause.

Then, quietly, to himself—like a god who had remembered something old, something human:

"I see you now."

The next morning, Zeus returned to Olympus. His feet bare. His cloak dusty. His eyes not glowing, but clear.

And in the halls of heaven, gods felt a shift. A breeze. Something subtle, but powerful.

Their king had walked the world.

And he’d come back with no thunder, no flame—just quiet knowing.

The mortal realm... mattered.

And soon, when the children of gods were born and the heavens stirred again, he would remember that walk. That boy.

That promise.

"I won’t forget you."

A/N

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