A couple of pissing matchs

Jane snorted. "Wow. Gods have homework? What’s next, detention from Hades?"

A gust of wind rattled the windows—then silence. The smell of ozone curled through the air. Emily's tail stiffened. "Uh. That’s not—"

The backdoor blew open. A young man in a tracksuit leaned against the frame, winged sneakers hovering an inch off the ground. His grin was all teeth. "Nope, detention’s my department." Hermes tossed three golden scrolls onto the table. They thumped like lead. "Welcome to Club Divine, kiddos. Orientation starts yesterday."

John's mother grabbed Prometheus’ arm. "You promised—"

Hermes winked. "Yeah, yeah. ‘No divine interference.’" He mimed zipping his lips. "Too bad this isn’t interference. It’s enrollment." His gaze slid to Emily, lingering on her glowing brand. "Nice work, Gardener. Turning mortals into personal bonfires? Classy."

Jane flipped him off. "We’re not going."

Hermes’ smile didn’t waver. "Sure you are." He snapped his fingers—and the kitchen dissolved into swirling gold. "Oops. Looks like you already are."

The world reassembled in a courtyard of white marble, where fire spirits—usually shy wisps that haunted the school’s boiler room—now slunk between columns with predatory grace. Emily’s tiger-striped flames had infected them, their once-blue flickers now rippling with the same amber-and-black patterns as her tail. One spirit, larger than the rest, pressed its smoky muzzle against John’s palm like a hound greeting its master.

Jane gagged. "Ugh. They smell like a campfire." She wasn’t wrong—the scent clung thick, heavy, and suffocating.

The alpha spirit growled at her, incandescent drool sizzling on marble. Emily flicked its ear. "Be nice." It whined, nuzzling her thigh instead.

John flexed his fingers; the pack shifted, mirroring the motion. Their heat didn’t burn—it itched, like his blood humming an old song he’d forgotten.

Hermes whistled. "Cute." He tossed a drachma in the air; the largest spirit leapt, swallowing it mid-arc with a gulp of sparks. "Definitely not normal firestarters." His grin sharpened. "Which is why—"

A gong shook the courtyard. The spirits scattered, dissolving into shadows just as a dozen students rounded the corner, their skin shimmering with ancestral blessings. Their eyes locked onto Emily’s flames, then John’s ember-spiral.

One girl—taller, her bronze skin etched with grapevines- she sniffed distastefully. "Who let the thin bloods in? Just look at them, they don't even have their divine lineage showing. Hermes had to bring them, so I assume they are barely divine, what 13th gen or so."

The pack reformed behind John in a bristling arc, ember-teeth bared.

Hermes rolled his wrist—the motion conjuring a holographic family tree that spiraled midair. "She means your divinity’s blood line has thinned because of multiple generations away from your godparent, kid. Like inherited bad eyesight. Most demigods manifest by puberty. You? Still running on mortal software." His grin turned conspiratorial. "Until today."

Hermes rolled his eyes. "Basically she called you divine mutts. Congrats—you’ve met Olympus’ resident elitist." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Dionysus’ brood always reeks of sour grapes."

Silvia’s nostrils flared. "Excuse me—"

Silvia’s lightning scars pulsed violet. "You—"

Jane cut her off with a theatrical curtsy. "Pleased to meet you, Lady Silvia," she purred, fingers fluttering mockingly. "I’m Jane, daughter of Eris. You know—the primordial? The one who invented chaos?" She flicked a finger, and Silvia’s braid unraveled into a nest of writhing snakes. "Oops. Must’ve inherited that."

John’s smirk mirrored hers as he stepped forward, the fire spirits reforming into a corona behind him. "And I’m John." He let the ember in his palm flare—not the tame solar glow Prometheus had gifted him, but something older, hotter, the sketchbook’s blue fire licking at his fingertips. "Son of Margaret Henderson. Son of Prometheus." The courtyard’s torches bent toward him, flames straining like dogs on leashes. "You were saying something about thin blood?"

Silvia’s cohort took a collective step back. One boy’s sandal squeaked against marble.

Hermes whistled. "Damn. Didn’t even need to drop the Titan card." He tossed another drachma—this time at John’s feet. The largest fire spirit snapped it up, then belched a ring of smoke shaped like a crown.

Silvia’s snakes hissed. Her fingers twitched toward the dagger at her belt—then froze as Emily strolled past, tail flicking idly. The tiger-striped flames along her arms rippled, and for a heartbeat, Silvia’s scars dimmed, their violet light drained into Emily’s markings.

"Oops," Emily murmured, not sounding sorry at all. "Did I do that?" She blinked up at Silvia, all false innocence. "Guess your lineage isn’t as strong as you thought."

Jane howled with laughter. Even John’s fire spirits chuffed, sparks dancing in their smoke.

Silvia’s lips peeled back. "You—"

A thunderclap split the air. The courtyard fell silent as a figure descended—not on wings, but on a current of storm, his sandals barely grazing the marble. Dionysus’ gaze swept over them, lingering on Silvia’s disheveled hair and Emily’s smug smirk.

"Enough," he said, and the word stung, thick with the promise of hangovers and regrets. His eyes—too purple, too knowing—locked onto John. "Prometheus’ get, hm?" A grapevine sprouted from the tiles, twining around John’s ankle. "Let’s see if you burn as bright as you boast."

The vine tightened—and ignited, blue fire meeting Dionysus’ divine rot in a hiss of steam and wine-scented smoke.

John grinned. Not at the god, but at the fleeting pressure in his chest—like his ribs were a furnace door swinging open, the flames roared inside, and they were hungry, and they'd been waiting to be unleased.

Dionysus flinched. Just once—a microscopic tremor in his smirk. But John saw it.

Emily’s tail lashed. "Master—"

Jane cackled, kicking a marble chip at Silvia’s snakes. "Ooooh, daddy’s scared!"

Dionysus flicked his wrist. The courtyard warped, columns twisting into grapevines, the sky bleeding purple. Reality itself staggered drunk. "Child. You play with forces—"

John stepped forward. The fire spirits surged with him, their ember-teeth now serrated, smoke coiling into wings. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The fire spoke for him—a roar of blue and gold, the sketchbook’s pages unfurling in the flames, revealing every ****, lonely stroke he’d ever drawn of Emily, of Jane, of himself—visions made real through Titan blood and Eris-spun chaos.

Dionysus stepped back.

Jane whooped. "He stepped back!"

Silvia’s snakes wilted.

Hermes whistled. "Damn. Even I didn’t see that coming."

Emily pressed against John’s side, her flames licking at his skin—not burning, but binding, the fennel roots in her ribs pulsing in time with his heartbeat. "Do it," she whispered, claws pricking his wrist. "Show them."

John exhaled—and the courtyard burned. Not with destruction, but revelation—the fire peeling back layers of marble to expose the bones of Olympus beneath, the strings of fate, the threads even gods couldn’t sever.

Dionysus stared. "You—"

A hand clapped John’s shoulder. Prometheus, grinning like a proud father at a school play. "Told you," he rumbled to Dionysus. "My son burns brighter."

The fire snapped back into John’s veins—leaving only the scent of scorched grapes and the silence of gods who understood, for the first time, that something new had come to Olympus.

And it wasn’t asking for permission.

Jane sat down onto a reformed bench, and started filling her nails. "Holy shit I never expected school to be so fun."

Emily nuzzled John’s collarbone, purring. "You’re amazing."

Hermes grinned, tossing a drachma at Prometheus.

The Titan caught it—and melted it into John’s palm, the gold merging with his skin like ink on parchment. "For luck," he murmured. "Next time..." His eyes glinted. "Try not to scare them too much."

John flexed his fingers. The fire spirits chirred, circling like planets now, not hounds.

Silvia’s snakes hissed—but this time, it sounded like surrender.

John tilted his head toward Jane, still riding the high of Dionysus’ retreat. "Do you want to fix her hair?" He nudged her knee with his foot, grinning. "I think we won this pissing contest. It would be polite."

Jane glanced up from painting her thumbnail with literal stardust—courtesy of Hermes’ earlier wink—and sighed. "Hmm." She surveyed Silvia’s tangled nest of serpents, then rolled her eyes. "Oh, I suppose." With a lazy snap of her fingers, the snakes melted back into Silvia’s braid, sleek as if freshly woven. The demigirl gasped, her fingers flying to her scalp—only to shriek when she fished a rubber serpent from her purse moments later. It squeaked pathetically between her fingers.

Emily snorted, tail flicking against John’s thigh. "Classy."

"Jane," John said, slightly disapproving.

Jane just smirked, then draped her arm on his shoulder and kissed him.

Hermes applauded, tossing another drachma—this one morphing midair into a tiny crown that landed atop Jane’s head. "Chaos points: ten out of ten." He winked at Silvia’s spluttering. "Don’t worry, princess. It’ll turn back to gold once you admit you lost."

Silvia’s lips quivered—not with rage, but something rawer. Her scars flickered, dimming further as she clutched the rubber snake to her chest. "

You think this is funny?" Her voice cracked, too-human in its hurt.

John felt the shift before he saw it—Emily’s flames damped, her tail stilling against his leg. Even Jane’s stardust paused mid-swirl, her smirk faltering.

Silvia threw the rubber snake. It bounced off Jane’s shoulder, squeaking again—a pathetic, wet sound.

"I trained my entire life," Silvia hissed, grapevine scars pulsing irregularly now, "to earn this mark." She yanked her sleeve up, revealing a grapevine brand—fresh, the leaves still bleeding ichor. "And you—" Her glare swung to John, "—you just wake up with Titan blood?"

The courtyard stilled. Even Dionysus blinked, his purple gaze sharpening.

Prometheus sighed, rubbing his temple. "Ah."

Emily flinched, her claws pricking John’s wrist. "Master... her brand’s dying."

And it was—the grapevine blackening at the edges, leaves crumbling to ash. Silvia scrabbled at it, her breath hitching. "No no no—"

John moved before thinking. His fingers brushed the brand—not to heal, but to witness. The sketchbook’s fire surged, its pages fluttering with visions of Silvia kneeling in vineyards, of Dionysus’ knife scorching her arm, of years condensed into this single, fading mark.

"Shit," Jane muttered, crouching beside them. "That’s not supposed to happen."

Dionysus loomed closer, his scent cloying—rotten grapes and honey. "You broke her," he murmured, almost admiringly.

John’s gut twisted. "I didn’t—"

The fire spirits whined, nosing at Silvia’s elbow. One licked the brand—and recoiled, its ember-tongue stained purple.

Emily snarled, tail lashing. "It’s rejecting her." Her claws dug into John’s wrist, anchoring him as the sketchbook’s flames twisted into new shapes—vines, but his vines, blue and gold and hungry.

Silvia sobbed, raw and ugly. "Please—"

John exhaled. The fire answered. Not to consume, but to claim. His fingers pressed harder, and the dying brand shuddered—then bloomed anew, not with Dionysus’ grapes, but with Prometheus’ fennel, its roots weaving through Silvia’s grapevine scars.

Dionysus staggered. "You—"

Silvia gasped, her back arching as the fennel spread, its glow erasing the ichor, the pain, the fear. Her snakes sighed, slithering down to kiss John’s knuckles.

Jane whistled. "Well. That’s one way to make friends."

Emily purred, nuzzling John’s shoulder. "Told you you’re amazing."

Hermes grinned, tossing a drachma at Dionysus’ feet."

The wine god ignored it, his gaze locked on John. "You remade my mark," he said, voice thick with something like awe.

John shrugged, flexing his smoking fingers. "Seemed rude to let it die."

Silvia touched her new brand—his brand—and smiled.

The courtyard exploded in whispers.

Silvia stood—no—she ascended, her grapevines scars now veins of living gold, fennel roots threading through her flesh like divine circuitry. The rubber snake in her grasp melted into a whip of braided fire, its lash cracking the marble tiles with Prometheus’ blue embers.

Silvia stood—no—she ascended, her grapevines scars now veins of living gold, fennel roots threading through her flesh like divine circuitry. The rubber snake in her grasp melted into a whip of braided fire, its lash cracking the marble tiles with Prometheus’ blue embers.