The last time Aether tried a full storm over Manhattan, three windows blew out of his own building and a pigeon fell dead onto his balcony. Since then he had trained in secret, in empty warehouses and on private islands owned by the Alderwyne trust. None of it was big enough. His power was still growing, and Olympus was still watching. If he cracked a god by accident, that god would answer him back, and no mortal weapon rule would save him from another god's spear. So he stood in the center of a golden coliseum on Olympus, in his blue and gold suit, and pulled on the gauntlets his sister had made him. The metal locked cold against his wrists. Above him, the tiers were empty. The ring was built for war games between gods, its floor scarred by older, bigger fights than his. Here, at least, the walls could take him. Sophia leaned on the rail in her lapis suit, tablet in hand. "Cape off," she said. "It drags on the wide arcs. I saw it last time." Aether unclipped the gold cape and tossed it to her. "The gauntlets pull the charge into your palms first," she said. "Don't fight them. Let them eat it, then throw." She did not look up from her screen. "And stop clenching your jaw. You always clench when you're scared." Apollo sat on the lowest step, lyre across his knee, sunlight bright in his hair. He plucked one string, then another, and the arena's air steadied. "Breathe with the note," he said. "When you lose the rhythm, I'll bring you back." He smiled the way he smiled at everyone. Aether hated how much it still helped. He raised his hands. The sky inside the coliseum turned black in three seconds. Wind screamed up the tiers. Lightning cracked from his right gauntlet into the far wall and split the marble in a clean white line. He held it. He held it longer than he ever had. The gauntlets ran hot but did not burn. Sophia called numbers he could barely hear. Apollo's lyre kept a low, steady pulse under the thunder. Aether pushed harder. A second bolt tore from his left hand, then a third, and the arena floor rang like a struck bell. He pulled the storm back into his chest and closed his fists. The clouds thinned. The wind died. The scorched stone hissed and went quiet. Sophia lowered the tablet. "You held eleven seconds at full output. Last month you held two." Apollo set the lyre down and stood. He was not smiling now. "Zeus felt that," he said. "All of Olympus felt that. He wants to see you in the throne room. Tonight." Aether looked at his gauntlets. Steam rose off them. He had a place to train. He had proof he could hold the storm. And now the king of the gods knew exactly how much power his supposed son could throw.

Steam still curled off the gauntlets when Aether stepped out of the golden coliseum. Apollo walked beside him. Sophia trailed a pace behind, tablet tucked under her arm, cape folded over her wrist. The three of them crossed the bright stone toward the palace on the far ridge. Aether kept his hands open at his sides. He did not trust his fists yet. "I need to know what he already knows," Aether said. "Before I open my mouth in there." Apollo did not slow. "He felt the surge. That's all he told me. He didn't say how much he read from it." He glanced over. "If you walk in and confess to eleven seconds, and he only felt three, you've handed him a knife." Sophia caught up. "Then don't confess to anything. Let him ask. Answer only what he asks. Short sentences. No numbers." She looked at Aether the way she looked at a bad line of code. "You clench when you're scared. Don't clench in front of him." The palace doors were already open. Zeus stood at the far end of the throne room, not on the throne, but beside it, one hand resting on the arm. Lightning moved under his skin like slow water. He waved Apollo and Sophia back at the threshold. They stopped. Aether walked the length of the floor alone. He stopped six paces from the throne and waited. "You lit the sky over my mountain," Zeus said. "For eleven seconds. In a closed ring. With gauntlets and a lyre steadying you." He did not raise his voice. "I know what I felt. I know what my daughter built for you. I know Apollo was there. Tell me one thing, boy. Are you training to hold it, or training to throw it?" Aether's throat went dry. Zeus already had the number. He already had the room. The trap Sophia warned him about was closed before he stepped into it. He thought about lying. He thought about the spear a god could put through him if he lied wrong. "To hold it," he said. "I can throw it. I don't want to. I want to stop being afraid of my own hands." He raised the gauntlets a little, palms up. "That's why she made these." Zeus looked at him a long moment. Then he sat down on the throne. "Good answer," he said. "You will train here, in my sight, three days a week, until I say otherwise. Apollo will bring you. Sophia will measure you. If you lie to me again by leaving something out, I will know. Go." Aether bowed his head and turned. At the door, Sophia met his eyes and did not ask. She had already read his face. The training he had done in secret was no longer his. It belonged to Olympus now.

The next training day, Aether landed on the arena floor with the white pegasus folding its wings behind him. Sophia was already on the sand with her tablet. Apollo leaned against a column, arms crossed. Aether unbuckled the gold reins and let the pegasus walk to the shaded end. He held up his hands. The gauntlets caught the morning light. "I need to know what's happening inside me when I surge," he said. "Last time I held eleven seconds. I don't know how close I came to breaking. If I go in front of him again blind, I'll cross the line and not feel it." Sophia tapped her screen. "The gauntlets already read you. I built sensors into the palm plates and the wrist bands. I just never showed you the numbers." She swiped, and thin gold lines lit along the carvings on both gauntlets. "Green is safe. Amber is your ceiling. Red means stop or you tear something. I can push the readout to the inside of your forearm so only you see it." Aether flexed his fingers. Faint numbers bloomed on the inner cuff, cool against his skin. Apollo pushed off the column. "Start low. Don't chase the eleven. Chase the line where amber starts." Sophia nodded. "Ramp in one-second steps. Call the color out loud. I log it." He raised his right hand. A thread of lightning coiled between his fingers. "Green," he said. He pushed harder. The cuff shifted. "Green. Green. Amber." He stopped at four seconds and let the charge die. He tried again, and again. On the sixth run he held amber for two full seconds before the numbers spiked. The cuff went red. He clamped his fist shut. Thunder cracked once inside the arena and stopped. He was breathing hard, but he was standing, and nothing around him was on fire. Sophia looked up from the tablet. "You cut it at red. First time you've ever cut yourself off from the inside." Apollo whistled low. "That's the whole thing, Conner. Not how big. When to stop." Aether stared at the fading numbers on his cuff. For the first time, the power felt like a dial instead of a flood. He could feel where safe ended. He could feel where he ended. He flew back to the palace at dusk with the pegasus climbing easy under him. Zeus stood on the wide steps, waiting. Aether landed and held up the gauntlets, cuffs still glowing faint green. "I can read myself now," he said. "I know when to stop." Zeus studied the readout a long moment. "Good," he said. "Then next session, you show me the ceiling. In front of me. If the number lies, I will know before you do." Aether bowed his head. The dial was his. The test had just moved.