Zeus Olym stood at the foot of Mount Olympus with empty hands. Above him waited twelve stone thrones, one of them unclaimed. He wanted that seat. But the pantheon would not hear a man who could not prove he ruled the sky, and Zeus carried no proof at all. A gatekeeper blocked the first step. She was old and small, with a voice like grinding rock. "Claimants speak with power, not words," she said. "Show me the sky obeys you, or turn back." Zeus had nothing to show. He had walked here on rumor and hope. His father once told him the sky answered his blood, but his father was gone, and the sky had stayed silent his whole life. He raised his hand toward the gray clouds. Nothing came. The gatekeeper laughed. "Another beggar," she said. She pointed to a stone table beside the path. On it lay two tests. "Wisdom first. Then strength. Fail either and you are done." The first test was a riddle carved into the table. It asked what strikes without hands and breaks stone without a blade. Zeus thought of storms he had watched as a boy. He thought of trees split black in the fields. "Lightning," he said. The carved letters glowed. A hidden latch clicked, and the table opened. Inside lay a cloth banner, rolled tight. Zeus unrolled it. The banner showed a man with a red cape, driving a curved blade into a towering giant. The man stood firm while the giant reached to crush him. "Strength," the gatekeeper said. "The banner names your trial. Behind that ridge waits a giant. Beat it, and the sky may listen. Most claimants never come back down." Zeus climbed the ridge. The giant waited in a bare hollow, gray-skinned and taller than three men. It swung a fist the size of a boulder. Zeus dropped flat. The blow cracked the rock where he had stood. He had no blade like the hero on the banner. He had only his hands and the giant's own weight. When the giant lunged again, Zeus rolled behind its heel and shoved. The huge body pitched forward. It fell hard and struck its head on stone. It did not rise. Zeus stood over it, chest heaving, alive. The clouds above split with a sudden crack. A jagged bolt of electricity dropped from the sky and struck the fallen giant. It did not scatter. It held its shape in the air, branching and alive, humming beside Zeus like a living thing. He reached out and closed his hand around it. The bolt did not burn him. It answered him. Zeus turned toward the twelve thrones with the bolt in his fist. He had his proof now. But as he looked up, he saw the thrones were not empty of watchers. Eleven figures stared down at him, and none of them looked pleased that a stranger held the sky.