Hercules stared at the golden gates, his heart hammering in his chest. Phil, Cassandra, and Icarus stood behind him, excitement bubbling through them. They would all be allowed in as soon as Hermes made his decree. Until then, the gates were closed to them. Hercules in particular was bursting to get in and see his future home. Ever since he'd found out that he was the son of Zeus, he had craved to live in a place where he would be honored and loved for who he was. And this was a chance like no other, a chance to visit before he was a god. Out of their group, including Hermes's children, Triton alone had been inside the gates.

There was a flash of gold, and the gates silently opened. Hermes stood there, smiling at his little brother. They didn't move until Hermes gestured them forward. Pan bounded forward, shooting past his father to look around with eager eyes. Autolycus snorted and sauntered forward, Hades's helmet of invisibility under his arm; Hercules knew that he never went anywhere without it. It was his greatest treasure, and he had mentioned, with great relish, that Hades still had no idea where it was. Hermaphroditus followed his sisters, who were crowded together and looking about them with bright eyes.

Phil, Cassandra, and Icarus gingerly stepped over the threshold to Olympus, and when nothing terrible happened, they followed Hermes's children. Hercules and Triton continued to stand there. Triton knew that his cousin was overwhelmed with the thought of stepping into the home of the gods, and he nudged him.

"Come on, cuz," he prodded gently.

Hercules glanced at Triton then met Hermes's eyes. When Hermes held out his hand, Hercules stepped over the invisible line that separated him from the rest of his convoluted family. Nothing incredible happened. Nothing noteworthy occurred. It was a single step, but it took him into a world that he had only dreamed of for several years. Hermes linked his arm into his brother's, and Triton stepped through the gates, which closed behind him. The sea god bounded over to walk on the other side of Hermes. Hercules looked around at the ethereal home of the gods. Hermes said nothing as he looked around at his children, who were racing around and exclaiming at everything.

"So this is their first time, too?" Hercules asked.

Hermes nodded, casually strolling across the clouds that made up the floor. His silver eyes were bright, and he cleared his throat.

"Would you like a personal tour?"

Hercules nodded, and Triton smiled. "I think I'm going to rest for a minute or two. I'm exhausted."

Triton moved off to the side and gestured with his hand. A chair formed out of the clouds, and the sea god lowered himself into the cushions with a sigh. He had awoken the day before, purple-tinted and ill, but he had improved rapidly. Still, he got easily tired, and Hercules and Hermes could see that he was purple around the gills. Hermes watched him for a moment then nodded.

"Come on, Herc. Let me give you the grand tour."

Hermes pulled him along and began to point out key places. There was the banquet hall that Hermes commanded to be decorated, and he explained that the gods often put together their different offerings for feasts, and Hercules imagined the table groaning with food, laden so thickly that there was no room for another dish. Hercules's mouth began to water, and he longed to be a part of that. Hermes smiled. He walked over to a small tray and pulled the top off. A gleam of gold shone from a crystal dish and a jeweled goblet stood beside it. Hercules's eyes went wide as Hermes carried the tray over and commanded a small table to form.

"Is… Is that what I think it is?" Hercules asked, his voice quiet.

"Ambrosia and nectar," Hermes replied. He picked up the crystal dish and a crystal spoon. "Have a taste."

"Will it hurt me?" Hercules asked warily.

"Not you. Phil, Cassandra, and Icarus can't have any, but the divine blood in your veins means you can have some."

Hercules frowned. "Then why hasn't Dad brought me some?"

The god of thieves' face turned sour. He tried to speak gently, but the truth he spoke was harsh. "He's not considerate enough." He paused and gritted his teeth. "I'm sorry, Herc, but it's the truth."

Hercules stared at the dish and knew Hermes was right. "It's okay. I know."

Hermes handed the boy the crystalline dish and spoon. "Eat up."

Hercules stirred what looked to be pudding. Its color was like liquid gold with gleaming chunks that sparkled like jewels. He spooned up a bit and sniffed it. It smelled like home, but not Olympus as Hercules had expected. It reminded him of the evenings he'd spent by the fire in his mortal parents' house. He glanced at Hermes, who smiled so that his eyes shone. With that small reassurance, the demigod placed the spoon in his mouth.

Flavor burst across his tongue, but what it was, he couldn't be sure. Was it fresh, roasted lamb from his hometown's celebrations, the kind he'd have seconds and thirds from? Not exactly. Could it be creamy potatoes cooked with herbs, the kind his mortal mother made when he was upset? No, that wasn't it either. He moved it around his mouth, trying to understand what was happening to his taste buds, but he finally swallowed and looked at Hermes questioningly.

"I don't understand," he finally said.

"Did you like it?"

"Yes," Hercules said. He had another mouthful. "But I don't know what it tastes like."

"What do you think it tastes like?" Hermes asked, leaning against the table.

"Everything I loved as a child," Hercules replied. "It's mixed together, but they're all separate, too. It's the best food I've ever had."

Hercules was surprised by that statement, but it was the truth. It was everything he loved, with a variety, and every bite was different and the same. It was the most incredible, most contradictory thing he'd ever had. He finished the bowl of ambrosia then reached for the goblet. It was full of what looked like liquid silver. He swirled it around the cup then swallowed a mouthful. Immediately, he was completely refreshed. The taste was clear and bright, purer than water, sweeter than juice, and more refreshing than spring rain. He drained the nectar and licked his lips.

"That's really good," he said, setting aside the cup.

"I enjoy a nectar every night after the others are asleep," Hermes said, tossing his dark hair over his shoulder. "Helps me sleep."

Hercules smiled and looked at the doorway. He had just experienced something amazing, and yet he was still eager to see more of Olympus. He wanted to mark this occasion, but there was still so much to do.

"So, the tour?" he finally asked.

Hermes smiled and nodded. "Come on."

He showed Hercules his parents' rooms, which were so lavishly decorated that it stung the boy to think of the small hovel he lived in with Phil. And as he saw the rest of Olympus, the gods' and goddesses' radiant rooms, overflowing with silver and gold and jewels and every other luxury, he felt more and more angry. They had all of this stuff? What about the mortals? There had been a famine when he was ten, and he'd seen the suffering of those who had so little. They had to kill half the flock of sheep to survive the lack of food, which had set them back so much money that they had barely climbed out of it after three years. Yet the gods had so much food that they could afford to waste it.

Hermes eventually paused outside a door, his face warm. Hercules looked around.

"What's in there?"

"It's my room," Hermes murmured. "Nobody ever goes in there except me. Never had a visitor. They always just yell for me."

Hercules nodded. "You don't have to."

Hermes smiled. "I know."

He opened the door and pulled Hercules inside. The room was nothing like the rooms of the other gods. It was simple, almost rustic. The intoxicating scent of flowers wafted from the flora that grew along the walls, which were covered with vines. Two trees bloomed in the corners by the bed with white and red blossoms. Their branches intertwined. above the bed, forming a natural, living canopy. The bed was made up with soft blue blankets, and several pillows were propped against the headboard.

Along the right wall was a wooden dresser that looked as if it were homemade and hand-carved. Delicate flowers linked with carved vines formed the handles, and on top were several trinkets. Along the left wall were busts of two women. One was formed from red stone, the other from black. Hercules wandered over and studied them. He was about to ask Hermes who they were when the door was pushed all the way open. Pan and his siblings stood there, looking ready to explode with happiness, but Pan's mouth snapped shut as he looked around the room. His eyes lingered on the two trees and tears filled his eyes. He looked at Hermes, his bottom lip trembling.

"Are those from Mom?" he asked, his voice hoarse with pain.

Hermes looked at the trees and nodded. "Yes, Pan. I asked her and then cut two blossoms and planted them here."

Pan moaned, gripping the doorway as if he could hardly stay standing. Autolycus looked alarmed and grabbed him.

"Lay him down," Hermes said, gesturing to the bed.

"What's wrong?" Hercules asked. "What did he mean by mom?"

"Apollo tried to rape Dryope," Hermes said softly. "That's Pan's mother. When she refused, he turned her into a tree. I can't save her."

Hercules looked closer at the trees as Hermes walked over to cradle Pan. Tyche and Angelia were caressing different trinkets on the dresser, while Hermaphroditus walked over to study the busts.

"Who are these women?" he asked.

Autolycus glanced over then paused. "Mom?" he asked, a strange tone in his voice.

Angelia turned and hurried over once her eyes landed on the obsidian bust. "It is Mom!" she exclaimed. "Who's the red one?"

"Pan's mother," Hermes said. "I carved them myself. As a reminder."

Pan groaned, a shudder of pain wracking his body. Hermes traced one of his horns idly, murmuring gentle words to him. Hercules stared around and saw new meaning in this simple room. It wasn't full of gold and material possessions. It was full of memories and love, like his home growing up had been. Pan finally sat up and reached his trembling fingers out. The tree branches dipped down, and several blossoms floated down around him. He smiled.

"I love your room, Dad. It's perfect." He paused and looked over at the dresser. "You even kept my stupid attempt at wood carving."

"I told you I would," Hermes said, cupping one of the blossoms in gentle hands. "And you never gave me one to replace it, so of course it's still here."

Hercules watched as Pan's face turned scarlet, but he didn't miss the smile that flashed across the bashful face. One look at Hermes's other children, and Hercules felt like crying himself. There was love and devotion on each face, and Hercules suddenly missed his mortal parents with painful clarity. Zeus had never looked at him like that, nor had Hera. He had always felt inadequate around his godly parents, but Pops had never needed him to become something completely different in order to be proud of him and love him. Hercules gritted his teeth, and Hermes glanced at him. Whatever the god saw in his brother's face prompted compassion. Before he could speak, Hercules shook his head, bitter anger clogging his heart, and before Hermes's kids could see him cry, he stormed off to Zeus's rooms, where he let the tears fall.

But in that luxurious room, full of cold riches and no love, he found no respite from his pain, and he began to sob. After a few minutes, a gentle hand fell on his shoulder. Hercules looked up at Hermes then buried his face in his brother's shoulder. Hermes held him tight, his own tears falling into Hercules's red hair.

"I know it hurts," Hermes whispered.

Hercules couldn't have agreed more, but all that came out was another sob. Hermes only held him tighter, and in that embrace was a promise more precious than anything Zeus had ever told him.

I won't leave you alone, it said. And Hercules believed it.