Where his blood had once been merely red, it now carried microscopic motes of golden light—the faintest echo of ichor. His muscles, while not visibly larger, now contained divine tessellations that could channel power in ways impossible for ordinary flesh.
Every cell had been rewritten with a higher template, though the transformation remained incomplete.
"It worked," he whispered, his voice carrying new harmonics that would trigger unsettling déjà vu in anyone who heard it. "The foundation is laid."
Donatos rose to his feet, water streaming from his body in droplets that seemed reluctant to fall, momentarily defying gravity before returning to their natural state. He tested his transformed body, feeling new potential in every movement. A simple flex of his fingers sent small shockwaves through the water around him. When he inhaled deeply, the air seemed to carry more substance, more nourishment than before.
Outwardly, he appeared the same unremarkable servant who had slipped away hours earlier. Inwardly, he contained the seeds of power that would one day shake Olympus to its foundations.
This was merely the first step—painful and necessary—in his journey back to what he once was.
The Forbidden Time artifact pulsed against his chest in approval, its ancient magic recognizing the change in its bearer. It seemed almost eager now, as though the increased divinity in its host allowed it to express more of its true nature.
"Enjoy your dominion while it lasts," he murmured toward the looming peak of Olympus above, knowing the gods reveled in their palace without an inkling of what stirred below. "The reckoning approaches, one stolen drop at a time."
In the distance, thunder rumbled across a clear sky—a coincidence, surely. Or perhaps, just perhaps, the first whisper of destiny rearranging itself around a fulcrum no immortal had thought to watch.
Donatos gathered his few possessions and began the trek back to the palace. His duties would begin soon, and he must play the part of the humble servant for a while longer. But with each step, he felt the new power settling into his being, becoming part of his new reality.
He smiled—a predator's smile that would have chilled the blood of any witness. The gods had grown complacent in their eternal dominion, never imagining that true threats could arise from their blind spots. Never considering that a servant might contain the soul of their greatest enemy.
Their oversight would be their undoing.
*
Another day of servitude passed with excruciating slowness, each moment a test of Donatos's newfound restraint. The simple act of carrying a water pitcher now required conscious effort not to crush the handle to dust. His heightened senses made the palace an overwhelming symphony of stimuli—the whispered gossip of nymphs three corridors away, the subtle variations in divine perfumes that revealed which immortals had recently visited which chambers.
Most peculiar were the changes to his duties. Where once he had navigated the dangerous proximity of gods daily, now he found himself reassigned to peripheral tasks far from divine gazes.
"Strange coincidence," he muttered while polishing ceremonial platters in a forgotten storeroom. "The day after my transformation, I'm shuffled away from any immortal who might notice something amiss."
A younger servant boy sorting napkins nearby looked up. "Did you say something, Donatos?"
"Nothing of consequence," he replied, forcing a bland smile. "Merely talking to myself. A habit picked up from too many solitary duties."
The boy nodded sympathetically. "They say Kyrillos moved you because of Hera's request. Something about wanting only female servants in her antechamber from now on."
"And Zeus's bathing chambers? I've been replaced there as well."
The boy shrugged. "Leda is handling those duties now. Pretty girl. They say Zeus prefers female attendants for his... private spaces."
"How fortuitous," Donatos said, unable to fully mask the irony in his tone. "Almost as if the Fates themselves wish to keep me from divine scrutiny."
"I'd count yourself lucky," the boy said, returning to his work. "The closer you are to the gods, the more likely you are to catch their attention. And their attention rarely ends well for us mortals."
Donatos merely smiled. If only the boy knew what sort of attention he intended to attract eventually.
Night fell like a velvet curtain, stars hanging in impossible clarity over Olympus. Donatos slipped from the servants' quarters with practiced ease, his movements now carrying a fluid grace that belied his seemingly ordinary appearance.
"Still no official patrol route change," he whispered to himself as he navigated the lesser-used paths. "The gods truly believe their security perfect. Their arrogance makes them blind to innovation."
The familiar route to the secluded river bend felt shorter tonight, his transformed physiology lending his steps new speed and certainty.
The moon hung heavy and golden, casting enough light for ordinary mortals to see by, but Donatos now perceived details with crystal clarity—individual leaves trembling in the night breeze, tiny nocturnal creatures freezing at his approach, the microscopic patterns in the stone beneath his feet.
"Remarkable," he mused. "And this is merely the beginning. A taste of what I once possessed as naturally as breathing."
The river gurgled a greeting as he approached, its waters somehow recognizing the divine essence now flowing through his veins. Small ripples formed against the current, reaching toward him like curious fingers.
"Yes, I've returned," he said to the waters, feeling only slightly foolish for addressing a river. After all, in this realm, even the elements sometimes possessed consciousness. "And tonight, we continue what we began."
Donatos settled cross-legged on a smooth stone at the water's edge, his posture perfect—spine aligned as though an invisible thread pulled upward from the crown of his head. This was not mere meditation but a technique he'd once learned from Apollo himself, before their falling out over a minor matter involving a disputed oracle.
"Breathe in the god-essence," he instructed himself, closing his eyes. "It flows all around Olympus, saturating every molecule of air, every drop of water. Ordinary mortals cannot sense it, much less absorb it."