I wake up at six in the morning, as the first light of dawn pierces through the transparent glass panes of the towering crystal spire at the peak of Olympus. To be honest, I'm still not used to Olympus looking like some earthly tech city. Gone are the blinding white marble columns and the grand steps leading up to the radiant throne; in their place are floating buildings, transparent energy corridors, and glowing orbs for transportation. Everything is run by the "Divine Net," a system that coordinates energy and workloads across the entire divine realm—something Hermes invented after ditching his messenger gig to become a divine tech expert.
I am Atheon—the god of Creation and Power, from the fifth generation of Greek gods. If you haven't heard of me, that's not surprising. Even down on Earth these days, people don't believe in gods anymore. They believe in machines, social media platforms, pop stars, or celebrities more than the powerful entities ruling from above. That's exactly why faith energy—our primary source of power—has been dwindling over the centuries. There was a time when a single mortal kneeling in prayer was enough for us to hear, appear, bless, or punish. But now, prayers are nothing more than faint echoes in the void.
About a thousand years ago, when everything was on the verge of collapse, Zeus—our eternal father—summoned all the remaining gods to the Grand Hall. I was still a young god back then, standing amid a crowd of white-bearded deities whose auras of power were fading like dying lamps. Zeus declared it was time for change. From then on, faith energy would be replaced by fame energy—a new kind of power drawn from human attention and adoration. "If mortals no longer believe in us," Zeus said, "at least let them know us." That statement reshaped the entire order of Olympus.
Since that day, the gods have been reborn with new identities. Some became singers, others actors; some started media companies, and a few even became streamers or influencers on Earth. All for one goal: boost fame, increase fame energy, and keep our divinity from fading away. And I, dubbed the strongest god of the fifth generation, am no exception.
Olympus now feels like a divine version of Los Angeles. Every morning, as I open my window, a light ozone-scented breeze brushes my face, and in the distance, clouds drift past massive airborne billboards. One of them advertises Aphrodite's new perfume line—"Divina Amore"—with her seductive face magnified tenfold, her sparkling eyes gazing directly at the viewer. Right beside it is Apollo's billboard, holding an electric guitar, promising his "Heavenly Lights Tour 2025" concert. Lower down, in the cloud tiers below, are the residential areas for demigods, nymphs, and satyrs—they live, work, and run companies serving the gods, just like on Earth.
My company is on the eighth cloud tier, in the "Elysium Complex" commercial district, home to mid-tier divine businesses. It's called "NymphaTech"—sounds techy, but we're actually in the "divine image consulting" field. In simple terms, it's where gods come to rebrand themselves or boost their fame through media campaigns, promo videos, or community events. Mortals have PR firms; gods have me.
My employees are mostly nymphs—half-divine, half-nature beings who are beautiful, intelligent, and incredibly savvy with earthly trends. They're the spirits of springs, forests, and winds, and now the spirits of "content." I can say without hesitation that without them, NymphaTech couldn't run for a single day.
My morning starts with a cup of nectar coffee—a blend of heavenly flower nectar and earthly coffee beans that keeps my mind sharp and energy steady. I stand on the balcony, gazing down at the swirling clouds below, feeling a mix of pride and vague unease. As the strongest of the fifth generation, I can wield pure energy, destroy an entire island with a flick of my wrist, but most of my time is spent in meetings, fame revenue reports, and ad contracts with other gods. That's our world now—power measured in followers, divine light converted into views and positive comments.
When I step into the office, the nymphs are already bustling about. Our workspace has no walls—just an open area with hovering light mists, desks of transparent stone etched with tech runes, and everything directly linked to the Divine Net. A silver-haired nymph named Lyra approaches, her voice sweet as honey:
"Lord Atheon, today we have three main appointments: the meeting with Apollo about the music collaboration campaign, the live interview on OlympusTV, and finally, the launch of the 'Light for Humanity' charity project."
I frown slightly. "Charity? Since when do we do that?"
Lyra smiles, her eyes sparkling like an autumn lake. "You know how it is. Philanthropic activities boost your 'divine goodwill' score. The more loved you are, the stronger your fame energy."
I sigh. Sometimes I wonder if Zeus ever imagined his plan would turn us from mighty beings into attention addicts. But then I remember the dark days when faith energy waned, when all of Olympus sank into shadow, and I know this is still better than vanishing.
The meeting with Apollo takes place in the crystal conference room, where the lighting adjusts to match everyone's mood. Apollo enters with a radiant smile, his golden hair like morning sunlight. He's now Olympus's top music superstar, with billions of followers on DivineTube—the divine video platform linked directly to earthly social media. He claps me on the shoulder familiarly:
"Atheon, long time no see! I hear your company's growing fast. Want to collaborate? I'm planning a new album called 'Celestial Pulse,' and I want the promo imagery to have a modern divine vibe. You're the only one I trust to pull it off."
I nod, smiling faintly, but my mind is already calculating. A project with Apollo means massive fame— one viral song from him drags my name along for the ride. We talk for two straight hours about light, music, energy, and human emotions—which he calls "eternal inspiration."
When the meeting ends, I stand before a full-body energy mirror. In it, my reflection isn't quite human or fully divine. My eyes glow faintly, my hair shimmers silver-blue, my tall, muscular frame radiates invisible power. I used to be proud of that appearance, but now I wonder if anyone on Earth truly sees us anymore. They only see illusions—ads, edited videos—not the real presence of gods.
The OlympusTV interview follows right after. The host is a famous nymph who specializes in interviewing "trending" gods. She fires off questions: my feelings as the strongest fifth-gen god, my views on fame replacing faith, and my future plans. I answer with smiles and polished words, like a pro PR artist. But deep down, I feel myself drifting from my true nature. I was born to create, protect order, fight chaos—not smile for the camera.
In the afternoon, I attend the "Light for Humanity" launch—a massive charity campaign spearheaded by Hera. The goal is to help mortals regain faith in goodness, and of course, boost the gods' fame. The stage floats in mid-air, packed with thousands of divine beings, Olympus press, and even a few invited human ambassadors for speeches. As I step up to speak, the crowd erupts in cheers, fame energy surging around me like ocean waves. I feel it—the sparkling, swirling energy flooding my body, powerful and sweet as wine.
In that moment, I understand why Zeus chose this path. Fame isn't just attention; it's connection—a new form of belief. Mortals may not pray anymore, but they still look up to us, even if just through screens. And as long as they remember our names, Olympus endures.
When the event ends, I return to the office, exhausted but mind ablaze. Lyra approaches, placing a cup of shimmering silver water on my desk.
"You were amazing today, Lord Atheon," she says softly. "Your fame levels rose nearly thirty percent in one day."
I chuckle. "Thirty percent, huh? Zeus might be pleased."
"He's always pleased with you," Lyra replies, her eyes holding something more than admiration.
I gaze out the window, where Olympus's lights are flickering on against the deep purple dusk. In the distance, Zeus's spire glows golden, lightning flickering around the dome like the breath of an old king still guarding the world. I lean back in my chair, letting my thoughts drift. Tomorrow, it'll be more meetings, contracts, camera smiles. But deep in my heart, part of me yearns for the old days—when a single prayer could summon me from the sky to shake the earth.
But those times are gone. Now, power lies not in faith, but in the gaze of millions before screens. And if that's the rule of the age, then I—Atheon, strongest god of the fifth generation—will master it.
I raise the last of my nectar cup, its light reflecting on the desk like a thousand shattered stars. I smile faintly, murmuring to myself:
"A god's workday… perhaps no different from a mortal's. But at least, we still exist."
Outside, the clouds part, revealing a night sky streaked with the brilliant Milky Way. And in that hazy glow, Olympus shines on—not as a city of faith, but of fame, where gods continue to live, to shine, never to be forgotten.