The Great Hall's architectural design suggested equality—concentric circular tables arranged without obvious hierarchy, unified by a common dome that collected divine light and redistributed it evenly throughout the space.
A beautiful illusion of egalitarianism that practice immediately shattered.
Reality manifested in unwritten rules and invisible boundaries more impenetrable than physical walls. The innermost circle, closest to the instructors' elevated dais, belonged exclusively to the children of the Big Three—Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades and other direct Divine children. Their table stretched longest, curved to accommodate their significant numbers, yet somehow maintained subtle demarcations within its unity.
Alexios paused at the entrance, his practiced servant's instinct for observing power dynamics providing instant assessment. The children of Zeus dominated the table's prime central arc—Hercules's massive form impossible to miss, his laughter booming across the hall as he clapped Perseus on the back with enough force to stagger any lesser being.
Beside them sat Helen, her beauty already transcendent despite her youth, commanding attention without effort or intention.
The twins Castor and Pollux engaged in some private joke while Minos, Sarpedon, and Rhadamanthus—the three sons of Europa—maintained the dignified bearing of future judges and kings.
Arcas, Lacedaemon, and Tantalus completed Zeus's impressive lineage, their seating positions subtly reflecting their status within the divine hierarchy—proximity to Hercules and Perseus indicating relative standing rather than any official designation.
"The royal court is already forming," Alexios thought with grim amusement. "Politics begin before education."
Poseidon's offspring occupied the table's right curve—Theseus at their center, his casual confidence marking him as their natural leader despite Triton's technical status as legitimate heir to the sea throne.
The merman prince seemed content with this arrangement, his scaled lower half accommodated by a specialized water basin rather than standard seating. Near them, the towering Polyphemus hunched awkwardly, his single eye blinking with discomfort at the bright hall.
Charybdis, her beauty belying her future as a devouring whirlpool, sat beside Orion, whose hunter's gaze constantly scanned the room as though seeking prey even at mealtime.
Completing the powerful triumvirate, Hades's children claimed the table's left curve—their section noticeably quieter, wrapped in subtle shadows despite the hall's enchanted illumination.
Melinoe and Macaria sat with perfect posture, the spectral daughter occasionally flickering between corporeal and incorporeal states while her sister's gentle radiance counterbalanced her unsettling aura. Zagreus watched the room with intense focus, his fingers constantly moving as though practicing unseen skills.
Plutus absently created and dissolved small gemstones between his fingers while conversing with Askalaphos, whose owl-like eyes missed nothing.
"All of them," Alexios whispered, momentarily overwhelmed by the temporal impossibility. "Together."
In his original timeline, these figures had existed across different eras—some already legendary when others were merely being born.
Yet here they sat as contemporaries, fellow students rather than figures from disconnected chapters of myth and legend. The Forbidden Time artifact had not merely regressed him but fundamentally altered reality's chronology.
"Did you say something?" Lyra asked beside him.
"Just noting the power concentration," he recovered smoothly. "Every major divine line represented at once."
She nodded understanding. "Unprecedented gathering. The Academy usually staggers attendance of major bloodlines to prevent... incidents. Someone's made a significant policy change."
They proceeded to their assigned table in the outermost ring—the furthest possible position from both the central power nucleus and the instructors' dais. Here sat the Academy's anomalies: scholarship students, minor divine offspring with limited heritage, and Alexios himself, the servant elevated beyond station but not yet accepted as true student.
"Practically in another realm," Lyra noted with academic detachment rather than bitterness. "Though the view for observation is superior."
"Always find advantage in apparent disadvantage," Alexios agreed, claiming a seat that allowed clear sightlines to both the main table and entrance. "Distance provides perspective."
Their table companions reflected the Academy's diversity of supernatural classifications—a young satyr whose lineage connected distantly to Pan's minor cousins rather than the goat-god himself; a dryad bound to an unremarkable olive rather than one of Athena's sacred trees; two demigods so far removed from their divine ancestors that their supernatural abilities manifested as little more than unusual luck or slightly enhanced physical capabilities.
All shared the same unspoken status: important enough to merit Academy admission, insignificant enough to be relegated to educational afterthought.
Perfect camouflage for one concealing true power—except for what happened next.
The instructors entered in ordered procession, their arrival triggering immediate quieting among the student body. Callista led the academic faculty, followed by Eurytion and other tier instructors.
Behind them came specialized teachers for particular divine abilities—elemental manipulators, prophecy interpreters, divine armorers. Last came Achilles himself, his legendary presence commanding attention despite his deliberately understated entrance.
The hero-turned-instructor nodded acknowledgment to several First Tier students—primarily those from Zeus's bloodline—before taking his place at the dais.
Just as conversations began to resume, the hall's massive doors swung open once more. The quality of light itself seemed to shift, taking on a silvery cast that rendered colors simultaneously more vivid and more precisely defined.
A collective intake of breath preceded immediate silence as recognition spread through the assembly.
Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and patron deity of the Academy itself, stood at the threshold. Her appearance demonstrated why lesser beings could never truly mimic divine presence—it wasn't merely physical perfection but reality itself acknowledging her significance, ambient energy responding to her existence like ocean currents adjusting around a submerged mountain.
Students rose as one, heads bowed in respect—even the mighty offspring of Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades showing appropriate deference to the Wisdom Goddess. Instructors likewise stood at attention, surprise evident in their expressions despite attempted professional composure.
"Unusual," Lyra whispered, barely audible even to Alexios beside her. "She never attends regular functions. Something significant must be happening."
Athena acknowledged the assembly with a minimal nod—divine efficiency personified, conveying recognition while eliminating unnecessary ceremony.
Her storm-gray eyes swept the hall in a single comprehensive assessment, missing nothing despite the apparent casualness of her glance.
The entirety of the Academy waited for her to proceed to the instructors' dais, her natural position as the institution's patron deity. Instead, she moved with deliberate purpose directly toward the outermost ring of tables—toward Alexios.
"Oh no," he thought, maintaining perfect external composure while internal alarms sounded with critical urgency. "Not this. Not now."
With every step she took away from the expected path, tension increased exponentially. Students exchanged bewildered glances. Instructors maintained rigid composure while radiating confusion. Even Achilles straightened with heightened attention, his legendary battle instincts responding to the unexpected development.
Athena stopped directly beside Alexios's position, her divine presence making the simple wooden bench and table seem increasingly inadequate with each passing moment.
"Alexios," she acknowledged with the same economy of movement that characterized all her actions. "I will join you for this meal."
Not a request. Not an explanation. Simply divine will expressed through minimal necessary communication.
Without awaiting response, she seated herself beside him, her perfect posture making the humble bench appear suddenly as regal as any throne on Olympus.
The Great Hall froze in collective shock. A goddess—not merely any goddess but Athena herself—choosing to sit among the lowest tier of students rather than with fellow instructors or favored divine offspring. Even more shocking, addressing one specific student by name, acknowledging his individual existence before the entire assembly.
"Goddess Athena," Alexios managed, his voice carefully modulated to show appropriate respect without revealing the turmoil beneath. "You honor me beyond comprehension."
"Honor has no relation to seating arrangements," she replied, loudly enough for nearby tables to hear. "Knowledge seeks worthy vessels regardless of their placement in arbitrary hierarchies."
The statement—simple yet philosophical, practical yet carrying revolutionary implications within the Academy's rigid structure—rippled outward through the stunned hall. Students at neighboring tables leaned infinitesimally closer, straining to catch further divine pronouncements.