ZYMIR: Son of Zeus

“DO I REALLY need to do this?” He heaved a long sigh as he unbuttoned the first two buttons of the dress shirt he was wearing. His business suit was resting on the back of his swiveling chair. Zymir’s eyes were tired and worn from reading different articles, proposals, and contracts that he needed to sign. It was undeniable that it was his own fault that he is doing this right now. On a normal day in their land, he would be roaming around the town, drinking and partying with different divine creatures. But what can he do now? He’s already suffering the punishment that his own father bestowed upon him. “Sir, the investor called. He wants to schedule a meeting with you.” Another meeting? He’s already done three meetings for the day. Another one would be a pain in the head already. He hastily closed the folder right after signing the paper, making a loud sound inside his painfully silent office. “Nah, tell them I’m busy. Schedule them next month, or next year would be even better.” As he stretched his arms, exhausted from all the signing of papers he did. His eyes landed on the large windows, the sky was already in the shade of orange and dark blue as the sun sets in the west. “But, Sir—” “You may take your leave, Salazar. It’s already past five, time to go home to your wife,” he smiled sweetly. That was supposed to be a sweet gesture for his hardworking secretary, but why does it seem like it was an insult? Salazar’s eyes were shut and he saw how the secretary’s hands formed into a fist. “I don’t have a wife . . . Sir.” Silence. Silence hugged them. Oh dear. Did he hit his boiling point? “I see. Then, how about a girlfriend?” Another silence. “I don’t have one . . . Sir.” “I see. That’s too bad.” It really is. Mortals are supposed to be married at the age of 27 based on what he has observed while living here for the past three years. Salazar is already 28, the same age as Zymir in a mortal timeline. “Thank you for the concern, Sir.” He bowed his head timidly before turning around to leave. Another sigh escaped from his mouth as he massaged the temples of his head. Who would have thought that the great Zymir, son of Zeus, one who was feared by their people, would become a powerless mortal living on Earth? It’s been three years that he’s been studying, observing, and living the way how mere humans do. His eyes went shut as flashes of memories on that one fine day popped into his brilliant mind. That was when his father confronted him in the middle of his daytime drinking spree. Everything was going smoothly—his friends singing, drinking, and telling stories about their escapade in the underworld where the myth about the lost satyr resides. The vast land started rumbling, roars of thunder and flashes of lightning danced in the sky, making other creatures flee for their lives. Then came Zeus, the King of the gods, with his minions and guards surrounding the whole place. The great king was dressed in white and gold decorated with feathers, with a spear in his hand made of the finest wood and the most expensive gold. A spear that can change into a thunderbolt—Zeus’ weapon. Behind him was a familiar face, etched with grief and sorrow while staring deeply at Zymir’s eyes. “To what do we owe this pleasure, King Zeus?” “Zymir.” His voice echoed like thunder. The tone was so deep that it sent shiver down the spine of every divine creature present at the moment. Anger and disappointment were visible. Zymir remained silent. He knew what was about to happen. His father rarely showed himself to the public, his presence in front of them was never good news. He’s at fault, and for that he needs to be punished. “Zymir, son of Zeus, is banished from the land and will never return again.” THREE YEARS have passed since that fateful day. Zymir is somehow used to how humans live on earth. He owes it all to the old man that took him when he was left alone—helpless. And with the only power left within him, he used it to hypnotize the man into adopting him and making him his descendant. Without the idea of how short mortal lives were compared to the gods, again, he was left alone as his foster father perished forever. Zymir was left with billions of wealth and assets. And with an ability far greater than a mere human, he was able to accomplish things, making him the youngest billionaire on record. “The usual,” he asked the bartender as he sat down the high stool. He was welcomed by the loud music and dancing lights, people swiftly making a move on the dance floor with the intention of just having the day of their life. This is his night-time routine. Drinking silently as he takes his time watching how people enjoy their time. “Sir, do you want to move to the VIP—?” He gestured his hand in the air to stop the man in black, probably the manager of the bar, from saying more. “Don’t mind me.” “As you wish, Sir.” And he bowed his head as a sign of respect before leaving Zymir alone. Zymir was never a fan of special treatment. He couldn’t care less about the fact that he owns half of the establishments in this district. It’s both good and bad that his foster father has no other family left. Good because he can get whatever he wants, and bad because he needs to shoulder everything that was left behind, including assets and business ventures in foreign countries too— which is a pain in the a*s for him. “Gorgeous,” he whispered. His eyes were glued on a woman dressed in red as he gulped the last bit of his whiskey. The lady was a classic beauty, one who could rival even the most famous celebrities in the country. But why does she seem so lonely?—or not? His thoughts were dismissed at once when he saw how the lady gulped a full glass of rhum before lifting her butt from the soft couch and making her way to the dance floor. His lips formed a smile. Despite the exhaustion from all the workload, the presence of the young lady seemed to wipe it off. He watched how she danced to the rhythm of the song while giggling and laughing with her companions. “Adeline,” he whispered in the air as he read her name from one of her friend's mouth. A slight tingling feeling lingered within him, it was calm yet euphoric. Something he never thought the gods would ever feel. Or maybe this is just caused by being away from their land for too long? Who knows? He ordered one more drink before deciding to go home and just when he was about to leave, a short flash of memory made him hiss. “Zymir, in time you’ll understand what it feels like bargaining your life for someone else . . . the excessive grief and desperation that you would find no meaning in life at all.” That voice . . . was Zeus—his father.