A child of the sea could take many, many forms. Pallas, daughter of Triton, had been known to assume the form of a dolphin or an albatross; she’d undulated with the waves, with hair like seafoam and a body as malleable as the currents. For today, however, the goddess chose to manifest in the form she favored: that of an athletic young woman who betrayed her oceanic heritage. Her muscled skin was an aquatic blue, rippled with soft scales. Her hair was a pleasant, jadelike green, bits of seaweed woven through it; a small spiral shell, colored pink-orange like coral, pinned some of it back as a barrette. Fins jutted from her forearms and behind her ears; her webbed feet did not even boast any sandals. Her teeth were charmingly pointed, a playful echo of the ocean’s most fearsome predators.

Said teeth were stretched wide in a smile as she finally arrived in a place she had been absent from for far too long: Mount Olympus itself.

Ganymede, Zeus’s ‘cup-bearer’ (though in truth everyone knew what else the two of them got up to), met her at the gates with a charming smile. The immortal youth was sunny and pleasant, and Pallas could immediately see why Zeus had taken a liking to him. She had to pay tribute to the king of the gods, of course, and she allowed Ganymede to lead her to the Olympians’s hall. There, Lord Zeus towered over her, stern and stately, his wife Hera sitting humorlessly beside him. Pallas murmured her appreciation towards the man, offering a flawless pearl twice again the size of a man’s head as a gift, which Zeus accepted graciously. He then perfunctorily bid her to enjoy her time in the gods’ domain.

“I shall, Lord Zeus,” she promised.

“Father,” came a respectful voice from the chamber’s edge. There, Athena herself—goddess of war and wisdom—stood resplendent. She was tall, clad in helm of blemishless brass over long flowing robes, with short curly hair and an aquiline nose that framed piercing, intelligent eyes. “With your leave, I might show our visitor around.”

Zeus chuckled and sipped a goblet of wine. He had children upon children, but it was well known who his favorite was. “I can think of no better guide than you, daughter.” Athena bowed her head respectfully and Pallas curtseyed. As Pallas stepped over to meet her friend, Zeus’s booming voice rang out to her—not to her ears, but to her mind.

You have a good heart, and I much respect your father, Zeus told the young goddess. Yet youthful follies can shatter hearts even by accident. I give leave for you and my daughter to enjoy yourselves—and here the words impressed themselves with a reflection which told Pallas that Zeus knew exactly what sort of entertainment the two women would get up to—but do not toy with her. A father’s wrath is tempestuous indeed.

Personally, Pallas thought it a bit presumptuous for Lord Zeus to lecture anyone about folly or breaking hearts. Of course, to say so would be to wish one’s own destruction. I assure you, Lord, this is no flight of fancy¸ she thought back to him. I will treat her with honor and respect.

Zeus had no words for her, but she saw the towering god’s bearded face twitch in a smile. He nodded almost imperceptibly and Pallas headed outside with his blessing.

Athena waited for her in the court of the gods. “Father giving you the runaround?” she said wryly. Pallas nodded. “Well, it’s nice to know he cares.” The goddess of wisdom sighed. “That said, shall I show you around?”

“Please do,” Pallas purred in response. With just the hint of a girlish blush coloring Athena’s face, she took the sea goddess’s hand in hers—and then it was time for the tour.

Olympus was a land of fantasy. Lord Zeus and Lady Hera had dominion over the sky, and so the weather was always balmy and pleasant. The buildings were sculpted of a marble so fine and pure that it was rumored that it was cloud made solid; Pallas wasn’t entirely unconvinced those rumors were just hearsay. Fruit trees bearing only the ripest, juiciest samples of their bounty were everywhere, arranged in such lazy grace that no mortal gardener could have managed to duplicate it, and a tangle of grapevines seemed to be coyly waltzing its way up the wall of every third building. The walkways bristled with statues and gently spraying fountains. Heroes and nymphs and demigods bustled this way and that, doing the gods’s bidding; more than a few nodded to Pallas in greeting.

Yet she wasn’t entirely sure what she was to be looking at. For every wonder that was shown off to her—Hephaestus’s workshop, Dionysus’s wine-hall, the ever-burning hearth where Hestia tended her fire—Pallas inevitably found her eyes drawn to her guide. Athena had spent a season in Triton’s palace some seasons ago, and the two goddesses had quickly become fast friends—and much, much more than that.

“So?” Athena asked. “Is Olympus to your liking?” She was quite proud of her home, though she was never one to boast or brag—at least, not to those who didn’t deserve it.

“Oh, I should think so,” Pallas replied playfully.

Athena seemed pleased at that response. “What is your favorite part so far?” she asked.

In response, Pallas just squeezed her hand playfully. Athena gasped, her cheeks coloring slightly, and Pallas pulled her in close. The goddess of wisdom didn’t resist…

Their lips touched for the first time in what seemed like eons, and Pallas almost melted. Oh, how she’d missed the feeling of those lips against hers. So soft, so lovely… She strained up to kiss her girlfriend harder, having to stand on her toes since Athena was well over a head taller than her.

Athena kissed back, one hand interlocking fingers with Pallas’s, the other drifting to lazily string a lock of hair between her fingers. She reached down and gently brushed her hand against Pallas’s fin.

“I missed this,” Pallas murmured when their kiss broke. “I missed you.”

“I know. I did too,” Athena responded. “It took everything not to rush back to you…”

Pallas’s heart panged at how long the absence had stretched, but she understood. Being an Olympian came with a slew of duties that far eclipsed those of a ‘lesser’ goddess. (Athena, ever the gentlewoman, had never so much as intimated that Pallas was her inferior, and seemed incensed when the other goddess had vaguely implied it.) Those duties had kept her away—and had Athena broken them, she would not be the woman that Pallas loved so much.

But it mattered not. They were together now, and that was all Pallas cared about.