“It wouldn’t, not you,” I said. “Your subjects will always be there. They know who you are, at least to an extent. But ours—they believe in other gods now, or only one of us at a time, or whatever the case may be. We need to become those gods. To become these ideas in their minds.” I shook my head. “I know it sounds crazy, but the core of the problem is that they don’t know who we are. And short of exposing ourselves and ruling like kings, we can’t change that. But we can live like—like Rhea.”

At last a few faces seemed to light up with understanding.

“She lives among the people. I don’t mean we have to abandon Olympus. We just need to join together with the mortal world and understand it. As long as there are mortals, there will always be love and music and travel, and in order to stay tied to those things as we are now, we must go down to earth and represent them. Everyone we meet will know who we are, even if they don’t know our names, and we’ll ingrain ourselves among them. Bottom line—we cannot hold ourselves above them anymore. We are not better than them, and we must remember that. We depend on them as they depend on us, and it’s time to start acting like it.”

“We have lost touch,” said Athena, glancing around at the others. “It couldn’t hurt to try.”

Nearly a minute passed as everyone seemed to absorb this. A few whispered amongst themselves, but it wasn’t until Zeus sank back down into his throne that everyone seemed to relax.

“We will try,” he said. “Abstract as that is. Do you have any solid suggestions for what we might do to implement these…ideas of yours?”

“Yes,” I said frankly. “We need to change our names. Right now. We need to cast aside our old identities, and we need to become the people we have to be in order to adapt and survive. The name’s just the start of it, but it’s as good a start as any.”

No one looked happy about it, not even Hephaestus, who hadn’t exactly won the name lottery. “What sort of names?” said Aphrodite, frowning.

“I don’t know. Names that will stick around for centuries, though I suspect we can change them again if we have to,” I said. “We’ll do whatever we have to do to survive.”

“Very well,” said Zeus. “Then why don’t you start us off? What is your new name, son?”

Son. It may have been a single word to him, but to me, it was a moment of acceptance—a moment when we moved beyond the struggles of the past eons and stepped into a new era where the slate was wiped clean.

It was exactly the kind of life Tuck wanted. And it was the life I would live when she couldn’t.

“James,” I said. “My name is James.”

* * *

Three years later, we all still existed.

Couldn’t lie and say it was easy—none of it was going to happen overnight, but to the council’s credit, they each tried. Only Hera kept a Greek name, refusing to budge from the roots she held so dear, though at least we were able to persuade her to change her name to the lesser-known Calliope. Even Zeus found a name powerful enough to satisfy his ego.

Slowly but surely, the council changed. Instead of deities lording over a world that didn’t know we existed, each of us began to spend time on the surface, interacting with mortals in a way few of us had in millennia. It wasn’t painless—more than a few attempts resulted in varying disasters, mostly revolving around Aphrodite and her new set of mortal conquests. Apparently the world had changed since she’d last waltzed into the middle of a village and announced herself. But soon enough, we all adapted. We all started down the road of becoming the people we needed to be in order to survive.

In those three years, I visited Mac, Sprout and Perry often, occasionally bringing Iris along with me. The three boys moved into the castle soon enough, and Mac slipped seamlessly into his role as the new earl. He was a kind, fair leader, exactly as I’d hoped, and as time passed, my concern for them lessened. They’d be all right. They already were.

But despite that, I could never escape the guilt that surrounded me over Tuck’s death. Even though the boys had long since mourned her, I’d never fully recovered, and that was why it took so long before I finally made the trip I’d been dreading.

I approached Hades’s throne with my head bowed—partially to show respect, but mostly to avoid looking at Persephone’s empty throne. He hadn’t chosen a name yet, the last of us to do so, but there was no hurry. If he chose to remain Hades, his existence was secure. Even after the last mortal died and the rest of us faded, he would live forever. But if he didn’t fill Persephone’s throne, it would be a very, very long forever. And I didn’t like the reminder of what I’d done to him.

“Hermes,” he said in a deadened voice, and he paused. “James. Is there a problem with the souls you’ve transported?”

“No,” I said.

“Then why are you here?”

It’d been an unspoken rule between us that I went out of my way to avoid seeing him while doing my duties in the Underworld. Despite a few awkward run-ins, most of the time we managed to keep our distance. “I have a request.”

Silence hung between us, and at last Hades sighed. “You want to see the girl.”

“I—” I clamped my mouth shut. Of course he knew. “Yes. I won’t stay long. I just want to make sure she’s doing all right, and I have something to give her—”