The Demigod's Reckoning

Chapter2: The Demigod's Reckoning

Chapter 2: The Ancient Book

The elevator doors slid open with a faint chime, revealing the sprawling executive floor of Chronos Industries. The space was a testament to wealth and power—gleaming marble floors, minimalist furnishings, and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Manhattan’s skyline. Theo stepped out first, his commanding presence almost making the air hum around him. Devon followed closely behind, his pace brisk as he flipped through notes on his tablet.

“This meeting is crucial,” Devon reminded, glancing at Theo, who looked remarkably composed. “The investors need assurance that your plan for the new AI integration project isn’t just some pie-in-the-sky idea.”

Theo didn’t respond immediately. His stride was steady, unhurried, as though the weight of a billion years had taught him the futility of rushing. He adjusted his silver cufflinks and gave Devon a faint smirk. “When have I ever let investors down?”

Devon snorted. “You want the long list or the short one?”

Theo chuckled under his breath, though his attention was already wandering. As they approached his private office—a glass-walled haven of modern design—Devon reached ahead and opened the door for him. But just as Theo was about to step inside, something caught his eye.

A woman from the design team was walking briskly toward the elevator, clutching a book close to her chest. It wasn’t unusual to see employees moving about with personal items, but this book—its intricate, hand-painted cover—stopped Theo in his tracks. The swirling patterns of gold and blue on its leather binding felt like a whisper from the past, tugging at a corner of his endless memory.

Theo froze, his hand falling away from the office door. His sharp emerald green eyes locked onto the book, a spark of recognition flashing in them.

Devon, who had already stepped inside, turned back and groaned when he saw Theo standing rooted to the spot. “Oh, come on, Theo. Not again,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Theo ignored him and called out firmly, “Hey, Ma'am!”

The woman jumped, startled, before turning around. She was in her late sixties, with kind eyes and a streak of gray in her dark hair. Her nametag read Mrs. Grayson. “Oh! Good morning, sir,” she said, her voice polite but surprised.

Devon sighed audibly, stepping out of the office and positioning himself at Theo’s side. “We don’t have time for this,” he whispered sharply.

Theo dismissed him with a wave and took a step toward the woman. “That book you’re holding—may I see it?” His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of urgency, his usual measured demeanor cracking just slightly.

Mrs. Grayson blinked, clearly not expecting her CEO to take an interest in her belongings. “Oh, um, of course, sir,” she said, holding it out to him.

Theo took the book gently, his hands brushing against the worn leather. His fingers traced the cover, feeling the grooves of the painted design. It was intricate and old-fashioned, the kind of detail he knew intimately. As he flipped it open, his heart—or whatever was left of it after eons—skipped a beat.

The book was titled The Pantheon Chronicles: Myths of the Forgotten Gods. Each page was filled with vivid illustrations and detailed accounts of gods and realms he once knew. But it wasn’t just the content that gripped him. It was the cover—he recognized the style. Someone he had known centuries ago, someone he had thought lost to time, had painted it.

“Where did you get this?” he asked abruptly, his usual calmness replaced by something sharper.

Mrs. Grayson blinked, taken aback. “Oh, I didn’t buy it, sir. My daughter wrote it. She’s the author.”

Theo’s eyes narrowed. “Your daughter?” His voice softened slightly, though his grip on the book tightened. “What’s her name?”

Mrs. Grayson smiled hesitantly, sensing his intense interest. “Her name is Zhariah Grayson. She’s a historian, artist and writer. This is her first book, and she just published it last month. I brought it in to show some colleagues—it’s not every day your child becomes a published author, you know.”

Theo stared at the book, his thoughts racing. Zhariah.He didn’t recognize the name, but the art—the unmistakable style—felt like a ghost from his past. He flipped through the pages quickly, scanning for more clues.

Devon, watching Theo closely, could feel the shift in his demeanor. He knew that look, the one that signaled Theo’s infamous obsession with anything connected to his ancient mission. Devon cleared his throat, stepping in to diffuse the situation.

“Mrs. Grayson,” Devon said, his voice calm and friendly, “thank you for sharing. It’s wonderful to see a parent so proud of their child’s work. But we really do need to get going. The investors won’t wait forever.”

Mrs. Grayson smiled apologetically. “Oh, of course. I didn’t mean to hold you up. You can keep the book if you’d like, sir. I have another copy at home.”

Theo’s head snapped up, his piercing gaze meeting hers. “You’re giving this to me?”

“Absolutely,” she said, her smile widening. “It would mean the world to my daughter if someone like you—someone so accomplished—took an interest in her work.”

Theo nodded slowly, his fingers tightening around the book. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low. “I’ll be sure to… take a closer look.”

Mrs. Grayson beamed, giving a polite nod before turning back toward the elevator. As she walked away, Devon let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples.

“You’re doing it again,” Devon said quietly, once they were alone.

Theo glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Doing what?”

“Getting that look. You know, the ‘I’m-about-to-disappear-into-my-own-head-for-weeks’ look,” Devon replied, gesturing vaguely toward the book. “We have an entire room of investors waiting for us, Theo. You can’t let this derail you.”

Theo’s expression softened, but there was still an intensity behind his eyes. “This isn’t just a book, Dev. Someone I knew—someone important—might have created this.”

Devon crossed his arms, skeptical. “And how many times have you thought that? You see a painting, or a trinket, or some random thing in a museum, and suddenly it’s a clue in your never-ending treasure hunt. What if this is just… coincidence?”

Theo didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he held up the book, his gaze lingering on the cover. “There’s no such thing as coincidence. Not in my world.”

Devon sighed again but didn’t argue. He knew better. After centuries of friendship, he understood that when Theo got like this, there was no stopping him. “Fine,” he said, stepping toward the office door. “But can we at least get through this meeting first? Then you can spend the rest of the day obsessing over your new clue.”

Theo smirked faintly. “Deal.”

The two men stepped into the office, but Theo’s mind was already elsewhere. The book burned in his hand like a fragment of a long-lost memory. And though he didn’t say it aloud, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than a clue—it was the start of something bigger.

Something that might finally change everything.

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Who is Zhariah Grayson? And how does she tie into Theo’s ancient past?