"So they are well? Good. That is good." He exhaled slowly, trying to mask it and likely failing. He had worried--less for Hebe, whose husband would provide strength and faith enough through the ages to keep her strong, but Eris and especially Eileithyia had troubled his dreams. A weight he hadn't known he carried lifted from his shoulders, and he stood again, lifting both himself and the phone. He set the latter on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed, pondering silently. He had never worried for Ares or Hephaestus. Humans craved conflict of all kinds too much for his elder son to be in any danger, and technology had been so rampantly successful as a medium for centuries that the younger must have thrived.<br/><br/>How had he been so blind? How had pride worked itself into such a billowing mass around him that he had been blinded by it to what he himself had created? Wonderful daughters, powerful sons, all of it lost. What for, really? He had entertained those thoughts dozens, if not hundreds or thousands of times in the last few centuries, and quickly tamped them down. Still, he could feel the sky responding to his remorse, rain clouds gathering above the city in force. He cleared his throat once more and smiled into the receiver.<br/><br/>"I don't fear Aphrodite's wrath. Let her hear that I called you more lovely--better to admit to the truth I never should have hid from to begin with." Zeus paused as the rain began to fall against his windows, glancing out at the noise. "I have to admit," he said a second later, his tone softer, "I expected you to have one of your assistants call me. I didn't think you'd do so yourself. It's nice."