Thaumas felt his jaw tighten and turned his head away as if to glance at something on the other side of the street. He had managed to accept that nothing lasted forever, least of all a Golden Age, had learnt how to live in the new world the sons of his half-siblings had created, but he'd never found it in him to forgive the ruler of Mount Olympus. The lightning-throwing king had torn families and their worlds apart. That little bastard had ripped his child apart and left her to rot in a dark pit.
"One of those," he repeated softly, pensive. Most of those who came after the great war would be here too, then. Perhaps a few of those like him who existed long before Olympus meant anything as well. "All Olympians probably?" The hard line of his mouth softened into a smile again when he turned his head back to Iris, his anger slowly bleeding away. "The triplets?"