Across the hall, the First Tier table radiated mixed reactions. Perseus studied the situation with tactical assessment, his expression neutral but attentive. Hercules seemed more confused than concerned, his straightforward nature struggling with the social complexity. Among Poseidon's children, Theseus watched with undisguised interest, his perceptive gaze shifting between Athena and Alexios as though solving a complex puzzle.
"You've created quite the disruption," Alexios observed quietly, balancing between respectful conversation and appropriate deference.
"Disruption precedes realignment," Athena replied, accepting a goblet of nectar from a wide-eyed servant who had scrambled to provide appropriate refreshment for the unexpected divine guest. "Stagnant waters breed only decay."
The food arrived—appearing simultaneously at all tables through divine servitors' efficient magic.
The offerings reflected each table's status with unfortunate clarity: ambrosial delicacies for the central table of the Big Three's children; excellent but conventional fare for middle-tier divine offspring; wholesome but unremarkable sustenance for the outermost tables.
Except for Alexios's immediate vicinity, where Athena's presence had triggered an automatic upgrade. Golden plates replaced simple ceramic. Delicacies normally reserved for First Tier students appeared before them.
The humble bench seating transformed subtly, becoming more comfortable while remaining visually consistent with neighboring positions.
"So much for remaining unremarkable," Alexios noted with carefully concealed dismay. "Your presence makes that impossible."
"Unremarkable is merely camouflage for the exceptional," Athena responded, sampling a perfect grape with the same precision she applied to all actions. "Temporary utility at best."
Lyra watched this exchange with scholarly fascination, her academic interest momentarily overcoming social propriety. "Goddess, if I may... your presence at the regular meal service is unprecedented. The historical significance—"
"History is written by those who disrupt its expected course," Athena interrupted, though without harshness. "Observation without participation creates incomplete understanding."
The conversation expanded to include others at their table—the minor divine offspring and scholarship students finding themselves unexpectedly in direct dialogue with Olympus's Wisdom Goddess.
Athena engaged each with precise questions targeting their unique perspectives, drawing out insights that their hierarchical placement typically rendered invisible to higher instruction.
Throughout this unprecedented interaction, Alexios maintained perfect balance—participating enough to avoid appearing suspiciously reticent, limited enough to prevent drawing further attention.
Yet he remained acutely aware that Athena's very presence beside him had already destroyed any hope of anonymity within Academy society.
Every eye in the Great Hall returned repeatedly to their table despite attempts at discretion. The First Tier students, unaccustomed to attention directed elsewhere during communal gatherings, displayed reactions ranging from puzzlement to indignation. The instructors at their elevated dais maintained professional composure while clearly reassessing predetermined assumptions about the term's power dynamics.
"Your presence here changes my standing significantly," Alexios noted when a momentary lull in conversation permitted private exchange. "Was that your intention?"
Athena's storm-gray eyes met his directly—the penetrating gaze that had assessed cosmic battles and divine strategies since time immemorial now focused entirely on him. "Standing changes through demonstration of worth, not proximity to power. This merely accelerates inevitable recognition."
"Recognition brings scrutiny," he countered carefully. "Scrutiny I may not be prepared to withstand."
The barest suggestion of a smile touched her perfect lips. "Preparation rarely matches reality. Adaptation determines survival more reliably than planning."
Their exchange was interrupted as Achilles himself approached their table—the legendary warrior moving with the fluid grace that had made him nearly invincible in combat. His expression maintained professional neutrality, though subtle tension in his jawline suggested concerns regarding protocol.
"Goddess Athena," he acknowledged with the particular bow of one warrior to another rather than subject to ruler. "Your presence honors our humble meal. The instructors would welcome your guidance at the main table, should you wish to share your wisdom more broadly."
A perfectly constructed invitation that provided Athena graceful exit from her unexpected seating choice while reestablishing normal hierarchical order. Diplomatic yet direct, as befitted the warrior who valued straightforward action above political maneuvering.
"Your welcome is appreciated, Achilles," Athena replied. "However, wisdom flows where it chooses, not where convention expects. I find this perspective... illuminating."
The finality in her tone left no room for further negotiation. Achilles—legendary for both battlefield prowess and stubborn pride—recognized immovable divine will when he encountered it. With another respectful bow that acknowledged her decision without necessarily approving it, he returned to the instructors' dais.
"You've placed him in an uncomfortable position," Alexios observed after the hero departed. "Instructor to most favored students, yet unable to attract the Academy's patron to their table."
"Discomfort often precedes necessary growth," Athena replied simply. "For instructors as well as students."
As the meal progressed, the initial shock of Athena's presence gradually transformed into new baseline reality. Conversations resumed throughout the hall, though with frequent glances toward their table.
The hierarchy had been disrupted not through proclamation or policy change but through divine action that defied easy categorization.
"Why?" Alexios finally asked directly, his voice pitched for her ears alone. "Why single me out for attention that undermines my ability to progress quietly?"
Athena considered his question with the same thoughtful precision she applied to cosmic conflicts and divine legislation. "Perhaps quiet progress serves neither your true potential nor the Academy's purpose. Perhaps disruption creates opportunity that conventional paths cannot provide."
She stood before he could formulate response, her movement instantly drawing all attention once more. "Continue your meal. I have observed what I came to witness."
With that cryptic statement, she departed—not with flashy divine teleportation but deliberate steps that took her past every table, her gaze noting details that would undoubtedly inform future decisions.
The Great Hall remained silent until she passed through the massive doors, which closed behind her with resonant finality.
Conversation exploded the moment she departed—whispers and exclamations creating a symphony of speculation that filled the cavernous space with almost tangible energy.
"Well," Lyra said, turning to Alexios with an expression balanced between academic interest and personal concern, "it appears your plan for anonymity has been rather decisively terminated."
Alexios surveyed the hall, noting how students from every tier now studied him with varying degrees of subtlety.
The sons of Zeus—Hercules, Perseus, and their divine siblings—assessed him with newfound interest. Theseus, among Poseidon's children, appeared particularly intrigued, his perceptive gaze suggesting calculations beyond mere curiosity.
"Not terminated," Alexios replied, composure perfect despite the strategic catastrophe Athena had just orchestrated. "Merely... reconfigured."
Across the Great Hall, ancient enemies and future friends watched the formerly unremarkable gray-clad student with new attention.
The servant elevated beyond station had now become something far more intriguing—the unknown quantity that had somehow attracted Athena's personal interest.
So much for invisibility. So much for careful, methodical development beneath notice. The goddess of strategic warfare had just detonated his carefully constructed camouflage with the precision of a master tactician.
"Adaptation determines survival," he quoted softly, Athena's words becoming his new imperative. The game had changed, the pieces rearranged. Time to create opportunity from disruption.
The path to vengeance never did run smooth.