Alexander stood in the throne room of Olympus, gazing thoughtfully at the throne that used to belong to his father.  With the passing of Zeus, who now would rule the gods?  Him, perhaps?  Or one of the stronger ones?
"My son."  The voice sounded from behind him, and Alexander turned with a smile.  Of all the gods that survived, he was glad his mother was one of them.  Isis stood there, smiling gently upon her youngest child.  "Why do you linger here?  Go, celebrate your victory.  Let the throne wait until another day.  We will soon see who will rule."
"You're right, mother."  Alexander took his mother's hand and walked towards the door.  "Let's go."  Mother and son stepped into the light together.

"Try again, hjarta minn."  Loki coached, holding his hands out with green fire between them.  "You know how to use your magic.  Channel it into fire, and set it loose."
Ronin held her hands out, face locked in concentration as she struggled to produce even a wisp of flame.  That was her weak point, fire; she could neither conjure it nor control it.  Giving up, she slumped in her seat, letting her hands fall.  "I'll never do it, faðir.  Can we not leave fire to its deities?"
"Are you or are you not goddess of magic?"  Letting a smirk cross his face, Loki taunted his daughter.  "If you are, then prove it to me!  Show me fire!"  He hoped that his verbal sniping would irritate her into doing it.
Ronin growled, angry, and stretched out her hands again.  Sweat began to show on her face, she bit her lip until she drew blood, but at last, she created a tiny spark of purple fire.  "Ha!  I did it!"  She exclaimed, sustaining her tiny wisp of flame.
"Good, hjarta minn."  Loki grinned; his taunting had worked.  "Now that you have done it once, it will be easier next time.  Keep practicing, Ronin."  He stood and offered his hand to her; she accepted it and stood as well.
"I will, faðir."
"I know you will."