Demigod!Brant (Hercules!AU) I’d like to thank @let-the-stars-guide for this idea, suggestions, and her feedback in making this fic come to life!
Synopsis: The city of Thebes has never been a place where peace was an option until a warrior: The Flaming Returned, rose up to the challenge and restored it himself. Amidst the praise and the reputation he garnered for himself, he always finds his way back to a humble tavern you work at.
Word count: ~2.3k
Author's notes and disclaimers: - I let this fic marinate in my drafts for a good while. I wanted to try something a little different with this one since I rewrote the setting to be a mix of ancient Greece and Solaris (right after the Mortefi fic too no less). I also used some terminology that might be unfamiliar. I've left the footnotes for the terminology at the end of this piece. - I don't speak or write much in English, even if I'm fluent in the language. Please be aware that my grammar and/or vocabulary might be faulty in some parts. I've revised this with @let-the-stars-guide a few times, but I'm confident that I didn't manage to correct every single mistake. - yes. I am ***horribly*** down bad for this man. Jesus Christ. The gist of the fic's setting is that: - The sentinels are about the same in-game, just seen as similarly as Greek gods. - Resonators are more or less seen as demigods. Where if someone managed to get a forte, it is said that the sentinel has "blessed" them in a way. I really didn't want to elaborate this much more in the fic since that's not the main focus, but I did use it for some context in writing. The setting is almost the same as the one in Disney's version with some rewrites: - "A hero comes to a crime-ridden town to improve the lives of the people in it to prove his worth." I kept this one in. - 'Meg' (as the reader), was rewritten differently compared to the source material so that this version of the character ('(name)') made sense in the setting. So no, this isn't a Meg!Reader fic. Not to my knowledge anyway.
*"I will face the world fearless, proud, and strong 'til I find my hero's welcome right where I belong."
God knows what you expected when you first met Brant. He was, to say the least, theatric, with how he carried himself around the *polis and among the people of Thebes, always with a confident gait and a smile that never seemed to leave his lips as the masses sang their praises of him as a hero: The Flaming Returned.
Surprisingly, you met him in one of the *apotheca, right by the *amphora where the town’s wine was being audited. He didn’t look like much then— a lot leaner and unkempt; truth be told, he looked more like one of the carry-boys for the old merchant who ran the inn right down the block. Yet, despite his frame and incompetence, he managed to save you from being dragged away and mugged by the thugs in broad daylight. He had no sword on him, but he fought them anyway. One punch after the other, he picked them off one at a time.
How a carry-boy like him managed to beat the crap out of a bunch of thugs like it was nothing is beyond you. Better to believe that it was the blessing of a god, nothing short of a miracle.
He offers you a hand— calloused, firm, but kind. “Are you alright?” He asks kindly as you pick yourself up and dust off the dirt on your clothes. “I’m alright.” You reply, just as concerned about him for any injuries. Seriously, how the hell did he manage to get out on top and unscathed?!
“Do you know those people by chance?”
“Not a clue. Thank you— by the way, for saving me.”
“There’s no need to thank me. I had my eye on those guys for a while. They’ve been hanging around here to steal what they can, I’m guessing.”
“Then you best be on your guard, then. Thebes is not exactly friendly— Or kind, for that matter.”
“Then you’re lucky enough to have met me then. The name’s Brant.”
“(Name).”
And thus, followed a camaraderie between the two that blossomed through chance encounters and unplanned run-ins at the *kapaleia, where you’d find out his penchant for wine, that you’d swear he would be a close companion of the god of wine himself.
Where you'd usually be behind the counter serving food and drinks, you find yourself resigned to keep him company for an hour, right in the middle of your shift no less.
It wasn't like the passed-out drunkards could order another cup. Right?
The tavern was lively with the bustle of drunks and patrons after a long day of work, as orders piled up quickly as the night wore on, with money to spend, and mead to drink; Yet you found yourself keeping Brant company across the bar top among the rest of the men and women who gaily lost their sense of time to the hands of lady liquor herself, inebriating even the strongest over a few kisses with just a few cups.
Not like he's immune to her temptation either, but thankfully his tolerance to alcohol is a little better.
No *amphora full of wine is safe around him. Not when he has coins to spend generously. You note one evening, right across him while he downs another cup eagerly.
Unlike the others, he’s got an ego but not enough to be a complete narcissist. He’s charming— charismatic enough to have any woman swoon over him at barely a glance, yet he never used it to his advantage— always carrying this air of honor around him.
One particular night was when you caught a glimpse of his humility.
"Why do you try even bringing peace to this place?" You ask, taking one mug cup after another off the tables to be washed before you clock off out of work. You think it was the liquid courage doing all the talking about heroism, chivalry, and honor, but you were only met with a far-off gaze cast down towards his drink and a wry smile as he swirls the amber liquid in his cup.
"... Because I have something to live for." The words fall from his lips in a soft mutter, half laced with wine and the other half... frustration? yearning? determination?
He's quiet for a moment before he chugs the liquid gold with an audible gulp, making his throat bob and somewhat easing his mind after downing the cup.
You don’t catch what he mutters under his breath right after.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand; and before you can apologize for bringing the topic up, he puts on a practiced smile once more to steel himself, yet his eyes never looked more lonelier until now.
A coin or two for his thoughts, bless him. It might be best to ask him more when he's sober.
With a renewed resolve, He pays for the drink and thanks you for your company, before getting up and leaving the tavern wordlessly; whistling a farmer’s tune into the night. You clocked off work not too long after.
Unbeknownst to you, he would face the Lernean Hydra the next day. the thing had been wreaking havoc in the countryside for a while now, rumored to have taken the children captive with no one to save them.
Who else was more fit for the job really? He thought.
A screech of a beast echoed across the grassfields before it went completely quiet. A man stands alone with a relentless fire in his hands amidst the several snake-like skulls rolling about around him, right before the monster's necks where each base had been cauterized.
The smell was foul, but meant that the fight was over.
Upon the last fall of the Hydra's head with a searing cut, the people let out a deafening cheer. His sword's embers are still somehow unflickering in the shade of the monster's cadaver right by the base of a hill, marking the first of many victories to come.
Brant had come out as the victor that fateful afternoon. Alone, but alive despite it all. The Flaming Returned had come to burn the strife with his own hands.
It's nothing short of a miracle that the city of Thebes finally has someone restoring order and peace once more among its people and managed to live to tell the tale. Finally, an unlikely hero.
The bells ring from a distance, and the captive children are freed.
Finally, peace. Finally, safety.
Lately, the criminal activity has gone down significantly ever since Brant stepped in to resolve most of it that ran rampant down the streets and in the corners of the darkest of alleyways, never the one to leave stones unturned and crannies unchecked; like flames that burned through the strife and the dust on the marble walls of the city, passing through the cracks, leaving no area unlit.
Rumors of a righteous warrior in Thebes spread like wildfire, lighting the darkest of Thebes as if he were a torchbearer, illuminating the way for those who found themselves in trouble to guide them back to safety, all the while keeping the city safe from the discord that loomed over the city outskirt’s horizon.
No doubt this was the same man who had saved you months ago— the same Byzantium eyes with a head crowned with cyan, and his sandalled feet strutting down the street with his head held high and a sheathed sword on his right, while his left hand swung with every confident step he took, donning that mile-wide grin that came so naturally to him, like wildflowers that bloomed wherever they pleased under a cloudless sky.
Unashamed, unshackled, unperturbed. He seems a lot more glorified these days.
Popular as he may seem, you don’t doubt his honor as a hero, nor do you doubt his kindness— not after the few rendezvous you've had with him, though these days it's been a hassle keeping it on the down-low with his reputation and infamy.
Despite the glory and adulation he gets from the crowd, he still returns to that bar seat across the counter where you work.
From running into him months back by chance, he's found a friend in you amidst the newfound infamy, always lending a hand and fending off the thieves from ransacking the mead before you can get them inside. You learn he was raised in the countryside - not too different from the one he freed from the Hydra's havoc, and was found by an elderly couple right by their hut. He was adopted and raised to be a good man, albeit blessed with a little more strength and power than the average man— much like those fabled resonators you’ve heard stories about growing up, heroes who received the blessing of the sentinel.
As for his real parents... he doesn’t say much, and you don’t bother to ask or pry him about it.
He's still the same guy that saved you months ago, just with a huge following, and maybe a prospect or two on his trail trying to get his attention; yet somehow, he still looks out and asks for you after everything. Compared to him, you’re stuck in a familiar routine over the few years you’ve worked behind the tavern counter, much like the trade winds against the ship’s sails. Barely changing, but comfortable enough to know where things are headed. God knows why he still comes around when you’re a server in the bar he frequents, stuck inside listening to tales of him from frequenters and drunks as if he was a Greek regalia.
"You're still working behind the counter? Come now (name), surely you've got something better to do with your time!”
“Brant, it's only been a few months since you took down that monster. It's not as if I've got any place to get a job. Besides, where else would you actually find me for drinks, hm?"
"Serving drinks and lending both your ears to woes that are worth three! All behind a counter no less! Had I known better, you're an unsung hero to many!”
He lifts his cup to toast to you, and your eyes meet his.
“For your quiet service, and to the truest camaraderie you’ve given to people like me.”
Your cheeks warm up over his sincerity as he chuckles boyishly, shining a toothy grin from across the bar top, head propped up on his hand and leaning slightly forward. You cough awkwardly, trying to offset the growing joy in your heart.
“Thank you.”
You glance down and eye the floor. Have the tiles always been this dull? You polish the cup a little firmer.
“Don’t mention it. Another of the house specialty please!”
And there it is again, that bright, mile-wide grin rivaling the sun itself. You roll your eyes and chuff.
His cheek hasn't changed at all.
“… There’s the guy I know.”
You start working on his order exchanging a few jokes and jabs while you busy yourself; missing the way his cheeks flush as you get back to fixing his order like clockwork. A Nectar of the Gods for the hero who sat patiently on the other side of the bar top— "Nectarwine", as he liked to call it personally, watching the amber flow down the new cup in your hands, already smelling the sugar-sweet concoction wafting in the air once you put the rest of the mead back with the rest of the batch on the shelf.
Amidst the glory and praise, he admittedly found comfort in this little routine with you, sharing his day with you at least once a week after a hard day defending the city from tacet discords and criminals.
No matter what had happened to him, he'd always find you preparing drinks with practiced ease, ready to lend an ear and let him tell his daily tales after he orders another cup.
All behind a counter… He thinks to himself.
A kind smile on your face, a chortle here and there from his jokes, and a gentle reminder from you to watch his intake right after you give him his cup. He can't help but respond in kind, softly:
"You know me too well already. I can handle it, don't worry."
It’s no stranger to you that he always orders multiple times as per usual, with the claim that you've given him a cup from a better batch. Another one for the road, and another just to maybe keep you around for a little longer. Maybe.
He looks up from his cup, drunk on the sugar and liquor, while he lays his head on the bar counter, thanking the sentinel that you're too busy to notice him looking at your back. The color of the mead you gave him never looked prettier against your skin as you poured it into a cup every time, and he swore you'd look good in gold, though he wouldn't admit it now.
Was it really the Nectarwine that tasted sweet? or was it the company you provided him without hesitation? No, he's not blushing; he's only red because of the mead.
It’s his turn to cough, yet he can't help the stuttering beat on his chest. Have you always looked this stunning under the oil lamp's firelight? or has the liquor gone to his head already?
“Say (name)?”
He can't help but feel bold. it's now or never. You turn around and face him, setting down a clean cup back on the shelf.
“Yes?”
“How about we meet up some place else after your shift?”
“Oh? What for?”
"You look like you could use a break. Making and serving drinks on a daily must be awfully boring. What do you say?"
He grins, almost sheepishly. Brant, shy? That's new. You smile his way, chuckling over his sudden concern for your well-being. You cross your arms loosely and scoff lightly. For a moment, he's nervous.
Were you fond of him? He wonders. It's his eyes turn to flick up to yours, only to find that you're kinder than he thought.
"If there's anyone who needs a break, I think that would be you, Brant."
Terminology + Citations:
*"I will go the Distance (reprise)" - (sung by) Robert Bart, Hercules 1997.
Polis — greek city
Amphora | Amphorae — two-handled jar or vase, typically with a large oval body and a narrow cylindrical neck, used for storage and transport of liquids and solids like wine, oil, and grain.
Kapaleia — bars and taverns of ancient Greece.
Apotheca — storeroom for wine, herbs, and spices.
so uhh... part 2? Reblogs and hearts are always appreciated! Thank you for reading! ©bluu-mo0n. All rights reserved 2025.