The Gods of Olympus

Unlike anything you have read before.
Not quite a novel.
Not quite a chronicle.
Not quite mythology.
And perhaps not fiction in the way fiction is usually understood.

In the final days of 1968, seventy-six books bearing the mark of the Library of Alexandria are discovered beneath the ruins of Pompeii. Novels. Chronicles. Political records. Sacred texts. Fragments of a history that should not exist. At first sight, there was nothing extraordinary about them. Nothing except their existence.
"Fraud!" Dericci called them.
If for no other reason, simply because the books had survived time.

But then he realized that something beneath the language resisted it.
So he changed his lenses.
Then...

Something the peoples of Sumer, Assyria, and Babylon had believed. Something that appeared, in other forms, among the Maya and the Aztecs; among peoples of Africa and Australia; something that even the Abrahamic texts seemed to point toward, if read that way.
Something older than mythology.
A history from which mythology may have descended.

What if the stories we tell of Heaven are only damaged memories of those who once lived there?
These texts...
Their records.
Their propaganda.
Their manifestos.
Their sacred histories.
For there had been a cosmic war.
And perhaps-
there still is.