The golden halls of Olympus were silent, a rare occurrence in a realm where laughter and music usually echoed without end. The air was heavy with tension, the kind that made even the gods uneasy.
Hera stood on the balcony of her chamber, her raven-black hair tousled by the wind, her eyes fixed on the tiny form in her arms. The child, her son, was so fragile, so imperfect, and yet there was a fire in his eyes that she could not ignore. But the weight of the gods' judgment pressed down on her, their whispers a constant reminder of her failure.
She looked down at him one last time, her fingers brushing against the scar that marred his delicate face. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "But this is the only way." With a trembling breath, she released him, her heart shattering as she watched him fall, his tiny form disappearing into the clouds below.
Hephaestus tumbled through the sky, his tiny limbs flailing as the wind roared in his ears. The world around him was a blur of gold and blue, the grandeur of Olympus fading into the distance. He was too young to understand what was happening, too innocent to comprehend the cruelty of the gods. All he knew was the sudden absence of warmth, the cold sting of the wind against his skin, and the overwhelming sense of loss.
The clouds parted as he fell, revealing the vast expanse of the mortal world below. The earth stretched out before him, a patchwork of green and blue, its beauty marred by the terror of his descent. He tried to cry out, but the wind stole his voice, leaving him silent and helpless. His tiny hands reached out, grasping at nothing, as though he could somehow stop his fall. But there was no one to catch him, no one to save him from the fate his mother had chosen.
Back on Olympus, the gods watched in stunned silence. Aphrodite stood at the edge of the balcony, her golden hair streaming behind her as she gazed at the tiny figure falling through the clouds. Her heart, usually so cold and calculating, ached with a strange, unfamiliar emotion. She had always prided herself on her beauty and her ability to manipulate others, but now, as she watched the child fall, she felt a pang of guilt.
She turned to Hera, her eyes filled with a mixture of pity and anger. "How could you?" she asked, her voice trembling. "He was your son."
Hera did not respond. She stood frozen, her eyes fixed on the horizon, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she steeled her heart. The weight of her decision pressed down on her, a burden she could not escape. She had always been the embodiment of perfection, the queen of the gods, revered and feared in equal measure. But now, as she watched her son fall, she felt a vulnerability she had never known.
Zeus stood nearby, his expression as unreadable as ever. His eyes, usually alight with the fury of storms, were cold and distant. He had always been a god of action, of power and dominance, but now, as he watched the child fall, he felt a strange sense of unease.
He turned to Hera, his voice low and commanding. "What have you done?" he asked, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Hera did not answer. She could not. The words caught in her throat, a lump of guilt and regret that was too big to swallow. She had always prided herself on her strength, her ability to rise above any challenge. But this—this was a challenge unlike any other. Her son, her child, was imperfect, and in the eyes of the gods, imperfection was a sin.
Ares, the god of war, leaned against the balcony railing, his armor gleaming in the golden light. His smirk was cruel, his eyes filled with amusement as he watched the scene unfold.
"Well," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "that's one way to solve a problem."
His laughter echoed through the chamber, a sound that made Hera's blood boil. She turned to him, her eyes blazing with fury, but before she could speak, he was gone, striding away with a swagger that only added to her rage.
As Hephaestus fell, the mortal world below came into sharper focus. The earth was a tapestry of life and death, of beauty and chaos. The mountains rose like giants, their peaks shrouded in mist, while the rivers snaked through the valleys, their waters glistening in the sunlight. The forests were a sea of green, their leaves rustling in the wind, while the cities were a maze of stone and smoke, their streets teeming with life.
But Hephaestus saw none of this. His eyes were closed, his tiny body limp as he tumbled through the sky. The wind roared in his ears, a deafening sound that drowned out all else. He could feel the cold sting of the air against his skin, the pressure building in his chest as he fell faster and faster.
Poseidon, ruler of the seas, felt a faint stirring of curiosity as he sensed the child plummeting toward his domain. He did not interfere, nor did he care. Let the child meet the ocean's embrace, if it would have him. The sea was vast and unfeeling, a realm that swallowed the forsaken.
The sea rose to meet him, its waves churning with a fury that matched the storm in Hera's heart. The water was cold and dark, its depths a mystery even to the gods. As Hephaestus plunged into the waves, the world around him went silent, the roar of the wind replaced by the muffled sound of water rushing past his ears.
For a moment, he was weightless, suspended in the cold embrace of the sea. The water pressed in on him, its weight crushing, its darkness suffocating. He tried to breathe, but the water filled his lungs, a cold, burning sensation that made him gasp. His tiny body convulsed, his limbs flailing as he struggled against the inevitable.
But then, just as the darkness threatened to consume him, he felt a warmth, a gentle touch that seemed to pull him back from the brink. The water around him shimmered, the darkness giving way to a soft, golden light. He opened his eyes, his vision blurred by the water, and saw a figure approaching, her form glowing with an otherworldly radiance.
It was Thetis, the sea nymph, her eyes filled with compassion as she reached out to him. Her hands were soft and warm, her touch gentle as she cradled him in her arms.
"Shh," she whispered, her voice a soothing melody that calmed his racing heart. "You're safe now."
The sea nymph, daughter of Nereus, had been watching. She had seen the child fall, had heard the whispers of the gods, had felt the impact as the child struck the sea. There was sorrow in her gaze as she cradled him, her fingers brushing against the scar that marked his tiny face.
She had known cruelty before. She had seen the way Olympus discarded those it deemed unworthy. She would not allow it to happen again. Holding the child close, she rose through the waves, the ocean parting around her as she moved.
The light of the surface shimmered above, growing brighter, golden rays piercing through the water like threads of divine fire. She broke through, emerging into the cool night air, the sea's surface calm once more.
Hephaestus stirred in her arms, his tiny form trembling, his breaths ragged but steady. His eyes, stormy and uncertain, blinked open. And for the first time since his fall, he was not alone.
Thetis held him close, her voice a whisper once more.
"You are safe now."
The words were soft, yet resolute. A promise. A defiance.