Olympus — the Hall of the Gods.
Once again, Zeus returned in frustration. Leaning back against his throne, he gazed down upon the earth below. Like swarming ants, humanity spread across the land, filling it with growing settlements and new cities. They even ventured into the seas, claiming them piece by piece. His expression was dark, and silver-white sparks of thunder flickered in his eyes, burning with anger.
He loathed these creations—so similar to the gods themselves. In their wild defiance and untamed ambition, Zeus saw a faint glimpse of the world that would follow the twilight of the Age of Gods.
That was why the King of the Gods had long planned to free his hands and cleanse the earth. Even if he could not wipe out humanity entirely, erasing the mark of Prometheus upon them would at least be a start.
But the endless squabbles and petty affairs atop Mount Olympus constantly distracted him. And time after time, fate itself called him back to Mount Caucasus—to demand from the prophet Prometheus the answers buried in his prophecies.
Now, as the years passed, humanity was rising. They had grown into a force too significant to ignore.
Though the gods of Olympus still wore their proud masks, in truth they had long been walking the mortal realm in secret, disguising themselves to spread their influence and compete for faith. Among humankind, they performed miracles, earning more temples and sacrifices. Their divine power swelled with every offering.
The god of light, Apollo, worshipped far and wide, and Poseidon, the sea god endlessly honored in sacrifice, stood as the most prominent examples.
This meaningless stalemate could not continue. Action had to be taken—soon.
Zeus frowned, muttering under his breath. The glow of thunder flashed in his eyes, and as he snorted coldly, lightning arced skyward. The heavens rumbled and cracked, thunderbolts roaring as they formed a blazing mark in the air.
Moments later, a burly man appeared, his face rough and scarred, a thick red beard covering his jaw. He limped heavily, dragging a lame leg as he climbed the temple steps. Bowing deeply, he saluted the figure seated upon the throne.
Zeus looked down at his son—the god of fire and the forge, Hephaestus—still wearing his work apron and clutching a blacksmith's hammer. For the first time that day, the storm in Zeus's expression eased.
Hephaestus was born of Hera alone, a child conceived by the Queen of Heaven without a father. Yet flaws in his divine birth had left his life force imperfect. Unlike the radiant, flawless gods of Olympus, Hephaestus was rough, lame, and ungainly.
As the famed white-armed goddess, Hera despised her own creation. Unable to bear the sight of her misshapen son, she had hurled him from Olympus the moment he was born.
Hephaestus fell into the depths of the sea, where the sea goddess Thetis rescued and raised him.
When he came of age, the god revealed his unmatched gift for craftsmanship. He forged treasures and divine weapons beyond compare, hoping to earn forgiveness and a place once more among the Olympians.
But Hera, proud and vain, would not allow it. She refused to face the son she deemed a blemish upon her beauty.
Determined, Hephaestus poured his entire skill and heart into crafting a magnificent golden throne, a gift for his mother—a symbol of his devotion. He hoped it might soften her heart.
But though Hera accepted the splendid gift, she still turned him away coldly, ordering him to leave her sight.
At last, his patience shattered. Hephaestus turned and departed without another word.
Moments later, as Hera sat upon the throne, ready to revel in its splendor, golden chains suddenly burst forth from the seat, wrapping around her and binding her fast. Not even her divine strength could move an inch.
The gods tried everything to break the enchanted bindings, but even Zeus's Thunderbolt—after several furious attempts—could not shake the golden chains.
With Hera trapped at the center, the gods dared not unleash their full power, fearful that their efforts might harm the Queen of Heaven herself. One by one, they gave up in frustration.
After enduring her confinement and humiliation for a long time, Hera finally swallowed her pride. At the urging of Zeus and the other gods, she relented and sent swift-footed Hermes to Mount Etna, hoping he could mediate between mother and son and bring Hephaestus back to Olympus.
But Hephaestus, wounded and bitter from years of rejection, was not so quick to forgive. He refused to release Hera from the throne's golden chains.
In the end, Zeus intervened. He bestowed upon Hephaestus the divine title of God of Fire and Forging, and promised him the hand of Aphrodite—the most beautiful goddess on Olympus. At last, the honest craftsman, driven to the brink, agreed to reconcile with Hera.
As for Aphrodite—ah, that exquisite flower—if Zeus could not pluck her himself, then no ordinary god would be allowed to touch her either.
Truth be told, the reason this lame and homely son stood among the Olympians at all was largely thanks to Zeus's fair mediation.
Though Hephaestus's relationship with his mother Hera remained distant and cold, he held deep respect for his father.
Devoted entirely to the art of creation and with no desire for power, Hephaestus rarely lingered on Olympus despite his seat among the principal gods. He spent most of his time within Mount Etna, working alongside the three Cyclopes, hammering day after day, taking joy in the rhythm of the forge.
The god of fire and metalwork continued to forge countless weapons and treasures for the gods, greatly strengthening Olympus's might. For a son so unambitious and harmless, Zeus was naturally inclined to treat him with greater leniency and warmth.
Marrying Aphrodite—whose beauty could easily spark rivalries among gods—to such a dull and steadfast husband was also an effective way to prevent her allure from stirring further chaos on Olympus.
To break the curse of fate and ensure his eternal reign, Zeus had once sealed his beloved Metis within himself. Forsaking another goddess born of desire was, to him, a familiar sacrifice.
Still, Hephaestus… you come before your king still wearing that apron? Has your obsession with the forge gone too far?
You spend your days buried in the fires of Mount Etna, surrounded by molten metal and Cyclopes, seeing them more often than your own wife.
If you have time, perhaps turn your attention to her for once.
While you've been away, your lovely wife has been getting quite close to your handsome brother—Ares, the god of war.
In fact, more than a few gods have likely shared her bed more times than you ever have.
Zeus frowned, the thought bitter in his chest, but he kept silent. The pride of the gods and the stability of Olympus stayed his tongue.
Besides, with the matters of the cursed child and humanity consuming his attention, even if he knew Aphrodite's intentions were anything but pure, he had neither the time nor the patience to interfere.
"Father," Hephaestus said, setting down his hammer and bowing respectfully toward the throne, "you summoned me. What do you command?"
"Hephaestus, my dear child," Zeus murmured, his gaze glinting faintly, "your craftsmanship is the pride of all Olympus. I wish to make use of that unmatched skill of yours—to forge a vessel of perfect design."