Upon hearing that something had happened to Hera, Hebe's heart tightened, and a spark of fury ignited in her violet eyes.
She looked toward Mount Olympus. The peak, usually bathed in eternal sunlight, was now shrouded in clouds as black as ink, radiating an oppressive atmosphere. Piercing bolts of lightning flickered through the gloom, and the rolling thunder could be heard from ten thousand miles away—a clear sign of the foul mood currently possessing the mountain's master.
Who could it be? Who dared offend her mother, the noble Queen of Heaven?
In the Greek world, even the most rebellious divine children usually held deep love and respect for their mothers. Every goddess who brought a child into the world did so at the cost of consuming a portion of her own divine essence and Godhood. The fathers, however—the male gods of this mythic realm—were largely irresponsible. They lacked a sense of duty, often vanishing to carouse elsewhere once a goddess became pregnant.
As a result, most divine children were raised and nurtured by their mothers. In all her time in this world, Hebe could count the number of times she had seen her father, Zeus, on one hand. And while Ares saw Zeus frequently due to his status as a Major God, their relationship was one of sovereign and subject rather than father and son. Combined with Zeus's philandering, Ares, who felt a deep pity for Hera, could never bring himself to be close to his father. In fact, he loathed him.
In the hearts of these two siblings, their mother was undoubtedly the most important person. Hearing of her plight, they wasted no time. They boarded the bronze chariot, and Ares lashed his whip ruthlessly against the backs of the four demonic horses, forcing them to race toward Mount Olympus at full speed.
The Great Hall of the Sovereigns was the tallest temple on Olympus, where the councils of the gods were held. By the time Hebe and Ares arrived, more than half of the Olympian deities had already gathered. They stood in a state of uneasy agitation, looking up at the Queen, Hera.
The noble auburn-haired goddess was livid. She was trapped in an exquisitely crafted golden throne. At the very top of the chair, inscribed in divine runes, was a small line of text: To the Most Noble Goddess.
The Golden Throne of Hephaestus!
Hebe's eyes widened. Was this event still happening?
She knew her brother Hephaestus. Despite his tragic past, his heart was a rare island of simple kindness among the gods. He had always been affectionate toward her, never showing the slightest hint of resentment toward their mother. Hebe had originally assumed that the myth of the Queen being trapped in the golden chair was a mere fabrication or exaggeration, but it was now playing out before her eyes.
"Hephaestus? That damned fool!"
Ares, too, recognized the craftsmanship. Who else among the gods possessed such exquisite skill? His teeth ground together, and a murderous light flared in his dark red eyes. He reached for his battle-axe, ready to descend to the mortal realm and hack his brother to pieces.
"Brother, wait. This might not be as simple as it looks. For now, we must focus on how to free Mother."
Hebe restrained the raging Ares. she looked at her mother, who, even while trapped, kept her spine straight to maintain her dignity. Hephaestus often sent divine artifacts to Hera, and the Queen was well-acquainted with his work; it seemed unlikely she would be so easily ensnared by a mere chair.
Among the gods in the hall, few were actually trying to find a way to help. Most had their own agendas. Athena, the Goddess of Wisdom; Leto, the dark-robed goddess; and the twin lights, Apollo and Artemis—these deities, who had clashed with Hera in the past, wore masks of concern that poorly hid their schadenfreude.
The gods whispered amongst themselves. Several had volunteered to try their hand at freeing her, employing divine arts, sorcery, and curses, but every method proved useless against the golden masterpiece of the God of Fire.
"If my arrows could be used as lockpicks, I would certainly lend my strength to the Great Queen," teased a goddess with short, silver-gray hair and a beautiful, sacred countenance. She gripped her silver bow and spoke in a low voice to her friend, Athena.
"Perhaps Apollo's all-consuming flames of light could help Her Majesty escape this predicament," replied the bright-eyed Athena with feigned concern. In truth, she would have liked nothing more than to see Hera's hair singed off.
Standing beside them was a muscular, handsome god with golden hair that carried a faint, lingering fragrance. He wore a laurel crown woven from water lilies, and a soft radiance enveloped him. This was Apollo, the god of light, prophecy, music, and medicine—Artemis's twin brother.
Listening to the banter between Artemis and Athena, a flicker of amusement touched Apollo's sky-blue eyes—eyes inherited from their father. After all, the illegitimate children of Zeus had suffered plenty at Hera's hands.
Shhh-boom!
An arrow shimmering with sacred silver light rode the wind, streaking toward Artemis while she was still laughing with Athena.
The Olympian gods of Zeus's line had only recently taken power. At this time, many of the world's divine offices were still held by the Titans. Though Artemis and Apollo were the twin lights of the sun and moon, the actual sovereignty over the celestial bodies belonged to the Titans Helios and Selene.
Apollo was one thing—his multiple offices in light, medicine, and music, combined with the rare gift of prophecy, gave him the strength of a peak first-tier deity even without the sun's chariot. Artemis, however, had yet to seize the moon's authority. She represented the forest and the hunt, and had recently used Zeus's favor to split the office of Midwifery away from Hera's domain. These were not top-tier powers; they barely placed her at the peak of the second tier. Her influence on the mountain was largely due to Zeus's doting and Apollo's protection.
Athena and Apollo were clever; even if they wished to mock Hera, they kept up appearances. Hebe knew she couldn't afford to provoke those two yet. But Artemis? A mere second-tier goddess daring to openly ridicule her mother? It was intolerable.
The silver arrow was swift and violent, slamming toward the gray-haired goddess like a falling star. Artemis's face paled. The divine power within that shaft was such that, while not lethal, it would certainly leave her in a wretched state if it connected.
"Hmph!"
The peerless God of Light stepped in front of his sister. He raised a slender hand, and a soft golden glow erupted into a Light Shield, effortlessly dissolving the silver arrow into sparks.
"..."
Hebe gripped her Jade Bow tight. So this is the gap between the first and second tiers.
"What is the meaning of this, Lady Hebe?" Apollo asked, his gaze turning cold as he looked at the golden-haired goddess across the hall.
The assembly of gods finally saw clearly who had been bold enough to attack Artemis. It was the Queen's youngest daughter, Hebe—the one with the "most useless" office of Youth.
Understanding dawned on the crowd. Artemis's voice hadn't been loud, but she hadn't bothered to hide it either; those nearby had heard her disrespectful comments. The tradition of the gods was to honor the mother. As the Queen's favorite daughter, Hebe's choice to defend her mother's honor was beyond reproach. In fact, many goddesses looked upon Hebe's actions with newfound appreciation.
"Is that Hebe? Isn't her office Youth? That arrow didn't feel like something a frail Goddess of Youth could fire."
"Artemis's words were a bit much..."
"Still, for Lady Hebe to attack another deity without warning..."
Ignoring the murmurs, Hebe stowed her bow. Her "ox-eyes," inherited from Hera, were now piercing and sharp. In this moment, the maiden-like goddess carried a trace of the same nobility and majesty as her mother.
"A mere second-tier goddess dares to speak ill of the Queen? That arrow was a warning. Do it again, and I will go to the mortal realm and slaughter every one of your Golden-horned Deer."
The Ceryneian Hinds were Artemis's sacred familiars. She cherished them deeply, even using them to pull her chariot. A deity's familiars and sacred objects were symbols of their status; to destroy them was a direct slap to the face.
"You!"
Artemis flushed with rage. She never expected this usually quiet, unfavored daughter of Zeus to challenge her so publicly.
"You are a Goddess of Youth with third-tier strength. Even if you are the Queen's daughter, does attacking a higher-ranking deity suit your station?"
"Third-tier strength?"
Hebe stopped suppressing her aura. A soft radiance erupted around her as the offices of Youth, Purification, and Healing began to circulate. She revealed her current power level to the entire Olympian assembly: Second-tier middle rank.
"Sss! A second-tier deity! She has second-tier middle strength!"
"Impossible! The last time I saw Lady Hebe, she was clearly third-tier!"
"When was the last time you saw her?"
"...About forty years ago?"
"By the heavens! From the third tier to the middle of the second in forty years? Did she overdraw her divine essence?"
Forty years was a mere blink to an immortal. Hebe's rapid ascension left the gods slack-jawed, with some even suspecting she had sacrificed her future potential for a temporary boost.
"...This... this is impossible!" Artemis stammered. She knew better than anyone how difficult it was to increase one's divine power.
Apollo and Athena also looked surprised. Had the Queen's daughter encountered some miracle? The offices of Purification and Healing weren't the rarest, but they were solid. Perhaps the doting Queen had given her daughter a secret advantage?
Athena, the bright-eyed goddess, felt a pang of envy. Having a powerful mother really does make life easier.
"Lady Hebe, I believe this matter..." Apollo began. If this continued, Artemis would not only lose face but might also be formally charged with disrespecting the Queen.
"Lord Apollo, I believe it is inconvenient for us to interfere in the disputes of goddesses. Don't you agree?" Ares's boisterous, rough voice cut him off. His bloodshot eyes stared heavily at Apollo, a clear warning: Don't think you're the only one with a brother.
"..."
Apollo was utterly tired of this crude God of War. As a patron of the arts, he couldn't stand Ares—a violent deity who smelled of blood and preferred brawling over reason. He was mindless and troublesome.
"Enough!"
An authoritative voice rang through the hall. Zeus sat upon his throne. As the ruler of the sky, his ears and eyes were everywhere; he had seen the dispute between his two daughters from the start. He was powerful and dominant, possessing a majesty that demanded submission.
"Father, Hebe was the one who—" Artemis knelt on one knee, her spirited face a mixture of defiance and grievance. As one of the twin gods, her beauty was striking, naturally eliciting pity.
Hebe also knelt silently. Unlike the favored Artemis, she knew that for an unfavored daughter, silence was the wisest path.
"Enough, Artemis. You overstepped."
Zeus's voice was somewhat cold. Gods were ageless; despite having many children, the King maintained the appearance of a man in his prime. His peerless face and mature, noble aura explained why so many women were willing to bear his children.
Zeus looked at the two daughters kneeling before him. Artemis was undoubtedly one of his favorites. As for Hebe, he had little impression of her. He remembered her as a timid, admittedly frail goddess who never dared to raise her head in his presence, appearing terrified every time they met.
But now, there was a glimmer of appreciation in Zeus's eyes. He looked at Hebe. Though she remained submissive, her previous cowardice had vanished. For the first time, Zeus truly took in her appearance.
As the Goddess of Youth, her face still held a touch of innocence, but it was a beautiful face that seemed to fuse the best traits of himself and Hera. Her hair was brighter than the sun, and her violet eyes were identical to Hera's—like a beautiful fleur-de-lis. This caused Zeus to feel a rare surge of fatherly affection for his and Hera's youngest daughter.
The gaze from above made Hebe uncomfortable, but since he was her father and the supreme King, she had to suppress her irritation and maintain a reverent expression.
"Artemis, speaking ill of the Queen indeed warrants punishment."