Aphrodite lay back on the soft, perfud silks of her bed, sunlight filtering through translucent curtains and bathing the chamber in a warm golden glow. The scent of roses and jasmine hung in the air, and the quiet murmur of fountains filled the silence. Yet her mind was anything but peaceful.
She had dismissed her attendants hours ago, needing solitude. Her eyes wandered across the ornate ceiling of her temple-palace, but her thoughts drifted elsewhere. No mortal, no divine admirer occupied her attention now. Only a na.
"Akhon," she whispered.
Not with the honeyed tone she usually used when speaking of a lover or a fleeting infatuation. Not with the amused sarcasm she reserved for the pompous gods of Olympus. No — she spoke it like a question. Like a prayer. Like a wound.
The mory wasn’t clear. It gnawed at her, a thread she couldn’t unravel.
She sat up, letting the silk slip from her bare shoulders. "Why can’t I forget it?"
It wasn’t what he said that haunted her — not exactly. It was how he said it. The weight in his voice, the grief he shouldn’t have carried. The look in his eyes, like he was reaching for sothing that had already been lost.
Akhon had co to her days ago with a strange request: to borrow her essence, to stir sothing inside Hesperia. She had refused at first, confused and a little offended, but eventually relented — curious more than anything. The attempt had failed, of course. Hesperia rembered nothing, just as Aphrodite herself had felt nothing change within her.
But now...
Now there was sothing. Like a faint tremor in the stillness of her mind. A murmur beneath the surface of her thoughts, impossible to catch but impossible to ignore.
A flash — not a mory, exactly, but an impression.
A voice. His voice.
"You once believed in ."
Her fingers tensed against the bed. The sensation was fleeting, like a ripple across a pond, gone before she could trace its origin. She pressed a hand to her forehead.
"Stop it," she muttered. "There’s nothing there. It’s just... nonsense."
Still, her chest felt tight. Her heart beat faster than it should. She didn’t want to rember. She didn’t need to rember. This was Olympus, and everything was as it should be. Wasn’t it?
The knock ca then — firm, asured. Not rushed. Not hesitant.
Aphrodite blinked, pulled from her spiraling thoughts. She quickly summoned a silk wrap and glided to the door, expecting perhaps Ares or one of her priestesses.
She opened it.
It was Akhon.
He stood in the golden light of the corridor, his hair slightly tousled from the wind, his expression calm, even friendly — but unfamiliar. There was no tension in his gaze. No searching sorrow. No hint of the man who had stood before her days ago asking impossible questions.
"Good morning," he said, offering a light smile. "I hope I’m not intruding."
She stared at him.
"No," she said, slowly. "Of course not."
He tilted his head. "You seem surprised to see ."
Aphrodite hesitated, then shook her head with a forced smile. "Not surprised. Just... lost in thought. What brings you here?"
"I’ve been visiting the gods," he said. "Athena, Hers, Apollo... even Hera invited to breakfast." He chuckled lightly. "It seems everyone wants to make sure I’m settling back in after... well, whatever strange dreams I had."
"Dreams?" she echoed.
He nodded. "Athena said I was speaking nonsense the other day. Sothing about threads and forgotten paths... doesn’t really sound like , does it?"
Aphrodite stared at him, trying to hide the chill creeping into her bones. He didn’t rember. Not even a flicker. Whatever fog clouded his mind had settled fully now.
"No," she said at last. "I suppose it doesn’t."
"I thought I’d visit you next," he continued, casual, charming. "We never talked much, but I always admired your grace. And I figured... well, maybe you could show so of the hidden places of Olympus? I feel like a stranger here sotis."
She forced a laugh. "A stranger? You? You’re the son of Zeus."
"So they say," he said, grinning. "But it still feels new. I’m not sure what kind of god I was before. I an, I know I’m the god of power and storms, but... the past feels hollow."
Aphrodite’s hand twitched at her side. She wanted to scream. Shake him. Ask him what had happened to the man who had looked her in the eyes like she mattered more than beauty, more than desire — like she ant sothing to him beyond appearances.
Instead, she said, "You’re doing fine. Olympus accepts you. That’s what matters."
He smiled warmly. "Thanks. That ans a lot, coming from you."
She opened the door wider, stepping aside. "Co in. We’ll talk."
He stepped past her into the room, his presence electric — not in power, but in absence. Like a storm that had passed but left the air heavy with the promise of rain.
And as Aphrodite closed the door behind them, she pressed a hand to her chest.
anwhile, Akhon stepped into the chamber with that sa serene smile he always wore lately—polished, cordial, and just a bit too perfect. Aphrodite blinked twice, hiding her frown behind a soft, practiced smile. The lingering echo of the strange mory squeeze still pulsed gently in her temples like a whisper she couldn’t catch. It had only lasted a second, but sothing about it... his voice, those words. They’d stirred sothing buried, sothing too hazy to na.
"You look troubled," Akhon said, his voice warm but distant, like a prince checking on one of his courtiers.
Aphrodite gestured toward the velvet divan near the window. "Just thinking. Sit with ?"
He obliged with a small nod and lowered himself beside her, his hands resting neatly on his knees. She studied him in silence for a mont. His movents were so precise now, so... deliberate. It wasn’t the Akhon she rembered from even a few days ago.
"Did you co for sothing specific, or just a casual visit?" she asked, keeping her tone light.
"I was out with Athena earlier," he said. "We passed your quarters and I thought, ’It’s been too long since I’ve spoken with Aphrodite. I should fix that.’"
She smiled faintly, trying to hide the chill creeping up her spine. He said it so naturally, yet... it wasn’t like him to say things that rehearsed.
"Well, that’s sweet of you," she replied. "We don’t usually talk much unless there’s so eting or battle plan."
"Battle plans?" Akhon tilted his head slightly, like the term confused him. "That sounds rather dramatic. Olympus is at peace."
There it was again. A tiny crack in the flawless porcelain.
She nodded slowly. "Sure. Of course it is." She turned slightly toward him, watching his profile in the gentle light of the room. "You know... the other day, before everything, you said sothing to ."
"Oh?" He looked at her, politely curious. "What was it?"
She hesitated. "You told to hold on to who I really was. That I shouldn’t let this world change ... That even if the people I loved didn’t rember , I had to rember myself."
Akhon’s brows furrowed just slightly—almost imperceptibly. "That doesn’t sound like sothing I’d say," he admitted, a hint of a laugh escaping him. "I an, it sounds poetic, yes, but... I don’t recall it."
Aphrodite stared at him, her smile now gone.
"You don’t rember it at all?"
"I’m sorry," he said gently. "I don’t rember much of what happened before last week, to be honest. Hera told I had so kind of... celestial sickness. A confusion. Delusions. But I feel much better now."
Celestial sickness. Delusions.
Aphrodite looked away, hiding the flash of panic behind a laugh. "Well, we’ve all had strange dreams, haven’t we?"
"Yes. I dread of a city once," he said. "Kaeron. I don’t know why the na sticks with , but it does."
She turned sharply to look at him.
"What did you say?"
He blinked. "Kaeron. Is that... a place? Maybe it was in one of Athena’s stories. Or from a scroll Hera read to . I don’t know. The na feels familiar."
Her heart skipped a beat. That wasn’t a na he could’ve heard recently. No one spoke of Kaeron.
"You said it like it ant sothing," she whispered.
"It’s strange, right?" he chuckled softly. "But no, I can’t place it. Probably just a trick of the mind."
Aphrodite bit her lip, hard. Sothing was wrong. The Akhon she knew was still there—but buried. She could feel it in the way he said Kaeron, in the flicker in his eyes when she ntioned his words from before.
"Do you still believe in destiny?" she asked suddenly.
Akhon smiled, this ti with a trace of confusion. "That’s a very philosophical question."
"You used to speak of it often. About how we weren’t just gods of Olympus, but more than that. Pieces of a bigger design."
"I don’t rember that," he said again, almost with regret. "But it sounds beautiful. Maybe I was more poetic before the sickness."
She laughed gently, though the sound was hollow. "Maybe you were."
Silence fell between them for a few seconds.
Then Aphrodite leaned closer, placing a hand lightly on his.
"Can I ask you sothing strange?"
"Of course."
"If you ever felt like there was more to your story—more than what everyone tells you—would you try to find it?"
He looked at her, brow furrowing again. But not in confusion. This ti, it was sothing deeper. Sothing closer to instinct.
"...Maybe," he admitted softly. "I suppose I would. Why?"
She offered a soft smile. "No reason. Just curious."
Akhon rose then, brushing nonexistent dust from his robe. "I should go. Athena’s expecting later."
"Of course," she said, standing with him.
He paused before reaching the door. "You’re... very kind, Aphrodite. I’m glad I visited."
She nodded slowly. "So am I."
When the door closed behind him, she stood still for a long mont. Her heart raced.
Sothing wasn’t right. He didn’t rember—but sothing inside him did.
And she would find out what had happened... even if the entire Olympus stood in her way.
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