Aphrodite wandered the silent marble corridors of Olympus, her thoughts a whirlpool of confusion. The place where the Loom of Fate was supposed to be... was gone. Not just hidden. Gone. As if it had never existed at all. The archway that once led to the secret chamber had beco a smooth wall of white stone, unmarked and untouched. Even her divine senses couldn’t detect the faintest residue of magic.
She clenched her jaw, her sandals echoing across the floor with each determined step. "Soone’s done more than just erase mories," she muttered. "They’ve rewritten the fabric of Olympus."
But she couldn’t solve this alone.
If there were inconsistencies in the tiline—if things like the Trojan War hadn’t yet happened, if so stories seed missing—then she needed the help of gods who, like her, had an eye for detail and movent.
Her first stop: Hers.
The god of ssages, travel, and secrets.
She found him in one of Olympus’ upper chambers, lounging in a chair suspended upside-down from the ceiling, lazily spinning a caduceus in his fingers. Scrolls floated around him like leaves in a windless autumn, each inscribed with recent mortal events. His gaze flicked toward her as she entered.
"Well, well," he said with a knowing smirk. "Aphrodite, gracing with her presence. I assu this is about sothing more serious than scandal or perfu?"
"Don’t flatter yourself, Hers." She crossed her arms. "I need information. And I need your honesty."
He flipped down from the ceiling, landing lightly on his feet with the elegance of a cat. "You wound . I’m the very embodint of honesty."
"I’m serious," she snapped. "Sothing’s wrong. Terribly wrong. I’ve been reviewing our histories—true histories, unchangeable tos in the sacred archive—and so events haven’t occurred that should have. Events that I rember. Events you should know."
He blinked. His smirk faded slightly. "You’re talking about the Age of Heroes."
"You do rember," she said, leaning in. "The war of Troy. Helen’s abduction. Achilles, Hector, Odysseus. You rember it, don’t you?"
"I... I have glimpses," Hers admitted, his voice unusually subdued. "Flashes, like a dream I woke from too quickly. But those scrolls don’t exist. Not anymore."
"Exactly," she said. "The records are gone. But the archives can’t be edited—not by gods, not by Titans, not even by Chaos."
Hers narrowed his eyes, tension growing in his shoulders. "You think soone altered reality?"
"I think soone rewrote it," Aphrodite replied. "And whoever did it, they wanted us to forget."
She hesitated, then added, "And Akhon... he’s not himself. His mories are gone. He believes he’s only ever been your brother, son of Zeus. He doesn’t rember anything else."
Hers stiffened. "That’s not right. Akhon’s power... it’s unique. Even I never understood its origin fully. He felt older than Olympus itself."
"I think he is. Or was."
Hers walked to one of the floating scrolls and tapped it. "And the Fates?"
"Gone. Their chamber doesn’t exist anymore." Aphrodite’s voice dropped to a whisper. "It’s like Olympus itself has been restructured. I’m going to find out who did it. But I’ll need help."
Hers hesitated, then gave a nod. "You’ll want soone who sees through the cracks. Try Hestia. If anyone still rembers the old warmth of truth, it’s her."
---
Hestia’s sanctuary sat apart from the rest of Olympus. A quiet, humble place, all firelight and silence, with no golden thrones or shimring columns. Aphrodite stepped inside and was imdiately wrapped in warmth—not just from the hearthfire, but from the calm that always accompanied the goddess of ho and hearth.
Hestia was kneeling, feeding a flickering fla with dried herbs. She turned as Aphrodite entered, her gentle face creased with curiosity.
"You seem troubled, child."
"I am." Aphrodite sat beside her, not bothering with pleasantries. "I need your help. Sothing’s wrong with Olympus—sothing no one seems to notice."
"I’ve felt it," Hestia said quietly, hands still tending the fla. "A shift in the rhythm. As if a familiar song now plays in a strange key."
"You rember too?"
"Not clearly," she admitted. "But I know there should be more. More stories. More voices. More fire."
Aphrodite felt a wave of relief. She wasn’t imagining it.
"The Fates are gone," she said. "Their chamber has vanished. The books in the sacred library show a history I don’t rember living through. Akhon doesn’t know who he is. And so gods think I’m being paranoid."
Hestia turned her gaze to the fire. "Then perhaps the fire can guide us."
She stood, gesturing toward the hearth. "Sit. Let the flas show you what they will."
Aphrodite obeyed. The flas danced wildly for a mont, then began to shape themselves—images flashing in orange and gold. She saw visions: a city bathed in golden light, people cheering Akhon’s na... a council of gods not gathered in centuries... and a mist, a deep violet mist that swallowed light.
Then the fire went out.
Hestia was pale. "There’s sothing old in this. Sothing before Titans, before mory. And it wants us blind."
Aphrodite stood. "I need to reach the truth before it’s too late."
"You’ll need allies," Hestia said. "Those who still rember fire, movent, and change."
"I already have two." Aphrodite turned toward the door, determination flaring in her eyes. "And I’m not stopping until I find the third."
---
And now, she was doing sothing she had sworn never to do again.
She stopped before the darkened entrance of a dod hall tucked behind the Forge of Hephaestus. The air here was thicker, warr. Red banners fluttered inside like bloodstained mories, and from within, the sound of steel clashing against steel echoed faintly.
"Ares," she called, loud and clear, ignoring the lump in her throat.
Silence.
Then the unmistakable voice answered, gruff and edged with amusent. "Did Olympus run out of charm, or are you finally here to apologize for everything?"
Aphrodite stepped inside, head held high. The god of war stood shirtless at the center of the hall, training against three animated bronze soldiers. With a flick of his wrist, they froze. He turned to her, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Still dramatic as ever," he said. "What do you want?"
"I’m not here to fight," Aphrodite replied. "And I’m not here to apologize either."
Ares smirked. "So, diplomacy, then?"
She sighed. "I need your help."
That caught him off guard. The amusent on his face faded as he crossed his arms. "You’ve got Hers, don’t you? Or that hearth mouse, Hestia?"
"They don’t rember," she said, her voice lowering. "Sothing is wrong. The library holds scrolls that ntion the Age of Heroes, the Trojan War, nas like Odysseus and Achilles... but no one rembers any of it. Not even . I read those nas and feel nothing. But the scrolls can’t be changed. Not even by a god."
Ares’ expression shifted. His eyes, once mocking, narrowed into focus. "You’re serious."
"I wouldn’t co to you if I weren’t."
He approached her slowly. "You said the Fates. You think they have sothing to do with this?"
"They must," she replied. "Their sanctuary is sealed. The entrance is gone. It’s as if they never existed—but I rember it. Not the details, not clearly... but the space, the energy. The absence is loud."
Ares walked past her, grabbing a dark red cloak from a rack and throwing it over his shoulder. "How long has this been going on?"
"Since a few days ago. It started with a conversation I had with Akhon."
He stopped mid-step.
"Akhon?" he asked. "The lightning brat?"
Aphrodite nodded. "He said sothing strange—he spoke as if he knew from a different ti, ntioned things that made no sense. And the next day, he didn’t rember any of it. He doesn’t even seem to know what he said. It’s like he was... reset."
Ares’s brow furrowed. "That’s not like him. The kid’s strange, but not confused."
"Exactly," she said. "And I think it’s connected to the Fates."
He paced, rubbing the back of his neck. "You really think soone ssed with the threads?"
"I think soone erased them."
Ares stood silently for a long mont. Then, to her surprise, he nodded.
"You ca to the right god," he muttered. "If there’s a fight coming, I’d rather be in front of it than behind."
Aphrodite let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. "You’ll help ?"
He turned toward her, and for a mont, his eyes softened—not with love, not anymore, but with sothing older. Respect. Shared history. Unspoken loyalty.
"I’m not the fool I was, Aphrodite," he said. "We burned each other down once. But if what you’re saying is true... this isn’t just about you, or Akhon. It’s about Olympus itself."
Aphrodite nodded. "Then we find the truth together."
He picked up his spear and nodded toward the exit. "I know a few old tunnels. Forgotten ways down into the roots of Olympus. If the Fates are sealed, maybe soone didn’t want them found. But there are other paths."
They walked side by side into the light, the tension of years still between them but softened now by necessity. The breeze outside carried the scents of olive trees and lightning in the distance. Olympus humd, unaware of the cracks beneath its divine calm.
"You know," Ares said, glancing sideways, "if this ends up with us fighting so ancient force bent on rewriting fate, I’m going to enjoy myself."
"I thought you might," she said with a smirk.
He grinned. "And if you betray again, I’ll throw you into Tartarus."
She raised a brow. "Then don’t give a reason."
They laughed—not like lovers, not like strangers, but like gods who had survived each other, and who now shared a new enemy neither could na.
The path forward was uncertain, but for the first ti since the mories began unraveling, Aphrodite didn’t feel alone.
Not anymore.
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