Beneath the skies of Olympus, the divine hall thundered with rrint. Goblets of ambrosia clinked, music enchanted the air, and laughter echoed like celestial thunder.
The Olympians were in high spirits, celebrating the punishnt of the so-called traitor—Protheus.
In fact, they never really cared about the fla, especially Zeus, as the fla was useless to him anyway.
However, he hated the fact that soone dared to steal from him, ignoring his majesty.
So punishnt must be served.
After that, they went back to their daily parties.
But one god was absent.
Far away, on the peak of a grand and tall mountain, where not even gods would dare to casually climb, Hades stood beside the chained Titan of Foresight.
Protheus was bound to a jagged monolith, thick adamantine chains wrapping around his limbs, gleaming with divine power.
His body was weakened, his divine form dulled and gaunt from the draining sentence. Yet his smile had not faded.
"Most would scream," Hades remarked, settling onto a stone, which softened into a black velvet chair the mont he sat. "You smile."
"I’ve always found suffering makes for a dull companion," Protheus said, his voice rasped but warm. "A smile helps ease the weight."
Hades studied him in silence. "You knew this would happen. You saw the futures. And yet you gave them the fla."
Protheus nodded. "They needed it more than we did."
"You could’ve changed things." Said Hades.
"You cannot change things." Protheus observed him, eyes going up and down. "Not everyone is like you who broke out of the ’cycle’ and grew conscious."
Hades frowned, "What does that even an?"
"It ans what it ans." Protheus smirked.
For a mont, only the sound of the wind brushing the rocks was heard.
Then Hades leaned forward slightly, his voice quieter now.
"Forget that. Protheus. Tell . In all your scrying of the futures... have you ever seen it? Chaos?"
The Titan’s smile faded a little, replaced by a stillness.
"I have," Protheus said. "Not often. Not clearly. But I’ve seen enough. A plane that exists infinitely beyond this dinsion."
Hades nodded. "Then, have you seen ’those’ that live there?"
"....I rember when I was young," Protheus mused, "a whisper ca to in a dream. It didn’t speak in words. It was a language beyond aning. It showed glimpses. Things that existed before form—things that should never have nas."
Hades’ gaze sharpened. "So you did huh. So, what do you think about them?"
Protheus looked at him. "What do I think? I think we should just worry about our own affairs. Those creatures are beyond even you."
"True, I have never felt so small and insignificant when I saw them," Hades admitted. "However, I don’t want to be completely helpless if they decided to just destroy us for fun."
Protheus frowned, "I see."
"That’s why, give more information. I’m sure you knew more than you let on."
Protheus closed his eyes. "Chaos isn’t a thing, Hades. It’s what cos before thought. And those that dwell in it... they aren’t gods. They’re not even beings. They’re... rules that don’t want to be broken. And every ti humanity advances, every ti they step outside their mortal cage, they scrape against those rules."
Hades leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Humanity? Why them specifically? Not us? How are they sohow related to Chaos."
"I don’t know," Protheus sighed, "I cannot see what lies beyond the Trojan War. It’s all black, as if everything ceased to exist after that."
He stared at Hades, "However, I do know that those creatures took notice of this world due to humans."
Hades frowned. This conversation seems to made him more confused than before.
’Wait, every ti humanity advances, they scrape those rules? Could it be that the reason why those creatures even found this place is because humanity is advancing?’
However, he couldn’t understand why humans specifically.
What was so special about them?
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anwhile, in Olympus...
The laughter died.
The music stopped.
A golden mist filled the hall like dawn piercing through fog, casting the shadows into sharp retreat.
The gods turned, eyes wide, mouths parting in stunned disbelief.
From the mist stepped a woman.
No—sothing more. Her golden hair danced like sunlit silk, her skin shimred like fresh dew on marble, and her eyes... those eyes were ancient, ageless, and yet innocent as new spring.
She wore nothing but strands of seafoam that sohow wrapped her modesty, teasing the imagination of even the most disciplined gods.
Aphrodite had arrived.
Every god stared, transfixed.
Dionysus dropped his goblet.
Hers blinked rapidly.
Poseidon’s jaw slackened.
Even stoic Themis tilted her head in curiosity, analyzing the newcor with cool calculation.
Zeus rose from his throne, his grin growing.
"Welco, O radiant one," he said in his most charming voice, straightening his robes. "I am Zeus, King of the Gods. Might I ask your na, or shall I simply call you the Goddess of Beauty?"
The golden-haired woman gave him a knowing smile, one that could start wars and end empires.
"Aphrodite," she answered simply. "And yes... the Goddess of Beauty sounds just right."
As those words left her lips, the great hall of Olympus had beco a battleground of charm and desperation.
Gods scrambled like starved wolves in a banquet of beauty, each trying to win the favor of the newly arrived goddess—Aphrodite.
"Co with , and I will gift you a garden that rivals Elysium!" crooned Poseidon, strumming a lody laced with enchantnt.
"I can make you the queen of comrce, of travel, of ssages between hearts," Hers whispered, his eyes glittering with mischief.
"I will build you temples in every city," Zeus growled at his fellow gods before turning towards Aphrodite. "You will have worshippers who bleed your na into the soil."
One after another, gods and divine spirits offered her wealth, power, dominion, and dreams sculpted from celestial gold.
So knelt before her.
Others tried to impress her with divine displays—lightning, music, even illusions of future empires.
Aphrodite rely smiled.
Not coldly.
Not cruelly.
But distantly.
As if she were not fully present—her body basking in the adoration, but her mind... elsewhere.
Her golden eyes scanned the divine throng with quiet purpose, ignoring the bickering gods.
When a hand reached for her—whether it was to touch her hair or hold her arm—she moved like wind-blown mist, elegant and untouchable.
Her presence was intoxicating, but her essence slipped through their fingers like a dream half-rembered.
The gods began to argue among themselves. So were subtle, casting illusions and charms to appear more desirable.
Others shouted threats, old rivalries reignited in their desperation to possess her.
Tension sparked.
A fight brewed.
Zeus’s patience thinned.
The king of gods, seated upon his grand throne of stormclouds and authority, clenched his jaw.
Every ti he spoke, Aphrodite nodded with polite amusent but gave him no answer.
Every ti he approached, she moved away, gracefully evading his presence. For a god who demanded obedience, who ruled Olympus with thunder and pride—this was an insult he could scarcely bear.
At this mont, the doors opened.
And everything fell silent.
The air grew heavy, and a quiet chill brushed past the revelers. Purple mist poured into the hall, seeping like ancient mory.
And from that mist stepped Hades.
His cloak billowed like the folds of night. His crown of obsidian shimred with shadows. His presence quickly giving the feeling of terror and worship.
The younger gods fell into quiet awe, shuffling aside as the God of the Dead returned from his visit to Protheus.
Hades walked slowly, his divine pressure rolling across the hall like a tide. He didn’t need to command silence—his presence brings silence and solemnity.
A reminder of inevitable endings.
But Hades paused.
Just for a second.
His steps faltered, and his eyes narrowed.
He felt it.
A ripple. A tremble in his divinity, as if a thread had been plucked from his very soul. Sothing ancient. Sothing familiar—and yet completely unknown.
Across the room, Aphrodite turned.
Their eyes t.
The gods faded away. Not literally, but in aning. In presence.
Her gaze held his with such intensity that even Hades—who had stood before Titans, who had beco the lord of the dead itself—felt a weight in his chest.
She saw him. Not just the body. Not the title. Not the god. Not the soul.
Him.
And she knew.
This was the one.
This was who her authority had whispered about before she even opened her eyes.
The one who existed beyond beauty, beyond desire.
The stillness that tempered the fla.
The shade beneath the bloom.
Aphrodite took a step forward.
Hades didn’t move.
Zeus noticed. His hand tightened on his throne.
The gods held their breath.
In a voice like a breeze through golden reeds, Aphrodite spoke—directed to no one but Hades.
"There you are."
It wasn’t a greeting.
It was a realization.
And the fates, unseen in the corners of the world, quietly turned the next page of destiny.
A page stained with love and longing, with war and tragedy, with defiance and divinity.
The goddess of beauty had found her anchor.
And the ancient Greece would never be the sa.
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