Following the guiding nymph, Hephaestus once again set foot upon the high, marble terraces of Olympus.
“By the Flame…
that is an overwhelming stench.”
The exact moment he crossed the threshold into the grand pavilion, Hephaestus was violently staggered by the suffocating reek of stale wine, sour nectar, and sweat.
Everywhere he cast his gaze, lesser gods and nymphs lay sprawled across the polished floors, their faces flushed a deep, unsightly crimson from absolute inebriation.
Due to their careless, drunken postures, their loose silk chitons had slipped entirely askew, creating a sea of uncovered, highly indecent exposures.
Looking upon this chaotic den of indulgence, Hephaestus couldn’t help but marvel grimly to himself.
He had spent his past life staring at the draped, somber vestments of the Fire Keeper, completely forgetting a glaring historical reality: in this ancient dawn of the cosmos, the concept of undergarments had not yet been conceived.
*Contaminated.
Absolutely contaminated.* He averted his eyes before he went blind, keeping his gaze locked strictly ahead.
Weaving his way through the sea of unconscious, half-naked deities littering the floor, he followed the nymph deeper into the heart of the palace, finally arriving before the grand dais of the Sovereign.
“Good day, Great Zeus.”
Zeus reclined upon his massive throne, his eyes half-closed in a posture of lazy, post-war languor.
Hephaestus offered a measured, dignified bow, greeting the King of the Gods with the precise amount of respect required to maintain his cover.
“You are always so formal, Hephaestus,” Zeus murmured, cracking his eyelids open.
A soft, benevolent smile bloomed across his features as he looked down at the blacksmith.
It was a gaze of pure, radiant warmth—and combined with the flawless, celestial beauty the Lord of the Sky possessed, it was a charm capable of subverting anyone’s caution, unconsciously drawing them into his favor.
There was no denying the reality: Zeus was a magnificent specimen.
Back when the war against the Titan regime had begun to turn sour, it was Prometheus who had given the young sky god a highly pragmatic piece of advice: *Make absolute use of your peerless visage.*
And Zeus had executed that strategy to perfection.
* Metis, the Goddess of Wisdom – The most brilliant daughter of Oceanus and Tethys.
* Mnemosyne, the Goddess of Memory – A foundational pillar of the Titan bloodline.
* Themis, the Goddess of Justice – The literal embodiment of cosmic law.
* Leto, the Goddess of Protection – The beloved daughter of Coeus and Phoebe.
Zeus had successfully seduced and won over all four of these essential Titanesses in rapid succession.
In a single stroke, half of the Twelve Titans’ ideological strength evaporated.
By the time Cronus realized the depth of his isolation, his iron grip had broken; including himself, only three Titan loyalists remained to fight his corner.
Had Zeus not weaponized his beauty, the war of the centuries might have had a vastly different ending.
“Your absolute radiance merely reminds me of my own shadows,” Hephaestus replied smoothly, though his internal thoughts were a storm of cynical mockery.
“It fills my heart with nothing but profound reverence for the throne.”
“Hahahaha!
Well spoken!”
The flattery hit its mark with surgical precision.
Zeus beamed with visible satisfaction, leaning forward with renewed vigor.
“You already know the purpose of this audience.
Tell me, Nephew—do you possess the confidence to execute my vision?”
“Yes, Zeus.
I shall resolutely forge whatever you command,” Hephaestus stated, placing a heavy hand over his chest.
“But before the first stone is laid, I must ask: do you harbor any specific requirements for your sanctuary?”
“Oh?” Zeus pinched his sculpted chin, pondering the question for a brief second before offering the ultimate nightmare of any craftsman: “I desire a palace…
worthy of my majesty.”
*Worthy of your—* Hephaestus bit his tongue to keep from cursing aloud.
*Could you speak like a rational client for five seconds?!*
If he hadn’t awakened his memories as the Ashen One and was still a mortal architect dealing with this level of vague, arrogant nonsense, he would have smashed his hammer over the man’s head and walked out.
But he suppressed the urge.
He couldn’t crush Zeus’s skull just yet.
He had to endure.
“I grasp your meaning perfectly,” Hephaestus voiced, his tone remaining smooth and gravel-deep beneath his iron mask.
“Then, with your permission, I shall consult the other chief deities regarding their personal requirements for their respective cloisters.”
“Mm, go then.
Metis is already awaiting your arrival,” Zeus nodded easily, a teasing, familiar smirk playing on his lips.
“She has been quite vocal about her younger brother failing to pay his respects since our victory.
My beautiful Queen is so thoroughly vexed that even my embrace cannot soothe her.
You must take full responsibility, Hephaestus.”
At the mention of Metis, the cold disdain behind Hephaestus’s mask softened.
Metis’s biological mother, Tethys the Ocean Goddess, was his true foster mother.
When Hera had heartlessly cast him from the peaks of Olympus into the ocean as an infant, it was Tethys who had scooped his shriveled form from the waves and nurtured him in the deep.
During those formative eons, he had grown incredibly close to Tethys’s biological children—and his bond with Metis had been the strongest.
In her youth, before the heavy mantle of the Queen of the Gods settled upon her shoulders, the Goddess of Wisdom had been playful, constantly teasing him, and entirely blind to his physical deformities.
She was one of the few entities who saw him as a true brother.
In Hephaestus’s calculation of this world, only two lives truly mattered: his foster mother, Tethys, and his elder sister, Metis.
It was an absolute tragedy that his memories had returned so late.
Had he awakened sooner, he would have torn the fabric of fate apart to keep her from ever falling into the bed of a serial philanderer like Zeus.
Worse still was the labyrinthine nightmare of divine lineage.
Tethys was also Hera’s foster mother, having raised the Goddess of Marriage in secret during the Titanomachy.
Therefore, from Hera’s perspective, Metis was technically her foster-sister, making her Hephaestus’s aunt…
yet Tethys was his foster mother, which made Metis his sister, while his biological mother was his foster mother’s foster daughter…
The sheer, tangled absurdity of it made his head spin.
*The classic, twisted web of Greek mythology.*
“I understand, Great Zeus.
Please allow me to take my leave.”
“Go on, go on.”
Exiting the grand pavilion, Hephaestus walked with a measured stride toward the secluded palace of the Queen.
As he drew nearer to her personal sanctuary, the presence of sprawled, drunken deities thinned out completely, leaving the corridors pristine and quiet.
“Great Queen of Olympus, Hephaestus requests an audience.”
Standing before the massive, towering doors of her bedchamber, his deep voice boomed through the quiet hall.
“Enter.”
A soft, melodic cadence drifted from within.
With a heavy groan, the grand doors swung inward of their own volition, revealing the sprawling interior of the Queen’s domain.
Inside the vast, elegant chamber, a massive bed draped in gossamer silk and gilded trim immediately dominated the view—its mattress so thick and plush it resembled a resting cloud, promising an unimaginable level of comfort.
Beside the dressing table near the bed, a graceful silhouette sat with her back turned to him, the contours of her form wrapped elegantly in snow-white linen.
“What are you standing at the threshold for?
Hurry inside~”
Before he could even take a step forward, that charming, slightly impatient voice drifted across the room.
The Goddess of Wisdom rose from her vanity, turning her gaze directly toward him.
With her cascading purple hair, deep amethyst eyes, and a pristine white stola accentuating her divine grace, she was, in every sense of the word…
breathtaking.