The Prologue: Flattering Perseus
One week later.
The incident had struck the gods with startling suddenness.
Perched atop Mount Olympus—the grand stage of Greek mythology and the usual residence of the Twelve Olympians—a magnificent palace once capable of catching even Zeus’s gaze now barely retained a hint of its former splendor, its walls dulled and weathered by time.
At the gods’ own insistence, they had withdrawn from mortal affairs for a brief respite, leaving the heavenly realm to drift in lazy quietude. The halls of Olympus were hushed, the air thick with unhurried boredom. Of course, without the living gods who embodied both Greek myth and the world itself, there could be no true seasons, no normal days at all. Yet even compared to the old days, the Olympians had grown remarkably restrained in their meddling among mortals.
“The offerings are dwindling again,” one goddess murmured, her voice drifting through the temple corridors.
“What should we say to Zeus?” another added, casting nervous glances at the throne room.
“He foresaw all of this and merely sighed,” came the soft reply. “He won’t scold us, but Hera’s pride will be wounded.”
“It would be nice to throw a banquet and lift their spirits,” sighed a third.
“But even that banquet would…”
“Even the nectar of the gods couldn’t quite satisfy them anymore,” the chorus continued in hushed, gossiping tones.
The minor gods and attendants—each of them aware that they, too, now lacked the old worship—spoke with the familiar edge of discontent, their voices echoing softly across the silent halls of Olympus.
“Why must we endure this torment?” one muttered under her breath.
The gods had not yet set foot on the mortal realm in centuries, yet already the people no longer believed in them. Temples stood half-forgotten, their altars gathering dust. Some gods still retained a few scattered believers, but the flame of faith burned as feeble as a spark in the wind. The uneasy feeling that one day they would simply fade into the stars was growing stronger—until, deep within the sanctum of Olympus, a goddess suddenly appeared before the altar.
“You seem to be enjoying your day as usual, all of you. I can hear your voices quite clearly from here.”
“Hestia!”
“Hestia-sama! You heard us?”
“Sorry to startle you!”
“No need to apologize. I wasn’t scolding—I only came to check the first offering of the day. But… I wanted to see how everyone was doing.”
Hestia stood before the altar: a beauty whose hair shimmered with hints of red, her eyes soft and half-lidded. Her gentle form and elegant beauty had once caused male attendants to lose all composure, yet the moment she showed even a trace of sadness, they hurriedly bowed their heads to share her sorrow.
As one of the highest-ranking gods and the gentlest of the virgin goddesses, Hestia was the guardian of hearth and home. Within Olympus she alone held the right to examine every offering first, and no one ever dared question her authority. The other gods trusted her completely—none more so than she herself.
Oh, Hestia-sama… how heartbreaking this must be for you.
She always welcomed the duties with such joy! How painful it must be to see them like this now.
Even gentle Hestia-sama must feel this grief keenly.
She’s been breaking her back for Zeus again… Even if she’s not the virgin goddess Zeus favors, she’s still working herself to the bone…
One or two cruder thoughts slipped through the minds of the attendants, but in this wretched Greek-myth world they were mostly restrained. Hestia swept her red hair back with a sigh and lit the sacred fire beside the altar.
“Let’s all keep a positive outlook. Even as the age changes, we must remember that there are still those who pray to us.”
“Still… this doesn’t feel right at all.”
The offerings piled on the altar were pitifully meager—mostly wheat, vegetables, and fruit, as had always been the case. Now and then a few crumbs remained, but nothing else. When that happened, the disappointed gods would storm off to deliver swift punishments, yet even that threat felt hollow now.
“We’re not actually dying from lack of offerings, but the embarrassment is unbearable…”
“…Indeed.”
Even the gentle Hestia could only let out a short sigh, leaving the severity of the situation clear to any who cared to see. Yet she accepted every offering as sincere tribute from those who still believed in the gods.
“Shall we tidy the altar today, then, and close the day with these final offerings?”
“We can handle the cleanup. Hestia-sama shouldn’t have to dirty her hands with this.”
“But it’s my responsibility…”
That was when the fire suddenly roared to life.
“What?!”
“Hestia-sama! A new fire has appeared on the altar!”
The flames leaped high and bright—clear proof that offerings had been brought from the mortal realm. Yet the blaze burned with an intensity far beyond anything the gods had witnessed in their golden age of worship. A magnificent pyre suddenly erupted from the altar itself, and from its heart emerged a beautifully prepared beast.
“A bull!”
“They even cleaned it so prettily?!”
“What…?”
With ribbons tied to its horns and its blood neatly drained, the bull was the first of many offerings now being spewed from the fire. Fruits followed—exactly as they always had—yet these were arranged with perfect care. Each god’s name was carefully engraved upon them, unmistakable proof that the offerings had been prepared with genuine devotion.
How long had it been since anyone had seen such splendid tribute?
And the care behind it was exquisite.
While murmurs of confusion swirled around the altar, the flames continued to disgorge more offerings. This time it was grains—freshly baked bread accompanied by a few pieces of fish. The final gift was a rabbit’s womb, freshly prepared and still warm, alongside an apple colored and shaped like the golden apples of old.
What on earth was going on?
Why were such lavish offerings suddenly flooding the fire?
Could there have been some festival in the mortal world?
The gods offered their guesses, but no one remembered hearing of any such celebration. The entire temple filled with bewildered chatter. Hestia reached out and gently touched the fake golden apple.
On its surface, in elegant script, was written:
“Honored by the goddess of Olympus’ greatest benevolence.”
The gods’ names were also precisely engraved on the reverse, ensuring there could be no mistake about its origin. The attendants, recalling Hestia’s face the moment they read the words, had no doubt as to the source.
“An offering to Hestia-sama…”
“How can this be…?”
Though she had received many offerings in the past, never one so generously prepared. Hestia felt a strange mix of embarrassment and delight. As the goddess of the hearth, such splendor felt strangely fitting yet burdensome at the same time.
“Whoever sent this is truly worthy of admiration. What a joyous occasion.”
“Indeed. The gods with such refined taste are clearly among us.”
“Still… sending an offering directly to Hestia-sama… I wonder if the others will feel slighted.”
Hestia smiled gently, waving a hand to soothe the murmurs. While she felt some guilt at the imbalance, joy outweighed it. She was not the sort of goddess who would let such feelings show too openly.
“For today’s purpose, let us pretend we saw nothing. This offering is for all the gods, not just me.”
“Very well.”
“As goddess of the hearth, I shouldn’t waste sacred flames on something trivial…”
“But Zeus might wonder where such a lavish gift came from. It’s been so long since anything this generous arrived.”
“I will be the one to report it to Zeus. Of course.”
“Yes.”
With those words, Hestia wrapped up the day’s business. The other gods agreed to keep the matter quiet. News of the sudden wave of offerings spread quickly, and for a time Olympus itself buzzed with excitement.
Yet both Zeus and Hestia knew the excitement would pass. No matter who sent the gifts, it would take more than one such offering to sustain the gods’ attention for long.
But…
……
……
The day after the lavish offering arrived at Hestia’s altar, King Zeus himself appeared before the sacred fire. His thick white hair and beard framed a face that still carried the regal bearing of a monarch—broad-shouldered, imposing, and every inch the former ruler of the gods.
“This… what on earth is happening?”
Even the king of the gods looked bewildered, his expression furrowed in genuine confusion. It was not mere displeasure; it was the helpless look of a monarch who truly had no idea what to make of such an event.
“Hestia. Do you know anything about this?”
“No… I don’t. I summoned you both because I needed your guidance…”
Standing beside Zeus was Hestia herself, along with Demeter—the golden-haired, golden-eyed goddess of agriculture, her voluptuous figure draped in a green chiton. Her expression was one of equal parts confusion and concern.
After all, offerings had been made to Hestia again today. This time the gifts were even more splendid: fruits arranged with meticulous care around a central sheaf of wheat, and a carefully crafted golden apple at the heart of it all.
“What does the inscription say?”
“It reads…”
Zeus prompted her to recite the words on the golden apple.
“Honored by the goddess of Olympus’ greatest daughter and most maternal spirit… it says.”
“And the picture?”
“I’m sorry, but I… I recognize it. Demeter-sama, do you know?”
“Perhaps it’s Persephone… or at least her likeness. There was an old painting in my temple of a girl’s face—maybe it was copied from that.”
“…Now that you mention it, I do seem to recall something similar.”
Both goddesses nodded. Zeus stroked his thick white beard and tilted his head in thoughtful consideration. The tale of Persephone’s abduction by Hades was well known even to mortals. He had assumed the offering was simply a tribute to her maternal love.
Quite the clever one. And the care behind it… Still, mortals have such tender hearts in the lower realm.
At first he had been annoyed—after all, the offering was meant for Hestia, not himself. But the lavish preparation and the obvious devotion convinced him that the gift was intended for all twelve gods. Tomorrow’s offering might arrive as well, and Zeus’s mood began to lift.
“Today is a rare happy day. We might even clear away some of this gloomy air if we play our cards right.”
“Should we explain this to the others?”
“That’s probably best. There’s nothing else to do, so let’s spread the word and make it a little wager.”
“A wager, you say?”
“Whoever receives the final offering tomorrow—whoever it is—let’s see who can guess it first. Judging by the care behind this gift, it seems the gods aren’t being slighted in any way. We might not get the usual dramatic punishment this time. What do you think?”
“Yes, that sounds fair.”
“I agree.”
Both Hestia and Demeter—still glowing with maternal pride—laughed warmly at the idea. Hestia intended to share the offering with all the gods eventually, and before long the story spread through Olympus like wildfire.
In the quiet sanctuary of Olympus, where the age of heroes had arrived and the gods themselves had grown strangely quiet, a small wager had just begun.