The Thirteenth Trial(?) - Zeus's Story
At the peak of Mount Olympus, the center of the world, stands a palace built for the twelve Olympian gods who rule over everything. And reigning supreme at the very top of that palace is the king of the gods himself—me, Zeus.
I, who wield the thunderbolt, possess the wisdom of Metis, and could overcome even if the rest of the Olympians ganged up on me: the king of the gods, Zeus... that's who I am.
I've been in a great mood lately. The greatest threat to my power, the war with the Gigantes—a conflict I couldn't win with the gods' strength alone, one stacked against me by cruel fate—for that war, I had to swallow my tears and sire a new child. Even if it meant defying the heart of my great and beautiful wife, Hera.
Though that child, Heracles, had now offended Gaia and been dragged off to the island of Sicily for his thirteenth trial, a scheme was already in motion to turn it to our advantage.
"Hera, my beloved wife. Do you really think that hag will take a liking to Heracles?"
"How many times are you going to ask the same question? He's your forced creation, but that face of his isn't going anywhere. There's no handsomer mug for charming women."
"Ahem, getting sharp with me... If Heracles truly succeeds in seducing Adamantia, it'll be a monumental event. It'll give a nice jolt to all those gods watching the war's course and biding their time."
"Just remember I didn't prepare this plan for that reason. It's all to restore my authority and divine power, which you've tarnished by siring yet another hero."
"I know, I know. Geez, how many times do I have to say it?"
The one trying to rain on my good mood was none other than the queen of Olympus and my beloved wife, Hera. And she, of all people, was the mastermind behind this marriage ploy with Adamantia.
I was shocked at first, but her words that followed left me no choice but to agree.
You've diminished my authority. Restore it.
That was the gist: I'd named the bastard child born of my indiscretion "Hera's Glory," leading mortals below to treat her name lightly.
I countered that "Hera's Glory" had slain countless monsters and achieved mighty feats, boosting her prestige—but it fell on deaf ears.
So, to elevate Hera's authority, the plan was to pair him with a powerful goddess, showcasing the greatness of the goddess of marriage and family.
But there was a problem.
All the remaining virgin goddesses on Olympus have sworn vows of chastity.
Hestia, Athena, Artemis—the three most prestigious had all sworn by the River Styx to remain virgins forever. No marriage for them.
Choosing became tricky. With the top three off-limits, we had to look beyond Olympus.
Next up was the sea nymph Thetis, but Prometheus prophesied, "The sea nymph Thetis will bear a son greater than his father," so the gods all refused her.
With no suitable goddess in sight, I came up with a clever idea.
Let's marry her off to the Oread of mighty Mount Etna, Adamantia.
Sure, Adamantia was a notorious hag for thousands of years(?), but her authority was that of a great and powerful goddess, called the eldest among the Protogenoi.
As Gaia's firstborn and the sovereign of Mount Etna and the island of Sicily, she was a prize many gods would covet. And as the ugliest goddess around, even a local deity would do.
No one loses in that deal.
Then my wife Hera refined it further, skyrocketing the stakes:
Marry her to Heracles.
With the war against Gaia's Gigantes looming, wedding her eldest daughter Adamantia to our hero Heracles felt off—but he wasn't even a full god, just a demigod hero, making it even smoother.
Plus, Heracles was one of Achaia's most famous hunks. The hag Adamantia would snap up the bait, and the risk of Gigantes arming themselves with her terrifying metal weapons vanished. Eat the pheasant and get the egg too—what a steal!
And my beloved wife declared:
"If a demigod hero completes all those arduous labors and weds one of the mightiest goddesses, Adamantia, everyone will be stunned. Once they tie the knot with a grand ceremony, mortals below will finally grasp the sanctity of marriage vows and praise my name. This is precisely what Hera's Glory must do."
But even this grand wedding had two lurking issues.
"First off, will Greece's top heartthrob Heracles even want to accept Adamantia?"
"That's why we sent Eros."
"True, but as you know, Eros is too capricious. If he sees her face and gets the urge to prank, things could go south."
"I know. That's why I warned him thoroughly—he'll shoot the golden arrow without fooling around."
"Mm, in that case, no problem there."
The golden arrow had wrecked even the gods. Olympus's prime hunk Apollo mocked it once, only to fall victim to Eros's prank: he madly pursued a mere nymph, but Daphne, struck by the lead arrow's hatred, fled him by turning into a laurel tree. Apollo, desperately in love, made it his symbol anyway—showing the pathetic clinginess of a smitten man.
That tale chilled every spine on Olympus. Cross Eros, and divine authority means nothing. No one escapes love's curse.
With Hera's stern warning, even Eros wouldn't dare defy her.
That left the second problem.
"But dear, if Goddess Adamantia and Heracles do marry, ordinary gifts won't cut it."
"True enough. We'll summon him to Olympus for the war anyway—why not make him a god outright? That was your plan too, wasn't it?"
"Of course, but my worry is different. Just making him a god will invite gossip, obviously."
"Hm, fair point. We'd need to grant him considerable divinity. Wait—you weren't seriously planning to just toss him a lesser god spot and call it done?"
"Of course not. I'm not that petty."
I let out a hearty laugh, flaunting my magnanimity.
"I was going to give him a lesser god seat and wed my beloved daughter Hebe to him as well. Becoming the husband of the beautiful goddess of youth—what greater honor?"
"...A lesser god spot with Hebe, who looks like me in my youth. It's borderline stingy, but not outright miserly."
"Hey now, calling it stingy is unfair. Handing a divine seat to my son just for some feats would cheapen this throne."
"Could be. I hadn't thought of that."
For some reason, Hera eyed me oddly, as if mocking, but my mind's Metis stayed silent, so it must be fine. Accusing me of pettiness is absurd slander—no warning signal meant it was baseless. Of course.
Heracles, strong enough now to wrestle Apollo, suited a lesser god rank perfectly. A powerhouse like him as the God of Strength would fit just right.
Pair that with Hebe as his wife, my son-in-law—what overflowing glory! But now as Adamantia's husband, lesser god felt too low-class.
Even the ugliest goddess wouldn't wed a mere lesser god; the gossip would be insulting and utterly detached from reality.
To prevent that...
"How about intermediate god? God of Strength and Heroes—perfect. As the god of heroes, it'll exude dignity."
"..."
"Why the silence, Hera? Isn't my idea spot-on?"
"...You're offering intermediate god promotion as bride-price for marriage to Gaia's eldest, the Oread of mountains and islands, Adamantia?"
"...What's wrong with that?"
"...Nothing. It's your world—do as you please. I'll think about the gifts."
"Alright, then."
I nodded, and Hera vanished from her jade throne with oddly quick, averted steps, hiding her face.
How strange. Hera avoiding my gaze? I might need to visit her chambers tonight and soothe her.
But learning my flawless plan had hit an absurd snag... that came much later.
Damn it all!