I Shouldn't Have Done That
Olympus, situated at the highest point of the world.
And at the highest point of Olympus stood the golden throne.
The sole being permitted to sit upon it, the one who held the title of King of the Gods.
Zeus.
With golden hair and clad in snow-white robes, he was the strongest living god, lightning—his divine authority—flickering faintly across his body.
Yet at this moment, despite his grand titles as the King of the Gods and the strongest being in the world, Zeus's face was clouded with deep worry.
King though he might be, Zeus had not held the throne for long, and he had yet to fully adjust to his duties as ruler.
It was all well and good that he had finally seized the power he had long coveted, but wielding it properly would still require a great deal of time.
Unfortunately, the current state of affairs left him no leisure to ease into his role.
"The Titans' movements are highly suspicious."
"It is not yet confirmed, but rumors suggest the escaped Cronus is gathering forces somewhere."
"We must devise a plan. Even if it is not an immediate threat, staying idle will surely lead to a major clash with the Titans."
"Sigh..."
As his brothers and sisters voiced their concerns, Zeus felt a throbbing headache coming on and massaged his temples.
Ever since deposing his father, Zeus had been stripping power from the Titans—who had supported the old regime—and distributing it among his own siblings.
Although the Titans were blood relatives, Zeus, having seized power through what was essentially a rebellion, could not allow these beings—who were far closer to his father than to him—to maintain control over the political landscape.
Consequently, the Titans' discontent had been steadily mounting.
To make matters worse, reports were coming in that his escaped father, Cronus, was acting suspiciously.
One did not need to be a prophet to see that a massive storm was brewing.
And yet, despite the gravity of the situation, Zeus could not bring himself to focus entirely on the matter.
The reason lay in the seat beside him, which was empty once again today. It was due to the absence of Hera, the Queen of the Gods.
"Is Hera... still refusing to leave her chambers today?"
"T-that is correct, Lord Zeus. I conveyed the message, but she only replied that she is unwell and will be absent again today."
"Mmm..."
"Haa..."
The nymph answered in a voice thick with apology.
At her words, the mood in the room plummeted, affecting not only Zeus but all the other gods in attendance.
Only a few days ago, Hera had been overjoyed, pregnant with their first child.
Yet, not long ago, she had reportedly stillborn the child she had so eagerly anticipated, and in her grief-stricken shock, she had dropped the infant's body off the edge of Olympus.
The tragedy of Hera, who had lost her firstborn so pointlessly and failed to even retrieve the body due to her distress, weighed heavily on the hearts of those present.
The misfortune that had befallen their youngest brother and his wife still pained them, and as the father of the deceased child, Zeus naturally felt an even greater sorrow.
Even amidst his hectic schedule, he had harbored expectations for his firstborn that were no less than Hera's.
Unlike Cronus, who had swallowed his children the moment they were born, Zeus had vowed countless times to be a good father. Thus, the pain of losing a child he had never even laid eyes on remained deeply etched in his heart.
Nevertheless, Zeus could not afford to wallow in grief forever.
"Ahem. My siblings, let us speak of that later. What matters now is the Titans and Cronus. We must gather more detailed intelligence on their movements."
Unlike his wife, Hera, he was the King.
For the sake of the brothers and sisters gathered here, and for the sake of his wife, he had to devise countermeasures against the impending danger and prepare to confront it if necessary.
Turning his gaze away from Hera's empty seat, Zeus resumed leading the council.
Regret is an emotion ill-suited to the gods.
Living through eternity, they consider it a virtue to harbor no lingering attachments to the past.
For if they fail to do so, they will eventually be buried under the weight of their own emotions and wither away.
Yet at this very moment, a goddess who had always lived by the creed of never regretting her actions—Hera—was experiencing, for the first time since her birth, a profound, genuine sense of regret.
"Sniff..."
She huddled in the corner of her room.
Though the physical wounds of that day had long since vanished without a trace, she looked far more wretched now than she had when covered in bruises.
Her hair was disheveled, and her eyes were bloodshot from staying awake for days and nights on end.
Her eyelids were swollen from crying incessantly.
Belied by her title as Queen of the Gods, she resembled a beggar on the street. Huddled in the darkness of a world otherwise filled with light, she trembled and wept, tears of bitter regret streaming down her face.
What... what have I done? How could I... how could Hera do such a thing?
She had repeated those words in her head dozens, hundreds, thousands of times. And with them, the memories of that day began to surface in her mind once more.
For the first time in her life, she had been brutally beaten—and by none other than her own newborn son.
The physical pain she felt then had been agonizing enough to make her lose consciousness, but the memory that continuously tormented her heart now was not the beating.
It was the child's gaze, cold as ice, immediately after the merciless thrashing ended.
In those eyes, there was no regret, no hesitation, not even fear or hatred.
There was only one emotion reflected in them.
Disgust.
A look of utter contempt and disdain, as if he were staring at a bug crawling on the ground.
How could he? How could that child look at her—not just anyone, but the Queen of the Gods and his own mother—with such an expression?
And the answer to that question was revealed immediately after... in the most horrific way possible.
"!"
After casting that freezing look, the baby climbed onto the balcony railing. The moment she saw him lean forward,
"N-No!"
Hera had screamed, reaching out instinctively.
Yet, despite her cry, the baby threw himself out the window.
Watching him vanish in an instant toward the invisible earth below, Hera stood frozen, her hand still outstretched, her face blank with shock.
He was gone. He had left. The baby she had intended to discard, the ugly monstrosity she feared would become an obstacle in her life, had vanished on his own terms.
Since the outcome aligned with what she had wanted anyway, Hera lied, claiming the child had been stillborn and that she had accidentally dropped the body.
No one doubted her, and she believed that was the end of it.
But why? Why had she tried to stop the child from jumping when it was exactly what she wanted, achieved without dirtying her own hands? And why, now that everything was over, were tears streaming from her eyes as she stared out the window of her lonely room?
It was from that moment that the scene began to replay endlessly in her mind.
"Ah... Ah..."
Her entire body trembled. Her heart squeezed painfully, and her breath caught in her throat.
It was her first time experiencing such emotions. An emptiness as if a piece of her heart had been ripped away. A pain like a horrific, unhealable wound.
Only then did Hera realize, too late, that this was motherhood. This was the agonizing grief of a mother who had lost her child.
"How... how could I... What have I done..."
As the goddess of family and motherhood, she had prided herself on understanding these feelings better than anyone. Yet, forgetting all of it, she had tried to discard her firstborn simply because of his unsightly appearance.
How could she do such a thing? Even beasts of the field cherished their offspring. How could the goddess of motherhood commit such an atrocity?
Hera knew the reason all too well. She had been afraid. Having just ascended to the highest position, she feared the uncomfortable stares and judgments of others. The fleeting dread that her power and reputation might falter had blinded her, making her forget her very essence.
And Hera already knew of another being who, consumed by fear, had committed an unspeakable act.
I... how... I committed the exact same sin. Just like my father... just like Cronus...
She had made the same choice as the monster she detested most. Only then did Hera realize that the look of disgust her son had cast upon her as she lay defeated was identical to the gaze she had directed at Cronus when he lay collapsed after vomiting her and her siblings. It was a look of pure contempt for a beast blinded by power and fame, discarding what mattered most.
"I'm sorry... I'm so... so sorry... my baby... my sweet baby..."
A profound, suffocating sense of loss echoed endlessly within her hollow chest.
Trapped in the torment wrought by her own foolish choice, Hera wept alone, thrashing in an inescapable mire of regret.
"Fufu, drink slowly, Hephaestus. There's plenty more where that came from."
Slurp, slurp.
At that moment, Hera could not have imagined that another woman was fully enjoying the happiness she had so foolishly discarded.
A massive flame roared before my eyes.
Staring at the jar positioned at the center of a volcanic, superheated draft, I focused all my attention on regulating the intensity of the fire.
Three years had passed since I crossed over to this world and began living as Eurynome's adopted son.
Thanks to the rapid growth of a god—many times faster than that of a mortal—I had already matured into a young man resembling a human in his late teens.
And at this moment, the temperature of the flames dancing before me was roughly 2,000 degrees Celsius.
This was an extreme heat that humans of this era—who barely understood what fire was—could never hope to achieve, and one that would remain difficult to reach even after human technology advanced significantly in the distant future.
But I possessed a divine authority that allowed me to generate such heat naturally, without the aid of any tools.
A power of a god, transcending human common sense and science.
By utilizing my authority as Hephaestus, the god of volcanoes, I could conjure flames hot enough to melt steel out of thin air.
Under the intense heat and the immense pressure building inside the jar, the object was gradually being forged.
After what felt like an eternity compressed into a single moment of absolute focus, I sensed that the process was complete.
Ceasing the flow of divine power from my fingertips, I carefully lifted the lid of the jar.
Immediately, a soft, warm glow spilled out from within.
A satisfied smile spread across my face.
"It's done."
A brief murmur of relief.
Feeling a deep sense of accomplishment, I reached in to retrieve the finished product.
But then...
"Hey! I know you're in there, so get out here already!"
"..."
A familiar voice echoed in my ears.
I closed the lid of the jar once more and stepped away from the forge, heading toward the workshop.
There stood a familiar human... no, god.
A goddess with emerald hair reminiscent of the sea. The childish appearance she had when we first met was gone, replaced by the form of a fully grown young lady.
She sat comfortably on the leather sofa I had crafted, fiddling with a Rubik's cube I had made for her. She had yet to solve more than two sides, proving her lack of intellect once again today.
I spoke to her in my usual calm, steady voice.
"What brings you here, Sister Thetis?"